Isle of Palms

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “I’ll be right there,” Emily said. “God, I hate doing this!”

  And that’s what we did. Emily made the phone call and we stuffed our five fannies in my phone booth kitchen and put Trixie where she belonged—out of our minds.

  To give you a recap—Lucy never said a word about any of it. All Daddy said was, “I understand it was difficult to hold your tongue, but I’m sure you and your momma will work that out. She had to learn the hard way too.” Spare enough.

  Everyone said the shrimp was delicious, how good it was to be together, and we all shook our heads over Trixie’s behavior.

  Later that evening, we were all supposed to go to Lucy’s for another glorious sunset light show, courtesy of Lowcountry’s Mother Nature. Emily and I were still talking about Trixie and so they went on ahead without us.

  “Don’t wait too long! You’ll miss everything!” Lucy said.

  “I’m going with Lucy,” Jim said, and left.

  The telephone rang. It was Satan’s wife.

  “Ah’d like to speak to Emily,” she said.

  I handed the telephone to her and we grimaced, knowing from the tone of her voice that a possible Armageddon was on the way.

  “Hello, Gram?” Silence. “Yes.” Silence. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” Silence.

  I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to grab the receiver from her and tell Trixie to lay off. But I walked away, not wanting to hang over Emily. I wanted to see how Emily would handle her. I went in the bathroom and stayed for a few minutes and then came out when I heard Emily crying. She had gone into her room.

  “What happened?”

  Emily was spread out over her bed, sobbing. She didn’t answer me so I sat down next to her and asked her again.

  “Come on, baby, tell Momma.” I leaned over and scratched her back. “What did she say?”

  “Oh, Momma! She is the meanest, most hateful bitch in the entire world!”

  “I don’t know about that. I have a list of my own, you know.”

  “Oh, God! You’re gonna kill me.”

  “I would do no such thing. I might wash that black shit out of your hair and I might scrub your henna decorations with a Brillo pad, but kill you? Never.”

  “She said I had seen the last nickel from her. Momma? I know, I know . . . I know we don’t have a lot of money. . . .”

  “She actually said that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Trixie had no right to lay that kind of mental punishment on Emily. She should have told me and let me work it out. But, no, she had wanted to make Emily worry and suffer and she had succeeded. Temporarily.

  “Well, screw her.”

  Here’s where we revisited my theory about taking money from anybody. It always came back to bite you in the butt.

  “You mean it?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, look Emily, when somebody gives you something like that, it’s supposed to be a gift. People shouldn’t give gifts with strings.”

  “And, in English that would mean . . .”

  “It means that something else is attached to the gift—usually an expectation of some kind.”

  “Oh, and Gram expected me to grow up to be a debutante?”

  “Ah reckon! If you really want to make her crazy, you should write her a real sweet thank-you note and tell her how much you appreciate all she’s done for you.”

  “Yeah! ‘Dear Gram, up yours!’”

  “Well, that ain’t bad, but I was thinking of something a little sneakier and more underhanded. You know, say something like, ‘If you don’t want to help me or if you can’t, I understand and really want to thank you for all you’ve done for me.’ That would kill her worse than anything.”

  Finally, Emily sat up and took the tissue I had for her. She blew her nose.

  “Kill her with kindness, huh?”

  “Exactly! Someday when we’re both old ladies, I’ll tell you some stories that will make your hair stand on end.”

  “Tell me now!”

  “Hell no! You’re still too volatile! You might use it against me in court or something!”

  We smiled at each other and then hugged each other. If I closed my eyes, I could see her as a little girl, hanging on to me and hugging me so hard I had sometimes thought that she would never let go. Maybe that was why she had done all this to herself—she was trying to let go. I wondered why young people didn’t just go their own way and why, instead, they had to push everyone away. I didn’t care if her hair was purple or if her tattoos were real, she was still my daughter and I loved her with a kind of ferociousness I couldn’t live without.

  “You know what, sweetheart?”

  “What?”

  “Let’s try to make this summer wonderful, you know? I mean, we’re going to have to figure out what to do about Trixie’s allowance. I guess I’ll have to cut a few more heads and you’ll have to get a job.”

  “I can do that. I don’t know what I can do, though.”

  “We’ll scrutinize the want ads tomorrow. Let’s go watch the sunset and help Jim chaperone Doc and Lucy.”

  I stood and Emily rolled over and followed me to the living room. I started turning on a few lights so we wouldn’t come home to a dark house. Old habit—make the robbers think you’re home. Like we had so much worth stealing anyway.

  “Um, Mom? I’m, like, really glad you brought that up. What in the world? Is he, I mean, are they, you know, dating?”

  “It’s hard to say. I think so. Lock the kitchen door, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But so far, he hasn’t taken her out anywhere that I know of. I think Daddy’s too shy or something.”

  “Or maybe he doesn’t want to be seen in public with a middle-aged Britney Spears.”

  “Whoever she is.”

  “God, Mom! Don’t you watch television?”

  “Yeah, all day every day.”

  “Well, you can say whatever you want, it just grosses me out to think of my grandfather with a girlfriend to begin with, much less one that looks like her.”

  “Go easy, honey. Old Lucy is really as good as gold. You’ll see. Just give her a while.”

  We spent the next few hours at Lucy’s, laughing, drinking frozen drinks, and it didn’t take long for Emily to shine to Lucy. After the sun slipped away, we climbed down from her deck and then gathered in her kitchen to make a bowl of pasta for supper. I was chopping onions while the garlic sizzled in Lucy’s frying pan. Jim opened three big cans of tomatoes and, using an odd little tool that looked like an arc-shaped blade, he hacked away at them in a bowl.

  “Hey, Lucy?” Jim said. “What do you call this thing?”

  “A tomato chopper,” she said.

  “Why did I bother to ask?” Jim laughed to himself and I just shook my head.

  I slid the onions from the cutting board into the pan and in minutes the whole room smelled wonderful. Lucy was at the counter with her laptop.

  “Come here, honey, lemme show you what I found on the web.”

  “What?” said Emily.

  “This is the debate team from the University of South Carolina.”

  “Whoa! Not bad.”

  “Right?” Lucy said, and giggled.

  I came around to see for myself. There was a full screen of great-looking young men and women, all of them very serious. Lucy pointed to a particularly adorable young man who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He had thick blond hair and penetrating eyes. I don’t know if anybody besides Lucy still said hunk, but he was one.

  “See that cute fellow? That’s my nephew, David. He’s coming to spend the summer with me. Tomorrow sometime. He’s driving down from Columbia with all his stuff.”

  “Ohmagod.”

  “My sister lives in Greenville. I don’t think David knows too many people his age around here. Maybe you could help me entertain him?”

  “Ohmagod.”

  That was all Emily said about David and for the rest of the evening she was very quiet. We had our dinner and h
elped Lucy clean up. At what seemed to be the right moment, Jim, Emily, and I walked back to our house, leaving Daddy and Lucy alone.

  “So, Anna, do you think they, you know, get it on?”

  “Jim!”

  Emily burst out laughing and I began chasing Jim around the yard, pretending that I was going to beat him up.

  “Disgusting! That’s what you are!”

  “Em! Help your old man here!”

  “You’re on your own!”

  We finally gave up and, out of breath, we went inside. Jim stood looking at the couch. He recognized it as his destiny for the night. Emily was standing next to him.

  “Okay,” she said, “sleep in my room. I’ll sleep with Mom.”

  Jim hugged her wildly. “Thank you, child! Thank you! My back has been saved!”

  “What do you mean? We paid two hundred dollars for that couch fifteen years ago! Don’t you remember?”

  “I rest my case,” Jim said. “Yeah, and it belonged to the Marquis de Sade.”

  “There ain’t a bargain in the world that ain’t got my momma’s fingerprints on it.”

  We said good night and when I finally turned out the light next to my bed, it was Emily and I, in the dark.

  “Tonight was fun,” she said.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “So what do you think about that kid David?”

  “He looks pretty conservative, but he’s very good looking. What did you think?”

  “He’s probably an asshole. I mean, debate team? Please!”

  “Must you say asshole?”

  “Yes.”

  So say it. At least she was talking to me about what was on her mind. I decided to tell her what was bothering me.

  “Arthur is coming over tomorrow. What am I gonna wear?” It wasn’t what I was going to wear that had me going, it was that he was coming over in the first place.

  “Get some sleep, Mom. You don’t want to look like a beat-up old bag.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes or longer. I had so many things on my mind, but I was so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open. Just when I was drifting off, Emily spoke again.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmmm?” I was sinking into my mattress and didn’t want to wake up.

  “Is Jim my real father? I mean, he’s, like, this definitely totally gay guy. Was he always? I mean, did you, you know . . .”

  My eyes shot open in the dark. In the first moment, I didn’t know whether or not to pretend to be asleep. I decided to dodge.

  “What kind of a crazy question is that? Jim is more than your father. And he’s more than my ex-husband. Now, let’s be quiet and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Great. Just great.

  After that, I knew I wasn’t falling asleep in a hurry. Never lie. It’s wrong. I waited until her breathing was even, rising and falling at predictable intervals. There was nothing so sweet in all the world than to have my girl next to me. My heart felt such relief that she was just . . . there.

  I had never wanted to hurt Emily by not telling her the truth. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I wasn’t a malicious person. There had just never been the right moment to tell her or a reason to tell her. I should have figured that the day would come when she would ask. I don’t know why I thought we would get away forever with having the world accept that we were a regulation divorced couple. It was how I thought of us. But there was a difference. Jim had always been pretty open about his life.

  I would discuss it with Jim in the morning. At some moment, and with certain delicacy, Jim and I would probably wind up telling her. I thought about adoptive parents for a while. My generation usually told their children they were adopted and at some stage the children were allowed and sometimes even encouraged to find their birth parents. But where was the textbook for this case?

  I decided to say my prayers. Prayer always put my mind at ease. Maybe I didn’t go to church every Sunday, but a night never passed that I didn’t pray sincerely. I decided to ask the Blessed Mother what she would do if she had to tell her only child that her birth was the result of a rape. Wasn’t Emily’s life at a pretty precarious stage? She had come home so angry, ready to fight with anyone over anything. She had taken on her grandmother in a humiliating argument and lost not only her composure but her financial aid. I could tell by her remarks about Lucy’s nephew how insecure she was about the opposite sex.

  What really mattered was that I had my girl home, curled up next to me sleeping without a care in the world. She knew she was safe. I knew then what I would do. Sometimes the facts were too devastating. I would protect her from the dangers of truth for as long as I could.

  Nineteen

  Miss Mavis and Miss Angel Confer

  I HAD been watching that house all day and there was enough funny business next door to alert the authorities. I was sure of it. All day long, cars coming and going and doors slamming and people yelling and carrying on.

  “Oh!” I said and closed the curtains. “She almost saw me! That was too close for me! Angel? Are you there?”

  Anna was going with that child of hers over to you-know-who’s house again.

  “No, Mavis, I was juss fixin’ to go to Charleston and find us some men.”

  “What? I didn’t make out what you said. Come out here!” She was always hollering at me like I don’t know what, knowing perfectly well how impolite it was to yell from behind a closed door.

  And, there she came, like the Queen, strutting across my floor.

  “I’m righ’ chea, Mavis. What’s got your motor going now?”

  “My motor’s not going anyplace! You look down there and tell me what you see.”

  She stood to the right side of the curtains and slowly, slowly pulled them back a little, staring at me the whole time like we were in a contest to see who would blink their eyes first. Then she moved across the curtains and peered down and then across Anna’s to that little hussy’s house. She was trying my patience, I can tell you.

  “I don’t see nothing, Mavis. Nothing ’cept a bunch of folks up in that crow’s nest of Lucy’s.”

  “It’s a widow’s walk and you know it.”

  “I reckon they likes to watch the sun go down for the day. Something wrong with that?”

  Well, there wasn’t anything wrong with watching the blooming sun set and I knew that.

  “For heaven’s sake, Angel, you’re probably right. After all, Lucy’s been hanging off the side of that porch ever since that no-good bubba she married took off. Just mooning and mooning! But you’re right, I am too judgmental and maybe a little nosy. Even Mary Magdalene needed friends, didn’t she?”

  “Ooh! You bad, Mavis!”

  Suddenly, I was wishing I could go up there too. But I was too delicate to climb all those steps and I knew it. After a certain age, there are a few pleasures you have to forego for the sake of your own personal safety. That annoyed me too.

  “Well! My mother always said, tell me who your company is and I’ll tell you who you are. I just don’t like to think about Anna ruining her reputation by going around with that, that . . .”

  “Oh, go on, Mavis. Ain’t nobody looking at who she going with ’cept us! And, she’s all grown! Come on now! What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, Angel! I don’t know. You remember last Sunday and how we talked to her about her mother?”

  “I do. I remember the look on her face too. She didn’t want to hear that her momma might be a good woman. Not no how! Makes a body wonder what kinda nonsense they been feeding that child all she life, ’eah?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean! The dead can’t defend themselves and just because her mother was caught with the wrong rooster doesn’t mean she was all bad.”

  “You’re right, Mavis! You are entirely right!”

  “Don’t point your finger at me, Angel. It’s not nice to point.”

  “Humph. I—”

  She opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off, as it was m
y prerogative to speak when it suited me. It was my house and Angel was my employee. I sat in my recliner and motioned to her to sit on the sofa, which she did.

  “I remember! Yes, I do! I remember Mary Beth and how she was. She was a sweet girl married to an old man. Percy and I tried to befriend her, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, Mavis, y’all sure did do that. And I can tell you something I ain’t never told no one.”

  “What?”

  She sucked her teeth and said, “I said that I can—”

  “I heard you fine, Angel! I wasn’t asking you to repeat yourself! I was asking you what you knew!”

  “Oh, sorry. Lawsamercy! One time my nephew was hanging around here wanting money from me. Had the car park in the yard, waiting. He couldn’t make his car payment. And I was busy telling her about it and I clean forgot he was in the backyard. She left and when I finally got outside with my pocketbook, he say to me that he don’t need a hundred dollar. Miss Mary Beth done give him fifty, so I only needs to loan him fifty.”

  “He borrowed money from my neighbor! The nerve! But, Mary Beth didn’t have fifty dollars to give him! Where did she get it?”

  “Shows what you know! She tell me later that she been cleaning out Doc’s pockets and between the sofa cushions for years—and snitching from his wallet a little bit ’eah and there—and she had over three hundred dollars all saved up. I say she ain’t supposed to give my nephew money ’cause none of us got it to give and she say to me that she ain’t got no nephews and he just got married and she feel for him.”

  “My goodness! Yes, sir! That’s how she was, alright. She wanted to go to school, you know, and Doc wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Yeah, ’cause he be afraid he gone lose her too, ’eah? She might find a young man and leave him!”

  “Oh, Angel! I don’t think so, but maybe! Maybe so. Who knows how men think? You know what she wanted to do? She wanted to be a practical nurse and take care of old people in the nursing homes. That doesn’t sound like a cat on the prowl to me. Anyway, she was volunteering over at the rest home in Charleston, reading newspapers to old poops like us, and that’s how she met that pharmacist in the first place.”

  “He was bad too, ’eah?”

  “Oh, Angel. Can’t you see how it could have happened? He was young like her and he probably made her feel alive and beautiful. I know what she did was wrong and, to tell you the truth, if she hadn’t died, I don’t see how she could have stayed married to Dr. Douglas Lutz forever anyway. It’s just like that movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s, except that Audrey Hepburn never got in the bed with a pharmacist and did drugs, of course. Anyway, it was a tragic loss of a beautiful young woman, and that poor Anna. I could just cry for her.”