Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (5 page)

visualization of this porch and hammock always helped me

make headway toward some peace.

Just as I was about to drift off for a little desperately needed

shut-eye, the screen door slammed.

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

21

“You want me to paint your toenails?” Maggie had arrived

to cure me with a cosmetics bag and a tray of food. I looked

down at my feet and shrugged in agreement.

“They look bad, ’eah? Whatcha got in that basket? Feed me,

I’m starving.”

’Eah.
Great Gullah word, versatile like anything. It means

here, yes, right now, do you hear me, isn’t it so, don’t you agree
and just

about anything you want it to.

“You don’t look to me like you’re starving, although you do

look thinner,” she said.

“Okay, you can paint my toenails if it makes you feel better.”

These days, if anyone told me I looked thinner, I became

the most agreeable sort of woman you knew. I got up from the

hammock and inspected the snacks.

“Sit ’eah and I’ll pour you some more tea.”

I took a stalk of celery and dipped it in fat-free ranch dress-

ing. Maggie pointed to the glider for me to sit in and began a

replay of our childhood ritual. She wadded up pieces of Kleenex

and stuck them between my toes. Then she moaned in disgust

about my corns and calluses, while she buffed them away. Next,

she lectured me on cuticles while she clipped and finally, thank

the Lord, she applied a base coat followed by two layers of some

color she got as a gift with purchase from Lancôme. She always

felt better when she could work on my appearance.

“I’ve lost twelve pounds,” I told her as she applied the top

coat.

“I see it in your ankles.”

Of course, if she lost twelve pounds, she’d look cadaverous.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

“I can see it in your face too,” she said, smiling angelically,

like a diet counselor from Jenny Craig. “Listen, twelve pounds

is a lot, ’eah? Turkeys weigh twelve pounds! How’d you do it?”

“Swell. I’ve only got a few more turkeys to go. I’m counting

fat grams. Can I have a tomato?”

“Well, you’re looking much better!” Maggie twisted the top of

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

the nail polish bottle back in place and offered me the Sweetgrass

basket filled with raw vegetables.“ ’Eah, try one.They’re fabulous!”

I got up carefully, trying not to wreck my pedicure, chose a

deep red one, and hobbled back to the hammock. Twisting off

the stem, I chomped through its rosy skin like an apple. The

juice escaped at once and ran down my chin, seeds and all. I

lifted the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my hadn’t-seen-the-sun-

in-decades pink stomach, and wiped my face. Maggie watched,

just shaking her head. What did she know? I knew I was still a

bit of a femme fatale. Okay. Truth. I knew my ability to break

hearts was momentarily eclipsed by my unfortunate girth. I

ignored her and lost myself in the joyous simplicity of munch-

ing on a perfectly vine-ripened tomato.

“Damn! This is so good! Dee-vine! Where’d you get ’em?

Are they Better Boys?”

“Yep. Mr. Andregg brought ’em over from his garden as a

thank-you for ten pounds of blue mackerel the boys and Grant

caught last week.”

She reached for a tomato for herself, wrapped it in a napkin,

and took a small bite. No drip. I ignored that too.

“Keep those boys in the river! Where’s the salt shaker?”

“You don’t need salt. Bad for your blood pressure and makes

you retain water.”

“Right. You’re right. So I only have a thousand more

pounds to go and I’ll look like my old self. Any suggestions? I

mean, I’m starving myself on twenty fat grams a day and my

butt is shrinking with glacier speed . . .”

“Forget fat grams . . . just eat what you want in moderation.”

“I can’t forget them if I ever want to get laid again,” I said

under my breath.

I sat up a bit and looked out over the railing toward the

ocean. The sight always took my breath away. The dark green

velvet of the front yard contrasted with the radiant white of the

sand dunes that separated the family’s property from the beach.

The white mounds cut a wavy line across the deep blue of the

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

23

Atlantic, like the finger paint of a child in his first attempt to

create something beautiful. Feathery sea oats grew in clumps

across their tops.The water glistened and the sun danced on the

phosphorus. An illusory field of diamonds.

“You know, this must be the most beautiful place on this

earth,” I said, realizing my voice was barely a whisper.

“I hope you don’t talk like that in front of my niece.”

“What? That this is gorgeous?”

“No, Susan, your reference to your sex life. Beth doesn’t

need to ’eah that.”

“Maggie, my sex life is nonexistent. Besides, she’s barely

fourteen! Beth is clueless about that stuff.”

“Trust me. She’s not clueless. Remember when you were

fourteen and had that mad crush on Simon?”

“I need a cigarette.Where’d you hide my purse?”

“It’s under the hammock. I wish you wouldn’t smoke. It’s

nasty.”

I nearly fell out of the hammock trying to reach my purse

and, finally having retrieved it, I dug out my Marlboro Lights

and my old Zippo. I lit it and exhaled away from Maggie.

“Give it up, Maggie,” I said.“You can’t cure me in one day.”

“I’m not trying to cure you,” she said with all the indigna-

tion of an older sister,“but you should try the patch or that gum.

Nobody smokes anymore, Susan, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Right. Have you heard from Simon lately?”

“Not since Christmas. Let’s call him. He’s living in Atlanta

now, you know. Who knows? Maybe his marriage is on the

rocks!”

I had to giggle at the thought of calling Simon.“I’ve got my

cell phone right ’eah! Got his number?” I said with bravado.

“No, but I’ve got yours. Big talker.”

“Oh, well.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. Maggie had been a saint

since Tom left me three months ago, but with the single lift of

that brow, she let me know she knew I was a chicken.

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“You’re right. I’m not ready for men yet, even Simon. Men

still stink.” I drained my glass and flicked my cigarette butt over

the rail, regretting it the second I did it, knowing it landed in

her roses.“Sorry. I’ll get it later.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, Simon. God, he was cute, ’eah? I’d love to see him

again. Maybe that little girl he married ran away or something.”

“Well, his card didn’t say anything about her, just that he was

in Atlanta to teach a course on rare viruses and fevers or some-

thing at Emory.”

“Oh. Do you know that man hasn’t written me in over ten

years?”

“Call him.”

“Yeah, right.”

Simon, Simon, I thought. I wondered if he still had all his

hair. When he was young he had an almighty head of silky

brown hair. God, I loved him, for years and years. He must be

fifty by now. I felt the heat surge again. Although the tide was

coming in, there wasn’t a breath of air to be had.

“Guess who did call?” I said.

“Let me guess . . .”

“Henry,” I said before she could answer.

“Our
dahlin’
baby brother? What’s up with him?”

“Well, bless his mercenary little heart, he just wanted to

know if I needed anything. Is that nice, or what?”

“It’s out of character, that’s what,” Maggie said.

“Well, normally I would be highly suspicious, but he was

sincere, I think. Maybe Paula doesn’t have any more plastic sur-

gery left to do and he doesn’t know what to do with his money.”

“We’re terrible,” Maggie said.

“Yeah.” The heat was paralyzing. “Maggie, was it this hot

when we were kids? I don’t remember it ever being this hot.”

“I hate to break this to you, but you’re getting older. Have

you had your estrogen checked?”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

25

I looked over at her stirring her tea like the Queen of England.

I took the bait.

“Estrogen? Maggie, I’m barely forty-something.”

“The first indication of menopause is a broken thermostat.

It’s either that or your
weight.
In any case, if you don’t do some-

thing, you could be dead by August.”

“God, middle age is an unending insult.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to nap. It took about two

seconds for me to sense her towering over me, her and her

“I’m-a-self-help-book-waiting-to-be-published” lips. I opened

my weary eyes.

“What is it?” I said rather testily.“What now?”

She just stood there, feigning mild offense, waiting for

me to beg her to tell me how to fix my life. Her wheels

cranked and turned in her head over the gentle rustling of the

palmetto fronds and the incoming waves. She drove me crazy

sometimes.

“Nothing,” Her Highness said, and heaved a deep sigh. She

sighed the same way our mother used to. An unfair advantage.

“Come on, Maggie, spit it out. You’re gonna choke if you

don’t.” She sauntered back to the coffee table and poured me

another glass of tea. She dropped a lemon in the glass and

handed it to me. I pushed it in with my finger, realizing I was

being a little difficult. “Okay, I’m sorry,” I said. “I admit it.

Nobody has ever done more for me than Livvie Singleton and

you. So tell me what you’re thinking, besides that it would be

nice if it were eighty degrees instead of a billion.”

“Susan, you have a serious opportunity here.”

I just stared at her.

“You do,” she said.“Come on, let’s rock.”

“What do you mean ‘opportunity’? What I’ve got is a

daughter with probable simmering hormones, a stack of bills

you could lay end on end to Charlotte that Tom won’t help me

pay, a backside that looks like thunderous Jell-O, no matter how

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

I starve the thing. All I do is worry. Forgive me, but I’m having

a hard time finding the opportunity in all this.” I was prepared

to mount my high horse now and she knew it. I took a seat in

the rocker next to her.

“The butt’s easy to fix, just walk to work instead of driving.”

She was perfectly calm, as though dealing with the borderline

deranged.

“You’re probably right . . .”

“And the exercise would do you a world of good, give you

a chance to think about how to handle the rest of the stuff.

Exercise is good for your brain.”

“I know. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. But, Maggie, it’s

easier for you to see what I need to do than it is for me to do it!”

“Susan, listen ’eah! Do you know how many women would

trade in their husbands if they had the gonads?”

“Yeah, but I never wanted to trade Tom, he traded me,

remember?”

“Minor point.The fact is, what are you gonna do about it?

First of all, it’s been three months. Do you have a separation

agreement yet?”

“No, I’m not ready for that.”

“Well, if he wanted to come home, would you let him?”

I looked out at the ocean again, remembering the good

things about my marriage to Tom.The way he kissed, the way it

felt to be in his arms. But then, I remembered finding him in

bed with his young thing and I felt my heartbeat quicken from

the anxiety of his betrayal. I drained my glass.The boulder in my

throat made it hard to talk about a separation agreement.

“Remember how Livvie used to say that if you rocked a

chair when you weren’t in it, you rocked away your life?” I said.

“That always spooked me.”

I avoided giving the decision and Maggie was having no

part of it.

“Because you were wasting time, is what she meant. And let

me tell you something else, Livvie Singleton would beat you to

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

27

a pulp if she could see the time you’re wasting now. She raised us

to spit in the faces of those who did us wrong, not to get fat and

depressed and lie around moaning. Tom Hayes is a bum and the

sooner you realize it and do something about it, the sooner you

can rebuild your life. If Livvie was ’eah, she’d tell you to buck up!”

“Don’t mince words now.Tell me how you
really
feel.”

“I’m sorry, Susan, it needs to be said.You’re my closest sister

and I love you. Now, for once and for all, if Tom came to you

and said he was sorry, would you take him back? Please, think

this through, because if you’d forgive him, so would I.”

I had given hundreds of hours of thought to how it would

be if Tom came home. I might forgive him but I had come to

the conclusion that I’d never trust him again. A good marriage

was impossible without trust, I knew that.

“No, I’d never take him back now, Maggie. No, it went too

far and he’s just been awful to us. He’s the one who screwed

another woman in our bed and walked out.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. If I took him back, he’d just do it again the