Page 27 of Gulfside Girls
Sure, Henry was thoughtful and handsome, but what she loved about Henry—and a few other owners here on this stretch of Haven Beach really—was that he got it. He wanted to hold the line with them.
The small mom-and-pop owners on Haven Beach stuck together because there weren’t many places in Florida left run by mom or pop, or Henry, as the case may be.
Big companies with names like General Capital Group, or Starworth LLC, or Sterling Industries owned most condos or restaurants. She wondered if there were any other places like Sea Turtle. The Florida they grew up in had mostly disappeared, she feared.
“I’m sweet? Flattery will get you a heavy pour of the wine!”
They both raised their glasses, and Henry poured for the three of them.
Henry sat in the sand. He was fit and, in his fifties, he was still young enough to get up and down off the ground. Didi probably could, but Jorge? No way right now.
In about twenty minutes, they’d probably be wishing for long sleeves, but right now, January in Florida, sunset was just warm enough to sit in t-shirts and be comfortable.
Didi let the view do what it did for her soul: calm it, center it. The horizon in front of them made her feel small, or rather, like her everyday worries were small. They were all a part of a great big world, and the phone bill or the laundry were tiny specks of nothing in the scheme of things. She felt the tension leave her body and looked at the sky.
The sun was bright orange, but the sky was pink.
“Oh, it’s a good one,” Jorge said.
Nearly every evening, they did this; sometimes just the two of them, sometimes their fellow Haven Beach residents joined them. When the complex was full, families, newlyweds, and every type of guest did the same.
Every sunset was different here. But each was beautiful.
Didi shifted in her chair. The fact was her worries were stronger than the laundry or a sunset. They weren’t dissolving fully, as they had in past seasons. She loved this life here. But they were in trouble. If they didn’t get some help or get stronger, they wouldn’t be able to keep Sea Turtle going. She needed a solution. Things had to change.
Jorge reached for her hand. He knew she was fretting, even though she hadn’t said a word.
His hand on hers calmed her. That was the important thing. The two of them. Their family.
This would all work out.
“What can possibly be wrong when you’re looking at this view?”
“Amen, Didi, amen,” Henry replied.
She hoped Jorge would be stronger tomorrow. She had to have faith that they’d come up with a solution for all the work that needed to be done here.
Didi had no idea that the Law Firm of Louie Michalak of Michalak, Perne, and Janco had called half a dozen times only to hear the message that their phone wasn’t connected.
Eleven
Ali
An overnight stop in North Georgia was all she needed. Ali had made the drive by herself in two days, spending one night at the Hampton Inn.
She’d experienced the wonder of Buc-ees in Richmond, Kentucky, and the terror of a sketchy 2 am, ill-selected rest stop in Tennessee. But she’d crossed the state line in Florida at 5 pm, and as she traveled toward the Gulf and Mangrove County, there was still a little daylight to go.
On day two, she’d traded her oversized turtleneck and leggings for a cotton blouse and, well, leggings. But she was able to fold up her down-filled parka and shove it under her suitcases in the back of the Jeep.
“No need to see you for a few days!”
The warm air in February was a novelty. She was so used to being frozen to the bone. She was so used to layers and having to scurry to get back inside this time of year. But here, even at the gas station, she was taking deep breaths and embracing the air instead of bracing against it.
“Why do I live where the air hurts again?” she asked no one in particular.
I-75 was easy, but as she neared Haven Beach, she gripped her steering wheel and turned her music down so she could hear the signs. Sure, that was an oxymoron, but she didn’t want to get lost. Ali followed the GPS instructions. US-41, Tamiami Trail, Manatee County, each road getting smaller and slower.
After she crossed over the Manatee River, she really started to feel the difference between driving around Tampa or Orlando and what it felt like here. Could the ocean call you? It felt like that was happening. Or else she just had been behind the wheel too long and needed to stretch her legs. Maybe both were true.
