His head tips as he tries to understand. “What was the problem?”
“The company,” Paisley responds, tossing down the pen. “Have a nice night.”
Paisley strides out into the balmy evening. We’re nearly to the golf cart when someone calls her name.
She whips around, seeking out the voice in the lighted area strewn with golf carts.
A woman walks closer, her sandy brown hair pulled into a bun. She looks familiar, though I’m certain I’ve never met her. I notice Tag climbing from a cart and put it all together. This is Shane and Tag’s mom.
“So lovely to see you again, Rebecca,” Paisley says, arms open for a hug. She pulls away, saying, “This is Klein. My boyfriend.”
We shake hands, and I see where Shane got his eyes and nose. Tag, too. I offer him a wave as he strolls up behind his mom, and he does the same.
“It’s good to see you, Paisley. I always liked you.” She places a vertically held hand beside her mouth like she’s telling a secret. “Kind of weird that Shane’s marrying your sister.”
Paisley laughs. “Agreed.”
“Mom,” Tag gusts a sigh. “You promised you weren’t going to say stuff like that.”
“I promised not to say stuff like that toShane.”
Tag looks apologetically at Paisley. “I’ll have to rework the wording on that promise.”
Rebecca shrugs. “Too bad. No retro-fitting.”
Tag shakes his head. “We’re going to miss our reservation if we don’t get in there. I had to donate a kidney to get the ocean view.”
Rebecca hugs Paisley again. “Wouldn’t want that donation to be for nothing. Good to see you again, Paisley. Nice to meet you, Klein.”
They head inside, and Paisley hands me the keys to the cart. “Back to the house, but I don’t want to go inside. I want to sit on the beach and decompress before I face anybody.”
We arrive back at the place, but I ask Paisley to wait for me while I run inside and grab something. I’m back five minutes later with a glass Tupperware dish, two forks, and a bottle of wine.
Paisley claps her hands. “Is that cowboy spaghetti?”
Adopting a terrible twang, I say, “Sure is, darlin’.”
Paisley kisses my cheek. “All you need are boots and a hat. Klein the cowboy.”
She grabs a beach blanket from the second row of the golf cart, and we carry our haul out onto the beach.
“Another day gone.” Paisley plunks down on the blanket after she has spread it out.
I lay out the food and drink as she stares at the fraction of sun visible on the horizon. She grabs a fork and removes the top from the Tupperware, bending her head to inhale. “Smells just like I remember.” She twirls the fork and loads spun noodles on her utensil. She sighs happily while chewing, capping off her huge bite with, “Tastes like I remember, too.” She takes a few more bites and passes the container and fork to me.
While I eat, she says, “I wish they would all leave myhappy place alone. Why did my dad have to come here and bring all that up? Real life stays on the mainland. This island is for the good life, and the good life only. My sister shouldn’t be getting married here.”
I swallow. “Maybe it’s her happy place, too?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Always yours. But I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t offer ways to see or think of something differently.”
Paisley bumps me with her shoulder. “What’s the deal with your dad?”
I knew this was coming. I’ve only managed to avoid it this long because Paisley has been respectful of my boundary, careful to step back when she has sensed she came too close.
I set down the nearly-empty spaghetti container. Here we go. “Growing up, I had severe dyslexia.”
