Page 33 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Harry continued to play his card game while they talked.

Merrill took another sip of his beer, a smaller one this time, before asking, “How did you know she was ‘the one’?”

“We were students at Georgetown. It was love at first sight for me. Not so much for Julia.” He chuckled at some memory. “Julia had, in fact, been engaged to another fellow at the time.”

“So, how’d you convince her that you were the better catch?”

“I made an absolute fool of myself, that’s how,” he said with another chuckle.

Merrill perked up at that word. “Really? How?”

“Maybe today I’d be accused of harassment, but I just wouldn’t give up.”

“And it worked?”

“Yep.”

“Not that I did anything aggressive or slimy. Persistence, that’s the key.”

“And the willingness to play the fool?”

“Small price to pay for ‘the one,’ wouldn’t you say?”

Merrill suspected that Harry’s words were targeted at him. He knew that was the case when Harry remarked later, “What fool bought that tacky Elvis over at Lilah’s diner?”

Chapter 8

Tarantism: the uncontrollable urge to dance (and not a spider in sight) . . .

Delilah was happy.

And that surprised her. She hadn’t realized that she’d been unhappy. And maybe she hadn’t been unhappy, precisely. Not since she’d been released from prison five months ago, anyhow. Just joyless, if that made sense.

The mayor of Bell Cove, Doreen Ferguson, had talked Merrill into having a launch ceremony at noon; so, they were all biding their time with little makeshift jobs until then, anxious to get going. As Delilah stored the last of the supplies she’d purchased in the boat’s kitchen, she wondered what had made a difference in her mood. Was it satisfaction over the work she’d done the past few days, both on her own diner/motel project as well as on the Sweet Bells boat in preparation for the Three Saints treasure hunt? Was it the knowledge that she would soon have her daughter living with her? Was it hope-turned-conviction that her life was finally taking a turn for the good? Was it simple excitement over the launch of the salvaging venture today? Or was it Merrill Good himself who made her happy?

Whatever!

She turned up the volume on the radio that sat on the counter, tuned to a South Carolina classic rock station, and found herself dancing in place to that old Bob Seger classic, “Old Time Rock and Roll.”

“Now that’s what I like to see . . . a dancing cook,” Bonita said, as she came down the hatchway. “But, honey, you need a little more sass in your ass, Spanish style.” She set her designer overnight case on the floor and danced her way toward Delilah in a combination boogie and salsa, with, yes, some ass sass thrown in.

Delilah moved from behind the counter to meet Bonita in the middle of the salon, where they both rolled their arms and shoulders, swayed their hips, and shook their booties, in perfect rhythm, while they belted out the lyrics to the old favorite. If they’d been wearing socks rather than rubber-soled sneakers, they probably would have added in a Tom Cruise sock slide à la Risky Business. When the song ended, they were both laughing.

And Charlie, who must have followed Bonita, stood at the bottom of the steps, her jaw dropped in astonishment. A duffel bag lay on the floor at her feet. “Holy crawfish! Is this the kind of trip this is going to be?”

The radio was now playing Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way,” and Bonita shimmied her way over to Charlie, giving her a hip bump. “C’mon, Charlie, loosen up. You’re Cajun, aren’t you? I hear Cajuns have an extra gene for dancing.”

“Don’t pick on Charlie,” Delilah told Bonita. “She’s probably shy.”

“Fools!” Charlie said, encompassing them both, and then she did a perfect imitation of a Steven Tyler strut across the room with a hip wiggle tossed in.

Delilah was seeing the two women in a different light, and she liked what she saw. Maybe they would become—horror of horrors!—friends.

“So, this is where the fun people are hanging out.”

They all turned to see the latest entrant into the cabin. It was Laura Atler, editor of the weekly newspaper, The Bell, who had been bird-dogging all the members of the salvaging team this week, working on an article about Bell Cove’s newest enterprise. Delilah had managed to avoid an interview for obvious reasons. No publicity was good publicity for an ex-con. Delilah suspected that Charlie felt the same way, for her own personal reasons. Not so much Bonita, who seemingly had nothing to hide.

The DJ on the radio was speaking, now that the Aerosmith song had ended. “But we can’t be talking old rock in the middle of the summer without mentioning beach music. No, I’m not talking the Beach Boys and the West Coast. Nope, we folks in the Carolinas know what beach music really means.” And the song “Carolina Girls” came on.