Lowcountry Summer

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  I was in the car with Eric and Amelia. All the others were driving home with Trip and Rusty. On the way back I just listened to my two and enjoyed the easy conversation between them.

  “So now Belle’s coming to Columbia like Sherman,” Eric said.

  “Let’s hope not. I just hope she grows up a little before August,” Amelia replied.

  “So it’s decided, then?” I asked.

  “Yep. God, she was such a little bitch this morning.”

  “Language!” I said. “It was just nerves, hon.”

  “Yeah, probably. But you’d better tell her,” Eric said. “College is no walk in the park, whatever that means.”

  “She’ll find out on her own. No worries about that. I wonder what Dad got her?”

  “I don’t know. Hey, Mom? What did Uncle Trip get for Belle?”

  An uncomfortable lump of panic presented itself in my throat. Unless Rusty had bought her something, the answer was probably nothing.

  “Darlin’? I couldn’t guess. But isn’t a party like this enough?”

  Silence.

  And then, “Did we get her something?”

  “Of course we did!” No, we didn’t. “And, I’m sure Trip has something very special for her.”

  “Like what?” Amelia said.

  “Well now, even if I knew I couldn’t tell you, could I? Let’s just let her be surprised. Don’t you think?”

  “Mom and Dad bought me diamond-stud earrings. Dad probably got the same thing for her.”

  “Whatever. Hey, do you mind if I play some music?” Eric had already plugged in his iPod. “It’s Jimmy Buffett, Mom. Just for you.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  The subject was changed, but I knew there was going to be a sinkhole in the day if I didn’t produce a gift for Belle. How stupid of me! I felt a flush of guilt that I had not dealt with the issue. The truth was I had thought of it but had resisted going to Crogan’s and shelling out the money for something beautiful for her because she was so freaking unpleasant to me. I thought I was standing on higher moral ground. Now I realized that all I was really doing was fanning the flames of her rebellion by not putting her insufferable attitude aside and rewarding her with a gift. Crap. (The usage of crap is different and permissible when thrown around silently in my head. I would never say it aloud, except in front of a few people, and only on occasion.) Okay. Fine. My Buddha Within would dig around in my jewelry drawer and see what I could find.

  I turned right on Parker’s Ferry Road and drove to the dead end and the gate for Tall Pines. Millie or Mr. Jenkins or both of them had attached big bouquets of blue and silver balloons to the gate. Balloons again. They reminded me of Mother and I smiled a melancholy smile.

  “Well, if anyone misses the entrance they must be as blind as a bat,” I said. “Do y’all want me to drop you off at Trip’s?”

  “May as well,” Amelia said. “My car’s there.”

  “Yeah. And Rusty could probably use a hand,” Eric added.

  Our wrought-iron gates always startled me with their originality. I used my remote and opened them. I never did discover who had made them, but whoever it was, was an artist. Wild turkeys and ducks decorated their borders and clusters of pine trees stood in the center of each one. When I was a girl the gates were embarrassing to me. Of all the things in my screwed-up life to be embarrassed about, why I chose the gates is anyone’s guess, but there you have it.

  The road up to our house from Parker’s Ferry was a long and slow one because of the potholes in the packed dirt. It was time to repair it again. Along the way I passed under the umbrella of ancient live oaks that dripped with long sheets of Spanish moss. When I was little I used to run around with long pieces of it on my head, pretending to have Rapunzel’s hair. Of course this gave me a head filled with chiggers. Millie would wash my scalp with kerosene to kill them while Mother reclined on her chaise, alternating between sipping straight bourbon and swearing a swoon was coming, too grossed out to even look at me. I would be made to take an oath on the family Bibles to never do it again, and of course, the very next week the chiggers would mysteriously reappear at bath time. That was my idea of a wild time. Boy, have things changed.

  Years ago my daddy put in some duck ponds on the sides of the road, and the cypress trees he planted were now grown and had turned the water brackish, like black tea. Mother had supervised the planting of stands of palmettos, pampas grass, fuchsia azaleas, and white camellias and let them grow wild until it looked like Mother Nature was the gardener of our naturalized plantings. It was more spectacular than ever.

  I pulled around to Rusty and Trip’s house and Eric and Amelia got out of the car, slamming the doors. They must have seen me flinch at the noise.

  “Sorry!” they said, and laughed.

  I lowered my window.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to change clothes, you know, check on things, and I’ll see y’all in a little bit,” I said. “Tell Rusty if she needs anything to give me a shout, okay?”

  “Will do!”

  As soon as I pulled away, I dialed Rusty’s cell.

  “Hey, it’s me. Where are you?”

  “Just pulling into our road.”

  “Oh, okay. Don’t say anything, but did you and Trip get something for Belle?”

  “Of course! Didn’t anyone notice the diamond studs in her ears?”

  “No! Wonderful! Okay, I’m almost at my house. If you need anything, call me.”

  My car rolled to a stop, and I got out, crossed the yard, and opened the kitchen door. Before I could think of a thing, I was overwhelmed by the smell of the roses I had cut the day before. I went immediately through the kitchen to the dining room and on to the living room, half expecting their numbers to have tripled. But that was not the case. Everything was exactly as it had been when I left home in the morning. The fragrance had basically traveled from room to room as though I had sprayed the whole house with flowers. I wondered if the intensity of the fragrance was a sign. Was my Miss Lavinia saying hello? I wished it were so.

  “Your rotten granddaughter graduated from high school this morning! You’d think she graduated from Harvard, the way she acted,” I called out to the ethers as I climbed the stairs. “You sure didn’t miss much!”

  I began to rummage around my jewelry drawer. I could have easily put some cash or a check in an envelope, but that seemed too impersonal. If this had been a big party in New York, like a wedding or a Bar Mitzvah, there would have been a decorated box with a slit for envelopes sitting on a table. But down in the Lowcountry we were expected to show our affection for the honoree with something thoughtful and tangible. What did I have that was suitable for a girl her age? Not much.

  I looked through all the little boxes and velvet sacks that held a lifetime of collections. Clunky earrings—no good. Ropes of cheap fake pearls à la Chanel—I wouldn’t be caught dead in them now, so neither would she. Diamond tennis bracelet—yeah, sure, I was gonna give this child diamonds? I didn’t think so. Finally, I came upon a silver Elsa Peretti heart on a chain from Tiffany. Elsa was unfortunately no relation to Rusty. Perfect. In the bottom of the blue suede bag were earrings to match. I couldn’t remember when I got them, and I thought, well, actually, that’s a good thing because then at least I’m not going to give up some treasure with all sorts of emotion attached to it. My mother came to mind again as I remembered her giving me a diamond pin in the shape of a bow the day I married Richard. I asked her who it had belonged to and she snapped back something like “How should I know? I bought it on Forty-seventh Street yesterday from a nice man named Corey Friedman.” She had not wanted to waste an heirloom on a marriage of which she did not approve and I did not want to waste anything of personal value on my niece. There was a strain of cynicism in my DNA!

  I put them on the dresser, deciding I would give them a wipe with a silver cleaning cloth to polish them up after I changed. I had a gift bag and some tissue in the kitchen I could use to make it look like I had though
t of this long ago. Saved by a minor stroke of deceit.

  What had I given Amelia? I remembered it had been a watch, now a perfectly useless gift for anyone under thirty in possession of a cell phone as we know. Was it important that the gifts to my nieces were of the same monetary value? Well, I supposed I was going to get the answer to that before the day was out. The Internet had become an easy way to help the busybodies verify almost anything in seconds. I wasn’t about to fret over that either.

  After I changed into black linen slacks and a crisp white shirt with the pearls, which was all very casual but still elegant, I went to my office for some stationery to write Belle a congratulatory note.

  Dear Isabelle,

  These earrings and necklace were given to me by my mother, your grandmother, on the occasion of my high school graduation from Ashley Hall so many years ago. I know she is with us today in spirit and that if she could, she would tell you how proud she is of you, as we all are. Take care of these little treasures, darling girl, and take care of yourself, too. We wish you every good thing that life has to offer! Congratulations!

  With lots of love,

  Aunt Caroline and Eric

  I looked at the lies on the page and said out loud, “I’m going straight to hell.”

  Soon my golf cart was rolling across our property toward Trip’s place with Belle’s gift on the seat next to me. I was feeling pretty good about the world. I was glad that Belle’s graduation had gone smoothly and even more relieved that it had ended without me tripping the light fantastic in front of everyone. I wondered again if that had been Frances Mae in the parking lot. Well, it didn’t matter really. If she was coming home, she’d appear at some point, and if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t. Our clan had dealt with bigger and messier surprises. But she wasn’t due back for two weeks. Yikes. In two weeks I’d have to hear her voice and look at her ugly face.

  The early-afternoon sun was warm and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. As I approached Trip’s property I could already hear the voices of the kids from beyond the trees. What passed for music these days was blaring and I could smell the burgers on the grill. As they all came into view I was reassured again that we had all done the right thing to throw this shindig. The vibe in the air was happy.

  Mr. Jenkins and Trip were cooking together and Millie was helping Rusty organize the buffet table. And there in their midst were Miss Sweetie and Miss Nancy stacking a tower of chocolate-covered strawberries, gossiping and laughing as they worked.

  Cars were parked all over the lawn and kids were everywhere, coming in and out of the house, slamming the screen door, laughing and high-fiving each other, throwing each other into the pool. The girls shrieked as they hit the water and the boys chased their next victim. I stood and watched for a moment, sort of mesmerized by their energy. They were fully absorbed in their youthful rhapsody and even I was getting caught up in all the excitement.

  Not much had changed since I was their age, except that what was considered decent for a girl’s bathing suit seemed to have shrunk to next to nothing, leaving zero to the imagination. And these young men, not all but many of them, probably jocks, appeared to have muscles, rock-hard abs, and biceps with definition. I mean, it’s certainly more than improper for me to remark on the virility of a male more than half my age, but between us? Truly, they were impossible not to notice. I wondered where their daddies were? I know, I know. Mea culpa.

  Just as my thoughts were turning from borderline evil to full-blown fantasy for the second time that day, I spotted Matthew with three grinning young men in swimsuits, T-shirts, and sunglasses who I correctly assumed were our lifeguards for the afternoon. I worked my way toward them. No wedding rings on any of them. They seemed like they were in their early thirties. What were they saving themselves for? Matthew was wearing shorts and a knit shirt, looking pretty delectable himself.

  “Hey, darlin’!” I gave him a hug. “Thanks for coming!” I said as he introduced me to each one of the guys.

  “Tough duty,” one of them said. “Glad we could help.”

  “Yeah, it was either young girls in skimpy bikinis or man the speed trap in Jacksonboro. Difficult decision for us,” said another, grinning like the proverbial canary-swallowing cat.

  “Yes, ma’am, the safety of our young people is our first priority.” The third one said this with a straight face and then burst out laughing.

  These three stooges were elbowing each other, pointing to various girls, and not the least bit concerned about their silly attitudes or the fact that in some cultures they were old enough to be the fathers of any of them.

  “You think those things are real?” Moe said, remarking on a particularly well-endowed young woman. “I mean, whoa, momma!”

  “Please tell me they’re over twenty-one,” Larry said.

  “Sixteen is the age of consent,” said Curly.

  “All right, guys. That’s enough,” Matthew said, and then shook his head. “Men are dogs. I told them to just keep an eye on the kids, not to use X-ray vision.”

  “Like they need it? Come on. Let’s see if we can help Rusty and Trip and say hello to Miss Sweetie and Miss Nancy. Can I get you something?”

  “A glass of tea would be great,” he said, and we navigated our way toward the buffet table.

  “How about y’all?” I said, calling back to Matthew’s guys.

  They said they were fine, that they would help themselves when they got hungry or thirsty, not to worry about them.

  “Look at these gorgeous strawberries! Wow! Thanks for bringing them!” I hugged Miss Sweetie and popped one in my mouth. “Tho good!”

  “Wow! Did you make these?” Matthew asked, and helped himself to one.

  “Not only did she make them, mon cher, she grew them!” Miss Nancy said, and wiggled her eyebrows at him like a flirty chanteuse. “I’m leaving for France tonight. Three glorious weeks! Anybody want to come along?”

  “Miss Nancy is a big flirt,” I said, and she smiled, not caring a bit. “Three weeks? Fabulous! Y’all know my friend Matthew Strickland, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes! How are you?”

  We chatted for a while and it was pretty clear that Mother’s oldest and dearest friends were trying to decide if Matthew was a romantic interest or just an old classmate. Wasn’t I my mother’s daughter? Shouldn’t they have known? Their pointed questions made me laugh.

  “And so tell me, Matthew, how long have you and Caroline been, um, friends?”

  “Not long enough,” he said, thoroughly confusing them.

  They liked him very much and said as we were leaving them, “He’s darling, isn’t he? Just darling!”

  Belle’s party seemed to be progressing just as I hoped it would. Belle was surrounded by a group of girls, whispering to each other, laughing, and then whispering again. It did me a lot of good to see her so happy. At that moment the mood all seemed so normal to me. I liked normal. Sometimes.

  “Matthew? I want to go in the house to put Belle’s gift someplace safe. Want to come with me?”

  “Nah, I’m thinking about a burger, to tell you the truth. When I got here I wasn’t even hungry, but you know how it is, you smell food and the next thing you know, you’re starving. Can I get you one?”

  “Sure, why not? No cheese! I’ll be right back.”

  “Got it!”

  I hurried up the back steps and crossed the back porch into the kitchen, looking around for a spot. There were some other gifts on the table, so I put our gift bag there with the others, sort of tucked away, in case there was a hooligan in the crowd with sticky fingers. You could never be too sure. And wouldn’t you know it, just then a nice-looking young man came in through the back door. His bathing suit was dry, so I didn’t have to give the “don’t drip on the floor” lecture. I assumed he was looking for the bathroom, so I pointed in its direction.

  “Down the hall on the left?”

  “Right! Thanks!”

  I watched his back and just then a girl came
out of the powder room and he handed her a little sack that zipped to close, the kind of thing a woman might throw in a big purse to hold her powder and lipsticks. Well, if that’s what they were used for, what was he doing with it? I smelled something fishy. Maybe it didn’t have lipsticks and powder in it? I decided to follow the girl but to keep my distance. She was oblivious anyway. She sailed right past me and out the door, across the lawn, and down toward the dock. I left the house quickly in search of Matthew.

  “Come with me,” I said when I found him. “I think there’s some nonsense going on.”

  I was right. As we made our way toward the dock, where six or seven kids were huddled, we hid behind one live-oak tree and then darted to another. One kid left and then two followed. I was sure that if anyone was watching us we looked as ridiculous as Inspector Clouseau in an old Pink Panther movie, on a mission to solve a crime. But one thing was for sure—we smelled weed.

  When we were about thirty feet away, Matthew decided to take a good look and see who was left down there.

  “You’re not gonna like this,” he whispered after taking a risky gander at the scene.

  “What now?”

  “Your little niece Linnie is down there blowing a doobie.”

  “Um, I don’t think they say ‘doobie’ anymore. But let’s go kick some butt anyway.”

  We walked toward their cloud of smoke and laughter and they never even saw us coming.