islands. Shallow pools riffled where scores of fish, mussels and shrimp swam.
And to my right sprawling live oaks and towering cypress trees glistening under the bright yellow sun seem to sway with the beat of the music. The skies were a clear, heavenly blue. I took in a breath and smelled the fresh air. A grin curled up the side of my lips.
Yes. This was going to work out fine.
I could just feel it.
Chapter Five
Thursday Afternoon, BGD
There was no boat from Augusta to Stallings Island. No ferry. No bridge. No nothing.
No one was allowed on the island, so no one provided a way to get there. There was, I was told, a shoal – a sandbank – that extended from the shore to the Island. From what I understood, I could just walk across it.
When I asked for directions to the shoal, I was told it was in Yasamee, a small – No. Very small – town just down the road “a piece.” “A piece” turned out to be twenty-five miles. Augusta and Stallings Island was only eight miles apart down the river, but they were twenty-fives miles apart over land.
I found my way to Yasamee easy enough. The town was built around a square. The center a wide green open space with park benches and a gazebo, and its four sides anchored with a movie theater, barber shop, diner and a library. I stopped at one end of it and scanned over each building looking for a hotel. Nothing.
I drove down the streets that dead ended at the square and found all of them lined with beautiful water hickory and tupelo trees and filled with vibrantly colored painted houses of Eastlake and Italianate styled architecture. It was like driving through the streets of a picture. I drove along the beach and saw a beautiful beachfront property. But there was no hotel in sight.
Then I spotted it. It was a quaint bed and breakfast, just like the ones in travel magazines on one of the last streets I drove down. The sign outside read “Maypop B & B.” Maypop was the edible fruit of the North American passion flower.
“Perfect,” I whispered.
From the outside the house looked enormous. It was white with black shutters framing an abundance of front windows. It had double oak doors and a wrap-around porch on the first and second story. I found a place to park right outside the house. Grabbing my knapsack, I strolled up the brick walkway past the verdant, perfectly manicured green lawn and pink azalea bushes, up the steps and onto the porch.
The tan, natural coir doormat read “Welcome” in big, bold black letters and that’s just how I felt.
Chapter Six
Thursday Around Suppertime, BGD
A bell, fitted to the top of the double oak doors, tinkled as I came in. I walked into a large foyer, its walls painted a rich cranberry ended at glossy, polished wood floors where a large round plush, patterned rug sat in its center. There was an oak staircase, and to the left of it an ornately carved wooden counter that blocked the entrance to a hallway that led to the back of the house. Off to the side was a large dining area that was filled with people.
The smell of something hot and sweet stopped me in my tracks.
What in the world is that?
Taking in the aroma, I turned toward the dining room and saw that everyone in there was looking at me.
“Hi.” A woman wended her way around tables and came to me with her hand stuck out. “I’m Renmar Colquett. Welcome to the Maypop.” She had a big, genuine smile on her face.
“Hi.” I said. “I’m Logan. Logan Dickerson. I wanted to get a room?”
“Oh that’s wonderful,” she said her eyes beaming. “Well, come on, let’s get you checked in. She looked over her shoulder, back into the dining area. “Brie, we have a guest.”
The person she called Brie came over and clapped her palms together. “Oh my. How nice,” she said, her smile just as big as Renmar’s.
“Her name’s Logan Dickerson,” Renmar said to Brie, then to me, “This is my sister, Brie Pennywell,” Renmar pointed to Brie, “and,” Renmar twisted her body from the waist to look around her. “Mother,” she called out, and “Mother” came from the hallway that was behind the counter, carrying a purse on her arm, and a wheaten Scottish terrier following behind her.
“And this is our mother, Vivienne Pennywell and her dog, Cat.” Renmar said. “But everyone calls