Beach House Memories (44 page)

She rose and walked back across the beach, retracing her own long line of footprints in the sand. At the entrance to the path, she turned and looked once more across the shell-strewn beach that glittered now in the morning light.

“Good-bye, old friend,” she whispered to the sea. “Good-bye, Russell.”

Twenty-three

T
he Ides of March blew in with a nor’easter. Bitter cold winds whipped the Lowcountry, spitting out icy drops that clung to trees and scattered the early azalea blossoms to the streets. South of Broad, windows were rattling. The sky had darkened so much that lights glowed in the windows at three in the afternoon. Inside the Rutledge house, yellow light spilled out on the floors from lamps but did little to brighten the mood.

Vivian carried a tray to the guest bedroom of Tradd Street, Lovie’s room now. She knocked gently, then pushed the door open. Lovie was standing at the window, still as a statue in her blue flannel bathrobe and clutching a thick black woolen shawl around her shoulders. Her long blond hair hung loose and limp down her back.

“It sure is a day to stay indoors,” Vivian said in a cheery voice. “I brought you some nice hot tea to take the chill off. And some of those pimento cheese sandwiches you’re so fond of.”

Lovie didn’t respond.

Vivian frowned and shook her head, and set the tray on the table beside the upholstered chair. She wrung her hands in worry. The wind gusted again, shrieking through the windows like bad
spirit. Vivian’s dark eyes warily scanned the shadowy room as though she thought there was some voodoo in the air today.

“Miss Lovie, come away from that window and sit a spell. You’ve been standing there for hours. You gotta be tired.” She walked closer and said, in a cajoling voice, “Please, Miss Lovie. Just some tea. It’ll warm you up good.”

Lovie brought her lips together. Just the thought of eating made her stomach clench. She knew Vivian was just trying to be helpful. She’d been bringing in all her favorite foods since morning, as though food might be the tonic for what ailed her. Lovie tightened her shawl around her and shook her head. “Just set it down, Vivian. Maybe later.”

Lovie glanced over her shoulder to see Vivian poking at the logs in the fireplace, stirring up the sparks. There weren’t enough logs in Charleston to warm her today, she thought, returning her gaze to the storm. The boughs of the live oak tree were shaking in the wind, scraping at her window like a ghost. Lovie shuddered and closed her eyes tight, feeling the howl of the ghost swirling in her chest.

The phone rang and Lovie let out a breath, welcoming the intrusion. She turned to Vivian, who stood unmoving, looking at the phone like a hunting dog pointing out the prey. Lovie had told her that she absolutely wasn’t taking any calls today. Her lips pursed in annoyance as the phone continued to ring and ring. Vivian started wringing her hands again and looked to Lovie for instructions. Whoever it was just wasn’t going to give up. With a sigh, she said, “Oh, go ahead and answer it. But take a message.”

Vivian practically ran to the phone beside the bed. “Rutledge residence. Oh, Mrs. Simmons,” she said, glancing to Lovie.

Lovie raised her hands and waved them in the universal signal that she wasn’t here.

“Miss Lovie isn’t feeling well, Mrs. Simmons. She’s sleeping.” There was a pause, and Vivian rolled her eyes. “The weather is so
bad, you might not want to come out just now. I hear the streets might freeze. Yes’m.” Vivian hung up the phone and glanced at Lovie.

“Mrs. Simmons says she’ll call again later.”

“Thank you,” Lovie said with a slight smile.

The chime from the doorbell rang out. “Lord above,” Vivian muttered. “There’s no rest for the wicked. I’ll be right back,” she told Lovie. “See if you can have some tea while I’m gone.”

Lovie held herself rigid, wondering who could be at the door. She wasn’t even dressed. She’d deliberately not put on clothes so she wouldn’t be able to run out of the house on a whim. Oh, go away, she thought bitterly. I don’t want to see you, whoever you are. I don’t want to see anyone. Except Russell . . .

Today had been the longest day of her life, and she knew tonight would be equally tragic. She’d prepared for today, not trusting that she’d have the strength to abide by her decision and not run wildly, crazy with joy, to the beach house to meet Russell on their assigned date. March 15 had been so long in coming. She’d been so strong, so committed these past months. When she’d returned from the beach house in October, she’d sat once more with Stratton in the walnut library and told him that she wanted to stay, to try to make their marriage work, for the sake of the children.

When she remained in the guest room, she’d expected him to rant and rail and demand that she return to their shared bedroom. But he did not. They never discussed the subject, and Lovie believed it was because he was content with their new sleeping arrangements, knowing that she had consented to so much more. Other than that, the family had fallen back into its normal routine. Lovie’s injuries had healed and she was once again active in her home and community. Palmer was more engrossed than ever in his friends and sports but, sadly, not in
studies. Cara complained daily about cotillion, but she’d found a few good friends in the drama and debate clubs at school.

Lovie had managed her days with grace and dedication. Her nights, however, were haunted by dreams of Russell and longing for what might have been. She’d sometimes awaken in the early hours of morning, sobbing, her pillow wet with tears.

So often she recalled her and Russell’s last night together at their dune. It was an exquisite kind of torture. She’d lain in his arms and made him promise.

I propose we make a promise. We will wait six months. Time enough for us to return to our lives, to cool our heads, and to think through all the ramifications of our decisions. Carefully and deliberately. There must be no contact until the six months are over. None at all. No pressure of any kind. If on March fifteenth either one of us chooses to leave our spouse, we will come back here to the beach house. If either of us chooses not to show up, then the other will never call again. We will abide by the decision, no matter how hard it may be to accept. Are we agreed?

He had vowed to abide by the promise, as had she.

“Oh, stupid, hateful promise!” Lovie cried, clutching her robe at her heart. Why did she ever come up with such a Machiavellian scheme? They should have said their good-byes that night, as they had planned. To give each other hope was cruel. Instead she’d lived each day dreading the Ides of March. It had loomed before her like a death sentence in her self-constructed prison.

She began pacing the room, her thoughts running wild. What was he thinking now, she wondered? Where was he? Could he be on his way to the beach house at this very moment? Flying in this storm? What did he call himself? Lancelot to her Guinevere?
Where are you?
Lovie wondered, going to the window and looking out at the storm. She plastered her hands and cheek
against the cold glass, feeling her heart splinter. “Russell, come back for me!”

Weeping, she sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands. She had to stop crying, she told herself, pulling herself to her feet. She had to hold herself together. She was strong enough to live through this night.

She looked out the window at the dark storm and shuddered at the sleet splattering at the window and the thin coating of ice forming on the branches. No, Russell, do not come tonight, she told him in her heart. It’s too dangerous. And too late. She thought of the warm days they’d spent together in the summer and hoped that for him their love was a passing fancy, or at the very least a summer love he could forget once the winter’s light made his commitments icy clear. She didn’t want him to suffer as she did, to be overcome with regret.

The wind gusted and shook the windows, mocking her pain. And yet a part of her hoped he
did
suffer—bitterly and painfully—as she did. She clung to the belief that despite the pain, what they’d shared was real and not imagined. That regardless of whether they could be together, their love would endure in their hearts and minds for the rest of their lives.

She recalled his response to her on that fateful night:

We may never know if our decisions were right or wrong. That is the uncertainty of every choice. If we both show up, it will be a new beginning. If one of us does not, it will be an end. Lovie, I can’t predict what the future holds. But I can promise you this. Whatever decision you make, I will always love you
.

Lovie felt a shiver of anguish, even as she felt her strength of commitment return. As always, Russell’s words sustained her.

From the stairwell, she heard Vivian talking to someone. Lovie remained at the window but cocked her ear, listening. For a wild moment, she wondered if Russell had come here, to her home. She felt her blood race.

“No, he ain’t here,” Vivian said. “Mr. Rutledge is eating out at the club tonight. And the chil’ren is gone, too. Having dinner with their grandmother, Mrs. Rutledge.”

“Good. How is she?”

Lovie released her held breath, recognizing Flo’s voice.

“She’s just standing at the window, been like that for hours,” Vivian told Flo. “She’s not even dressed. She’s not eating or talking, neither. She’s not herself. I’m at my wit’s end. I’m glad you’re here, that’s for true.”

“We all knew today was going to be hard for her,” Flo said. “You’ve been doing a great job here. No friend could do more. I’ll spell you for a while. Get some rest yourself. In fact, maybe you should go home now. It’s getting bad out there.”

“No, ma’am. I already made plans to spend the night. Miss Lovie asked me to.”

“She doesn’t trust herself not to skip out in the dark,” Flo said. “I swear, I do believe if she got one foot out the door, she’d run clear to the beach, damn the storm.”

“It’s a sad day all way round,” Vivian said.

Lovie heard them enter and clutched her arms tightly around her, holding herself together.

“Lovie, it’s me. Flo.”

Lovie paused, wishing Flo would just go away. She looked over her shoulder. Flo was standing by the door dressed in a black A-line skirt, white blouse, and black jacket, her uniform for the clinic. Her face had lost its summer tan. Lovie thought she looked pale, tired, older. The summer’s end had brought an end to her relationship with Bing as well. Flo never talked about it, but Lovie wondered if Russell had been right after all. She looked in her eyes, and Lovie saw compassion for a grief she didn’t have to explain.

“Aw, Lovie,” Flo said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry to see you in such pain. What can I do to help you?”

At the sound of her friend’s voice, Lovie’s lips shook with loss of composure and she sharply turned her head away.

Flo rushed to her side and put her hands on her shoulders. “Let it go, sugar. There’s no one here.”

Lovie shook her head. “I can’t,” she choked out. “The only way I can get through this is to hold on tight. If I let go, I’ll go screaming mad through that door straight for him, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

“Wanna bet?” Flo teased with a wry grin.

Lovie didn’t smile, but she felt her shoulders lower in her friend’s grip. Flo dropped her hands and Lovie turned from the window to face her, wiping her face with her palms.

“Thanks. But Flo, I’ve known this day was coming and how hard it would be. I’ve prepared myself. Vivian’s here like a watchdog. Stratton and the children are gone. I even had a lock put on the door and gave Vivian the key, just in case I go crazy.” She laughed lightly and glanced at Flo’s worried expression. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll get that bad. Drunk, maybe. But not crazy.”

“I’ll get drunk with you. Anytime. Want to start now?”

Lovie appreciated her friend’s support. “Do you remember when we were children how we loved the myths of Odysseus? We used to act out the scenes,” Lovie asked.

“Sure I do. I used to love to play Medusa. You were Perseus.” She chuckled softly. “Lord, when I think of the aluminum foil snakes we made for my hair. I looked more like an alien than a Greek goddess.”

It was Lovie’s first smile that day. “For the record, Medusa wasn’t a goddess. She was a monster. Why do you think I let you play the part?”

“I knew that.” Flo grinned.

“Do you remember the story of Odysseus and the Sirens?”

“Vaguely.” She cocked her head, perplexed. “That’s kind of random. Where did that come from?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot today. About a lot of legends . . .” She shook her head and shrugged. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

“Of course not. Okay,” said Flo, expelling a plume of air while she thought, “Odysseus, huh? It’s been a long time. Let’s see . . . If Odysseus and his crew heard the song of the Sirens they’d be led to their death. Something like that, right?”

“Yes. Circe warned him that hearing their call would fill their hearts with desire. The music would be so sweet they wouldn’t be able to resist. So the shipmates filled their ears with wax.”

Flo’s face suddenly revealed that she understood what Lovie was telling her. “And Odysseus tied himself to the mast.”