by Julie Allan
The Eyes Have It
Julie Allan
The Eyes Have It
by Julie Allan
...
Copyright ©Palmettos and Pearls Publishing, 2016
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, character,
incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Palmettos and Pearls Publishing, LLC
Mount Pleasant, SC
Distributed by Bublish, Inc.
Cover Artwork by Berge Design
Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data
(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)
Names: Allan, Julie, 1968-
Title: The eyes have it / Julie Allan.
Description: Mount Pleasant, SC : Palmettos and Pearls Publishing, LLC,
[2016] | [Place of distribution not identified] : Bublish, Inc. |
Series: [Lowcountry home] ; [1] | "A Lowcountry novel"--Cover.
Identifiers: ISBN 978-0-9974875-3-4 | ISBN 0-9974875-3-4
Subjects: LCSH: Divorced women--South Carolina--Fiction. | Restaurants--
South Carolina--Fiction. | Friendship--Fiction. | Man-woman
relationships--Fiction. | Chick lit, American. | LCGFT: Domestic
fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3601.L536 E94 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23
Acknowledgments
Just like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes an army of support to take a writer from conception to publishing.
I would like to thank: Kathy, my tireless and knowledgeable, mentor and friend who showed me the way to make this a reality.
To Amy C. and Amy I. who pushed me to just get on with writing. To my wonderful beta readers, Kathleen, Martha and Mary for feedback chapter by chapter.
My grammar gurus, Cindy and Julie.
Chris Berge of Berge Designs for his captivating cover design.
My many friends who have cheered me on and supported me on this journey. I am blessed to have more than I can name.
Finally my parents Mary and Jon, who with love, have always encouraged me to follow my dreams.
Chapter One
The air in the church enveloped Lizzie and Aunt Dorothy with reverence and warmth as they began their solemn journey down the long polished stone aisle. Lizzie gently supported Aunt Dorothy’s arm as the two made their way toward the casket sitting just in front of the altar. Self-conscious with so many eyes focused on her, Lizzie concentrated on the limestone below her feet.
Funny, she thought, I’ve been up and down this aisle a million times and never noticed all the small bits of fossilized life embedded in this stone. Bits of life frozen in time, just like me.
Someone coughed. Lizzie looked up. She tried to focus on the task at hand, saying goodbye to Uncle George.
Both women were dressed in modest black dresses, heels and, of course, their pearls. Aunt Dorothy also clutched a linen handkerchief with Uncle George’s initials hand-embroidered in the corner. Halfway down the aisle, Lizzie began to drift again, reflecting on the horrific week that had led to this moment.
She couldn’t stop reliving it.
On Sunday night, her husband of six years, five months and thirteen days had announced he was in love with his secretary and wanted a divorce.
She stared at him across the table, just beyond the perfectly prepared beef tenderloin. He stared back—his eyes dark, cold and beady. Had they always looked that way? Lizzie searched her memory. She tried to register what he was saying, but numbness and disbelief overwhelmed her. Perhaps she had misunderstood.
“What did you say?” were the only words she could muster.Without emotion, Mark slowly repeated his divorce declaration. Really? Could it be more cliché? He’s leaving me for his secretary? It’s so ... mundane! Men in movies and books do this to their wives. This just doesn’t happen to good southern girls like me. She fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Indignation quickly replaced shock. I can’t believe I gave up my dreams to put you through law school and open your own offices. She took a deep breath and surveyed the immaculately set table and elegant meal she had prepared. A full glass of 2010 Argentinean Colomé Reserve Malbec stood next to each plate, selected for compatibility. She reached for the stem, took a sip and tossed the wine in Mark’s face. In retrospect, it was a complete waste of her favorite vintage.
Mark made a condescending remark about her flair for the dramatic. He ranted about her unworthiness as the wife of an up-and-coming attorney on the fast track for political office.
Apparently she had failed him on all fronts. He continued, reciting a laundry list of faults. Apparently he had regretted marrying her from the beginning. She did loathe the endless cocktail parties, political fundraisers, small talk and endless one-upmanship that defined their social life. She did fully participate, though, always showing up impeccably dressed, with a smile on her face. She played the dutiful, supporting wife well. Didn’t I put aside all of my own dreams to help Mark achieve his? Yes, pretty much from the day we met. Her brain whirled, desperately trying to make sense of his rejection.
Lizzie sat in utter disbelief as Mark packed his things. Who is this man I’ve been sleeping next to all these years? When she really thought about this, she realized it had been months since she had actually slept next to him. He had slept on the couch, claiming that he’d fallen asleep watching a game or some political talking heads. He had even claimed all-nighters at the office. “Working on a big case,” he’d told her. Of course, now she knew who the ‘big case’ involved.
She look down again at the limestone and envisioned the toe of her satin shoe peeking out of the silk hem of her bridal dress. She had walked down this same aisle toward Mark. Where Uncle George’s casket now sat, they had promised to love and cherish each other for a lifetime. How could she have been so naïve? She remembered the overwhelming nerves, the attempts to calm herself with the thought that this must be how all brides felt. Now, she realized, her entire being was shouting, trying to tell her that she was about to make a huge mistake.
From the moment they were married, Lizzie took her vows seriously. Apparently, this was not the case for Mark. Conveniently, his secretary and newfound love was the niece of a member of Congress, a powerful politician, a real go-getter on the national stage. I’m much too young to be traded in for a better model. Doesn’t this usually happen during men’s so-called midlife crisis? Had he ever loved me at all?
After a mostly sleepless night, Lizzie awoke Monday morning to face work. She prepared for the day in a robot-like fashion, too exhausted and shell-shocked to feel anything. Perhaps today, the job she loathed, the job she had taken so “the love of her life” could open his law firm in Greenville, wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps today, the mundane corporate busywork would occupy her mind and keep her sane. After all, it wasn’t a horrible place to work. The people were nice. The work was not demanding. She was more than competent for the job; it just didn’t feed her soul. Yes, the place lacked the creativity she craved, but that was okay today. She just needed to keep busy and get through the day.
She’d only been at work an hour, when she headed toward the break
room for a second cup of coffee. It was going to be difficult to keep her eyes open for eight hours without regular injections of caffeine. Her boss Leslie walked over.
“Lizzie, would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”
“Be right there,” Lizzie replied.
“Lizzie, you’ve done fine work since you joined the company. If I had my way, we’d be giving you a raise and a position with more responsibility. However, as you know, we’re in the middle of restructuring, and that means budget cuts. I’m sorry to inform you that your job is being eliminated, effective immediately.” Leslie droned on about a severance package and how she would be happy to provide references. Lizzie barely heard her. She sat silently on the edge of the chair, a half smile plastered across her face, nodding. Strike two! What a week!
Lizzie quickly gathered her personal items, and made a hasty departure. That’s just how things worked. One minute you’re doing fine work; the next, you’re out the door. Losing income, she thought, very bad timing. Leaving a job you hate, not so much. The universe is practically screaming at you to make some changes. You’re finally free to find the job you want. Okay, you’re unemployed and abandoned. The worst! But now you can go home to Mt. Pleasant and do something you love. There’s no reason to stay here in Greenville.
Bad news always comes in threes, and Lizzie didn’t have to wait long for her strike three. On Tuesday morning, after another restless night’s sleep, she awoke with no place to go. As she sat staring at the empty side of the closet where Mark’s clothes had once been, the phone rang. It was Aunt Dorothy. Uncle George had suffered a stroke and had passed away quietly in his sleep. Could she come home? Aunt Dorothy asked sadly.
Lizzie immediately began to pack—her clothes, her favorite cookbooks, a small collection of novels, a few pieces of art and mementos from her life. She also gathered the belongings of her two golden retrievers, Lucky and Ella. Mark had not wanted to be bothered with dogs until a colleague had pointed out that the press loves stories about politicians and their pets. Though he had acquiesced, they had been Lizzie’s dogs from day one. Well, there it all was, sitting by the front door—three boxes and two dogs. Funny, she thought, after clearing out the flotsam and jetsam, most of the things I treasure in life all fit in the back of my SUV.
On the way out of town she stopped to drop a letter at Mark’s office. The note was cold and formal. She was taking the dogs and leaving him the house and all its contents. He could do with it what he wanted. She did not want anything. As soon as he could draw up the divorce papers, she would be glad to sign them. She could be reached at her Aunt Dorothy’s back in Mount Pleasant. She was going home.
She had dressed impeccably for this brief visit, sporting a cream linen sheath dress and a gorgeous silver necklace she’d scored at an estate sale. Even if it killed her, she was going to face Mark’s secretary with poise and dignity. Delivering the note for Mark, she took a moment to give the naïve Miss Caswell a cool once over, indicating she found her inconsequential. Inside she was dying to leap over the desk and pull out her hair. On the outside, she maintained perfect control, and took a small bit of pleasure in flustering the girl. “Miss Caswell, a little tip. Mark expects his socks folded, not rolled ... and do not use scented fabric softener under any circumstances. I wish you luck, dear, you are going to need it.” Lizzie turned and walked away, a little surprised that she’d been able to pull of the snub.
The drive back to the coastal town of her childhood was cathartic. As she flew down the interstate, she waffled between euphoria at her newfound freedom thoughts ... and complete panic. What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life! Lizzie, stay calm. First things first. Aunt Dorothy needs you.
Aunt Dorothy and Uncle George had taken Lizzie in at five years old when her own parents had been killed in a car accident coming home from a local baseball game. Aunt Dorothy was daddy’s big sister by ten years, and she and Uncle George never had children of their own. They lived in the Old Village section of Mount Pleasant in a coastal cottage with wide porches and cypress floors. The back porch looked out over the Charleston Harbor, Fort Sumter and beyond to the tip of James Island and Folly Beach.
Lizzie had spent hours in the shade of the yard, where towering live oaks, dripping in Spanish moss, led down to a crab dock on the Harbor. Aunt Dorothy and Uncle George had loved Lizzie as their own daughter. She had even been legally adopted by them, so she could take their last name of Long. She could hardly wait to rid her life of Hargrove, and legally enjoy her real last name again.
Her childhood had been idyllic with the Longs. Uncle George had taught her to fish and crab and shrimp—to appreciate the many gifts of a coastal lifestyle. He loved the outdoors, and had passed along that love to Lizzie. She had worked beside him in the garden. Aunt Dorothy had taught her to cook and bake, skills that had grown into an art form and passion for Lizzie. So many fond memories of canning the harvest from the garden, making pickles and cooking lots of dishes with the shrimp and crab she and Uncle George would bring back from their outings. At one time in her life, she’d dreamed of turning her love of fresh, Lowcountry food into a career. Mark’s ambition had sidelined that goal.
Lizzie pondered how her marriage had led to her isolation from so many of the people and activities she loved. Mark and his friends turned up their noses at anyone who did not fit their shallow mold. She’d given up more than she realized. Luckily, she’d managed to keep up her reading, another gift Aunt Dorothy had bestowed upon her—a way to inspire a love of learning and curiosity about the world. Ironically, books had been Lizzie’s steady companion during all those nights that her husband had not managed to find his way to their bed.
How happy she was to be home, even if under the saddest of circumstances. She had missed Mount Pleasant during the years she had followed Mark, first to Columbia for law school, then to Greenville as he began his career. How many times had he promised her they would come back to Mount Pleasant—as soon as he finished school, as soon as he’d established a name for himself. Then again, he’d promised so many things—babies to come after he graduated, a future of Junior League meetings and serving as the PTA mom. Nothing would have made her happier, but when they’d arrived in Greenville he complained that he was under too much pressure to add fatherhood to his responsibilities. Weeks turned into months, then years. Mark dictated all the decisions in their lives—how she spent her time outside work, who she could befriend, where and with whom they socialized. Everything was focused on cultivating connections for his career. She realized that besides a few people from work, there were no friends to miss in Greenville. At age twenty-eight, Lizzie was being forced to push the reset button. As she thought about this, she found herself becoming angry—angry with Mark, angry with Miss Caswell, and if she was being totally honest, angry with herself.
As she pulled into the driveway, she could see Aunt Dorothy sitting on the joggling board by the front door. Always a pillar of strength, my Aunt Dorothy, an anchor of serenity and reason. Walking toward the porch, Lizzie detected in her beloved aunt a new frailty. The grief of losing Uncle George was etched across her face, revealing the shattering blow to her heart. Seeing her aunt this way shook Lizzie to her core. Aunt Dorothy, you are my rock. How can I find my way if my beacon has lost its light? When Lizzie reached the top of the steps, she looked in her aunt’s eyes and was relieved to still see a familiar sparkle still there. They embraced, and in that moment Lizzie realized that somehow it was all going to be okay.
As they reached the casket of Uncle George together, Aunt Dorothy and Lizzie squeezed hands and bowed their heads. The church, filled to capacity with mourners, was completely silent. It was the most solemn of moments, broken suddenly by the sound of a marble dropping onto the limestone floor. Lizzie opened her eyes just in time to see Aunt Dorothy’s piercing blue glass eyeball roll between their legs and come to a stop, pupil facing up, at the feet of Mrs. Marie McGantry
, who was sitting in the front pew.
Mrs. McGantry let out an ear-splitting scream, and several people gasped, “Oh my God!” Lizzie and the Right Reverend Christian Truett scrambled toward Mrs. McGantry and the roving eye, as hundreds of horrified mourners looked on.
While Lizzie crouched down to locate the eyeball, Reverend Truett escorted Mrs. McGantry to the parish hall where she could compose herself. Aunt Dorothy, for her part, turned towards the crowd with her hand covering her missing eye. With a jovial laugh, she declared that George would have enjoyed some excitement to liven up his funeral. The gathered mourners smiled and relaxed. Even in her grief, Aunt Dorothy’s signature humor and grace were evident. As Lizzie reached towards the glass orb under the pew, a large tanned hand with long elegant fingers grasped it. Lizzie rose slowly, and found herself face-to-face with her old high school sweetheart, Bennett Wilson. His eyes danced with amusement as she managed to mumble, “Nice of you to come,” before snatching up the eyeball and retreating with Aunt Dorothy to the safety of their family pew.
Unceremoniously, Aunt Dorothy wiped off the eyeball with her hemstitched hanky and plopped it back into its socket. She winked at Reverend Truett, who had returned to the altar. He cleared his throat and went on with the service, barely missing a beat.
Despite the eyeball fiasco, it was a lovely service. Many people spoke, honoring Uncle George for being an outstanding member of the community, a warden of the church and an active member of the Rotary Club for many years. They talked about his patience with children, his years as a tee-ball coach. It seemed he’d taught every child in the Old Village to shrimp, crab and fish. People reminisced about his wicked sense of humor, like the time he had dressed up as Julia Child and did a mock cooking demonstration in the church Fundraising Follies one year. Many talked about the unfailing devotion he had for his two girls, Dorothy and Lizzie.