Part 13 (1/2)
”Dixiela . . . Olivia! Okay, darling girl, you know how I adore you, so I'm going to tell you this because I adore you . . .”
”What?”
”In its best interpretation Dixieland is a reference to a particular kind of New Orleans jazz music. In its worst, it's pejorative, referencing the South during slavery. Mammy and pappy standing by?”
”Oh no! I did not know that! I'll never say it again!”
”And we are moving to the Lowcountry. A very different animal.”
”Center of the universe. Got it.”
”Exactly!”
”Would you like to get a bite to eat? And then we can check out the apartment?”
”Sure! Let's walk over to Magnolia's.”
Over a BLT and a western omelet that bore no resemblance to the tender omelet she had enjoyed on Necker Island, they struggled to define their feelings. There was no question about it. Olivia was feeling morose, but so was Nick, and that was surprising to both of them.
”I have a theory about this,” Olivia said. ”Would you like a french fry?”
Nick reached across the table and took two enormous french fries from Olivia's platter.
”I don't know why I always say no when the waiter wants to know if I'd like to have fries on the side. Maybe it makes me feel virtuous.”
”Please,” Olivia said and grinned. ”Then you wind up eating mine!” She pushed the ketchup toward him.
”Well, this way we both indulge somewhat less. So? Your theory? Does it involve pillowcases?”
”No, Dr. Smarty Pants. It's relative to the concept of retirement.”
”I think I see where you're headed. This stage of life means there's a lot more road in our rearview mirror than there is through the winds.h.i.+eld.”
”Mortality. I hate to even think about it.”
”Yes. I thought I would be-I don't know-thrilled about retirement and relocating. I thought I'd feel like doing cartwheels! And while I'm profoundly happy to return to the island of my youth, I'm somehow sad too.”
”We have to find something for you to do. Besides cartwheels. You'll break a hip, and then what?”
”Funny. Well, I actually rang up the South Carolina Historical Society and had quite a nice chat with the executive director, a lovely woman named Faye. Jenson is her last name, I think. I offered to, you know, volunteer-cataloging or whatever they needed. She suggested that I come in first and see what they have in the collection, spend a few afternoons reading. So that's what I'm going to do.”
”Nick! That is an ingenious idea!”
He brightened up then.
”Yes. I think it is too. I mean, I've spent decades teaching history, and I'd bet you money that there are all sorts of stories in South Carolina's history I've never heard about. I'll bet they have old Civil War diaries and maybe even Revolutionary War correspondence. Who knows what all they've got?”
”Well, if I know you, you'll get in there and find the scandals and the secrets,” Olivia said, and saw the sparkle she loved return to Nick's beautiful eyes. ”And then we'll have things to talk about at every dinner party in Charleston! We'll be the new darlings in town.”
”I certainly hope so! And maybe I'll write a book about my discoveries and become famous in my . . .” Nick was loath to use the words old age in reference to himself.
”How about sabbatical years?”
”Yes, I like the sound of that much better.”
The waiter unceremoniously slapped the check on their table.
”Nick?”
”Hmmm?” Nick was checking the math and calculating the tip.
”Everything is going to be all right.”
”Yes. I know. It's a new chapter, not the final chapter.” Nick slipped a five and a one-dollar bill under the saltshaker. ”This omelet and sandwich just cost us thirty-six dollars. Including the tip. I won't miss that!”
”You and me, Nick, just we two. I love you so.”
Nick looked up and smiled so warmly at Olivia that she felt the warmth inside her heart.
”I love you too,” he said. ”Olivia?”
They had probably professed their love for each other thousands of times over the years, but neither one of them ever tired of hearing it said.
”Yes?”
”I miss the submarine.”
”Oh, my dear sweet man. You can't say I didn't warn you. Their life is very addictive.”
”You know the whole Gatsby 'the rich are different' thing?”
”Of course!”
”Well, they are. And Bob is a handful. But it's not necessarily a bad thing all the time.”
”Well, the nice part is that Bob is fiercely loyal to his friends and colleagues. From where I sit, I don't particularly care if he's arrogant or bombastic. I'm not his wife. I'm his interior designer.”
”That's right, missy. Let there be no confusion about that!”
”Very funny. I've had clients who were just as arrogant and bombastic and they didn't pay their bills or they reneged on their contracts. Bob pays his bills.” Her stomach began to hurt.
”An important feature in the relations.h.i.+p.”
”You have no idea.”
They paid their check and decided to walk down Park Avenue toward the office just to see the flowers. The medians were planted with thousands of pink begonias at their peak. The air was warm but surprisingly pleasant for a June day that could have been sweltering. They held hands and crossed the side streets. A breeze laced with the sweet smell of summer greens mixed with a trace of something more elemental drifted from east to west in a whoosh the whole way across the island.
”I'll miss this,” Nick said, taking a deep breath and sighing. ”I'll wake up in the night longing for this!”
”What? The look of Park Avenue in bloom or the smell of fuel emissions?” Olivia said.