Page 144 of Save the Date
Jack shook his head. “Oh shit. Another guy. That’s a deal-breaker. What do you hope to accomplish by going after her?”
“Brooke is emotionally overwrought right now. Lots of brides get like that. Most of them, in fact, freak out in some form or fashion. I’ll explain that to her, calm her down, and bring her home to get married.”
“And what about this other guy? The one you said she might be with?”
“He’s just somebody from her past, an excuse she’s probably clinging to for why she should run away.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know that. How could you?”
“I met him. By accident. He’s totally wrong for Brooke. He’s a park ranger. Can you imagine Brooke Trapnell living on some wilderness island somewhere?”
“Why are you so dead-set on meddling in this thing, Cara? Why don’t you just let Harris and Brooke sort things out for themselves?”
Instead of answering, Cara picked up her backpack and her car keys. “I don’t have time for this, Jack. I’ve got to go.”
He followed her out to her car, and before she could stop him, he’d slid into the front passenger seat. “I get it. If this wedding gets canceled, you’re out a crapload of money, right?”
Cara went perfectly still for a moment. If that’s what he thought of her, why let him know otherwise?
“Yes!” she cried. “That’s right. I finally figured out that the only way to win at this game is to play by the big boy’s rules. I’m going to find Brooke Trapnell and bring her home and by God, this wedding is going to come off and I am going to finally be out from under my father’s thumb. Okay? Happy now?”
“Yeah,” he said, his mouth twisting downward. “I’m just great.”
58
The motel room in St. Marys was tiny, but cheap. And most importantly, it had air-conditioning. Cara took a shower, brushed her teeth, and fell into bed. It was barely 9 p.m., but after the jarring encounter with Jack and the two-hour drive south from Savannah, she was exhausted.
In the morning, she had a convenience-store breakfast of coffee with a stale cheese Danish. As an extra precaution, she bought a bottle of water and two protein bars, which she tucked into her backpack.
By eight o’clock, she was in the ticket line at the ferry dock. A group of giggling Girl Scouts and their mothers were ahead of her in line, as were a pair of solidly built gray-haired ladies who were decked out for a day of bird-watching, with canvas rain hats, hiking boots, and cameras and binoculars strung around their necks.
After she bought her ticket for the early ferry, Cara took a brochure about the island from a display by the ticket window, found a seat in the shade, and watched with interest as cars and vans pulled up, disgorging campers and day-trippers loaded down with coolers, tents, beach chairs, and more.
It was an eclectic group, families with young children, gung ho hikers, and half a dozen college students, who stealthily swigged beer from brown paper sacks.
At 8:45, a voice came over the loudspeaker, and a couple of uniformed deckhands appeared, to direct them in loading onto theCumberland Queenferry.
With the sun beating down, Cara chose a seat on the lower deck and spent the forty-five-minute ride across the St. John’s River watching as seabirds wheeled in the sky above, and dolphins chased along in the boat’s wake.
She also studied the map in the Park Service brochure. The island’s major sightseeing spots were clearly marked. On the far north end was something called the Settlement. She found Plum Orchard, something called Yankee Paradise, Stafford Beach, Sea Camp, and Dungeness. Nowhere on the map was there a spot marked Loblolly.
But according to the internet, Loblolly had been built as a guest house/hunting lodge—adjacent to Plum Orchard. So. Find Plum Orchard, and Loblolly would be nearby. Wouldn’t it?
In her mind, she rehearsed what she would say when she found Brooke Trapnell. Occasionally, doubt crept in. What if she couldn’t find the bride-to-be? The brochure she clutched in her sweaty hands described Cumberland as nearly 17 miles long by 3.5 miles wide, with over 36,000 acres of beaches, marsh, mudflats, and wilderness areas.
And poisonous snakes, Cara thought, remembering Bert’s description. And alligators. But this wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be hanging around Cumberland long enough to experience any reptile confrontations.
Planning a wedding or any event required organization, clear thinking, and flawless execution. By the time theCumberland Queenwas chugging toward the ferry dock on the island, Cara had worked out her game plan. Step 1. Get bike. Step 2. Find Loblolly. Step 3. Grab Brooke. Step 4. Take Brooke home. Step 5. Payday.
Bert had warned her about the primitive facilities on the island, so she hurried toward the ferry’s bathroom, and spotting the snack bar, bought another bottle of water.
***
The middle-aged woman at the bike-rental concession smiled as Cara stepped up to the counter. “Day rate or overnight?”
“Day,” Cara said firmly. She paid for the bike from her petty-cash stash, then held out the now-creased map of the island. “Could you please tell me where I can find Loblolly?”
“Loblolly? You mean, like the pine trees?”
