Chapter 7

We traveled south down Maryland's Eastern Shore. By the time we crossed into Virginia, it was getting late in the day, and the sun was setting as we pulled into the parking lot of a motel just a few miles short of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge tunnel. It was a good place to stop, and we were both ready for a shower to rinse away the sand and salt.

Isidora's fascination with Western plumbing was somewhat diminished, but she was still enthusiastic about the shower. She scrubbed me with her typical thoroughness. I returned the favor, but when she suggested that we engage in other shower activities I begged for a delay until after we'd had a good meal. In truth, I was fantasizing about having Isidora in a real bed. I'd had enough of standing and kneeling for one day.

There was a small pub and a restaurant adjacent to the motel. Isidora, freshly scrubbed, in a light summer dress, with her wild dark hair falling around her shoulders was a striking natural beauty. She wore no makeup but she had a radiant glow about her that turned every head as we entered the restaurant. Once we were seated, my ears burned as I caught snatches of conversation from adjacent tables. Everyone seemed to wonder what such a young, innocent and beautiful girl would be doing in an out-of-the-way motel restaurant with a man who was obviously much older. I smiled to myself. If you gossips only knew what this tender young girl had been doing with this nasty old man earlier today.

Our waitress was a woman about my age and as she handed us our menus she asked what we'd like to drink. It had been a long day and a beer sounded pretty good to me, so I ordered the house draft. Then the waitress turned to Isidora.

"What'll you have hon?"

Isidora shrugged. "A beer too please."

The waitress was aghast. "I'll have to see some ID."

Isidora was confused. "ID? What is ID?"

"Sweetheart, she wants to see identification that shows your age." I explained. "You have to be 21 to drink alcohol in Virginia."

"But I just ordered a beer." She exclaimed, her temper rising. "Beer isn't alcohol."

The waitress made the mistake of answering. "It is in Virginia."

Isidora's Slavic temper exploded and the conversation go louder. "That's stupid! Beer is not alcohol, and I've been drinking beer since I was six."

I laughed and made things worse.

Isidora glared at me. "I looked it up. I'm eighteen. We can get married anytime. Is it the law that I can be married but not drink a beer?"

I managed to wipe the smile from my face. "Yes, that's the law. But what would you rather do, be married or drink a beer?"

Isidora was not to be deterred and she proclaimed loudly. "I want a beer now. You can marry me later."

By this time every ear in the restaurant was tuned to our conversation. From a far corner an older black woman responded. "You go girl!"

At this, the whole house burst into laughter and the waitress smiled. "Hon, we all agree with you, but I still can't sell you a beer."

Feeling that she'd won a small victory Isidora settled for a coke. Her temper turned off as fast as it had turned on. The meal turned out to be decent, and before we'd finished, almost every woman in the house stopped by the table to wish Isidora good luck with her marriage. It reminded me of our night in the restaurant in Georgia, except there, every well-wisher wanted to ply us with alcohol.

Later that evening I did get to realize my fantasy of having Isidora in a large comfortable bed. Our activities earlier in the day and taken the edge off my passion, but Isidora was insatiable. We were well matched, and we made slow, gentle love for a long, long time before we both drifted off to sleep, tangled together in each other's arms.

Next morning dawned bright and clear, and we were on our way early. The sun was rising from the ocean as we crossed the first spans of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. By mid morning, we were in North Carolina driving south down the narrow, two-lane road that splits the barrier islands of the Outer Banks below Nags Head. The road was almost deserted, but I cruised leisurely at or below the speed limit, enjoying the day and being with Isidora. At about noon we arrived at the ferry landing in the small town at the end of Hatteras Island. As we waited in the parking lot for the ferry that would take us across the narrow inlet to Ocracoke Island, Isidora's curiosity finally got the best of her.