Moon Over Edisto

by Beth Webb Hart

  JULIA MADE IT TO THE CHARLESTON AIRPORT IN THE nick of time. She turned in her rental car and raced to the terminal and onto the flight that would carry her to Atlanta where she would catch her international flight. As the plane took off, she peered out of the window at the waterways and rivers and salt marsh creeks like enormous snakes winding their way out to sea. The sunlight was almost blinding and the creeks themselves looked like little rivers of gold reflecting the light on their moving surfaces. The thought occurred to Julia that it might not be so easy to put this visit out of her mind, to tuck it away like she had her childhood and seal it closed like so many places in her heart.

  As the travelers around her pulled out their iPads and laptops and began clicking away, she knew she had to move on. She had to shake this reconnection with her old home, with her half sisters and brother. And with her old teenage crush. She had a lot of work ahead: two months of painting and lecturing in a foreign city, planning a wedding, moving to a new place, preparing for a department chair bid. This was no time to get confused or emotional. No time at all.

  She opened her own laptop and started responding to e-mails. She’d send them during her wait in the international terminal in Atlanta, but she could get a jump on responding right now. Simon’s was the first she read. He had already arrived in Budapest for their weekend together before he had to return to the States. He would meet her at the airport and help her get set up in her flat. He couldn’t wait to see her and give her a tour of the city. He had spent a semester there in college, and he would give her a personal tour of his favorite spots.

  Then she continued on with the e-mails from work and Bess and others: Yes to the departmental meeting in mid-September, no to the lemon-flavored wedding cake by Kerry Vincent, and yes to the winter white one with raspberry sauce by Mark Joseph. No to the roses and yes to the calla lilies and lilies of the valley for the bridal bouquets. No to the veal and yes to the beef tenderloin. No to the imported shrimp and yes to the Maine lobster. Yes to sitting on the president’s advisory committee at Hunter College and no to the college’s tenure committee. And thank you to her friend and former student Rachel Muldoon, who’d been looking after her rooftop plants. “Eat all of the tomatoes and lemons, please,” she wrote.

  As the plane descended she sat back and snapped her laptop closed. Her head spun and she wished she could have had just a few more hours on the old dock, watching the tide move in and out. Once she was on the ground and checked into the international terminal, she got a croissant and a big cup of coffee. She reached for her laptop but instead pulled out her sketchbook. Just a few more minutes of drawing, she thought. Then back to work. As she flipped open the book to the next blank page, she found an image that was not hers tucked inside. It was a charcoal sketch of Julia sketching on the dock with Charlie fishing in the background and Heath on the rope swing reading a book.

  “Good-bye,” it read at the bottom and it was signed, “Etta.”

  JULIA DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG SHE SAT THERE STARING at the image, replaying the week in her mind as her heart raced. She hoped they were all feeling better, she hoped the babysitter arrived on time, she hoped the house would stay clean, she hoped Marney was rid of the cancer, she hoped the children would grow up well and strong and make their way in the world and find joy and be blessed.

  She sat this way, trance-like, for a long time, not sending her e-mails, not going over the lecture she would have to give next week. Suddenly she realized what the voice on the intercom was saying, “Boarding Air France, flight 337 to Paris, with continued service to Budapest.”

  She shoved the sketchbook back into her carry-on bag, quickly stood, and looked around. Everyone at her gate was already in line at the entrance ramp. She had meant to finish her coffee, she had meant to go to the bathroom, she had meant to send her e-mails.

  She felt for her boarding pass and raced over to the gate door and got in line behind all of the other passengers. The flight looked full. She’d be lucky if there was any room left in the overhead bins for her carry-on bag.

  A little boy was sleeping on his father’s shoulder a few passengers ahead. His father was gently patting his back, and the child looked up for a moment and seized eyes with Julia before laying his head back down.

  Julia had the urge to run over and kiss his round cheeks and ask to hold him. This must be her clock ticking or some sort of premenopausal outburst. She shook her head and readjusted her posture.

  Get a grip, she told herself. And then the mantra that worked even better than that one. Lord, have mercy.

  CHAPTER 26

  Julia

  Simon was standing just outside of the customs checkpoint staring at his iPhone when Julia rolled her bags out. He looked up suddenly as she moved toward him and shook his head, half-concealing a grin. Then he slid his phone in his jacket pocket and walked down the corridor toward her, his grin growing wider by the moment. She stopped and they embraced. Simon. Her fiancé. The handsome salt-and-pepper, leather jacket, British chap she was going to start a family with, spend the rest of her life with. She longed to breathe in the scent of him, but when she inhaled all she could smell was cigarette smoke and stale coffee and gasoline and airport air, and the combination turned her stomach a little.

  She pulled back and he lifted up her chin.

  “You okay, love? You look a little green.”

  “I think so.” She nodded. “I just need some fresh air.”

  “Come on, my little magnolia blossom,” he said with a chuckle, then he took her bags and led her toward the taxi queue at the far end of the airport by the baggage claim area. “You’re going to love this city, Julia.” He was gesturing with his free arm. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ve got a reservation for dinner tonight at the castle quarter on the very top of the west bank. We’ll have a fantastic view of the city and the Danube. Oh, and tomorrow we can go to one of the thermal baths or the spa. You don’t have to check in at the university until Monday, right?”

  “Right.” She was concentrating on the front door, but her eyes kept glazing over. She really did need some fresh air.

  “Well, we’ll have a romantic weekend then,” he continued. “And you can tell me all about your trip to the backwoods.” She took a deep breath. She hated to say it, but she just wanted him to be quiet for a moment. He grinned down at her and winked. “You’re crazy, you know that? Absolutely crazy.” He shook his head and she blinked and tried to steady herself. Her hands felt clammy and the airport seemed unusually warm. “But charitable,” he continued. “I suppose I can’t fault you for that.”

  JULIA PEELED OFF HER JACKET WHEN THEY GOT IN the cab. Simon was busy pointing out the sites as they bumped along the crowded streets—the State Opera House, Mathias Church, Heroes Square flanked by the Fine Arts Museum and the Mucsarnok Art Gallery. As they crossed over the picturesque Chain Bridge, which spanned the Danube River linking Pest to Buda, she saw stars and felt like she might faint. So she rolled down her window and took long, deep breaths as he pointed out the promenade and the massive Parliament Building, which even in her green and fuzzy state she had to admit was truly grand with its Gothic Revival spires, symmetrical façade, and enormous central dome, its mighty image reflected in the river.

  She was staying at the foot of the Buda Hills in the green belt of Budapest at the Congress Center where the Hungarian University of Fine Arts had a few studio apartments for visiting faculty and Fulbright scholars. The inside of the Center looked promisingly modern with mirrored walls and a well-suited doorman, ornate cap and gold-trimmed jacket and all, but the heat hit her immediately as the doorman confessed, “The air condishun is under restoration.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pressed black pants and nodded. “To be fix afternoon.”

  Julia felt so tired she thought she might collapse right there. She thought she had slept pretty well on the flight, but she seemed weary to the bone in addition to feeling queasier by the moment. Simon and the doorman divided her bags and settled her in
her room on the eighth floor where she was shocked to have a view of the river and the Parliament building. Then the men went around attempting to open the windows, most of which seemed sealed or stuck closed. They managed to get one open near the futon and she plunked down there and closed her eyes.

  “I’m going to let you rest, all right?” Simon said. “I’ve got an appointment with another art dealer in Pest who has a well-heeled client, a parliament member, who wants to commission Hockney for a piece. I’ll be back at seven to pick you up for dinner. Call me in the meantime if you need anything, love.”

  She fanned herself and nodded. He pecked her on the cheek and left, and she fell into a fitful sleep that must have incorporated the honking cars below and the foreign city—new to her—into her dreams. She woke in a cold sweat and could only remember bits and pieces of her imaginings: walking across a bridge, chasing a man who grew smaller by the moment. She thought it might be Jed or Simon, but when he turned around she saw it was her father back in his prime without the gray or the shuffle or the potbelly, and she stopped in her tracks as he stared at her, the cars and taxis flying by them, the river spinning below them. She could remember two feelings. One of which was to run into his arms. The other of which was to run away, head in the opposite direction back to the bank. She had wanted him to give her some indication of which he’d prefer, but just as he started to move his arms as if to open them, a car came up behind him honking and barreling in his direction, and she opened her eyes.

  She sat up in bed. The sun was setting. Simon would arrive in less than two hours—she had managed a long rest and seemed to feel a little better as the apartment cooled down. She unpacked her bags, putting her clothes in drawers, setting up her laptop, her few files, her camera. There were two boxes in the closet, which she had ordered. They had a few small canvases and paints and brushes.

  After a shower and a debate over what to wear—she decided on a gray linen sundress and a gauzy, pale green wrap—she put on a little lipstick and was not surprised to hear him, right on time, rapping on her door.

  She stood up from the vanity, feeling a little dizzy, caught her breath, and opened the door.

  He was freshly shaved and in a new tweed jacket and polished cognac loafers he must have bought over the last few weeks, smelling like some sort of expensive European cologne.

  She made a step toward him and before she realized it, she was sick, and she lost her airport dinner—with immense violence—all over his new shoes.

  “That’s romantic.” He stepped back as she leaned against the open door and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as he scooted back in the apartment and went to wipe off his loafers. “There was this stomach bug going around Edisto, and I must have gotten it.”

  She felt her stomach flip-flop again, and she raced toward the bathroom, shoving him out of the way.

  “So I’m guessing dinner at the castle is canceled?”

  She coughed and pulled herself up from the green tiled floor. “I’m sorry, Simon. This is probably going to last twenty-four hours.”

  He grimaced and nodded solemnly. “All right, then. What can I get you? Want me to track down some ginger ale or tonic water?”

  She felt so awful she lay right down on the floor. “Why don’t you go have a nice meal? I hate for you to spoil the reservation. Just bring me home some bread and some sort of soft drink afterward.”

  “All right,” he said. “I will.”

  He squatted down and squeezed her shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” she said. And after a few more trips to the bathroom, she drifted into a very deep sleep, so deep that she didn’t stir when he came back and left three sodas and a baguette in the little studio kitchen.

  THE WEEKEND DID NOT TURN OUT TO BE ROMANTIC AT all. After Julia recovered, Simon went down with the bug, and he left for the airport looking very green on Monday afternoon.

  “Call you when I get to New York,” he said.

  “Good luck on the flight.”

  He embraced her hard. “I love you,” he said.

  It wasn’t something he said very often, and she noticed that he was staring at her with a great intensity that could have been caused by the sickness or perhaps something more. He lifted up her left hand and held the sapphire to the sunlight.

  “Five more months and it will be official.”

  She smiled and nodded, feeling strangely separate and distant—from him, from the wedding, from New York, from everything.

  “You’re okay, aren’t you, Julia? Nothing has changed, right?”

  She nodded firmly as the taxi honked from the sidewalk. “Yeah, I am.” She swallowed hard and felt her ears pop. She hoped she was all right.

  He embraced her again and turned toward the cab. “Paint like crazy,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  She crossed her arms and smiled at him as the driver clicked the door shut. Then she turned and walked back into the building. She had a lecture on postmodern American art at the university in three hours, and she needed to go over her notes.

  CHAPTER 27

  Jed

  It had been three weeks since Julia left. Jed had looked her up on the Internet, studied her paintings, even bid on one at an online auction, but he lost. The painting was of a triangle within an octagon within a heptagon. He didn’t particularly like it nor could he afford it, but he longed for her so much that he wanted something he could hold on to. Something she had made, something that could teach him more about the woman she had become.

  “You’ve got to give it up,” Rick Strozier told him as they scrubbed up for surgery. “She’ll be married in a few months, man. It’s time to move on.”

  Jed exhaled. “You’re right.”

  As if Rick could read his mind, he said, “Let me know if you decide to sell your Edisto place. Dana’s been riding me about getting some digs out there for a while, and we just inherited a little money from her uncle we need to invest.”

  Jed hadn’t been able to muster the strength to go out to the Edisto cottage the last few Saturdays, much to Rascal’s disappointment. He just felt too tired to knock down a wall with a sledgehammer after a long work week. And he didn’t want to remember the last few times he’d had out there and the light Julia’s presence had brought back into his heart.

  “I just might sell.” Jed glanced at his friend before turning off the faucet. “I don’t need an extra place to keep up with. And there’s a lot of work still to be done out there.”

  Rick grinned and nodded. Then he punched Jed’s arm. “That’s what contractors and building crews are for.”

  Jed raised his right eyebrow. “Not if you’re a purist.”

  “Never claimed to be.” Rick dried off his arms with a disposable towel. And then, “Hey, did I mention that Stephanie’s been asking about you?”

  Jed rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t you want to give it another try? Maybe come over to our condo for dinner one evening. Dana makes a mean shrimp creole.”

  Jed tried not to wince. He had partaken of Dana’s creole before, and it was nothing to write home about. It was bland, overcooked, and he didn’t think she even used local shrimp.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Maybe in a month or two.”

  “You’re pitiful, you know that?” Rick scoffed. “The girl you kissed when you were fifteen comes back into town for a week, and you can’t get her out of your mind.”

  They both tied their masks around their necks and walked toward the X-ray room where they were to view the lung images one more time before heading to the operating room. The patient was a man Jed’s age, with four young children, and he’d never smoked, but he had a bad case of cancer in both lungs, and the surgery was going to be major.

  THE SURGERY TOOK SIX HOURS AND THE PATIENT SEEMED stable. Jed went out to the waiting room where the man’s wife was tapping her foot nervously as she read from a book. Her young
est child, a boy with dark curly hair, was asleep in her lap.

  When she looked up at him, he smiled reassuringly. She straightened her back, which roused the little boy who sat up and rubbed his eyes with his thick little hands.

  “How did it go?” she said.

  “It was major and the next few days will be critical. But it couldn’t have gone better, and he is resting now.”

  Back home in his apartment overlooking Colonial Lake, Jed put a leash on Rascal and went for a long run along the battery as the sun set. There seemed to be little boys everywhere, on bicycles, climbing the cannons at White Point Gardens, vying for a spot at the water fountain at Hazel Parker Playground.

  Jed couldn’t help but think of Charlie and the girls. It seemed crazy, but he wanted to be a part of their lives. Who would take them fishing? Who would teach them how to drive a boat? Who would throw the football with them?

  He always thought he’d have a large family like the man he operated on today. It was how he had imagined his grown-up life—pushing a stroller, throwing a football, baiting a hook, attending a piano recital or a spelling bee.

  As he watched the sun dip behind the Ashley River on his jog back to his apartment, he decided to call Skeeter. When he got home, it was the first thing he did.

  “Hey, boy,” the old man said when he picked up the phone after several rings. “Glenda and I were just saying we hadn’t seen you out here in a while.”