The Notorious Mrs. Wright

“That’s too bad. But much of this information is readily available if you know where to look.”

Tom perked up. “Really? Tell me how.”

EMMA WOULD REMEMBER this afternoon as close to perfect. After the boat ride, Whit retrieved his rental car from his motel and took her out to Anastasia Island. He made her climb all one hundred and ten of the circular steps of the lighthouse, and then coerced another tourist into taking a photograph of them together at the top.

After, they visited the public pier, since he said fishing was one of his favorite pastimes. They sat on the concrete seawall and talked. She asked if he’d been out on one of the charter boats yet.

“A few days ago.”

“Which one?”

“Uh…The Blue…something or other.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“I don’t know of one with blue in its name.”

“I could be wrong.”

A couple of hours later, they drove back to the mainland and parked behind the restaurant, then strolled Saint George’s pedestrian walkway, shopping for gifts for his seven nieces and nephews.

Ignoring her pleas not to, he picked a hibiscus flower to put behind her ear and bought silly matching T-shirts with cartoon fish on them that read I’m Hooked on Saint Augustine. He insisted they both had to put them on over their clothes and have another photo taken.

After dark he fed her ribs and took her on a carriage ride through downtown. The slow clop-clop of the horse’s hooves on the street as they rode along was as soothing as soft music.

“You’ve asked about me,” she said, “and now it’s my turn. You’ve told me hardly anything about yourself.”

“Not much to tell. I was born in Lansing. I work with my dad in the office. My sisters live nearby so weekends tend to be a family affair with all of us getting together at my parents’ house. I like to play golf and watch football.”

“And fish.”

“Yeah, and fish. I inherited that gene from my dad.”

“Tell me about your mom. What’s she like?”

“She’s great. She sells real estate, loves antiques and asks me at least once a day when I’m going to do my part to add to her pool of grandchildren.”

“You’ve never been married?”

“No, and I can’t say I’ve ever even been serious about a woman. I work long hours, and it’s hard to sustain a relationship. What about you? Why haven’t you remarried?”

“I never met anyone I liked well enough to spend my life with. And I have a son to consider. His welfare and happiness always come first with me.”

“He’s a lucky kid.”

She smiled. “I’m the lucky one. Being both mother and father has been hard at times, but having a child has been the best part of my life.”

“Can I ask how your husband died?”

“His unit was training off the coast of California at night. The navy said his equipment must have malfunctioned, because he didn’t make the rendezvous. They never found his body.”

“Damn, that’s rough.” He smoothly put one arm around her shoulder and reached over with the other to take her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Emma didn’t mind.

“How old was your son when his father died?”

“Tom wasn’t born yet. I’d only just found out I was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Tell me about your son. How old is he and what’s he like?”

“He’s talented, smart, handsome and inquisitive, but I guess all mothers think that about their children. For a seventeen-year-old, he’s also remarkably self-sufficient. I guess he’s had to be, with me working nights most of his life. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about leaving him alone anymore, now that we live above the restaurant.”

“His name is Tom? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes, John Thomas. He’ll be a senior in high school this year.”

“So you named him for his father?”

The question confused her for a moment. Memories of her little brother nearly closed up her throat. She wondered if J.T. thought of her as often as she thought of him.

“No, my husband’s name was William. I named Tom for…well, a little boy I cared very much for as a child.”

“A relative?”

“No, a friend.”

“Where’s Tom tonight? Will he worry about you not being at work?”

“No, he’s with his friend Tony Parker. I’m sure they’re off somewhere attempting to woo women. That seems to be their primary mission this summer.”

He chuckled. “I remember those years well. Wooing women was always my goal on a Saturday night.”

“How old are you, Whit?”

“Thirty-six.”

Oh, dear. He was even two years younger than her real age.

The carriage finished its loop and dropped them off at eleven-thirty on the bay front across from Illusions. Whit walked her around back, where the double doors were still open and the light barely illuminated the small parking area for staff. The restaurant had closed at eleven but, from inside, the clash of dishes and voices signaled that everyone was still cleaning up.