As Tom nibbled at the toast, Goldie opened his bottle of pain pills and put two in his mouth, handing him a glass of fresh water to wash them down. “Ben is coming in the morning to take you out on the boat, love,” she said. Tom smiled and said that would be nice. He asked her to continue the story, and she found her spot on his shoulder and did as he asked.
After a long day of travel, and two airplane rides, Tom and Goldie touched down on the island, which was in full bloom. It was beautiful, with flowering trees and bright blue skies. Goldie commented that she was surprised there weren’t more tourists, and Tom reminded her that peak season probably didn’t start for another couple of months.
The place was called Turtle Island, and the drop-off point from the mainland was Pelican Cove. From there, islanders—including tourists—needed to take a ferryboat to their destination. Goldie got a free map from the welcome center and read aloud to Tom, pointing out where the various beaches were in relation to the property they’d inherited. “It looks like there are six beach towns on the island,” she said, running her finger over the map from one “x” to another.
“If you split the island up into four quadrants,” she said, taking a gumball Tom offered her from a machine, “then you’ve got Pearl Beach and Saltwater Bay at the north, Oyster Beach and Turtle Beach on the south end, Hammerhead Beach on the west, and, of course, Pelican Cove. That’s where we’re at now, but I don’t think there’s much to do here. I think it’s mostly a stopping off point where islanders and tourists catch the ferry.” Tom took the map and pointed out smaller islands dotting the map near Turtle Island. “These must be separate from our island,” he said, pointing. “Look, there is Emerald Isle, Royal Beach, and Jellyfish Bay.”
“Remind me to steer clear of Jellyfish Bay,” Goldie said, shivering.
“Me too,” Tom said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m sure they named it that for a reason!”
They boarded a ferry which had ticket holders destined for nearly all the beaches on the island, though there were only about twenty-five passengers in all. As the ferry dropped people off at the various ports, Tom and Goldie noticed the island was beautiful on all sides, but nowhere prettier than where they were headed: the southernmost point on Turtle Island, Turtle Beach. They got off the ferry with a suitcase each, the only belongings they owned in the world, and made their way to The Whaler, Tom’s prize in a poker game with an old college acquaintance.
During the walk toward the inn, Tom was wondering aloud how much money he could earn once he renovated the cottages and got the business up and running again. Goldie asked how long it had been since The Whaler was functional, and Tom admitted he didn’t know. “All I know is my buddy’s father died and left him the business, but old Fred says with a little paint and elbow grease, I can make a fortune.” When Goldie asked why Fred didn’t want it for himself, he admitted he didn’t know that answer either. “Doesn’t sound like you know Fred very well,” Goldie said, pointing to a dilapidated cabin-like structure ahead.
“Please tell me that’s not my new property,” Tom said, running his fingers through his hair.
“OK,” Goldie said, “that’s not your new property. Someone just hung the sign, ‘The Whaler’ in the wrong place, I suppose.”
Tom groaned and prayed the whole way to the front door that his key wouldn’t work. That somehow there had been a terrible mix-up and Goldie was right. The sign was hung in the wrong spot. When his key opened the front door, Tom sunk to the floor and felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.
Goldie tested the faucet in the kitchen, and to her delight, clear water ran from the spout. She flipped a light switch, and the light turned on over the sink. The garbage disposal didn’t work, but with running water and electricity, she knew they could make do. She extended a hand and helped Tom to his feet, telling him they needed to find a market and get a few food items to tide them over until they determined who had the cheapest groceries on the island. She rooted through the kitchen drawers to see whether there was a pad and paper to make a list. She found an old electric bill and wrote on the back of the envelope. She added basics such as bread, eggs, orange juice, and bacon, but also toiletries and trash bags.
Tom walked from room to room and noticed there wasn’t a bedroom. There was a small bathroom with a toilet and shower stall, and a room behind the front desk of the office, which had a cot and a small black and white television on a metal TV tray. Judging from the rabbit ears and grainy reception, Tom figured cable might be a luxury not afforded to islanders. Trying to stay positive, Goldie said, “Well, I guess people don’t come to such a beautiful island to watch Bewitched, right?”
“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Tom gasped. “This isn’t even a house! It’s an office building!”
“I guess we’ll have to each take a bungalow for now,” Goldie said, parting the kitchen curtains and looking across the lot at the row of drab cottages dotting the shoreline.
They walked to a small grocery store called Salvatore’s, and filled a cart with the items on Goldie’s list. Tom added a few chocolate bars and said, “Trust me, with the amount of hard labor we’ll be doing, you’ll thank me for putting these babies in the cart.” An hour later, they were back at the office, and Goldie was scrambling some eggs while Tom walked about the property. She stepped onto the front porch and called to him, telling him dinner was ready. He trudged back, shaking his head, telling her if she wanted electricity, she should camp out on the office cot. “There’s no power in any of the bungalows, which is just spectacular, don’t you think?”
They ate the scrambled eggs, and Tom told Goldie if she wanted out, he wouldn’t bear a grudge. He said he could fly her wherever she wanted to go, no questions asked. Goldie looked around and replied that she’d be a fool to leave such luxurious accommodations. Tom dropped his fork on his plate, making a loud bang. He told Goldie to be serious. “This place is a lemon, Goldie. I didn’t luck out by winning that poker game, and you didn’t win when you accepted my job offer. It seems we were both duped, so you can go. It’s all right.”
“Are you always a fool,” she asked, “or is it just the heat?”
“What?”
“You told me on the airplane—well, the first airplane—that you had to get out of Minnesota or you were going to lose your mind. I told you I had nowhere to go, no home, no bed, no man, and that I walked away from the promise of all those things for the possibility of an adventure.”
Tom looked at Goldie, who handed him another piece of jelly toast. She swept her arm across the room in front of her and said, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, you got out of Duluth, and it sure as hell looks like I’m about to embark on an adventure. So, what is there to complain about or second guess?”
Tom smiled, told Goldie she had a point, and said he knew he was right to nickname her Goldie because it wasn’t just her hair that was sunny. He said she was so angelic that she ought to have a permanent halo hovering over her head at all times. “Goldie snorted, saying, “I’m no angel, and you know it!”
She told Tom to hush up and finish his toast because he had about seven-hundred-and-forty-seven hours of building and repairs to do on the property before she would allow him to clock out of work for the night. “Then,” she said, pouring some more orange juice into his glass, “you can start building the main house.” When Tom asked what she meant, Goldie said, “Well, you’re cute and I’m cute and it sure seems like we’ve both gone and alienated everyone either of us has ever met, so it’s looking like we’re going to fall in love and wind up getting married. And when we do, we’ll need a house, because I sure ain’t living in one of these cottages year-round.”
Before Tom could say anything, Goldie spun on her heel and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Tom sat at the table and watched her work in the next room, rinsing dishes and singing a Marvin Gaye song like she didn’t have a care in the world. Marry her? He thought. That’s the most wonderful idea I’ve ever heard.
Goldie looked up at Tom, and he was smiling. “You added that last part yourself,” he said, weakly. Goldie laughed. “Maybe.” Tom squeezed her shoulder and asked if she could help him to the bathroom. She did, and as he was in there, she went back to the bedroom and brushed the toast crumbs off the bed, fluffed the pillows, and turned on the radio to an oldies station, but kept the volume low. She looked up when she heard a tap on the doorframe. Sharon.
Goldie motioned for Sharon to go into the hallway, and she met her out there. “Dad’s in the bathroom,” she whispered. “Go down to the living room and I’ll meet you down there in five minutes. We can talk then.” Sharon nodded and descended the stairs, sniffling.