Page 57 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

After a while, Delilah set her daughter up on the bed with her old-fashioned DVD player and the Annie movie. Almost instantly, she was asleep, the trip having caught up with her.

Which gave Delilah the opportunity to confront her grandmother, who had just finished the breakfast dishes and was sitting outside on the patio with her third cup of coffee, vaping away. The scent she emitted at the moment was something called Strawberry Smoke.

Delilah sat down with her, setting her own mug of coffee on the table. Before Delilah had a chance to launch into her, her grandmother said, “It’s a beautiful property. Has potential.”

“Yes, it does. With lots of hard work. And money, which I don’t have. Speaking of which . . .”

Ignoring her obvious reference to the money Delilah had sent her, part of which must have gone toward the purchase of that rattletrap of a car, her grandmother puffed away for a second, then mused, “Clyde always was a strange bird, even before he went off to ’Nam.”

“You weren’t close?” Obviously not, since Delilah could only remember that one visit when she was a child, and Gram never talked about him, spoke to him on the phone, or got any letters.

Her grandmother shook her head and blew more smoke. “He was a lot older than me, and he was a loner type. He did love the ocean, though. And Elvis.”

“You’d think, growing up in Atlantic City, that he would have settled there. Same ocean.”

“After the war, he seemed to need a more remote place. There was already talk of casinos coming to Atlantic City. I think he had an Army buddy who lived here on the Outer Banks.”

“So, Gram, what’s up? What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t a gal come to visit her granddaughter without having an excuse?”

“Bullshit!”

“I thought you were trying to cut down on the prison language.”

Delilah bristled. “People here don’t know about that, and I’d appreciate your not mentioning it.”

Her grandmother made a face and puffed some more on the damn e-cigarette, creating a strawberry cloud, before saying, “Don’t go getting your feathers ruffled. I may be old, but I’m no fool. I know when to keep my trap shut.”

“Did you give the loan shark any money at all?”

“Of course I did. Five thousand dollars! And that’s more than Sharkie deserved.”

“Sharkie?”

“That’s what everyone calls him. Boardwalk Bobby, remember him? He made a mint lugging people along the boardwalk in one of those rolling carts. Got a bent back and about a million bucks for all that work. Then, set himself up as a loan shark. So now he’s Boardwalk Sharkie.”

Why does every question put to my grandmother require a novel for an answer when a simple yes or no would do? And, please, I’m about to puke from all this strawberry vapor. “And he . . . Sharkie . . . was satisfied with half the loan being repaid?”

A pink flush infused her grandmother’s cheeks, mixing with the rouge that was already there. “No, but I told him I’d get the other five thou to him as soon as I could. Which would be on, let’s say, the fifth of Never. But, of course, I didn’t say that to him.”

“And that’s when you decided to skip town?”

“Yep. Just till things settle down a bit.”

“So, you’re not staying?”

“Are you kidding? A gal like me needs action. What kind of action is there in a burg like this?”

Delilah assumed she meant casino action. “Why did you bring all your Avon crap . . . I mean Avon collection . . . if you don’t intend to stay?”

“Are you kidding? Jimmy the Goon threatened to break every one of them with his new HurryCane. I tol’ Jimmy I would break his false teeth and kick him in the you-know-what if he touched any of my precious treasures. But I wasn’t taking any chances.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. She’d done that a lot in the past few hours.

“So, who’s the hottie?”

“The hottie is my boss, the one who owns the treasure hunting business.”