All the Single Ladies (12 page)

Later, when Pickle and I were home watching television, my cell phone rang. I hoped it was Marianne. It was my mother, who rarely called me on weeknights.

“Is everything okay?” I said, waiting for terrible news. “Is Dad all right?”

“Oh, yes! Don't worry! He's fine. I'm fine, but I've had a phone call from the Smiths.”

The Smiths were my mother's friends who owned the house I was renting.

“Oh no! Are they coming back?”

“No, but their fifty-­five-­year-­old daughter just lost her job. She's divorced and her husband isn't exactly consistent with his alimony payments and she needs a place to live that's free.”

“How terrible! Wait. Does she want to live with me?”

“No, honey, I'm afraid she wants the whole house to herself. You're going to have to start looking for another arrangement. She's taking over August first.”

“Oh my God. Okay, okay. That gives me a month. Don't worry, I'll find something.”

We chatted for a few more minutes and I tried to keep the rising panic out of my voice. Then we hung up and I looked at Pickle.

“Bad news, baby girl. We're gonna be homeless in thirty days. Where are we going to find a house at this price that isn't a meth lab?”

Pickle clearly had no idea. My cell phone rang again. It was Suzanne.

“I just found Miss Trudie on the floor.”

“Is she all right? Is she conscious?”

“Yes, she said she doesn't know what happened and she absolutely will not let me call 911. She is so pissed you can't believe it.”

“I'm sure. What do you think happened? Do you have any idea what caused the fall?”

“No. But fortunately, she landed on carpet and I don't think anything's broken. I've asked her fifty times if anything hurt and she says she's fine. But she's so thin that I know she's going to be sore tomorrow.”

“Is she on an aspirin regimen?”

“I think so,” Suzanne said.

“Does she take Coumadin or any other kind of blood thinners?”

“No, I'm pretty sure about that.”

“Well, look, if you want I can hop in the car and come take a look at her. It's no problem at all.”

“No, but thanks. It's almost ten o'clock and I've already put her to bed. She was very upset with herself for falling.”

“Well, pride takes a beating sometimes, but here's what I would do. I'd ice whatever she says might be hurting—­twenty minutes on and twenty off. Use a gallon Ziploc or whatever you have, but wrap the bag in a linen towel.”

“Okay.”

“And then listen for her. If she's moaning, call 911. If she seems off in the morning? I'd toss all her meds into a bag, put her in the car, and take her to Dr. Durst on Sullivans Island. Let him make the decisions. By tomorrow she'll know if she broke anything. Her bones will be talking to her.”

“I just hope she didn't crack her hip or something. But I have to say, she seemed pretty much okay. She was more shook up than anything else, I think.”

“Well, thank the Lord. Listen, if you need me to come over, just whistle. Okay? I mean that!”

“Okay, thanks. And thanks for your advice. I guess I needed to tell someone.”

“Carrie still out?”

“Yep.”

“That Carrie!”

“Gotta love her!”

“Let's talk tomorrow. I'm off, so if you want help taking her to the doctor, let me know.”

But when sunrise rolled around Suzanne called and said, “She's the bionic woman. She was up at six making eggs and bacon for us. You want to walk?”

“I'll be right over,” I said, and looked at Pickle. “Will wonders never cease?”

 

My dog raced me up the front steps of Suzanne's house.

“You can't open it, Pickle,” I said in my I'm-­a-­fool-­for-­my-­doggie voice. “Only Mommy can do that.”

Pickle responded with a frustrated yip and I knocked on the door. Moments later, Suzanne appeared and flipped the latch.

“Hey! Good morning!” she said. “Come on in. I have to get my sneakers on.” She leaned down to scratch my dog behind the ears. “Hi, baby!”

Pickle gave her a lick. I followed Suzanne into the house. Miss Trudie was in the kitchen reading something on her iPad and the television was on but muted. When she put her iPad down I could see it was the obituaries.

“Hey! How are you feeling this morning?”

“G'morning! I'm fine. Right as rain!” she said. “Well, look who's here!” She held her hand out for Pickle, who tootled right over to give her a sniff and a lick. “You smell bacon, don't you?”

I was very relieved to see that she was all right.

“Who died?” I asked. “Anybody we know?”

“I was just checking to make sure
I
didn't!” she said, and laughed.

“Funny,” Suzanne said, tying her shoelaces. “Don't even think about going anywhere.”

“Listen, when you're my age, you read the obituaries,” Miss Trudie said. “If ­people didn't drop dead I wouldn't have any social life at all! I never miss a wake. Of course, these days, most everyone I ever knew is already gone.”

“Because you're crushing the actuarial tables!” Suzanne laughed.

“Where's Carrie?” I said. “Is she coming?”

Suzanne said, “She wanted to sleep in this morning.”

“Oh! Okay! Well, let's go, then.” I gave Pickle's leash the smallest little tug. Poor Pickle. I could see that she was torn between a beach frolic and Miss Trudie's lap with
Lassie
. She looked up at me as if to say,
What to do, Mom?

“We are going to get some exercise, young lady! See you later, Miss Trudie!”

When we crossed the dunes I said to Suzanne, “So, are you going to tell me why Carrie is sleeping in this morning? Is she sick?”

I unhooked Pickle and she went flying down the beach toward some other dogs, terrorizing several seagulls along the way.

“Heck no! She's still sleeping because I think she just got home.” Suzanne started laughing and so did I.

“Well, that little tart!” I said.

“I know. She's a bad girl. I said ‘get up' and she said, ‘Oh let me sleep!' She must have really liked the guy or she would've been home hours ago.”

“I'll say,” I said.

“She's lucky Miss Trudie didn't ground her,” she said, laughing. “Did your daughter ever stay out all night?”

“Are you kidding me? Up until about a year ago my daughter was like a saint. She was a dream! Now we barely speak.”

“Uh-­oh. Can I ask what happened?”

I thought about it for a minute and then I decided to trust Suzanne with the truth. You can't claim someone as a friend if you don't trust them, right?

“Oh Lord. Okay, I haven't really told anyone this story because it's difficult to frame it from my point of view without sounding like an old biddy. And it's embarrassing. God knows, I wouldn't want anyone at Palmetto House to hear it.”

“I'm listening. You can tell me anything. I won't say a word. I swear!”

“When I tell you this story you are going to think there's something seriously questionable about my judgment because this had to have sprung from my ex-­husband's gene pool, not mine. If I had married anyone else in the entire world, she never would've done this.”

“What? Is she in jail?”

“No! Of course not. But she owns and operates a tour company in Aspen for visitors who want to experience marijuana. How's that?”

“What? Oh my God! I've never even heard of that.”

“She doesn't smoke it, so she says. Oh God. I did without nearly every pleasure in the world to put her through school, keep her healthy and safe, and keep a roof over our heads for twenty-­two years. She earned a degree in business from the College of Charleston that I completely paid for with just a smidgen of help from my parents and nothing from her father. Next, her father, Mark—­who, as you know, never called or sent money or remembered her birthday?—­well, he finds her through Facebook and tells her how much he loves her and wishes he could see her. At first, I thought, Well, it's about time.”

“Yeah, but I can see how you might have mixed feelings about him just jumping back into her life without checking with you first.”

“I know and you're right. I did feel uneasy about that. But he's her birth father and it never occurred to me that he could influence her choices so easily. She's pretty stubborn.”

“I don't blame her for wanting at least to know who he is, you know . . . did she look like him and all that.”

“Right. That's reasonable. So, first there was a lot of chatter on Facebook, and then, out of nowhere, last January he bought her a ticket to come and visit him. She was twenty-­three years old and she didn't know her dad and she wanted to, so, reluctantly and with a whole lot of trepidation, I let her go.”

“I'm sure I would've done the same thing.”

“Thanks for saying that but I can tell you it was a huge mistake for me to support it at all. She gets out there, and with his stupid ideas about opportunity knocking, he helps her set up this crazy business. It's called High Note Travel. I should've been smarter.”

“High Note Travel? Please tell me you're kidding,” she said.

“I wish. It's on the Internet and Facebook and all over the place. All anyone has to do is go on her site and click their way to an all-­inclusive package to stay stoned for as long as you'd like.”

“Oh, Lisa. This is terrible. You're not an old biddy one bit.”

“Wait! It gets worse! The package includes airport transfers, pot-­friendly hotels that have THC in the candy bars in your welcome basket, tours of dispensaries, tours to glassblowers who make these things you use to smoke—­I mean, I'm a medical professional and my only child is practically a drug dealer!”

“But it's legal, isn't it?”

“I don't care if it is! I still think drugs are immoral. That's just how I was raised.”

“Well, me too.”

“Why can't she see how difficult this is for me to reconcile? Someone says, ‘Oh! What does your daughter do for a living?' What am I supposed to do? Tell the truth? Then they'll say, ‘Oh! How hilarious that you're a nurse and your daughter helps ­people get high.' It's just mortifying.”

“I see your point. Gee, what a mess.”

“Yeah. So, Mark Barnebey feels like Marley's chains to me. I can't shed them or him. And now he's got his ridiculous ideas in her head and she's making more money than all of us put together. And I'm the bad guy because I'm not proud of my daughter's success.”

“This has to just break your heart,” Suzanne said.

“Today's her birthday. She twenty-­five today. After I practically starved to give her a life, this is my reward.”

I had sent Marianne a card and a framed picture of us taken when she was little, but I would have given anything to be making a cake for her instead.

“Well, maybe this is just a fad. Or maybe competition will squash her. I can see lots of folks wanting to make money from this. I mean, what's to stop Expedia or someone like that from squeezing her out?”

“Honestly? I wish they would. Anyway, we have had so many terrible arguments about it that now we hardly speak. She doesn't answer my calls or texts or anything.”

“What a shame,” Suzanne said. “This is one of those situations that requires prayer.”

“Or maybe a miracle. Now, look. In the case of medical marijuana? That's different. If somebody's hurting or having seizures or there's a condition that can be helped by it? Okay, I understand that. You know, like Carrie giving Kathy pot brownies. I get it. But I have to tell you, it's not legal in South Carolina. So it's probably best that y'all keep that to yourselves.”

“It was Carrie's idea. I wouldn't know where in the world to find it.”

“Ha! Ha! Poor Carrie! Under the bus! You okay, Carrie?”

“Okay, okay. I knew what she was up to. But she baked them, not me.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now. Anyway, I cannot say that I am thrilled with my daughter. At all.”

I leaned down and pried a sand dollar out of the wet mud. It was in perfect condition.

“Wow!” Suzanne said. “You hardly ever see those things whole.”

“That's true.” I slipped it in the pocket of my shorts. “You ever hear the story about the doves in these things?”

“Only a billion times. Why?”

“Well, one variation says the doves are the Holy Spirit. So I'm going to take this shell as a good sign. When I get home, I'll call Marianne and tell her I love her.”

“Well, I'm no expert on children, but I do know you have to keep the door open.”

We turned around and started walking back. I gave Pickle a whistle and she fell right in step with us.

“Miss Trudie seems fine to me,” I said. “But if she falls again, she ought to let a doctor take a look at her.”

“Oh, absolutely! Thank goodness she wasn't really hurt. I would have had to call my sisters and tell them about it because they'd pitch a fit if anything happened that they didn't know about. Not that they'd get on a plane and come visit. And it's not like they'd actually take care of Miss Trudie if she got sick. They stop in Charleston overnight on their way to Europe. You know, when it's not a terrible inconvenience for them.”

“All families are dysfunctional. I don't know one that isn't.”

“Boy, is that ever the truth.”

“Where do they live?”

“Alicia's in Los Angeles and married to Giles. And Clio lives outside of Chicago and she's married to Ben. I wish we all got along better.”

“I feel the same way about my brother and his wife. They think money is the only measure of success. They're idiots.”

“My sisters' husbands think the same way. Like the fireman who pulls them out of a burning building isn't successful? Or the teacher who teaches their kids to love literature or math or history isn't successful? My sisters used to be nice, but over time Clio and Alicia guzzled their husbands' Kool-­Aid. Now they're idiots too.”

“It would be easier to like them if they didn't have so much money. Isn't that terrible?”

“Well, yeah! But, Lisa, that's not all there is to it. The very nature of how they go about their day has nothing in common with mine. Starting right here! You and I walk the beach. They have personal trainers.”

“That's not the problem with my brother. He'd never spend the money on a trainer. He's so tight he squeaks when he walks. My poor sister-­in-­law. I can't imagine what it's like for her to live with him.”

“Where do they live?”

“On a farm outside of Boone, North Carolina. Can you imagine? If she needs milk and bread she has to drive ten miles.”

“I imagine the cost of living is less out in the country?”

“It's gotta be or they wouldn't be there. It's pitch-­black dark at night. You can't even see your hand in front of your face. Not even a streetlight! I've been there. It's so quiet at night it scares me to death!”

“I think it would scare me too. I'm used to hearing the ocean and the occasional car whizzing by.”

“I'm too social to live in the country.”

“Me too.”

Later, when I got home and showered, I waited until ten o'clock to call Marianne and wish her a happy birthday. My call went straight to voice mail. I felt my heart sink. She would see my number on caller ID and call me back, wouldn't she? I waited an hour and called her again, telling myself she couldn't take my call for any number of reasons. This time I left a message.

“Hi, sweetheart. It's just your mom calling to wish you a happy birthday. This is our special day, you know. I hope you got my gift. Now listen, I don't want you to think about the twelve hours of excruciating pain I suffered to bring you into the world. And I don't want you to think about everything I gave up in the last twenty-­five years so that you would not have to pay off student loans. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you very much. Happy birthday, baby!”

I pushed the “end call” icon and looked at my phone. Would my message make her mad? Probably. But when I told my secret to Suzanne she had agreed with me. I wasn't an old biddy after all. Nonetheless, Marianne was avoiding me and that wasn't nice either.

I decided to call my mother and see if she had spoken with Marianne.

“Hi, Mom! It's me. Got a minute?”

“Of course! Hold on just a second so I can turn the stove off.”

I heard her put her phone down and walk away. Then I heard her footsteps coming back.

“It's Lisa! Yes! I said it's Lisa on the phone!”

“Mom? Are you wearing high heels?”

“I swanny to Saint Pete, your father is as deaf as a doornail! I keep telling him to put in his hearing aids and he says he can't remember where they are. This getting-­old business is a pain in the derriere! Now, what did you say? Am I wearing what?”

“High heels?”

“Well, they're not that high. I'm going to a lunch at Andy Bertsche's house and I'm bringing my world-­famous deviled eggs with chopped shrimp and minced chives. They are so good!”

“You do make the best deviled eggs, Mom. You surely do.”

“Okay. What's going on? I can hear it in your voice.”

“Have you spoken to Marianne? Today's her birthday, you know.”