Josephine shrugged, then stripped off her undergarments. She stretched her arms overhead. She unpinned her long hair and shook it out so that it fell down her back and across her bare chest. A moment later, she ran toward the ocean and plunged into the waves.
“Wait for me,” Ruth called. She gulped the rest of her champagne and peeled out of her panties and bra, then raced toward the waves, screaming at the top of her lungs.
For the next ten minutes the two women laughed and splashed, wading out of the water, then running back and diving into the waves, letting the current pull them out before paddling back toward the beach.
Finally, Josephine and Ruth headed back to their friends, who sat watching from the blanket.
“You’ve got to come in the water,” Josephine insisted. “It’s wonderful!” She shook her head like a dog, spraying salt water over Millie and Varina.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Millie said, drying her face with one of the towels. “I’m fine right where I am, thank you very much.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Josephine said. She pulled Millie to her feet. “Why are you suddenly being so bashful? You didn’t mind skinny-dipping at Nantucket, or Palm Beach, or here last year.”
“That’s right, Millie,” Ruth chimed in. She tugged at the cuff of her friend’s gauzy long-sleeved jacket. “Come on. You’ve got to be suffocating in this thing.”
Josephine caught the end of the silk scarf wound around Millie’s neck and began to unwind it, and in the meantime, Ruth had managed to strip away Millie’s jacket and was pulling at the waistband of her skirt.
“Don’t!” Millie said, swatting at her friends’ hands, which made them more determined to help her disrobe. “I don’t feel like swimming. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You know the rules. One swims, we all swim. Naked as the day we were born,” Josephine said, giggling. “You too, Varina. It’s your initiation into the High Tide Club.”
The fourteen-year-old hugged her skinny legs tightly to her chest, her arms wound around them. “No, ma’am,” she said firmly. “I changed my mind. I don’t wanna be in your club.”
Josephine managed to pull the scarf free but froze when the moonlight revealed the ring of ugly blue-black bruises encircling Millie’s neck, and the corresponding bands of bruises on Millie’s now-exposed upper arms and wrists.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Millie’s lightweight skirt fell away from her waist just at that moment. Ruth gasped and pointed. “Jo, look.”
Fingerprints, in the form of bruises, marred the creamy skin of their friend’s upper thighs.
Weeping softly, Millie sank down onto the blanket, clutching her clothes to her body.
“Russell! He did this, didn’t he?” Josephine wrapped her arms around her friend. “Oh, Millie. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Instead of answering, Millie reached for the whiskey bottle. She uncapped it and gulped down three fingers of the amber liquid, then handed it to Varina. The girl considered the bottle, shrugged, and took a swig.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Ruth whispered. “I will. I swear it.”
19
Brooke felt guilty. It was Sunday afternoon. She was making the forty-five-minute drive north to Sea Island, and she was almost delirious with the sense of freedom. She had the Volvo’s radio cranked to the max, and she was singing along to Journey. Or maybe it was the Eagles. She didn’t know and didn’t care.
The weather had cooled a little overnight, but the sun was high, and the sky was a brilliant blue. She rolled the car window down and inhaled the scent of marsh mud and diesel fuel from passing trucks as she drove north on U.S. Route 17.
She couldn’t really say why she felt so happy this morning.
Maybe Marie’s extended visit was the source of her contentment. Her mother had visited before, but this was the first time she’d stayed more than twenty-four hours. And it was definitely the first time Brooke had revealed the truth about her son’s father to anybody. It was a huge relief to finally share all her bottled-up emotions. Talking openly about Pete had dredged up emotions she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since Henry’s birth.
But for now, Brooke needed to figure out Josephine Warrick’s dilemma. How could she hope to fight the state on this condemnation issue when muchmore experienced Atlanta lawyers who specialized in this issue hadn’t been able to fend off the taking of Josephine’s island?
Josephine didn’t have much time left, and the state’s lawyers were obviously aware of that. They could easily keep stonewalling until the old woman was dead. Brooke tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of the car, her mind ticking off all the nuances of this case. Josephine Warrick wasn’t the least bit loveable, but you had to admire her determination and her dogged, if late-breaking, sense of loyalty to her oldest friends.
The issue of the High Tide Club girls whom Josephine wanted to leave the island to was another matter. If Marie was going to be a beneficiary of Josephine’s estate, there was no way Brooke could have anything to do with it. Maybe Gabe Wynant would be willing to take on that piece of work.
Crossing the Torras Causeway to St. Simon’s Island, Brooke glanced over at the cell phone on the passenger seat. Marie hadn’t called. There were no emergencies. Life was okay.
Brooke easily navigated the road to Sea Island. She’d been coming here since childhood with her parents on mini-vacations to the Cloister, which was the island’s five-star resort, and with friends whose families owned homes here.
