Blood Rivalry

Rebeca walked out of the home she was renting on Gadsden Street and headed west on Bull Street toward the Marina Variety Store to meet a man for breakfast. It had been his idea to meet there, and one she wholeheartedly supported. She was hoping their breakfast was as good as she remembered.

Rebeca hadn’t lived in Charleston since graduating from high school in 1986, eight years ago. She’d ended up heading west to attend Arizona State University, intent on putting a couple of thousand miles between herself and Charleston. But as she walked down Bull Street enjoying the lemony scent of magnolia and crepe myrtle trees in bloom, she marveled at how little the city had changed over the years. She had to acknowledge that Charleston truly was a beautiful city. It wasn’t you, Charleston, that made me leave—it was him.

***

It was a short walk to the Marina and Rebeca climbed the stairs and entered the restaurant right at eight o’clock that morning. She was meeting a man named Tad Torcher, a man she had met once before in Scottsdale, Arizona when he was there vacationing with his wife. Mr. Torcher was the attorney who helped manage a trust her mother’s parents had set up for her. She had just turned twenty-one at the time of his visit and Mr. Torcher had explained that under the terms of the trust, she was entitled to begin receiving distributions and certain reporting as to the trust’s performance.

He’d told her that if she ever had any questions about her trust and her rights as its sole beneficiary, to just give him a call. She’d done just that the previous week, which was why she was now standing next to the hostess and scanning the restaurant for any site of him. Her eyes met those of a man sitting in a booth by the window. He was casually reading the local paper while also keeping a lookout for her. Upon their mutual recognition, he raised his hand, and she made her way over to him.

“Rebeca Dunsmore,” he said happily as he stood up from the booth to greet her. “So good to see you.” He took a full appraisal of her standing in front of him, perhaps as a grandfather would.

“Thank you. And thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course, of course. I have a nine o’clock meeting here with a potential new client, so this works out perfectly. Oh, and before I forget, my wife sends her regards. She so enjoyed meeting you when we were together in Scottsdale. She hasn’t stopped talking about that charming restaurant you recommended to us. Do you remember what it was called?”

“Durants.”

“That’s it. We just loved it. Well anyway, she sends her best.”

“That’s kind of her. Please tell her that I do the same.”

They both took their seats, and the waitress filled her mug with coffee and topped off Tad’s.

“Y’all know what you want, or do you need a few minutes?” the waitress asked.

Tad cast a look at Rebeca, who had not picked up the menu and then turned to the waitress. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes? She just got here.”

“No need to wait on my accord,” Rebeca said. She turned to the waitress. “Do y’all still serve an omelet with crab meat?”

“We sure do.”

“I’ll have that and a glass of OJ,” she said as she handed the menu back to the waitress. “Make that two,” Tad said and then looked at Rebeca with a quizzical smile.

She shrugged and answered the question on his mind. “I used to come here a lot when I was a kid.”

“It’s my favorite breakfast spot in town, though the Misses wishes I didn’t come here as often as I do,” he said as he chuckled softly and patted his belly.