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  “I feel the same way, sweetheart. Speaking of crazy, let’s go see our crazy new house.”

  “Let’s,” he said and got up to pull her chair back. “You know, I didn’t even think to ask. Are we going to be able to stay at the house tonight? Or did you make a hotel reservation for us?”

  “Thank you, my love,” she said and gently hung her handbag over her shoulder. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “We’re glamping tonight.”

  “Oh! That sounds like something painful. You haven’t been reading that Fifty Shades thing, have you?”

  Olivia shook her head, smiling. They walked out into the parking lot.

  “No, baby boy. It’s a combo of glamour and camping. Glamorous camping!”

  “Ah! Will your clever ways never cease?”

  “I only hope you’ll always find them to be clever,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said and put his arm around her waist. “It would be a terrible thing to kick you to the curb and spend the rest of my life alone.”

  “Hush your mouth, Nicholas Seymour. You’ll do no such thing! Tonight we will spend our first night in our new home together!”

  “Get in the car, woman, and let’s go see what horrors await us.”

  “Nothing like an old house when you’re in search of horrors,” Olivia said, shaking her head in agreement. “I just hope we have water and power. Jason promised we would.”

  “Yes, but let’s get our priorities in order. Do we have a bed?”

  A few days ago she brought huge shopping bags from Gracious Home into the office. The store was having a one-day sale and Olivia took full advantage of it. She asked Roni to ship the contents to Sullivans Island.

  Of course Roni nodded her head and said, “No problem.”

  And they ordered a king-size mattress and box spring that her contractor promised to set up on a frame.

  “What do you think? You mean, you don’t want to sleep on the floor with me?” Olivia said, smiling.

  “I’d sleep on a pile of rocks with you,” he replied.

  “Precious,” she said and ran her perfectly manicured finger along his chin line.

  The drive to their new/old house would take them a long ten minutes. They crept through the business district on the Isle of Palms across Breach Inlet, on the lookout for the police, who were infamous for pulling people over if they drove one hair over the speed limit. Sure enough, they spotted a patrol car hidden behind an overgrown oleander.

  “Shouldn’t they be out solving crimes?” she asked.

  “That’s the whole problem,” Nick said. “They don’t have enough crime here.”

  “Oh, brother!” she said. “Now I’ve heard it all.” That just can’t be true, she thought.

  Moments later they rolled through the tiny business district of Sullivans Island. A casual observer might have thought the restaurants were giving away free food. Poe’s Tavern and Home Team BBQ were filled to capacity with patrons, while scores of other people waited around for a table or crossed Middle Street, paying no mind to the traffic. Maybe they were getting ice cream or a newspaper or perhaps they had a hair appointment at Beauty and the Beach. Or maybe they were just so drunk on carbohydrates they were in a wheat stupor. It didn’t matter. People were walking around in the street as though they were in the French Quarter post a Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans, utterly oblivious to cars, bicycles, and golf carts, which crawled, bobbed, and weaved to avoid hitting them. Strangely, no horns blared. People, pedestrians, and those with vehicles merely threw up the wave of a hand to say Go ahead or Thanks.

  “I can remember when people referred to this island as sleepy,” Nick said.

  “Must’ve been a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, I guess it was.”

  “If this had been Manhattan, EMS would be doing triage.”

  “Truly. But the crowds are amazing. Did I ever tell you about the brilliant sign my old man made?”

  “A sign?”

  “Yes, he had a little workshop for himself in the back of the garage. I must’ve been a teenager because I was old enough to be embarrassed by it. This was when we had that house on Jasper Boulevard, and it was long before they built the connector bridge on the Isle of Palms.”

  “Nixon was in office?” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows, teasing him.

  “No, FDR, thanks. Anyway, on the weekends the beaches on this island and the Isle of Palms were absolutely packed. Around four in the afternoon, traffic would start backing up, and if the Ben Sawyer Bridge opened, it got worse. People would get out of their cars and use your yard as their personal comfort station.”

  “What? What are you telling me?”

  “Exactly what you think! These people would go to the beach and drink beer all day. Then they’d get in their car and get stuck in traffic. So when their eyeballs started swimming in their heads, they’d sneak around your oleander bush and, you know, go!”

  “That’s disgusting!”

  “No argument there. And it also breaks a whole lot of laws. Never mind. Anyway, after my father catches this guy watering our yard, he got this ingenious idea to paint a sign.”

  “Which said?”

  “It said, Next Weekend Try Folly Beach! It was enormous. My mother and I were horrified. Not Rick. He thought Dad was a riot.”

  “That is very funny,” Olivia said. “Your dad must’ve been a character.”

  “He sure was. He was a great guy. My brother Rick is a lot like him.”

  “Isn’t it funny how personalities are inherited? How’s he doing?”

  “No. He and Sheila are in Reno at an RV convention.”

  “They really love that whole RV thing, don’t they?” Olivia said, and thought she’d rather sleep in a ditch than in an RV but she had enough elasticity in her to respect their choices, and some RVs were actually gorgeous.

  “Yeah. They go all over the country. They have more friends than anyone I know.”

  “Probably because of his sense of humor. He’s such a character.”

  “Just like our father was. But the personality thing? Yes. It is funny. Haven’t you ever noticed that musicians give birth to musicians and engineers to engineers?”

  “And I must come from a long line of pack rats. Whoa, this light is so bright!”

  Olivia raised her hand to shield her eyes. Sunglasses alone were not enough to block the merciless glare of the Lowcountry’s afternoon sun.

  “It’s almost summer. We should go into the awning business,” Nick said. “We could make a killing.”

  “Maybe we should,” Olivia said. “Awnings would sure make a lot of these houses more energy efficient.”

  “That’s why people build houses with deep porches.”

  “Oh. But what about the second floors?”

  “They need awnings.”

  They moved past the fire department and another small strip of stores and farther down the island to Fort Moultrie. They passed Stella Maris Church on their right and veered to the left.

  “Next driveway,” Olivia said.

  “So this is it?” Nick said in surprise. “It’s huge! I didn’t remember it being this big!” What the hell has she done? he thought.

  “It’s deceiving because it’s on stilts,” she said, knowing he was right. “You’ll see. It shrinks.”

  “I don’t know, Olivia. I thought we agreed on something more modest.”

  “Listen, Nick, we both know that if I’m to continue to work, we have to have a statement property. I can’t live in some ratty old cottage with lopsided floors and warped walls and then tell my clients they shouldn’t.”

  “Right. Right.” He knew it was true.

  “I have to set a certain tone.”

  Nick inhaled and exhaled a sigh powerful enough to launch a paper ship across a swimming pool and said, “I suppose.”

  The yard was filled with trucks. A landscaper was consulting with someone from an irrigation service. Men on l
adders were painting the sides of the house while others were walking across the roof. There were still other men throwing old insulation and other debris into a Dumpster and there was an outdoor toilet from Nature’s Calling. And, as one would hope, they were all wearing sunglasses.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure. You know you’ve arrived when you have your own portable john,” Nick said.

  “Should have put one in your daddy’s yard,” Olivia joked.

  “Truly,” Nick said, “with a coin slot.”

  When he saw their SUV pull in, a handsome young man began walking toward them. Nick turned off the engine and got out, raising the hatchback with the click of a button. Olivia hopped out and joined him to retrieve her bag.

  “Here’s Jason,” Olivia said. “He’s our contractor.”

  “Really? He seems awfully young to me.”

  “No, he’s not. We’re just awfully old.”

  “Well, I just hate the hell out of that,” Nick said.

  Nick squinted his eyes in the young man’s direction. In her peripheral vision, Olivia noticed Nick sucking in his stomach and standing up a little straighter. She bit the insides of her cheeks to hold back a burst of laughter.

  “Let me help you with that, sir,” Jason said, taking Nick’s suitcase from him. “Ms. Ritchie? Let me take yours too.”

  “Thanks, Jason,” Olivia said and handed over her duffel bag. “Nick? Say hello to Jason Fowler. He and his dad Sam own Sea Island Builders. And they do gorgeous work.”

  “I sure hope so,” Nick said and shook Jason’s hand.

  Olivia thought, This place is a money pit. It was going to be a while before she would do more to the house than had already been done. How was she going to tell Jason that they had to stop for a while? How embarrassing would that be? It wouldn’t be good for her business reputation, that much was certain.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ritchie.”

  “Seymour. My wife is Ritchie. She’s liberated.”

  “Sorry?” Jason said.

  “Honey? He’s too young to even know what liberated woman means. Everybody’s liberated these days.”

  Nick was smiling, but behind that smile Olivia knew Nick was irked. It was bad enough to have his students defer to him. His position and years on the faculty demanded it. But when it happened in his personal life, it startled him, and not in a good way. She began to think that neither one of them would ever adjust to the fact that middle age had arrived, even though on an actuarial table middle age was well behind both of them.

  “Well,” Jason said, “let’s get your stuff inside. I’m anxious for y’all to see all we’ve done.”

  “Great,” Olivia said.

  They climbed the long flight of steps made of handmade bricks. Jason pushed the front door open and stepped aside for them to pass.

  “Oh, Jason. The door looks really, really good,” Olivia said, smiling and running her hand across the sheen of the varnish.

  “Thanks! I had the guys refinish it and put the new/old hardware on it.”

  The heavy front door was made of oak, with raised panels on the bottom half and a large beveled leaded glass window framed in on the top. The handle was reclaimed, estate-sized, and made of solid brass that had been polished to a worthy shine. They stepped inside.

  Olivia gasped and then smiled wide in surprise.

  “Wow,” she said, walking around the rooms near the entrance, staring from the floors to the ceilings and back to Jason’s face. “Wow, Jason, nice work! It’s amazing what you can do with a paintbrush, isn’t it?”

  “And about five hundred gallons of paint,” Jason said with a grin.

  “It’s hard to believe it’s the same place,” Nick said. “I’m astonished!”

  Gone were all the zany colors and dated window treatments that Nick recalled. Everything was painted in parachute white or linen white with warm tone-on-tone accents. The effect was quietly soothing and somehow regal. Yes, the old house that held nearly one hundred and fifty years of secrets, bad decisions, and, one had to assume, moments of great happiness had been coaxed back to life with countless swipes of paintbrushes. The old dame was issuing a statement that she wasn’t done living quite yet.

  “It’s beautiful, Jason. Simply beautiful! Have you started the bathrooms?”

  “Just the one in the hall. What do you want to do with the swan?” Jason said.

  “‘Leda and the Swan,’” Nick said.

  The reference sailed over Jason’s head, but Olivia gave Nick a death look.

  “I don’t know. It’s too passé to use, but too campy to just ditch.”

  “And weird,” Jason said. “It’s kind of creepy.”

  “Aha!” Nick said. “You see, Olivia? I told you that thing was, well, a bothersome talisman.”

  Nick loved the naughty implications of Yeats’s poem and was always happy to debate whether what went on between Leda and the swan was consensual or rape.

  Olivia shot Nick a look as if to say, Let it go, okay?

  “Why don’t we just ask one of the guys to clean it up and store it away. It might be fun to use as a spigot on a footbath or something,” she said.

  “A footbath?” Nick said.

  “Yes, when you come off the beach, you can rinse your feet in a small basin,” Olivia said. “Then you don’t track sand into the house.”

  “Lots of people have them these days,” Jason said.

  “I see,” Nick said while wondering, Whatever happened to using a garden hose? Or a puddle of standing rainwater? And, he thought, the elegant swan will be reduced to washing feet. A sad fate for Leda’s lover indeed.

  Olivia rolled her eyes at Nick, then went from room to room, thrilled with the outcome of her choices and Jason’s work. Months ago she had asked Nick to choose drawer pulls and knobs for the kitchen and backsplash tiles. He had chosen well. Now, there they were, all in place, including the easy-care antibacterial Silestone quartz countertops that he loved.

  “I can’t wait to get in here and make a mess,” Nick said.

  “My sweet husband is the cook in our family,” she said. “It’s critical for him to love the kitchen. Otherwise we eat my cooking and die.”

  “I’m thrilled with this kitchen,” Nick said. “Are you kidding me? It’s gorgeous!”

  “Well then, I’m thrilled if you’re thrilled,” Jason said.

  Olivia thanked Jason over and over, and he just beamed with pride and relief. True to his word, there was a mattress and box spring on a metal frame in the bedroom.

  “This house has great bones,” Jason said.

  “I sure couldn’t see them,” Nick said.

  “That’s why you have me,” Olivia said and blew Nick an air kiss.

  At 4:01, pretty much on the nose, the yard was a ghost town. Everyone was gone. They finally had the house to themselves.

  “I’m glad you’re happy with the house,” Olivia said, her eyes sparkling with tiny gold flecks.

  “Well, I’m really happy to be here with you.” Nick said, thinking, There’s no way we need a house this grand.

  After a dinner of crudo and tilefish at Coda del Pesce on the Isle of Palms, and a glass of wine on the front porch over the water, counting the stars and watching the moon rise, they drove home, turned off the lights, and went to their new bedroom and almost collapsed in their new bed.

  Olivia had dressed the bed as though Southern Living magazine was coming in to do a shoot. It was covered in all white Sferra linens, embroidered with French knots and open fretwork on the borders. She’d bought unscented pillar candles, put them on plates, and covered them with hurricane globes. She’d brought in gorgeous white Turkish towels and beautiful hand-milled soaps and bathrobes with their initials on them. It was the last shopping spree she would have for a while, even if these items had been on sale.

  “Glamping, you say?” Nick said, buttoning his pajama top.

  “Yep,” she said and blew out the last candle. “I need to buy lamps.”

  �
�I imagine there’s a long list of what we’ll need.” He kissed her forehead and slipped into bed, yawning loudly.

  Yes, and I hate to think about what it will cost, she thought.

  The moon and the lights from the city across the harbor poured through their windows, making it possible for her to safely navigate the room. She was completely exhausted. Between flying and decisions and wine, she knew she’d be asleep in minutes. Nick was already snoring like a baby panda, emitting small puffs with the tiniest snorts. She climbed in bed and pulled the covers over her shoulders. Just as she was drifting off, she heard a thump and her eyes sprang wide open. She lay as still as she could and listened. There was a scurry and another thump. She gave Nick’s shoulder a shake.

  “Nick!” she whispered. “Nick! Wake up! There’s someone upstairs!”

  “What? What the devil?”

  Then he was quiet and still and they listened together.

  Thump! Rustle! Thump!

  “Go on back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll get some traps in the morning,” Nick said.

  “For what?”

  “Rats. Marsh rats. Not Jack the Ripper.”

  Moments later he was snoozing again, but Olivia’s body temperature skyrocketed and she began to perspire. Rats? Rats in the house? More than one? Oh, God! Humidity? Okay. Mosquitoes? Sort of okay. But rats? Rats were a DEALBREAKER.

  Oh? It’s only marsh rats? she thought. Only marsh rats? Oh, that’s good, because for a minute there, I thought it was, like, a serious problem! Exactly what distinguished a marsh rat from other rats? Size? The size of their teeth? Their preference for female human flesh? Face flesh? Her mind was racing and her heart pounding. Had she spent money she didn’t have to live in a house infested with Willard’s little friends? What had she done? She wanted to weep. Or scream. Or run. Instead, she crept from her bed and stuffed the bottom of the bedroom door with her brand new Yves Delorme towels and pushed their luggage against it. Then she prayed for her life. And of course she said a prayer for Nick too. She wasn’t even sure they could afford the bait for the traps.

  Chapter 2

  Back in New York