Islands: A Novel Part 30

"This is nice," I murmured.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," he said.

The bike roared into life. I had simply forgotten the sound. My head pounded with it. I had not heard a noise this loud since the ride to Folly Beach. It seemed a lifetime ago. Well, it had been. An enormous giggle like a hiccup rose up out of my stomach and burst to the surface like swamp gas.

We threaded our way over to Hasell and turned onto East Bay. The wind was cool and heavy with Confederate jasmine and oleander. I kept my eyes shut, clinging to Henry. The giggles kept bubbling up. I could not see whether there was much traffic on East Bay, but I had no sense of it. The bike murdered the silence.

"Where are we going?" I called to him. It did not seem important.

"d.a.m.ned if I know. Maybe to Daytona, to the famous coleslaw pit. Maybe to the IHOP for breakfast. Maybe just around in circles. You pick."

"I want to go to Sweetgra.s.s," I said, and suddenly knew that I did, more than anything. I ached for Sweetgra.s.s and the river and the new green marsh.

"Sweetgra.s.s it is. There's one thing I want to do first, though."

"What?"

"Show you."

We bowled down to the Battery. The grand old houses were all dark, sleeping. Off beyond White Point Gardens I could see the first delicate sh.e.l.l-pink flush of dawn on the harbor. Against my face, Henry's vest smelled rough and masculine and somehow contentious. I giggled again, and opened my eyes.

Midway down the Battery, Henry hit the brakes and gunned the motor. The howl from the Indian broke the world apart. The bubble flew into a million shards. I threw my head back and yelled.

"Yeeeee-HAW!"

Behind us, on the High Battery, window after window bloomed into furious light.

Acknowledgments.

YOU WILL NOT FIND the beach house, nor the dunes it sat upon, on Sullivan's Island, though you might still find a few old houses like it. And there is not, as far as I know, a cl.u.s.ter of small tabby houses on a wide creek on John's Island. But to me, Charleston and the Low Country are a state of heart as well as of fact, and it is that which I have tried to evoke.

Moreover, none of the people in this book live anywhere but in my own mind. If there are similarities to flesh and blood Charlestonians, I hope they are comfortable ones.

My thanks again to Duke and Barbara Hagerty, who have shared some of their most treasured place names, and who are, to me, the heart of Charleston still. Thanks, too, to Nance Charlebois, who got me hooked on Harleys and coleslaw wrestling. And all thanks to the dedicated people who work to protect the beautiful Gullah language and culture.

And finally, as always, to the A team: Heyward, Martha, and my beloved longtime agent and editor, Ginger Barber and Larry Ashmead. Thanks for the memories, guys.

About the Author.

Anne Rivers Siddons has written fifteen bestselling novels, including Outer Banks, Colony, and Up Island, which are available from HarperCollins e-books.

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By Anne Rivers Siddons.

Fiction.

Heartbreak Hotel.

The House Next Door.

Fox's Earth Homeplace.

Peachtree Road.

King's Oak Outer Banks.

Colony.

Hill Towns.

Downtown Fault Lines.

Up Island Low Country.

Nora, Nora Islands Nonfiction.

John Chancellor Makes Me Cry.

end.