by Karen White
I stopped moving my lips, aware of the lingering scent in the car of a woman’s perfume that wasn’t mine. I remembered how late Jackson had shown up at the dance, and pulled abruptly back, surprising him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Before I could prioritize what I wanted to say, he was kissing me again, one hand pressed against the back of my head, the other one sliding up my rib cage until it was cupping my breast.
I pushed him away. “Please stop,” I said, my voice shaky, the collision of my fantasy world with this reality shattering something inside me.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, a half grin gracing his face, his white teeth in the streetlamp’s glow giving him a feral appearance.
“I do,” I said, my voice nearly lost in a rush of air from my lungs as I saw everything with a glaring clarity. Knew without a doubt that everything Mabry had said about Jackson was right.
Memories were flooding back. The day during senior year, right before finals, when he’d invited me out on his dad’s boat, just the two of us, because, he said, he wanted to get to know me better. How he’d brought me down to the cabin with the double bed and the messy sheets, and I’d gone willingly because I thought I was in love with him.
I held him back with the heels of my hands pressed against his broad shoulders. “That time on the boat—you said it was special for you, too. Do you say that to every girl?”
His grin dipped, either because he felt shame or thought that’s what I wanted to see. “Maybe not every one, but when I say it, I sincerely want the girl to feel special.”
Spots danced before my eyes, either from anger or from forgetting to breathe. He must have taken my silence for something else entirely, because he leaned forward for another kiss, his hand snaking around the back of my dress and tugging at the top of the zipper.
“Stop!” I shouted, trying to pull away, beating on his shoulder with one hand while the other searched for the door handle.
“You don’t mean that. You weren’t such a tease before, if I remember correctly.” I felt the zipper slide lower down my back as he tried to pull me over the console toward him. I was mad at my own naïveté and stupidity almost as much as I was angry at him.
“Stop!” I screamed, hitting out as hard as I could with both fists. I opened my mouth to scream again, but the sound died in my throat as the driver’s side door was yanked open. A pair of hands reached inside and grabbed hold of Jackson’s shirt, hauling him out of the car.
I jerked upright as my door was opened as well, and almost cried with relief when I recognized Mabry. She helped me stand, and pulled up my zipper. “Are you all right?”
I started to nod, but was distracted by the sound of a scuffle coming from the other side of the car. Mabry and I both ran over to find Bennett holding Jackson by the collar of his shirt. “What do you think you’re doing?” Bennett was yelling, shaking Jackson so hard, his head was moving back and forth like that of a bobblehead.
Jackson pushed on Bennett’s chest with both hands, dislodging his grasp. “It’s none of your business. Just me and a girl in my car.”
Bennett stepped forward, jabbing an index finger in Jackson’s chest. “That’s not ‘just a girl.’ That’s Larkin.”
The feral grin was back on Jackson’s face. “You think I don’t know who she is? I know her a lot better than you do, that’s for sure.”
“What are you talking about?” Bennett asked, his voice low with warning.
“Don’t say anything, Jackson.” Mabry had moved to stand in front of the two men. “Just get in your car and go. We’re done here.”
“What are you talking about?” Bennett asked again as he took hold of Jackson’s collar and gave him a hard shake. They were the same height. Bennett was lean and muscled, but Jackson was built like a bulldog. I didn’t see how any fight between them would end well.
“Oh, come on, Bennett. Didn’t you pay into the betting pool senior year? All the guys on the team did. I made a lot of money, but it was a tough job. Larkin wasn’t so good-looking back then. I had to keep my eyes closed.” He jerked his chin in my direction. “I just thought she owed me a second round.”
“Stop it!” Mabry said through gritted teeth.
Jackson feigned surprise. “Oh, that’s right, Mabry. You made me give back the money that I’d earned fair and square. Then you gave me all your babysitting money and went out with me so I wouldn’t tell that I got Larkin’s virginity on a bet. You still owe me, by the way. I didn’t even get past your bra.”
I had started backing away, the sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the car like bullets. Bennett was looking at me now. “Is this true?” he asked. “Is what Jackson’s saying true?”
I shook my head. A bet? No. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. But then I looked at Mabry’s face and knew that it was. And she’d tried to protect me, and all she got for her troubles was a concussion.
“Tell him, Larkin,” Jackson said. He was still grinning like this was all some big joke. “Tell him how you begged me. How you told me you loved me and wanted me to be your first.”
Bennett lunged for him, but Mabry threw herself forward, blocking him again.
“Go!” she screamed at Jackson. “Get out of here before someone gets hurt.”
He didn’t even look at me. Just got back in his car and peeled off, the tires slipping and spraying on the wet pavement.
The rain had petered out to a thin drizzle, coating everything with a fine mist. Bennett looked at me, his eyes widening with realization. “That day of the senior party, when we were all on the boat. That’s what that fight was about.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the worst day of my life.
Jackson’s voice rang out loudly. “Do you really think I’d sleep with her? You’re kidding, right? I’m only letting her on my boat because Mabry and Bennett like her. Maybe if she weren’t such a dork and looked more like Mabry and less like a whale, I’d be interested.”
Jackson hadn’t seen me approaching his boat. I stood on the dock, holding a small cooler full of Ceecee’s lemon bars and homemade lemonade ice pops, my fingers numb from grabbing the handle so tightly. Bennett was still unloading beach chairs from the car, but a bunch of our classmates and Mabry were already on the boat. Mabry was wearing a pink string bikini that showed off her tan. She placed a slim hand on Jackson’s arm to get his attention, and that’s when he saw me.
But in my stupid adolescent mind, I hadn’t been angry at him. I’d been angry at Mabry. For that arm on his. For being thin and beautiful. For being all the things I thought I was until that moment when Jackson held up a mirror and I saw the truth. Mabry had known, but she’d let me deceive myself. Bennett, too. He was guilty by association. I imagined him laughing with Mabry and Jackson behind my back.
“Stop, Jackson,” Mabry had said, and all the hurt and anger and mortification bubbled up inside me. I was barely aware of lifting the cooler and throwing it as hard as I could in her direction. She hardly made a splash when she fell over the side, hitting her head on the dock with a sick thud.
Jackson and the others already on the boat just stared in surprise, and Bennett was too far away. So I dove in and pulled her out of the water, but I never believed I’d saved her. I was the one who’d put her there in the first place.
“So it’s true?” Bennett said, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead and making him look like a little boy.
I met his gaze, unable or unwilling to hide my shame and embarrassment. That I had allowed it to happen to me. Then, and now. Because there was no sense in concealing so many years of being stupid and naive and listening to no one brave enough to tell me differently. It was humbling to admit to myself that I hadn’t changed at all.
“Yes,” I said. “All of it.”
His eyes were serious as they regarded me, the distant sound of the ba
nd mixing with the closer sound of tires on wet pavement and a dog barking in a nearby yard. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked off.
thirty-three
Ceecee
1954
On Thursday morning, Ceecee woke to the sound of the television in the living room. A soft wind blew a mist at her window as she slid from her bed and threw on her bathrobe. In the living room, her mother stood in front of the set, wiping her hands on her apron, the smell of bacon and coffee emanating from the kitchen.
“Good morning, Sessalee,” she said, and returned her gaze to the screen. “The National Weather Bureau has issued a warning for the Carolinas. Hazel made a sharp northwest turn and is headed toward land, with possible landfall sometime tomorrow morning.” She wiped her hands on her apron again, a sign of agitation. “I’m going to keep the boys home from school and have them help me with shuttering the windows.”
“What does Daddy say we should do?”
“He went to the church early this morning, but he left the car so we can run to Poston’s and stock up on food. I called to see if I could get a delivery, but they’ve already got a waiting list for that. Your daddy’s been having one of his headaches, which always means there’s a bad storm coming.”
Ceecee rubbed her temple, feeling the throb of her own oncoming headache. She’d taken the two aspirin Boyd had suggested, which had helped her sleep for a little bit, but she hadn’t taken any of the pills from the prescription. She hadn’t even intended to fill it, much less take one. There’d been something in his warning to her, about not taking more than she needed. Because she needed more than sleep. She needed oblivion. And when she poured the little white pills into the palm of her hand, she’d been afraid that she’d take more than she should. So she’d closed the bottle and thrown it into her pocketbook.
Her mother flipped off the television. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll go wake the boys, and we’ll get to work preparing the house.”
Ceecee returned to her bedroom, already dreading the shuttering of the windows, of closing out the light. It would make her headache worse, she knew, and deepen her sadness.
Later that afternoon, she was on the front porch with Lloyd, fastening the shutters, when a car pulled up in the driveway. She had to look twice before she recognized Bitty in the driver’s seat. The petite, red-haired woman climbing out of the car hardly resembled the friend Ceecee had last seen during Bitty’s summer break. Her hair had been cut very short, almost as short as Lloyd’s, and she was wearing denim capris with loafers, a bright scarf tied around her neck for Parisian flair. The ubiquitous cigarette was held in her right hand, impervious to the misty weather.
Ceecee looked behind her to see if her mother was there to disapprove and ruin her reunion, then gave silent thanks that she wasn’t. “Bitty!” she shouted.
True to form, Bitty strolled toward her, sucking on her cigarette as she walked. They embraced when she reached the porch. “I’m surprised you came up from school,” Ceecee said. “Haven’t you heard there’s a hurricane in the Atlantic?”
Bitty took another drag. “It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last. Besides, I thought my parents would feel better if I was with them.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” She touched Bitty’s head, the strands soft under her fingers. “And I love what you’ve done to your hair.”
Bitty laughed. “No, you don’t, but thank you.” She looked behind Ceecee to where her brother was struggling to nail down one of the shutter latches. “Hey, Lloyd. Want a Tootsie Roll?” She reached into the large front pocket of her jeans and pulled one out.
He grinned, his freckles stark on his face. “Thanks, Bitty.” He lifted a hand to catch the Tootsie Roll as she lobbed it across the porch.
“I’ll give you another if you go inside and see what else you can do to help your mama. Your sister and I would like to chat.”
He didn’t wait to be asked twice, letting the door slam shut behind him. Ceecee brought over the ashtray her daddy used for his pipe, then sat down in the swing, Bitty joining her with a jolt as she jumped up on the seat, causing it to rock wildly.
Bitty flicked ash into the ashtray. “Have you seen Margaret lately? I’ve been trying to call her for the last three days, but she won’t return my calls. Yesterday, no one was even there to pick up the phone. I’m starting to worry.”
Ceecee hesitated before speaking. Finding sympathy for Margaret and her moroseness had gotten harder and harder. If they lined up her losses and wins against Ceecee’s, Margaret would come out far ahead. Ceecee was still waiting for her to acknowledge, just once, that Ceecee had lost something precious, too.
“She’s . . . She’s not happy,” Ceecee said. “I try to visit almost every day, but really, I go to see Ivy. It’s a miracle she’s such a happy child. Boyd dotes on her, but he works most of the time. I spoil her something fierce, but really, we’re just trying to make up for Margaret. She treats that child like a pet. Stroking her, letting her sit on her lap when it’s convenient, but otherwise she’s forgotten. I give Ivy double the affection and attention to make up for it.”
Ceecee pushed against the floorboards of the porch, then added, “I saw Boyd yesterday, and he said he’d sent Margaret and Ivy to Augusta to stay with relatives until the storm blows over. That’s probably why you couldn’t reach her.” Keeping her hands palm down on her lap, she said, “Margaret thinks I’m having an affair with Boyd.”
“It would serve her right if you were, but that’s not who you are. She should know that.”
“I’m sure she does. She’s just looking for an excuse for why her life isn’t the way she always thought it should be,” Ceecee said.
“And you? What are your excuses for not leading a fulfilling life?”
Ceecee stared back at her friend. “What do you mean? My life is very fulfilling. I have my flowers, and my father’s church. My mother says she can’t imagine running the household without my help.”
Bitty rolled her eyes. “Very fulfilling. But what are you doing for you?”
Ceecee thought for a moment. “I take care of Ivy. She’s the only thing that matters right now.”
“I hope you don’t mean that. I love her, too, but you have to give her enough space to maneuver on her own. Look what happened to Margaret.”
“I do give her space,” said Ceecee, shrugging. “But I can’t help spoiling her. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.”
Bitty reached for her hand and squeezed, no words needed between them.
The front door opened, and Lloyd burst out onto the porch. “Mama wants to know if Bitty will be here for supper. Daddy’s staying at the church to help anyone looking for shelter, so we have an extra place.”
Bitty smiled at him. “Please tell your mama thanks, but my parents will be expecting me home.”
Instead of running back in, he said, “Mama wanted me to tell you that the man on the radio said the storm is expected to make landfall in the Carolinas sometime tomorrow morning.”
“Did he mention where exactly?” Bitty asked.
Lloyd wrinkled his forehead. “I think she said north of here—maybe Myrtle Beach?”
“Thank you, Lloyd,” Bitty said, throwing him another Tootsie Roll. He caught it and grinned, then retreated back into the house. “I guess I should be getting home.” She faced Ceecee. “Are you scared?”
Ceecee shrugged. “I should be. I’ve always hated hurricanes. But after all that’s happened in the last couple of years, I can’t find much of anything to be scared about anymore.”
Bitty stood, frowning down at her. “I’m sorry. If I could think of something that would make all of this better for you, I would.”
Ceecee met her gaze. “I know you would. But unless we can figure out how to turn back time, I can’t think of anything either one of us can do to change
the way things are now.”
They were silent for a long moment as they regarded each other. The sound of the phone ringing from inside the house startled them both.
“That’s probably my mother, wondering where I am,” said Bitty. “At least we know the phone lines are still up.”
“For now,” Ceecee said, trying to feel nervous or grateful or scared. Anything but numb.
Ceecee’s mother opened the door, a deep furrow between her brows. After a brief greeting for Bitty, she said, “Boyd’s on the phone, Sessalee. He says it’s urgent.”
Ceecee looked at Bitty. “I’ll wait,” Bitty said, following Ceecee inside to the kitchen.
Ceecee closed her eyes at the sound of Boyd’s voice, and faced the wall so no one could see. “Hello?”
“Sessalee. Thank goodness you’re there. I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I’m at the hospital and I don’t know where Margaret is.” His voice was clipped, devoid of warmth, and she was glad; it helped her focus on what he was saying. “She and Ivy never made it to my aunt’s house. I’ve called the highway patrol, and there haven’t been any accident reports on any of the roads she might have taken. I was hoping you’d heard from her.”
“No, I haven’t. Bitty’s here, and she hasn’t heard from her, either. Do you think she might still be at Carrowmore?”
“It’s possible, but I’ve called and called, and no one answers.”
“And Ivy’s with her, wherever she is,” Ceecee said, the first prongs of fear nudging her out of her inertia.
“Presumably, yes. I’ve called the police to see if they can send someone over to check, but they’re busy with the storm preparations. And I’m needed here at the hospital . . .”
“I’ll go.”
“No,” he said, his voice adamant. “The thought of you out on the roads right now . . .” He stopped and drew in a breath. “I’m sick enough with worry as it is. I just . . . If she calls, would you please have her call me at the hospital to let me know she and Ivy are all right?”