Tiny Dancer by Patricia Hickman Read Free Book Online

stare. One of the youths was really no older than Claudia or me, a boy dressed in a red checkered shirt now rumpled, the tail hanging out the top of his trousers as if it had been yanked out. He was made to lean against the hood of the car, arms spread out like he was about to fly. I believed he must have robbed a gas station or held up a liquor store, what with all of the cops called down on him and his car full of friends. My eyes locked with his, making me wish I’d listened to Irene. His guileless brown eyes followed me all the way to Wrightsville Beach.
    Travel was faster after passing the city, motoring through the fringes of Wilmington, all three of us talking nonstop. I was especially relieved to leave behind the emotion and trauma of Vesta’s state of mind. I would have sat squat in the middle of non-stop traffic if only for the opportunity to be anywhere but back home. Most of the back roads of the Carolinas were open, the only nuisance present being the dust raised along the lesser traveled roads. Still, Mrs. Johnson asked us if we minded veering off down some side roads, as it was much nicer for stopping along the way at local farmer’s shops.
    “We should do it,” I said, interrupting Claudia before she could complain. My suggestion pleased Claudia less since she hated waiting while her mother poked through the roadside stores for local honey and jugs of fruit cider. That and we were within a couple of miles of the shore.
    “We can do it later,” said Irene, noticing Claudia’s long sigh. Never one to argue in front of outsiders, Irene said to me, “Listen to our plan. I thought we would dine at a seaside restaurant, take in some local color.”
    Her suggestion brought me out of my book, concerned that Irene might plan out the entire week unless I took action. “What a good idea. I’ve heard of a small grill along the beach.” I avoided the use of the word “bar” altogether. “Could we go there?” I asked.
    “Oh, Claudia, I’m glad we brought Flannery ! She knows the area already,” said Irene.
    Claudia was surprised. She turned around from the front passenger seat and looked suspiciously at me. “I thought you said your family had never been to the beach?”
    “We haven’t. I’ve just heard of this one place is all,” I said, deciding to enlighten Irene, finally confessing, “It’s called Blankhead’s Neptune Restaurant. The locals call it Neptune’s.” When Irene did not flinch, I continued. “You can invite your college professor friend to come along. We’ll all go.” Irene could catch up with her friend at a private table leaving us two girls to join any other friends we might chance to meet.
     
                                                                                  * * * * *
     
    Dottie Willoughby squealed when she laid eyes on her old college roommate. She led us into her house, a waterfront home that was certainly much bigger than the cottage that Irene had made it out to be. The green shag carpet was soft as Reverend Theo’s endless lawn.
    Dottie taught English at the local college. She explained in a long discourse how she had worked slavishly taking on teaching summer classes at UNC Wilmington to pay off her first house on the Southend and then, using its equity, bought this second home in the posh Marina neighborhood.
    “ We should stay in your cottage then,” Irene offered. “I hate piling in on you like this.”
    “ I forbid! Besides,” said Dottie, grinning, “it’s rented out for the entire summer. How do you think I’m getting this house practically for nothing?” She laughed. She was the type woman who could not stop giggling between sentences.  “And finally enjoying a summer off,” she said. “Anyway, I want you all here where we can get into some trouble. Tonight I thought we’d grill off the back deck. Then my friend Mitch has a yacht not thirty yards from here. He