Bulls Island (22 page)

“What are we supposed to do, Betts?”

A crack in the wall had finally appeared.

“You’re asking me? Well, I’ll tell you, then. We are going to build the most amazingly smart and gorgeous development in the history of the world and then we will see where we are. I guess?”

“If you say so.”

“You said so, Mr. Master of Self-Control.” I smirked at him and he shook his head.

“Touché.”

I finally clicked the button to unlock my door.

He opened it for me and I climbed in.

“Hey? J.D.?”

“What?”

“I’m having dinner with my sister, Joanie, tonight. Jealous?”

“Please. I have my own personal hell, you know.”

“Your choosing! See you tomorrow!”

We were laughing then, at the impossibility and the stupidity of our own lives. At least we were laughing together, and if nothing else, we had reestablished a friendship within the confines of what was acceptable behavior.

Later, as I dressed for dinner, I relived the day I’d spent with J.D. What had I gained? Well, first and most importantly, I knew for sure that his marriage was in rigor mortis but he had no real intention of doing anything except to honor his vows. Gentlemen like J.D. did not go sleeping around. It was cheap and reprehensible. No. It also appeared that J.D. had taken over his family’s business to a great extent, because, I’d noticed, he never mentioned his parents’ names in the context of business. Finally, I was greatly reassured that he understood and agreed on how critical it was to keep Bulls Island’s ecosystems intact.

“Isn’t it odd,” I said to Sela over the phone, “that I worried so much about seeing J.D. again? Being with him is the easiest thing in the world.”

“It sure looked like it in the
Post & Courier
. Besides, remember he doesn’t have all the facts.”

“I know. I know. But I mean, I thought he would be hostile or something. Not that Louisa wasn’t and that Valerie wasn’t…”

“Do not underestimate the power of those two. They can make your life a living inferno, you know. Valerie would love to scratch your eyeballs out, even though their marriage is a joke.”

“Do you think so?”

“For sure.”

“Hey! Did you ever hear of a drug with
cotton
in the name?”

“No. Why?”

“J.D. says Valerie is a vodka hog and that she takes these pills that I can’t remember the name of except that it has
cotton
in it.”

“Listen, I’m concentrating on learning about Napa and Sonoma. But I can ask Ed. He knows all about drugs.”

“Yeah, ask him. I’d love to know what that little snit is up to.”

Then I ran a brush through my hair one last time and attempted to muster the strength to go downtown to my childhood home. I had not been there in so many years; I couldn’t help but wonder how many memories it would raise from the dead.

I
t was as if I were floating inside a taupe-colored bubble filled with some kind of malaise—which is to say that I was feeling disoriented. I stopped the car in front of the house. First, Daddy’s and Joanie’s cars filled the two parking spaces. There was no place for me to park in our driveway, so I had to park on the street.
No space for you. Out in the streets with you.

With a bottle of red wine under my arm, I climbed the three steps to the street door, opening it the same way I’d done millions of times. The door seemed to be more crooked than I remembered. I thought, Well, the house is old and probably continuing to settle, and after all, the foundation of the peninsula of Charleston is nothing but plough mud.

The overabundance of ancient wicker porch furniture was exactly the same as it had been in my grandmother’s day, but the crumpled cushions had been changed and things were rearranged enough to feel odd and unfamiliar. I felt out of place before I even went to
the house door. The next thing that happened was that I almost knocked. Stopping my arm in midair, I realized I was hesitating about simply walking into my own childhood home. To bypass that awkwardness, I opened the door and called out, “Knock! Knock!”

“I’m out here!” Dad’s voice called from the direction of the kitchen.

He sounded cheerful, and that allowed me to put my discomfort aside for the moment and go in search of him. But I had this overwhelming urge to inspect the house first. On the left was the living room, and at first glance I thought it looked exactly the same as it had the day I left. Mother’s portrait still hung over the fireplace and the red-and-yellow chintz prints that covered the sofas and chairs were the same. Her collection of Staffordshire figurines still stood in the bookcases. Their number appeared to be unchanged. In fact, every single detail of the room seemed to be exactly as it had been years ago.

The dining-room furniture stood in their original positions, but in the dim light of early evening, I could see that everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. The room had not served its purpose in aeons. At that moment I figured we would be eating dinner in the kitchen, which was fine with me. I was right.

The kitchen table was set for three with straw place mats, paper napkins, and stainless flatware, but with mother’s best china and crystal. Daddy probably couldn’t face cleaning the dining room, Joanie would have refused to iron linens or polish silver in my honor, and apparently Daddy no longer employed any domestic help. I decided it would be best to keep these observations to myself. Daddy had made his best effort, no doubt without a finger of help from my sister.

There was a platter of seasoned steaks and a bag of prewashed mixed greens for salad on the crowded counter. How they managed to put together meals with so much clutter was baffling to me. I hated disorder. Especially in the kitchen.

The back door was open and I could smell charcoal and lighter fluid. Dad was in the yard fanning the grill with a folded section of newspaper.

“Hey, Daddy! Need a hand?”

“Nope! I’ve got it all under control. Come give your old man a kiss!”

I hugged him and gave him a noisy smooch on the cheek. Beyond the grill area, the backyard was filled with dog pens and dog toys and dog paraphernalia from one side to the other. At least the animals slept outside, or so I assumed.

“This looks great!” I lied. “You know, I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“Neither can I. Long overdue, to be sure!”

“Where’s Joanie?”

“Out walking her brood. You won’t believe this, but she’s been cleaning up all day because you were coming.”

“Really? Gosh!”

“She even gave the dogs a bath. Much needed, I’d like to add.”

“Gee whiz, Daddy. Why does she have so many dogs?”

“She’s a softie at heart.”

“So was Hitler,” I couldn’t stop myself from blurting.

“Well, dogs are better than snakes. And she went to the beauty parlor.”

“You’re kidding. The beauty parlor?” Holy cow.

“Yep. How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare, more rare than medium.” I could only imagine what the house and yard had looked like before I got there. The day after Armageddon? But I kept a smile on my face and followed my father inside. “What can I do to help? Anything?”

“Yes. You can watch me make a perfect Manhattan. Would you like one?”

“Sure, I’ll sip on one of those. I brought some wine, too.”

“Good, good. Thank you. So, tell me. How was your day? You look sunburned.”

“I probably am. I spent most of it out on Bulls with J.D., going over the plans.”

“Joanie told me she was at the groundbreaking.”

“Actually, Joanie was with a bunch of screaming protesters on the dock and I took her over to Bulls to try and show her the other side of the coin.”

“That’s your sister. She said it was interesting. And she said she met a veterinarian? Now, where’s the vermouth?”

“Right here.” Of course it was right in front of us. “Yeah, he’s the older brother of my assistant, Sandi. Lives out in Summerville.”

“Think there’s a spark there?”

“How would I know?”

“Two cherries?” He had them ready to drop into the glass.

“Who would I be to mess around with tradition?”

He raised his eyebrows at that: I was the very embodiment of someone who messed around with tradition, and we both knew it.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers. Yeah, well, I like cherries anyway. All that red dye and sugar.”

“This whole meal is unhealthy—cooking red meat over charcoal, loading up potatoes with butter and sour cream, salad that’s probably absorbing chemicals from the bag itself—you can’t worry about everything all the time. Sometimes I just like to eat what I want. Life’s too short!”

“That’s for sure.”

We could hear dogs barreling across the front porch and out to the backyard and Joanie hollering after them.

“Julius! Slow down! Hang on! Let me just…”

She took all their leashes and came in through the back door.

“Whew!” she said. “Hey, Betts. Hey, Daddy. Whew! Crazy dogs. What’re y’all drinking?”

“Manhattans. Can I pour you one?” Daddy said.

“Whoo-hoo! Betts, I usually don’t drink any booze, but since you’re here, I might need it to fortify myself.”

“Have a double,” I said, staring at her new haircut, which was something between a topiary and a mullet, “’cause I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

“All right, girls,” Daddy said.

“She started it,” I said.

“How old are you?” Daddy said.

“Right. Sorry,” I said. “So, um, Joanie? Who cut your hair?” Edward Scissorhands? I managed to beep myself from asking.

“I went to one of those walk-in places. I don’t think I like it,” she said. “Too chopped up. What do you think?”

“Weeell? You won’t be able to tell until you wash it and blow it out yourself, but I probably would have taken a little more length from the back.”

It was nearly impossible to believe that Joanie had actually asked my opinion about anything, but even with zero knowledge of the beauty industry, she knew enough to know her hair didn’t fit the rest of her.

Daddy handed her a drink and she took a long gulp on the way to the dining room to check herself out in the mirror that hung over the buffet.

“Looks like complete hell,” she wailed from the other room.

“No, it does not,” Daddy called back, and then whispered to me, “Who do we know that can rectify the situation?”

Joanie came back into the kitchen and rummaged around in the junk drawer until she found a rubber band. She scooped her hair up into a ponytail, except that the front layers hung there like so many feathers.

“I don’t know why I even bother to try,” she said. “What’s the point?”

I almost laughed, but instead, realizing this hair debacle had most likely occurred in the name of Cam the Vet, I said, “I’ve got a wizard who can turn you into a certifiable Cinderella.”

“Really? Well, I seriously doubt that ’cause you know you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” She took another extended swallow.

She was saying this about herself?

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Daddy said. “I’m gonna put the steaks on the grill. You girls check the potatoes, okay?”

My dad really was a prince. I would’ve already smacked Joanie once and told her to shut up twice.

“If you want, I’ll see if she can squeeze you in tomorrow.”

I had recently invested so heavily in the inventory of Stella Nova that the last time I was there, the owner, Ginger Evans, came to the store from her salon to say hello and thank me for my business.

“Oh, Aunt Fanny’s fanny! Why not? I can’t go around looking like who did it and ran, now can I?”

I wanted to say “Well, you always have,” but I didn’t. I cleared my throat while rummaging around in my brain for a sensitive response.

“Look, there comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to make the most of what she has. I say go for it.” Before I could stop my tongue, I added, “If you want, I’ll take you shopping, too.”

“Really?” She was polishing off her Manhattan like it was a glass of iced tea.

I stuck a long fork in each of the potatoes in the oven. They were beyond done. “These babies are vulcanized.” Grabbing a towel to substitute for a pot holder, I pulled the baking sheet from the oven and pushed aside the salad to rest it on the counter.

“Who cares? A potato is a potato. Well, as far as shopping? As you
can probably tell, I pretty much dress in whatever can withstand globs of dog slobber.”

My appetite took a cruise to the Caribbean with that remark.

“Because you deal with dogs all day. Makes sense to me.” Joanie was making no movement toward putting the salad together, so I popped open the bag and dumped its contents into a bowl. “We have a tomato in this house?”

“Windowsill,” she said, and pointed to a row of tomatoes sitting up there like the Rockettes, ripening in the filtered light.

Lord, and this was prayer, she was so insecure, lacking every kind of poise and in urgent need of professional help! I didn’t know if I was up to the task. Or if I possessed the motivation. Then I realized I was judging Joanie by my standards when any improvement at all would probably thrill her.

“You know how to use a corkscrew?” I asked, putting the bottle and the tool in front of her. Her Manhattan had vanished and she was chewing ice cubes, another most unattractive habit I just daggum deplored. Daggum? My inner southerner seemed to have announced her hoopskirted return.

“Honey, if you lived
my
life”—she pointed to Daddy in the backyard—“you’d have one attached to a string around your neck. Watch this.”

And much as you might envision how the swarmiest female wrestler on the circuit might liberate an enemy’s head from his neck, she yanked the cork with a determined guttural sound.

“Wow,” I said. “Impressive.” But not in a good way.

I handed her two goblets and she poured a healthy measure for both of us.

Daddy came inside with the steaks and put them on our plates. Somehow we made it through dinner without Joanie and me having any kind of showdown, which was miraculous, as I had fully expected them to grill me about my life and all that had gone on over
the years. Oddly, I seemed to be the one carrying the conversational ball. I asked Joanie about herself and she babbled on. Daddy had a comment here and there, but mostly Joanie lectured us about the cross she was doomed to carry.

It was as though I were a stranger interviewing them for an article on modern martyrdom. From their perspective, I was the one who had missed everything and my life was uninteresting to them beyond the politest of queries—where did I live, did I really love living in New York, why had I never married, and indirect inquiries about my salary and position.

Joanie liked wine and she liked to talk about herself. I matched her gulps with sips and Daddy drank tea.

We were having a bowl of ice cream with Pepperidge Farm molasses chip cookies crumbled on top when Joanie found it impossible to restrain herself any longer.

“So. Nice picture of you and J.D. in the paper this morning. I’ll bet his wife laid him out in lavender-and-purple paisley and plaid for the way he was staring down your blouse, huh?” Joanie, poor thing, was wobbling along the shores of Vino Creek.

I decided it was time to clean up, so I rose from the table and took Daddy’s bowl with mine to the sink.

“I don’t think he was really staring down my blouse, but I saw the picture. I agree. It appeared, um, a little too familiar for my professional blood. But I couldn’t tell you what Valerie Langley had to say about it. We don’t chat.”

“Hmmph,” Daddy said with a satisfied grin, delighted by my deadpan delivery. “Why not? She seems like such a nice lady.”

“She’d probably like to see you dead,” Joanie said.

“Don’t say that,” Daddy said.