Laughed 'Til He Died

by Carolyn Hart

  Max seemed at a loss for words.

  Annie said quickly, “I love it.”

  Rosalind looked pleased and proud, then worry drained her face of eagerness. “So I can’t go and see about her but someone should.” She looked at them hopefully. “She looked dreadful. Maybe her sister got worse. She’s really sick.”

  “Where does Jean live?”

  Rosalind gestured vaguely to the west. “She and Giselle have that lovely little cottage on the marsh. There’s a really nice path through the woods. It only takes a few minutes.”

  ANNIE WAS ACCUSTOMED to the nicely blacktopped paths in the more manicured parts of the island, where scrub had been cleared. She was always wary of venturing into woods that were, as she explained to Max, too close to nature. Nature in the maritime woods included alligators, which might be fun subjects for a dance but filled Annie with awe, plus snakes both benign and dangerous. She kept a wary eye for copperheads seeking respite from the sun in mounded leaves that had drifted across the narrow path. They brushed through ferns. Mosquitoes whined and birds chirped. A redheaded woodpecker drilled into a pine.

  Ahead, a bright opening beckoned to the marsh.

  Faintly, then more clearly with every step they took, poignant above the chirps and buzzes and rustling branches of the woods, came the unmistakable sound of a sitar. Annie caught her breath, recognizing “I Have a Dream.” She knew that music, knew it well. ABBA had been her mother’s favorite group.

  As they came nearer the sunlight, as they had a view of the marsh and a cottage with a shaded porch, as the music rose and swelled, Annie saw two figures, one clearly unaware of scrutiny.

  Max jolted to a stop. Annie reached out, gripped Max’s arm. They stood in silence.

  On the porch, a young woman, her complexion almost translucent, curled in a wicker chair. She was covered, despite the heat, by a red-and-white patchwork quilt. She listened to the evocative, hopeful, mystical lyrics, nodding, a sweet smile giving life to a face clearly nearing the end of earthly existence.

  Out of sight of the porch, hidden by the fronds of a weeping willow, Jean watched her sister. It was only when the song ended that Jean turned and walked heavily toward the woods, head down.

  She didn’t look up, obviously knowing the path well, and walked without noticing or caring into the dim tunnel made narrow by encroaching fronds and vines and ferns.

  “Jean.” Max’s voice was gentle.

  With a quick-drawn breath, Jean’s head jerked up. She stopped and stared with eyes reddened from weeping. Her face reflected a misery that made the dusky tunnel seem darker, the heat heavier, the whirring of the insects ominous.

  Annie held out a hand, wishing she could ease the pain that tormented the director. Knowing that was impossible, she offered a hand to hold, a human touch that said: I’m sorry, I care, I wish it could be different.

  Jean’s lips trembled. Slowly, she reached for Annie’s hand, clung.

  Annie hadn’t known what she was going to say and then she spoke from her heart. “My mother died of cancer.”

  “Giselle,” Jean’s throat worked, “has a month or so at most. That’s what the doctor said. Maybe less.”

  Max was gentle. “Is that the call that upset you?”

  Jean blinked as if awakening. She seemed to become aware of her hand clinging to Annie’s and loosed her grip, stepping back a pace. “Oh.” Her gaze focused on Max. “I guess you talked to Rosalind. No. I’ve known about Giselle for a while.” Her voice was dull. “Booth called me.” She folded her arms across her front. “I asked you to help me, but there isn’t any help. I’m sorry I put you to the trouble. I should have known nothing could be done.”

  “There’s lots to be done. Max did it.” Annie stepped forward. Everything in life was attitude. Jean had to shake free of defeat. “Max has the votes to save your job. You can fight Booth. You’ve got friends.”

  Jean didn’t even bother to shake her head. Her face told the story. She was done, through, finished. “I’m sorry I involved you. I’ve put you and so many people to trouble. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll resign tonight.” Her voice was thin and flat, as if every word took extreme effort.

  Annie started to speak, but stopped at Max’s quick head-shake.

  Max’s face was thoughtful. “What has he threatened?”

  A monarch butterfly fluttered near the tiny bright orange flowers of a butterfly weed. The movement caught Jean’s eye. “Everybody loves monarchs. Giselle knows the butterflies by name and which plants they like. She can see butterflies from the porch. You see,” and her tone was confiding, “the porch is her favorite place. She’s cold all the time. Even now when it’s so hot. She sits in a chair wrapped in one of Mama’s quilts and looks out at the marsh. She says the marsh changes all day, every minute there is something new to see and everything is alive. The porch means everything to her. That’s why I have to do what Booth wants.”

  Max’s face folded in an angry frown. “What does Booth have to do with Giselle on the porch?”

  “Oh, everything.” She gave a ragged laugh. “I was dumb. You know I always thought I was savvy when we lived in the city. I knew when some guy was hitting on me and was bad news, the worst kind of news. Nobody could scam me. Then Booth came. He was rich and polite. When he told me about the Haven, I pooh-poohed it at first. I said nobody would hire somebody like me and he told me the board wanted somebody who’d come up the hard way like I had and could understand kids who didn’t come from ritzy homes. Sure. I understood that. He persuaded me I had a chance. He said all he could do was offer my résumé and maybe it wouldn’t pan out. See, I thought that meant it was legit. I was just one of a bunch of applicants so I didn’t even really hope. And then it seemed like such a miracle when he came and told me I was hired. Oh, it doesn’t matter now, all the lies he told. But the worst lie was the cottage.”

  Annie gestured toward the clearing. “What does Booth have to do with the cottage?”

  Jean rocked back on her heels. For an instant, hatred burned in her eyes. “He told me the cottage came with the job, no rent or anything. When I came to the island, he had me sign a bunch of papers. He said they didn’t amount to anything, I didn’t need to read them, just stuff like I promised to stay a year and I agreed not to accept any gifts or extra money from anyone—he said that was to protect the Haven from people trying to get kick-backs—and then there was one for the cottage and he said I was agreeing to leave it in good condition.”

  She watched the monarch, spoke in a monotone. “Booth owns the cottage, not the Haven. The paper I signed was an agreement to move out on demand. With one week’s notice. Today he gave me one week’s notice. But he said if I resigned, I could stay in the cottage for three months. That’s time enough.” She swiped at her eyes to wipe away tears. “Oh God knows, that’s time enough.”

  “You don’t have to stay in the cottage. Maybe he’ll get the cottage, but Max has the votes to keep your job for you.” Annie was furious. “We’ll help you move.” Annie’s eyes glinted. “It won’t cost you a penny. We’ll get our friends to help. We’ll line up a convoy of pickups and—”

  Jean was shaking her head. “I can’t move Giselle. We don’t have anywhere to go. Even if we did, I won’t move her. That kind of excitement would kill her. Oh, I know,” there was a sob in her throat, “she’s dying. But I don’t want to steal a day or an hour or a minute away from her. She loves the porch. In Atlanta, we lived in a little cramped dark apartment and there was no way for her to be outside unless I took her in a wheelchair. Now she sits on the porch and listens to her music and watches the marsh. The music lifts her up and she forgets that she’s dying or maybe the song gives her peace and she knows she can cross the street when the time comes. I’d kill to keep her on that porch.”

  ANNIE PUSHED THE button to start the dishwasher. Their early dinner had been solemn. Usually they laughed and talked, each interrupting the other, glad to be together, eager to share, often dissolving in laugh
ter, sometimes sparring but always with good humor. True, they were polar opposites in some ways. Annie’s Puritan ethic valued work. Max extolled the ideal of the Renaissance man. He was much more interested in dabbling here and there than tethering himself to a task. Beneath his frivolity, however, was a man who always kept his word.

  Annie hung up her apron. Usually she looked forward to their evenings, a stroll on the beach, dancing at the club, working on an intricate picture puzzle. Max was so much better than she at turning a piece upside down and slotting it into sky or ocean. Sometimes Dorothy L., determined to engage Max’s attention, snagged a necessary piece and refused to part with it unless offered a kitty treat.

  Annie bent down, petted the fluffy white cat. “Later, sweetie. We have to go out.” Annie felt dull with dread. They had to go to the Haven and pretend everything was all right and help Jean maintain her dignity.

  Annie stepped out onto the back porch. In the spring and early summer the garden was glorious with banks of azaleas, red and pink and cream. Now bougainvillea and hibiscus bloomed. Calla lilies were majestic at the pond. She and Max loved sitting in their wooden rockers and watching their own small pocket of heaven.

  This evening, as the sun hovered just above tall pines, he stood at the porch railing.

  She came near. “There’s nothing we can do, is there?”

  “No.” There was grim acceptance in his voice. “Staying in the cottage matters more to her than the job. Or anything else. All we can do is be there for her. After…” His voice trailed away. He took a breath. “We’ll help her find a new job, a new place to live. One thing I can do is raise some money for a bonus. She’s proud. She wouldn’t accept money from us, but if a group contributes and we make it clear that the bonus is in recognition of her work at the Haven, I think we can persuade her.”

  Annie nodded. “Henny will help.”

  Max slipped an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “We’ll ask Henny to be in charge. It will definitely be a group effort and how much any one person contributes will be confidential.”

  Annie knew Max would contribute the most, but he understood pride and independence.

  Annie felt a curl of sadness. Had Jean told her sister that she’d lost her job? Maybe Jean would say she was taking a vacation after this evening’s program. Had Jean forced a smile, promised Giselle she would tell her everything when she returned, that the program was going to be wonderful? Was Jean walking on the darkening path toward an evening that should have been joyful and now promised nothing but humiliation and defeat?

  Annie faced Max. “I hate what’s happening to her. I wish we could do something to make tonight easier for her.”

  “All we can do is go.” Max nodded toward the Jeep. “And now it’s time.”

  Chapter 5

  Although darkness had yet to fall, most of the Haven grounds lay in the deep shadow of huge pines as the sun slipped westward. An old concrete pad sat where the woods curved close to the lake. The pad now served as a stage for outdoor programs. “Stage” was a generous description. The concrete rectangle was all that remained of some long-ago storage building. Between the back of the stage and the woods stood several six-foot light stands. Suddenly bright light flared. Rosalind Parker darted from behind the soft box headlights and clapped her hands in excitement. “They’re working!” The illumination of the stage was uneven. Rosalind bustled to the back of the stage and stepped down. She knelt to pull a plug from a cable.

  Max looked relieved. “It’s always touch-and-go with the lights. But I like having the summer program outside even though we have to borrow a portable lighting system. The little theater group loans the lights to us. When the new gym is finished, the programs will be inside.”

  The Haven summer program had drawn a good crowd. Annie guessed there must be about seventy-five people milling around, viewing artwork, corralling excited kids, drinking Kool-Aid. Conversation was animated. Some voices spoke in the old and beautiful low-country cadence. A goodly number of other accents could be heard. Yankee twangs, Midwestern flatness, and Western drawls were common on a sea island that offered year-round sun and warmth. Forty-degree days in January beat sub-zero in Minnesota.

  Jean moved from cluster to cluster, greeting, welcoming, gesturing toward various venues. At one point, Jean paused to smile at a young mother who held a squirming toddler on one hip. They stood near the steps to the old school building, clearly revealed in a bright, sharp overhead light. Jean was attractive in a pale-lime cotton knit dress and white sandals. She managed to smile though her eyes were somber. There was an aura of exhaustion about her. Thankfully, the lighting on the grounds was sparse enough that she was spared close scrutiny.

  A teenage boy sidled up to Max and asked shyly if he’d like to come and see the posters that Rosalind had asked them to make for Jean.

  “Go ahead,” Annie encouraged. “I’m going to look for Henny before the program starts.” As she strolled toward the refreshment table, Annie wondered if others were aware of a dark current beneath the surface excitement. It seemed that wherever she glanced, there were sharp reminders of the drama unfolding beneath the cheer.

  First and foremost, the arrival of Booth Wagner set her teeth on edge. He walked in with a tall woman at his side and two teenagers lagging a bit behind. Annie knew his wife casually and she recognized the teenage girl as a customer who bought mostly used paperbacks. She’d never seen the boy and noticed he moved with a decided limp. Booth beamed. His wife’s face was composed but not enthusiastic. The teenage girl looked tense and the boy bored. Booth had a peacock strut and clearly expected homage similar to the adulation heaped on politicians. He immediately plunged into the crowd, leaving his family behind. It was easy to follow his progress because of his height and flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, this one purple and green and orange. Booth exuded charm as he moved from group to group, shaking hands, his loud voice easily heard. Booth’s boisterous laughter rose above the exuberant din of conversations and shouting kids. At one point he huddled with Larry Gilbert, clapping an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders. Larry gestured toward the tennis court, almost invisible in the growing gloom. Annie felt a spurt of irritation. So what difference did a ragged net make? But the sagging net was the least of Jean’s worries now.

  Booth’s wife and the teenagers drifted toward the periphery. Annie glanced at the back page of the program. Bright red type thanked the board of directors. Each received an introductory paragraph with a photograph. She read the tributes to Henny Brawley and Frank Saulter, whom she knew well. The paragraphs were modest and unassuming and likely had been submitted in a response to a request for material. Henny was pictured standing on the porch of her house overlooking the marsh. Frank was surrounded by kids clutching fishing rods at the end of the pier.

  Larry Gilbert’s paragraph was more formal and clearly written by a businessman looking for a spot of free publicity. He was grinning in an informal shot at a pancake supper, a white chef’s hat on his dark hair.

  She read Booth’s contribution:

  Booth Wagner, former CEO of multimillion-dollar Wagner Enterprises in Atlanta, brought his passion for excellence to Broward’s Rock when he and his family retired here two years ago. Praised in Fortune magazine as a hands-on executive, Booth had energy, charm, and a can-do attitude that brought new life and energy to the Haven. Wagner believes in family values. His wife Neva, daughter Meredith, and stepson Tim Talbot are also familiar faces at the Haven.

  Booth had provided a family picture. His bulk emphasized the slender athleticism of his wife. She looked cool and self-possessed. Meredith had curly dark hair, a heart-shaped face, and a shy smile. Slightly built Tim stood with arms folded, face half-turned from the camera. His brown hair was fairly long.

  Annie raised an eyebrow. Family values? Was that why Booth had convinced an admittedly too credulous Jean he was in love with her and separated from his wife?

  Annie folded the program, put it in the pocket of her white slacks, and s
canned the crowd for Henny.

  Once again a member of Booth’s family caught her eye. This time she was struck by the furtive slide of Booth’s stepson away from the lit area. Mack the Knife couldn’t have moved with a more effective slither despite the teenager’s pronounced limp. Neither Tim Talbot’s mother nor stepsister appeared to notice or care as he disappeared into the gloom of the forest. Annie shrugged away a feeling of concern. He was certainly safe enough. A stray bobcat could pose danger in night woods but any bobcat with sense would be as far from light and noise as possible. If Booth’s stepson wanted to hunker in the woods instead of attending a party, it was not any of Annie’s business. In fact, knowing what she knew would soon unfold, she wished she could flee into the darkness.

  As she shrugged and turned away, she spotted Henny near the Kool-Aid stand. Annie joined her and they hugged.

  Henny, as always, looked elegant. Tonight she was crisp in a scoop-neck lemon shell and beige linen skirt. Silvered dark hair framed her intelligent face. Her brown eyes lively and interested, she pointed toward the dock. “Frank’s putting on a casting clinic for kids. Have you been out to see? They’ve caught four catfish and thrown them back.”