I guess it was around three in the morning when I woke up—or regained consciousness, to be perfectly honest—and my bedroom was ransacked like the scene of a crime. All the pillows were on the floor, the sheets were tangled, and I was lying there in the crook of Matthew’s arm with my head on his shoulder. Our heads were at the foot of the bed. I slipped away from him and went to the bathroom to find my robe. Looking in the mirror was a little shocking, to tell you the truth. My lips were swollen and slightly bruised, my mascara was smudged all under my eyes, and my hair was a rat’s nest of snarls. My body ached all over from sheer exhaustion. I smelled like his sweat.
Whew, I thought, remembering slowly what had transpired. If this isn’t love, it’s close enough for me.
My mother, Lavinia, came to mind, uninvited and insistent. I could hear the tinkle of her laughter.
A
S I STOOD WITH ALL
the family watching Belle’s graduation procession file into the gymnasium in alphabetical order, I have to confess that there was a tiny sting of discomfort to be reminded that Belle’s moment, her whole life in fact, was on the rise and the converse was true for me. My estrogen tank was spitting dust balls. I was the old divorced aunt, cranky and demanding, perhaps because my literal finale was somewhere nearby, just lurking in the shadows around a few more corners. Soon I would grow hairy moles and a mustache, and liver spots would show up all over my hands. I’d be wearing baggy acrylic cardigans with wadded tissues stuffed up my sleeve. I would . . . wait!
Like hell I would!
If and when I reached the cardigan stages of life, I would damn well drape myself in a good quality three-ply fully fashioned cashmere with knitted-in pockets. And if I grew anything gross on my body, I knew how to find a dermatologist, didn’t I? Good grief! Snap out of it, Caroline! But how old would I be when Chloe graduated? Oh, who cares?
At least I had Matthew. But I really shouldn’t say “at least” because the truth was that he was anything but the least. Still, these hallmark events were exactly all that, days when the young flew around on an adrenaline high and their elders looked on, remembering the high-flying days of their own youth.
High school graduation meant you were leaving a chunk of your life behind and beginning the deadly serious business of becoming who you wanted to become. Who would Belle become? Had I become who I wanted to be? Good grief, I thought. Maybe there were ten milligrams of something floating around in my purse that would brighten my mood. I dug around, and nothing. Not even a piece of chocolate. But! Take heart, Caroline! There was a peppermint! (This should tell you everything about my state of mind if I was getting jacked up over finding an old mint of unknown origins in the bottom of my bag.) I popped it into my mouth. Chloe was watching me with the keen eye of a turkey buzzard.
“Do you have any more?” she whispered.
“No. Sorry.”
You don’t need another thing to go in your mouth today,
I wanted to say, but did not.
She looked at me sullenly, as though I had denied her the very air she breathed, but she was quickly distracted by her sister passing our row.
“Belle! Belle!” she said, a little too loudly.
“Shhh! Hush, honey,” I said, turning my focus to Belle in her cap and gown.
Belle passed, gave an overt wave and a wink, beaming with pride to have fulfilled the basic requirements to receive her diploma. She was certainly entitled to that glow, but let me tell you, we’re talking basic. There was nothing extraordinary on that child’s transcript. She had never been a class officer and never had she joined any clubs. She had never acted in a class play, played a sport, or even sung in a chorus. I wondered if she had even the slightest regret about those missed opportunities and, further, how she would feel when the valedictorian made her speech. Would she be a little jealous? Probably not at all. Just as she was too cool for prom, she was too cool for school. But would a residum of ambition brush off on her and make her want to try harder to distinguish herself in college? I certainly hoped so. Every parent, relative, and friend gathered there in the growing humidity of that nasty, tacky gymnasium that smelled like thousands of dirty old sneakers wanted for these young people to go forth into the world and make something solid and good of themselves. We all wanted to brag about them and to have concrete reasons to be proud.
From the start of the day I could see that Belle was nervous. We had all assembled at Trip’s for a graduation breakfast. She had been unable to eat and nearly drove us crazy blathering away like a moody flibbertigibbet. And me? I was harboring a quiet concern that Belle and Linnie’s older Spanish boyfriends were going to show up at her party and cause a scene. No one had said whether or not they had been invited. So naturally the busybody in me had to ask to calm my own nerves.
“I’m so nauseous,” Belle said. “I’ll just drink a Coke. Are there any Cokes in the fridge?”
“She doesn’t want pancakes?” Eric said, incredulous that anyone could resist the piles of steaming pancakes that Rusty continued to bring in from the kitchen.
“That’s more for us,” Amelia said. “Pass ’em over here!”
“Let her starve,” Linnie said with typical compassion.
“Why don’t you stick it, okay?” Belle said.
“Why don’t you?”
“Nice mouth,” Amelia observed.
“That’s enough, girls!” Trip said, pushing a full forkful into his mouth.
I saw my opening and took it, using the voice of Aunt Demure.
“So, Belle? Linnie? Are Juan and Antonio joining us this afternoon?”
“Puhleese,” Linnie said, eyes somewhere around the rafters, indicating I was really completely stupid to ask such a really completely stupid question. “I don’t
think
so. We dumped them a week ago.”
“Idiots,” Belle said. “Seriously. They were total idiots.”
“Oh,” I said serenely, relieved beyond words and understandably hesitant to ask for the sordid details.
“Would someone kindly pass the sausage, please?” Chloe asked, as though she were a little princess asking for a crumpet.
Chloe had learned that good manners were always rewarded at the Wimbley tables, although lately I had witnessed her consumption of much more than her fair share of everything. The girl was a Hoover. But this was not the morning to remind little Chloe that if she didn’t watch her caloric intake, she’d soon become a nasty glutton with a backside as broad as a barn.
“Gag me,” Linnie said, and passed the platter to her.
“Be nice,” Amelia told her.
“Yeah, pick on a beast your own age,” Belle said.
I nodded in halfhearted approval, not that any of these girls had yet given a rat’s little pink derriere about gaining my approval, halfhearted or otherwise.
It occurred to me then that beyond slumber parties, this was probably the first real party Belle had ever given. Or had given for her. I couldn’t fault her for having some anxiety. My parties still made me a little nervous and it was a very important day after all.
Before we all climbed into our cars to drive to Walterboro, I took her aside. She was wearing a wrap sundress and flats that appeared to be new, and I imagined that Rusty had taken her shopping. For the first time in months Belle was sporting only the smallest trace of Goth makeup—black lips and eyeliner. I had not told her to tone it down because it made her look like a Gypsy whore. Had Rusty? Or had she done this on her own? Incredible. Maybe she was finally getting my drift?
“You look lovely, Belle. I’m so proud of you,” I said, wondering if she was missing her mother. “Are you all right? Do you have your cap and gown all straight?”
“Yep. It’s already in the trunk all laid out in a garment bag. Millie pressed it for me when she came over this morning. She was here at like seven-thirty or something. She brought biscuits for us.”
“Well, that was nice of her.” I smiled, thinking I didn’t remember seeing any biscuits. Trip and Chloe had probably eaten them all, right down to the last crumb. “That’s good, then!”
“I guess, but then she made me put the stupid thing on, including the cap, and then she took a picture.”
“Perfect! Don’t you just love her?”
“Um,
not exactly
? I thought it was like major weird, okay? Showing up that early and all. Pretty
rude,
if you ask me.”
“Honey, let’s be nice today. Millie’s family.”
“Whatever. Did Dad put the speakers outside?”
“Yes, the speakers are out by the pool.”
“Did anyone remember to pick up the cake?”
“Of course!”
“If Rusty screws this up I’ll kill her. Watch. Dad will do something really stupid to embarrass me.”
“Rusty could plan a party for the queen of England. I cannot vouch for your father.”
“Yeah, sure. We’d better get going.”
Kids. Appreciative of nothing.
Ah, Millie! Queen of all Baked Goods! Seeing to the details! That was Millie Smoak for you. Of course she wasn’t family, but I’d claim her blood over a lot of other people, present company included. Here’s what Belle and maybe more especially Linnie had yet to grasp. In our world, women took care of everything, especially each other, and the art of making each other look good was something that gave us great joy and satisfaction. Lesson one of adulthood was putting the needs or even just the wishes of others before your own and then taking pleasure in making them come to pass. If Belle had an inkling of all Rusty had done to make this day perfect for her, she would be speechless. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if by the end of this day, Belle had a new appreciation of Rusty? Rusty certainly deserved some huge accolades for her efforts.
I wondered then if we should have invited Millie to the graduation. Miss Sweetie and Miss Nancy were coming to the barbecue, although they claimed they could only stay for a little while. I was having a WWLD moment. Would Miss Lavinia have made Millie come? Never. Even with all of Mother’s eccentricities and grandstanding, she would never have inflicted that kind of wretched invitation on anyone she liked. Graduation ceremonies were an endurance contest, like dance recitals with forty different numbers. You sat for hours, cramped and trapped in an itchy seat, waiting for your precious child to twirl across the stage for a whole whopping two minutes. Ta-da! Millie was smart to take a picture and then wave good-bye. The biscuits were a bonus. Mother would have approved of Millie’s ingenuity.
Matthew, bless his heart, had graciously offered to attend but was visibly relieved to learn I couldn’t wrangle another ticket, unfathomably highly coveted as they were, even if he was the president of the United States. Well, okay, probably if he was actually the president . . .
Ah, me. Here we are. Another heinous graduation. Three hundred kids. Ugh. I would survive this torturous morning by sending my brain somewhere else and that’s exactly what I did. While the principal worked his way through the unfortunate but necessarily long list of announcements, introductions, and the Pledge of Allegiance, I daydreamed about Eric’s future. Whatever career that Eric decided to pursue, I knew that he would be brilliant. Yes, he would. He would be rid of his older woman and he would be brilliant. My heart swelled with pride as I studied his profile. Thank you, God, for my gorgeous boy.
While the valedictorian waxed lyrical about how she intended to save the world, fix global warming, end world hunger, and cure cancer, encouraging her class to join her in that quest on whatever road they walked, I pretended I was skiing in the Alps. I was at the top of Four Roses, shushing down to the center of St. Moritz, just in time to grab some
Rösti
and
Weisswurst
for lunch and then to watch the Romanian team practice on the bobsled course while indulging in a hot mug of
Glühwein
to knock the chill off the afternoon. The plan was to snap out of my happy fog when Belle’s name was called, just in time to see her collect her diploma. So that’s what I did. I daydreamed and daydreamed and soon I was completely lost in another world.
As they began calling the graduates to the stage, I relived every minute detail of my last intimate encounter with Matthew. Every single inch of it, if you know what I mean. In retrospect, this was probably not the wisest indulgence, but there I was, legs in the air, screwing my brains out with him in my imagination, innocently unaware that back in the gym at my little niece’s graduation, I was breathing like a marathon runner, sprinting the last few yards to a win. Without even realizing what I was doing, I undid another button of my blouse, swept my hair up with my hand, threw my head back, and was completely busted a split second before taking a ride on that fabulous tsunami of release. I was just about to holler “Woo! Yes! And oh my God!” at the top of my lungs when Chloe yanked hard on my skirt.
“Hey! Are you all right?” she asked, scared out of her mind.
“What?”
Where am I?
Oh, no! Wait!
“Yes, of course! I’m fine!”