. . . the tulip-tree. . . . Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork . . .
—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”
Jackie
So spank me, I was wrong. My mother might be right. Maybe I am paranoid. So what? If she was in my situation, wouldn’t she be a little freaked out? I think she would be. I’d seen children beaten to within an inch of their lives. Children who’d been raped. I’d seen atrocities so horrible that they registered in my mind as something I’d seen on a screen on film, not in real life. And listen, that said, I don’t want to be that mother who won’t let her kid go places until she has the life history and ten references on the person who wants to take him somewhere either. Pick up any newspaper. News flash! The world is crawling with perverts! Clergy, coaches, and politicians! Who can you trust anymore? I know, I know, I overreacted. But sorry, anyone who doesn’t believe horrible things happen to innocent children should spend some time in Kandahar. She should’ve given me a heads-up. I mean, that’s just common courtesy. Isn’t it?
It was barely six o’clock in the morning, but I was still smoldering, tossing and turning in my sheets and self-righteous indignation. I decided to get up, go out for coffee, and buy myself a copy of The New York Times. Maybe that would lighten my mood, to read some news from the big world out there, like maybe Jane Brody’s health column. I’d always liked her so much, and since I’d been in the Middle East I’d missed a lot of other things that made it worth the expense and aggravation it took to live in a major metropolitan area like New York. Like great pizza and the chance to see the Statue of Liberty anytime I felt like it. The Macy’s Day Parade on Thanksgiving morning and the Bronx Zoo. The Cyclone roller coaster on Coney Island, Chinatown, Little Italy, and so many other things and places . . . Central Park, Radio City and the Rockettes, on and on. It would kill my mother if I told her this, but I really loved New York.
Everyone was still sleeping, so I left a note on the kitchen table: “Gone out for a newspaper and a cappuccino. Be back soon. On my cell. Xx”
I got into my car and backed out of the yard, headed toward the Ben Sawyer Bridge. It was too early for the bookstore to be open and it was the only place I knew of that sold the Times in its café. So I went in the other direction, remembering Page’s Okra Grill, where I could sit and read and amuse myself with the paper until a decent hour and a better mood rolled around. While I was in nursing school I’d spent hours there, studying for exams. I wondered what Dad would have to say about what Mom had done. Maybe I’d call him. He’d side with me. I was sure of it. Of course a great deal of planning had gone into how he was going to see Charlie without Mom going nuts. Mom was just going to have to suck it up.
I bought my paper, saw that Page’s Okra Grill had moved to the location where Alex’s used to be, and went there. I was getting reacquainted with Mount Pleasant whether I wanted to or not.
It was not even seven, but Page’s already had customers. I went in and took a seat against the back wall at a table for two. The waitress, a mature woman whose name tag said LIBBY, was there in moments.
“Mornin’, hon! Can I start you out with a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks.”
She filled my mug and asked, “Juice?”
“No, thanks.”
“Fine. Well, here’s our menu. Have a look, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I had no intention of ordering breakfast, preferring to eat later in the morning with Charlie, but after watching steaming plates of fluffy scrambled eggs and sausage patties pass within smelling distance, I was weakening to the point that if I didn’t get some breakfast I was going to start crying. Well, not really crying, but I might whimper if the next plate going by wasn’t for me.
“So, did y’all decide?”
“Yes. I’d like two eggs over easy, grits with no butter, sausage patties, and a biscuit with no butter.”
Libby stared at me like Who are you kidding? Have the butter.
“Watching my cholesterol. You know. Gotta watch that stuff.”
“Uh-huh. Well, would you rather have egg whites and turkey sausage?”
“No way. Isn’t it enough that I gave up butter in my grits?”
“If you say so. I’m just pointing out the fact that you have options. Personally? I agree with you. You couldn’t pay me folding money to eat turkey sausage. Pretty little skinny thing like you doesn’t have to worry about all that mess. You’re too young!”
“I’m a nurse, and I’ve seen the horrors of blocked arteries.”
“Oh. Well, I mix up my eggs in my grits so as I don’t miss the butter.”
“That’s exactly what I’m intending to do. That’s what we always did around here when I was a kid.”
“Oh? You from east of the Cooper?”
“Yeah, I grew up on the island, but I’ve been gone for a long time.”
We always said “the island” to mean Sullivans Island. If you were from the Isle of Palms you said “Isle of Palms,” and more recently people had begun referring to it as the IOP.
“Uh-huh. I can hear a teensy bit of a Yankee accent, but that’s okay. My ex-husband is a Yankee, and so are a lot of my friends.”
“Well, that’s nice.” She didn’t say it like “Some of my best friends are lepers,” so I didn’t take offense. “I’ve been living in Brooklyn for a dozen years.”
“Oh, so you’re here visiting?”
“Yeah, I just got out of the army.”
“Oh! So you’re an army nurse? Where did they send you?”
“Afghanistan.”
“Afghanistan! Wow! Let me just put your order in, and I’ll be right back. I want to hear this.”
I poured two tiny containers of nondairy half-and-half into my coffee and stirred it, looking around at the scant population of early risers. Some were retired men who probably came here every morning to discuss whatever it is that old men discuss—health and money, I guessed. Some were tourists dressed in crazy outfits obviously on their way to an early-morning tee time. There was a table of two people, an older man and a younger man. The older man was being interviewed and it didn’t look promising because the younger man looked very ill at ease. Some looked like construction workers, and others, older ladies, probably had doctor appointments or were on their way to the grocery store or to Mass. Everyone in the restaurant had a story, and I was sure that every story had its share of joy and pain, regrets and ambitions. I wondered what they thought my story was or if they wondered about me at all. One thing was certain about my mother’s assessment of life: what my mother had done last night did not seem so horrible as the morning light continued to grow. Maybe the night brought out something feral in me that needed to howl at the moon. The night was when I thought about the enemy or any enemies of my family and what I wanted for us. I was good under the cover of night. Very good. Maybe I really was being overprotective of Charlie.
Libby returned with my biscuit and said, “The rest will be up in just a minute. So tell me, what in the world were you doing in Afghanistan?”
“Taking care of the injured and trying to understand the culture. Trying to figure out how to make it better for the women and children without getting our heads blown off.”
“Wow. My ex-husband, Raymond, did four tours in Vietnam. He was a son of a bitch, between us girls. Came home as crazy as a loon.”
Was I as crazy as a loon? I didn’t think so. Just jittery.
“Yeah, boy. He got liquored up all the time and went down the dock to shoot fish with his hunting rifle. That wasn’t any kind of a life for me! No, ma’am! So are you going back over?”
“I can’t. I lost my husband last month, and I have to stay stateside because we have a son who’s just ten.”
“Oh, hon! That’s terrible! I’m so sorry! Y’all still got family here?”
“Yeah, my mother. She’s still on the island. And there’s my dad, who’s up in Murrells Inlet.”
“Oh, they’re divorced? I’m sorry. I always say I’m sorry when I hear news like that. I mean, maybe it is the best thing for them both, but it’s still sad when families fall apart.”
“Well, they’re not divorced. They just can’t seem to work out their differences. Not that they’ve tried very hard, that I know of anyway.”
“And you’d like to see them back together, I imagine?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t want their family to be intact and happy?”
“I hear you, darlin’! Let me go check on those eggs for you.”
Libby returned a few minutes later, put the plate in front of me. I had inhaled my biscuit. She lingered as though there was something she wanted to say. When she couldn’t seem to find her words, I spoke up. “So I guess you’re divorced, then?” I cut into the egg white, scooped up some grits with it, and ate it. It was so damn delicious I couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah, but it’s all right. I met a nice guy. Mike is his name. You know, I was thinking, why don’t you just tell your daddy he needs to come home? Daddies always listen to their little girls.”
“Well, I’m not so little anymore, and I’m afraid I did something worse than that. I rode up to Murrells Inlet yesterday and told him that the man next door was flirting with Momma. He didn’t like that much.” I took a deep sip of my coffee and cut another bite of egg, letting the yolk fully integrate with the grits. I couldn’t get it into my mouth fast enough. “Actually, the truth is that my momma’s flirting with him. But you know, my dad’s been gone for eleven years and I can’t blame my mother, really.”
Libby stood back and swallowed hard. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Hold on, sister. You told on your momma? You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. Besides, my mother is well, taking grandmotherly liberties with my son—”
“What do you mean—liberties?”
“Oh, no!” I could tell by the look on Libby’s face that she had the completely wrong idea. “No, last night she let him go to a baseball game with a friend of hers. It was a RiverDogs game, and he went without my permission—”
“While you were off seeing your daddy?”
“Right.”
“Wait a minute, you didn’t even know all that when you were up the road telling your daddy about this man flirting with your momma, did you?” Libby’s face was incredulous.
“No. I mean, you’re right. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“Uh-huh. You want a piece of advice from a tired sixty-three-year-old waitress who has seen it all?”
“Sure.”
“Love your momma, honey, and try to treasure every minute you spend with her. Forgive her everything she does. She’s not out to aggravate you. I’d give every last tooth I have left in my head to have my momma back for just ten minutes. I’m not lying either. She was the best friend I ever had, and well, I didn’t know it until she was gone. Cried a river.”
“Oh, I know she’s my friend. I mean, I usually know. Just lately, things have been rough.”
“I’m sure, losing your husband and all.”
“Yeah, especially because he died in a fire. He was a fireman with the NYFD. Pretty gruesome.”
“Great God in heaven! I’m gonna pray for your whole family. Oh, I’m just so sorry.”
“Thanks.” Why was I telling this old woman the story of my life? But, on an odd note, she was honestly moved by my story.
“Now, as far as your daddy and the man next door? Let the two roosters work that out. Listen to old Libby. I’ve seen it all. Don’t get involved. Just sit back and see what happens. You done planted the seed.”
She stepped away, got the coffeepot, came back, and refilled my mug. “I’m gonna get you another biscuit. On the house. I saw them pulling fresh ones out of the oven a minute ago.”
“Thanks,” I said, thinking I couldn’t swallow another bite.
But somehow I did, and that biscuit disappeared as well. I needed to join a gym.
The truth was that Charlie had not been kidnapped, that Steve Plofker was probably an extremely nice man, and that I was obviously a wall-licking lunatic when it came to Charlie’s comings and goings. Old Libby might have made a donation of most of her molars to no purposeful end, but I knew she was right. And I needed to get a serious grip on my emotional judgment. This was the Lowcountry, for heaven’s sake, and the last serious crime on Sullivans Island had been committed by some local breaking curfew by riding around on his golf cart after dark. And my mother was the most well-intentioned person I’d ever known. I mean, Aunt Maureen was great, but nobody loves you like your mother loves you. I needed to give her a break. I needed to give Aunt Maureen a call. And I needed to calm down.
When I got home, Charlie and Mom were just cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
“There’s still coffee if you want some,” she said, and I detected a chill in her personal atmosphere.
“Okay,” I said. “Charlie, baby? Did you pull up your bed?”
“Uh—”
“So why don’t you run and do that, and I’ll help Glam finish up the dishes.”
“Sure!” And he was off and running.
And at the same time I shouted, “Don’t run in the house!” Mom mumbled, “I can do my own dishes, thank you.”
She was annoyed.
“Mom, I’m really sorry about losing my temper with you last night. I don’t know what in the world is the matter with me. You are so nice and so thoughtful, and I am the daughter from hell. Anyway, I’m sorry and I love you and I promise to try and, I don’t know, control my temper. Are you still mad with me?”
I watched her shoulders rise as she held on to the side of the sink as though she needed it for balance. Then she turned her head to one side, looking out of the window. Finally, after what I imagined she thought was the appropriate amount of time to leave me dangling seemed to have passed, she turned to face me. Her face was resolute.
“Of course I’m not mad with you. You get your nasty disposition from your father’s side of the family, although he is usually a pretty passive man. Way too passive, in fact. All that repressed anger is going to kill him one of these days. The Britts were always renowned for their hot tempers. Anyway, come here to me.”
My mother put her arms around me and hugged me with all her might. “There now,” she said, standing back and looking at me. “Have a little faith in me, Jackie. Let Charlie believe my judgment is the same as yours. Then you can relax a little more. And we can all enjoy our time together if we’re not worrying about you losing your cool over every darn thing. Right?”
“I know. You’re right.”
“You know, it occurred to me this morning that you’re probably used to a pretty rigorous exercise regime in the army and all. I mean, you’re all muscle!”
“Yes. We worked out every day. It was good for stress.”
“Aha! You see? That’s what you need!” She reached in the pocket of her apron and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “Here, look at this. I cut this out from the Moultrie News for you. Kickboxing classes! You can go kick the, pardon my expression, crap out of something, and that’s bound to make you feel better, don’t you think?”
I hated to admit it, but I had been so foul-tempered since my arrival that it was becoming clear, even to me, that I needed some outlet for my anxiety. And to burn off those biscuits. Kickboxing might just be the ticket.
“I’ll check it out.”
“Good! Now tell me about your visit with your father.”
“Well, it was good, you know? We hung out and talked, trying to figure out my future. For now he thinks I should go over to the VA hospital and volunteer. I think it’s a brilliant idea. I can’t just sit around like this all the time.” I looked at my mother’s face and wondered for a moment why she looked so stung. Then I remembered that she was the one who had suggested it in the first place. “Just as you suggested a few days ago.”
The sting on her face dissolved into satisfaction. “Well, it’s nice to see that he and I still agree on something!”
“Yeah. Anyway, I’m going to take a ride over there today and see what’s going on. Do you want to go with me?”
“Oh, thanks, sweetheart, but I have so many things to do today. So tell me, what’s his house like?”
“Dad’s? You haven’t been there?” Mom cocked her head to one side and looked at me. “No. Huh?”
“Hardly.”
“Well, it’s a new house, not particularly pretty, pretty drab in fact. And it’s filled with blah furniture and a big-screen television. There’s a nice front porch with a swing and a couple of rockers. But you can tell it’s really just a man cave. There are no rugs or pretty towels. It’s very basic. You wouldn’t like it.”
“Humph. I’m sure I wouldn’t. But you had a good visit with him, I hope?”
“Yeah. It was really good.”
“What did y’all talk about besides volunteering?”
“We talked about Charlie.”
“I see. Well, that’s good. I haven’t told you this, but I have some news. I’m pretty excited about it.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow I have an appointment with a woman named Margaret Donaldson downtown. She was all over Southern Living last month.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s going to bring my appearance into the twenty-first century. She’s a makeover professional.”
“Why in the world do you want a makeover? You look fine!”
“How would you like to look just fine? That sounds like someone wearing sensible cardigans and orthopedic shoes. God, Jackie, I’m only fifty-eight. I’m not dead yet, you know.”
“Mom, maybe I didn’t say this correctly. I mean, I wouldn’t change a thing about the way you look because you are so pretty for any age. I’m the one who probably needs a makeover.”
“Maybe. I mean that in the nicest way, honey. You’re a beautiful girl. And I know it’s beach casual and all that, but you know, looks are important.”
“To who? God, Mom! You know I’m not looking to attract anyone!”
There I went again. I was on the express train to Crazy Town again.
“Take a deep breath, Jackie. I only meant that a pretty nurse would certainly cheer a wounded veteran faster than one who didn’t give a hoot about how she looked. Happiness produces endorphins. You should know that. And you’re a beautiful young woman who might have fun with it. That’s all. Now, where’s Charlie? It’s way past time to go get the dogs.”
“He’s already off down the beach with them.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. I decided he’s old enough to do this on his own. And there’s something I haven’t told you.”
“What’s that?”
“Daddy’s coming down tomorrow to make ice cream with Charlie.”
“He is? Well, that’s very nice. And I shall not be at home to receive him, shall I? Kindly ask him to stay out of my bedroom and my medicine cabinet, will you? He can use the guest powder room if nature calls.”
She turned on her heel and left the room. Once again, I couldn’t really blame her. And I wondered for the fiftieth time what it would really be like if they got back together again. He really was an old salt, and she really was a glamour puss. But didn’t Hemingway, who was an authentic old salt if ever there was one, marry all those glamorous women? And weren’t they gorgeous in the blazing heat of Key West? I’d seen plenty of pictures of him with his wives in enormous straw hats and beautiful gauzy outfits and Katharine Hepburn–style high-waist trousers with pleats and cuffs and pockets. It could work. They could work. What could I do to make them see that their love wasn’t dead?
Healing seemed to be the central theme of my life. I was thinking about Charlie and me and how broken we felt, but what we felt was nothing compared to the devastation suffered by the veterans at the VA hospital. I spent a few hours there going around with the nurses and administration staff, and they had more jobs for me than I could have ever imagined. I could work in the pharmacy or registration or any number of places. What I really wanted to do was practice nursing because that was what I was trained to do. I filled out applications, and they said they would call me in a day or two. I had no doubt that they would because they seemed overwhelmed. But I didn’t feel overwhelmed because after Afghanistan it would take something pretty riotous to rattle me in any hospital setting.
The next morning arrived, Mom said her good-byes, Charlie took off with the dogs, and I cleaned up the kitchen.
“Good luck!” I said and gave her a smooch on her cheek.
“I can’t wait to hear what Ms. Donaldson has in store for me.”
“Well, for the record, I think you’re nuts, but hey, if it makes you happy? I say go for it!”
“Aren’t you even curious what it would be like to have someone make you look ten years younger?”
“No. Because that would make me twenty-five.”
“Well, tell your father I said hello or kiss it or something.”
“I’ll think of something to say.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you when she’s all done with me!”
My instincts told me that she sort of wished she was going to stay home because it was one way she could spend a day with him without taking responsibility for him being there. Daddy was coming at my invitation, and I knew he was pretty nervous about it too. I didn’t know when the last time was that he had been in the house, but I imagined it had to have been years. Mom and Dad were not mortal enemies by any definition. She simply held him at arm’s length and he deferred to her wishes. It was all right with me when older people who had been married for decades got to the point where they simply wanted different things. Pursue them, for heaven’s sake. But did they have to live in separate houses? Couldn’t they figure out a way to live together, even if it was only as friends?
And what if Mom came home while he was still here? We would have a colossally awkward situation. Hopefully she’d call first.
I heard the screen door close on the front porch and went out to remind Charlie to put fresh water in the dog’s dishes. It was not even ten o’clock and already eighty-five degrees. Needless to say, it was humid enough to swim from one room to another. He was in the hammock with an e-reader.
“Where’d you get that?” I asked.
“Dr. Steve. He said I should use it to read ‘The Gold-Bug’ because it has a dictionary in it and some of the words are words I never heard of.”
“Like what?”
“Huguenot? Coppice? Manumitted? Do you know what they mean?”
“Well, we have Huguenots in Charleston whose families came over three hundred years ago. They were French Protestants, and I think they followed Calvin’s teachings.”
“Who the heck is Calvin?”
“Why don’t you Google him and see? You can use my laptop.”
“Yeah, maybe later. But look at this.” Charlie put the cursor over the word coppice and a definition popped up. Thicket. “What’s a thicket?”
“It means a densely wooded area, the kind you’d have to hack through with a machete.”
“Wow. Cool.”
“Yeah, cool. Listen, your grandfather is going to be here soon, so I hope you’ve got your room picked up and that the bathroom can pass inspection. And be careful with that thing. They break if you drop them.”
“No worries, Mom. It’s all good.”
“Okay, then, I’m going to go make iced tea for Guster and me. I’ll bet we drink it all.”
“Probably. I’ll just be right here,” he said. “I’m going to make a map.”
“That would be a good exercise for the old bean. What kind of map?”
“To find hidden treasure!”
“Well, of course! Why else?”
I went inside, put a large saucepan filled with water on the stove to boil, took four tea bags from the pantry closet, pulled off their labels, and tied the strings together. I wasn’t thrilled that Steve had taken another oh-so-cavalier step into Charlie’s life by allowing him to use his e-reader. For one thing, they were expensive, and if Charlie dropped it, I’d have to replace it. And I wasn’t too happy that he was reading Poe. I knew “The Gold-Bug” was benign enough, but if he liked it, he’d surely move on to the more grotesque stories by Poe.
When the water began to boil, I pulled the pot off the burner and dropped in the tea bags, thinking that ten minutes ought to do it. I heard a car door slam and went out to the back porch to see who was there. It was Dad. Dad with his curly salt-and-pepper hair and muscular arms and little paunch. He wasn’t a large man, only five foot nine, maybe, but he was adorable in his Hawaiian shirt and tortoiseshell Ray-Bans and Top-Siders. He was carrying an old wooden ice cream churn under one arm and two bags of groceries with his other hand.
“Hey! Wait! Can I help you with that?”
“Yeah, take a bag and give your old man a smooch!”
I planted a noisy kiss on his cheek and took both bags. Gosh, he smelled good, I thought, and it was in that moment that I realized he was considerably better groomed than he had been yesterday. Just seeing him brought a smile to my face. He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Is she here?”
“No, the coast is clear, and I think she’s going to be gone most of the day.”
“Humph.” He almost seemed disappointed. “Well, it’s probably best. Where’s Charlie?”
“In the hammock, that’s where he pretty much lives now. That is, when he’s not chasing after our neighbor’s dogs or building sand castles with some kids in a rental house down the road.”
As soon as we got inside the house, I called out for Charlie and he came running. “Guster!” He threw his arms around Dad’s waist, and Dad hugged him back.
“Well, would you look at you? You’ve got a regulation Lowcountry boy suntan! How about that?”
“Yeah, I’ve been going to the beach every day, and I got a job, you know. Did Mom tell you?”
“Yes! Yes, she did. Are those puppies on the porch?”
“Yep! Come on! I’ll show you!” He grabbed Dad’s hand and hurried him out of the room. “I have so much to tell you! Did you bring the ice cream machine?”
“You know I did! It’s a genuine White Mountain ice cream freezer that’s made by hand. It makes the finest ice cream in the entire world! And I brought all the things we need to make some first-class blueberry ice cream.” Dad turned back to me. “I’ll be on the porch.”
“I gathered as much. You boys go have fun.”
And the afternoon passed like this: Charlie talking nonstop about his job and the RiverDogs through lunch of egg salad sandwiches and Charlie chattering away like a magpie about Poe and “The Gold-Bug” and hidden treasure while they turned the crank on the ice cream freezer and Charlie bending Dad’s ear over sand dune formation and jellyfish while they gobbled up all the ice cream until, from the heat of the afternoon and the energy it took for him to remain focused, Dad fell asleep in his chair.
“I think he’s snoozing,” Charlie said to me in a whisper.
“Let’s let him rest, baby. Why don’t you take the dogs out?”
“Okay.”
I looked over at my dad. He was four years older than Mom, so that made him sixty-two. Sixty-two wasn’t old by any measure, but I’d noticed yesterday that he seemed to be slowing down a little. I couldn’t remember him falling asleep like that in the past. It must have been the heat. But what if he got sick? Who was going to take care of him? Would Mom? If he was sick, would he even tell her? I was in no shape to be thinking about his mortality or anybody else’s for that matter.
After about twenty minutes, Dad sat up straight and said, “Oh, my! I was fast asleep!”
“That’s okay. It’s hot as hell anyway. Want another glass of tea?”
“Sure. Where’s Charlie?”
“He just took the dogs out. He’ll be right back.”
I went to get his drink, and when I returned I found Dad standing up and looking out over the dunes. The afternoon sun glistened and sparkled on the water, and pelicans and seagulls were everywhere, flying, squawking, and swooping through the sky.
“I’ve always loved this view,” he said, and there was a certain wistfulness in his voice.
“Me too.”
“Don’t let Charlie go in the ocean tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a hurricane coming our way. Not much of one, but they can cause rip tides.”
“Got it. I’ll watch the news too.”
Charlie returned in the next few minutes and brought the dogs up onto the porch, where he unhooked them from their leashes. Stanley and Stella had a few slurps of water and then settled down in their spots.
Dad said, “Charlie? I’m getting old, you know.”
Charlie said, “What do you mean? You’re not old!”
“Well, I’m old enough to forget that I bought you a special gift that’s in the back of my SUV. You want to go get it?”
“What did you do, Dad?”
“Oh, it’s just a little something I think he needs. That’s all.”
We followed Charlie through the house and down the back steps. Charlie looked through the back window of Dad’s GMC Denali and started jumping up and down.
“Unlock the car! Unlock the car!”
Dad started laughing and unlocked his SUV with a click of his remote. “It’s open, Charlie. Just watch your head!”
Charlie lifted the back and pulled out a brand-new skateboard. “Oh, my God!” He was practically hyperventilating. “It’s a Sector 9 Vagabond Longboard!”
“There’s a helmet in there too! Put it on!” Dad called out. Then he turned to me. “I was riding over to the Whole Foods to get the berries, and I passed the Parrot Surf Shop on Coleman. I thought to myself, I wonder what they’ve got in there that Charlie might like.”
“Anything and everything!” I said. I gave Dad a little kiss on his cheek. I really didn’t like Charlie being showered with gifts every time I looked around, but he wasn’t spoiled by them. At least not so far.
We watched as Charlie strapped on his helmet, dropped the board to the street, put his weight on it with his foot to test the flexibility, and turned back to us. “See y’all later!”
We were as happy as Charlie.
Just as Charlie came around the block for the third time, Steve pulled into his driveway. Charlie was going for a fourth lap.
“Wow!” he said as he got out of his car. “Look at Charlie go!”
“Steve! Come say hello to my dad!”
Steve, poor unsuspecting Steve, came forward with a smile to shake Dad’s hand.
“I’m Buster Britt. Annie’s husband.” Not her ex-husband was what he really said. Dad’s face could have been hanging on the side of Mount Rushmore then. I thought for a moment that he might punch Steve.
“Yes, nice to meet you, sir. I’m Steve Plofker.”
Dad bristled at Steve’s deference to his age. “So you’re the next-door neighbor who was nice enough to take my grandson to a ball game and give him a job to boot?”
“Yeah, but the favor works both ways, you know? It’s great for my dogs to have company because it keeps them from getting lonely and neurotic. And what fun is it to go to a baseball game without someone to talk to? Charlie is a really fine young man. We’ve had a lot of fun together since we met.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m a baseball man myself,” Dad said, probably thinking he wouldn’t mind sitting in the owners’ box.
“Really? Well, I’ll see what I can do about some more tickets, then. You around for a while?”
“Oh, yeah. Just ask Jackie where to find me. I’ve been up at Murrells Inlet for a bit.”
“I hear the fishing’s pretty good up there,” Steve said and winked at me.
He actually winked. Please. Well, I thought I might gag, but I was pretty sure that Daddy saw it too and had an instant suspicion that Steve’s attentions were directed toward me and not Mom. I was afraid of that.
“You like to fish?”
“I’ve been known to drop a hook in the water. Now and then.”
“Well, when you get a day off let me know. Been getting some bodacious flounder. I like to go gigging too.”
“That sounds great,” Steve said, nodding his head like a bobblehead figurine. “Dogs on the porch?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Would it be okay if I just go get them?”
“Of course!”
Steve went inside, and Dad turned to me and said, “You’re pretty trusting to just let that guy walk in your mother’s house like that.”
“He’s a doctor, Dad, and FYI, that house belongs to you too.”
“Still,” he said.
“Ya gotta learn to trust, Dad.”
“Humph,” he said. “Trust. Look who’s talking. Humph. I gotta get on the road. And FYI to you? That sonofabitch has his eye on you, not your mother.”
“Then he’s dreaming.”
“Let the poor schnookle dream. He’s got a funny-shaped head.”
“Yeah, well, there are a lot of brains in there.”
Why in the world would I come to Steve’s defense? Daddy looked at me and harrumphed again. “Tell my grandson not to wear a rut in the road with that skateboard. I’ll call y’all tomorrow.”
I threw my arms around my dad’s neck. “You’re the greatest, Dad, do you know that?”
“You’re still my little girl, Jackie, and you’re the apple of my eye.”
He kissed me squarely in the middle of my forehead and got into his car.
“Be careful!” I called out, and I waved and waved until he was out of sight.
It was almost six when Charlie came home, sailing through the house, calling for me. “Mom! Mom!”
“Out here!”
You’d think we were a bunch of shut-ins with the amount of time we seemed to be spending outdoors, but frankly with the broiling heat and ferocious humidity the most comfortable place in the house was the porch, where we had breezes coming at us from three sides. I was sitting in a rocker, enjoying the end of the day, finishing reading that morning’s paper. These days people said “What do you read the paper for? You can get the news instantly on the Internet.” Well, I’d say to them, there’s a lot more in the paper than news. There are feature articles and opinions and announcements. I loved getting newsprint ink on my hands and clipping out different articles for friends. How many pie recipes had I sent Miss Deb over the years? And how many articles on growing lavender and other useful herbs to Mom?
“Whatcha doing?” Charlie asked.
“Just reading. How’s the new skateboard?”
“Completely totally awesome. I mean, totally awesome!”
“So you had a good day with Guster?”
“Amazing. Mom, I have to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“Well, I’ve made a decision.”
“And?”
“I’m staying here.”
I sat up straight as though someone had knocked the wind out of me. “No, you are not!”
He held his hands up in the air. “Hear me out! Just hear me out!”
“This had better be good.”
“Okay, look. I never get to see Glam and Guster, and they’re both here. That’s one thing. And number two, I’ve been gone for over an hour and you didn’t have to come with me. It’s safe here. And three, I love it here.”
“Look, Charlie, I understand, and I don’t entirely disagree with you. But we have a home in New York. And there’s Aunt Maureen and all your friends at school. Why don’t we try and come here more often? I mean, there’s no reason why we can’t spend summers and holidays here.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Charlie, your daddy’s buried in Brooklyn.”
Charlie’s mood fizzled right in front of me. He didn’t want to go home to our house in Brooklyn. But that was where we belonged. He had had a few terrific days, and I could understand why he wasn’t anxious to return to the old grind.
“Look. We still have a few weeks before you start school. Let’s just try to enjoy ourselves.”
“I hate it when you talk in we because then I know the answer is going to be a big fat no. Like when you say, ‘Let’s eat our Brussels sprouts. Come on now! We don’t have all night!’ It’s better here, Mom. For all of us.”