‘Is that what you’re doing?’
‘I’ve been invited to Tybee Island on Saturday.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘You can come if you want.’ She said it as casually as she could, but she felt as if she had just flashed her breasts at him through the window. Other than when she had been in New York or Connor had come down for the weekend, she’d seen Jim most days, but it was the documentary that generally gave them an excuse to be together, and without it, the invitation of just a trip to the beach made her feel eager and exposed, even though she was sure he’d been fishing for an invite. ‘My friend Jeanne is getting a few people together. It will be fun and casual.’
‘Well, I’m all for witnessing great American traditions.’
‘We’re meeting at the beach at two. It’s about an hour’s drive away.’
‘Then how about I pick you up in the truck at one?’
Tybee Island was to the north of the city. Jennifer always thought of it as Savannah’s Coney Island, a bit faded, but with its own retro charm. It had a lighthouse and miles of golden sand, and thousands of ordinary families came here every summer to eat hot dogs and have fun. It was the sort of place that her mother disapproved of, just as Jennifer knew she would disapprove of her spending Labor Day weekend with Jim Johnson.
In the event, David Wyatt had announced that he was taking her mother off for lunch in the city. Their argument a few weeks earlier, when Sylvia had screamed at David and stormed out of the house, had not been mentioned again, but he had been working particularly long hours at the office ever since. Jennifer didn’t blame him for sometimes wanting to keep out of the house, but she had still been pleased when he had told her with a particularly mischievous wink that they were off out, ‘just the two of us’, as if relations between them had thawed.
She’d called Jim after they had gone, and his pickup truck pulled up outside Casa D’Or a few minutes later. Marion was having the entire weekend off to visit her parents in Augusta but had left the fridge stuffed with pies and salads, and marinated catfish that just needed to be griddled. Jennifer liberated some cornbread, cookies and cake from the pantry and smuggled the cool box loaded with beers out of the house.
She’d taken particular car
e with her appearance, telling herself it was difficult choosing something to wear when the weather might change. She had chosen white shorts and a yellow T-shirt and some leather sandals that she had picked up in the South of France the summer before. A waterproof windcheater was stashed in the straw basket that would get absolutely soaked if it decided to rain.
‘Where’s Connor this weekend?’ asked Jim as she got into the truck.
‘Being macho and volunteering to work. He says it’s very competitive at the firm. Apparently going into the office on Labor Day is going to give him a professional advantage.’
‘Something smells good.’ He grinned, changing the subject.
‘That will be Marion’s coconut cake,’ she said.
‘No, I think it’s your hair.’
‘I thought it was Southern gents who had all the charm.’
He gave her a mischievous glance across the cabin. Not for the first time, she felt a little flutter of something as he looked at her. She wasn’t sure what it was. Excitement. Promise. A frisson of guilt that they were spending so much time together. Whatever it was, Jennifer had become an expert on not dwelling on it. As an about-to-be-twenty-one-year-old woman, she was absolutely capable of having a very good-looking, fun and interesting male friend.
‘You do realise you’ve only got eleven days left of my sparkling company,’ Jim said as they headed north, music blaring from the cassette machine.
Jennifer stared out of the window and didn’t say anything for a few moments. It seemed as if they had talked about everything that summer: their likes, dislikes, hopes and fears, music, sailing, Boston and London – everything had been up for discussion except the fact that the Johnson family were shortly to fly home.
‘Why are you going back so early?’ she said as casually as she could. ‘You mentioned that you weren’t sure about going Interrailing any more but I thought college didn’t start for another month. Can’t you stay here?’
‘My ticket is non-refundable, non-transferable, non-changeable, which is another way of saying cheap, although not so cheap that my parents can afford to buy me another. Besides, the Sittenfields want their house back.’
She wanted to tell him there was another way. There was plenty of room at Casa D’Or, and a small trust fund kicking in on her twenty-first birthday in ten days’ time meant she would be able to buy him a replacement ticket home. It was the least she could do after all his help on her documentary.
But she was too embarrassed to suggest it.
‘My twenty-first party will have to be your unofficial send-off, then,’ she said, sounding more subdued.
‘You can do me a little speech and everything,’ he teased.
‘Sure. I was even thinking of a shower of confetti coming down from the sky with your name written on every petal.’
‘Very funny. How about you just buy me a drink tonight?’
‘There should be loads of beers at the beach party,’ she said, feeling her cheeks colour.