Riley gave her daughter a light kiss on the cheek. “That’s very sweet, Mags. Unfortunately, it’s too late. He’s a nice man, but the timing is all wrong.”
* * *
She called Billy but there was no answer. A minute later, he called back. “Are you coming this weekend? Mama’s all worked up about closing the house for the season.”
“I’m on the ferry, about to dock now. Can you come pick us up?”
“Now? I was kind of in the middle of something. Can’t you call Mama? Or just take the shuttle?”
“I could, but I really need to talk to you about something pretty important. So, can you come?”
* * *
They waited at the curb at the loading area for ten minutes before Billy Nolan zoomed up in his cart. He jumped out and hugged Maggy. “We’ve missed you!” he exclaimed. “How’s the new school?”
“That’s kind of a long story,” Riley said, as they loaded their luggage onto the cart. As they pulled away from the ferry dock he took a sip from his insulated tumbler, and Riley looked away, annoyed. She had a very good idea of what he’d been busy with when she called.
“What’s so important that you needed to talk to me about?” he asked.
“Guess what, Bebo? I quit my school,” Maggy said, temporarily removing her earbuds. “And Mom quit her job. And I’m going to school in Southpoint.”
“Whaaaat?”
“It’s true,” Riley said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She told him, in the broadest strokes, about the plan she’d drawn up for their future.
Billy listened, but looked skeptical. “It sounds fine, theoretically, but do you really think you’re up for something like this? I mean, your background is journalism, not real estate. And what’s Mama going to say?”
“I can do this, Billy. I know I can,” she said. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. And research. I’ve read up on small family-owned resort businesses like ours, and I’ve even talked to some people in the business. And who better to do it than me? I’ve loved this island my whole life, and I’ve watched Dad, and then Wendell running it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I need your help.”
“You think Mama is going to listen to me? Really? Hasn’t she bent your ear about how irresponsible and selfish I am?”
“I do think she’ll listen to you. You’re a part of this family, and you have a vote in how the business is run. Don’t you think I can do it?”
“I don’t know why you’d want to,” he said, sounding irritated. “The company is on the skids, if you haven’t noticed. Wendell gambled everything and lost big, and we’ve got all kinds of vacancies in the village. Cut your losses, Riley. Let somebody else deal with all the headaches.”
“There is nobody else,” she said heatedly. “Nobody else is going to have as much invested in Belle Isle’s future as we do. Please, Bebo? Back me up on this?”
He took another sip of his drink, jiggling the ice cubes absentmindedly. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try. Even though Mama stays on my last nerve.”
“About what?”
He jiggled the ice cubes again. “You know.”
Riley glanced at the backseat, but Maggy had her earbuds in again. “I hate to agree with her, but Mama’s got a point. I’m worried about you, Bebo.”
“Jesus!” he exploded. “First Scott, then Mama, now you. I wish all of y’all would just lighten up and leave me alone.”
“I don’t want to fight with you. When is Scott getting here?”
“Tomorrow, I guess.”
She decided not to pursue the matter. “Will you do me one more favor? Take Maggy and Mr. Banks back to the firehouse with you, and let me borrow this cart? I’m supposed to walk through a house today at two, and if it checks out, I’ll get the keys and we can start moving in right away.”
“You mean, this weekend? What about your furniture?”
“It’s fully furnished, with everything we need. I’ll leave most of my stuff in storage in Raleigh until I figure out our next move.”
“You got it,” he said.
* * *
At three, Riley pulled Billy’s cart up to the front steps at the Shutters. She found Evelyn in the kitchen, putting a bowl of chicken salad in the refrigerator.
“Riley!” she said, hugging her daughter. “When did you get in? Why didn’t you call?”
“I got in a little while ago. Billy was in the village, so he picked me up.”
“Where’s Maggy?”
“She’s with him.”
“Was he drinking?”
Her mother’s directness took Riley aback. She couldn’t ever remember her mother even vaguely mentioning Billy’s drinking before. But then, denial was Evelyn’s middle name. It had only been since W.R.’s death that Evelyn had publicly acknowledged that her son was gay and that Scott was something other than “a dear friend.”
“He had that plastic tumbler. I assume it wasn’t water,” Riley admitted.
“I’m so worried about that boy, I don’t know what to do,” her mother said, sinking down into a kitchen chair. “I think he might have a problem.”
Riley sat down at the table and took both of Evelyn’s hands in hers. She looked her mother directly in the eyes. “Mama, Billy is an alcoholic. We all know it. He knows it, but he won’t admit it. We have got to see that he gets help. But nagging at him or giving him the silent treatment won’t work.”
Evelyn nodded and bit her lip. “He’s been working again, you know. He played at a doctors’ convention in Charlotte, and a wedding in Charleston. Your brother has a real, God-given gift, Riley. He just needs to keep busy, that’s all.”
Riley took a deep breath. “Speaking of keeping busy, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
The kitchen door flew open and Roo walked in, holding up what looked like a small portable transistor radio.
“Evelyn!” she said excitedly. “I just got an alert on my weather radio. Brody is on the move. It’s over the Turks and Caicos right now, and they’ve got flooding and huge tides.”
“Mary Roosevelt Nolan, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Tropical Storm Brody,” Roo said. “It was just spinning away out there in the eastern Caribbean, but now Jim Cantore says the winds have shifted, and he says we’ve got a good chance of Brody being upgraded to a hurricane. Isn’t that exciting?”
“And just who is this Jim Cantore?”
“He’s the Weather Channel storm chaser, Mama,” Riley said. “Roo, does the radio say which direction the storm is headed now?”
“Oh, pooh,” Evelyn said. “Hurricanes. That always happens this time of year. Some silly low-pressure system dumps a lot of rain over one of those islands out in the middle of nowhere, and everybody starts to panic. Those things always peter out over Cuba or the Dominican Republic. And in the meantime, everybody on the coast gets all hot and bothered. For what? A little wind and rain? If you ask me, it’s all a ratings ploy for these television people.”