Isle of Palms (42 page)

“That guy is adorable,” I said.

“That’s how life is with rich women,” Bettina said.

“How’s that?”

“They never suffer for anything, you know?”

“Her son is learning disabled.”

“And she’s really nice too?”

“She’s a doll.”

“Damn it!”

“Come on, Brooklyn, let’s call it a day. And tomorrow you owe the box a buck.”

All the way home, I wondered about happiness. What would it take to make me happy besides all the blessings I already had? What passion was I still hiding in my heart, not addressing? I knew the answer. A good, solid, long-term partner. And, what did I have? Arthur. Arthur, the Cheese Whiz, who didn’t want to get involved.

Hello and Good-bye

SATURDAY, the salon was crazy. We took care of the wedding party and one client after another without a break. Over the groans of Emily, the aerobic workout of Bettina’s gum, phones ringing nonstop, blow dryers blasting, cell phones playing everything from “Claire de Lune” to “The Mexican Hat Dance”—these were the sounds of a viable, healthy business with great promise and if I hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have celebrated.

I remember at one point, Lucy stuffed a bit of a bagel with tuna salad in my mouth. At another point, someone delivered a plant—probably a gift from Daddy to wish us well, or from Bettina’s husband or an admirer of Brigitte. I could not have cared less who sent the thing. My legs were throbbing. By the time I got home that night, I was too tired to eat. It was seven-thirty and all I could think about was the bed. It wasn’t even dark and I was under the covers. I had to depend on Emily to be responsible and Jim to entertain himself. They never woke me up but I remember at some point I heard them talking.

“She’s worn out,” Emily said, “let’s let her sleep.”

“Maybe I should get her some vitamins,” Jim said.

It was the morning sun that finally roused me from dreams so deep that when I woke, I didn’t know where I was. Emily was sleeping next to me and the house was quiet. I slipped out of bed and washed my face, deciding to walk on the beach, something I had not done all week.

It wasn’t quite six o’clock, but the birds’ morning music and fevered conversation were in full swing. The air was thick and damp, almost wet. I crossed the dunes and looked over the scene before me. As always, it took my breath away with its sheer power. The tide was almost high and the ocean roared its way to the high watermarks of seaweed mounds and knocked aside the odd piece of driftwood without a care.

High tide on the Isle of Palms was so overwhelming that it could make you feel like something was coming to get you, pull you away and devour you. It seemed more appropriate to sit and watch than to try and walk the sinking sand of the water’s edge. I would only get drenched, so I walked a short way and settled down on a palmetto log.

Well,
I told myself,
I think my business is gonna be okay. We sure have enough clients and no one’s complaining about the pricing. That’s a huge load off my mind.

I was seeing Arthur late that afternoon. Arthur.
Don’t get involved.
And then I remembered Caroline and her boyfriend, Jack. Here was this gorgeous man and woman. How did he treat her? He made sure she got in her car safely and told her how beautiful she was and gave me the eyeball at the same time.

I kicked off my flip-flops and dug my feet into the sand. It was what we did in the Lowcountry when we found ourselves alone on the beach. We would sit, stare at the water, kick off our shoes, and dig our feet into the sand to stay cool. With the ocean rolling all around me, I could look at life from different angles.

The sky gradually gave up its blanket of deep gray to pale blue with golden edges of light, erasing the last traces of night. And over the next half hour or so, the sky would become brilliant blue again. The water changed from deep steel to sparkling navy as the morning sun climbed into position and another day began. On the turn of a tide, a new era had begun for me as well.

It looked as though I might be successful enough to remain independent. What I lacked was a love. Loving Emily was wonderful and all-consuming. The love I felt for Jim was special. But, Arthur had put his finger on it. What was my passion? I thought about this for a while and decided the real question should have been,
Where
or
Who
was my passion?

I was deeply troubled when I looked back at all the years gone. So many years had passed without an affair, or a
passion
. Suddenly, I was hungry for it. I wanted to make Arthur look at me the way Jack looked at Caroline. Jack burned for her in the way I wanted someone to burn for me. Maybe it
was
about making men feel like they were king, like Jim had said. Well, I would try it on Arthur and see how we fared.

By the time I walked home, Emily was up and in the kitchen making toast.

“Hey! Morning!” she said and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Where’d you go?”

“I went to the beach to watch the sun come up. It was beautiful,” I said and poured myself a cup of coffee. “Not much beach at high tide, though. Pretty wild looking. Jim sleeping?”

“Sawing logs. Man, can he snore or what?”

“Pretty impressive. Want some eggs or something?”

“Nah. Thanks. Mom?”

“Hmm?” I was peering into my refrigerator like the secret of life was on the second shelf.

“I gotta do something about my hair. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“David? Prefers blonds? Big surprise.”

She went from zero to one hundred in two seconds. “
Mom!
How can you
say
that?”

It’s too early, I thought, but here we go anyway. I hated hostility before breakfast.

“Sorry. Just a knee-jerk reaction.”

“If you think I would change my hair for some
stupid
boy, you just don’t know me at all,
do you?
I mean, how could you possibly
think
that?
Uhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Lower your voice, Emily. Your daddy’s sleeping.”

“And that’s
another
thing. Don’t you think it’s a little bit
weird
for you to be dating some guy while Dad’s here? Are you trying to make him feel like complete
shit,
or what?”

“Watch your language, young lady. Your father and I have been divorced for a million years and he actually
wants
me to find somebody. I have never had a better friend in my life than Jim and what goes on between us is nobody’s business but ours.” Now I don’t know why I threw that last comment into the mix—I guess I just didn’t feel like her jumping to the next topic, which, in the back of my mind, I knew would’ve been the nature of her birth.

“I have the most
screwed up
life of anybody I know. Did you
ever
think about
that?”

“Emily? Do you think we could discuss your screwed-up life a little later? I just got up and haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.”

“Fine. When you’re mentally ready to be
a mother,
email me. I’m going for a walk.”

“Don’t slam the door.”

“Whoever sold women on the idea of motherhood was one sadistic bastard,” I said to the empty kitchen.

I peeked out the back door and watched her cross the yard in the direction of Lucy’s.
Good,
I thought,
take your anger to somebody else’s house for a while. You wear me out.

By the time I had made the bed and had a shower, Jim was up, whistling in the kitchen. I smelled bacon and thought to myself that a perfect world would be one where you could eat all the bacon you wanted and not raise your cholesterol.

“Morning! Whatcha cooking?”

“Omelet? Cheese and onions with bacon?”

“When you go back to San Francisco, I’m wearing black for a month.”

He smiled and turned a small perfect omelet onto a plate, handing it to me. “Go sit, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You’ll get no argument from me. When did you learn to cook like this?”

“Ah! There are many things about me that you don’t know. That’s why I’m an international man of mystery.”

“Ah! The real Austin Powers at last!”

I put my plate on the table and went to the kitchen to pour us some orange juice. The omelet was golden and fluffy. I decided to use cloth napkins. In my world, cloth napkins designated the event as extraordinary. I even threw bread in the toaster and ran outside to cut a few blooms and put them in a bud vase for the center of the table, along with jam, sliced butter pats on a little plate, and cream and sugar in my best containers. By the time Jim joined me, it wasn’t just breakfast we were having, but a Sunday morning event. At least it was to me.

In between bites, we began talking about his plans for leaving.

“I thought I’d see if I could get a flight Thursday. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do for Hyatt and I probably have a foot of mail.”

“And, you thought you might stop off in Ohio to see Gary. Am I right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. You know, Anna, I just can’t let him sit in his parents’ house and rot away while his parents tell him he’s going to hell when the day comes.”

“If they won’t let you in the door, call me.”

“They think he made a ‘sinful lifestyle choice’ and that this is his
fault.
It’s his fault, all right, but being careless isn’t the same thing as committing a sin that would damn you to hell for all eternity. I just don’t believe that. Tell me this. Who on this earth would
choose
to be gay? When is the world going to realize that some people just are?”

“I don’t know, Jim. I don’t. I mean, there are all these fundamentalists who say that with massive therapy it can be overcome. But look, I love
you
and I don’t
care
what people do in the dark. Shoot. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me all my life and a great parent for Emily. I have nothing but love for you. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, I say true Christians don’t judge, that’s what.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here, bubba.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“While we’re on the subject, Emily asked me the other day just how she was brought into the world.”

Jim spit his coffee all over his fresh lavender Ralph Lauren golf shirt.
“What?”

“To be specific, she wanted to know if she was conceived by you and me in the regulation manner.”

“Holy shit!
What did you tell her?”

“If I recall correctly, her exact words were something like,
‘Is Jim really my father? Did y’all—you know?’
I said,
‘Lemme tell you something. Jim is more than a father, now go to sleep.’
It was one of those late-night chats. She hasn’t said anything else, but, sooner or later, she’s gonna.”

“Then what?”

“Then, I think we noodle and figure out something. I mean, I don’t want to lie to her. She’s entitled to the truth, but honestly Jim, she’s so hot and cold lately that I’m
afraid
to tell her. She won’t understand.”

“
Who
won’t understand
what?
Morning, y’all!”

It was Lucy. She had walked right through my back door without knocking. I hated when someone did that and knew I’d have to say something. This wasn’t the right moment to do that.

“Hey! Get yourself a cup of coffee and join us,” I said. “We were just discussing Emily and her temper.”

“She gets that from your daddy, I can tell you that much. Do you know that now he’s mad at me
again?”
she said from the kitchen.

I pushed my plate back and put my forehead down on the table. “I can’t take it,” I whispered to Jim.

“There now,” he said and patted my head.

Lucy came in and sat down. “Yeah, he’s as hot as a goat’s fanny in a pepper patch.”

Jim burst out laughing. “Goat’s fanny? What did you do to the poor man?”

“His nurse found my web page on AOL. She showed it to him. I said, ‘Look here, Dougle, when you cough up a rock for this finger, then and only then do I quit dating!’ He thinks he
owns
me!”

“That’s Daddy!” I said.

“Men assume ownership of women like dogs do of chairs. If they get settled in it, it’s theirs.”

“Y’all making Bloodys?” Lucy said. “It
is
Sunday morning, isn’t it?”

“Girl? I slept for twelve hours last night and one vodka would put me back in the bed for another twelve. But if you want one, be my guest. Everything’s in the kitchen.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, “otherwise how will I ever get my nerve up to ask you about how Emily
did
make it into the world. She’s over there with David, watching
Star Trek
. They’re not coming over here for at least an hour. We can talk.”

Jim and I stopped breathing, staring at her in disbelief.
Was she giving me
permission
to tell her what hardly anyone on the earth knew?

“I’m sorry, y’all, I heard everything.” She stood there in front of us in her bulging turquoise halter and white pants that were like second skin. “Believe me, I won’t tell a soul.”

I didn’t believe that for a minute.

“Why don’t I make a batch of Bloodys for everyone?” Jim said.

“Good idea,” I said. “Okay, Lucy. Sit.”

Over the next half an hour, Jim and I told Lucy the story of Everett Fairchild, Emily, and us. Even Lucy was shocked and then she wept.

“First of all, can I just tell y’all how much I respect y’all for loving that girl and keeping her. I never told you this either, Anna, but when I was a little girl, just twelve, my daddy and momma ran off and left me and my little sister—David’s momma—in a cold trailer with no money and no food. We were living in the country outside of Greenville and lemme tell you, it was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. We wound up living in foster care until we finally got my daddy’s momma to come get us. I think it’s why . . . I think that’s why . . .” She started to sob. “Oh, shit, y’all, I’m sorry. Why I never had any kids of my own. I was too scared. How could somebody like me take care of a child? I never saw my own momma and daddy again. They might be dead for all I know. That’s one reason I learned how to use the Internet, you know? So’s I could try and find ’em.”