Return to Sullivan's Island

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “I think we should go, and if we’re not out too late I can show you the island in three hundred and sixty degrees, later when it’s dark. All the stars come out around ten.”

  “You mean the widow’s walk, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Awesome. You know, I saw the widow’s walk the first time I came here and I wondered if you all ever went up there.”

  “Used to. When my mom was a kid it was her favorite hiding place. Later on when Aunt Maggie married my Uncle Grant he enlarged it a little, putting that enclosure on. It’s a great place to watch a storm.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “We used to play there when we were little. I haven’t been up there in years. So, where’s dinner?”

  “I was thinking Shem Creek. There’s a sunset bar on top of Jackson Hole, and then we can either eat there or walk over to the Water’s Edge. They’ve got the best wine list.”

  “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. Wait one sec. I have to get my bag. And lock the front door. Twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “Family tradition.”

  “Got it. All family’s are a little crazy.”

  “Ours especially.”

  Beth passed through the living room and gave the big mirror a glance. Nothing. Good, she thought.

  “How about you just keep your opinions to yourself tonight, Livvie?”

  “You talking to someone?” Max called out.

  “Yeah. No,” she called back. He’d never believe what goes on in this house, she thought. I’m not even so sure. “Okay, so, I’m ready to go.”

  When they arrived at the restaurant they were greeted by the owner, Brad Jackson.

  “Hey, how’re y’all doing tonight? Can I put your name on the list for a table?”

  “No, I think we’re just gonna watch the sunset, maybe have a glass of wine,” Max said.

  “Sounds good! Nice to have y’all! Just watch your step there.”

  Beth and Max climbed the stairs and made their way through the crowd to the bar. Beth could feel her hair start to rise.

  “What’s it gonna be?” said the bartender.

  “Two Pinot Grigios?” Max said, not looking at Beth for an okay signal.

  “Fine,” Beth said. What if I wanted something else? she thought, but said nothing.

  Beth noticed that the bartender, a pretty blond woman around the same age as her mother, had an exquisite diamond ring and wedding band on her left hand. Why would someone with a door-knocker on her hand be tending bar? She put the glasses in front of them and said, “Here we go. So, where are y’all from?”

  “Atlanta,” said Max. “You?”

  “Old Village. Moved back here a few years ago. Got married.”

  “What does your husband do?” said Beth, determined not to be left out of the conversation.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m Linda Jackson. My husband Brad and I own the place. Our regular bartender is on vacation.” Linda shook Max’s hand and he grimaced in pain.

  “Wow,” Max said.

  “Oh, sorry! I gotta keep working on that handshake thing. Brad says I shake hands like a trucker! How about you all? Is this your daughter?”

  “What?” Max said, as though she had asked if he had raging syphilis. “No! Are you kidding? I’m single!”

  Beth saw her question and his answer as providential.

  “Oh, shoot! Whoops!” Linda said. “Well, it’s a big mistake not to get married, Max.”

  “And just why is that?” he asked, amused by her emphatic statement.

  “Well, they did this study? At the NIH or someplace? Anyway, the study said that men who marry before fifty live ten years longer than those who don’t. So basically, you’re cutting your life short if you stay single. That’s all. Go ahead. Kill yourself. Stay single.”

  “I guess she told you, huh?” Beth said. “I heard about the same article. She’s right.”

  “Excuse me for a minute,” Linda said with a laugh, and stepped away to serve another customer.

  Beth was embarrassed that Linda assumed Max was her father, but if they were from a third-world country he technically could have been. Gross, she thought.

  Max was seriously and thoroughly annoyed at Linda’s question too because what did that make him? A dirty old man? Max had never been too old for anything in his entire life! And since he arrived at her door that evening he had been thinking of Beth as a morsel, his own personal Lolita. I have intentions for tonight and this Linda person is blowing it for me, he thought.

  He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we step over to the railing where we have a better view?” Max said.

  “Sure,” Beth said, just as happy to leave Linda’s watchful eye as he was.

  The deck was bulging with humanity as it usually was and it was difficult to turn around without bumping into someone’s elbow and sloshing their drink from their glass. The music was a little loud and the other people were laughing and carrying on, feeling more festive than Beth or Max at the moment.

  Beth looked out over the water and took in everything from the old shrimp boats tied up to the nearby pilings to the deepening colors on the horizon as the sun began its fiery descent. Was he really too old for her? she wondered. How would she know if she didn’t at least give the whole thing with him a try? But my mother would flip out, she thought. But maybe not. Wasn’t history loaded with couples who had age differences? Weren’t there other reasons why the outside world would have thought they had no business being together? Of course there were. But should she care? Didn’t Edgar Allan Poe marry his thirteen-year-old cousin? Okay, she thought, that’s disgusting. We’re not that bad. What about Miss December, Demi Moore, and Mr. May, Ashton Kutcher? I’ll bet she’s glad she went to the gym, she thought. And weren’t John and Cindy McCain like eighteen years apart? Yes, they were. So, she decided, if it all seems okay to me, then I shouldn’t worry about what other people think. Screw ’em, she thought. I’m crazy about Max.

  “What are you so deep in thought about?” Max asked.

  “You’re gonna die if I tell you. I was wondering what it would be like to sleep with you. I mean, well, yep, that’s what I was thinking, to be brutally honest.”

  Max’s eyebrows took a jump for his scalp and he could not conceal his satisfaction as he flashed every tooth in his head in a grin as wide as a big-mouth bass.

  “I was hoping you’d come around to that.”

  “Well, I did. Does that terrify you?”

  “No, no. Not one bit. Uh, but I think decorum dictates that I have to feed you first.”

  “So you can work up your nerve?”

  “Don’t worry about me working up anything.”

  “Woo hoo!”

  “But I have to say, you little tease, I’m starving.”

  “Who’s a tease?”

  She wanted to continue taunting him and say something like, Well, you’d better eat protein so you’ll have your strength. Or to say any number of other provocative things about oysters and spinach that passed through her mind, but she didn’t want to trivialize the moment. When they finally reached the bedroom she wanted him to take whatever transpired between them as dead serious.

  So in an effort to seem cool, calm, and collected she said, “I guess I could go for a crab cake.” Then she worried. Would fish give her bad breath? Holy mackerel, you have to worry about everything, she thought. She would drench it with lemon juice.

  Dinner began as a hurried affair with liberal dispensing of cocktails and wine. As the evening went on and now that Beth had dropped the bait, she wasn’t so sure if she had the chutzpah to reel in the big fish. It didn’t matter because it was similar to accepting a diamond and promising lifelong fidelity. Once you put the ring on your finger, you were as good as married. Sort of. But Max could sense Beth’s uncertainty. He was not interested in dragging her into a cave and having his way with her like some Neanderthal. So he began to take some distance to put her nerves at ease.

  “W
e should order some dessert, don’t you think? I mean, what’s the rush?”

  Beth took this to mean that perhaps his interest had faded. Instead of being relieved of her promise to deliver the goods, she was suddenly inspired to work harder to strengthen his interest, which was exactly what Max knew would happen.

  But Beth was not as naïve as he imagined. She could play cat and mouse with the best of them.

  Looking directly into his eyes, she said, “Sure, why not? Let’s get something gooey. We could walk it off on the beach. If you want. It’s low tide.”

  He looked directly back into her eyes and challenged, “That sounds just like what the doctor ordered.”

  So after a decadent dessert of Mimi’s double milk chocolate pound cake with semisweet chocolate frosting and fresh grated coconut, drizzled with hot chocolate sauce, garnished with slivers of strawberries and kiwi, all nestled in a puddle of a lemon-lime coulis and sprinkled with powdered sugar, they had coffee. With a shot of whiskey. Beth fed Max with her fork and he made sounds that would embarrass the clergy of any denomination, even though they both knew the sound effects were, in part, only for entertainment. Max couldn’t wait to get the check. Beth couldn’t wait for it to be paid.

  They parked at her house, Beth took Lola for a short visit to the yard while Max washed his hands. The night was clear and the sky was strewn with the glitter of endless stars. When she returned, he had opened the second bottle of wine of the evening that he had simply taken from the refrigerator, making himself at home. She really didn’t want anything else to drink but Beth knew the mischief was about to begin. She began to tingle with excitement.

  “Want to go up top or do you want to take a walk?” she said.

  “I think let’s go up and have a look. It’s such a clear night.”

  They climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the house and stood in the open air looking up and all around. She was feeling a little dizzy, but between the stairs and all she’d eaten for dinner, it was no surprise.

  Beth’s hair was windswept in the opposite direction of wherever she faced, giving Max every opportunity to study her in profile. He was amazed by the tautness of her skin and how she had yet to earn a single wrinkle. Her complexion was smooth and pale in stark contrast with her dark hair, and her unusually blue eyes were framed by thick dark lashes. He would not have said she was a classic beauty but that she was a beautiful young woman who had not yet grown into her looks. Soon she would be stunning and her face was the kind that would improve with years. Even as an observer he had to admit it because his vanity had him in a choke hold. His own looks were post-peak and he knew it.

  Max had always considered himself to be a handsome devil because the world had always assured him that he was. But he realized the days were at hand where he would have to rely on fastidious grooming, the contents of his wallet, and some measure of gallantry to take him where he wanted to go in the future. Beth’s youth might be an asset to him. Certainly her cousin’s position as an investor could be a lifesaver if he played his cards right.

  “That’s the Big Dipper,” he said.

  She was about to say, No duh, genius, but caught herself and said instead, “And that’s Orion’s Belt.” She felt very full and wished she had excused herself before climbing up to the top of the house.

  “And that is the full extent of my astronomy knowledge. Except for that really bright star over there that looks like it’s going to come down here and eat us alive. Maybe it’s aliens.”

  Beth giggled and said, “Oh, good grief, Max! No! Bright stars like that aren’t necessarily closer. We might be looking at a planet or an old star.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because while you were pouring over architectural drawings, I was in a classroom learning this stuff.”

  “So, what else do you know?” Max moved closer to her and pushed her hair away from her face.

  “Um, Vega? Well, it’s the second-brightest star in the northern celestial hemisphere and it comes out first.”

  Max stood closer to her, pushed her hair away again, and narrowed his eyes, staring into hers.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” she said.

  She knew that this was the moment he was going to kiss her and all at once she felt a pressing need to release some air from her digestive tract in an unladylike burp. She hoped it would be silent and, heaven knows, odorless, so she turned away. Unfortunately, just as he reached for her lower back to pull her closer to him, she felt an invisible hand push her face back toward his. Here came Mimi’s milk chocolate pound cake and all the trimmings for a return visit. It spewed all over Max’s shirt, down her white dress. Between coughing and, well, the unfortunate continuation of the unforgettable events of the moment, Beth began to wail in earnest.

  “Oh, shit! Shit! Shit!”

  “Good God!” Max held out his arms from his side, shook them, and looked down at his shirt in disgust. “I don’t guess you want a glass of wine, huh?”

  Beth coughed and coughed and sent the last of the lemon-lime coulis moving like a lava flow down the tin roof toward the front yard as she prayed it would rain overnight. She felt immensely better once the episode was over. When she turned to face him she nearly died.

  “OH! MY! GOD! It’s all over you! Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

  “Me too! Jesus, look at my shirt! Can’t wear this one tomorrow. I’m gonna go in and clean up.”

  “Oh, Max! This is terrible! I am so sorry!”

  “Beth, no one ever throws up on their date on purpose. I know that.”

  With that he turned his back to her and went down the steps. Beth paused for a moment, considering flinging herself over the railings to end it all. For a split second it seemed like a more desirable solution to the situation. But then, for some inexplicable reason, she started to laugh. How horrible! Who would believe this? Here she was, with the love of her future life, ready to throw the man down and show him what youthful vigor was all about, and she had thrown up all over him instead! It was rich! The stuff of novels! No it wasn’t. It was a travesty. How would she face him ever again? Oh God, she thought, it’s over. Well? Maybe not. She would face him in the way her mother had taught her to conduct herself in times of severe adversity. She would use her sense of humor. Humor was a powerful tool. If that failed, she would claim a food allergy, which she actually had from time to time. And if that failed to move his heart, she would remind the coldhearted son of a dirty mongrel that dessert had been his idea in the first place. And, who or what had turned her face back toward Max at that critical moment?

  She called out from the front door toward the bathroom, where she could hear the water running.

  “I’ll be right back! Gonna change my clothes!”

  He didn’t answer but she hoped that he had heard her and she rushed up the stairs. She carefully removed her dress and threw it in the bathtub. The dress was a total disaster and she would never wear it again. Ever. Then she soaked a washcloth in cold water and washed the remnants of her makeup from her face. Quickly she brushed her teeth, and while she rinsed with mouthwash, she watched her face in the mirror as it began to grow hives. Big red ugly hives began to appear in frightening numbers across her chest and down her arms. She began to itch and all she would do was think about screaming the F word to the rafters. She dug around in the medicine cabinet for Benadryl and found a pack of it, downing two pills as fast as she could.

  “Here I am in my underwear, covered in hives, after vomming all over Max. Some femme fatale I am.”

  “You okay?” he called up the stairs.

  “I’m not dead yet!” she called back in an English accent in a reference to Monty Python’s Black Knight, wondering if he got the joke. “I’ll be right down.”

  She threw on a pair of shorts and a halter top, knowing she looked like a fright, and then she threw a linen shirt over the halter to conceal her hives. And she grabbed a clean knit shirt for him from her Uncle Grant’s chest of drawers.


  “Good grief,” she said to the mirror in her bedroom. “Happy Halloween.”

  She found him in a rocking chair on the porch, feet up on the banisters, listening to the ocean. The light was very dim, coming only from the lighthouse and from the few houses nearby. A blessing.

  “Clean shirt?”

  “Oh, thanks.” There was no trace of gratitude in his voice. Max stood up, yanked his soaking wet shirt over his head, and threw it in a wad to the floor. He unbuttoned the other one and put it on. Even though she could sense his general dissatisfaction, Beth had a chance to assess his abs, which even in her delicate but recovered state looked very good to her.

  “I brought you a glass of water,” he said, pointing to the glass on the table. “You feeling better? Just what the heck happened to you?”

  “Oh, just lucky, I guess. Thanks.”

  “You call that luck?”

  “Seriously, listen, I have a sometime shellfish allergy. I think it was the crab cake.”

  “The crab cake? Then why did you order it?”

  Beth was a little taken back by his tone. “Because I love them. And they hardly ever make me sick. But I think that combined with that crazy dessert—”

  “Which was a really stupid idea…”

  “May I remind you that it was your idea to have dessert in the first place?”

  The conversation was not traveling in a good direction and she was sinking into a hole of insecurity, thinking that she was small and insignificant, stupid, and that ultimately she would be forgotten. Worse, their schoolyard banter was hardly worthy of a pair of belligerent fifth graders.

  “Maybe. Whatever. Look, I gotta get up early.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay then.” He stood and looked at her, unsmiling. “Too bad. Tonight could’ve been the start of a great love affair.”

  “Yeah,” she said, suppressing a sigh, feeling more forlorn than ever. “Well, there’s always tomorrow.”

  “That’s right.” He pinched her chin and awarded her the smallest of smiles, a piteous thing. “I’ll call you this week.”

  She knew he would never call. She watched him back out of the yard knowing that whatever chance she had thought existed for a romance with Max was finished. He had been grossed out at a new level. After about ten more minutes of solemn despair for the wild night that never was and reliving the shattered dream of his affection for her, she began to feel annoyed at how callous and unsympathetic he had been. But later, when she tried to sleep, all she could do was think of him and how close she had been to having him. Even if only for one night.