Folly Beach (34 page)

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess. It’s what everyone tells me. But it’s a little scary, you know?”

“I’m right here for you, son, anytime you need me. I’m not going anywhere. You’d be a moron if you weren’t a little nervous but don’t let the changes in Alice throw you. This is the time for you to be the man, Russ. You know, the protector? If you think about it, she’s going through this for
you
and for all of
us.
What more important contribution can a woman make to a family than a life? Try to be extra understanding and realize however quirky she might seem right now, it isn’t you and it isn’t her, it’s her
body
sending her all kinds of messages she’s never heard before.”

“Like to start eating like a wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Like to fall asleep all the time?”

“Yes, like the only time she’s not talking about being tired is when she’s asleep?”

“Exactly. What causes that?”

“I have no earthly idea. Ask the doctor. I’m sure there’s a new study that says it’s a vitamin deficiency or something. Anyway . . .”

I thanked him for seeing about Ella and I promised him I would take Alice out to lunch or for a manicure or for a walk on the beach and that I’d talk to her and more important, I’d listen to her.

“I love you, Mom.”

“And, my darling boy? You’re going to realize for the first time how much I love you when you hold your own child.”

I could almost feel him blush, just thinking about his own little baby.

We hung up and John called just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Good!”

“How’s Miss Daisy?”

“She’s doing just great, thanks. Probably coming home tomorrow. How about you? How was your day?”

“Well, I got a really disturbing phone call from Camp Lisa. I don’t want to . . . but well, the truth is I need to tell someone.”

Camp Lisa
was how he referred to the institution where his estranged insane wife resided.

“You tell me, John. It’s fine to tell me anything. You know that.” I thought, given Lisa’s history, she probably tried to stab someone again.

“Turns out she’s got Stage Four pancreatic cancer.”

“Oh John. That’s awful.” It was about the last thing in the world I expected him to say.

“Yeah, she’s going. I mean, you know, it’s not as if I’ve had a thought, not a
single
thought of ever getting back together with her, because I knew there were absolutely no drugs or therapies out there that could cure her. And besides, I was all done with her the last time she laced my juice. How can you love someone who wants to kill you?”

“No, I know. I know all that. But still. What a shock.”

“They wanted to know if I wanted to see her one last time and if not, what did I want them to do with her remains? Her remains. Gee, God. What a question. Anyway, she’s only expected to live for a few weeks. At most.”

“Jesus, John. That’s a helluva phone call to get.”

“Yeah, it was. I was sitting at my desk grading papers. Hopefully we don’t get many of those calls in our lifetime.”

“Hopefully you
never
get another one! What are you going to do? I mean, what do you think? Is she asking for you?”

“No. The doctor I spoke to said she’s pretty out of it, conscious one day and then she sleeps for three. But I’m still in the records as next of kin so I got the call. So strange. I never thought it would end this way.”

“I’m sure. Oh, I’m so sorry, darling. I mean, I’m sorry for her, too, you know?”

“Yeah, her life is a very sad story. Tragic, really.”

“It is. Listen, speaking of shockers . . .” I told him the story of Heather Parke and he was aghast.

“See? People and their sense of entitlement! It’s just incredible. The brazen thing.”

“Yeah, so I think I need a lawyer to tell her to back off or else we’re going to call the police or something.”

“You know what? I know someone. Got a pencil? Here it is. Jennet Alterman. She runs the Center for Women downtown. No doubt she knows a lawyer who’ll write a letter for you gratis. Here’s her number . . .”

I copied it down and wrote her name next to it.

“But don’t you love Aunt Daisy trying to get involved, not telling me and trying to fix it?”

“Your aunt Daisy is a G-flawless diamond, Cate. So, are you ladies still on for tonight?”

Diamonds. Humph. I hadn’t told him the diamond story yet. I was saving that one.

“Yes! Absolutely.”

He said he’d come by at six thirty. It was cocktail night. Did I have ice? He was bringing his shaker and we were making martinis and playing all the music from
Porgy and Bess
we could find in the house. And he was bringing me a stage play format to follow to write my first draft. Maybe he’d have two martinis, he said and was it all right to sleep on the couch?

“Of course! But I forgot to buy liquor!” I said.

“An insignificant oversight. You’ve had plenty to worry about and I have enough vodka in this house to share with everyone. My students actually give it to me for the holidays and when they graduate and so forth. Isn’t that crazy? I probably shouldn’t take it but I do. Anyway, don’t worry. And I’ve got olives and vermouth. By the way, what are y’all cooking?”

“Lasagna. Garlic bread. Salad. Pound cake.”

There was a pause.

“God, I’m a lucky man. I might get there on the early side if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is!”

Patti stuck her head in the bedroom.

“Did I overhear favorable news?”

“Oh, Patti, come on. The poor woman is on her deathbed.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s disrespectful. Sorry. Is he upset?”

“I think he’s more surprised than upset. There’s no love lost between him and her.”

“Well, let’s be honest here. If she goes, you two could make it legal any time you want.”

“I am not ready to even think about something like that. If I marry John it will be when everyone thinks we should have done it a long time ago. Besides, I don’t
need
to get married again, do I?”

“No, you really don’t. You’ve got a family and children and I suspect you’re not going to starve. But I wouldn’t string him along forever.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t. But you know what? I don’t think he’s going anywhere. I think we are so groovy together that maybe this summer we’ll take up surfing.”

“I think you need to get your head examined.”

“You’re probably right. By the way, the lasagna smells really good, doesn’t it?”

“Thanks. You know, sometimes I wonder if women ever do anything else besides grocery-shop, cook, eat, and clean up the kitchen. I swear it seems to take up way too much time.”

John arrived at six with a cooler of ice and all the makings of a little bit of wickedness, including a manila envelope for me.

“Your homework’s in there,” he said.

“Ah! When’s it due?”

“ASAP. There’s a deadline for submissions. Thirty days.”

“Yikes.”

“Just write and don’t worry about deadlines. It’s content that matters.”

“Right. Okay.”

In his cooler, resting on plenty of ice, were several brands of vodka, two kinds of olives, olive juice for those who liked it dirty, and a shaker that looked like a penguin.

“Aunt Daisy has the same shaker!” I said. “What is it with this penguin?”

“I brought this for you,” he said. “It belongs in the Porgy House.”

“Thanks, it’s adorable!”

The evening began with necessary and serious discussions about Heather Parke and Lisa. He assured me that he didn’t think Heather had a leg to stand on in any court in the land. And that if I called Jennet Alterman, all my fears would be put to rest. And of course, Patti echoed his sentiments.

Patti and I reassured him that it was normal and perfectly all right to be saddened to hear about his long-estranged wife’s impending death, because she was someone he once loved enough to marry and because her story was so very heart-rending. There were few illnesses more misunderstood and debilitating than mental disease. I promised him that I would go with him or help him plan some kind of ceremony for her, even if we were the only two people in attendance. Then we talked about Aunt Daisy, her endless stamina and how grateful we were that she would be home by tomorrow night.

“I just want to be like her when I’m her age,” Patti said.

“I’d like to be her now,” I said. “To the irrepressible Daisy McInerny, Iron Woman 2010!”

“To her good health!” John said and we all took a sip of a martini from the tiny glasses I lifted from the display case, ones actually used by Dorothy, DuBose, and George.

With so many serious issues scratching at our doors, and ignoring the fact that it was a weeknight, we threw caution and prudence to the wind and let the evening have its way with us. Maybe because we drained a full penguin, dinner was especially delicious. And of course all of it was enhanced by my salad in a bag and the frozen garlic bread I baked, fresh from the Pig’s freezer to mine. We told one another the red wine we drank was a health food and refilled our glasses as we saw fit.

We had so much fun, singing “Summertime” at the top of our lungs and “Bess, You Is My Woman Now,” and “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin’,” and all the songs I could limp through. But no one seemed to care that I had not played the piano in ages or that we sang off-key more than half the time. We giggled, ate cake with our fingers, and told each other we still had it going on, wondering why Broadway had yet to call. I can’t remember who it was that first noticed we were standing in a puddle, but I stopped playing and turned on all the lights. It was still too dim to see very well. Patti went to get paper towels to soak up the water.

“It’s that window,” John said, pointing to the window behind the piano. He put his hand back there and then ran it around. Then he got up close to the piano and pulled it away from the wall a little. “You’re not going to like this.”

“What?” I said, handing him eight or so paper towels to wipe up the windowsill.

“The whole back of your piano is warped,” he said.

“Oh no! I just had it refinished!”

“I know. Tomorrow morning when the light’s better, I’ll pull this out and have a good look at it.”

“Cate? You know what?” Patti called out from the kitchen where she went to throw the sopping paper towels away. “Maybe you can just pull the back off. You don’t need it and it’s not original to the instrument anyway.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Bummer.”

“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” John said. “Don’t worry. This is no big deal.”

“Cunningham? You’re ruining my night,” I said, and John gave me a hug.

As we all made our way upstairs to sleep, it struck me that we seemed to belong together, a small tribe of merrymakers. John was staying the night, because we agreed that his blood alcohol level might land him in the Big House if he got pulled over. I took some bedding and made up one of the daybeds in the living room for him while he looked on.

“DuBose slept here, you know,” I said.

“Like George Washington?”

“Yep. We should put a plaque on the door. You know, if you’re miserable out here all alone you can climb in the sack with me,” I said, feeling silly and light-headed from the wine.

“Temptress that you are, I don’t want Patti to be uncomfortable,” he said. “When’s she going home?”

“Day after tomorrow,” I said. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m a slut.”

“Don’t you go calling my woman names,” he said, grinning at me. He sat on the side of the bed and pulled off his shoes.

“God, you are so gorgeous,” I said, “move over.”

“Go to bed, you bad girl. I’ll have my way with you all weekend.”

He stood up, pulled me to my feet, pushed my hair away from my face, and laid one on me.

I opened my eyes. “Okay, ’night!” I said, surrendering, and went to brush my teeth. If he had said
go sleep in the yard,
I might have thought about it. Good grief.

Patti was in the bathroom, drying her face.

“God, Cate,” Patti said, “it’s like I’ve known John forever. It’s so funny.”

“Yeah, we all just fit. It’s just
right
. It’s as right as old Addison was
wrong
.”

“God rest his evil soul; I didn’t say it. You did.”

“That son of a bitch,” I said, “but I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Amen.”

Maybe because of the wine or because I knew that John was under the same roof, in fact just in the next room, I slept more soundly than normal. I got up as soon as I stirred instead of indulging my usual slugabed rolling around and trying to recapture the fragments of that last dream. It looked cold outside but at least it wasn’t raining. We could use a nice day.