Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (21 page)

“Don’t cry, honey. Some lessons have to be learned the hard

way. I love you. Get some sleep.We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I rinsed a facecloth with cool water, folded it and placed it

on her forehead. I was pretty wrung out too. Turning out the

lights in the hall, and pulling down the covers on my bed, I

wondered what horrible battle lay ahead for me with the par-

ents of the other children. It had been a gross mistake to leave

them unsupervised. So much for perfect parenting.

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*

*

T h e r e wa s n o sun when I woke up Sunday morning, but I knew

it was late. I figured it to be around ten o’clock. Rolling over in

bed I squinted at my clock radio. Nine-forty-five. Good guess. I

washed my face, pulled my hair into a ponytail, brushed my teeth

and put on a robe. I needed coffee in the worst way. Padding by

Beth’s room I remembered that she’d probably need coffee too. I

peeked in. At the squeak of her door hinge, she rolled over.

“I feel awful,” she groaned.

“As well you should,” I said. “Come on. Come on down to

the kitchen and I’ll tell you about the night Aunt Carol got so

crocked she almost fell off the porch.”

“Aunt Carol? The priss?”

This mildly piqued her interest. If I couldn’t make her see

what a fool she looked like last night, maybe she could see it

through Aunt Carol’s nearly legendary escapade.

“Yup. You’re not the only one in this family who ever crawled

in the bag, you know. Family’s filled with legions of drunks.”

“Thanks a lot. Lunatics and drunks. Great. I’ll be right

there.” She slowly sat up in her tangled covers and fell back

again.“Oh, Momma, my head’s splitting!”

She was the granddaughter of Marie Catherine (a.k.a.Tallu-

lah Bankhead) Hamilton.

“Got just the thing for you.A bacon cheeseburger.You need

some grease, girl. And some carbs. I’ll put the coffee on.”

Somehow, with all the excitement of last night, I had neg-

lected to watch the eleven o’clock news. I switched on the

coffeemaker, tightened my robe and went outside to retrieve

the morning paper. The front door complained as I unlatched

the ancient locks.The sky was ominously dark blue. My bones

predicted the approach of a storm. Glancing at the front page, I

saw a small article about a tropical disturbance in the Bahamas.

Well, it was September.

The door closed behind me and I met Beth in the hall.

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“Momma, I’m so sorry about last night.”

“Sweetheart, every person on the planet gets at least one

stab at the Knucklehead of the Year award. I’m just glad you

were home, and you weren’t driving in a car.You know, if any-

thing ever happened to you I don’t think I could go on living.”

The thought of a phone call in the middle of the night from a

hospital made my insides knot.

“Never again, I swear.” She leaned against my shoulder.

“Jonathan probably thinks I’m a total, complete idiot.”

“Come on, let me pour you a cup of relief. Just remember,

true southern ladies do not vomit on their first dates. It’s bad

manners to get drunk and throw up and good manners are the

moisturizer of life.” With my arm around her shoulder we made

our way to the kitchen, crossing two thresholds at once.Another

rite of passage, another day begun.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I’d rather have a Coke if

we have any. I’m so thirsty. And, Momma?” I looked up at her.

“Please don’t tell Daddy about this.”

“Don’t worry. Hey, it’s you and me, babe. A thousand wild

horses couldn’t drag it out of me.”

I poured a Coke and handed it to her. She drained the glass

and I poured her some more. I reached in the freezer for a ham-

burger patty and the hydrator for a piece of cheese and some

bacon. In minutes the bacon and the burger sizzled in separate

pans. Beth held her forehead on the heel of her hand.

“Aspirin?” I put two before her with a small glass of orange

juice. She looked positively green. “A shower would probably

do you some good too.”

“Yeah, as soon as I eat something. God, Momma, you know

what I can’t believe? I can’t believe you’re not furious with me.”

“I’m still kind of stunned, but that doesn’t mean that I

won’t be furious later when I’ve had time to think about it

all.” I turned the burger and the bacon, peeled the plastic wrap

from the yellow impersonation of dairy product, and laid it

across the meat. “Look, it could’ve been worse. What about

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135

their parents? I mean, I could be liable for a lawsuit, you know.”

“I’ll call them and see what happened.”

“Good idea.” I flipped on the tiny television on the counter.

Across the bottom of the screen was a weather advisory bulletin.

“Storm’s coming,” I said,“probably nothing, but you never know.”

She had disappeared to the living room with the portable phone. I

watched as a news bulletin came on.

“. . . located five hundred miles off the coast of San Juan.

Winds approaching hurricane level, seventy-five miles an hour. If

it continues to pick up force, this tropical storm could become a

hurricane by tonight. Stay tuned to WCIV for all the latest

updates. . . .”

She came back, gave me a weak hug and went upstairs. I

turned back to Beth’s breakfast, frying her burger in the old

black cast-iron skillet, and wondered how many times I had held

it in my hands. It was one from my mother’s kitchen, our ver-

sion of an heirloom. One that had fried probably millions of

eggs, and strips of bacon, patties of sausage, battered shrimp and

fish, and grilled cheese sandwiches.

When Beth returned she was practically smiling. “No big-

gie,” she said. “Charlene’s parents were asleep when she got

home and Lucy just went straight to bed too. Apparently, that

guy you were with took them all out for coffee and a big fat lec-

ture on alcoholism at the Pancake House. They were all pretty

straight by the time they got home.”

Talking about it irritated me. She sensed it. She knew she

was in trouble with me but it was a different kind of trouble

from any we’d known before.This was her first major mistake. I

didn’t want to make too much of it because I knew she was

sorry, and I thought things had just gotten out of control. I made

a mental note to call Roger and thank him.

“Storm’s coming,” I repeated, putting her burger on a plate

and setting it before her at the counter with the bottle of ketchup.

“Big one?”

“It can’t be much. Not yet anyway.The wind’s only around

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seventy-five miles per hour and that ain’t squat in hurricane

history.”

“Weren’t Aunt Sophie and Aunt Allison born in a hurricane?”

Her mouth was full as she spoke.

“Yep. Hurricane Denise. Winds over a hundred miles an

hour. Very bad news. Wipe your mouth and I’ll tell you all

about it, although I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said.

She wiped and we were both glad to have the subject

changed. I poured myself another cup of coffee and lit a ciga-

rette, careful not to blow my smoke in her direction. I could tell

her about her drunken Aunt Carol anytime—although I was not

going to tell her about Aunt Carol and Big Hank. No, she’d

never hear that one from me. I put my feet up on the bar stool

next to her and began the tale of my sisters’ auspicious births.

“I was about your age. It was Thursday, September the

twelfth, when Hurricane Denise blew through and when the

twins were born. Livvie had been working for us for, oh, I don’t

know, maybe six weeks?”

“And, your momma didn’t know she was having twins, did

she?”

“Honey, in those days, they didn’t know anything! But my

momma was awful big, I remember that.”

“Right.” She giggled. “What was it like at the beach? I

would’ve been scared to death.”

“I suppose we didn’t have the good sense to be scared.The

first thing we always did when a storm was brewing was fight

for a good position on the porch and watch the ocean.You can’t

imagine how the world changed as she made her way to the

coast. Ever hear that old Billie Holiday song? Something about

the ill wind blowing bad on me?”

“Who the heck is Billie Holiday?”

“I’d consider it a great personal favor if you wouldn’t con-

tinually remind me of my advanced age.” I raised my eyebrows

at her. “Ah, yes. Well, everybody was getting ready for the big

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137

storm.The hardware stores were jammed with men buying ply-

wood and the grocery stores had long lines of women pushing

bulging carts of bottled water, bread, flashlight batteries and

milk. Old Islanders like us grew up on tales of these storms.The

warning signs were in our blood and handed down from gener-

ation to generation like family jewels.We shopped for the storm

like it was any other day. Just normal battle supplies, you know?”

Seven

Hurricane Denise

}

1963

HE morning Denise hit Charleston, Daddy had gone

out. Momma and I were in the kitchen making breakfast

T for everyone. Black cast-iron skillets were lined up on

every burner—bacon in one, sausage in another, bacon drip-

pings sizzled in a third, ready to receive four eggs to fry, and the

fourth bubbled butter waiting for a spoonful of pancake batter.

I could tell Momma wasn’t feeling up to snuff because she

kept leaning on the counter. I was so stupid I didn’t realize she

was in labor, but they say low pressure can cause all kinds of

things. Heart attacks, suicide and babies come early.

Livvie came rushing in the back door all in a tizzy because

she was late. She was going on and on about Old Reverend

Mr. Sam the bus driver, and how the bus had broken down on

the causeway and how they had to wait for half an hour for her

nephew to come with a fan belt.All she needed was to take one

look at Momma and she knew.

“Where’s Mr. Hank?” she screamed.“Lawd, Miss MC! When

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139

did your pains start? Where’s Mr. Hank?” She took Momma by

the arm and supported her.“Where?”

“Gone. Louis’s house. Borrow some tools. Better call him,”

Momma said.

“Call him, chile! Be quick!” she said to me.

Mamma was breathing hard by now, and I started getting

nervous. I ran to the phone but Uncle Louis’s line was busy. I

figured Aunt Carol was probably working her jaw with one of

her friends.

“Line’s busy!” I said. My heart raced.

“Get your sister! Now!” Livvie said in a quiet, firm voice.

My tail feathers were a blur as I took the steps and beat on

the bathroom door for Maggie to come out.

“Momma needs you! Hurry! She’s in labor!” I said.

Maggie came out the door in a flash and we raced down-

stairs together. Livvie had turned off the burners and put

Momma in a chair with a cold cloth on her head.

“All right, Miss MC! It’s all right. I gone with Miss Susan

and we bring Mr. Hank here fast as we can.” Momma nodded

her head and took a deep breath.“Start running,” she said to me.

“Maggie, keep dialing the number!”

Livvie and I ran out the back door, heading for Uncle

Louis’s house. We must’ve been some sight. I still had on my

pajamas and Livvie’s apron was flying in the air. Even though I

was barefooted I don’t think I felt a single thing on the bottom

of my feet. I don’t even really remember running, all I know is

that Aunt Carol was out front cutting roses when she saw us

running toward her. She dropped the hose and ran off screaming

for my daddy. Livvie screamed at her as she was running. She

was provoked that she was calling for my daddy and not my

uncle. She said,“I don’t care who you call! Just move your bony

behind quick!” It was terribly exciting.

My daddy, Uncle Louis and Livvie finally got Momma

dressed, packed and into the car. Aunt Carol wanted to go with

them but at Uncle Louis’s insistence she agreed to stay with us.

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Nobody took Momma’s suitcase. Finally, Uncle Louis ran back

up to the porch, grabbed it, ran down and threw it in the trunk.

Sophie sat silent as a stone in that rocker when Momma asked

her to go with her to the hospital. Momma was scared, I guess. I

was standing next to her.

“Won’t you please come with me, Momma?”

Grandma Sophie just stared at Momma like she didn’t know

her from a bucket of green paint. Old Grandpa Tipa answered

for her.“Go with God, Marie Catherine, go with God.”

Finally, Livvie came and took Momma by the hand, led her

down the stairs and put her in the backseat. Now, Momma’s face

got all funny and I knew it was because she had never sat next

to a colored person in a car, but Livvie took care of that.

“I see your face, Miss MC, but let Livvie tell you something.