Chapter 2
I followed his rusty jeep, feeling like a donkey pulling a cart with a carrot dangling in front of it. I was getting overly tired but willed myself to keep the pace. The drive was a good ten minutes from his office. The island was bigger than I had originally thought. The salt air cleansed my lungs, as the nearly noontime sun danced across the lucid ocean surface. We passed Beecher’s Marina. The pier was very long and from the quick glimpse I took, looked full of fishermen. To my surprise, the part of the island that we were driving down was sparsely populated. The cottages were scattered with sand dunes separating them. I found myself smiling gleefully. It had been years since I had taken time away from life’s steady pace. An island getaway was the perfect solution to my problems and what the doctor prescribed.
Finally, Wade pulled into the driveway of a beautifully constructed beach house. I was speechless; this couldn’t be the place as it was not a cottage—it was a mansion There was no way that I would be able to afford this. I might be a popular novelist, but lately my finances were strained. The ivory two-story house was raised up on piles, giving it a three floor effect. “Irish Pirate” was etched on a piece of driftwood and nailed to the second level front deck. I was amazed at the amount of French windows all around the house, as hurricanes were notorious in this stretch of North Carolina. A pirate flag with skull and cross bones flew cavalierly from the highest peak. The space underneath the piles was covered with concrete and used as a garage by a huge white four-wheel drive truck, most likely belonging to the owner of the place.
Wade jumped out of the jeep. Opening my car door, he offered me his hand, as I continued to stare open mouth at the magnificent place. He grinned, “Do you like it?”
“It’s a mansion and so bravura. I don’t think that I’ll be able to afford this, Wade,” I said, sadly.
His grin got bigger, as he answered, “That’s the beauty of the whole situation. Perry’s going rent it to you for the same price as the other place. Now, come on, honey. Time for a tour.” He held my hand as if I was a child, urging me along.
I could barely make it up the stairs to the first level and was grateful for Wade’s hold on me. He rambled on about how much I was going to love the place. Blocking him out, I concentrated on moving my weary body. The interior of the cottage was immaculate and professionally decorated, pleasing to the eye.
The first level had a kitchen and dinette area with a sliding glass door that opened to a deck. The floor was made of Spanish tile in a green moss color. There was a small bedroom right off the living room area, which held a large screen TV and an elaborate entertainment center with a stereo sound system. The long couch was luxurious beige, which complimented the abundance of wicker chairs and end tables. The coffee table had an array of various magazines from sports to beauty/fashion. Down the little hall was a bedroom with a walk in closet and full bath. The décor was more feminine, a modest rose pink color scheme. It was charmingly decorated. As I glanced at the queen-sized bed, I longed for a nap.
On the upper floor was a huge master bedroom. The massive heavy oak furniture intimidated me. The bed was king-sized with dark royal blue and burgundy colors on the comforter. There was a masculine blend within the room that seemed isolated in the quaintness of the whole beach house. Assaulted by subliminal testosterone messages, I felt as if I were stepping into a foreign territory the brief time we were in the room. The master bedroom also possessed a sliding glass door that opened onto the second level deck. Wade showed me the recreation room where the hot tub was located. I blocked out the rest of the tour as I tried to keep focused on moving. I felt as if I would faint at any moment.
Wade ushered me onto the first level deck, which faced the gray ocean. The deck had a stairwell that started at the bottom of a wooden walkway almost like a pier, going past a smaller cottage, which housed a sailboat under a shelter on its left side. It ended with a series of steps leading, no doubt to the beach. I assumed that this cottage was the “boat house” that Wade kept referring to. A series of expletives rang from an area close to the sailboat.
He called out, “Ahoy there, Perry!” Three sea gulls with black heads flew by laughing, as he called again. “Ahoy, there!”
A tall man emerged from behind the sailboat with a wrench in his hand. The late morning sun glinted off his tanned sweaty muscular chest. I briefly thought, “This man wears sweat better than most men wear expensive cut Italian suits.” As we stood looking down at the 6-foot tall shirtless man with dirty blonde hair, he struck the side of the sailboat with the wrench. Wearing faded denim shorts and sneakers, he waved the wrench in a salute to Wade’s avid greeting. The intense sun shone brightly from behind him. I couldn’t see his face because of the glare, but I felt the sharp hawk-like look that he gave us.
I suddenly found my world starting to fade as I tried to steady myself by holding onto the rail of the deck. My vision clouded. With my ears ringing, I fainted, as my weakened body finally gave out.
Finally, Wade pulled into the driveway of a beautifully constructed beach house. I was speechless; this couldn’t be the place as it was not a cottage—it was a mansion There was no way that I would be able to afford this. I might be a popular novelist, but lately my finances were strained. The ivory two-story house was raised up on piles, giving it a three floor effect. “Irish Pirate” was etched on a piece of driftwood and nailed to the second level front deck. I was amazed at the amount of French windows all around the house, as hurricanes were notorious in this stretch of North Carolina. A pirate flag with skull and cross bones flew cavalierly from the highest peak. The space underneath the piles was covered with concrete and used as a garage by a huge white four-wheel drive truck, most likely belonging to the owner of the place.
Wade jumped out of the jeep. Opening my car door, he offered me his hand, as I continued to stare open mouth at the magnificent place. He grinned, “Do you like it?”
“It’s a mansion and so bravura. I don’t think that I’ll be able to afford this, Wade,” I said, sadly.
His grin got bigger, as he answered, “That’s the beauty of the whole situation. Perry’s going rent it to you for the same price as the other place. Now, come on, honey. Time for a tour.” He held my hand as if I was a child, urging me along.
I could barely make it up the stairs to the first level and was grateful for Wade’s hold on me. He rambled on about how much I was going to love the place. Blocking him out, I concentrated on moving my weary body. The interior of the cottage was immaculate and professionally decorated, pleasing to the eye.
The first level had a kitchen and dinette area with a sliding glass door that opened to a deck. The floor was made of Spanish tile in a green moss color. There was a small bedroom right off the living room area, which held a large screen TV and an elaborate entertainment center with a stereo sound system. The long couch was luxurious beige, which complimented the abundance of wicker chairs and end tables. The coffee table had an array of various magazines from sports to beauty/fashion. Down the little hall was a bedroom with a walk in closet and full bath. The décor was more feminine, a modest rose pink color scheme. It was charmingly decorated. As I glanced at the queen-sized bed, I longed for a nap.
On the upper floor was a huge master bedroom. The massive heavy oak furniture intimidated me. The bed was king-sized with dark royal blue and burgundy colors on the comforter. There was a masculine blend within the room that seemed isolated in the quaintness of the whole beach house. Assaulted by subliminal testosterone messages, I felt as if I were stepping into a foreign territory the brief time we were in the room. The master bedroom also possessed a sliding glass door that opened onto the second level deck. Wade showed me the recreation room where the hot tub was located. I blocked out the rest of the tour as I tried to keep focused on moving. I felt as if I would faint at any moment.
Wade ushered me onto the first level deck, which faced the gray ocean. The deck had a stairwell that started at the bottom of a wooden walkway almost like a pier, going past a smaller cottage, which housed a sailboat under a shelter on its left side. It ended with a series of steps leading, no doubt to the beach. I assumed that this cottage was the “boat house” that Wade kept referring to. A series of expletives rang from an area close to the sailboat.
He called out, “Ahoy there, Perry!” Three sea gulls with black heads flew by laughing, as he called again. “Ahoy, there!”
A tall man emerged from behind the sailboat with a wrench in his hand. The late morning sun glinted off his tanned sweaty muscular chest. I briefly thought, “This man wears sweat better than most men wear expensive cut Italian suits.” As we stood looking down at the 6-foot tall shirtless man with dirty blonde hair, he struck the side of the sailboat with the wrench. Wearing faded denim shorts and sneakers, he waved the wrench in a salute to Wade’s avid greeting. The intense sun shone brightly from behind him. I couldn’t see his face because of the glare, but I felt the sharp hawk-like look that he gave us.
I suddenly found my world starting to fade as I tried to steady myself by holding onto the rail of the deck. My vision clouded. With my ears ringing, I fainted, as my weakened body finally gave out.
penned by Painter Lady at 9:58 PM
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