Beyond the porch lay the makings of the irrigation tower Theo had purposed to build. Everything he set his hands to do was with others in mind. He envisioned a garden that would draw people out of their houses to till the soil alongside other neighbors that they would chance to meet because he had brought them together. Theo was a gatherer, a shepherd. Even retiring his church had not retired his calling for he could not help bringing people out of their complacency under the canopy of what he called Christ’s fullness.
The neighbor boy next door, Joe Hanley, was pounding on metal, perhaps knocking a dent out of a piece of salvaged fender. He was a natural mechanic, Daddy said, a good fixer of things.
Next to him lived Hui Lin who had brought us a casserole following my sister’s funeral. She had traipsed through our yard to offer the same charitable meal for the Millers.
The sun was nearly down reminding me Claudia was supposed to call me, to let me know if she was going to go through with confronting her daddy. I went back inside, up to my bedroom.
I sat on Siobhan’s bed for the first time. That reminded me of her special box. The shellacked cardboard covered in slogans Siobhan had cut from magazines faced out, a phrase reading, “What will be your life story?” I pulled out a slogan button. It said, “Be Happy.” Had I seen that one before she said that to me in a dream? It must have embedded itself in my thoughts and churned out a dialogue between us that seeped out while I slept.
I recalled a tiny detail that happened when I thought I had died in the ER. The pain left me and there I stood with my sister. Siobhan had said to me from my drug-induced state, “Flannery, you are the best of them all.”
No, Siobhan, that was you, not me. You were the best. I didn’t say that then. I say it a lot now, though.
* * * * *
Claudia was upset with her father Wednesday night. He had called in telling Irene he had to work late. Irene had already prepared his favorite meal of roast beef and southern green beans. Claudia was nearly beside herself when she phoned. “Please get over here,” she said.
Daddy drove me. He talked about making homemade ice cream over the weekend. I told him I would help crank the ice cream
Claudia met me at the door. We retired to her room.
“Did you tell her anything at all?” I asked.
“Mother is so trusting. I can’t bear the thought of wiping all the trust from her eyes. I can’t imagine being the one to crush her,” she said.
“It isn’t you who’s crushing your mother,” I said, keeping watch that no one opened Claudia’s bedroom door.
“She’d always remember I knew ahead of her, how I delivered the awful news about my own daddy,” she said, then looking more worried. “What if things change between us after that?”
“Don’t tell her then,” I said, wanting to will the distress from Claudia’s face. “It doesn’t have to come from you.”
“What then? Will you tell her?”
“No, never.”
“Have you told a soul yet?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“I had such high hopes for us. I thought our last summer before becoming upper classmen would be our best. Think of it, Flannery. Three more summers and we’ll go off to college. But won’t we always look back on this summer as the worst tragedy ever?”
I refrained from agreeing or disagreeing. Upsetting her more could cause her to raise a bigger commotion. Claudia was known for her shrill voice when something upset her. Irene would stick her head in the door, trying to find out what was wrong. One of us would tell her. Claudia had it right. Nothing would be the same again. I didn’t want to be the one to alter life for the Johnsons either. I had done enough of that lately.
* * * * *
I came home Monday late afternoon to find a note by the phone. Flan—A woman called for you—Daddy. I shuddered for I couldn’t think of any other woman who would leave a message for me but Alice Curry.
I checked upstairs calling out for Daddy. He and Vesta must have gone out for the night. They had mentioned getting out of the house.
I locked myself into my bedroom. I didn’t recognize the telephone number at all. I dialed it and waited for the phone to ring. It rang and rang. When no on answered, I was glad in a way. I had gone over the things I had imagined we’d talk about in my fantasies of our glorious reunion. None of them were pertinent now. Did you remarry? Did you go on to get your education? Have you any other children? Do they look like me? Thinking of things to say to her now as I lay awake at night nearly drove me crazy. She was not the type woman with whom I could engage life.
I was just about to replace the phone in the cradle when I heard a woman’s voice—hello?
I took a deep breath and said, “It’s me, Flannery Curry. Someone left a message to call.”
“It’s me,” said Alice.
My tiny dam of anxiety spilled over. “Did you talk to Daddy? What did he say? Did he recognize you?”
She laughed. “He didn’t know me. But I knew it was him right off. He has the funniest accent, still to this day. He’s always had an air, you know, like a southern gentleman.” Next thing you know, she was laughing and cajoling with me, like we were girlfriends. Like it was Claudia and me. But she did not have Daddy’s genteel manner. Her words ran together at times. She did not possess Daddy’s gift of elocution. I strained to understand her.
“Of course, I know many gentlemanly types. But they’re all the same, once you get to know them. I’m a quick judge of character. I’ve always liked that about myself.” She exaggerated, it seemed, when describing herself. Funny how I did not remember these tiny flaws in her character.
“I don’t think you should call here any more,” I said.
“Fine.”
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s too risky. I’ve got your number now. I’ll call you.”
She was silent.
I felt the need to explain. “I nearly fainted when I saw the note in Daddy’s handwriting,” I said, defending what I’d just said. It was odd, as if I were explaining my request to a child.
“I want to see you,” she said. Her tone was anxious, and perhaps even eager. “Just our one visit. . . I realized how much I’ve missed you. I’ve missed everything.”
I didn’t know what to say. Nor could I think of a way we might meet without drawing attention. “I don’t drive myself yet. There’s no one to ask who wouldn’t be asking me a lot of questions.”
“Who drove you to the club, by the way?” she asked, starting to relax again it seemed.
“Just a boy. I don’t really associate with him much. He owed me a favor. I can’t keep asking him. He’s not a good person.” Drake and his half-witted cousin were already fishing around for favors, like meeting Claudia and me in some remote place.
“Good for you. Don’t owe anybody anything,” she said. One thing still intact was her trust issues, or lack thereof.
“I’ve been meaning to visit UNC in Chapel Hill. Maybe I could arrange a visit.”
“Good, good idea,” she said. “I could pick you up somewhere in Vineland and then we could ride together.” At first her idea seemed as if it might work. But anyone in town would spot me leaving with her. Everyone knew her back when she was married to Daddy. She grew up here, same as Daddy. The town wags would start in and Vesta would get a call.
“I’ll take the bus.”
“Flynn probably likes it that you’re already thinking of college.”
“You would think so,” I said. I knew that our meeting would be risky and probably wouldn’t work out just for the very reason that Vesta did not support any of my college aspirations. But a part of me hated to tell Alice no. There were some things I wanted to ask her and not over the phone. “I hear my parents pulling up in the drive,” I said.
She hesitated, silent, breathing into the receiver. “I can meet you Friday. Out front of the Admissions office of Chapel Hill. Would that work?”
I took a deep breath, deciding to tell her that none
of this would work, that any more contact with her at all was only going to complicate my life. “I’ll see you Friday at noon, UNC Admissions, out front,” I said. We hung up before Daddy and Vesta walked through the front door.
* * * * *
I joined Claudia early Wednesday morning for a swim at the Pinehurst Resort. Irene picked me up. She and Claudia were buzzing over some upcoming dance.
“What’s this about a dance?” I asked, acting only mildly interested in case I was not invited.
“The Rose Club is sponsoring a youth dance at the club,” said Irene.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“A bunch of old biddies,” said Claudia, “with nothing to do.”
“Who happen to know how to throw a big party every summer,” said Irene, defensively. “It’s a fund raiser for whatever cause they’re supporting this year. Claudia’s been too young to attend until now, but I got her a ticket. Two actually.”
Irene dropped us at the clubhouse gate and then was off to join her ladies’ foursome. Claudia signed us in. We snagged a couple of lounge chairs and then helped each other out with tanning lotion.
The Pinehurst pool was a massive pool decorated with white urns and begonias. It was hands-down the swankiest swimming pool in town. Claudia and I entered with an air, although feigned, simply for the reason that the club pool seemed to invite it. We were the first to arrive.
“Who are you inviting to the dance?” I asked, turning on the small transistor radio I brought along.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, messing with me. “I shouldn’t go stag my first time. It might make me look, you know, as if I can’t get a date.”
“You could ask Drake’s cousin Daryl. He seemed to have a thing for you.”
“I’m pretty sure it was you he had his eye on.”
We both snickered. Then she said, “I don’t really want to invite a date along. The extra ticket is for you if you want to come.”
“Of course.” I was elated. I thanked her. It was the first lift in my spirits I had felt in weeks. “When is the party?”
“Saturday night. We’ll need new dresses.” She was giddy again since shopping was her drug of choice. “Mother is taking us shopping Friday.”
I sat up, pulling down my sunglasses. “I can’t go Friday.”
“Why not?”
My mind raced. I had not figured I would need to avoid telling Claudia about meeting my mother in Chapel Hill. “It’s Vesta. She has this thing and she wants me to help her out.”
“Well, then, get out of it. Tell her my mother invited you. That always seals things with Vesta,” she said, settling back into her chair.
“I can’t get out of it.”
“Sure, it’s easy. You’re the queen of scheming, next to me.” She looked at me askance. “Or is this even about Vesta? What are you up to?”
She was too good at reading me. I had no other recourse. “All right. I’m visiting Chapel Hill. I’ve made an appointment with admissions. I’ve got a tour planned and everything.” I had set it all up with a campus tour planner Tuesday. I would tour and be finished by noon.
She clasped her hands on her stomach, looking out over the water. “You didn’t bother to ask me?”
“I didn’t know you were interested in Chapel Hill.”
“I thought we were going to go to the same university? What about us rooming together?” She sounded downright miserable.
A few of our classmates waved from across the pool.
I lowered my voice. “I thought UNC would be my back up college. You know your parents have made plans for you to go to an Ivy League school. I know what your dad said about me going too. But what if I can’t get in? My college fund is, well, gone.” I had never told her why. She assumed it was due to our current state of poverty. When she did not answer, I said, “It’s only a backup, Claudia. Of course I want to room with you.”
She didn’t speak for about two minutes, a record for Claudia.
“Don’t be mad,” I pleaded with her. When she didn’t respond, I said, “I’m taking the bus, of all things.”
“Slumming, are we?” A bit of a smile appeared.
“See. I knew you’d say that. Now you know why I didn’t ask you.”
“But slumming . . . can be fun. Dangerous.” She was intrigued.
“Claudia Johnson on a bus. I can’t imagine it.”
“Try me.”
She had me cornered. “What will you tell Irene?”
She mulled my question for a few seconds. “I can’t think of a thing,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But you’re not roving around UNC with some good looking college tour guide without me.”
“What about shopping for your dress? Remember, the dance?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, you’re right.” She threw up her hands. “But what about you? What will you wear?”
“I’ve got a summer dress. It will be fine for the dance.”
Finally, and probably for the first time in her life, she acquiesced, although with a tone of gloom. “My mother won’t hear of me visiting the local universities. I’m predestined for Yale. I can’t go.”
I did not let on how relieved I was to hear her say so.
* * * * *
I waited for the right moment to ask Daddy for bus fare. He sat reading the morning paper Thursday and filling out the daily crossword puzzle. The sun was rising and he was surprised to see me. “Good morning, Miss Flannery. You are indeed up early,” he said.
I warmed up his coffee. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about how I might go off to school after I graduate.”
“If this is about Vesta, she did have your interests in mind when she dipped into the account.” He still had not looked up from the paper.
I disregarded his suggestion that my stepmother thought only of me. “If I work harder, I can get a scholarship. They have these scholarships for students who make the grades, but need help with money. I know I can make the grades, Daddy.”
“You can do anything you set your mind to.” He filled in another piece of the crossword.
I told him about the campus visit. “I need bus fare, though. It’s tomorrow.”
The tour had me so consumed I nearly forgot who I was meeting after my campus visit was finished. It was a beautiful campus and I did regret Claudia was not along. She would have enjoyed the pass through the journalism department.
I was given a tote bag and number and then relegated to a group. After a brief wait, our group was called out into the courtyard. It was a blue-sky day and a bit of breeze seemed to blow in from the coast. A parent or two had accompanied most of the high school students. The tour guide was a graduating senior named Craig. He seemed to note I came alone and paid special attention to me. He made a list of the departments that each student wanted to see. A few of the parents answered for their student. I told him, “Political science.” I had imagined myself as a professor after meeting Dottie. Truth be told, I was still forming what I might do with myself for the rest of my life.
Our guide was expert and good to remember the tour was for the students and not the parents. He gave us a rundown of the activities planned for the new students coming onto campus. I took special note of the sororities and the clubs. Most of the student body was gone for the summer. Craig addressed me specifically when we entered the poli-sci building. The best part was the tour through the legal research library. Next we toured one of the dormitories and then took a pass through the commons and then the bookstore.
I purchased a guide for planning for a scholarship and then met Craig and the group back out in the commons. He led us back inside the Admissions hall where he filled up our totes with brochures and even an application.
I had minutes to spare before leaving the admissions building and meeting Alice out front. Craig walked me to the front door. “Flannery, it’s noon time and I hate to see you go off alone. I’m meeting the other guides in the commons for lunch. Why don’t you join us?”
Claudia would not understand in the least why I turned him down. He was good looking and smart, confident, and well dressed. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m meeting my mo—” I stopped myself.
“Your mother’s here? She should have joined us. Let’s go and meet her,” he said.
“No, not my mother,” I corrected myself. By now, we were out front. Alice was walking down the sidewalk toward us, but seeming to take in the general beauty of the campus. She wore a pair of white oversized sunglasses and was untying her floral headscarf.
“My mother’s friend,” I said. “She’s here to show me around town, is all.” I waved, saying, “Alice, over here.” I excused myself and sprinted down the sidewalk.
Alice hugged me, greeting me in warm tones. “Is he cute,” she said, gazing around me at Craig who waved from the landing.
“Ready to go?” I asked, taking her by the hand and leading her away from the steps of the Admissions office.
She had discovered a neighborhood deli not far from campus. She suggested we walk there. We were seated outdoors directly in front of the restaurant’s plate glass window. She carried a tote too, so we both slid our bags under the table.
Students walked past and some collected out on the sidewalk. The Carolina Blue Tarheels logo decorated every shop window.
Alice lit a cigarette and offered me one.
“Not for me,” I said. I accepted a menu and ordered an iced tea. She ordered a beer and then a sandwich, telling me her favorite lunch. “Club with extra crispy bacon.”
“Make it two,” I told the waitress.
Suddenly Alice wanted to know everything about me. “What grade will you be in this year?” she asked, her gaze intent, her face so much prettier without the heavy stage make-up. She was dressed in a fashionable pair of white pedal pushers and a bright turquoise blouse, no sign of her seedy night job apparent in her demeanor or attire.
“I’ll be in tenth grade, come fall,” I said.
A faint hint of melancholy seeped into her face, but she pulled herself out of it and asked brightly, “Any boyfriends? Do you date yet?”
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