Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter Five

"Dylan, I need to stop, seriously. What is this place?" Julie was bending over at the waist and laughing, as they exited the park, across from the Battery. The walk to the car needed a pause.

"Two Meeting Street Inn, really? It's like one of the most famous places in Charleston."

"So, you're saying they have a bathroom, right?" Julie kept her legs together as she bolted up the front stairs, then across the floor mosaics. The large welcoming doors of the historic guest house were calling her.

Dylan, trailing behind her pace, decided to wait on the porch. He continued around the looping gray floorboards that had been recently repainted. The light aroma of enamel mixed with the pluff mud that hung in the summer humidity. Through the arched side window, he saw inside to a red velvet armchair. It sat empty next to an antique grand piano. He took a seat in a white rocking chair on the porch. He sat overlooking the obscured view of the park that was behind a massive live oak and the black iron gates surrounding Two Meeting Street Inn. Due to the lateness of the hour, the carriages carrying tourist that normally frequented that corner, had returned to the stables for the night.

Dylan felt some lingering concern about sharing a dating story with Julie. As well as the evening was going, he had to remind himself she was a co-worker. However, it felt like the progression of a promising date. It seemed so perfect. As he rocked and waited for her, his thoughts went back to the events of earlier in the evening. He shuttered his eyes recapping their journey to that point.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Julie came upon Dylan blindly from his back, placing her left hand on the right corner of his rocker.

"Just thinking, do you ever do that?" He looked back to her as she walked nearer to his field of vision.

"I do," she confirmed. "I think about home a lot."

"Yeah, me too. I like to think about home, feeling comfortable," Dylan stated.

Julie leaned on the white painted, porch balcony rail. She again twisted her hair over her right shoulder as she'd done several times earlier in the night. "Home, like Canada, or home like Beaufort?" She turned to look toward Dylan.

"Beaufort, I guess," he explained from his rocker. "It's more home for me these days. Sitting late, in a porch rocking chair, much like this. The sea salt hanging heavy in the humidity. The water within walking distance, but just out of sight so you know it's there close to you. I guess it's all close in tiny Beaufort."

"So, like a smaller Charleston?" she asked.

"Much smaller."

"Is there a beach there?"

"Beaufort is more inland, on like, rivers and stuff. It's still tidal, a few miles down the road is Sands Beach. I love to drive my Jeep on the beach, to watch the shrimpers pull in and out of Port Royal. Dolphins often follow the boats. Sometimes you see river otters. If you stay late enough you can watch the darkness fall over Parris Island. Some days there's a line of cars, other times, off-season, only me, just my Jeep and my thoughts."

"I've never driven my Jeep on a beach. I think I'd like that, yeah definitely would like that," she said after a reflective moment to consider it.

Dylan paused before asking, "For you, Canada is still home, isn't it?"

She nodded her head affirmatively but said nothing.

Rather than endure an awkward silence, he shared his memories. "I don't remember much about Canada. I was young when we left, maybe six or seven. I do remember the quiet; how you could drive twenty minutes and be in the middle of nowhere. I always found it ironic that there are only like what, seven or eight cities in Canada, where everybody says they live, but drive an hour, and you can be in barren wilderness. I remember that; I like that quiet."