Porch Lights (29 page)

“Morning! What are you doing up so early?”

“G’morning! Well, sweetie, I knew you wouldn’t have time to cook, so I thought I’d make you an egg. Poached eggs on toast okay for you? There’s coffee. Help yourself. And gimme a smooch.”

I kissed her cheek and took a mug from the cabinet. “Mom, you really don’t have to do this, you know. I can get my own breakfast.” I filled my mug and went looking for the half-and-half, finding it behind a container of watermelon cubes. “Is this melon local?”

“Yep. Johns Island. I’m aware you can cook. But I was up anyway.”

“How come?” I dumped some melon into a bowl.

“I don’t know. Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“We’re out of half-and-half.” I poured the last of it into my mug and stirred it around.

“There’s another carton in the refrigerator downstairs.”

“That second refrigerator is pretty handy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it surely is.”

She put the plate of eggs and toast in front of me, and I thought, Wow, I’ll miss
this
when I get home. “This looks so good. Thanks, Mom.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “I’m going to get my shower. See you tonight!”

“Okay! Have a good day!”

I ate quickly, rinsed my plate and slipped it into the dishwasher, grabbed my keys, and headed for the car. Driving over the causeway, I began to have this nagging feeling that I was being set up. Even last night, everyone had been like Oh, how was your day? Can I get you more wine? Tell me what happened to you today. Blah blah blah. Something in my cynical mind told me they were all in cahoots with one another to get me to stay here and not go back to New York. I know that sounds awful to say, but I could smell a trap and my instincts were never wrong, which was why I was still alive. The truth was in their eyes.

I got to work, and my favorite nurse, Mary Stevens, was on duty.

“Hey, Mary, how are you this morning?”

“Well, two of my triplets have the stomach flu and the third one just broke out in chicken pox even though she had the vaccine. Thank God John’s home.”

“You should take them over to my mother’s house. She’s got the Mother Teresa gene gone wild, and it’s always itching for a new cause.”

“Momma driving you a little crazy, is she?”

“All right. I shouldn’t say this because it will make me sound like a brat, but here’s the poop. My husband dies; as you know, my little boy is depressed, so I’m at my wit’s end with that, and I bring him down here.”

“Okay, you’ve told me all this. What’s next?”

“Well, Mom’s got this big house on the front beach that has this gorgeous view and all that and the next-door neighbor is eight years older than I am, he’s a widower and a doctor and really hot—”

“Yeah, this sounds like a tragedy waiting to happen . . .”

“And my father, who hasn’t lived with my mother in over ten years, suddenly reappears and is
so
nice to my son, as is the doc next door. They take him to a RiverDogs game, they take him fishing, the doc hires him to take care of his dogs, they plan this crazy treasure hunt based on Poe’s ‘The Gold-Bug’ that my mother is helping him read on the doc’s e-reader, he makes friends with some kids from Greenville and goes swimming every day.”

“Yeah, this sounds terrible. Go on . . .”

“So my dad buys Charlie this really great skateboard and my mom teaches Charlie how to make hush puppies and onion rings, and the doc takes care of Charlie’s mosquito bites.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Charlie’s as happy as a pig in mud, and he doesn’t want to go home.”

“Who’s doing all the laundry?”

“Oh, my mother, of course!”

“And the meals?”

“She is. I mean, I got up at six this morning, and there’s my mother, poaching eggs for me.”

“Wow. That’s a hell of a crime. So what are you going to do about it?”

“It’s a trap! Can’t you see that?”

“Um, actually no. Let’s see now, beachfront house, gorgeous available man next door who’s obviously not stupid or broke—he’s got ideas on how to help you cope, I suspect? I mean, only because he’s been through the same thing and misery loves company?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re their only child and Charlie’s their only grandson and they want y’all to stay and live with them? Probably rent free?”

“Well, probably. I mean, I could help.”

“Let me tell you something, sugar. I’ve got ten-year-old triplets and my husband’s in construction. You might have heard there’s a slump in building new housing?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Yeah, well, we’d give anything to have a setup like that. Especially to have grandparents in our children’s lives. And you know what else?”

“What? Look, Mary, I know I sound like a jerk. My family’s wonderful, but my husband’s buried in New York. I just can’t leave him there.”

“Jackie, honey, I mean this in the nicest way possible. Your husband is in Heaven. His
remains
are in New York. There’s a big difference.”

“You’re right, I know you’re right. But I’m just not ready to walk away yet, you know? I mean, there’s the house and so many memories tied to every board and nail that holds it together. We brought Charlie home from the hospital there. We celebrated all our birthdays and had Christmas trees there. You know what I mean? How can I just leave that all behind?”

“You’ll come to that point when you’re ready to move on, I guess.”

“Yeah, and I just feel like my family is pushing me to do this against my will by using Charlie as a weapon.”

“Or—and consider this one carefully—they just happen to adore both of you. Maybe you don’t want to share? And didn’t you bring him here to help him get over his depression? Sounds like it’s working to me. Anyway, I have to deliver meds. We can talk later.”

Mary was right about everything, of course. But there was still something to be said about comfort levels, and I was desperately uncomfortable with the idea of remaining in my mother’s house indefinitely. And what of Charlie? Was I being stingy? Maybe a little. Was I worried that if they loved Charlie so much, he would love me less? Somewhat. Was I worried that their affection would undermine my authority? Wasn’t that already happening?

I went through the rest of the day performing all my duties, administering classified pain medicines, updating charts, talking to the doctors, preparing patients for surgeries, seeing that they were comfortably settled in their beds postop, and doing everything I could to see about our patients overall well-being. My shift seemed to pass so quickly because the VA was a very busy place and all the staff was stretched to capacity. But I loved it. When I walked out of there at seven o’clock, I always felt like I had done my job well and that I had done people some good.

Driving over the Cooper River Bridge was the highlight of my commute back to the beach. I remembered the old bridges and how when I’d lived at home as a girl, how dangerous they’d seemed. Then years later, after I’d left, the city had had a team of engineers assess the bridge’s stability. When all the reports had come in, work had begun immediately to replace them. It turned out they
were
dangerous. But still, there was nothing like a drive over the new bridge or the old rattletrap bridge with the windows wide open to make you feel like you were flying in the clouds. I just loved it.

I decided to stop by Whole Foods and bring home some finger foods for snacks, although when I looked at my watch, I was pretty sure my folks and Charlie had already eaten supper. So we’d use them tomorrow. Maybe I’d buy some blueberries and I’d ask Charlie and Dad to teach me how to make ice cream, so we could make it together when we got home. And when we got home, maybe I could find a safe park in Brooklyn near the house where Charlie could skateboard to his heart’s content without me breathing down his neck. Since we’d been on the island, his expertise had mushroomed as though he had wheels growing from the soles of his feet. I knew those parks existed; I’d just always been too busy to find one near us. But if I could help Charlie expand on some of his newly acquired skills back in New York, maybe he would be happier about going home. He wanted more freedom. There had to be a way to make that happen for him and at the same time satisfy myself that he would be safe.

I rolled my cart down the vegetable and fruit aisles. There was corn from Johns Island and tomatoes. I picked up a dozen of each. Then there were peaches from Aiken and Estill, known for their sweetness. I put eight into a bag. All that Dad had brought were long gone. Next I picked up a quart container of blueberries and moved on to the cheese section. That was where I traditionally lost my mind. A block of Gruyère that had been aged for twelve years went into the basket along with a wedge of Huntsman. Then I took a brick of French goat cheese in a very expensive looking tiny box made of the thinnest balsa wood you can imagine. And lastly I had to have a small round of Explorateur. Three kinds of crackers, a bottle of cornichons, a bottle of Dijon mustard, two pieces of different pâtés, and a baguette later, I made it to the checkout line. The cheese section was to me what a good butcher section had been to Jimmy. It was where he had bought steaks or veal chops when he felt like we needed a splurge. For us all of those gourmet items had been too expensive for an everyday meal, and even if we could’ve afforded them for every day, even with all our exercise, we would’ve weighed five hundred pounds if we’d indulged that often. It was another tradition I wasn’t ready to relinquish. Special-occasion food shopping. I imagined then that I’d have to shop with Charlie and let him choose the meat for us. He’d probably like that.

There was very little traffic, so I was home in no time, pulling up in our driveway just as Steve pulled up in his.

“Hey, there!” I said. “You’re getting home kind of late, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I had a kid over at St. Francis who had her tonsils out and then broke out with a first-class case of chicken pox. Poor kid. I just wanted to have a look at her. I play golf on occasion with her grandfather Charlie Way, and he called me, so I went. You know, a favor.”

“Well, that was awfully nice.”

I opened the back of my SUV and pulled out the shopping bags.

“I’m that kind of guy. Besides, he’s done a million really nice things for me. Here,” he said, “let me help you with that.”

I handed him the bags. It had been forever since anyone had treated me like a member of the fair sex. He should’ve seen me wearing camouflage with fifty-five pounds of gear on my back. He’d never lift a finger for me again. But it was sort of nice, actually. The feminist in me was not insulted in the least.

“Thanks! So how’d she look?”

“Awful. But she’ll be better tomorrow and even better the day after.”

I looked up at the house. The porch lights were on. I hurried up the steps and held the screen door open for him.

“You’re awfully fit, you know.”

I looked him square in the face and said, “Yes, I know.”

“You ever go kayaking?”

“Yeah, right down the middle of the East River. In between the tugboats. And the Staten Island Ferry.”

“You’re such a wise guy sometimes. If you were a nicer girl, I’d take you over to Shem Creek and let you borrow one of mine.”

“I’ll get to work on my people skills right away.”

We were both smirking, testing the edges of friendship. There was something happening, because I could feel a twinge in the bottom of my stomach.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, sitting at the table. The table was still set, minus one.

“Hi, sweetheart! How was your day?” Mom asked.

“Great,” I said.

“Here, I’ll take that,” Dad said to Steve.

Steve put the bags on the counter and asked, “Everybody all right?”

“Yeah, just waiting for Jackie so we can polish off some leftover pot roast,” Dad said. “Did you eat, Steve?”

“No, but I’m good. I’ve got a fridge filled with sushi.”

“Sushi? That’s sissy food, no offense.” Mom shot Dad a death-ray look. “No, I’m serious! I don’t know how you make a meal out of that stuff!”

“It can be really delicious,” I said.

“Humph. There ain’t but one way to eat fish in my book. Fried. Except for sometimes baked and stuffed with crab. Or in chowder.”

“Dad’s a real gourmand,” I said and giggled. I started unpacking the groceries I had brought home. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Charlie ate. He’s off on his skateboard,” Mom said. “I told him to be back by dark.”

“Okay. Anybody want a little cheese and crackers? A little duck liver pâté?” I was already putting it all on a plate. Steve looked at it like he’d die if he couldn’t have some.

“Steve? Why don’t you open a bottle of wine for you and Jackie? It’s in the refrigerator on the door. Annie and I are enjoying our second very small martini.”

“Slowly,” Mom said. “Very slowly.”

“Yeah,” I said and handed him the corkscrew. “Slow is a good idea. The last time I had two martinis, I woke up naked with my jewelry on.”

“Jackie!” Mom said. “You shouldn’t tell a thing like that!”

“Why not? I thought it was a riot,” I said. It was slightly odd for me to tell that story, but I knew there was something in me that wanted Steve to think I could be a wild child.

“Um, excuse me for being on the other team, but I agree with your daughter,” Steve said and laughed as he pulled the cork. I could read his mind—
wish I had been there
. Aha.

“Glasses?”

I handed him two from the cabinet. There was no bar set up that night, which was probably wise, but it had not stopped my parents from finding their way to the olives.

“Well, it’s about the most reckless thing I ever did in my life.” I pushed aside a place setting and put the platter of cheese and crackers on the table.

“Right,” Steve said and clinked the side of my glass. “She carried a loaded rifle through the hills of Afghanistan, but two martinis were her undoing.”

“Oh, please. I was with my husband, and we went to a Christmas party where everyone was drinking martinis. It was stupid, I’ll admit, but not especially risky. Try the Huntsman, Dad.”

“Which one is the Huntsman?”