Isle of Palms (55 page)

I looked at Lucy and realized that once again, Lucy had sliced it just about as thin as you could. We, or I anyway, hadn’t wanted Joanne to be a good woman. We had all but tricked her into sarcasm and cynicism. Maybe under all her hoopla there was a decent person. I hadn’t played fairly. I had hated her before I ever saw her.

“Damn it, Lucy. You’re right. You kill me when you say these things. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t know, but she really might be a big old bitch just like we thought, you know. Let’s not forget that she
was
pretty horrible. No tips?”

“That’s true also.”

I felt a little better. Her second comment had left me in a place where I could excuse myself for plotting against Joanne, and justify the judgments I had made against her. My capacity to rationalize my worst behavior was not something I was proud of. But there it was. Just like the rest of humanity, I had my warts too.

We were quiet for a few minutes and then, out of nowhere in particular, I said, “I went to Mass this morning. Nine-thirty. The choir was amazing.”

“You did? I used to go to church when I was real little. I loved to sing. Haven’t been to church in years.”

“You know what’s really crazy, Lucy?” I said that and then thought to myself that asking Lucy a question about craziness carried with it possibilities of a new understanding of the team.

“What?”

“Well, maybe crazy isn’t the right word. But have you ever noticed that you live your life by hurdles? I mean, I used to say that as soon as I got my own house, my life would begin. As soon as I got my own business, I’d be my own woman. As soon as I did this or that, then I could do the next thing on my list. Why I haven’t gone to church all these years is a mystery to me. I mean, I was sitting in the back pew this morning and thinking about how lucky I am and saying thanks to God for a million things. It made me feel so good. Just to be there. I don’t know, I felt connected, you know?”

“I haven’t been to church in years. But I do know what you mean. When I come out here or when I watch the sun go down at the end of the day, I think about my life. I do. I think I’m pretty lucky, you know, everything considered.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We were quiet again for a few minutes, watching the little sand-pipers run around the water’s edge and then scramble away from the easy flowing waves as they washed the shore. They were so busy and so determined to get their supper.

“Anna?”

“Hmmm?”

“Let’s have us a Labor Day party. Jim and Frannie are coming, right?”

“Yep. They are.”

“Well, remember the cookout we had for Jim? Let’s do it again. He’s been through hell. You’ve had a rough summer too, with all the stress of that Joanne and just everything—moving, opening a business . . . what do you say? Emily’s going to be leaving for school and I could invite my sister down from Greenville. When does Emily go back?”

“Her classes don’t start until September ninth. She’s leaving on the freaking third, unless somebody blows something up.”

“Good Lord, Anna! Don’t even think that!”

“Right. Sends bad vibes to the universe.”

“Exactly! Listen, it’ll be great. Hell, I’d even invite the old biddies next door! We’re closed Labor Day anyway, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but Lucy? Here’s the problem.”

“What?”

“If you do the cooking, we’ll all wind up dead in the morgue.”

We started laughing.

“Oh, Lord! Isn’t that the truth? Do you remember when I first met y’all? And I brought over that awful casserole? It had been in my freezer for two years! I can’t cook worth a S-H-I-T! But I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?”

“You cook and I’ll buy the food. We’ll tell everyone to bring an appetizer or a dessert, like we did for Jim’s party. We’ll put Dougle in charge of the grill, set up a self-serve bar, and do everything buffet. What do you say?”

“I don’t want to listen to Bettina’s disco music, okay?”

“Then let’s call it a Lowcountry barbecue! All beach music! Come on! What do you think? I’ll even make invitations on the computer! Hey!” She sat up in her beach chair and looked at me.

“What?”

“Did you ever call that Jack Taylor guy to thank him for that ugly plant?”

“Hell, no! He’s probably married to Caroline by now!”

“Well, then, let’s invite them and find out. In fact, it would be great to invite a few clients. Why not?”

“Fine. You make the list and call them. Hey! Jim could teach Bettina to shag! Oh! I can see it now! My house or yours?”

“Both! I have a bigger kitchen. And the deck. But we can share the yard, right? We can watch the sunset together. I just bought another digital camera. I’ll take pictures of everyone. You could invite Harriet!”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Just a thought.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s do it. But no Harriet. We need to do something to mark the end of this summer with a party. You’re right. It’s a good idea.”

“If you entertain clients and employees, you can deduct it!”

She was right. Good old Lucy.

Sunday morning, September first, Jim was snoring on the sofa, Frannie was snoring in Emily’s room, and Emily was snoring in my bed. I couldn’t sleep with all the honking going on so I got up at six. Luggage was everywhere. Glasses, bags of potato chips, and Burger King wrappers were all over the table from our late-night powwow. Frannie and I had listened to Jim talk himself into a stupor over Gary’s death, sympathizing and consoling at first and then, as the night wore on, we became deeply philosophical, deciding there were no accidents and that we were all in each other’s lives for a reason. At one in the morning, I had been convinced of destiny. At six in the morning, I was convinced we had all had too much wine.

The day had just broken, light slipping through my windows in angular shapes, soft at first, becoming stronger and brighter with each passing minute. I decided to get the paper and take it down to the beach with a container of coffee. I tiptoed around the mess, got the coffee going, dressed, poured myself a mug, and sneaked out my back door, so that I wouldn’t wake Jim. He looked more haggard than I’d ever seen him and I wanted him to rest. I picked up the
Post & Courier
from my front yard, and then decided to leave it by the door.

I looked at my flowers and shrubs. Jim had called it Turbo Eden. It was true. I now had bougainvillea and jasmine growing up the sides of the house with so many deep pink blooms, it was almost like they had something to prove. I thought about Miss August, the lady who owned the carriage house Jim and I had rented when Emily was born. She had been dead for years and I thought it was probably her hand from heaven that was the cosmic cause of the insane growth of my entire yard. I could almost hear the lilt of her laugh and it seemed as though she was there, right beside me.

This Lowcountry connection with the other side was thriving, healthy, and not really a topic for deep discussion with tourists. Tourists may have thought we were a little crazy to begin with but let me tell you something, they bought those volumes of Lowcountry ghost stories like they were contraband from some secret society of Saint Germain! When clients from Indiana or some such place would ask me about the Gray Man at Pawley’s Island, or the Summerville lights, my matter-of-fact response made them think I was holding back Lowcountry secrets. When you lived here you just took these things for granted.

In the early hours of morning, I thought about all kinds of things. First and always, there was the splendor of the empty beach. It didn’t matter how often I went over the dunes, it had never been the same twice. I thought about Miss August again and wondered if she could see me. Remembering her was so pleasant, I made a note to do it every day. What a happy woman she had been. Then, I thought of my mother and the dream I’d had. I missed her and I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was because she’d left me with so little of her, except for the way I looked. But maybe that wasn’t true at all. Was I like my father or my grandmother? No, I wasn’t. Didn’t she love to garden? And hadn’t my mother been ambitious? I mean, even though she rode a tiara out of her hometown to marry Daddy, what life would she have had otherwise?

Marrying my daddy was a rather brave thing to do when I looked at it that way. She was only a kid, really, a kid Emily’s age, who considered her options and took a chance. And I had done the exact same thing.

I stood there sipping my hot coffee with the ocean flooding my feet and decided, okay, Momma had made a mistake. She was full of life and, as Miss Mavis had said, when she found herself stuck on this end of the island and pregnant, it probably all but blew her mind. If a game of bingo and winning a cooler had brought her a big thrill, how dull was her life? Pretty dull.

I looked down toward Sullivan’s Island and there wasn’t another living soul to be seen. I remembered seeing Arthur that first morning and told myself to get over him for once and for all. If he really fit the profile Jim described, he’d never come back to me. Speaking of men, Lucy had really invited Jack Taylor and Caroline Levine to our barbecue. They had said they’d be there, but I doubted it. Surely, with their money, they had better things to do than hang around with a bunch of hairdressers and their families. I wondered, though, if Susan Hayes would bring Simon—I’d never met him but, boy, did I know a lot about him! The things she had told me in the chair! Amazing.

I walked along the shore, the beach to myself, and thought myself to be a very fortunate woman. I had a terrific daughter who delighted me at every turn, wonderful friends who sustained me, great neighbors who welcomed my company, a loving father who had finally come around, and I had the Isle of Palms. What else could a woman need?

Chicken Dance

AS it turned out, there was something else
this
woman needed. A caterer. When I went over the guest list with Lucy Sunday afternoon, it seemed we had seventy-five people coming. How was I supposed to take care of a crowd like that? I had planned on cooking but forget it! Seventy-five people? Had she gone crazy? Jim and Frannie stood with me in the living room, listening to Lucy explain.

“Well, you know how it is, don’t you? You invite somebody and they say, Oh, but my brother is visiting with his wife and kids and you say, Oh, what the heck! Bring them too! Right?”

“Seventy-five people?” Frannie said, “Are you
sure
that’s it?”

Lucy clenched her teeth and squinted her eyes. “Better make it eighty, just to be sure,” Lucy said.

“I’m going to Lowe’s,” Jim said. “Frannie? Come with?”

“Sure. I’ll get my bag.”

“Good Lord!” I said, “What are we gonna do?”

“You and Lucy go get the food, paper products, and the drinks and Frannie and I will handle the rest. Let old Jim worry about this.”

“I adore you,” I said and blew them a kiss.

I called Brigitte immediately. “Kill three watermelons,” I said, “we got a cast of thousands coming tomorrow.”

“Glad to have something to chop,” she said, “cures anxiety. Hey! Do you need a folding table? I have one.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Do you have any folding chairs?”

“No, but I can borrow a dozen from the library. Want me to call Bettina?”

“God, yes! Can you ask her to get a sheet cake from Sam’s?”

“Consider it done. In fact, I’ll tell her to get brownies and a slug of chicken wings for an hors d’oeuvre. And a ton of chips and salsa.”

“Just get me the receipts.”

“Okay.”

“Brigitte? Thanks. I mean it.”

“Hey, you give my life purpose. I was gonna spend the evening sorting through old
National Geographics
, looking for pictures of nude male tribal dancers.”

“Wow. That’s seriously pathetic.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering that I just went through a catalog gawking at all the male models in their tight underwear. I’ll call you later.”

“You need a man, honey.”

“Gee. Think so? Ever since I told Evan to hit the road, there’s been a drought.”

Brigitte had revealed herself to be the undisputed wit of our gang. I hung up the phone and turned to Lucy. She was biting her lip from nerves.

“Lucy? Don’t worry about the party. We’ll be fine. Get out your little black book. If we don’t find Brigitte a willing victim by tomorrow night, her panties might have a self-combustion issue.”

“What does that mean?”

“A
man,
Lucy. Find Brigitte a
man.
”

“Oh! Sure! Okay. I have some guys I can call, but shouldn’t we go to the grocery store first? The Pig has a sale on soft drinks but Harris Teeter has a special on paper products.”

“Right! Fine. Get in the car! Where’s Emily?”

“Next door, watching a DVD with David. They’re sitting there like zombies, staring at the tube.”

“Do me a favor. Tell them to start cleaning up the yard. It needs to get raked and the table and chairs need a good cleaning.”

“Okay—I’ll be right back. If you have a second, can you take this over to Miss Angel?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Twelve hundred dollars from basket sales. I figured she might like to get paid.”

“Wow! I thought they were selling, but twelve hundred dollars?”

“They ain’t cheap and, honey?—we ain’t got a blade of sweetgrass left in that shop.”

“Wow,” I said again.

Lucy trotted off to her house and I made a list of what we would need. We needed a lot. I stuck the list in my purse and hurried over next door. I tried Miss Angel’s door downstairs first. After a few minutes, she opened it.

“You ain’t one of them Jehovah’s Witnesses, are you?”

“No, I’m the bearer of good news,” I said, handing her the envelope. “Guess we need some more baskets.”

She lifted her reading glasses up to her nose and opened it to count it. “Come on in,” she said, “my pit bull’s at the groomer.”