Pawleys Island-lowcountry 5 (18 page)

“Very well. I finally got to talk to my children in camp.”

“Mother McCree! When were you going to tell us this?” Huey said, his eyes expanding like a flounder’s.

“Gosh, it only happened an hour ago, and I’m still trying to remember everything they said.”

“Well, first of all,” I said, “how was the tone of it?”

“I called Sami first,” Rebecca said. “She came on the line and I just said,
Sami, what’s happening between Daddy and I has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I love you and I just want to know that you’re all right. Has camp been good?
”

“What did she say?” I said.

“I could hear in her voice that she was becoming emotional. I think she thought it would be a big battle, but I decided that I would just tell her I loved her and see where it went from there.”

“Boy, that was smart! And so?” Huey said. “
She
said?”

“She said camp was okay, that she was nervous about coming home and nervous about starting school. But that she was excited that her daddy was going to buy her a car.”

“A car?” I said. “Well, that’s the first I’ve heard about that!”

“Yep! Apparently, he’s buying her a Mini Cooper and she’s been watching the manufacturing progress online all summer. Hers has its own ID number and so on.”

“Heavens! I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Huey was shocked.

“That’s worse than Cabbage Patch dolls,” I said.

“What’s a Cabbage…?” Rebecca started to ask but I cut her off.

“Just forget it—an old craze that had mothers giving each other black eyes at Toys ‘R’ Us stores all over America about twenty Christmases ago.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, she just talked about a play she was in and the Garden Party Dance and what she wore. The hostility in her voice began to melt a little. I mean, she wasn’t saying anything like,
Mom, I’m so sorry about what I did to you
, or anything like that. I didn’t bring up the messy things and neither did she. But she did tell me that she missed me and that she was sorry she hadn’t written to me. I just said, Sami?
I think it’s more important that you just enjoy yourself at camp—the school year’s hard enough.
”

“She must’ve been relieved,” I said.

“She was. Before we hung up she asked me when she was going to see me, and I said,
Well, we’ll have to work that out with your daddy but I’d like to take you back-to-school shopping and all that
, unless she preferred to go with him. Then she giggled saying something like,
Can you see Daddy at Citadel Mall?
It was a good conversation, I mean, as good as it could have been.”

“When I called the camp, I had a wonderful chat with the director. I gave her the short version of what was going on, and she assured me that she would have Sami in the right state of mind when you called. I’ll tell you some of these camps are amazing, aren’t they? She must have had quite the heart-to-heart with Sami. Or not! I’m just glad it went well, Rebecca. What about Evan?”

“Same thing, more or less. He got on the phone and said thanks for the water guns and that he couldn’t wait to come home. He said he missed me and told me he loved me when I told him that I loved him. Boys are a lot easier to communicate with, I think.”

“Well, it’s a good first step,” I said. “When
do
they come home?”

“This Saturday. They start school next week. I’m sure Nat knows that and I’m sure he’s got their schedule all organized.”

“Oh, I can see Nat now!” Huey said. “He’s got a dry erase board attached to the kitchen wall and all their schedules are neatly blocked out! Right! Their rooms are all neat and tidy and he’s got car pool all arranged!”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “Y’all! I’ve been so hyperfocused on winning this case I didn’t even think about how Nat’s gonna handle the children! Do
you
think he can do it, Rebecca?”

“He ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell,” she said with a droll little smile. “In fact, he’s already called me asking if I would pick them up at the airport.”

“What? What did you tell him?”

“Why, I told him I couldn’t! That I had to work! He said so did he and I just said,
Nat! The children have been gone for almost four weeks! Surely you’ve prepared a homecoming for them! And as to a ride from the airport, you told me there was nothing I did that you couldn’t hire someone to do, so hire someone!
There was a big silence on his end of the line. And then he said something like,
Fine, Becca, be that way!
”

“Be that way? Be
what
way?” Huey said, and we all began to laugh.

Daphne reappeared with another tray of hors d’oeuvres—this time baby radishes filled with a smoked salmon spread, topped with dill sprigs.

We descended on them like locusts, and Daphne said, “Humph! Somebody’s hungry! Good thing dinner’s almost ready.”

Rebecca looked askance at me, and I just said, “She’s Byron’s sister. Remember?”

We shook our heads and smiled as Daphne slipped back through the door.

Dinner was outstanding. Daphne and Byron had prepared small cups of she-crab soup, fried whole flounders with a homemade tartar sauce and bundles of string beans on the side. Dessert was a citrus crème brulée. All through dinner we talked about Claudia and the upcoming trial and how excited Rebecca was knowing her children would be home safe and sound, even if they were going to be living with Satan for the moment.

And while I had prepared for Friday’s pretrial hearing, there was no way I could have prepared for the weather. It was to be Friday the thirteenth in every sense of the word. That morning I woke up to howling wind and torrential rain. Driving to Charleston was not going to be a picnic.

It wasn’t.

I literally crept down Highway 17, never going more than forty miles per hour. At one moment it seemed like I might blow right off the road into the trees, and in the next I struggled to see through the driving rain that pelted my windshield without mercy. In the rare moments the rain relented, I wished for one of those giant SUVs that normally frighten me. I was never so relieved to see Mount Pleasant come into view, and I wondered how I was going to drive over the Cooper River Bridge. But the hand of God was in the morning, because by the time I got to the foot of the bridge the rain had all but ceased and the wind still gusted but less so. Off to my right was one of those emergency signs run on a generator that flashed
Speed Limit—25 MPH!
Good idea, I thought as I took the old bridge’s first span, driving like I had a trunk filled with eggs.

The rain started again. I parked on Queen Street, and with my hat pulled down, my collar turned up and my sturdiest umbrella running defense at an angle of forty-five degrees, I made it into the courthouse without getting completely drenched. People were huddled in the entrance, obviously trying to decide whether to break for it or wait.

“Don’t go out there unless you have to,” I said to a group of them.

“Hurricane Charlie,” someone said. “Bad tourist!”

“What a mess!” someone else said.

I looked back. Broad Street had taken on the Lake Effect. Fronds from the palmetto trees littered the sidewalks and road. Rainwater in the flooded gutters raced in currents to the choking drains, and masses of paper from an overturned corner waste bin swirled through the air. Airborne coffee cups and pages of the
Post and Courier
slapped against oncoming traffic. Crumpled brown bags with discarded chunks of muffins and bagels dissolving in puddles—it was a helluva mess, all right.

The pretrial went along as expected until the judge brought up the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question: Had we been to mediation? Albright, in all his wisdom, spoke up.

“My client is not of the mediation mind-set,” he said.

“Excuse me?” the judge said.

I suppressed a snicker, and the judge looked over to me as if to say,
Is this guy for real?

Albright shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in the air sending the
So whaddya want from me?
signal.

“We will have mediation one week from today. I’m recommending you use…”

Harry was nonplussed by the order, but for once in his miserable life he offered his office as a site without being asked. It probably wasn’t the first time Harry Albright was put in his place by the authorities.

We were leaving the building and the rain continued to pour down. It had grown dark and foreboding like a January late afternoon.

“Looks like ark weather,” Harry said.

“Boy, no kidding,” I said.

“You driving back to Pawleys in this?” he said.

“I guess,” I said.

“Why don’t you check yourself into a hotel? I mean, I wouldn’t want my wife driving in this. It’s too crazy.”

Hellooooo? Was this Harry Albright speaking to me, concerned for my safety?

“You’re probably right,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Hey, if you get yourself killed, you’ll ruin my whole party.”

Now
that
was the Harry Albright I knew.

But he was right. For Harry Albright to make that remark, I knew I shouldn’t be so nonchalant.

I got to my car and drove around to the Charleston Place Hotel, giving my keys to the poor fellow on duty at the outdoor valet desk.

“Checking in?” he said.

“If I can?”

“Any luggage?”

“Nope. Not even a toothbrush.”

Fortunately, they had one room left, and even more fortunate for me, the hotel was attached to a shopping mall. I picked up a nightgown at Laura Ashley and some toiletries from the concierge and went up to my room on the third floor. It wasn’t the imperial suite reserved in case Pat Conroy showed up, but it was dry, and that was what mattered. The room had a queen-sized bed, a small sofa, a desk and a chair and an armchair with a footstool. There was a closet, a nice bathroom and a television. Over the bed was some Audubon print of cranes standing around in a marsh, framed in dark wood. What more could a girl want? Suddenly, I was very hungry and I contemplated room service, deciding then to eat in the dining room and check the most recent scuttlebutt on the storm.

The doors were open, even though it was midafternoon, because people were streaming in, milling around, looking for a dry spot and something to drink.

The captain came out from the swinging doors of the kitchen and called everyone’s attention.

“May I just say that we are not normally open at this hour, but because of the storm we’re bringing in a television for everyone to watch the weather as it unfolds.

“The chef and his staff are preparing platters of sandwiches and warming up huge pots of minestrone and seafood chowder. The price for this ad hoc buffet will be a flat fifteen dollars per person—not including alcoholic beverages, of course—but it does include hot or iced tea and coffee and some cookies or cake or whatever they can rustle up. We would also encourage you to share tables with each other, as we are sure to be short of seating. Thank you, and the bar is now open!”

Needless to say, the bartender was doing a brisk business as people began throwing back cocktails with no intention of going anywhere. I was glued to Hurricane Charlie’s progress as he moved from Florida toward the coast of South Carolina.

I helped myself to the buffet and sat alone at a table for two. The seafood chowder was delicious and just what I wanted. It was filled with pieces of rich tomatoes and onions and every spoonful held a shrimp or a morsel of whitefish. I had a turkey sandwich in front of me, and I dialed Huey’s gallery on my cell. Luckily, the call went through and Rebecca answered.

“Are you okay? We’re closing up in a minute—this weather! How’d the hearing go?”

“Fine! I’m fine and I’m in the Charleston Place Hotel, where I’m spending the night.”

“Good idea!”

“Anyway, pretrial went fine—we go to mediation next Friday. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Y’all okay?”

“Oh, we’re fine! I’m getting everything off the floor in case we flood. Huey’s outside with Byron, boarding up the windows! The wind is fierce!”

“Okay, well, give him my love and tell him to be careful! And you too!”

I disconnected and smiled to myself at the image of Huey and Byron in the wind trying to nail huge sheets of plywood to the windows. Just as I took a huge bite of my sandwich, I heard the velvet voice say, “Excuse me, ma’am? Is this seat taken?”

Mouth stuffed with turkey, lettuce and tomato, I looked up into Julian’s face. I struggled to swallow and indicated to him to sit in the seat opposite me.

“Well, hello, Judge. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

He smiled, put his food down and pulled the chair out to seat himself. Even though he was merely pulling a chair away from a table, he did it with all the style of James Bond, played by Pierce Brosnan, of course.

“Any port in a storm, little lady, any port in a storm.”

“I see.” Jesus! Could the conversation be any more banal? God! Get interesting, Abigail! “Are you staying here? I thought you lived in the city.”

“Nope. Sold it. I’m building a house on Wadmalaw and meanwhile staying at Kiawah. It’s too far to go in this storm. I’m wait-listed for a room. How about you?”

“Got the last one.”

“Really?”

“Well, that’s what they told me, but you know they always have a few rooms to spare.”

“Well, I hope so.”

He was lying and I knew it. He was practically leering at me. Or maybe he had a natural leer. Well, maybe he did but the spark between us was still very much alive. He was hoping that I would invite him to stay with me. I could tell. Well, hell would freeze first.

Time ticked by, one minute of witty repartee to the next, during which I restrained myself from asking him why he had dumped me, but it was always on the tip of my tongue. His eyes never left my face and mine never left his.

The next thing I knew, they were serving dinner. Julian was nearly at the bottom of the bottle of wine he had ordered. For the first time in years, I had a glass of wine too. I had forgotten how relaxing it was. Just one glass and I felt warm all over. Julian ordered another bottle, and I said, Oh, don’t order it for me, and he said something like, I’ll share it with our neighbors.