To the Beach and Back

Chapter 8

Andy arrives twenty minutes later, pedaling into the parking lot on a creaky, rusted bike. He parks and takes off his sunglasses, a short, stout man with ginger-hued hair, and freckled legs peeking out underneath of board shorts.

"You Marcie?" he asks, smiling at where I'm waiting on the front porch, reading one of the magazines I had treated myself to at Target.

For some reason, I can't stop staring at him.

Andy's sun-kissed face, crooked grin, and deep wrinkles around his eyes give his jolly face the look of someone who has lived a happy life. A joyful life. He reminds me of our mystery woman, the one who was on the boat Ryan's neighbor.

Why didn't I remember to ask Ryan about her?

"Marcie?" Andy asks again.

"Yes! Sorry! I'm Marcie. Thanks so much for coming out here on short notice."

He waves away my gratitude with a weathered hand. "Oh, it's no big thing, I didn't have anything else planned today, just puttering around. Besides, any friend of Ryan is a friend of mine! He certainly had some nice things to say about you."

As luck would have it, Allyse biked up in just enough time to hear his comment.

"Oh really," she says with a coy smile and raised eyebrow, "And what exactly did he say?"

Andy looks back and forth between us in confusion.

"This is Allyse," I tell him. "My ..."

Ex-husband's girlfriend?

The newer, younger model?

"Marcie's friend," Allyse answers for me. "And you are?"

Andy introduces himself and as he launches into a long story about how he moved to the Eastern shore thirty years ago, I glance at his rusted bike and wire basket between the handlebars that carry his testing kit. I can imagine his life at the beach ... taking leisurely walks in the morning, lounging over coffee, maybe meeting friends for breakfast, or a round of golf. Never in a hurry, never dictated by a to-do list, never rushed.

Just puttering around.

How amazing would that be? Will I ever get to a point in my life where my days aren't controlled by my planners and overwhelming to-do list?

"Well, that's just a lovely story," Allyse says, hooking a thumb to his testing kit. "And how long will it take for the mold test results to come back?"

They now have my full attention.

Please say just a day, please say just a day.

He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck which is perpetually reddened from a lifetime in the sun. "Well, I can't say for sure ... you never know how these things turn out," Andy says, blowing air out between his lips. "Maybe Wednesday? Thursday for sure?"

My heart drops to my knees.

Thursday, as in five days from now? No, that's too long! I only have two weeks of vacation and my plan was to spend one week here and then another at home, finally getting caught up on tasks! I want to protest, but I bite my lower lip instead. After working for a builder for five years and hearing many unrealistic demands from customers for rushed work, I wasn't about to do the same to him.

Alyssa has no reservations, though. "Thursday? It takes that long for results?"

He must see the anguish in our eyes. "Well, Ryan told me the pickle you ladies are in so I'll do my very best to make it a rush job. I can't make any promises, though. But here." Andy digs into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out a business card and then using a pen that was tucked onto the front of his shirt to scribble something on the back. He hands it to me. "Show this to Max Walters at the Ocean Waves Beach Club. He's an old buddy of mine. Tell him your pool entry and your first round of drinks are on me."