Summer of Denial

I entertained a brief vision of Vandi and crew efficiently loading it back into the bed of the beat-up pickup. I knew Helena would do at least that much for me—arrange to have it returned to New York, to Charlie's apartment. I knew I could count on her continued affection.

Slipping out of the front door, I briskly walked to where the path started from the fringe of the garden to the landing where the tourist boats departed. I knew if I hurried, I could catch the boat returning to Savannah. From there, it was a relatively fast plane hop back to New York. I had more than just the clothes on my back. I had credit cards.

I made it to the dock just in time. They were pulling the gangplank into the boat as I arrived and, with free and lazy "whatever" smiles, paused long enough for me to board. There weren't many tourists on this trip. There were seats lining the wall of the cabin and facing the sides of the boat, but I had the urge to hide—to hide from Daufuskie island and all of the denial it had stripped from me.

I moved to the door into the cabin, reached by three steps down into the well of the ship. I saw them instantly, but they didn't see me, and I drew back. The three of them were sitting close together, Tish in the middle, both Vandi and the boat captain half turned to her from either side, their hands groping her intimately, lost in each other, not caring who was watching them.

I settled on a bench outside and watched Daufuskie Island slip away. The summer of my denial had already slipped away as well. I only hoped that Charlie had waited for me. I found myself chuckling. In light of what I'd just seen in the boat's cabin, dear old Helena and Damien were about to have their summer of denial irrevocably stripped away as well. Tish's suitcase had been sitting on the deck in front of her knees.