Pawleys Island-lowcountry 5 (29 page)

“Normal life sucks,” Sami said.

“Well, you could go live with Charlene and Daddy in her trailer in O-burg…just a thought,” I said.

Sami’s jaw locked and her face darkened. She made a hellish noise that rose from somewhere deep inside the cage of her adolescent frustration.

I realized I was in for years of mood swings until my little imp had imps of her own. There was nothing like having children to teach yourself how to behave.

Abigail and I exchanged knowing looks. She knew what I was in for and missed that turmoil more than anything. I was uncertain of what lay ahead and realized how important her friendship was. I needed her advice, and if she could figure out how to give me some of her strength, it would be okay too.

Abigail said, “Well, thanks for letting me stay over last night. Are y’all still coming up this weekend? Julian’s driving up this afternoon. I don’t think that storm is going to be much.”

Sami and Evan were standing there and jumped on the chance to go anywhere near Myrtle Beach.

“Oh, please let’s go! Mom,
please
? Come on! It’s Labor Day!”

I looked at them and back to Abigail.

“Well, we’re not going to have great weather, but so what? Why not? Go pack!”

I
called Tisdale to tell him we were driving up to Pawleys for the holiday weekend.

“If you’d like to join us, we’ll probably have a barbecue on Sunday or Monday.”

“Well, we’ll see. There’s supposed to be another storm. This is a pretty busy weekend for car sales. Next year’s models are almost out, so we cut prices on all the 2004 models. But I just might do it.”

“Oh, and Tisdale? If you hear from Nat, tell him he can go in the house and get his clothes, and if it’s not too uncomfortable for you, remind him that he’s not supposed to take anything else yet, just for the sake of the children’s comfort level.”

“I’d have no problem telling him that. In fact, if you want, I can go with him to make sure he doesn’t run off with the silver.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I think his tail is pretty well situated between his legs, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t trust that sumbitch with a nickel, and he’s my only son. He’s my only son. Good Lord. This is the first time I’ve been glad that his mother’s dead because this would break her heart. It really would.”

“Well, a lot of hearts are surely damaged if not broken. He’ll come around someday. You know, the prodigal son and all that.”

“I hope I live to see it.”

“I hope so too! Try and come to Pawleys, Tisdale. It would be so good for the kids, and you’d love Miss Olivia’s plantation. It’s really gorgeous.”

He was just glad to be invited. Poor thing. He had worked so hard all his life and had built a fortune, but money didn’t guarantee happiness. It helped, but it didn’t guarantee it.

We were just outside of Mount Pleasant, passing Awendaw, talking about the
Today Show
experience. Some of Evan’s friends had called to say they had seen Sami and me on television, and how come he wasn’t on too? He complained again and again that it wasn’t fair.

“Look, Evan, life’s not fair, okay? It just isn’t.”

“Mom’s right.”

“I mean, let’s just start with our happy little family. What happened? You think that was fair?”

“Boy, Mom,” Evan said, “you sure have gotten
cold
.”

I knew I didn’t sound like the old mom they had kicked around because I wasn’t the old mom and would never be that person again.

“Son, I love you to pieces, but your feeling of being slighted is a dinky little potato. It should be the worst thing that ever happens to you. And I’m not cold at all. What happened this summer changed me. It changed all of us.”

“She’s not cold, butt-breath, she’s stronger.”

“Mom! Sami called me…”

“Sami!”

“What? Sooooor-ry, Evan.”

I could see her grinning in my peripheral vision. Things were normal then. Sami insulting her little brother on the heel of a compliment was worth the teensy reprimand to her and a message to me that all was well. Well, an appearance on a national television program should boost anybody’s spirit. At least for a day or two. Her moods had a short shelf life.

“So, Sami? Did any of your friends call you?”

“No!”

“Well, they’re probably jealous.”

“Mom, teenage girls are horrible. They can’t stand it for anybody to get anything.”

“You mean like notoriety?”

“Yeah, that’s the word. I mean, they make fun of the smart kids and call them nerds and losers.”

“I know. It’s always been like that. And when the smart kids get accepted to Yale or something, they say, yeah, well, all he does is study and he’s got no life. Right? P.S. Ten years later they’re begging the nerd for a job, saying they were best friends in high school.”

“I doubt it,” Sami said and added, “Well, maybe.”

I could feel the gears turning in her head and in Evan’s head. They were thinking about what I said. That may seem like a small thing but it wasn’t. For the last year they had been brainwashed by Nat to discount every word that came out of my mouth. Now, all of sudden, their daddy had been made a public laughingstock and people like Katie Couric and Paula Zahn were calling their mother and telling her what a great gal she was. Not exactly what Nat predicted.

They were not completely won over, and I wasn’t honestly expecting that yet. But I knew as long as I provided a loving home, kept them fed and was diligent about their general well-being that their outward signs of affection would grow. When they were very little, I couldn’t have found two sweeter children on the planet. Those little precious hearts were still in them somewhere. I had to coax them out.

“Are y’all hungry? Wanna do drive-through? Or do you wanna go someplace nice?”

“I’m starving!” Evan said.

“He’s always starving! You pick it, Mom. I don’t know what they’ve got around here.”

We were almost at Pawleys and I decided to take us to the Hammock Shops.

“I know a fun place,” I said and pulled into the parking lot.

“Cool,” Evan said.

Cool
was what Evan said to describe all things pleasing to him.

The Hammock Shops was home to more than twenty little businesses, including the Hammock Shop itself, where we could watch a demonstration of how they are still made today. I decided we would get sandwiches and eat outside, and then walk around a little, giving them a chance to catch the tempo of the area, which was a little slower and a whole lot more relaxed than downtown Charleston.

“Mom! This is so cute! Look at this Christmas shop!”

Sami’s and Evan’s faces were plastered to the windows, and their eyes grew large and they darted from one ornament to another.

“Look, Mom! Here’s a shrimp wearing a Christmas wreath!”

“There’s a Santa lying in a hammock! Can we buy it, Mom?”

Christmas was a million miles away as far as I was concerned. I didn’t dwell on the thought of last year when Nat bought me a suitcase and a hanging bag for my gift and told me to use it. God, I thought I had totally buried that memory, but I guess I had not. My mind skipped back to Christmas years ago. Barbie dolls and Transformers. Legos and princess costumes. Cookies for Santa. Paper chains made by the children on the tree, reading stories about snowmen and trains that could.

“Mom! Did you hear me?”

“No, baby, what did you say?”

“I said, I want to go in and look around. Okay?”

“Maybe after lunch, honey. Let’s eat first and then we can go in all the shops if you want to.”

I got fried chicken for us from Louis’s takeout with big biscuits, coleslaw and iced tea. We found an empty picnic table and opened everything up to share it with each other. The chicken was right out of the fryer, and on tasting it all of us said
Mmm!
at the same time.

“Know what?” I said and took a sip of my tea.

“What?” Sami said.

“This is the kind of chicken that makes you dream about chicken.”

I don’t know why, but Sami and Evan thought that was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

“You dream about chickens, Mom? Come on!”

“All right, my little wisenheimers, here’s the plan. After lunch, you can both choose one ornament for the tree, and then we’re going over to Litchfield to drop off our stuff. Then I’m going to take y’all to the gallery to say hello to Huey. After that, we’ll see. Maybe we’ll go buy some groceries.”

After the bones were licked clean, everything was thrown away and hands were washed, we got away with one shrimp holding a sign that said
Merry Christmas, Y’all!
and a sea turtle wearing a Santa cap. They were adorable.

When we got to the condo, there was a note on my front door.

Rebecca, Darling!
Welcome back! Byron and Daphne
cleaned up and made the beds for
the children. I can’t wait to meet them!
Dinner is at my place at eight. Mother is
making her string beans!

Love, Huey

P.S. The painting over the sofa is sold!

“Well, here we are!” I said and opened the door.

Sami went right to the sliding glass door and looked out at the ocean.

“Awesome!” she said. “And look! Evan, come here! There’s a pool too!”

“Wow!”

I almost fainted for two reasons. The painting over the sofa was my doll painting and the price tag was twenty-five hundred dollars. Sami turned and saw me and then stood by me and stared at the painting. Of course she saw the price tag and my signature in the lower right hand corner.

“Mom? Did you paint this?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

At this point all three of us were gawking at my painting.

“I thought Daddy said your paintings were stupid,” Evan said.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars isn’t stupid, you moron,” Sami said.

“Your daddy said a lot of things.”

I felt their little arms slip around my waist, and I put mine around their shoulders.

It wasn’t necessary to say anything then. The proof was right in front of them and it was just one more nail in Nat’s coffin.

“Well, let’s unpack,” I said. “Evan, you take the bedroom across from mine, and Sami, you take the other one.”

“Okay,” they said and left to see what their rooms were like.

I saw that the refrigerator was filled with all the things necessary to make breakfast and that Byron and Daphne had made a trip to Blockbuster. There were a dozen DVDs sitting on top of the entertainment center in front of the row of pictures of Sami and Evan. A pile of new beach towels waited on the dining room table, with a bottle of sunscreen and two new visors that said
PI,
for Pawleys Island. I almost choked up and then took an oath to never cry again. But I was so moved that all the critical friends I knew at Pawleys took a hand in welcoming me back. Even darling Miss Olivia was making her string bean salad.

The sky had become dark and huge raindrops began to fall, pelting the windows. I looked out through the balcony doors. The wind was picking up and the palmetto trees rustled in the wind. Well, I thought, we sure aren’t having dinner on Huey’s terrace. Hurricane Gaston. A French hurricane?

I called out to Sami and Evan.

“Turns out it’s not a beach day, kids. So what do you want to do?”

We watched movies and ate microwave popcorn until seven, got dressed and drove over to Huey’s.

Huey was waiting at the door. I didn’t know if he was watching the storm or waiting for us. In any case, his eyes became lit with excitement when he saw my children.

“Come in! Come in! Get these precious children out of this detestable weather!”

“Thanks, Huey!” I handed him our umbrella, which was soaked and dripping. “Sami? Evan? This is Mr. Valentine, my boss and, well, my best friend too.”

Huey looked from Sami to Evan and said, “Well, now, we’ll have none of that mister business! Call me Uncle Huey! And Sami? From this moment on, you have become Samantha! Why Samantha is a grand name! A glorious name! A name that should be in lights, don’t you think?” He took her arm to lead her to the living room, where everyone else was gathered. “Come meet my mother, Miss Olivia! She’s the grande dame of the entire plantation and can tell you stories you would not believe!”

Evan, still standing in the hall with me, yanked my sleeve.

“Is that man crazy?” he whispered behind his hand.

“Yes. And everyone should be crazy like Huey Valentine.”

R
EBECCA’S
children were the stars of Friday night, and Huey was beside himself with the sheer delight of their company. I knew he was very fond of Rebecca, and her children were the welcome dividends of his affection for her. Huey had no siblings, no nieces or nephews. He was such a wild-boy personality and more colorful than any rain-forest bird, you could understand why he had never been hauled off to a church to act as godparent. But he was reasonably settled now. In his tiny world that revolved around his mother, business and plantation, there was no place for children, until that moment. Instantly, he became Uncle Huey.

Needless to say, Rebecca’s children had never met anyone like Huey in their lives. There was some eye rolling and snickering from the children, to which Huey returned each eye roll and snicker with amplification. A mutual fascination society was born.

He brought Sami to Miss Olivia’s side and she sat in the spot that Miss Olivia patted. Even the inquisitive Miss Olivia was rejuvenated by Samantha’s youth and wanted to know every little thing on her mind. She had seen her on the
Today Show
and complimented her on her natural poise. Sami, who had no grandmother, was on her best behavior and giggled when Miss Olivia asked her at what age she intended to marry.

“Get married?” she said. “I guess when my white knight shows up with a big diamond.”

“Yes, young lady, you are absolutely correct to wait for a big diamond,” Miss Olivia said. “For all the fool nonsense you’ll have to endure being a wife and mother, you should have a big piece of bling to show for it.”

“Bling, Mother?” Huey said.

“I watch television, you know! I know what the young people call things!”
Cough! Cough!
“Huey? I am so parched…”

“Let me refill your glass, Mother.”

“He’s a dear son,” she said to Sami. “Now tell me about your plans for your husband. Will he be older or younger? A doctor or a professor? Or maybe a television network executive?”

When Huey saw that Sami was falling under the spell of Miss Olivia’s charm, he went back to Evan.

“Dear fellow!” he said. “Would you like to see what’s going on in the kitchen? All these old people are so boring, don’t you think?”

I knew perfectly well that Huey was going to turn on the kitchen television and let Evan watch whatever he wanted to watch. Byron would give him cookies and chocolate milk. Between them, they would conspire to spoil Evan rotten. But who could resist a young boy with a freckled nose and a little tummy, and who had perfect manners? Not any of us, that was for sure.

All evening, the adults focused on Sami and Evan. And the children reveled in the attention. Rebecca’s heart was swollen with pride.

On the way home I said to Julian, “Isn’t it remarkable how Huey and Miss Olivia just came to life because of Rebecca’s kids?”

“It was like watching dry sponges soak up the Waccamaw. Those kids need someone like Huey and Miss Olivia to love. And vice versa.”

“Everybody needs somebody to love.”

Julian reached over and squeezed my knee.

Julian and I promised to take Sami and Evan on a tour of the big house on Saturday, and because Huey had keys, we could go in after hours. But Hurricane Gaston was becoming more than a nuisance. It never stopped raining Friday night and by Saturday afternoon it was still pouring. The Weather Channel said we could get up to ten inches, and that amount of water would flood roads everywhere.

Julian and I were at my house, watching the ocean. The tide was abnormally high, and I was concerned about the causeway getting washed out. The whole thing about hurricanes was that other variables came into play—the tide, erosion, the temperature of the water, the direction of the wind and so on.

Over time, meteorologists had distorted our perception of danger, because no one worried anymore about a storm unless it had winds in excess of one hundred fifty miles and hour. But you can take this to the bank—if you don’t think it’s frightening to drive even a heavy SUV in driving rain and wind of fifty miles an hour, try it sometime. Category one? Category two? It wasn’t the number that mattered. By the time they stuck a name on the storm, it was time to plan for another place to sleep in higher elevations. Or make sure you had plenty of nerve, batteries and water.

Julian opened the door to the front porch.

“Julian! Don’t go out there!”

“I just want to watch for a minute. The ocean’s almost up to the dunes in some places.”

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” I said and decided not to watch him be skewered by a flying palmetto frond and die a miserable death on my front steps.

The phone rang. It was Huey.

“Abigail? I know you just ate here last night, but I need you to come for dinner again tonight for two reasons. One, I have a hundred quail in my freezer, and if we lose power, I don’t want to lose them. And two, the storm’s going to make landfall somewhere between here and McClellanville. They said we’re supposed to get terrible amounts of rain, and I don’t have the nervous system to worry about you all night stranded on a sandbar. Please pack your things and come. Rebecca’s already here with the children. So, stop…”

“Okay.”

“What? Did you say
okay
? Why! I can’t believe it! I’ll tell Byron to make a cake!”

“Julian loves quail stew, and so do I. See you soon.”

I poured two mugs of coffee and turned as I heard Julian’s footsteps.

“What’s wrong?” I said when I saw the look on his face.

“Abigail? I think I just saw a goddamn ghost!”

“Male?”

“Yes.”

“Wearing gray?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Did he look at you? Or the house?”

“Both.”

“Okay. It’s safe to go to Huey’s. Honey? You just saw the Gray Man and the house is going to be fine. Screw Gaston. Let’s pack.”

“Nonsense…it was probably just some damn fool…maybe not.”

“When we get to Huey’s, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Don’t you want to batten the hatches first?”

“What’s to batten? The only thing here that I couldn’t live without is you!”

But that wasn’t entirely true. I wanted my pictures of Ashley and John and my mother’s Bible. I had a box of things—my passport, car title, insurance papers, etc.—all put together in case of evacuation.

We drove slowly, leaving the island. The drive across the causeway was frightening as the marsh water was already sloshing over the road. Businesses were closed, windows were boarded over and the Lowcountry was hunkered down for its fifth major storm of the season. There was a huge live oak fallen over Highway 17, and what little traffic there was had to drive around it. The gas station on our left had lost its canopy. It had collapsed on the pumps. Branches were down everywhere and the wind tested the endurance of everything around us, blowing from every direction at once. Lights were out, and I knew that if we lost power in one place, we were likely to lose it all over.

“Gaston is not the French ambassador,” Julian said.

“You can say that again,” I said. “Here’s our turn.”

“Once again, I’m sure glad you’re with me, because I’d sure never find it in
this
weather.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I’m with you too.”

We drove cautiously down the road and the avenue of oaks. Fallen branches and deep puddles were everywhere. There wasn’t a dog or a bird in sight, and most of the houses were dark. Thankfully, there was light at the end of the road. Huey, only by the hand of Providence, still had electricity.

Huey met us at the door. We were soaked to the skin, just from the trip from the car. He had spread beach towels in the foyer for us to step on.

“Good gracious! Give me your shoes and whatever else you can shed with any decorum.”

We took off our yellow slickers and sneakers. I was wearing black slacks and a black cotton sweater with a white golf shirt. I could have rung out my slacks over a sink and provided enough irrigation for all his houseplants. Julian and I stood there in our own little pools of water.

“It’s raining,” Julian said, deadpan.

“Yeah. We got wet.”

“Heavens! I told you two not to play in the puddles! Now, there are terrycloth robes in the guest room closet. Go get them on before you catch a cold.”

Miss Olivia was seated in her chair by the fireplace, telling Evan and Rebecca a story. She spotted us and said, “Mercy me! You both look like something from Davy Jones’s locker!”

“Hey, Miss Olivia! I know it! How are y’all doing today with all this crazy weather?”

“Fine! Fine! Hurry along, dear! I want you to help me tell these lovely children about the Hot and Hot Fish Club!”

“What’s the Hot and Hot Fish Club?” Julian said, peeling off his wet khakis.

“Ah! It was a venerable institution founded here a couple of hundred years ago, started by men, run by men and enjoyed by men. Exclusively.” I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My wet hair hung in a hopeless mass of ringlets.

“And the purpose was?”

“The usual—hunt, fish, eat, drink, swap stories and have fun.”

“Sounds civilized.”

“I think it’s a good idea for men to have their own clubs, as long as they are strictly social, that is.” I pulled dry clothes from our duffle bags and shook them out. “Do you think lipstick would help?”

“Um, sure. Or not.”

That wasn’t exactly the reply I was hoping for.
You look perfect! You don’t need it!
It sure would be nice to get sick of platitudes, I thought. Julian was his own man, though. He didn’t have much use for insecurities and false vanity or women who went fishing for a compliment. And although I was guilty on all counts, usually I fought hard to keep my flaws hidden.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s join the others.”

We were all in the living room, telling stories of hurricanes we remembered. When Julian told the story of his Gray Man sighting, he directed his attention to Miss Olivia and Rebecca, which naturally brought on lots of questions from the children. Miss Olivia told the children more about the Gray Man and Alice Flagg than even I had ever heard. Their mouths dropped.

“Bull,” Evan said.

“No way,” Sami said.

“I don’t know,” Julian said. “I believe only what I see with my own eyes, and I would take an oath that I saw the Gray Man today. There wasn’t much to it, really. It was just a man walking the beach. But there he was.”

The smells coming from the kitchen were mouthwatering. But outside the wind howled like a freight train, rattling the windows. You could hear branches crack and fall, and then it would be quiet for a few minutes until the wind picked up again.

“Did you hear that, Mom?” Sami said to Rebecca.

“It’s just the storm, baby.”

And that’s when the lights went out.

“Mercy!” Miss Olivia said. “I can’t even see my glass!”

I was ready to take odds that it was empty.

“Everyone! Don’t move!” Huey said. “Let me light candles.”

“I’ll help you,” I said.

Within minutes, we were in candlelight. If there was one thing Huey had, it was candles. On the floor of his hall closet was a case of fat columns and votives that could burn for hours.

“I went a little overboard with after-Christmas sales last year,” he said. “But I don’t mind smelling cranberry in August, do you?”

“Nope, or bayberry. Gosh, I wonder how Byron is doing?”

“He’s got Daphne in there helping him so he’s okay. Besides, he can finish the stew on the cooktop. It’s propane.”

“A blessing, to be sure.”

“Smells like Christmas,” Miss Olivia said as we gathered around the table and Julian held her chair. “Thank you, Julian.”

Huey put six large candles on a platter in the center of the table and little votives in front of each plate. The light was very low but sufficient to see the plates. Byron appeared with Daphne. Byron carried the large tureen of stew, and Daphne had another one of rice. They began to serve. It wasn’t lost on me that we were having an eighteenth-century moment—on a plantation, dining in candlelight, being served by African Americans. And although Daphne was only working to save money for graduate school, did Byron intend to be Huey’s manservant for the rest of his life? Probably not, but I decided to discuss it with Huey later on.

“Shall we offer thanks?” Miss Olivia said.

Now, this was not a particularly religious household, so saying grace was unusual. But since Mother Nature was threatening to take us all to the Pearly Gates at any moment, petitioning the Lord seemed like an excellent idea.

“Let’s bow our heads. Dear Father, thank you for this wonderful meal and this truly excellent company. Please protect us from Hurricane Gaston, and should you have occasion to speak to Chalmers—that’s my husband, y’all—would you please tell him I love him?”

The children giggled and elbowed each other. Miss Olivia continued.

“And Lord? Please bless and keep Rebecca, Sami and Evan safe from harm and fill their lives with the joys of love. Amen. Shall we begin?” Miss Olivia picked up her fork and the rest of us followed.

I looked over and saw one tiny tear slip from the corner of Sami’s eye. She sniffed and began to eat, choking up and bursting into tears.

“Sweetheart! What ever can be the matter?” Rebecca said.

“Samantha! Dear girl!” Huey said.

“I’m sorry!” she said in a wail.

“Excuse us, y’all,” Rebecca said. “We’ll be right back.”

She took Sami to the powder room, and without the noise of the exhaust fan we could hear every word they said. In a nutshell, it was this.

“Mom! Did you hear what she said? She
prayed
for us! To fill our lives with joy and love? To keep us safe? Mom, when’s the last time someone ever did something so nice for us?”

“I know, baby. It’s true. Come on now, our dinner will be cold.”

They rejoined us at the table, and for the duration of the meal, Sami campaigned to move to Pawleys or Litchfield, or that even Georgetown would be better than downtown Charleston. It might have seemed incredible to some people that the small-town living of that area was preferable to the vast opportunities of Charleston, but to Sami it was. She was looking for a place to be a child again, to restore some peace of mind, one last blast of childhood before she had to face the rigors of college. She was starved for affection and approval, and here was a place where both seemed to flow like the river.