The Brighter the Light, page 11
The guests, mostly women, all had drinks in their hands. The younger children were swimming in the shallow end, and Dora, Jessie, and Bonnie, all sporting beet-red shoulders and noses, had changed into cotton sundresses. They leaned close, talking, their giggles drifting above the adult voices.
“They’re as thick as thieves,” Talley said.
“Yeah.”
“You know them, right?”
“They been coming since the war.”
“And you aren’t friends?”
Ruth rubbed her belly, unconsciously uncoiling an unnamed tightness. “No mixing with the guests.”
“They look a little stuck up to me,” Talley whispered.
“I think it’s because they have breasts now,” Ruth said.
Laughter tumbled over Talley’s lips. “I have breasts, and I’m not stuck up.”
Ruth jutted out her chin. “And when I get mine, I won’t be either.”
“This winter if you write to me, I’ll write back. There’s nothing I like better than a letter.”
Mention of the winter reminded Ruth that summer was fleeting and soon Talley would leave, and she’d be alone again. “I do write a good letter.”
“Make sure you include sketches.”
Her mood lifted. “Okay.”
They moved to the refreshment tent, where Mama was setting iced glasses with a green slushy drink topped with a red cherry. “Girls, where have you been?”
“We went to the shed,” Ruth said. “We went looking for a beach hat for Talley. Her skin’s going to get pretty pink if she doesn’t wear a hat.”
“That’s a good idea, Ruth,” Mama said. “Each of you girls take a tray and ask the guests if they’d like a drink. Just one per customer.”
“It’s the welcome drink,” Ruth said. “After this one they’re going to have to pay.”
“Make sure you girls don’t have any of it. This batch is stronger than the last.”
Ruth and Talley carried trays toward the women, who happily collected their complimentary drinks. As Ruth passed the pool, Bonnie said as she glanced at Dora and Jessie, “Ruth, don’t forget our drinks.”
The girls giggled.
“They’re only for the grown-ups,” Ruth said.
“Then bring us each a cold soda,” Bonnie said. “With straws. You can charge it to our rooms.”
If Bonnie weren’t a guest, Ruth would have told her to go pound sand. But the bottled drinks, according to her daddy, were moneymakers. “Sure. Be right up.”
She handed out the last of her drinks and returned to her mother. “Three colas for the girls. They said to charge it to their rooms.”
Mama raised a brow as she fished three bottled colas from the ice bin. “Aren’t they all grown up?”
“I guess so. I mean, look at them.”
“Don’t worry. Your time will come.” Mama dropped her voice a fraction. “Before it’s all said and done, you’ll have bigger breasts than they do.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“Daddy told me,” Mama said.
“But how can you be sure? No one knows what she looks like.”
“I suspect you’ll have all the curves you want one day.”
Ruth wished her chest could sprout this summer before those girls left. Still, just the idea that her body would change buoyed her spirits. She carried the bottles over to the girls and handed each a cold cola.
Bonnie sipped from the straw. “Mmmm. So good. Aren’t you going to have one, Ruth?”
“Not right now. I’m working.”
“I noticed the little uniform you were wearing when we arrived. Very cute.”
“It’s just a new dress. Not a uniform.”
“Oh, my mistake.”
Ruth shook her head and turned.
“Don’t go far,” Bonnie said. “We might want another drink.”
“Sure.”
The phonograph stopped, and Mama walked up to the small stage that Daddy had built just last week. Mama’s smile was always bright and friendly during the season, and even if it wasn’t exactly real, it had an infectious quality that made it hard not to feel good when she was like this.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The microphone squealed, forcing Mama to tap it a few times. “I have a rare treat for you this week.” The guests’ chatter continued a beat before thinning to silence. “Any minute now, the very talented Miss Carlotta DiSalvo is going to sing for you. She’s the headliner on the Maisy Adams, currently dry-docked in Coinjock. If any of you have had the chance to see a show on the Maisy Adams, then you know the treat that’s in store for you tonight.”
The side door leading to the lobby opened, and out stepped Carlotta as if she had just arrived on a grand stage in front of thousands of people. Didn’t seem to matter that the stage was made of reclaimed wood and there were only about twenty people gathered around the pool.
Her dress was emerald green, and when she moved, her flared skirt sparkled slightly as the fabric floated around her swaying hips. The dress nipped a narrow waist and molded her full breasts displayed by a low neckline. The few men there stood taller, and the women shifted a little uncomfortably. Even Bonnie, Dora, and Jessie seemed to notice they’d been outbreasted by Miss Carlotta DiSalvo.
Carlotta had teased her blonde hair and twisted the ends into a chignon, displaying diamonds dangling from her ears. High-heeled shoes glinted. Cherry-red lips widened into a grin, flashing white teeth that were slightly crooked. The imperfection didn’t detract from her glamour but only added to it. She wasn’t shy about her flaws.
Ruth ran her tongue over her teeth, noting the slight twist of her front tooth.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Carlotta said. Her voice was clear and bright and silenced the remaining chatter. She wasn’t the kind of woman anyone ignored. Men liked the look of her, and a part of all the women wondered how different their lives would be if only they were her.
A smile tugged at the edges of Carlotta’s lips, as if she knew a naughty secret no one else did. She lowered her hand to her side, and she began to snap her fingers as her hips gently rocked to an orchestra only she could hear.
Billie Holiday’s “It Had to Be You” glided easily over her lips.
Many in the crowd clapped, each recognizing the song.
She looked left, then right, her grin widening before she began to sing.
Her voice was as smooth as the ocean on a windless day and effortlessly slid over the notes. She began to clap, encouraging the audience to follow along. The men remained entranced, and the women who’d initially looked a bit green eyed started smiling.
Ruth glanced over at a grinning Talley. “She’s amazing.”
“She’s right out of a storybook,” Talley said.
Mama had been so certain that Ruth’s figure would bloom and blossom, suggesting that one day she would be more exciting than the mainland girls. As she watched Carlotta sing, a kernel of knowing sprouted in her belly. Was her mama trying to tell her something?
Ruth often searched for pieces of herself in other women. A crooked smile, a mannerism, even a talent for drawing. But now as she ran her tongue again over her crooked tooth, her heart scurried into her throat. It sure made sense that a woman working and traveling on a showboat wouldn’t have time for a little bitty baby.
This wasn’t the first time she’d ever wondered if a guest could be the woman who’d arrived in a storm, given birth to her alone in Bungalow 28, wrapped her in pink flannel, and then vanished.
But this was the first time that little voice inside her said Miss Carlotta DiSalvo had to be her real mama.
CHAPTER TEN
IVY
Thursday, January 20, 2022, 3:45 p.m.
By the early afternoon, Ivy had cabin fever. She had tended to Libby and the pups, cleaned out the closet in her old bedroom, and carried a dozen stackable end tables, four PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED signs, and six beach landscapes bordered in tarnished gold frames to the curb. She taped a new FREE sign on them and hoped it would bring magic her way.
With the Leica camera tucked in her purse, she slid behind the wheel of her van, now fully packed with items for the thrift store. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the one-story cinder block building and opened the back of her van. The first garbage bag she hefted from the back was overstuffed with hotel sheets and towels. She waddled to the front door, balanced the bag on her knee, and opened the door. Bells jingled above her head. A gray-haired woman behind the long front counter came around. “Honey, you can put that right over here.”
“Thanks.” She let the weight drop. “I’ve got a few more.”
“Getting ready for a renovation?” the woman asked.
“Selling the house,” she said.
“Well, this is the time to do it. It’s a buyer’s market. Where’s your property?”
“Remember the Seaside Resort?”
Her eyes grew wistful. “Sure. Ruth’s place.”
“I’m her granddaughter. I’m selling her cottage.”
“Ivy Neale?”
“Yes.”
“The last time I saw you, you were in high school.”
Ivy searched her memory and conjured vague recollections of working a charity fundraiser at the Seaside Resort. “We were raising money for this store.”
“That’s right. Ruth didn’t charge us a dime for the rental and refreshments.”
“Wow. That was kind of her.”
“She did that a lot. Hated it when people made a fuss.”
Ivy remembered now. Ruth had paid Ivy for working the event. “I didn’t realize.”
“My husband and I loved the Seaside Resort. We celebrated our anniversary there right up until last year. He loved the fried chicken.”
“Mrs. Cooper, right?”
The woman smiled. “Good memory.”
“You always asked for a table by the window.”
“We loved the view. Best in the area.” She leaned forward a fraction. “I thought the food was never the same after you left. Ruth was always bragging on your cooking. In New York City, right?”
She had assumed no one had noticed when she left the hotel kitchen. “That’s right.”
“Well, from what I remember of your cooking, you won’t have any trouble getting work. Maybe you should open a place here.”
“That’s an idea,” she said out of politeness.
When Mrs. Cooper began to speak, Ivy held up a hand. “Hold that thought. Be right back with more stuff.” She was out the door and soon back with two more bags. By the time she was finished, ten bags clustered around the desk.
The woman came around the corner. “What do you have here?”
“Lots of towels, table linens, and sheets from the Seaside Resort. They’re all in great shape. Some clothes. My grandmother saved everything.”
“Do you want a receipt?” Mrs. Cooper asked.
“No, thanks. Just hope they’re of some use. Ruth would have been glad to know they helped someone.”
“I’m not surprised she held on to all this. The Seaside Resort was her home. All this was her last connection to it. They’ll get good use at several of the shelters.”
Many of the items conjured up memories for Ivy. The napkins she’d folded each day before and after school, the bedspreads she’d smoothed with her hands when there was no one else to clean a bungalow room, and the banquet tablecloths she’d fluffed over round tables before a wedding or family reunion. All the stuffing, dragging, and hefting had been a walk down memory lane. “Is there a camera shop in the area?”
“Sure. It’s Bob’s Small Appliance Repair. No one really wants cameras anymore, but a few still get appliances repaired. He considers cameras small appliances. He’s at Milepost 10.”
“Just a few miles from here. Perfect.”
“You need a camera? I’ve plenty of used ones here.”
“Thanks, but no. I have one that belonged to Ruth. I think there’s film inside.”
Mrs. Cooper nodded. “A mystery. Keep me posted.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back. This only represents my old bedroom and part of Ruth’s room.”
“Ruth never did like anything to go to waste.”
Ivy thanked the woman and drove south the five miles until she spotted the small store in the strip mall. A red neon OPEN sign blinked in the window.
Out of the car, she stepped into the small shop filled with toasters, fans, microwaves, and leaf blowers all crammed together on the floor and shelves that lined the walls. She moved to a glass display case filled with cameras, watches, and decorative clocks. Behind it was a register and a curtained-off room.
She rang the small bell on the counter, and a stocky man with thinning black hair appeared from behind the curtain.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Hey, hoping you can help me. I’m Ivy Neale. Ruth Wheeler’s granddaughter.” She set the camera on the display case.
“Ruth. Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m Bob. Need the camera fixed?”
“I don’t know. I found this camera in her house.”
His gaze dropped to the camera. “A Leica? Looks old school.”
“I think so. I’m not sure if it’s broken, but I think there’s film inside.”
Accepting the camera, he inspected the photo counter on the top. “Ten pictures taken by the looks.”
“It was stashed under a bed. Not sure if the film inside is any good, but it’s gone this long without being developed; it’s worth a try.”
“I can do it. I have a makeshift darkroom. Still get the rare request to develop film.”
“That would be terrific.”
He turned the camera over and traced a calloused finger over the CD scratched in the metal. “Think maybe a guest left it behind?”
“No idea who CD is. But maybe if the pictures are salvageable, then I can figure it out.”
“We shall see,” he said with a grin. “You know if this camera was opened at any time, the film is ruined.”
“I know, but still worth a try. Do you need a deposit or a credit card?”
He removed scratch paper and a pen from a drawer. “Just write down your contact information, and I’ll call you when I have something.”
She wrote her name and number on the slip. “I appreciate it.”
“Anything for Ruth. Hell of a lady. When my house flooded in the winter of 2005, she let me stay in a bungalow for three weeks. Never charged me a dime.”
Ivy remembered the winter. Half their bungalows were full of local residents who’d also been flooded out. “Yes, she was.”
When she left the shop, it was four. She’d been gone less than an hour, so she had enough time to stop by the grocery store and get a few more provisions to replace the chucked cinnamon, oregano, and basil and also buy new paprika and red pepper flakes. If she was going to fry chicken, it needed a twist.
When she arrived at the market, she gathered the spices, two more bags of coffee, chew sticks for Libby, and two pounds of butter.
Once she reached the checkout, she got in line behind a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark-brown hair that curled over his shirt collar. He was buying a steak, potatoes, handfuls of fresh parsley and rosemary, and fixings for a salad. From her experience, men generally reached for the prepackaged goods, so she had to give him props.
She placed her groceries on the belt as the man stepped up to the register. When he turned, his profile shifted into full view. Her stomach knotted. It was Matthew Peterson, the high school boyfriend. Dani’s ex-husband. Shit. What were the chances?
She ran fingers through her hair, wishing she’d washed it, and considered backing up slowly and returning to the aisles as if she had forgotten something. Instead, she said, “Matthew?”
The man turned. At first, his eyes didn’t register any recognition, and then he grinned, shaking his head. There was no sign of bitterness or anger, but Matthew always found a smile when he wanted something. He’d have hugged her if her cart weren’t separating them. And considering she hadn’t showered today, no contact was a good thing.
Matthew had stayed in shape, not even a dad-bod paunch, and he was dressed in neat jeans, a gray sweater, and a leather jacket with the collar turned up. He had always rocked the bad-boy image.
“Ivy, I heard you were back. How the hell are you doing?”
“Doing great.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you. You have a very New York vibe. Edgy.”
“Or maybe grungy?”
“No. Not at all. You’re wearing the years well.” The checker tallied up his order, and he shoved his credit card into the machine. “I hear you’re selling Ruth’s place.”
“It has to be done.”
“The end of an era.”
“Life moves on.” She could not have dreamed up a better understatement if she’d practiced.
As the cashier bagged the items, Matthew’s full attention settled on her. “You look great.”
“Nice of you to say.” The years fell away, and she was right back in 2010. Crop tops, elastic bands to hold up her curly hair, and purple flip-flops summed up that decade, also known as the awkward years.
But in those days Matthew had had a way of making her feel good about herself. Ironically, his positive outlook had given her the courage to leave not only OBX but him as well. This return home was starting to feel like a study in past mistakes.
“I bet you have your hands full cleaning out the cottage,” he said. “Ruth squirreled away everything she could from the hotel.”
His description hinted that Ruth had somehow lost some of her faculties toward the end. “She was a Depression-era kid. She always hated throwing anything away.”
“I’m placing no blame. It’s hard losing what you love.”
The words carried unspoken pain Ivy didn’t like acknowledging. “Right.”
He loaded his bags into his cart as she stepped up to the cashier. As the items zinged past the scanner, she swiped her credit card. “What are you making?”
“Would you believe Ruth’s fried chicken?” she asked.
“Right before graduation, you swore you’d never fry up another piece of chicken again.” Matthew had endured her complaints of grease-spatter burns on her arms.
