Choosing Charleston

by T. Lynn Ocean

  The experience made me realize what I wanted to do for a living. It was a startling revelation, and the anticipation of my new career pursuit was delightful.

  “I’ve decided I want to be a trial lawyer,” I told Daddy.

  There was a stunned paused before he smiled. “A trial lawyer? Hot damn!”

  “I’m tired of mediation and tired of selling compromise. In fact, I’ve had a few cases where one side was overwhelmingly in the right, but I convinced them to make concessions anyway, just to avoid the courtroom. To avoid the fight.”

  “And now you’re ready to go for the fight?”

  “Absolutely.” I said, meaning it.

  “I wondered when this would happen,” he said, as though he’d known something about me that I hadn’t known about myself. “You are going to make one fine lawyer, Carly Stone.”

  We talked about some of the law firms that I might want to approach, and what areas I could specialize in, and how proud he was of me.

  The desire to litigate had been brewing ever since I became a professional mediator, I explained, but I just hadn’t realized it was in me. It took getting rid of Robert, and taking on Protter Construction and Development, to make me believe in myself enough to make the career change. Thinking of my earlier confrontation with Trent and the discovery that he was Mister Protter’s son, I felt myself growing angry all over again.

  Daddy laughed when I told him what happened, and how hot I’d been. “Well of course he’s a Protter, Little Girl. He’s the old man’s son! Who did you think he was?”

  “I thought he was just a stupid construction worker.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “The way he was dressed, for one. And, the truck. It’s a construction worker’s truck.”

  “Trent is obviously the type of man who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He’d rather be on the site, overseeing things, than sitting in an office.”

  “So you knew they’re father and son?”

  “Sure,” Daddy said. “They never hid that fact. I met Trent when I went to Protter’s office to see what could be done about Handyman’s. They were both there, and were quite pleasant as they told me what I didn’t want to hear.”

  He paused to pack some tobacco into the bowl of the wooden pipe and refill our tea glasses. He did both with precision, not spilling a crumb of tobacco from the pouch or a drop of tea from the pitcher.

  “When did you meet Trent?” he wanted to know.

  It dawned on me that when I’d been around Trent, Daddy hadn’t been there. And when Trent delivered the envelope to our house, when Robert tried to punch him out, Daddy hadn’t been there, either. And I’d never mentioned my Diana’s restaurant encounter with the handsome construction worker. I never thought I’d see him again.

  “At Diana’s,” I answered with some embarrassment. “The first morning I was here, when I got country ham biscuits for breakfast the same time you were out getting beignets from Joseph’s? I had a flat tire and he changed it for me. He looked like any other construction worker out to get some breakfast before a long workday.”

  Only much more clean cut and handsome and sexy, I thought. But at the time, I didn’t know he was a Protter. I suddenly wished he were troll-ugly.

  “Guess you should be careful with your assumptions.” Daddy eyebrows arched in amusement.

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that in the future,” I said, curiosity about Trent momentarily outweighing my desire to crush Protter Construction and Development.

  Staring into my wine, I wondered what the man was like and how his family got into land development. When I looked up, Daddy was watching me watch my wine.

  “So what do you think of Trent?” he asked.

  “I think he’s a deceitful jerk,” I said. “I hate him. I don’t know how his wife stands to live with him.”

  Daddy shook his head. “He’s not married.”

  An unwelcome jolt of hope shot through me in response to learning Trent was single. He didn’t wear a wedding band because there wasn’t one to wear. I’d assumed he didn’t wear one because he used tools, worked with his hands, and it could get in the way.

  “So? Why would I care if Trent is married or not?”

  Daddy raised an eyebrow. “I just mentioned it because you said you don’t know how his wife can live with him. You sound defensive, Little Girl.”

  “I’m not defensive,” I grumbled.

  We sipped our tea and ate the legendary sesame seed cookies that rumor holds to bring good luck and listened to the chorus of crickets sing.

  “You do know,” he said after some thought, “the elder Mister Protter will be calling me soon. To find out what your motives are and if I’m putting you up to these stalling tactics.”

  He tapped his pipe on the edge of a marble ashtray to dump out some loose tobacco. He’d smoked a pipe for as long as I could remember, always outside on the screened porch or the open piazza, and I loved watching the process. The preparing, the packing, and the actual burning that created entrails of climbing smoke.

  “So, let him call.”

  “I rather like the fellow. In different circumstances, we’d probably be good friends,” Daddy confessed.

  “That’s exactly what Mister Protter said about you.”

  Not surprised, Daddy smiled. He had a way with people and usually made a good impression right off the bat.

  “His son is an upstanding young man in his own right,” he said. “It must be difficult for you to have such a… personable adversary.” Personable? How about outrageously hot. Sexy. Muscled in all the right places.

  “It’s not difficult at all,” I fibbed. “Besides, I have no interest in Trent or any other man right now. The divorce won’t even be final for about a year. That’s twelve months before I should even start thinking about thinking about dating. Plus, I’m not exactly over my lying, cheating husband that totally had me fooled.”

  “I don’t know when it will be time for you to start dating. But I do know one thing – you didn’t have real love with Robert. Love involves respect for each other. You couldn’t possibly have been in love with a man who is so wrapped up in himself.”

  I thought about that while I munched on another benne wafer. Robert was charming and he had been crazy about me. And I had thought I loved him. But had we had friendship or passion or intimacy? Obviously, he was not husband material. I didn’t want to dwell on my bad judgment call. I changed the subject.

  “How do you think of the Protters? As adversaries?”

  “While I’m not happy about the entire situation, I do realize it’s business,” Daddy said. “It’s not personal.”

  I was taken aback. “How can you say that? You don’t take forcing your store out of business personally? We’re talking almost a hundred years of operation, in the same location!”

  “It’s called free enterprise, Little Girl,” Daddy said through a sigh.

  I started to argue, but he held up a hand. “Let’s just agree to disagree on this one, okay? Even though you’re in the process of becoming a litigation expert and may want the practice, I don’t have the energy for a debate right now.”

  Daddy probably was tired because the Handyman’s Depot issue was taking a toll on him. He had the prescription drugs to prove it. I dropped the issue.

  “Back to Mister Protter... if he calls, you just tell him that I’m a grown woman, and you can’t control what I do. I have a mind of my own.”

  “Well, that certainly wouldn’t be lying, would it?”

  The crickets continued making nature’s music as we discussed various scenarios that could happen with the store. Daddy told me he would hold off on listing it for sale, but he would have to notify his employees of a possible closing. If my plan didn’t work, he was going to follow through with his. And he owed it to his long-standing employees, most of whom were also friends, to warn them that their jobs might be eliminated. The ones who couldn’t take that chance would have a jump start to find othe
r employment.

  Talking about the employees, Daddy started acting like he couldn’t get comfortable in his chair and finally leaned forward to take several deep breaths.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was strained. “It’s just the pulse thing again. I can recognize it now, before it happens. I probably need to take a pill.”

  I told him to stay where he was and hurried to retrieve one.

  “Don’t bring me one of those tranquilizers,” he called out. “Just one of the other ones. And don’t go alarming your mamma, either.”

  When I returned with a pill and glass of water, he looked a little better but took the tablet anyway. Leaning back, he continued to breathe deeply until whatever was going on inside his body subsided.

  “Quit watching me, for crying out loud.”

  “Okay. Just tell me you’re feeling better.”

  “I’m feeling better.”

  Mamma came out to announce supper was ready and to see who wanted to pick up Jenny and the kids at the airport.

  “Jenny’s at the airport?” Daddy and I said in stereo.

  “Apparently there was a fire on the set of In Home Now. Jenny and Cam were demonstrating some sort of a vacuum steamer cleaner thing and as it turns out, the cleaning solution was flammable.”

  Daddy laughed so loudly he woke Taffy up from one of her fifteen or so daily naps. She sashayed sleepily out of the house to investigate.

  “She says they won’t be doing any taping for at least a week, so she thought she’d come check up on you.”

  * * *

  I found her at the luggage carousel, surrounded by a pile of bright yellow baggage. A skycap was in the process of loading it all onto a cart.

  The twins each toted their own wheeled bag and Hunter lugged Jenny’s matching makeup case, carefully, as though it contained diamonds instead of mascara. My twin had probably lectured him on the important job he had, being the protector of the case. She’d rather lose a garment bag full of clothes than her makeup.

  “Aunt Carly!”

  Through the kids’ hugs and chatter, I heard a familiar sound. It was Precious, growling from within the confines of a pet carrier as she was hoisted onto the cart with the rest of the luggage.

  “I’m going to wait until we get outside to take her out,” Jenny explained. “I wouldn’t want her to run away.”

  “I would.”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘that’s good’.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where’s Stephen? And why did you bring the dog?”

  “Stephen had a meeting with some of the sponsors, so he had to stay in Atlanta. But I couldn’t leave my little Precious behind, could I? The girls would miss her!”

  “No we wouldn’t,” the twins said, their voices melding into one.

  “We want a horse, or maybe a potbellied pig,” Sherry said.

  The dog’s growl, low and steady, only paused when it had to stop for a breath. The skycap made sure to keep his fingers well out of snapping distance.

  “Or even a nice doggie, like Taffy,” Stacy said.

  “Taffy never growls,” Sherry added. “Precious growls at her own poop.”

  My sister rolled her eyes and pulled a ten dollar bill out of her purse for a tip.

  “What are you doing back in Charleston?” she demanded in a low voice so the kids couldn’t hear.

  “Later,” I mumbled back, picking up Hunter and getting whacked in the hip with her makeup case for my trouble. It was even heavier than it looked.

  When we got home, Daddy took over as skycap and Jenny demanded an update. I told her I’d much rather talk about the fire and asked if the cameras had been rolling at the time, because if so, I’d love to get a copy of the video. She glared at me but she also stopped giving me the third degree.

  Everyone situated themselves around the kitchen table to eat. Mamma served sweet potato biscuits and shrimp jambalaya, Jenny complained that flying first class wasn’t what it used to be and the twins thoroughly laid out their case as to why they should have a horse with the number one reason being that horses whinnied and didn’t ever growl.

  Jenny was sensitive about the fire, since she’d been the one to insist that the show peddle the flammable vacuum against the advice of the In Home Now buyers, so Mamma and Daddy carefully avoided any subject of conversation that made reference to heat or flames.

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind going to RiverDogs game one night,” I said.

  The Charleston RiverDogs were a minor league affiliate of, ironically, the New York Yankees and their baseball stadium sat on the banks of the scenic Ashley River.

  “They are going to be red hot this year,” I announced. “They’ve won every single game so far this season. I’m telling you, they are on fire.”

  “Bite me,” Jenny said under her breath.

  “Bite me! Bite me! Bite me!” Hunter said, exhibiting his uncanny ability to repeat any unsavory words that entered his virginal ears.

  After a dessert of bread pudding with a sweet whiskey sauce, I cleaned the dishes and my sister graciously offered to take out the garbage. Everyone, probably even the neighbors, heard her shriek. She was back inside the house before Daddy could get up to investigate.

  “There was raccoon under the lid! It jumped out at me! Eeeeuuuow!”

  Mamma laughed. “You probably startled it more than it startled you.”

  Jenny, acting like she’d just had an encounter with a twenty-foot rattlesnake, was offended.

  “It could have attacked me! It could have rabies or something!”

  Precious let out a high-pitched bark that turned into a growl, as if backing up her owner’s complaint.

  “I doubt it,” Mamma said. “If any of the raccoons had rabies, they’d be acting strange and coming out during the daytime. They never get into the garbage until after dark.”

  Jenny realized she wasn’t going to get the sympathy she was seeking and changed the subject. To us, she was simply family. Not a celebrity. We weren’t star-struck and weren’t up to humoring her.

  “Well, I want to know what the Aroma-magic Ionizer is doing in the trash! Answer me that!”

  “It’s not in the trash. It’s by the trash,” I told her. “It was supposed to keep the raccoons away.”

  “Well it’s obviously not working!”

  “Damn,” Daddy said.

  “Damn!” Hunter repeated. “Bite me damn!”

  Mamma hushed him, explaining that some words were bad to say.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Jenny complained to Daddy. “It was a gift for you, to use inside. It wasn’t meant to be outdoors.”

  “Granny put cod liver oil in the reservoir and it stunk,” I told her. “We had to get it out of here.”

  Precious had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor, by the door that led to the back screened porch, and alternately snored and growled.

  “I did that?” Granny said. “Lord only knows what I was thinking. It’s hell to get old. And, what on earth is wrong with that poodle-dog?”

  Granny was cognizant. I smiled at her. Welcome back.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my little Precious!” Jenny said. “She’s probably just jet-lagged.”

  “I think your poodle-dog has issues. You might want to think about putting it down before it goes and takes a bite outta someone,” Granny said seriously.

  “Bite me!” Hunter cried happily.

  “I’d never do that, Granny! And I’m telling, you, there’s nothing wrong with Precious.”

  Jenny put on a pouty expression, long enough for us all to get a good look at it. But nobody jumped to the defense of her dog.

  “So why do the raccoons keep gettin’ into the trashcans, anyhow?” Granny wanted to know.

  “Because they’re hungry, I suppose. They’re looking for something to eat,” Daddy said.

  “Well then, why on earth don’t you just feed them?”

/>   Daddy harrumphed. It made sense. We cleared enough table scraps from supper plates each night to keep a few raccoons happy. And, as much as Daddy had been spending on deterrent gizmos, Granny’s answer to the problem was cheaper, too.

  Although Daddy was a straightforward kind of man, Granny often had him beat on sensibility. She’d been a schoolteacher before retirement and her world had always been fundamental. When anyone found out she was a retired teacher, they would inevitably ask what she taught. Her answer never changed. I taught children, she’d say.

  “I guess some solutions can be right in front of you the whole time,” Daddy said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  What started out as a search for hats became an afternoon adventure. The twins were going to make their first appearance on In Home Now to demonstrate the Beach Buddy, a wagon-looking apparatus that tripled as an umbrella, table and insulated cooler. For their debut, Jenny decided her girls should wear bright swimsuits and big-brimmed hats, so all the women in the household journeyed to Mamma and Daddy’s attic in search of beachwear. Not wanting to be left out, Hunter and Taffy came, too. Fortunately, Precious was scared of stairs and chose to growl at us from the bottom of them.

  When Stacy saw the piles of haphazardly stacked boxes, knick knacks and out-of-style clothes, all begging to be explored, examined or tried on, her young eyes lit up. She wore the expression of a pirate on a treasure hunt. Sherry, not as enthused at the prospect of digging through dusty discards and sounding very adult-like, declared the attic needed a thorough cleaning out.

  “Oh, good heavens, no!” Mamma said. “An attic is like a well-seasoned iron skillet. It should never be thoroughly cleaned out.”

  The seven of us – eight counting Taffy – split up and rummaged through a cornucopia of the past. There were batons, roller skates, water skis, softball equipment and other remnants of Mamma and Daddy’s attempt at raising well-rounded children.