Lowcountry Summer (4 page)

Although he was right, Trip’s words were confirmation that all men are big fat idiots when it comes to understanding the thought processes of hormonal teenage girls.

“Come on now. No teenage girls care about their parents’ happiness if it interferes with their own world. It wouldn’t be normal.”

“But I should jeopardize the only personal happiness I’ve ever known to take on a bunch of ingrates/borderline thugs?”

“It’s true. They’re a rough bunch. It’s not fair but this is the downside of parenting. You have to change their tunes, Trip. You don’t want them to grow up and keep on acting like they do now anyway, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Amelia is coming along, don’t you think? At least she was smart enough yesterday to be totally mortified by her mother’s, um, condition. And she’s smart enough to understand the risk Frances Mae took with her little sister.”

“Yeah, Amelia is the pick of our litter.”

We were quiet then for a few more minutes, Trip undoubtedly feeling the weight of a thousand pounds on his conscience and me unsure of what to say next. All I could do was think about how Belle and Linnie had been suspended from school for bringing liquor to ball games and taken to the police station for using fake IDs to get into local bars and then getting so drunk that they peed in public. (Peeing in the wrong place came from their mother’s side of the family.) Their behavior had to be such a slap in the face to Trip, and I thanked God that our mother had not lived to see his hooligans in action. Finally, Trip spoke.

“Aw, crap.”

“You always were the eloquent one, Trip.”

“Thanks. Look. Let’s be serious here. Rusty’s going to flip if I decide to take the kids. And don’t forget the main burden of their care would fall to her. I’m home for meals and to sleep and that’s about it. Besides it would be an open invitation for them to mutilate our lives. It’s not gonna work.”

“You have to discuss it with Rusty, Trip. These are your kids! Just talk to her and see what she says.”

Trip looked at me and pulled the corner of his mouth up in a grimace, shaking his head. “I gotta get going. I’m already late. It’s almost dark.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me, okay?”

“Right. Oh, and by the way?”

“What?”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“You’ll thank me when they all live long enough to give you gorgeous grandchildren!” I called after him. He kept walking.

“Without criminal records!” I called again.

He shot me the finger without missing a step. It made me smile, which says a lot about how our relationship had matured.

I watched him walk toward his car, thinking his shoulders were broad enough to handle anything, but this was not going to be pretty.

3
About Amelia

L
ATER THAT EVENING, AFTER SUPPER
was cleared away and Millie had gone home for the night, I was still in the kitchen, channel-surfing, looking for something to watch to kill time before crawling upstairs. Four hundred channels and nothing to hold my interest for more than thirty seconds. But then, relative to the drama in my real life lately, how could I expect the worlds of network and cable to concoct something as compelling? I decided to take a walk outside and see what wonders were on display in the night sky.

The stars were just coming out, littering the heavens with glistening crystals and slivers of diamonds. The longer I stood and watched, the more tiny lights flickered their hellos from high up in the skies. I thought of my father then, James Nevil Wimbley, III, known to all as Nevil. He had known how to find many of the constellations and would point them out to Trip and me. When I was a very young girl, weeping inconsolably from a terrifying dream, he would perch me on his hip, take me outside, and tell me to look up. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful, more peaceful?” he would say. I would shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from all the marvelous stars winking against the vast navy-blue sky. “Let’s count them,” he’d say, and the next thing I knew I was falling back into a peaceful sleep.

Clear quiet nights and star-strewn skies were reassuring about order in the universe. Standing there in the side yard, I could feel my pulse slow down. I meandered toward the cluster of Adirondack chairs, situated for years between the live oaks like old friends, inviting me to sit and visit. At last I breathed more naturally. There was nothing like a Lowcountry night to put life in perspective. Moments like this made me believe for that fleeting moment that there was a real possibility for peace on earth. Why not?

The trials and tribulations of Frances Mae and Trip were frightening and the new battle lines had yet to be drawn. I was wondering and then desperately hoping that Trip would have the chutzpah to stand up to Frances Mae and that he would use his talents of persuasion to make Rusty understand the urgency of acting now. I was pretty confident, because she was a very generous and sensible woman, that Rusty’s cooperation would be easily gained. Frances Mae’s alcoholism, which had made her so deadly unpredictable, and the risky situation in which she had placed Chloe made me absolutely ill. Frances Mae would do it again and again until someone made her stop. I knew it and it terrified me.

I was on my way back inside when I heard the phone ringing. I rushed to grab it before it went to voice mail. It was Eric calling from school.

“Hey, Mom! What’s up?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. You called me, remember?”

Some of the current phone manners were bewildering to me, never mind tweeting with Twitter, texting, and whatever the new deal was. Maybe I was just too literal in the way I processed language.

“You sound out of breath.”

“I was outside looking at the stars. Pretty gorgeous out there tonight.”

“Yeah. I’m sure. So, I was just wondering if there was any more news on Aunt Frances Mae?”

“No. Nothing new to my knowledge. Why? Did Amelia say something?”

“Amelia? Amelia said plenty! From the time we dropped Aunt Fan and Chloe off in Walterboro until we parked the car in Columbia, Amelia was ragging on her mother nonstop. I mean, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I heard. She really hates her mother’s guts.”

“Ah, come on now. Nobody hates their mother’s guts. And Frances Mae can’t help herself. She’s sick, Eric. Amelia is old enough to understand that.”

“Yeah, well, both of us got that but we had a hard time understanding what she was doing driving drunk with Chloe.”

“I’ll give you that one.” I pulled a half-full bottle of wine from the refrigerator, twisted out the cork, and poured myself a glass.

“We went in the house when we got to Walterboro, right? And Amelia basically ripped Belle and Linnie a new one for letting Chloe get in the car with Aunt Fan being all wasted.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing. Those girls shouldn’t have to police their mother. Why didn’t one of them drive Chloe over?”

“They didn’t want to have to see Rusty and they probably didn’t realize how in the bag old Fan was.”

“Maybe. Anyway, Frances Mae is a lucky woman that nothing worse happened, but this whole business of vilifying Rusty with every second breath is just stupid.”

“I think Amelia knows that. Sort of. But it’s hard for her to take the other side. I mean, her mom and sisters run a pretty wicked campaign against Rusty.”

“Listen to me, Eric: I think that at this point I am way more concerned about the girls’ safety than I am about Frances Mae’s ridiculous pride. And y’all should be, too.”

“You’ve never really liked her, have you?”

“Me not like Frances Mae?”

“Yeah. I mean, like the world doesn’t know it.”

“Oh, Eric, it’s so complicated.”

I became uncomfortable whenever anyone brought up my personal feelings about Frances Mae. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her because she was a low-class redneck slut from nowhere. I didn’t like her because she was greedy, jealous, small-minded, petty, and mean-spirited. But try explaining that to your nineteen-year-old son who still lives in a world of thought where things were either black or white. He thought families should stick together. Period. No exceptions. That opinion fueled
his
rage against his father and his half brother, although he rarely showed those feelings. Besides, Frances Mae was not and would never be blood. I didn’t have to love her.

“I know it’s complicated.”

“Eric. Look, son. This isn’t about me being critical of Frances Mae.”

“Whatever. Anyway, Amelia is just totally frustrated with her mother. She’s worried about her, about what she might do next. That wreck scared the living hell out of her. But she’s stuck in Columbia, you know?”

“I know. The wreck scared me, too. What about Belle and Linnie? What did they have to say?”

“Well, Belle is just like counting the days until she gets out of high school and leaves Walterboro in the rearview mirror. She feels bad about leaving Chloe behind but not bad enough to stick around. She ain’t ever coming back. And Linnie? Linnie cares about Linnie. That one’s a short story. The end.”

“So you don’t think that either one of those girls is particularly interested in running interference for Chloe, like to take over driving her where she needs to go and so forth?”

“Pretty much, and that makes Amelia even more frustrated.”

“I’m sure it does. Poor child.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Yeah. But what can you do?”

“Well, I sure can’t stand around and watch Frances Mae drink herself to death and maybe maim, disfigure, or, God forbid, and that’s a prayer, kill her daughters in the process.”

“Yeah, but you, me . . . we’re not in charge of Aunt Fan. No one is.”

“Well, there’s Trip. Technically.”

“Right. I keep forgetting they’re not divorced. But what can he do?”

“I think he’s considering his options as we speak.”

“Like what? Rehab again?”

“Yeah, probably . . .” My voice drifted off and I knew Eric sensed that I had not revealed all that I knew.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s really going on or what?”

“I can’t say, honey, because I don’t know. That’s for Uncle Trip to figure out. And Rusty.”

“I guess.”

“Rusty. You know, she’s actually a really nice lady. It’s too bad the girls can’t see it, because then things could be a lot easier for everyone.”

“Right, I know what you mean. Logistics and all. Well, all I can tell you is that Amelia is freaking . . .”

“I’ll call her.”

“That might be a good idea but don’t tell her what I said, okay?”

“I’m the Great Sphinx, baby, and you know it.”

I told Eric that I loved him and he said that he loved me, too. We said good-bye, and even after I hung up, I stood there with my hand on the receiver. I already missed him. He would call me later in the week, he had said. He had a paper due on Wednesday and an important test on Friday. And no, there was no young woman in his life and if there was I would undoubtedly be the last person to hear of it. As far as I knew, he was living in the stacks. But then, why
wouldn’t
a handsome young man like Eric have someone? Ever since when? Yes, it was Christmas. That was the last time I heard him talk about a girl. It didn’t make sense. Maybe he did have someone and he just didn’t want me to know. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t approve.

For years now, Eric and I had shared observations about family matters and other things that were more mature in nature than I suspected other parents enjoyed with their young sons. But then perhaps it was more typical for single parents to discuss grave adult matters with their children because there was no spouse on the scene. Eric was certainly more mature than most of the boys his age. No doubt this was part of the reason why. We used to joke that Eric had been born a little old man. I wished that Belle and Linnie were less self-centered and even just slightly more maternally inclined toward Chloe. It would have given me greater peace of mind to know they were focused on their little sister’s safety. But those girls? They were Frances Mae’s clones. Chasing boys and “getting around” had earned them some very sullied reputations. It was deeply embarrassing to know this. They were not embarrassed about it one iota.

On the other hand, even though they were Lolitas, shouldn’t they be allowed to pass their teenage years unencumbered by the unfortunate problems of their mother? Yes, they should. In an ideal situation. Who among us had ever enjoyed a completely idyllic childhood? But maybe if those girls were forced to assume some extra responsibility, they might not have the time, energy, or inclination to take down the entire defensive football team of Colleton High School every weekend. They would never cooperate. I hoped they knew all about birth control and sexually transmitted diseases. I made a mental note to gently inquire the next time I got them in private. They could probably give
me
an education. Very little surprised me anymore.

My mother crossed my mind. For at least the fifth time that week, I thought it was a good thing she had not lived to witness all of this because it would’ve killed her. What would she have said? I knew then that Millie was absolutely right. Miss Lavinia would’ve called Trip on the carpet and insisted that he get his wife the necessary help and that his daughters learn a little something about discretion. “In my day,” she would have said, “tramps sneaked around and they lied about their sexual exploits!” She would have told Belle and Linnie that one boy at a time should have been sufficient for them at their age. Although one was never enough for Mother after Daddy died, but then Mother was much older than the girls.