Page 54 of The Forever Christmas Tree

“I remember.” Everything. “And you’re right. Our kind of friendship was too special to lose. Hell, Wendy, I know you better than anyone in the world, or I did.” He laughed. “Do you still sneeze three times in a row, never more, never less?”

She nodded. “And you always comb your fingers through your hair when you’re nervous.”

Like now. He deliberately folded his hands into a single fist on his lap. “You love broccoli. Yuck! But can’t stand corn on the cob.”

“Yep. Gets stuck in my teeth.” She grinned, enjoying the memory game. “You could live on ribs with Maybelle’s Southern Barbecue Sauce. And hamburgers, medium rare, with mushrooms and fried onions.”

“Your pinky toe on your right foot is stunted.”

“It’s not stunted!” she declared with mock affront. “Just a little stubby.”

He smiled. “Your favorite color is green. You wear a size eight shoe.” And you squeak when you’re about to climax.

She smiled back at him, and he suspected she’d just had a similar intimate reminder about him. Instead, she said, “It’s good to just kid around like this with you. I’ve missed that.”

I’ve missed you, he thought. More than I realized. This is dangerous, dangerous territory. Quicksand for the soul! Before he did something really stupid, like pull her over onto his lap and kiss her silly, he stood and held out his hand to her. “C’mon. Let’s show those amateurs the way the shag should be done.”

And that’s just what they did.

The shag originated in the 1940s along the Atlantic Ocean strands between Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and Wilmington, North Carolina. Perfected over the years, especially by teens with their beach music, it was like a jitterbug, but smooth, with no bouncing, the emphasis on the footwork. Every Southern boy and girl knew the basic steps.

To “Sixty Minute Man,” he and Wendy demonstrated how the six-count, eight-step pattern could be perfected by two people who knew each other’s bodies so well they anticipated and complemented each other’s moves. They were laughing as hard as everyone else when the song was over. The best part was Cassie staring at him with wide open eyes and parted lips, totally impressed that her dad wasn’t as much of an old fogey as she’d thought.

After that, Mildred went into the kitchen to get a tray of cookies Wendy was preparing for Cassie, along with some ginger chai, not tie, tea bags. Ethan talked a little bit with Harry Carder, the retired financial consultant, who’d given him much advice over the years in improving his business plan. Gloria Solomon, the longtime Bell Cove librarian, reminded him of how he’d had a passion for books about animals when he was young. He’d heard that Ms. Solomon was getting Alzheimer’s, but she seemed okay today. After that, he walked over to the dining room table where JAM and one of the other SEALs, Geek he was called, were looking over some maps.

“Treasure maps?” Ethan asked, jokingly.

“Exactly. Geek is thinking about buying out a New Jersey treasure-hunting company that has the rights to salvage these three ships off the Carolina coast.”

Ethan glanced at the maps and said, “I know those names. The Three Saints . . . the St. Martha, the St. Cecilia, and the St. Sonia. Seems to me there was some news story a year or two ago about the competition among various companies to get the licensing rights to this site. There was some ill-feeling from local outfits who felt they should have gotten favored treatment.”

“Could be,” Geek said. “Are you familiar with this section of the ocean?”

“A little.” Ethan studied the map. “The shoals out there can be wicked under the best of circumstances, but during or after a storm, the shifting sandbars have sunk many a ship. Add to that, you have two strong ocean currents that collide near Cape Hatteras. As the ocean settles to its natural level, after a hurricane or even a regular nor’easter, no evidence is left behind. On the surface anyhow.”

“The company in question does more than shipwreck salvaging. Treasure hunting of all kinds. But this particular project would be a start,” JAM explained.

Ethan knew lots of shipwreck salvors. Mostly they were a crazy lot. Dreamers at heart. Gamblers to the bone.

“And you would operate out of New Jersey?” Ethan asked.

“Nah. We could locate a headquarters anywhere,” Geek said.

“Even here on the Outer Banks?” Ethan asked, having a sudden inspiration.

“I suppose, but the land prices would be too high for purchase, and building rentals—especially a warehouse on a harbor—would be cost prohibitive,” Geek explained.

“Not necessarily,” Ethan mused.

The other guys, including K-4, the third SEAL, and Wendy, who’d just come back from the kitchen, all stared at him.

“Are you going to The Bell party tonight?” he asked Wendy.

She hesitated, probably thinking that he was back to the “screwing for closure” notion. “Yes.”

“Good. Are you bringing your friends?”

She nodded, still not sure where he was going with these questions.