Palmetto Moon (26 page)

Frank looks at the clock again, like he can will time forward, but the minutes continue to crawl. It looks like everyone in Colleton County has decided to come to lunch today, and they’re not in any hurry to clear out. Tiny didn’t quiz him, when she got back with Hank, about what happened with him and Vada. She studied his face, though, and knows him well enough to at least try to hurry the customers out the door, but it’s no use. Word got around that Frank baked three cobblers yesterday, and those bastards want nothing more than an excruciatingly leisurely lunch followed up with his damn cobbler. Some with ice cream, some without, but all of them chased with too much conversation and too many cups of coffee.

Ten after two, nobody’s leaving, and Frank can’t take it anymore. He takes off his apron, strides out from behind the counter, and turns the
CLOSED
sign face out. He gets some raised eyebrows, particularly from Tiny, before folks go back to savoring their precious dessert. Tiny looks at Frank and cocks her head to the side.

“What?” she mouths.

It’s twenty minutes past closing, and if he doesn’t leave now, he won’t make it to Walterboro in time. “I’ve got to be somewhere.” If Frank says another word, he’ll start screaming for the bastards to get the hell out of his diner, and they will probably never come back.

“Go on, Frank. It ain’t like I never closed the joint before.”

He nods and is out the door before Tiny’s smart mouth kicks in. He makes it to Thompson’s Department Store in record time and hurries in. The short, dainty man wants Frank to try on the black slacks and baby-blue dress shirt, but there’s no time for that. Shoes. He stops in front of the wing-tip display. “Eleven and a half, and make it snappy,” he barks at the little man. He does try the shoes on, then pays for his purchase and hurries into the florist, two doors down. “Roses, a dozen.” The woman looks up at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I don’t get much call for roses, mostly mums, for funerals. I have orchids around Mother’s Day.” She shrugs apologetically.

“What do you have?”

“Not much. Dori Chavis’s funeral was just yesterday—all but cleaned me out. I got some Jesus lilies left over.”

“Jesus lilies?”

“The white ones, like they have when you get to heaven.”

“I’ll take them.”

She wraps up the flowers and reminds him they are fragile and will be in pieces if he’s not careful. Frank pays the woman, and then fires up the Plymouth, headed for the Edisto Motel.

It looks crowded when he pulls into the parking lot. With it being summer, it’s doubtful they have any vacancies, but they have a fine restaurant here, which people from all over flock to, so he hopes most of the crowd is here for the good eats. The big woman at the front desk eyes him when he asks for a room. “Just you?” She takes a drag off of her cigarette and nods. “We’re a family joint during the summer. If you want to hanky-panky, you’ll have to wait till after Labor Day.”

“No, ma’am. No hanky-panky.” He’s not lying, and there’s no way in hell he’s waiting till after Labor Day. What he wants from Vada is more than touching her, more than just being inside her. In his mind, they’re already married, and Frank’s ready to make it official the minute Vada is.

She pushes a key across the counter. “Number fifteen. Four bucks. Now.”

Frank pays her and pulls the car around to the back of the motel that overlooks the pool, jammed with screaming kids, surrounded by sun-baked parents looking up occasionally to bark orders.

He grabs the key and the flowers off of the seat and opens the door. There is one bed, their bed, a nightstand, a tiny bathroom off to the side. The room smells like stale cigarette smoke, but he knows he won’t notice any of that tonight.

He’s impressed the Jesus flowers have held up well in the heat of the day. “Shit,” Frank hisses. No vase. They’ll be a droopy mess by the time he carries her over the threshold.

The restaurant is still busy, the sign promising
THE WORLD’S BEST FRIED SHRIMP
. Although Frank has his doubts about that, he heads around to the back door like a beggar. The noise from the kitchen frenzy isn’t like any he’s ever heard before. Through the screen, he counts a dozen people scurrying around to get orders out. Plates of golden fried shrimp, piled high with hush puppies and coleslaw, are doled out as quick as the waitresses can pick them up.

A young colored boy comes out the screen door with a can full of garbage that’s as big as he is. He dumps it in the trash pile before he realizes Frank is there. “Help you, sir?”

Frank laughs, almost embarrassed. “Y’all busy in there?”

“Don’t you know it.” The boy sizes Frank up. “If you’re wanting to eat, you got to come around through the front. If you’re wanting a job, you can knock on the back door after four and the boss man will talk to you.”

“I bought my wife flowers. Forgot the vase. Think you have something in there I could borrow?”

The boy nods. “Wait right there.” He comes back with an empty quart-size pickle jar, the lid still on it. “This do?”

Frank nods and thanks the boy with two bits. He hurries back to rinse the makeshift vase out good, so the room won’t smell like sweet pickles, too. With everything set, he starts to leave, and then decides to turn down the bed. Maybe not. He flips the spread over the shoddy pillows, but then decides it’s okay. Vada has made it clear what she wants, and he can’t wait to give it to her.

The banging on the bathroom door resumes. “Mr. Stanley, I told you, I’m not coming out anytime soon. I waited for the bathroom for two hours. If you have to use the bathroom, either go outside or ask Miss Mamie to use hers.” He stomps off down the hall, swearing at me.
Good.

I pour more lavender oil in the bathwater and sink down in the tub until the water is up to my chin. I rolled my hair in rags the moment I got back from the diner, while I waited for all three of the bachelors to finish their constitutionals, and I refuse to give up the bathroom until I’m done preening for my night with Frank.

I wonder where he’ll take me. I think he knows by now Charleston is out of the question. Maybe one of the hotels we passed on our first date to Walterboro. I know this is fast, but not as fast as the girls I knew in college who met soldiers at the dance hall and went to bed with them just hours later, before their men were shipped out.

The water is almost cold, or as cold as bathwater can be in August. I get out of the tub, wrap a towel around myself, and study my reflection in the mirror. It’s too hot for makeup, but I rub a tiny bit of rouge on my cheeks anyway and hope they’re not a streaky mess later tonight.

Frank likes my hair down, but it’s such a hot day, I don’t want it plastered to my neck. I clasp it up in a curly bun and let the tendrils frame my face
. There.
Now, just a touch of lipstick, my little blue scoop-neck Nina Ricci number that matches my eyes, my black Charles Jourdan pumps, and I’m ready to become a woman.

“It’s about damn time,” Mr. Stanley huffs when I step out of the bathroom. Then he looks at me, and his face twists into the same lewd thing that gawks at Claire all the time.

“Really, Mr. Stanley, neither Claire nor I appreciate your overtures. You’re older than God, and even with your pension, there’s absolutely nothing appealing about you.” I step around him, my heels clicking triumphantly down the hall.

My fingers trail across my neck. My grandmother’s necklace would be the perfect touch to any ensemble, but most especially this one. I push the thought out of my mind and head downstairs to wait for Frank on the front porch, so that he knows I’m serious about this, about us.

His car pulls in front of Miss Mamie’s. He gets out and strides up the walk, stunningly beautiful, his eyes trained on mine. Miss Mamie comes out onto the porch, but I won’t let her spoil this moment I want to remember forever.

“What in God’s name?” she hisses, and I want to tell the old bat not to waste her words, because there’s nothing that can taint this moment that will lead to losing myself in Frank Darling’s arms tonight. “Who in the Sam Hill are they?”

Only then do I see the cars that have pulled in behind Frank’s Plymouth. Two sleek black Cadillacs. I recognize the last custom-made one because it’s my father’s.

“God, you look beautiful,” Frank says, completely unaware my father and a strange man have gotten out of the car. The man says something to my father, who looks around the crossroads in disbelief, and then starts toward the trellis gate. “What’s wrong, Vada?” Frank turns to see the object of my gaze. “Who are they?”

The second car door opens, and Justin gets out, stretches his long frame, and looks at me. He’s so beautiful, even Miss Mamie sucks in her breath, and I’m reasonably certain she’s horribly nearsighted. He nods my way with a thin smile that says he has me now.

“Vada, who are these people?” Frank asks again and reaches for my hand.

“Vada,” my father huffs, completely ignoring Frank.

“Wait a minute,” Frank says, pointing at the man standing next to my father. “You’re the insurance salesman from the diner. What the hell is going on?”

My father glares at me like I’m a naughty child he’s ready to spank. “Really, Vada, with your upbringing, I would have thought that you’d have fled to somewhere more civilized than this rural pock.”

“Hello, Father,” I say, still staring at him with the steely trademark Hadley glare.

“He’s your father?” Frank tries to get me to look at him, but I refuse to lose; this is a dance of intimidation. “Mr. Hadley.” Frank brushes his hand off on his trousers. “I’m—”

“Frank
Darling
. I know.”

Frank nods as Father’s tone sinks in. “And I take it you’re no insurance salesman.”

“Private investigator.”

“Enough of this. Vada, get your things. I’ve come to fetch you.” Justin’s tone breaks my stare.

“Who do you think you are, talking to her like a dog?” Frank grabs my hand. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Her fiancé,” Justin bites out, “and I’ve had quite enough of this game of find-the-bride.”

“I knew she was a hussy the moment I laid eyes on her.” Miss Mamie stands akimbo. “And a philanderer, to boot. I’m calling the county sheriff this instant,” she says as the screen door slams behind her.

“Fiancé? Vada?” Frank waits for me to answer him, but the real battle isn’t with Justin.

“I’m
not
leaving, Father. This is my home now, here with Frank.”

“Honestly, Vada, you were raised better than this.”

“How would you know? You didn’t raise me. Desmond and Rosa Lee did. I was just another accessory to your and mother’s lives, a way to continue the lineage. You said so yourself when I begged you not to make me marry Justin.”

“Vada.” Justin steps toward me, and Frank pulls me close. “Look around. You don’t belong here. Come home now.”

“Whoa, asshole, she’s not going anywhere with you.” Frank shoves Justin, who promptly begins rolling up his sleeves. He turns his college ring around so that the large dome is a weapon and puts up his dukes. “You want a fight? You’ve got one.” Frank doesn’t bother rolling up his sleeves, and throws the first punch.

I step in between them before it goes any further. “Stop it.”

“Step aside, Vada, so that I can pummel this country bumpkin to death.”

“Move. Vada.” Frank’s chest is heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they connected just under Justin’s eye.

“No. Stop it. All of you. Father, if you and Mother want to be part of the life I’ve chosen, a life here with Frank, fine. If not, you can leave. I’m sick of being coerced and manipulated, and I won’t have it anymore. Not from you, not from Justin, not from anybody.”

“If that’s true, my dear, I’m afraid you traded one very comfortable shackle for,” he makes a grand sweeping gesture toward the crossroads, “another. Frank
Darling
has done nothing but coerce and manipulate you.”

“You don’t know anything about Frank. He loves me and would never do anything to hurt me. Unlike you and Mother, he’d never crush who I am to make me what he wants me to be.”

Frank wants to kill the bastard, and would have, if Vada hadn’t stopped him. As angry as he is, it’s hard to sit back and let Vada say her piece, but he knows she needs this.

“You’re right, Vada. Your mother and I were heavy-handed with you, rushing into a wedding when you’d barely graduated. For that, I am sorry. But it is a natural progression; I truly believe you belong in Charleston, with Justin.”

“Come with me, Vada,” the smug jerk coos, and Frank wants to hit him again. “Come home, where you belong.”

“She belongs here.” Frank’s fists are balled up tight by his side. If Vada wasn’t here, he’d beat the shit out of this shiny bastard.

“Vada, people do manipulate to get what they want, they do coerce, but the real sin lies in letting them,” her father says. “It’s obvious you’re a grown woman now. You’re free to marry whomever you want.”

“Matthew,” Justin barks.

“I choose Frank.” Vada takes Frank’s hand.

“Precisely. You’ve proved my point.”

“You’re wrong. Frank hasn’t manipulated me into anything.”

“Perhaps your Mr. Darling would like to explain this.”

“Shit.” Vada’s father pulls the postcard out of his jacket pocket. “Wait. Vada. Let me explain.”

“It’s a postcard.” Vada pushes her father’s hand away. “So what?”

“After you left, Vada, I let you have your fun for a while, and then I hired an army of private investigators to find you. Mr. Burton here happened to stop into the diner for breakfast, and Frank asked him to mail this card for him when he passed through Memphis.” Her father places the card in her hand again, gently, and closes her fingers around it. “Vada, your mother and I love you, and we are truly sorry for our shortcomings. But we never gave you any false pretenses about our motives. If you truly are done with being coerced, manipulated, I suggest you read the postcard.”

She turns the card over slowly and runs her fingers over the address. When she looks at Frank, he knows he did a shitty job trying to mimic the harlot’s handwriting, but that’s not the worst of it. “Dear Vada.” Her voice is trembling with hurt. Anger. “I have found Darby. She is safe and well and happy with her new life, and—”

“Vada. I just wanted to—”

“
Doesn’t wish to be contacted
.” She spits out the last words. “Frank. How could you?”

“I shouldn’t have written that. I know. But you were so sad and—I’d just found out about Lila. Please, you have to understand.”

“Vada, darling. He’s no better than the rest of them.” The jerk takes her hands in his. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you about my intentions.”

“No. Vada, let me explain.” But there’s nothing Frank can say to make her understand how terrified he was that night, seeing her so desperately sad. He couldn’t lose her like he lost Lila.

She’s trembling with anger when she looks away from Frank, silent tears sliding down her beautiful face. The jerk is down on one knee, her hands in his. Oh, hell, he’s proposing.

“Vada. No.” Frank reaches for her, and she pulls away. “Don’t.”

“Vada.” Justin kisses the backs of her hands and presses them against the swollen place on his cheek. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve missed you. I actually
want
to marry you. Will you do me the honor of being my bride?”

What a cockeyed proposal, and she seems to be considering it. Vada takes one long last look at Frank, to let him know he’s responsible for this mess.

“Justin, take me home
.
”