Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (20 page)

My hands were shaking.

“You need a glass of wine,” she said and poured me one.

“Industrial strength,” I said and took it into the dining room.

Maggie had outdone herself. Her dining room table had a low

and long centerpiece of Island wildflowers and Spanish moss

mixed with red grapes and lemon halves. All her china was blue

and yellow and matched the country French foulard printed

linens. Column candles of different heights stood on little plates.

I could tell even before they were lit that her balloon goblets

would shine in their light. I hoped I would too. I took three big

sips and felt better. Oh, what the hell, I thought and went out to

the porch to look at the beach.

It wasn’t long before Grant appeared and turned on some

music. Eric Satie’s incredible sonata floated through the air. Per-

fect, I thought, dreamy but not maudlin.

“How’s the greatest sister-in-law in the world?” he said.

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“Fine, fine, like a freaking cow on the way to slaughter.” I

gave the old boy a hug. He held me back.

“Well, you look really beautiful! What have you done to

yourself ?”

“I washed my hair. Amazing what a little soap and water

will do.”

“Yeah, you clean up good. Smell good too. Going hunting?”

“Bite me, Grant, I’m nervous enough as it is.”

He started laughing and teasing me. “Oh, what a girl! You

sure enough do know how to charm a fellow! Want me to refresh

your drink?”

“God, yes. Thanks. Wait, no. I have to drive and I’d better

pace myself.”

“Well, make up your mind.” God, he was so smug. I needed

to relax. Big time.

“Grant?” Maggie was calling.

“Coming right now, my love, my turtledove! Gotta go. Big

boss’s calling.”

Boy, they were all in some mood tonight. Grant was flitting

around like a maître d’ and Maggie was setting a “Styled by

Martha Stewart” ambush for this guy.

His car pulled up right below me on the gravel drive. Blue

BMW. Nice. Better than Tom’s Mustang. Augh! The door

opened and I was trapped. Maybe it was better this way. I saw the

top of his head. Hair. Another good sign. And then he got out.

Not bad. Five ten, maybe, dark hair, some gray, nice jacket. He

saw me and smiled.

“Hi!” he called out.“You must be Susan?”

“Yep, I’m Susan.” He came up the steps with a bottle of

wine in his hand. He was very handsome.

“I’m Roger Dodds.” We shook hands and I realized mine

was clammy.

“Roger Dodds. I used to date a guy named Roger. Dated a

Dodds too.”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

127

“Yeah?” He was still smiling. Good teeth. I realized what I

said sounded completely stupid, like I’d had a thousand lovers. I

only wished. He smelled good.

“That didn’t sound right, I meant—”

“Don’t worry, I know what you meant. Where’s Grant and

the Great?”

The Great?

Soon we were at the table and the evening was under way.

Roger was from Aiken, South Carolina; he was an oncologist,

specializing in women’s cancers. We talked easily about every-

thing from opera to duck hunting. He had lots of interests.

Loved to read, travel and cook.

“You cook?” I asked.

“Love to cook,” Roger said.“Does that improve my résumé?”

“By a lot,” I said.“I love to eat—does that help mine?”

Everyone laughed.

“Susan is murder in the kitchen,” Grant said, laughing.

“Oh! You like to cook too?” Roger said to me.

“No, she murders everything,” Grant said, way too amused

with himself. “I’m going to open another bottle of wine. Red?

White? Both?”

No one answered and he disappeared into the kitchen,

returning with two bottles. He opened them and poured another

glass for everyone. I was very relaxed. Very.

“So, Susan, tell me about Charleston.Your family has been

here a long time, right?”

“Lord, Roger, you’re only from Aiken.You could stand on

this house and spit on Aiken in a good wind!” I giggled, think-

ing I was pretty darn funny. “You probably know more about

Charleston than I do!”

Maggie cut her eye at me. True, it was not the most femi-

nine thing I could have said.

“So, you can spit too?” Roger said.“My God, the woman is

a virtual Renaissance wonder!”

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Another comedian, I thought. He and Grant should go on

the Comedy Channel.

“Roger,” I said, “only Charlestonians should suffer with the

true knowledge of our bawdy history. We prefer for foreigners

to think of us as mysterious.”

“Go on, this is
very intriguing,
” Roger said. “All guys love

bawdy history lessons.”

“Lord, Roger, you’d better look out now! My sister likes

nothing better than roaming the old historic plantations,” Mag-

gie said.

“She thinks I’m obsessed,” I said.

“Are you? I mean, some obsessions can be very interesting,”

Roger said.

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“I am not obsessed with anything, y’all,” I said, trying to

change the subject. “Maggie, dinner’s delicious!” Maggie had

prepared spicy shrimp gumbo and my favorite salad with water-

cress and little oranges with walnut oil dressing. I was having

a wonderful time. We all were. “Did you make these croutons,

Maggie? This is the best salad I’ve ever had.”

“You are the sweetest sister I’ve ever had,” she said. “Yep.

Made ’em myself.”

“You’re right, I am,” I answered.“You know, I’m not watch-

ing the time and I have to get home early tonight. Oh, no! It’s

already after nine!”

“How come?” Roger said.“The night’s young!”

“Young is the operative word. I left my young daughter

with two of her friends at my house in the city. God knows

what they’re up to.”

“Been there,” Roger said, with that parental, knowing look.

“Beth’s a good girl, Susan, I’m sure she’s fine,” Maggie said.

“Let’s have coffee and dessert on the porch, shall we? It’s such a

gorgeous night!”

“Call them,” Grant said, “see if you hear anything in the

background.”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

129

He got up and handed me a portable phone. I dialed the

number and they were all quiet.The phone rang six times.Too

long. Finally someone picked up.

“Hello?” It wasn’t Beth.

“Hi, who’s this? Lucy?”

“Um, yes, ma’am.”

“Is Beth there?”

“Um, she’s in the bathroom, Mrs. Hayes. Do you want me

to get her?”

“No, no. Everything okay?” There was complete silence

from her end. No music. No television.

“Yes, ma’am. All’s well.” She giggled.

“Okay, honey, just tell Beth I’ll be home around eleven,

okay?”

“Over and out,” she said and hung up.

I thought for a minute. Over and out?

“Great! You’re staying!” Roger said. “Come on, let’s help

Maggie clear the table.”

“No, I’m going.That child was drunk! I know it!”

“Drunk? Susan, you’re imagining things!” Maggie said.

“What did she say?” Grant asked.

“She said ‘Over and out’ when she hung up and Beth couldn’t

come to the phone because she was in the bathroom.”

“Go get your bag. We’ll take my car,” Roger said. “I raised

teenagers and I’ve seen it all. Maggie, Grant, thanks for a fabu-

lous meal. If we can come back, we will. Otherwise, we’ll call.”

We left Maggie standing in the kitchen with a bowl of trifle

no doubt made from homemade pound cake.

Roger opened the car door for me, I got in and before I

knew it we were through Mount Pleasant and over the Cooper

River Bridge. It was a good thing I had fastened my seat belt

because this joker drove like a bat out of hell.

“If I get stopped, I’ll tell the cops it’s a medical emergency.

Will you stop worrying? Roger Dodd’s here!”

“Okay, okay.”

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“So tell me, you work at the county library? Are you a

librarian? You don’t look like one.”

“Hey! That light was red!”

“Pink,” he said.This fellow, doctor or no doctor, thought he

was at the Indianapolis 500.

“Please don’t kill me, Roger.You may not have any reason

to live but I do.”

“Just relax.”

He made the right on Queen Street on two wheels and I

nearly fainted from fright. Road rage strikes the middle-aged.

As I staggered up the walk, a young man of about sixteen

opened my door to me.

“Just who are you and where is my daughter?” I said in my

famous mother voice.

“I’m Jonathan, Mrs. Hayes, and before you go in there I want

you to know this wasn’t my idea. I didn’t bring the vodka.”

“Go sit in my living room and don’t move,” I said and he

scampered like a mouse to the wingback in the corner. On my

couch were Lucy and another boy. Beth was nowhere to be

seen. Roger waited with the delinquents. I raced upstairs and

opened the door to her room.Two figures were in her bed obvi-

ously having some very enthusiastic sex. I flipped on the light

and a strange girl sat up naked as a jaybird.

“Just who the hell are you?” I asked.

“Charlene. Oh, God. Busted.”

“Get dressed. Both of you! Where’s Beth?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I slammed the door closed and

went to my room. In my bathroom my little girl was hanging

her head over the toilet, throwing up.

“This is less than I expected from you, Beth,” I said with the

quiet fury of a mother superior. “Jonathan can’t possibly be

impressed.”

“Oh, Momma! I’m so sorry! I’m gonna die!” She was cry-

ing and gagging and leaned over the toilet bowl again.

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

131

“No, Beth, you’re not going to die.Tomorrow you will
wish

that you had died, but you won’t. I’ll be back. I have some other

business to take care of.” Well, I’ll bet Roger’s impressed as all

hell too, I thought on the way down the stairs.

“I’m driving all of these young people home,” Roger said.

“Thanks, Roger. Mother of God, what a night!”

“Your daughter’s okay?”

“She’ll live,” I said, then looked around at the scene before

me. Lolita was still buttoning her shirt, smacking her chewing

gum. She smirked at me and I noticed a piece of metal in her

tongue.

“What is that in your mouth?” I asked. “Is that a tongue

stud?”

“What of it?” she said.

“It’s
your
tongue,” I said, disliking her more with each pass-

ing second,“but it must be hard to chew gum with that thing in

the way.”

“Not really,” she said, belligerently.

This was incredible to me. In my day, if you’d been caught

in the sack with some fellow, your parents would’ve marched

you either to the altar or to a convent.That would be after every

relative you owned had something to say to you about the road

you were paving to hell.

I looked around the room. Pizza boxes were on the floor,

along with half a bowl of popcorn, the remains of a bowl of salsa

and Coke bottles. No wonder Beth threw up. Jonathan stared at

the floor. Lucy and the other boy, who I assumed was Sonny,

stared at each other.

“You children go home. It’s enough for one night.”

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Hayes,” Jonathan said.“This shouldn’t

have happened.”

“How right you are, Jonathan. Good night.” At least he

appeared sober. They filed out the door until the line ended

with Roger.

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“Hey, thanks for a wild night! We’ll have to do this again

soon.” He was joking. “Listen, lighten up. Didn’t you ever get

drunk when you were a teenager?”

“Of course! But I had the brains not to get caught,” I said.

“Too bad I didn’t know you then,” he said.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I said. “Hey, Roger, thanks a

lot. I mean it.”

“Sure thing. Call Grant for me, will you, and tell him I’m on

a mission. I’ll call you next week.”

“Okay. Roger?” He turned and looked at me.“Drive safely.”

I closed the door and looked at my living room.Wrecked. I

looked up the stairs and heard no noise. She’s probably passed

out cold, I thought.

I started picking up all the plates and glasses and saw myself

in the huge floor-length mirror. My eyebrows were narrowed

and my jaw was set in frustration. I could see my father’s face in

mine and for a moment he was there. I could hear him whisper-

ing in my mind.
Give her the belt!
Never, I thought, go back to

hell where you belong, old man. In the next instant I could

sense Livvie and thought for a moment that I saw her in the

clouded glass.
She need her momma’s love.That child is a good child
.

I finished cleaning and putting away everything, called

Maggie with our regrets, turned on the dishwasher and went

upstairs. Beth was in her bed with her clothes on. I pulled the

quilt over her and wiped her hair away from her face. She stirred

and looked at me.

“I’m so sorry, Momma.” She began to cry.