“Daisies. So fresh. Thank you, Vivian.”
“Miss Miranda went to fetch some water,” she said, and set the flowers down on the bureau. “Miss Lovie, is that sun too much? You’re blinking,” Vivian said, moving to the windows.
“My eyes are a little sensitive.”
Vivian went around the room, lowering the blinds.
“You can leave the porch doors open. The breeze is nice.”
When Vivian returned to the bedside, her tight-lipped stare made Lovie self-conscious. She reached up with her good right hand and moved some of her hair over her face to conceal the bruises. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said with a soft laugh. “I really am so clumsy to fall down the stairs like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Vivian went to close the bedroom door. Then she came again beside Lovie, closer, so that she could speak softly. “Miss Lovie, there’s no need for you to tell me that story. We both know you didn’t fall down no stairs.”
Lovie blanched.
“I understand why you have to make up a story like that,” Vivian continued. “Your chil’ren, they don’t need to know such things happen. They’d only be more scared than they already are. Cara came runnin’ for me and wrapped her arms around my waist tight as a monkey. I ain’t seen Palmer yet, but Cara is trying her best to act like nothing’s happened. You know how she is.”
“Yes.”
Vivian looked at her hands. She held them together so tight they looked like knotted rope. “Miss Lovie, Cara is a fighter. She sometimes don’t know when it’s best to keep quiet. Who’s to say the same won’t happen to her someday?”
Lovie shuddered at the prospect. “Stratton would never lay a hand on her.”
“Miss Lovie,” Vivian said again, and she appeared uneasy. “How you think I got deaf in this left ear?”
“I don’t know,” Lovie replied haltingly, unsure of where this was going. “I guess I always assumed you were born that way, or maybe had a bad case of the mumps or some other illness when you were young.”
Vivian shook her head. She took a breath and, looking off, began to speak. “I don’t like to share my troubles, Miss Lovie. But I think it’s fitting, given what’s all going on, for me to share this story with you. You see, my daddy was a lot like your Mr. Stratton. He had a good job and worked hard, I’ll give him that. Only that,” she muttered to herself. “My mama worked, too, cleaning houses. Took in ironing at night to bring in something extra. I was the youngest of four but the only girl. I wasn’t much older than Cara is now when it fell to me to do a lot of the cooking and the cleaning. I didn’t mind. But my brothers were lazy good-for-nothings.”
She glanced at Lovie and shrugged, as if to say none of that mattered anymore. Then she grew more serious. “Daddy’s big failing was he liked the drink. He wasn’t a happy drunk neither, like some folks I’ve known. The drink made him mean. When he come home nights, we knew when he was liquored up because he took off after my mama something awful. My brothers snuck out of the windows, knowing he’d come after them next. One night he got so mad, Lord, I don’t even remember about what, he beat my mama bad and threw her out of the house. I stood up to him. I told him he had no right to throw my mama out of her own house.”
She shrugged again and lifted her chin, her lips tight. Lovie could tell this was hard for Vivian to relive.
“That’s when he beat me, too. He hit me till I couldn’t remember no more. The next morning he was gone. Good riddance.”
“Oh, Vivian . . .”
Vivian looked at her and it was clear she wasn’t looking for sympathy. “Miss Lovie, what I’m trying to tell you is my mama tol’ folks she fell down the stairs, too. Now, I saw her face. And your face looks like Mama’s did. And the way mine did. That’s how I know you didn’t fall down no stairs.”
Lovie looked down at the cast on her wrist and nodded in silent agreement.
“We both know Mr. Stratton gots trouble with the drink, too. How sometimes he come home full of liquor and goes after you, like my daddy did. The chil’ren tells me what happens,” she hurried to explain when she saw the shock in Lovie’s eyes.
“He didn’t beat me,” Lovie said, dispelling that idea. “Not then,” she said softly.
“They tol’ me how he yells at you all the time and how afraid they are. That’s his shame, Miss Lovie. Not yours.”
Lovie felt tears welling up again and looked down, seeing her hand coming out from the cast.
“I got one more thing to say,” Vivian said. “I loves Miss Cara, you know I do. But she’s as stubborn and willful as I was as a child. Maybe that’s why I try and stand up for her the way I do. Palmer’s different. He’ll sneak off, like my brothers. But one day, Cara is going to stand up to her daddy, and when she does . . .” She shook her head. “I’m afraid for that day.”
Lovie’s gaze shot back up and she and Vivian blinked together, equally sharing that fear. “I won’t let him hit her,” Lovie said vehemently. “Not ever. I’d rather die.”
“Well, that’s somethin’,” Vivian said, but she sounded unconvinced. She let out a long breath. “Miss Lovie, you sure you want to go back to the big house? Why don’t you stay here a spell? Think things through. I’ll stay here with you.”
“Thank you, Vivian,” Lovie replied, deeply moved. Nonetheless, she’d made up her mind. “I appreciate your sharing your story. Truly. And I hear what you’re telling me. But please don’t worry. I must go back. I know what I’m doing.”
“Well,” Vivian said, slapping her palms on her thighs, “then I best not sit here yakking. There’s work to be done. Have you had your breakfast? I think some nice soft eggs would be just the thing. And some juice, too. You could handle that, couldn’t you?”
For the next several hours, Lovie lay in her bed and listened to the sounds of packing, doors slamming, and chatter in the beach house. Lying in bed and not taking charge felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. It was surreal and unpleasant. Her fingers tapped in agitation and the throbbing pain was relentless. She was feeling sorry for herself and depressed that her life had crumbled to this point.
Cara found excuses to come to her room. At first she was cagey, looking over when she thought Lovie wasn’t looking, trying not to stare. Lovie knew the sight of her bruised face was frightening to her. As the day wore on, however, Cara grew accustomed to the injuries, and she’d come in and just plop against the bed to say hi. Each time the mattress jolted, Lovie felt a ricochet of pain but didn’t say anything. The pain was worth a visit from her daughter. Miranda and Flo popped their heads in to ask questions about where she wanted things put. Vivian brought trays of food and iced tea, and made sure Lovie took her pain medicine on schedule.
The only one who did not make an appearance was Palmer. His absence made Lovie worry all the more. She heard his voice, so she knew when he was up. Later she’d heard from Vivian that he’d gone off to say good-bye to friends. They were planning on leaving by four o’clock, and her body felt wound up like a clock, counting the seconds until she heard his voice again. It was almost three when she saw a shadow at the door. She spotted Palmer looking in. She’d barely registered it was him when he hurried away.
“Palmer!” she called out as loudly as she could with broken ribs. She clutched the blanket and called again, “Palmer!”
She heard a shuffling of feet, and Palmer slunk forward at the door. His hair was longer now and fell over his eyes when he looked down, as he did now. “Come in,” she said, and heard her eagerness in each syllable.
Palmer put his hands in the pockets of his shorts and walked in with reluctance. “Yeah?”
Lovie patted the bed, indicating he should come closer. Palmer walked over, dragging his feet like a condemned man.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
His eyes were still on his feet. “About what?”
“Well, you were pretty angry the last time we spoke.”
Palmer shrugged, his thin shoulders more muscular and fit af
ter a summer of surfing. How tan he was. And he’d grown! She almost smiled, wondering if all that milk he drank had worked after all. How had she not noticed? Was she so self-absorbed with her own life this summer that she didn’t notice the changes occurring in her own children? The answer stabbed her heart with remorse.
“I’m sorry we argued,” she told him. And for so much more.
He didn’t respond.
“Can I ask you what you were angry about?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Palmer,” she said, “look at me, please.”
Palmer dragged his eyes from the floor to her face and saw, really saw her bruised face in the full daylight. She saw the horror and despair reflected in his eyes as though they were clear blue pools. The water began to well up and he worked his mouth, trying to control his trembling lips.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he blurted out as his chest began to heave and the tears flowed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
Lovie’s heart broke, and despite the pain she turned in the bed and reached out to her son. “Palmer, come here,” she cried.
He fell to his knees by her bed and buried his head in his arms on the mattress as he wept. Lovie bent over him, mantling him like a mother bird would her young to keep it warm and safe from the elements. She kissed his head, smelling salt and sweat and tasting the tears on her own cheeks. She’d not seen her son cry in years. He’d been trying so hard to grow into his role as a man.
She heard a noise at the door and, looking up, saw Vivian. Lovie shook her head, and with a nod, Vivian quietly closed the bedroom door.
“Palmer, I know I haven’t been around much this summer. I got caught up in the turtle project. I spent too much time away from home. I’m sorry for that.”
Palmer raised his face, and she saw a flash of anger in his eyes that silenced her.
“I saw you,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I saw you with him.”
Lovie closed her eyes and shrank back, shamed by the accusation in his eyes, and the truth of it.
“You saw me with Dr. Bennett?” She had to be certain of what he saw.
“Yeah. I saw you walking with him. At Fort Moultrie.”
Walking? she thought. “Where?”
“On the path by the beach. What does it matter? You were holding hands.”
He spat the last out, again in accusation, but all she could think was that he didn’t see Russell kiss her. She felt a heartbeat of relief and hope. That, at least, was something.
“Yes,” she answered him levelly. “We’ve become close friends.”
Palmer snorted with derision. It sounded like Stratton, and she cringed hearing it.
“Palmer, I’m sorry you saw that and it bothers you.” Lovie took his hand in her one free hand. Her heart pounded, knowing what she had to ask, not so much for herself but for Palmer so that he could get it off his chest and not let guilt burrow a hole in his soul.
“I love you, Palmer. I’m your mother and nothing you could say can ever change that. But I need to ask you something and you need to tell me. It’s the only way I can help you feel better.” She squeezed his hand. “You said you were sorry. What are you sorry for?”
He gave her a blank look.
“Palmer, it’s okay to tell me. I think I already know.”
He swung his head back and his control broke. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know he’d do this. I hate him! I hate him!”
Lovie heard the words and what they implied. They entered her mind like poison, withering her heart. “You told Daddy what you saw?”
“No!” he said, eyes round with shock. “I didn’t tell him that!”
Lovie was confused and was sure her face showed it.
“Daddy came home early,” Palmer told her. “I was just getting ready to leave. You don’t know how much I wish I’d just gotten the hell out before he came home. I was the only one home and he was looking around, asking where everyone was. He started drinking, and I could tell he was fueling up about something. Then he started in asking me about how much you were at the beach.” He sniffed. “And with who. I played dumb. I swear I didn’t tell Daddy that you were out with . . . him. I’m not so stupid I would fire him up like that.”
Palmer’s face looked haunted, and he ran his hand through his hair. Lovie held her breath, listening.
“But you know him,” Palmer said with a sneer. “It was like he already knew. He kept after me, trying to get me to talk. I kept trying to get out the door. I almost made it when he grabbed my shoulder, angry-like. He asked me straight out if I knew Dr. Russell Bennett.” Palmer’s lips trembled and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I had to tell him I knew who he was,” Palmer said, his eyes pleading for Lovie’s understanding.
“I know, I know,” Lovie reassured him.
“I told him you were just working with him, that’s all. You had to check the turtles. I swear, Mama, that’s all I told him.” He wiped his eyes. “But he must’ve figured something from what I’d said. When I heard you were hurt . . . I knew it was him. I should’ve stayed home. I should’ve been there to protect you.”
Lovie’s heart sprang to life again. Flo had been right. This knowing had been a beast in him, eating him from the inside out. She felt the pain of her ribs clear to her heart as she leaned forward to place her hand on his head. “My poor boy,” she said, gently stroking his hair. “I praise God you weren’t there. I can take care of my own bruises”—she choked back a sob—“but I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. My baby.” She sniffed and tried to collect herself so that she could say the things she needed to tell him. “I’m okay. I’ll heal. Now look at me, son. Look at me!”
Palmer dragged his gaze to his mother’s. She read hope in his eyes now and the love she’d prayed to find there again. “I don’t want you to take one lick of blame for what’s happened, hear? This is between your father and me. Grown-up things that go way back. Darling, don’t you know you did protect me? You didn’t tell your daddy what you saw. We were just holding hands, but I can’t imagine what he’d have done then.”
“Mama, why were you holding his hands?” Palmer asked, and he looked her straight in the eyes.
She saw the man in him now, and yet he was still a boy. Looking at his tear-stained face, his shaggy blond hair, Lovie knew she was talking to the boy. She’d talk to him about this again someday . . . maybe. For now, however, she didn’t think an untested thirteen-year-old could possibly understand the complications of her relationship with Russell, or his father, for that matter.
“Dr. Bennett and I are dear friends,” she told him. “We were saying good-bye and you saw us at a tender moment. There’s nothing wrong with sentiment. You’ll understand that better when you get older.”
Palmer narrowed his eyes slightly, considering her answer. Then his face relaxed, and seeing this, Lovie felt her whole body uncoil with relief. He’d accepted her answer. It was enough for now.
“Okay,” he said.
To her ears, he was eloquent. She ruffled his hair and leaned back against the pillows, trying not to moan with the sharp pain. Once she was settled, she closed her eyes, feeling her energy ebb. “You go on, now, and make sure you’re all packed. We’re going home soon. And Palmer?” She pried open an eye and turned her head to see him.
“Don’t say anything to your father. Let me deal with him.”
Palmer nodded, his relief palpable, and hurried out the door.
Vivian stepped into the room a moment later, her eyes roaming over Lovie’s face.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked.
Lovie took a labored breath. “I could use a pain pill,” she said softly. “Then I’m getting up. It’s time to go.”
Sea Turtle Journal
September 1, 1974
Final entry. 88 nests, 60 false crawls, 2 nest predations, 9 sea turtle strandings.
The Sea Turtle Project headed by Dr. Russell Bennett is completed. Dr. Bennett has delivered his final report and departed. Fina
l nests on the island are in God’s hands.
Twenty
That night, Lovie awoke with a start. She opened her eyes, momentarily stunned and confused, not sure where she was. She felt afraid. Blinking, she remembered she was sleeping in the yellow guest room of her house on Tradd Street. Yes, she thought with a breath. She’d been here three days. Yet she felt anxious, in danger. She turned her head on the pillow and gasped, clutching the blanket.
A lone figure stood at the side of the bed. It was Stratton. Instinctively she ducked her head and raised her arm in a protective gesture.
“Lovie, it’s me,” Stratton said quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
Lovie lowered her arm but still clutched her blanket higher up her chest. Stratton was staring down at her, slump shouldered. Her eyes acclimated to the dim light, and she saw him raise his fingers to the bridge of his nose and his shoulders shake.
“I’m so sorry,” he said in a broken voice. “I don’t know what came over me. I was so angry. I just . . . lost control.”
“I know,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say. She was moved by his tears but felt no pity for him.
Stratton dropped to his knees by the bed. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly.
He lowered his head. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear, I will.”
“All I want is your promise never to raise your hand to me again.”
“You have my word.”
“Your promise,” she urged.
“You have my promise. I will never hit you again. I never could. Lovie, I never would have hit you in the first place if—”
“Stop, please. I can’t talk about that now,” she interrupted him. “Please, Stratton. I’m so tired and my brain is woozy from the medicine. We have to talk. But not now.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I just came in to . . . I don’t know. To look at you. To see how bad it was. I’m so sorry.”
She felt the mattress shift as he pressed his weight upon it and rose to a stand.
“Good night, Lovie. I love you.”
Beach House Memories Page 29