Hell, no! I would approach this as I approached other dilemmas. It was time for the ultimate test: a naked evaluation in a full-length mirror in broad daylight. Assess the situation and then make a plan. So I bravely stepped into my dressing room, where the mirror faced east. It was still morning, and the light was as heartless as it was unrelenting. Did I really want the truth? Could my battle-beaten ego really bear the truth?
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I said to no one. “You must do this!”
I held my breath, sucked in my stomach, dropped my towel, and looked straight into the mirror. (Results were lower than expected.) Then I exhaled, turned around, and, with a hand mirror, I looked at my backside and the backs of my thighs and the backs of my arms. (Dimples belong on faces.) Then I sucked everything in and up and looked at myself sideways. (Sigh.) In conclusion, may I just say that the jury did not indulge in a long deliberation and found that truth is wildly overrated. Extremely and wildly overrated.
It was no time for self-forgiveness and misplaced optimism. It was time to take action. I read somewhere, in Southern Living magazine, I think, that there was a woman in Charleston who did miraculous makeovers. What was her name? What was her name? Did I keep the magazine, or did I throw it out in one of my manic recycling purges? Margaret. Margaret something . . . something with a D. Oh, hells bells, I’d Google her. Maybe I didn’t know anything about GPSs and texting, but I could Google with the best of them.
I threw on a sundress of red tulips and sandals to match and brushed my hair back from my face, pushing it behind my ears. I gave the old face a quick coat of powder and a few strokes of blush and applied a bright rosy lipstick. Then I looked in the full-length mirror again, blowing myself a kiss. Well, maybe I’d never be breaking hearts at thirty again, but I didn’t look like fifty-eight, whatever that looked like. Now, where did I leave that issue of Southern Living? It was the one with all the casserole recipes in it. I’d turn the house upside down until I found it.
Chapter 7
“Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into the hills . . . in this expedition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we can trust.” . . .
. . . “but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the hills?”
“It has.”
—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”
Jackie
Only eight in the morning, and it was already as miserable as the weather in Afghanistan. At least we didn’t have the infernal dust and swarms of flies. And I could wear flip-flops instead of boots.
“Come on,” I said to Charlie.
We crossed the yard and slipped through the oleanders that separated Steve’s property from my mother’s. His Expedition was in the driveway, and his BMW was gone. Why one person needed two cars was beyond me. Just as we took the key and heard the metal move in the lock with a distinctive click, we could hear Stella and Stanley hurrying to meet us, barking happily. We opened the door and one of them, Stella, I think, jumped up on her hind legs, threw her paws on Charlie’s shoulders, and licked his face over and over. Her culinary benefactor had returned.
“I think she likes you, Son,” I said, marveling at the love and enthusiasm of the dog and, not surprisingly, Charlie’s. Stanley, obviously the better trained of the pair, sat at my feet. “Good boy.” I scratched his head.
“Yeah. Okay, now. Down, girl. Okay, now. That’s enough,” he said, rubbing Stella’s side. “I’ve got this handled, Mom. You can go.”
“Well, it’s your first visit inside a strange house, and I thought it might be a good idea if I came along.”
The real reason I had come with Charlie was to be sure Steve Plofker had not left his porn collection all over the place, if he had one, that is. I know that sounds very cynical, but I had known the man for less than twenty-four hours and for all I knew, he did. And my mother wouldn’t know a sexual deviate from a turnip truck, so don’t go there.
I went down the hall to where I thought I might find the kitchen and the dog’s leashes. The entire hallway was lined with photographs, obviously taken by Steve or his late wife, from vacations and trips all over the world. There were pictures of them together and of each other in front of temples in Thailand, castles in Scotland and Ireland, a volcano somewhere, riding camels in Egypt, fly-fishing in someplace that looked like Montana or Wyoming, on the beaches of various islands—they must have really loved traveling. And the pictures were beautiful. Really gorgeous. She was too. Was this a memorial to her? It softened my heart a little toward him to think it might be. My next thought was that if I had to look at a wall of pictures of Jimmy I’d probably spend the rest of my life wallowing in some massive pit of depression.
What was his wife’s name? I had not asked him. He knew Jimmy’s name. Well, I would ask the next time I saw him. It was something I should know.
She was very pretty—long blond hair, big eyes, perfect smile, thin, toned, probably tall too. She didn’t look stupid either. And she was stylish. I’d probably have hated her guts if I’d known her. And Lord pity the poor woman who tried to fill her shoes.
The leashes were on the kitchen counter with a note to which was attached a crisp five-dollar bill. I handed it to Charlie and we read it together. It said:
Dear Charlie,
Have fun with my crazy dogs. They get one cup of dry food and cool water to drink. No chocolate treats ever. I tell you this because they will eat anything and chocolate is dangerous for dogs and I didn’t know if you knew that. And bad news, you have to scoop their poop. That’s what the little bags that are attached to their leash are for. Make sure you get them off the beach by ten! The dog police will arrest them and give me a ticket.
See you tonight!
Dr. Steve
“Sweet! Five bucks! The easiest money I ever made!”
I had to laugh. He made it sound as though he’d been gainfully employed for decades. For some reason, maybe because I was feeling at home, I opened the refrigerator.
“Mom! What are you doing?”
“You can tell a lot about someone by what they eat,” I said.
“Oh. To me it looks like you’re stalking, but what do I know?”
“Let’s keep this between ourselves, okay?” There was nothing in the refrigerator besides a large container of a sports drink, some boxes of coconut water, diet beer, and skim milk. The freezer, however was another story. It was loaded. Loaded with labeled containers of blueberry cobbler, peach cobbler, and other sweets all identified with labels in Miss Deb’s handwriting and other containers of chicken divan, beef stew, spaghetti sauce, and chicken soup that were labeled by my mother. Did the pastry chef know what the savory chef was up to? Suddenly I doubted it.
“We’d better get out of here,” Charlie said.
“Just doing a little reconnaissance, Son.”
“Whatever,” he said.
We hooked the dogs up to their leashes and left the house the same way we’d come in. I locked the door and Charlie was off, running behind Stella and Stanley as fast as his ten-year-old legs would carry him. I decided not to worry for the next thirty minutes. I would not worry that a giant shark would leap from the waves and grab my boy or that he would step into the hole of a sand crab and break his ankle. Nope, I was going to be Grace Kelly’s official portrait of Her Serene Highness until he got back.
Mom was waiting on the porch with a pitcher of iced water laced with lemon slices and cucumber spears, some magazines, and of course her novel of dubious literary worth.
“Well, he’s off and running,” I said, closing the screen door behind me.
“Yeah, I saw those dogs take off. It’s hard to tell who’s exercising who!”
“Truly. Well, I’ll tell you another good thing about this job. It keeps him off that stupid DS of his.”
Mom removed her reading glasses and looked at me. “GPS? DS? Somebody needs to help me with all this newfangled jargon.”
I poured myself a glass of iced water and pulled out a spear of cucumber. “It’s this really annoying handheld electronic game device that half the kids in New York are addicted to that keeps them from using their brains and gives them mangled thumbs. Well, I’m not positive about the thumb problem. It’s just that I hate electronic games. They’re an awful waste of time.”
“I play solitaire on my laptop.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t taking her bait. “That’s different. Solitaire is a classic. And I doubt if you play for hours on end. What’s the lemon and cucumber for?”
“They’re a natural diuretic. And sometimes the evening can slip away while I’m battling the Angry Birds or playing Words with Friends.”
“Still. You’re an adult. You’re making an informed decision.” The idea of my mother in this wonderful house, lonely, turning to computer games for company, gave me a knot in my stomach.
“So tell me,” she said in almost a whisper, “what does the inside of his house look like?”
“Don’t you know? I mean, haven’t you ever been over there and gone inside?”
“Are you out of your natural mind? Don’t you know that if I went over there the monsignor of Stella Maris Church would have the Ladies’ Altar Society sew big fat red As on all my clothes?”
“Oh, God, you are so funny sometimes. Really, Momma! You are!”
“Well, are you going to tell me, or do I have to drag it out of you?”
She was serious. Oh, man. Mom and Miss Deb both had a crush on the man next door.
“It’s okay. Very tidy. And there are about a hundred pictures of his late wife plastered on the walls.”
“Really! Oh, my. The poor thing.”
Before she could gain steam on the subject of the widower, Charlie ran by us and waved from the beach. We stood up and waved back. I was happy for the diversion.
“He’s adorable,” she said, and we sat down again, rocking slowly.
“Thanks. I think so too. I just worry about him. You know?”
“Why? He’s a perfectly healthy, perfectly normal boy.”
“Yeah, but you know, he doesn’t exactly know his way around the world. In New York he’s got a little street savvy, but this is foreign territory. Now suddenly it seems like he wants to spread his wings and fly all over the island. It just makes me very nervous. I mean, look! Look at the ocean! It’s huge! It looks like it could roll up here and swallow us all up!”
“Oh, Jackie. My dear child. You know, I know you’ve been through a terrible thing, losing Jimmy, and what you witnessed over there in the desert and mountains I can only barely imagine.”
“Enough blood to give you nightmares for the rest of your life. Let’s start there.”
“Let’s not. Mercy! Baby, you’ve got to let him be a boy. You have to teach him well and then trust him a little. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s not going to do anything foolish. All the boys on this island run and play. It couldn’t be safer.”
“You don’t understand, Mom. He’s been very protected all his life. I mean, he’s not allowed to even walk to the bodega down on the corner without adult supervision.”
“What’s a bodega?”
“Oh, um, it’s the urban equivalent of a little convenience store. You know, they sell milk, eggs, sandwiches, lottery tickets—that kind of stuff. Like Mr. Gruber’s Wishing Well used to be.”
She nodded and said, “Now it’s the Co-op. And he really can’t walk to the corner on his own? Why?”
“Because someone might grab him. Remember that story about that poor kid in Brooklyn last year?”
“Dear Mother of God, how could I not remember? Horrible.”
“He was just walking to school. It was the first time he was going alone.”
“Well, I happen to have it on good authority that there are no registered sex offenders on this island, and if we have any serious weirdos they must be on their meds.”
“How do you know that?” I said.
“Because between Stella Maris Church, Deb’s Zumba classes, my Bunko group, and the beauty parlor I hear everything. There are no secrets on Sullivans Island. Remember that.”
“Like I have anything worth hiding?”
My voice had a definite edge to it. She became quiet for a few minutes.
“You know, sweetheart, you might find some value in yoga. They give all sorts of classes right over in Mount Pleasant. And meditation too.”
“Yoga? Are you serious?” Was she implying I had lousy judgment? Would yoga straighten out my brain? Meditation? Really? I could feel the heat rising in the back of my neck, and she knew that now I really was getting pissed.
“Yes, I’m serious! It’s supposed to be very good for your stress levels, and Lord knows, honey, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”
“And you think I’m not handling it very well. Is that right?”
“No! Good heavens, Jackie! Don’t get on your high horse with me! I’m on your side!”
I could see Charlie approaching us. I wasn’t going to let him catch me bickering with my mother. That would be poor form, as I did not allow him to bicker with me.
“You’re probably right. I should look into it. Who knows?”
“There, that’s my girl. Oh, look! Here come Charlie and his furry friends! I have to get them water. Try and see how they smell, will you, dear? I’ll be right back.”
Mom went inside to the kitchen, and I held the screen door open for Charlie and the dogs.
“Can I bring them in? Really? Glam said it was okay?”
“Only on the porch, kiddo. They have to stay out here. But it’s shady and cool so they should be fine.”
Charlie led them in, unhooked their leashes, wound them up, and put them on the trestle table. Before he could finish pouring a glass of water for himself, Stella and Stanley had already curled up on the floor. They smelled salty and earthy, as dogs coming in from the beach are supposed to smell.
“Whew!” he said after draining his glass. “These dogs have a lot of energy!”
“But you had fun, right?”
“I had a total blast! Oh! There are some kids having a sand castle–building contest down the island. I’m gonna go back and see what they’re doing. But I think I’m going to get in the hammock first. You know, catch my breath.”
He plopped himself into the hammock with such force that it was only by God’s holy grace that he didn’t flip over and land on the floor of the porch, knock out his teeth, and break his nose.
“Whew! They love to run!” He stuck his foot out to push off from the porch bannister. “I’ll go check them out later.”
“Who?”
“The kids. The ones with the contest.”
“Right. Well, when you go, let me know. I might take a walk with you.”
“Sure! Okay!”
Mom came back out carrying two plastic food storage containers of water and put them down on the floor next to our new charges. They looked up at her gratefully and rose to have a drink, slurping so loudly that we all laughed.
Already bored with swinging in the hammock, Charlie got out and made an announcement. “I’m gonna go put on my bathing suit, and then I’m gonna go see what those kids are doing.”
Mom looked at me, and I looked at her. She could see that I was getting extremely nervous, and then it struck me. I had inherited her nerves! What? Could it be? It was the worst possibility of the gene pool come to life. The thing I hated, no, despised about her was now present in me! Well, I wasn’t going to let anyone see me sweat. Especially them.
“Of course, Charlie! You go ahead and have a good time! But don’t go in the water. And if you do, don’t go over your knees. Is that a deal?”
“Your mother’s right, Charlie. You might get stung by a jellyfish. It’s almost August, you know, and jellyfish come in great swarms during the A months.”
“Wow,” he said, considering the news. Then he saluted us. “Aye, aye, captains!” He ran inside t
o change.
“Thanks for backing me up there, Mom.”
“I’ve always got your back, baby.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that I couldn’t live if anything ever happened to him. I just couldn’t stand it. Did you ever worry about me like that?”
“Are you kidding? Worse. The first time you went on a date in a car with a boy I had to take five milligrams of Valium and a strong drink of gin. Maybe two. Then I went to bed and made your daddy stay up to listen for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And how do you think it was for me when you went into a war zone?”
“But Mom, that’s my passion. And I’m trained to handle it. You know that. Besides, I Skyped with Jimmy and Charlie every chance I had. You knew I was safe.”
“Yes, I know. But what I’m saying to you is that there will never be a time that you don’t worry about Charlie. Just as there will never be a time when I don’t worry about you. It’s the very nature of motherhood. And sometimes it’s really hard to deal with it because you know you sound like an old fool to everyone who hears your concerns. The good news is that it’s normal.”
“And the bad news is that it never stops.”
“That’s right. But you get used to it. And the older he gets, the less you’ll panic.”
“Because he’ll get smarter?”
“No, because he won’t be home with you. He’ll be away at college and then out into the world, and hopefully he’ll find a nice girl who will fret and wring her hands over him. Then you’ll have someone else besides me to share your burden.”
“But then they’ll marry and have children.”
“Yes, and another generation of people to obsess over will come into your life. Isn’t that awful?”
“Oh, Mom.” We smiled at each other then.
“It’s just how it is, baby. It’s just the way it goes.”
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