When it came, Lila’s scream literally made the hair at the back of my neck stand up. It was almost an inhuman sound, an animal howl. I dashed for her house, my heart pounding in my chest. Gaynelle came out of the kitchen, running.
Lila stood on her front porch, tears streaming down her face.
“She left the door open,” she sobbed. “The front door was wide open when I got here. Honey isn’t anywhere; I’ve looked all over. It’s been at least two hours. She’s gone down to the creek, I know she has. I told that child to close the door, and she said she had….”
We looked for Honey until dark. When Henry brought Britney in from the creek, Lila came screaming down on her, and Gaynelle stepped in front of her daughter. Henry put his arms around Lila, and led her to her porch. We could hear Camilla calling agitatedly from her house, “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Gaynelle, tight-mouthed, sent the sobbing Britney inside, and joined the search. We scoured the creek and the marsh, and Henry even took out the kayak, so he could be closer to the water and the bank. But there was no sign of the little white dog. Neither was there any sign of the gator.
Lila wanted to stay the night and look, but Henry convinced her to go home.
“We’ll keep looking,” he said. “We’ve got the security lights. She’s probably gotten lost, or she’s hiding. Don’t you remember how Sugar used to hide when she thought you were going to take her home from the beach?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Lila sobbed. “I know Honey is gone. I just know. I want an apology from that child, and then I don’t ever want to see her anywhere near my house again.”
Gaynelle came in from ministering to Britney.
“Miz Howard, she says she’s sure she closed the door. She double-checked. You know how much she loves that little dog. I’ve never known her to be careless that way.”
“Just keep her out of my house,” Lila said. Her face was red and swollen; her eyes were sealed shut with grief.
“She’s not likely to want to go in it,” Gaynelle said levelly.
“And I’m waiting for an apology.”
“Well, you’re not getting one from my daughter. If she said she didn’t do it, she didn’t,” Gaynelle flared.
The two women stood glaring at each other, and then Lila, still sobbing, went home. Gaynelle took her stricken daughter home. Henry and I went in to check on Camilla. She was sleeping, so we went out again. We searched with flashlights until midnight, we called and called and called. But we never saw Honey, and nobody ever did again.
The next weekend Lila and Simms left for a month in the Grenadines, which, Simms said, was some of the best sailing in the world.
“They won’t come back,” Camilla said bitterly at dinner the night that they left. “Not to the creek. I know Lila. I knew we might lose them. But I never thought it would be over the cleaning woman’s juvenile delinquent.”
Henry and I looked at each other, but we did not speak. Neither of us really thought Britney had left the door open, but we did not know what precisely had happened, and in any event, it was not the time to challenge Camilla about it. We all felt the loss of Lila and Simms and the little dog deeply. First, let the healing begin.
B
RITNEY WOULD NOT COME BACK
to the creek. No matter how we coaxed, and offered Whaler excursions and swimming afternoons and hamburger suppers on the grill, she dug in her heels and set her small mouth and refused.
“What’s wrong?” Henry and I asked Gaynelle over and over. “She must know we don’t blame her about Honey. And you’ve told her, haven’t you, that she won’t have to see Lila again? We miss Britney so much. She’s a breath of life in this place.”
“I’ve told her all that,” Gaynelle said. “It doesn’t do any good. She won’t come and she won’t talk about it. She cried for a long time after that day, but she doesn’t do that now. She just seems…sad. She loved that little dog. And nobody has ever talked to her the way Miz Howard did.”
Gaynelle herself had lost some of her insouciant sparkle, though none of her energy and competence. I thought that she was thinner, too. Her shorts hung loose on her now, and you could see her ribs plainly under her cropped T-shirt. The weight loss made the astonishing breasts even more so. Somehow, the sight of them, jutting bravely out over Gaynelle’s ribs, made me sad.
Pain flared in Henry’s eyes. Then it was gone. His face was back to the noncommittal mask he had worn lately. I knew that he was very angry with Lila, and puzzled about the little dog. But mostly, he missed Britney. His missing her hurt me.
“What does she do after school now?” I asked, when Britney first refused to accompany her mother to the creek.
“JoAnne takes her,” Gaynelle said. “It’s all right. She’s got a girl only three years older than Brit. It’s a big gap, though. I don’t think either one of them particularly wants to be friends. I’ve found a new pageant school for her, on James Island. This woman has run pageants for thirty years, and she knows what she’s doing. She takes only about five girls at a time. I was really pleased to get Britney in. Miz Delaporte works them like mules, five afternoons a week, but Britney’s learning all the tricks. Miz Delaporte says she’s a natural.”
“Will you let us pay for it?” I said, horrified at the thought of Britney back on the wheel of a pageant mill, but knowing better than to say so. “It could be a birthday present from Henry and me.”
“Mr. Howard sent me a check,” Gaynelle said, not looking at us. “He was very generous. I’m using that. It’s only fitting.”
Henry and I looked at each other, but said no more.
Camilla never commented on Britney’s absence. Gaynelle was, with Camilla, her usual sunny self. She very seldom let Camilla out of her sight, and then only when one of us was near. But she did not stay for dinner anymore, and T. C. did not come often now.
“I miss you all,” I said. “I feel like we’ve lost family. I don’t think I could stand it if you were unhappy with us now.”
“No. You
are
family. And I’m not going to leave. Not while Miz Curry needs so much help.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s like she’s quit fighting. She lies in that bed all the time now, except when we have her up in the chair and at meals. I hate to see it. Her strength and will have always been the things that held us up.”
“I don’t think she’s lost the will,” Gaynelle said. “She’s tearing those notebooks up. I went to pick up one that had slid off the bed, and she was down my throat like a missile.”
“I hope that’s true,” I said. “She’s pretty frail when she’s with us. Of course, that’s usually at the end of a long day.”
In mid-February Henry took me on the back of the bike over to Gaynelle’s sister JoAnne’s house. It was a Saturday, and Britney was free from pageant school. Gaynelle was with Camilla. She insisted on coming to the creek when I told her what we wanted to do.
“It would do Brit a world of good,” she said.
And it did. When she heard the putting of the bike, Britney was out of the little cement-block house like a shot, and into Henry’s arms before he was off the bike.
“I thought you would come,” she sang, hugging me as well as Henry. “I told Aunt JoAnne you would. I told T. C., too. You want to see my new pageant routine?”
“No,” Henry said. “I want to take you and Anny over to Stanfield’s and get some ice cream.”
“
Yes!
” she cried, giving him a high five.
We drove over to the ice-cream parlor in JoAnne’s borrowed car, and sat out at cement tables under an umbrella eating ice cream. I had mint chocolate chip. Henry chose cherry vanilla. Britney dug into a banana split and got most of it down before we were done with ours. Her grin was chocolate rimmed.
“Why won’t you come back to see us, Brit?” Henry said, finally and gently.
After a moment she averted her eyes and said, “I’m afraid Honey is going to come floating up on the bank while I’m there, or half of her. And Miz Curry doesn’t want me there.”
I flinched in pain at the image of the little dead dog. I knew the feeling. Hadn’t I fled my own dead husband when I still thought that he walked with pearls for eyes?
“Sweetie, that’s not true about Camilla. And in any case, I don’t think you’d ever see her. She sleeps most of the time now.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Britney said stubbornly. But that was all she would say.
So we continued to see Britney at home or at her aunt’s, and late in February Henry took her a tiny Maltese puppy, and I think she was the happiest child that I have ever seen.
“I’m going to name her Henrietta,” she caroled, clutching the wriggling puppy to her skinny chest. “And I’m never going to let her go outside. Not ever.”
With only weekends to visit with Britney, we had a real dilemma about keeping Camilla company. Gaynelle solved it. She insisted on coming half days on Saturdays, while Camilla usually slept, so that we could have time with the child. We had argued with her.
“You’d have literally no life but us,” I said. “We can alternate Saturdays. I can go one week and Henry the next. I can’t have you putting your life on hold just for us.”
“You have no idea how happy it makes Brit,” she said. “I’d work twenty-four/seven to keep her this way. And I don’t want you by yourself with Camilla, Anny. It takes a strong ox like me to lift her. You don’t weigh as much as a dandelion now.”
That night I took off my clothes and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I could not remember when I had done so. I could see my ribs, and, faintly, my hipbones, sights I had never seen before. I looked like somebody else entirely.
“Would you know me now, Lewis?” I whispered. “What if you didn’t?”
It was an unsettling thought, and so I pushed it out of my mind. I did not look again.
On the last Saturday in February, Henry was up early, and prodded me out onto my porch. He was grinning broadly. Before I could ask what he thought was so funny, the familiar grumbling roar of bikes came down the sand road, and T. C. and Gaynelle came sweeping up to the turnaround, rooster tails of gravel pluming up behind them. T. C. rode the Rubbertail, and Gaynelle her pink Harley.
“School’s in session,” T. C. called jovially, as if he had seen us only yesterday rather than weeks ago.
“Henry, today is the day you learn the Rubbertail. And Anny,
you
are soloing on Henry’s 230.”
“
No!
” I squealed.
“Yes,” Henry said implacably.
After a few wobbles, Henry proved to be a natural on the big, throbbing bike, and roared off down the road to the highway alone, trailing his own huge cloud of dust. I, on the other hand, was utterly inept. The little bike wobbled and spat and bucketed, and I cringed and dragged my feet and killed the engine over and over. But finally I made a wobbling circuit of the turnaround, and seemed to get the feel of the laboring little engine through the seat of my pants, and by the time Henry roared back in on the Rubbertail, I was cruising at a good enough clip so that the wind stung my face and my hair streamed back.
“Way to go!” Henry cried, swinging off the Rubbertail and giving me a high five as I dismounted the 230, my legs buckling profoundly.
“I knew you could do it!” Gaynelle called from the porch. I looked her way. She was standing behind Camilla on the shade-dappled porch, waving her clasped hands Rocky-like over her head. Camilla, in a new green-striped cotton caftan, and sunglasses, did not wave, but she smiled.
“The flying Snopeses,” she called, and my face burned. I wondered if anyone caught the allusion to William Faulkner’s bestial backwoods tribe. I looked at Gaynelle and saw that she had. Well, of course, Gaynelle read everything. Her mouth thinned, but she said nothing.
“Go on and do one more round,” she called out. “Camilla and I are making her mother’s crab cakes for lunch.”
“She never leaves Camilla alone,” I said to Henry. “How did we get so lucky?”
“I don’t know,” Henry said. “But it eases my mind a lot.”
Late that afternoon, as I was getting dressed for dinner, having showered away about a pound of road dust, I reached for the heavy gold bracelet that Lewis had given me for our first anniversary, and could not find it. Since I rarely took it off, I was puzzled and then, after a thorough search, faintly alarmed. I remembered having taken it off before getting on the motorcycle, but I could not remember where I had put it.
“Has anybody seen my gold bracelet?” I said at dinner. “I took it off this morning, but I don’t remember where I put it down. You all keep an eye out, will you?”
There was a long silence, and then Camilla said, softly, “I’m missing some things, too. That little signet ring that was my grandmother’s, and a pair of emerald earrings Charlie brought me from somewhere or other. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised….”
My head jerked up and I stared at her. In the candlelight, her face was serene. Her long eyelashes shuttered her eyes.
“What do you mean, Camilla?” I said.
“Nothing, really. Like you, I could easily have misplaced them,” she said. “I wasn’t even going to say anything, but when your bracelet went missing, I thought…”
“If you were thinking Britney, you know she hasn’t been at the creek for three weeks,” I said.
“I know,” Camilla said, still softly, still not raising her eyes.
“If you mean you think…”
She raised her eyes, finally. But she did not speak.
“Never in a million years,” I said. “Not ever. I hope you aren’t thinking of talking to her about it. Because if you are—”
“Of course I’m not,” she said indignantly. “We owe her everything. And I never really thought that, anyway. It was just funny, both of us losing things so close together.”
“Then maybe we’ll find them close together.”
“I feel sure we will,” Camilla said.
We said no more about the jewelry, but after I had settled her in bed and turned off her light, I went out onto my little back deck and sat in the chilly spring night, wrapped in Lewis’s old terry robe, trying very hard not to think about the unsettling conversation. I absolutely refused to let the faintest bladelike leaf of doubt sprout in my mind.
When I finally went to bed, about two
A
.
M
., Camilla’s bedroom was dark, but out in the guest house, Henry’s light burned steadily.
The next weekend Gaynelle called early Saturday morning and said, “The Iron Johns and the Thunderhogs—that’s us—are riding down to Folly Beach this afternoon. It’s nothing formal, just a spring run. We do it with the Johns two or three times a year. This time we’re all kicking in a little for Tim Satterwhite and his family. Tim got sideswiped by a twelve-wheeler on I-26 and busted his spine to pieces. He’s got to have about five operations. So we thought we’d do this one for him. Thing is, now, T. C. and I thought you and Henry might like to ride with us. We’ll just go down there, drink a little beer at Sandy Don’s, maybe eat some shrimp, and come on back. It’s a good introduction. Not too big, not competitive. Everybody’s friends. We won’t be racing or dragging or anything. Henry would go with T. C. and you’d ride with me. What do you think?”
It was a spectacular day after a week of bleary spring rain, and I was literally itching to get outdoors. The three of us and Gaynelle had done little but stay in and read or listen to music, or, less often, watch TV. Camilla had slept, slept. The thought of sun and wind and noise and the sight of a beach that was not our treacherous old beach was suddenly irresistible.
I told Henry and his face lit up. Before we could change our minds, I told Gaynelle we’d love it.
“Pick you up around noon,” she said. “Wear a jacket and bring sunscreen.”
I took Camilla in to breakfast and we told her about the ride. She closed her eyes for a long moment.
“Am I losing you all to a motorcycle gang?” she said, but she smiled.
“Oh, of course not,” I said. “It’s just this one time. Whenever again in my life am I going to get to ride with a motorcycle club?”
“I take your point,” Camilla said. “So who’s staying with the old lady?”
“Don’t say that,” I pleaded. “You look younger than either of us. JoAnne said she’d love to come, and she’s bringing her oldest daughter and her daughter’s friend. You won’t see hide nor hair of them. All they want to do is lie out on the dock and burn their butts in the sun. Their boyfriends are picking them up at six, and JoAnne will make you dinner, and we’ll be home not long after dark.”
“Sounds good,” she said wryly. “JoAnne and I can continue our conversation about the time-space continuum.”
Henry and I laughed. JoAnne was perhaps the sweetest woman I had ever met, but her interests lay more in the realm of reality TV.
“Tell you what,” Henry said. “Tomorrow we’ll take you into town to the yacht club for lunch. It’s been months since you’ve been back in Charleston.”
“Oh, Henry, I don’t think so,” Camilla said. “Soon, but not yet. Catch me some crabs and let’s steam them for lunch.”
I was vastly relieved. Lunch at the yacht club was the last thing on earth I thought I could handle. Like Camilla, I thought. Soon, but not yet.
At noon T. C. and Gaynelle roared up on their bikes, with JoAnne and her brood behind them in the truck. After introductions to the two teenage Lolitas, who seemed only marginally able to speak, JoAnne settled Camilla on the porch.