Dreams of Falling

by Karen White

  “And Mama said I gets to go on the boat!”

  I frowned at the two of them, wondering what they were doing there, and how Ellis knew there’d be a boat. My gaze traveled to the screened porch at the rear of the house. A shock of unnatural red hair stood out against the house’s white paint. I heard a cough and smelled the acrid scent of a cigarette, and I knew who must have called to let Bennett know where I was going. And with whom.

  “Sorry, sport,” Jackson said as he put his arm around me. “You’re too late. Good seeing you, Bennett.” He moved his other hand toward the throttle, but I held it back.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, unable to take the look of complete abandonment and desolation on Ellis’s little face. “Can’t we give him just a quick ride down the river and bring him right back?”

  Jackson shrugged and let out a big sigh. “I guess.” He maneuvered the boat up to the dock again, Bennett helping to pull the boat closer so he could hand Ellis inside. As I was getting Ellis settled, I felt the thud of someone landing on the boat and turned to see Bennett standing next to me, grinning.

  “Hate to miss an opportunity to be seen in this boat, Jackson,” he said. “Can’t let Ellis have all the fun, can we?” He gave a friendly punch to Jackson’s shoulder.

  Jackson had replaced his sunglasses so I could no longer see his eyes, but his smile was definitely dimmer. “Of course not.” He waited for everyone to sit down, then pushed the throttle forward, making the boat jump.

  Bennett sat down on Ellis’s other side, and put his arm around the boy, his hand resting on my shoulder. “You might want to slow it down, Jackson,” Bennett shouted so Jackson could hear. “Mabry said Ellis loves to ride on boats, but he gets seasick pretty easily. We’re hoping he’ll outgrow it. No boy living this close to the water should be allowed to get seasick.”

  Jackson sent a worried look over at Ellis, who’d propped himself up on his knees and was staring backward at the spray of water from the motor splashing behind us. He slowed the boat so that we were barely going faster than I could swim, and I was a slow swimmer.

  “You serious, man?”

  “As a heart attack,” Bennett said with a wide smile, leaning back and crossing a tanned leg over his knee.

  Jackson continued to steer the boat at a low speed, looking back often to check on Ellis while I glared at Bennett.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  “What?” Bennett shouted, cupping his ear as if he hadn’t heard. Despite the sound from the motor, I knew he’d either heard or read my lips, because he kept grinning like the village idiot. He leaned forward and flipped on the sound system, then looked at me expectantly.

  “‘Bad Man.’ Pitbull.” I rolled my eyes.

  “You never disappoint,” he said before turning to Jackson. “Does she?”

  “What?” Jackson shouted. He pointed to his ear. “I can’t hear.”

  I shook my head, then looked away from Bennett to watch the water spray up from the sides of the boat. I wasn’t sure what made me look back a few minutes later. Maybe it was the sense of Ellis turning around in his seat, or the feeling of Bennett hopping up very quickly, but by the time I realized what was happening, Ellis had thrown up all over the seat, the floor, and me.

  “Aw, man,” Jackson shouted, carefully turning the boat around and heading back to the dock.

  Ellis didn’t seem to hear and was now beaming happily, despite his uncle wiping him down with paper towels from a roll he’d found inside an armrest. “I feel good now.”

  I smiled at the little boy, glad he was no worse for wear, although I couldn’t say the same for myself. I sat in stony silence, listening to more Pitbull on the stereo until Jackson brought the boat up to the dock again. I ignored Bennett’s offer of the paper towel roll.

  Bennett got out first and reached for Ellis, then me. I was about to protest when I realized that there was nothing salvageable about my outfit and that the smell was beginning to make me feel sick, too.

  “I’m sorry, Jackson. Can we try this again?”

  He managed a smile. “Of course. Just give me time to clean and deodorize the boat. I’ll call you, okay?”

  I nodded and almost leaned in for a kiss before I remembered I was covered in vomit. Bennett’s hand was outstretched for me to take and I wanted so badly to ignore it, but I couldn’t get out of the boat in my maxi dress without help, so I grudgingly took it and allowed him to pull me up onto the dock.

  “See you later, Jackson. Sorry about the boat,” Bennett called as Jackson pulled away, waving a hand in either good-bye or resignation— I couldn’t tell which.

  I knelt in front of Ellis, trying to ignore the odor emanating from both of us. “You sure you’re feeling better?”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “Great,” I said, rubbing the top of his head and standing. “Your uncle Bennett is going to hose you off in the outdoor shower at the side of the house. I’ll bring you a towel, and then you can come inside and have one of Ceecee’s brownies if you’re still feeling better, all right?”

  “What about me? Don’t I get a brownie?” Bennett asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

  “No,” I said, unable to hide the anger in my voice even though Ellis was there. “What is your game here, Bennett?”

  His face became suddenly serious. “It’s no game. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  I stepped closer to him. “What I do and with whom is none of your business. Stay out of it.”

  “And allow you to revert to your adolescence?”

  My hand lifted involuntarily, and I would have slapped him if Ellis hadn’t been there watching with wide eyes that were just like his uncle’s.

  Without a word, I turned on my heel and marched back to the house, smelling cigarette smoke wafting from the screened porch.

  twenty-five

  Ceecee

  1951

  The night before the funeral for Margaret’s parents, Ceecee dreamed of a burial, but she was the one in the coffin lowered into the dark earth. She’d awakened, still smelling the pungent aroma of freshly dug dirt. Despite the predawn hour, she’d been unable to go back to sleep, the lingering sense of helplessness crowding her bones and making them press against her skin. Even fully awake, she’d gasped for air, searching desperately for a way out of the dark hole in which she’d been buried. The dream’s meaning tapped at her brain, its message hidden from her as she struggled to breathe, the sense of something terrible about to happen as real as looking up from the grave and seeing a shovelful of dirt slowly sliding its way into the hole.

  Now Ceecee stood in the churchyard at Prince George Winyah Episcopal Cemetery and lifted the black netting on her hat in an attempt to get it to stop making her nose itch. At the Darlington plot, the two freshly dug graves stood out like dark scars on the patchy grass and dried earth of the ancient cemetery, where generations of Darlingtons had been laid to rest for nearly three hundred years.

  Ceecee pressed her handkerchief against her cheeks to dab away the perspiration, giving the appearance of wiping her tears. It was a funeral, after all, and they wouldn’t have been out of place. And she’d known Mr. and Mrs. Darlington practically her whole life. The way they’d died had been a tragedy, everyone in Georgetown kept whispering, as if Margaret might shatter should they say it loudly enough.

  But Ceecee couldn’t cry. She was too hot and miserable in her black wool dress that already seemed as heavy as armor in the humid air of late May. And her emotions were frayed to a point that seemed beyond tears.

  Bitty, standing next to her, took Ceecee’s gloved hand and squeezed it. The Darlington luck had been legendary, so why had it stopped? What did it mean? Ceecee’s minister father said there was no such thing as luck. Or fate. It was God’s will and nothing more. But if God was good and merciful, why were Margaret’s parents both gone?
>
  Her thoughts turned darker, remembering what her mother had told her long ago about her friendship with Margaret. How jealousy was one of the seven deadly sins, and whether you disguised the green-eyed monster with admiration or friendship, it would always be a sharp-toothed beast, waiting to pounce. She watched Margaret lean into Boyd, pressing her face into his shoulder as the reverend said the graveside prayers, and she watched as Boyd placed his arm around Margaret to keep her from slipping to the ground. And as Ceecee watched, she felt her heart grow heavier and heavier, a rock tied to her ankle that dragged her to the silty bottom of despair.

  The reverend said his final amen, and the mourners began to drift away. Bitty squeezed her hand again, jerking her chin in the direction of the Hardings, who’d flown in from London, where Margaret’s uncle Milton had been assigned a diplomatic role at the American embassy. Aunt Dorothy gently took hold of Margaret’s arm and led her away from Boyd to the backseat of a black sedan driven by a uniformed driver. Uncle Milton turned around and asked Boyd to join them, and Boyd nodded, sending an apologetic glance in Ceecee’s direction.

  They were headed back to Carrowmore, where Margaret’s aunt had orchestrated a tasteful wake. Her firm and unyielding will would have made her late sister proud. She had no time for dawdling or grieving.

  In the corner of her heart where charitable thoughts were allowed, Ceecee was glad Aunt Dorothy was there; she imagined her to be a great comfort to Margaret. And then, not as charitably, she wished Margaret would turn to Aunt Dorothy for guidance and consolation instead of clinging to Boyd as she had since that awful day at the morgue.

  Because of Uncle Milton’s pressing duties, the Hardings were due to fly back to London the following week. They’d wanted Margaret to come to London and live with them, but Margaret had turned them down, saying she wanted to stay at Carrowmore. Only after reassurances by both Ceecee and Bitty and their families that Margaret would be well attended, her emotional and physical needs cared for, had they reluctantly agreed.

  Bitty, knowing how progressive Aunt Dottie was, tried to convince Margaret to tell her about the pregnancy. Maybe this would be the perfect opportunity for Margaret to have a baby without anyone back at home ever knowing.

  But Margaret had insisted she wanted to stay at Carrowmore. She was convinced that Reggie would show up any day now. It was the one thing that she clung to, the one thought that seemed to be keeping her sane. Bitty and Ceecee were unwilling to threaten the well-being of the baby growing inside her, or sever the one remaining tie that connected her to a sound mind.

  The family’s attorney would make sure that Margaret lacked for nothing financially and would handle all estate matters, with Uncle Milton acting as executor and trustee. Margaret would land on her feet, as she always had, the thought darkening Ceecee’s mood even further. Grief and love for her friend battled with the little green-eyed monster that kept prodding her in the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades.

  Ceecee took one last look at the gaping holes in the ground, and shuddered as she recalled her dream. She made to join her own family, but Bitty pulled her back. “Come with me. I need a cigarette first.”

  Ceecee called out to her parents that she’d join them at Carrowmore, ignoring her mother’s look of worry. Ever since the day Dr. Griffith had called with the news of Margaret’s parents, Ceecee’s mother had been hovering near her daughter, just like she probably had when Ceecee was learning to walk. It was as if her mother were anticipating a sharp corner or an uneven surface that would rise up and hurt her little girl.

  Bitty took off her gloves to light her cigarette, shoving them into her purse. They’d be impossibly wrinkled. Not that Bitty cared about wrinkles or uneven hems or poker-straight hair that wouldn’t curl. She kept threatening to cut it off and wear it like a boy’s.

  Now Bitty took a deep drag, closing her eyes as she held the smoke in her lungs. She blew it out in widening rings, which she and Ceecee watched float through the thick limbs of an oak tree whose roots were nudging at some of the older Darlington gravestones.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  Ceecee looked at her, not understanding. It wasn’t as if she had control of anything right now. “About what?”

  “About Margaret’s leaning on Boyd for everything. I don’t like it, and you shouldn’t, either.”

  “Of course I don’t.” Ceecee looked away so Bitty couldn’t see her eyes. “But Margaret has just lost her parents. Not to mention she’s pregnant and unmarried, and the father of her baby is halfway around the world training for war. Boyd is Reggie’s brother, so I suppose it’s logical that Margaret would lean on him in Reggie’s absence.”

  “Are you listening to yourself, Ceecee? Because the one thing you forgot to mention is that Margaret is one of your dearest friends. ‘Friends forever,’ remember? Yes, she’s in a twisted mess right now—most of which is of her own doing—but she’s either blissfully unaware or, worse, aware but ignoring the fact that you are her close friend and Boyd is yours.”

  Ceecee stepped back, feigning surprise. “Really, Bitty. How can you say that? I’m sure if the tables were turned, Margaret would understand if it were Reggie comforting me.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. She has no idea how to put another person first. It’s not her fault, of course. She was never taught that. It’s easy to be generous with your friends when your needs are met, and hers always were—tenfold. But that doesn’t mean she’s a generous person.”

  Ceecee began to walk away, too afraid to listen. To acknowledge that what Bitty was saying was not only the truth, but echoed her own shameful thoughts. “She’s our friend . . .”

  Bitty pulled on Ceecee’s arm, jerking her around so they were face-to-face. “To a point. Remember that. I love her, too. We’ve always considered ourselves sisters, haven’t we? And I will do what I can to help her get through this.” She put her lower lip between her teeth, as if deciding whether to say more. Eventually, she said, “I told Mrs. Harding about the baby.”

  “You what?” Ceecee was torn between abject horror at the breach of confidence, and relief that—with this revelation—Margaret might end up an ocean away. “What did she say?”

  “Not what I expected. She told me in no uncertain terms that any hint of scandal would destroy her husband’s career. He’d like to be ambassador to the Court of St. James’s one day, and one doesn’t get there with scandal riding one’s coattails. Those were her exact words.” Bitty took another drag from her cigarette. “Her best offer was to ask her husband to solicit his friends in high office to find Reggie and get a message to him. But that’s all.”

  “That’s horrible. And so unfeeling. Have you told Margaret?”

  “Of course not.” Bitty stepped closer, her breath heavy with the smell of nicotine. “It’s our job as friends to stand by her. But never forget that Margaret’s made her own bed, and now she has to lie in it. Don’t let her mistakes become yours.”

  * * *

  • • •

  It had been almost three weeks since the Darlingtons’ funeral. Ceecee was yanking weeds from her mother’s flower bed when she saw Boyd’s car pull up to the house and park. Her mother stood, a worried look on her face.

  Ceecee stood, too, wondering why it was taking Boyd so long to get out of the car. When he did, his movements were slow. His face, under the brim of his hat, couldn’t hide the grim set of his jaw. Ceecee moved to greet him, but her mother held her back.

  “You go on inside and get some sweet tea and let me talk with him for a moment. I don’t like the sound of your father’s cough, and I want to get Boyd’s opinion.”

  Ceecee almost argued, but the look in her mother’s eyes made her realize she shouldn’t. With a quick glance behind her, she went into the house, leaving her mother and Boyd to talk. Were they discussing the marriage proposal, which had yet to materialize? Or, she thought as she walked
into the kitchen, was it Margaret’s mental health?

  Although Ceecee and Bitty had been to see Margaret every day, their friend seemed to slip further and further away from them. Mrs. Purnell had offered to fix up the spare room for Margaret and have her move in with Ceecee’s family for as long as she needed. But Margaret had turned her down, saying she felt closer to her parents at Carrowmore. Ceecee was secretly glad. Her friend had already taken up so much of her life; she didn’t want to give up her house and family, too.

  In the kitchen, Ceecee took her time pouring sweet tea into tall glasses, her hand shaking so badly that she had to stop and clean up the mess twice. Finally, her mother came in.

  “What has gotten into you, Sessalee?” she asked, taking the pitcher out of her hands.

  “It’s nothing. It’s everything,” she said, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t cry. “Is he here to tell me that he doesn’t want to marry me? Because I know he was planning on asking me that day Dr. Griffith called with the news about Mr. and Mrs. Darlington. But he hasn’t mentioned it since, and I’m sick with worry that he’s changed his mind.”

  Her mother regarded her with pinched eyes. So much gray had appeared in her dark hair, Ceecee noticed, and deep wrinkles had formed between her brows.

  “My sweet girl,” she said gently, “true love doesn’t change its mind. It might get waylaid or sidetracked, but if it’s real, it stays true. Don’t forget that, you hear?”

  “But I know how I feel about him, and I know how he feels about me. I just don’t understand, Mama.”

  Her mother pulled her into her arms, and Ceecee placed her head on her chest just like she had when she was a little girl. “Boyd is a good man. With a strong sense of responsibility. He understands, as I know you do, too, that one of your dearest friends just suffered a terrible loss and any celebration now would be not only inconsiderate but cruel.”