Isle of Palms (61 page)

“Yeah, well, I feel bad for her, you know? And I need to talk to Frannie. I’ve got two bedrooms and thought she might like to pitch her tent and camp with me, so to speak. Or, if Emily has a night class, she can bunk with me too.”

“I think old Frannie is gonna be sharing her tent with Jake.”

“Oh, that’s right. When is her move date?”

“December first.”

“It’ll be great to be a fifth wheel with y’all.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone. Emily’s going to be so happy, Jim. You know what?”

“What?”

“Call the old biddy Trixie and see if she wants to join us.”

“I did but I think she’s got plans. Anyway, I told her it was your idea and you get points for asking.”

“Like I can redeem them?”

“What’s going on in here? Inquiring minds want to know,” Emily said as she came through the back door. “I still think you should’ve enlarged this kitchen, Mom.”

“Never look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie.”

“Right. I was just telling your momma that I rented a townhouse in Charleston and the kitchen is smaller than this one.”

“So, naturally, I’m going to have to buy a car and someone’s going to have to take care of it for me when I’m away on business. I was thinking about a convertible. . . .”

Their shrieks were too loud for my ears.

I took my clippers from the drawer and went out to the front yard to see if there were any roses to cut. An expensive foreign car was driving by very slowly and then it stopped. I ignored it, thinking it was just someone coming to look at the beach, which happened all the time. I heard the car door close, so I looked up.

I saw Everett Fairchild coming toward me.

Mad Dogs

EVERETT Fairchild was in my yard and carrying the picture I had framed for Joanne, his wife. “Anna? Anna Lutz?”

“How did you find me?”

“There’s an emergency number on the door of your salon. I went through the phone book until I found the address to match it. It said A. ABBOT, but I thought I’d give it a try.”

There was a long silence that passed between us. What in the hell was I supposed to do then? Invite him to dinner? I wasn’t about to give him the slightest welcome. I hadn’t exactly been standing around waiting for him to show up on Thanksgiving Day.

I could see that he was trying to figure out what to say.

“I haven’t been sleeping very well. . . .”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “I didn’t sleep too well nineteen years ago either.”

“It was a long time ago.”

I cannot describe the feelings I was having. If I’d had a gun in my hand I would’ve shot him dead on the spot. Obviously, it had been a terrible mistake to send that picture along with Joanne because here he was. How was I supposed to deal with this?

“This is probably not the best time for you to be here.”

“I don’t think there could
ever
be a good time. Look, I know you think I’m the worst person on the earth. . . .”

“That pretty much covers it,” I said, realizing I had never thought about the terrible anger I would feel if I actually saw him again. Suddenly, I wanted to stab him over and over with my clippers. I wanted him to writhe in pain and agony and bleed to death right there in front of me so I could laugh.

“Well, I’m not,” he said. “I’m really not.” He looked out toward the beach and then took a deep breath. In a voice so low I could barely hear him he said, “She’s mine, isn’t she.”

“No. She’s mine.” Looking at him for the first time after so many years, I remembered my broken nose and how he had never called, even once, to apologize. My fury became a blinding hatred. I was becoming irrational. Moreover, I didn’t care if I made a scene loud and scary enough for the police to come and haul me away in a padded wagon.

“I’d like to see her.”

“Really? Well, guess what? If you think that you’re going to just show up after all these years and ruin our holiday, you can go to hell.”

“Anna, I don’t blame you for being furious and I know you hate me and you should. But if I have a daughter, I want to know.” All the while he spoke, his voice was calm and carefully modulated as if he had practiced those words,
I want to know,
a hundred thousand times.

“You have no right to be here. Leave! Leave now or I’m calling the police! Leave now and never come back! Ever!”

I could see that Everett Fairchild was not accustomed to being told to get off someone’s property or to vanish from people’s lives.

My door opened and Jim came out.

“What’s the problem here?” Jim took one look at Everett Fairchild and knew exactly what the problem was. Satan had arrived, all dressed up for a friendly visit.

“Well, well. Mr. Fairchild, I believe?”

Jim shook his hand and I was so mad at him for doing it that I wanted to chop his hand off at his wrist.

“Oh, are you gonna be
nice
to this creep, Jim? Are you gonna be
friends
now?”

“Anna, why don’t you go over to Lucy’s and let me talk to this man for a few minutes.”

“Fine, Jim.
Fine!
You handle it!” I zeroed in on Everett’s face with the most poisonous expression I could muster. “You bastard,” I said and left them to stall-kick their way through the manure.

When I pushed through Lucy’s door, she and Brigitte were sitting at her kitchen bar, having a glass of wine, peeling potatoes and dropping them into a huge pot of water. They looked at me and knew immediately that something terrible had happened.

“What? Is Douglas okay? What?” Lucy said and came to my side.

“What’s happened?” Brigitte asked.

“Everett Fairchild. He’s in my front yard talking to Jim. I think I’m going to explode.” I held on to the counter for support.

“Here, honey, come sit,” Lucy said and took me to her living room.

Brigitte followed with a glass of water and handed it to me. “How in the world . . . ?”

“Phone book,” I said, and the tears started to flow. “Not today! Everybody’s here! Oh, God!”

Lucy looked down to my yard. “Now Frannie’s out there with Jake and Arthur.”

“I told him to get lost and don’t ever come back,” I said. “I didn’t realize how horrible it would be to see him.”

Brigitte went to the window and looked down. “He’s got some sense of timing, doesn’t he? Thanksgiving? What an idiot.”

Lucy handed me a box of tissues and I took three, blowing my nose and wiping my eyes. “Y’all? What am I going to do? I can’t have this happen today!”

“Too late,” Brigitte said. “Who’s that pulling up?”

I got up and went to the window.

“Oh, no! It’s
Trixie!”

“I’ll go get Douglas to keep her busy,” Lucy said and flew out of the house and down the steps.

“I may as well kill myself right now!” I said and began pacing the floor. “How did this happen? Why do these things always happen to me?”

I turned to see Frannie standing there with her hands on her hips.

“What?” I said. “Just what would you do if you were in my shoes? Don’t you
understand?”

“Here’s what I understand. One, he’s the bad guy, not you. Two, the only thing you’ve done that maybe wasn’t done early enough was to tell Emily the facts. Three, quit being a victim. You have raised a wonderful daughter and you have nothing to be ashamed of. If I ever hear you say
poor me
again, I’m gonna knock your head off. So, pull yourself together and let’s go talk to the mule-headed son of a bitch. He ain’t leaving until he sees her. He said that twenty times. You have two choices: You can lie your behind off to Emily and everybody else and make yourself look bad in the long run. Or you can be a woman and deal with it.”

“What about Trixie? She’s going to make a horrible scene! Emily’s going to . . . I don’t know, disown all of us!”

“So far, Trixie is having a glass of wine and talking on the deck with Lucy, Douglas, Miss Mavis, and Miss Angel. And if Trixie says one word, I’ll slap her silly. There’s no reason why you should have all the fun today. What do you think, Brigitte?”

“I think I’m really glad I didn’t go to the S&S Cafeteria today. I would’ve missed this whole thing.” Then she turned to me. “Sorry. Listen, Anna, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to calm down. Right now.”

“I’m okay. It was just the shock. Now I’m just seriously pissed off. I mean, I never expected him to just show up like
this.”

“If I’d been you I’d be covered in vomit by now,” Brigitte said and shook her head. “Okay, so we’re going to go down there together and bring him back up here and have a civilized discussion with him. We’ll ask him to come back tomorrow.”

Frannie nodded her head in agreement. “Good idea. Blot your mascara and let’s go.”

“Screw my mascara.”

We went down the steps and were halfway across the yard when Emily bolted backward out the front door of our house, nearly knocking Everett over. It was like watching a film in slow motion where the mother’s child falls in front of the moving train.
Noooooooooooo!
Before I could reach her, he had grabbed her by the shoulders so that she didn’t fall. I stopped and listened. Neither one of them said a word. They simply stared at each other as though they were looking in a mirror. Jim moved in to make introductions but Emily held up her hand in a motion and Jim stopped. I was no more than five feet away.

“I know who you are,” she said, in wonder. “Oh, my God!”

I finally moved and went to Emily’s side, putting my arm around her shoulder. “Why don’t we all go over to Lucy’s where we can talk privately,” I said, trying to get us away from Daddy and Trixie. I realized then that Daddy was going to go ballistic when he found out that Everett was there. It might even kill him.

Emily didn’t budge.

“You’re my birth father, aren’t you?” She seemed to be unable to take her eyes away from his face. She started to giggle and then she laughed. “You know, I always hoped I looked like you. This is some amazing holiday. Man! Look at you! I’ve got your eyes! Wait till I tell David! He’s gonna freak! You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, it’s Thanksgiving and all and maybe I could just come over tomorrow or something.”

“No
way!
Um, excuse me, um, but what’s your name anyway?”

“Everett Fairchild,” he said. “Call me Rhett. And what do they call you?”

“I’m Emily.”

“What a perfectly beautiful name, Emily; it’s beautiful, just like you.”

“Thanks. Anyway, Rhett old boy, it’s Thanksgiving and, good grief, what’s Thanksgiving for anyway? Is this weird or what? Wow. Genetics. Man, look at your eyes! I thought I was a freak of nature! Now there’s another one!” She started giggling and Everett smiled at the sound of her laughter.

He had never heard her laughter. He was hearing his eighteen-year-old daughter laugh for the first time.

Their exchange all but flattened us—Jim, Arthur, me, Brigitte, and Frannie. We looked at each other and they shrugged their shoulders. My fury was still mushrooming. I didn’t want Everett there. But, I had expected hysterics from Emily and I got little more than biological curiosity instead. My thoughts were in a dozen places at once. Daddy. Trixie. What would I tell them?

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“What about Trixie?”

“Let the old bitch figure it out for herself and we can watch her twitch.”

“Mother McCree! I could probably sell tickets if I had the time,” Frannie said.

“This is not one damn bit funny, okay?” I said.

Everyone became quiet.

“Momma? Who the hell cares what Trixie thinks anyway? Come on, we gotta set another place at the table.”

“No,” I said, “not so fast.”

“I hear my potatoes screaming,” Frannie said. “Let’s go up to Lucy’s.”

I looked at Everett. “I can’t think of a thing you could say that I’d want to hear. And all of you can go up to Lucy’s. You too, Emily. Go! All of you!”

How could he just show up? What did he think? Did he think we’d just say,
Everett! So nice to see you again! How’re they hanging, bubba?
I knew Frannie’s joke about selling tickets was her nervous anxiety. And, obviously it didn’t matter what Trixie thought.

I watched them cross the yard and climb the stairs to Lucy’s. They let him in the house like he was a normal person. A normal person. There was the man who had drugged and raped me, broken my nose, and left me pregnant, walking up the stairs with my daughter and my dearest friends as though he belonged. He did not belong.

I could already see that Emily could handle this. In fact, everyone could handle it except me. I was going to do something terrible.

I went inside my house, reached under my sink, and took out the hammer. The house was empty. I went back outside to see what was going on. Everyone else was on the terrace or still up at Lucy’s. I looked at Everett’s shiny black Mercedes-Benz SL600 and wondered how he’d feel if I banged the hell out of it.

I started with a headlight. It smashed and glass fell all over the road. I looked up at Lucy’s to see if anyone had heard the sound of it. All quiet. I smashed the second one. I started to perspire like crazy. Then I hit the hood as hard as I could—the passenger door, the roof, the back fender, the trunk a few times. I went around to the driver’s door and pounded it about six times before I heard the voices.

I turned around and saw every single person invited there for dinner, all of them, staring at me. The look of horror on Emily’s face would follow me to my grave. So would the faces of the others. I started to cry again and dropped the hammer on the road. I felt myself slide down the driver’s door. I sat on the ground with my head buried in my arms and from somewhere outside of my own head, I heard my own convulsive sobbing.