Lowcountry Summer (32 page)

“I’m sitting in the den bawling like a baby and Chloe says, ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ Miss Linnie gives me a drive-by and says, ‘Daddy’s whore is dead, Chloe. Haven’t you heard?’ ”

“Please tell me you’re lying or exaggerating or something!”

“No. I am not. This is who my daughter is. I don’t even know what Amelia and Belle think. They haven’t said
one word
. You know, you’d think they’d say
something,
wouldn’t you? Like, ‘Gee, Daddy this must be so awful for you.’ Something! Anything!”

“Trip? I’m no shrink but I think Linnie is just full of teenage anger. Period. I mean, her mother has brutally disappointed her over and over again. Your relationship with Rusty never got any support from Frances Mae, so she must have some very confusing feelings about it. As for Belle and Amelia, I think they just don’t
know
what to say. Seeing you so upset probably reinforces the fact that you don’t love their mother.”

Trip was quiet for a moment and then he said something that really got to the heart of the matter.

“Let me ask you something, Caroline, and you don’t have to answer me now, but do you think my relationship with Rusty was wrong?”

“I don’t need time to consider that. Remember I’ve been a witness to Frances Mae’s outrageous behavior for years. No. It was not wrong. Your marriage to Frances Mae had more than its share of complications and every person in this country is entitled to the pursuit of happiness, aren’t we? You’re not supposed to be made miserable and just suck it up for your whole life. Frances Mae drove you to drink and gamble and ultimately straight to Rusty’s arms. She wasn’t the right wife for you. She made you into your worst self. Rusty made you happy. What else do you want to know?”

“Even though we have four children together?”

“That’s the complicated part. But divorce happens every single day. Now, why don’t you get a shower or something and I’ll rustle us up some breakfast. I got the papers this morning, but let’s not make that a habit, okay?”

I closed his door and hoped that my supporting him would help him let go of some of his pall. At least somewhat. I worried about him until I heard the water running in his shower. Trip
was
flat-out devastated. I didn’t blame him one bit, but I had never seen him like this. Ever. Except when Daddy died.

But guess what? I was devastated, too. Rusty had been my best friend for the past ten years and I loved her like I would have loved a sister. But, as Millie pointed out to me, this was no time for my self-indulgence of grief. The fact was, the moment we had to act was now, not later next week. We had to plan a proper send-off—no, a beautiful
glorious
send-off for Rusty, and he needed to be a part of it. I set up his coffeemaker and pressed the start button.

That little Linnie was going to hear it from me. Wait till I tell Millie, I thought.

I looked around in Trip’s refrigerator to see what there was, and once again, I was reminded of Rusty. Needless to say, the refrigerator was bulging with packages of sliced ham, just as the freezer was filled with more fish than we could eat in six months. But in between all those baggies and packages wrapped in aluminum foil, there was plenty of everything healthy that a family should eat—low-fat yogurt, fresh-squeezed organic orange juice, organic eggs, and skim milk. In the bread drawer under the counter there was a loaf of whole-grain white bread, a bag of low-salt rice cakes, and an unopened bag of Oreos, Rusty’s favorite guilty pleasure. It was true, or at least it seemed to be so, that modifying the girls’ diets had calmed them down considerably. It had not made them less belligerent or defiant, but at least they were less frenetic in their day-to-day evil pursuits. Every victory with them was small, slow to come, and hard-won. Rusty had possessed the patience of Job. I did not. And then Frances Mae crossed my mind. Her rehab was almost over and then what? Couldn’t she just stay out of the picture until we adjusted to this? But would Trip ever adjust? Probably not, if the looks of him that morning meant anything.

I took a pad of paper and a pen from the shelf by the phone and sat down at the kitchen table to make a list. Call Reverend Moore, clarify the obituary, call Miss Sweetie to think through food and flowers, clean up the whole chapel area, replace Mother’s picture . . . finally, Trip appeared in the doorway, clean shaven and dressed in khakis, a knit shirt, and Top-Siders, pretty much his uniform. He looked better.

“And here he is! Good morning, sweet brother of mine. You want coffee?”

I poured a mug and handed it to him. “This is only because you are a grief-stricken wretch. Do you want French toast or waffles?” Of course I had hoped that a sassy jab would get a smile out of him, but it did not.

“I don’t want anything. But thanks.”

“Well, look, I’m cooking for Chloe, and you probably never ate dinner last night. So I’m ignoring your polite refusal and making you French toast anyway.”

“I gotta feed my dogs.”

“Fine. Go feed your dogs. Breakfast will be on the table in fifteen minutes.”

I got out his biggest frying pan and filled it with strips of bacon and turned up the gas. Then I made the batter for French toast with eggs, milk, vanilla, a pinch of salt, and a generous sprinkle of cinnamon in tribute to Rusty. I set the table for three, thinking if the other girls wanted something to eat, whenever it was they deigned to lift their lazy backsides out of the sack, I’d make them something then. Or they could make a ham sandwich.

Soon the traveling smells of cooking bacon brought Chloe in from the den, and when Trip came back inside, he lingered in the kitchen, scanning the morning papers and sighing like an old woman, until I finally was able to coax him into taking a plate of food. I sat with him and Chloe and we began to eat. Trip’s sadness permeated the air all around us, hanging like smog. He would take a bite, swallow, and then clear his throat as though the act of swallowing was almost too much for him.

“More juice?” I asked.

“No, I’m good. This is delicious, Caroline. Thanks.”

He was never that complimentary. “Yes, it is and you’re welcome.” I smiled at Chloe, hoping she would catch my sense of humor, but her face was just as sullen as Trip’s. Great, I thought. Today is going to be like dragging giant fish through pluff mud with a gaff.

“Daddy?” Chloe said.

“Hmm?”

“Are we ever going to be a family again?”

Oh, fine, I thought. It was
Les Misérables,
Wimbley style, Act 99.

“We are a family, Chloe. What do you mean?”

“I mean, are we going to live here now? And what happens when Momma comes back? Do we have to go back to the other house and live with her? And is she ever coming back?”

“Of course, she’s coming back in just days, week after next I think, and when she does we’ll have to see how it plays out.”

In two weeks? I thought. Oh, great.

“Honey,” I said, “I think what your daddy is saying is that you don’t have to worry because the grown-ups are going to do whatever is in your best interest. All right?”

She nodded and shoved a huge forkful of food into her mouth. I was reminded that I wanted to discuss gluttony with her, too, but sadly, this wasn’t the appropriate moment. “Now. Would anyone like anything else? More coffee, Trip?” I dabbed the sides of my mouth carefully with my napkin and placed it on the table. I was channeling Lavinia again.

“No. Thanks.”

“So, are you going into the office today?”

“No, I thought since Owen’s arriving around two, that I would pick him up in Charleston and then—”

“Good thought. I could use your help and his with planning the memorial service.”

“May I please be excused, Aunt Caroline?”

“Of course you may.” All hail the spirit of Emily Post. “Just put your dishes in the sink, okay?”

“Sure!” There was a terrible clank as Chloe dropped the dishes in the sink and they banged against the porcelain. Another issue to be discussed. “Thank you for breakfast,” she said, and skipped out of the room. I sighed and my inner bitch retreated for a moment.

“She can be such a precious child, Trip.”

“Yeah, right. You think those manners are for real?”

“Trip? Darlin’? It’s a far better thing to be a disingenuous little twit than it is to tell your elders to stuff it. I much prefer insincerity to vulgarity. Don’t you?”

“I suppose.” Finally he cracked a smile of amusement, but it faded in his next breath. “So what’s up for today?”

I gave him the litany of tasks and he said, “Look, why don’t I clean up the kitchen and you call that crazy sumbitch? I can’t take him today.”

“Reverend Moore?”

He nodded.

“Deal. But, Trip?”

“What?”

“He speaks well of you.”

I giggled then but Trip looked at me as though this was not the time for humor of any sort. And it would never be again.

I pitched camp at the desk in Trip’s den and began making phone calls. I reached Reverend Moore’s voice mail.

“Reverend Moore? This is Caroline Wimbley Levine calling. We have had a tragic loss in our family and I’m hoping you are available to conduct a memorial service at our chapel this Saturday? Please call me back at . . .”

I had barely replaced the receiver in its cradle when the phone rang. It was the good reverend himself. Did he screen his calls? Well, clergy got their share of crazies, so I couldn’t be critical if he did.

“Ms. Levine? How wonderful to hear your voice! It’s been such a long time! I don’t mean that as a criticism. No, no! Never! I’m so sorry for your loss. Please tell me how I may be of help to your wonderful family. I think of your beautiful mother every day. Every day.”

Our man of the cloth was taking insincere to new heights. I rolled my eyes without the benefit of an audience and gave him the particulars. He was genuinely shocked and saddened to hear that this had been the most unlucky fate of our Rusty, he said. He actually had known her and had nothing but the nicest things to say.

“These things are sometimes unfathomable to me,” he said, “and I am forced to remind myself that the Bible says in Romans, Chapter 8:28, that all things work together for the good of God.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking, Is he kidding or what? No matter what I had said to Chloe, I always had a hard time believing that a young person’s death was ever God’s will. Maybe he was massaging the interpretation? “So, then, will we see you on Saturday?”

“Of course! Now, would you like to choose music and will there be family members who would perhaps like to offer a reading from the Bible?”

I told him that I would get back to him about those things and I thanked him. So he wasn’t Thomas Aquinas. He meant well, I thought.

I called Miss Sweetie next.

“I still can hardly believe what has happened, Caroline. How’s Trip doing?”

“I can’t either. Trip? Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t think he’s doing so well. He is really, really sad. I mean, to the point of barely functioning.”

“Well, maybe he just needs a day or two. You know, it’s a lot to process. His whole life is turned upside down again. Thank goodness he has you, Caroline.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” I said. “Rusty’s brother is flying in today. Owen. Trip’s driving down to Charleston to pick him up. Maybe I’ll go with him because we also have to stop by McAlister’s to pick out memorial cards and to finalize the obituary.”

“Oh, my dear! It’s all so, so terribly sad. And, now tell me, how are the girls doing? Do you think it might be a good diversion for them to spend a day with me and learn about the strawberry business?”

“Miss Sweetie? That’s a splendid idea! I mean, we have to find something for these girls to do this summer or we’ll all lose our minds. But today? They’re still sleeping and I’m very concerned about getting Saturday organized.”

“Well, then, just tell me what I can do . . .”

She generously offered to provide all the desserts, little bites that people could pick up without cutlery.

“You don’t want to be picking up forks from all over your yard for the next six months, do you? People are well meaning but way out, you know. You’ll be finding forks in the azaleas come Christmas!”

“No doubt. You know, maybe I could send the older girls over to you to help you bake for Saturday? What do you think?”

“Definitely! I just hired a woman named Lynn Brook from the school system—she teaches first grade, I think. Anyway, she’s marvelous and she’s heading up our new internship program this summer. Oh! Did I tell you that Bobby Mack called?”

“No, you didn’t. And I will ask the girls about that. Let’s see what they think. What did Bobby Mack say?”

“Well, I knew you had your hands full and all with the graduation and everything, so I sent him a case of that strawberry-pomegranate jam last week? He loved it! He’s using it on ribs and roasts and everything in sight and he’s taking the whole inventory off our hands! Isn’t that the best news?”

“Yes! That’s great! Does he know about Rusty? He liked her so much. We used to have dinner, just the four of us, all the time.”