Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan sat alone on the damp ground. It hadn't rained in days, but February dirt holds the moisture longer than most months. Brown grass was mixed with newly sprouting green weeds, emerging from their winter slumber. He sat in front of the municipal sign promoting the scenic view. His back was supported by wooden posts. A wide expanse of emptiness was illuminated by the sliver of the waning moon and a night of bright stars. Before him was the openness of the salt marsh and the Harbor River flowed out with the tide. Behind him, beyond a thick brush line and aged wall, was Tidalholm, the house that served as the main setting for the movie The Big Chill.

Dylan was absorbed, rocked into a trance by the low rumble of the nearby pump station. A chorus of dogs barked in alternate verses down Pinckney Street. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him.

She observed from a distance, first from the main gates to Tidalholm, then making slower steps toward him. The night was cold for Beaufort. She was dressed professionally in a black overcoat. A black headband held her brown hair upright, above her coat shoulders. A slight gust of wind drew her soft scent of perfume and watermelon shampoo from the street over open marsh.

Like a deer sensing a danger, Dylan reflexively perked with a head raise and slight turn to the side. With slight hesitation, she stopped to study his seated profile, before continuing her deliberate pace down the tired, dead-end street. "Cold night for a walk, huh?"

Dylan knew the voice, he didn't turn when he replied. "Maybe you should stop walking."

"Well, I'm not sitting on the wet ground if that's an invitation."

Dylan rose, turning slowly as if afraid to make more contact. "I didn't know you were in town?" Wet thatch fell from his fingers as his left hand reached for the painted 4x4 sign support.

"Your mom messaged me. I'm here working on a project. I put a picture of it on Facebook and she saw it. You know how she is." Neither of them looked at each other.

"Mom," he sighed slightly.

"She's worried about you. Sorry about your friend."

"Is that why you're here?" His tone was terse, maybe considered by some as rude.

Berkeley didn't answer him as she approached the sign. She reached a single arm around him for a side hug. He felt her hair brush against his. He shrugged his shoulders as he inhaled familiar aromas. Chills overcame his body.

"Low tide, huh?" she commented with an eye to the distant water line. "Come on."

Berkeley stepped down the slight incline without waiting to see if he was following. Her weight caused the fallen, hollow reeds to pop and snap. She maneuvered around a crushed Keystone Light beer can that appeared it had been resting there since summer. Dylan, closely behind her, held back the low limbs of the massive live oak tree as Berkeley continued toward the crumbing seawall. Handmade bricks and placed stones were exposed closer to the tree. Its roots had shaved off a century worth of repairs in the mortar of the seawall which was more intact further down the expanse. They sat next to each other, slightly before the "no trespassing sign," but clearly on the Tidalholm property. The thick brush and low limbs of the oak tree kept them hidden from the private residence.

Berkeley sat close. Their thighs touched over his jeans and her coat. Dylan's head remained down; his hands were clenched in his lap. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she felt her dinner style, Clemson class ring that rested under the glove, of her right hand.

"So, Mom's okay, huh?" He finally looked to her red, wind kissed face.

Berkeley elbowed Dylan as he managed a slight grin. She began to smile revealing pronounced dimpled cheeks. "You know she still calls me from time to time? Just little excuses. Like the other day she told me she needed napkins from a place on King Street and when I came down from Charleston, she'd pay me for them. Your mom is so crazy!"