Isle of Palms

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Obviously, he had seen me in some stage of undress. I cringed, fully aware that my abs (and most definitely when inert) weren’t exactly off the cover of Shape magazine. I could only imagine that he had seen me in the least flattering of all poses—caked spit and lipstick lodged in the corners of my mouth, mascara and dried-up crud around my eyes, breath that could make a bulldog break his chain—God in heaven! Who knew? Had he seen my cellulite? Did I really sing? Shit! I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket!

  I began to giggle. Well, I told myself, if he called you this morning and wanted to see you again, maybe it’s not a total loss. At least I knew he had seen me at my absolute worst. I was musing about Lucy’s face and how her mouth would hang open like a trapdoor when I told her this story. Perhaps it was better left untold.

  Emily! What time was it? I wrapped a towel around myself and checked my alarm clock. Eight-fifteen. Okay. Her plane arrived when? Noon. I called Jim on his cell.

  “Don’t stress! I’ll pick her up and bring her straight to the house! Do you want a decaf cappuccino? I’m stopping by Starbucks.”

  “Caffeine, please, yes, and a plain glazed Krispy Kreme doughnut.”

  “How’s the head?”

  “Fine,” I lied. “I took a shower.”

  “Okay. See you in a few minutes.”

  I hung up, threw on some clothes, and looked around the house. Well, it was small and it wasn’t over decorated, to be sure, but it was mine. Ours. Emily and me. My sweet baby girl, the same one who let the f-word slip on the phone with me, but the straight up the middle South Carolina girl whom everyone adored was finally coming home and her momma couldn’t wait to throw her arms around her!

  I decided to put flowers in her room and took my shears from the kitchen drawer. There was some honeysuckle by the shed and I could cut a small branch of pine, I thought as I looked around the yard for something worthy of a welcome. Snipping a bit of this and that, I heard a trunk slam shut and looked up to see Miss Angel. She was going somewhere. She had to be seventy-five years old but you could never have known that by the way she moved.

  “Good morning!” I called out and started walking in her direction. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”

  “Well, good morning yourself, Miss Anna! And yes, ma’am! It sure is beautiful! How’s everything? You cutting flowers?”

  “Well, sort of. I haven’t grown much to cut yet! But listen! My daughter’s coming home today from Washington and I am so excited for her to see our new house!”

  “I imagine so! Well, that’s fine! Now, you come on tell Angel. Who’s the man who slept over last night?”

  “Oh, no biggie. Just my ex-husband.”

  “Your ex-who? You done lost your mind?”

  I couldn’t tell how she meant that, so I said, “Oh, no! It’s not like that! He’s gay.” I didn’t want her to think I had some guy in the sack all night.

  She set her jaw so that her face showed neither shock nor humor and looked at me dead serious. It was clear she didn’t know what to say. Time stopped. Then, rather abruptly, she said, “Come ’eah, see my baskets.”

  Well, okay, I had given her more detail than she had asked for, but for some peculiar reason Angel was the kind of person I thought required the blunt truth if you were going to be friends. I had never made it a habit to discuss anyone’s sexuality, especially mine and surely not Jim’s. On the other hand I didn’t want her to think I just sort of slept around, either, because I didn’t.

  I followed her to her car and she reopened the trunk.

  “I’m thinking about getting me a minivan,” she said. “Holds more. Besides, this old thing is so low to the ground, I can’t see nothing coming. All them killer folks in them big SUVs, gone too fast, talking on they cell phones . . . ’Eah, look at this.”

  She pulled out a stack of rectangular baskets—one that looked like a desk tray to hold printer paper or catalogs. The next size was for magazines and the largest one could hold newspapers. Then she pulled out a box of baskets, all of them the size of a small box of tissues.

  “Miss Angel! These are so smart! I mean, you can really use them! They’re wonderful!”

  I had said the wrong thing again.

  “What you mean, ‘really use them’? Of course you can use them!” She shook her head and continued. “See them little squares? You put a four-inch potted plant in each one and line them up on your windowsill! I got them in all sizes to fit any kind of plant!”

  “They could hold brushes too,” I said. “And combs. And the big trays could sit on glass shelves and hold bottles of shampoo or conditioner, lined up like little soldiers.”

  Our minds were finally clicking along on the same wavelength.

  “Where you got your salon at?”

  “Across from the Red and White, next to the deli. Lucy’s probably already there. Last-minute details, you know. We open Monday.”

  “It’s gonna do just fine,” she said. “Last night I dreamed about you and you had your arms full of collard greens. Greens mean money and you gone hab plenty, ’eah? I’ll stop by and see what I got you can use.”

  We shook hands and the deal was cut. Miss Angel smiled at me and said, “All grown up with a daughter and a business! Do Lawd! Does my heart good!”

  “Thanks, Miss Angel; I mean it.”

  I left her there and went back to my house, standing outside my back door for a minute, just staring at it. My chest rose with a sort of pride I had never known.

  I put the greens and flowers in a little vase and placed them on the white wicker chest of drawers, stepping back again. Everything was ready, well, pretty much. Soon our house would be full of life and we would begin to write a new chapter for our family’s history. We would refer to time as “before the house” and “after we moved.” There would be Emily’s homecoming today, then our first barbecue, birthdays, our first Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  I heard another car door slam. Jim must be back, I thought. The front door opened and closed.

  I took the cup from him and said, “Thanks! Jim, I am so excited about Emily coming home and everything, I can’t begin to tell you. You know, I was thinking about Christmas and all these things that will happen here . . .”

  “You know what, Anna?” Jim said, interrupting me. “You’re right! This is so such a seriously momentous occasion. Think! What if I’d missed this? Ow! Here’s your doughnut.”

  “Thanks. If you’d missed this it would only be half as good, that’s what!” I ate it in two bites, scooped up his blanket and sheets from the couch and began folding them. “Hey! Do you have a camera? I never get pictures of anything and I want to see the look on her face, you know?”

  “Done! I’ll get a disposable on the way to the airport.”

  “Y’all up?” Lucy was squinting through the screen door. “I brought you a coffee cake. You know, I thought Emily might like it? When’s your daddy coming over?”

  “Oh, shoot! I forgot to call him! Lunch? Should I invite him for lunch?”

  They looked at me and burst out laughing.

  “You must be Jim,” Lucy said, with a twinkle in her appraising eyes. “I’m Lucy. I live next door.”

  “I am Jim and it’s nice to meet you,” Jim said and shook her hand, then stood back and gave her a reciprocal once over. “My, my! The girl next door!”

  “I’m sorry, I should have introduced . . .”

  “God, girlie! Are you a mess or what? You call Doc and I’ll pick up lunch on the way back,” Jim said.

  “Thanks.”

  “My plan was to leave now, stop by Trixie’s and surprise her, and then zoom to the airport and zoom back here. Need anything besides a camera?”

  “Nope,” I said and gave Jim a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. Tell Trixie I said hi.”

  We watched him leave and Lucy said, “He’s a hottie, honey. Why’d you let him get away?”

  “I couldn’t convert him.”

  “All the gorgeous ones are gay. Damn. What a waste.”


  “No kidding. Well, soon my entire clan will gather and be given the chance to remark on how wretched I look. I am, despite my refined background, hung over like a walrus.”

  “In that case, let’s fix you up, honey. You do look like you had a tough night! Don’t let your daughter see! Admit nothing!”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be the perfect mother even if I get the DTs.”

  “Good.”

  I put on some makeup and all the while Lucy and I talked about Emily, Daddy, and the salon.

  “You know what?” I said.

  She looked up at me from the sofa, where she sat flipping between the Style Channel and CNN. “Huh?”

  “It’s just that, well, I can’t remember a day when I’ve had so many things to look forward to.”

  “Life is but a dream, honey chile, shoo bop, shoo bop!”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the one who put the shoo bop in the dream for me, Miss Lucy.”

  “Your dream, girl. I only shoo bop with people I like!”

  I giggled. “I’m gonna check my little garden out front,” I said.

  “I’ll call Dougle,” she said.

  “I already called him.”

  “I’ll call him again! I gotta go home and freshen up.”

  “Okay! See you later!”

  I smiled from the inside out. We were in such a happy frame of mind. I watched Lucy rush home. She wanted Daddy to feel our happiness too.

  I wasn’t dressed for yard work. I had on side zip beige pants and a red cotton sweater with red sandals, all of it from the Gap. Emily loved the Gap and Banana Republic and every time it became necessary to buy clothes, we would scour their sales racks. She was a great bargain hunter and the outfit I wore was one she had surprised me with for my birthday last year. I wondered if she would remember that.

  The garden appeared to have already taken root. That was strange. I turned on the drip hoses to give the flowers a morning drink. It was already warm and it felt like the temperature that day might rise to ninety. I loved hot weather. Shoot, let’s face it. At that moment, I loved everything.

  “Anna?”

  I turned to see Miss Mavis coming down her steps with something in her hands, wrapped in newspaper.

  “Hey, Miss Mavis! What you got there?”

  She walked carefully across the yard, her arms behind her sort of like a chicken, until she came to a halt in front of me.

  “I’ve been watching you!” she said, holding her parcel.

  “You have?” What in the world?

  “Watching you plant your garden! Looks like you know what you’re doing too. Do you?”

  “Well, like most things, some attempts are better than others. But, yeah, I like to plant things and make them grow.”

  “Well, so do I. But indoors. Here, stick this in the ground over by your power meter. Darn things are as ugly as the day is long. Don’t know why they have to put them out there in the middle of a house, but they do. Stupid.”

  I unwrapped the newspapers to see a clump of a green vine, the ends of which had already been rooted.

  “Is this a vine? I’ve never seen this before.”

  “What? Oh, good Lord! It’s nothing but old Cherokee rose. This fool woman at the senior center gave it to me the other day. Thinks she’s a big shot with all her Latin names and all. Rosa laevigata or something like that. Lord! I thought what am I supposed to do with this? And then I saw you digging like you were heading to China. Say thank you.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry! Thanks! Really!”

  “Humph. Well, fine then. I’ve got to go feed my kitties, ’eah? See you later.”

  “Thank you, Miss Mavis,” I said to her back.

  I could see her shaking her head, walking away just as smartly as she could manage. No doubt she thought my manners were hopeless. I decided to put her vines in the ground right then. She was absolutely right about the power meter. I imagined that if I were to ingest a hit of something psychedelic, it would be relatively easy to convince myself that the meter was a moose head with antlers. Ugly as a mud fence.

  I got my trowel and dug a little hole, snitching some topsoil from the front beds to enrich the sandy earth. The soil quality of my side yard was probably a geological match for the Sahara. I had a thing for shrubs and plants the same way some women had it for shoes. Landscaping was expensive and would have to be done with prudence and over time.

  While I waited for Jim and Emily to arrive, I rechecked every corner of the house. It seemed like the whole place practically vibrated with excitement. I couldn’t decide whether to be in the house when they arrived or whether I should be at the front door or maybe in the yard. I was waiting for Jim and Emily like I had waited for Daddy to come home from work when I was little.

  The car pulled into the driveway and I ran to the screen door. I couldn’t help it. I was dying to see my daughter. Jim got out of the car and then her door opened. She was dressed in black. Black leather pants, a long black coat, a tight torn T-shirt, and her beautiful blond hair was dyed as black as pitch. She had on enough makeup to pass for the drummer from Kiss. I stood frozen in horror. Was this what they called Goth? She came up to me and gave me a casual hug. She was pierced and tattooed. She walked by me and into the house. She called out from the living room, in a voice too unkind for my already compromised nervous system.

  “Yo, Mom. So this is it? Man. What a dump.”

  Seventeen

  Who’s That Girl?

  EMILY’S homecoming was not going as planned. Jim took my elbow and we moved toward the house. “Don’t say a word,” Jim said.

  “You mean, I should talk to her after I kill her?”

  “It’s a phase. That’s all. She’s having delayed rebellion. Our beautiful Emily is still in there.”

  I found her standing in her room, looking around. She was repulsed. I was reeling, trying to remember what the parenting books said about situations like this. I decided to remain calm and act as though she resembled a member of the Junior League.

  “This is a definite problem,” she said. “Like, there are so many kissy flowers on my sheets that I could die from an allergy attack, okay? I might get asthma!”

  “Well, I suggest you get a summer job and use your money to buy what you want. I did my best.”

  “Yeah, if I was twelve, this would be fine. But this sucks, Mom, it really, seriously sucks.”

  She had been home less than five minutes and I was so mad I wanted to slap her face.

  Jim brought in her four duffel bags and threw them on her bed.

  “Home sweet home,” he said and left. “Your mom went to a great deal of trouble here, Miss Emily. I suggest you show her a little appreciation.”

  “Why don’t you just unpack and get settled, Emily? Oh, and don’t come out of this room until you’ve transformed yourself into a civilized human being.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”

  She slammed her door. I can’t have this, I thought. I hurried to the telephone to call Daddy and say that lunch would be delayed. He wasn’t home. He was probably already on the way.

  “Who’re you calling?” Jim said, bringing in the groceries. “I got five pounds of shrimp from Simmons, coleslaw, red rice, and cornbread from the Pig. And three bottles of an amusing little Sauvignon Blanc, sure to raise your spirits. . . .” He was talking like everything was normal.

  He looked at me and by the expression on my face he knew I was extremely angry.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll go talk to her. There’s more bad news. Trixie said she was stopping by to see Emily.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” I said. “I’m going to kill that vampire in my daughter’s room and then I’m going to throw up.”

  “Let me see what I can do first,” he said. “Why don’t you take a deep breath and set the table?”

  I had just filled my stockpot with water and put it on the front burner. I tossed in half of a lemon, a tablespoon of dry mustard, and an Old Bay spice sack. It wou
ld take a while to reaching boiling, where I, on the other hand, had zoomed to boiling like a space shuttle. I heard Daddy’s car door and then another. Within minutes, Daddy, Lucy, and Trixie were all in my living room.

  “Anna? Where are you, honey?”

  “What a precious little bungalow! It’s lak an itsy-bitsy doll’s house!”

  “Don’t you love her bookcases?”

  Daddy stuck his head in the kitchen. “Where’s Emily?”

  I couldn’t answer him at first. I just stood there, sweating.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Emily’s in her bedroom. She’s talking to Jim. You’d better brace yourself.”

  “Oh?” He took a glass from the cabinet and poured himself a glass of tea. “Got a lemon?”

  “Yeah,” I said and handed him the lemon and a paring knife. “She’s, um, she’s changed.” I left him there and went to greet Trixie and Lucy.

  “Anna! Darlin’!” Trixie hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in a thousand years. “Where’s our girl? Ah can’t wait . . .”

  “Trixie? I think we are in for a long hot summer.”

  A lot of small talk went on, thirty minutes passed and still no Emily and Jim. Lucy helped me to set the table and I checked the water about fifty times. Lucy talked the ears off of everybody, kept Trixie’s glass of wine filled until, finally, Jim came out of Emily’s room.

  “Mother,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Dr. Lutz,” he said and shook Daddy’s hand.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Let’s go ahead and eat. She’s, uh, not hungry.”

  “Well! Ah would think she’d at least come out and say hello,” Trixie said. Trixie, not known for her capacity to imbibe, was well renowned for her commentary. And the more she drank, the more she commentaried.

  “She will, Mother,” Jim said. “She’s just finishing unpacking.” Jim gave me a nod and I followed him to the kitchen.

  “You know, Ah send her money every month! Not one month has passed without a generous check from me to her. Ah swanny, it seems lak all Ah do is give and give!”