Isle of Palms (60 page)

“You’re a snake and you stink.”

“You’re so feminine.”

“Oh, bite me, Arthur. Why’d you come back to Charleston?”

“Because I realized I really was happier here. So, I’ll live on a little less money and maybe I’ll open a restaurant if I can find investors.”

He had not come back because of me. But! He had called me, hadn’t he? Didn’t that mean something?

“Wait a minute. Are you talking about committing yourself to something? Isn’t that against your politics?”

“Yeah, but my politics are evolving. I think I’ve been a Yankee long enough. Besides, I missed you, Anna. I kept telling myself that I didn’t care but at the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop wondering how you were doing.”

This was good, very good, and I wasn’t about to tell him he’d always be a Yankee.

“Are you staying with Mike again?”

“Yeah, he’s really a great friend. You know what else? Today I was thinking that I hadn’t seen Mike in a million years and he gave me his house to live in for nothing while he was away. He’s been a better friend to me than I’ve been to you and I
slept
with you. I realized there was something really wrong with that.”

“Yeah, it’s why you suck, Mr. Introspection.”

“Excuse me, Miss Poetry, I’m trying to tell you something that’s pretty serious. Look, I want us to start over, okay?”

I looked at him. He wasn’t lying. Then the practical side of me took over. He wasn’t a doctor like Jack, he didn’t wear expensive suits like Jack, he didn’t drive an old Mercedes like Jack, and in fact, he didn’t even have a car. He used Mike’s. He was the Cheese Whiz, for Pete’s sake. If I married Jack—which I was pretty sure I could take it that far if I really wanted to—I’d be playing golf (God help me) and leading a perfectly respectable life of predictable everything. And, if I married Arthur, which I wasn’t sure would ever happen, I might get my heart trampled and in any case, I’d surely be working for a thousand years. But I’d be working for a thousand years because I loved what I did! And I didn’t need a man with money because I could earn my own. Therefore, if I wanted to pick a partner, I didn’t have to worry about whether or not he could support me!

“Well? Say something!”

“There’s nothing to say . . .”

“Really? Oh, God, come on!”

“Let me finish! There’s nothing to say except,
Let’s go to Mike’s!”

“He’s home.”

“Give the man ten dollars and send him to the movies.”

Just call me Guinevere.

The return of Arthur brought the demise of my relationship with Jack, which even he knew was lacking something to make it work. It lacked chemistry and there’s no substitute for that. I just told him that I was seeing someone I had been in love with long ago and I had to find out where my feelings were.

He said, “Look, Anna, it’s all right. Give me a call if it doesn’t work out, okay?”

The next surprise was not far around the corner. Frannie called the second week of October and announced that she was moving back to Charleston.

“Fabulous!” I said.

“I’m so in love with Jake I can’t see straight.”

“Nothing like romance, ’eah?”

“You said it, sister. He’s been here three times, we talk on the phone all night—I mean, look, it might never be a marriage or maybe it will but if I don’t come back and try, I might be making the biggest mistake of my life.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Do you know a broker? I just put my condo on the market and I think I’m taking a job in Joe Riley’s office. I just have to negotiate one more piece.”

“You took a job in Charleston and I didn’t know this?”

“I know I should’ve called but I actually flew in one morning and flew out the same afternoon. The whole thing happened so fast. I saw the job opening on the web, called them up, I faxed them my résumé, and they said come, so I went. I’ve had it with this blooming rat race. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Making dinner for you and Jake?”

“Mashed potatoes?”

“Absolutely! If the Irish Goddess is coming, there will be great dunes of mashed potatoes! And, I’ll call Marilyn Davey for you. She just found these two friends of mine, Simon and Susan, a house in Wild Dunes. They’re getting married December seventh.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember them. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’m invited, doing everyone’s hair. You watch. I’ll go and sure as anything, I’ll run into Caroline on the arm of Jack.”

“Take Arthur and wear that navy dress.”

“Totally excellent idea. . . .”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Emily.”

“Bump you. Hey, you want to hear the latest on Doc?”

When I told her that Lucy and Daddy were all but living in sin, Frannie and I snickered like crazy.

But it was wonderful to see Daddy so happy. A few weeks later, Daddy and I were sitting on my new deck having a glass of tea, waiting for Lucy so that they could go out to dinner. He had brought me a turkey fryer, and we were going over the details of how to fry a perfect turkey. Apparently, this meant that he had decided that we were having fried turkey for Thanksgiving.

“I don’t know, Daddy. I mean, I know fried turkey is delicious, but all that oil? What if the thing turns over? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“No! It won’t turn over! Look here!” He showed me how it was weighted and then he said, “Oh, forget it! I’ll fry the turkey myself!”

“You are one cranky old codger sometimes, do you know that?” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and he smiled.

“Women!” He was quiet for a minute and then he said with a great sigh, “You know, Anna, it was probably a mistake years ago to ever have left the Isle of Palms.”

“It sure is great.”

“Just smell this air! I think I might love it almost as much as you do. If you hadn’t moved back here, I might never have met Lucy.”

“You’re really crazy about her, aren’t you?”

“She makes me feel alive, Anna. Alive in a way I didn’t even know I could. I’ll tell you this, but if you repeat it, I’ll call you a liar.”

“What?”

“She thinks I’m sexy,” he whispered.

I spit my tea across the breeze. “Euuuu! Gross! Daddy! Augh!”

“And your Arthur doesn’t think you’re sexy?”

“Touché.”

“Anyway, I’m going to ask her to marry me. Do you think it’s too late for an old man like me to find happiness?”

“No, that’s wonderful, but, oh, Lord! That will make Lucy my
stepmother!”

Thanksgiving was in a week and that meant preparations were well under way. I had a theory about that particular holiday. It was open to everyone I knew who didn’t have a place to go. Maybe the fact that our family was so small contributed to the fantasy I had about a table filled with people. Probably. But over the years that tradition had fastened together the seams of many new friendships. Whoever was there took part. We all cooked together and it was always a day-long feast of food and football. And now, we would have a beautiful peaceful Thanksgiving on the beach, listening to the ocean.

One day at the end of the previous week, we were in the salon, discussing our plans for the holiday. My guest list was Jim, Emily, David, Frannie, Jake, Daddy, Lucy, Arthur, and, of course, Miss Mavis and Miss Angel. I invited Carla, Brigitte, and Bettina. Brigitte accepted and Bettina had wrestled with it and finally decided to take a week’s vacation and see her family in New York. Carla was going to her mother’s house.

She said, “Lemme put it this way. My mother, the tireless and effervescent Mrs. Joyce Hahnebach, cooks a thousand different things for Thanksgiving and everybody in the world comes. Especially for her pies. If my husband and I don’t show up, I’m a dead duck. Dead and stuffed.”

“We’ll have no dead ducks. Go to your mother’s. And bring us some pie on Friday.”

“We’re taking the train to New York,” Bettina said. “First, Bobby wanted to drive the Yacht. I just gave him the hairy eyeball. Then he wanted to fly but I said, Whaddaya, nuts? It’s a zillion dollars! Besides, we can sleep the whole way on the train. Ma’s been cooking and baking for a month. I can’t wait! All my cousins are coming. It’s gonna be some scene, lemme tell ya.”

“I wish I could come! Have a ball, take a zillion pictures, and tell every single person there that we love New York too, okay? We’ll miss you.”

“Yeah, me too. Isn’t it funny how we all got thrown together and how great it’s all worked out?”

“Yep, it’s great. It is.”

I had come to care for Bettina and Bobby like they were part of my family. I always worried when someone I knew was flying or traveling but I knew that was my own paranoia. They would be fine.

The morning of Thanksgiving was overcast and humid, but around eleven the sun came out and a wonderful breeze began to roll in from the ocean. Lucy and I were cooking in her kitchen and serving from mine, because she had space, better ovens, and a larger refrigerator. We were going to make some sandwiches to snack on until dinner was ready. Daddy, as you’ve heard, was in charge of the turkey.

Brigitte arrived at one and I met her at the door. She was carrying a cardboard box. When I peeked in, I saw eighteen hollow oranges filled with whipped sweet potatoes.

“Did you expect anything less?” she said. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Thank you, thank you! You are incredible,” I said. “No marshmallows?”

“They’re in the car. I have another load. You want me to take this over to Lucy’s?”

“May as well.”

“I made oyster bisque too. And a Lady Baltimore cake.”

“Good grief! I haven’t had a Lady Baltimore cake since I was a kid!”

“It’s all fat-free.”

I giggled. “You’re such a liar.”

“Yeah. True.” She headed across the yard to Lucy’s and I went back through the house to check on the decorations.

Jim and Arthur had strung all the lights around the deck and moved the stereo outside too. David and Emily had the Macy’s parade blasting from the television in the living room. Their official job was to set the tables and clear after dinner.

“Fifty bucks,” I said.

“I’m in,” said David and Emily groaned.

“Okay, okay,” she said.

Classes had ended for them on Tuesday and they still seemed to be getting along splendidly. For the last two days they had been collecting shells and driftwood from the beach. Those treasures, combined with hurricanes, big fat candles, gourds from the grocery store, and pecans laid in nests of Spanish moss, would be spread down two long folding tables (that I finally broke down and bought) covered in cheap cotton paisley bedspreads from India. When I looked at the whole shebang put together, I marveled.

“How did we ever live before Pier One Imports?”

“Good question,” Jim said. “Let’s go inside for a minute, Anna. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“What, precious? Anything wrong?”

“Ahem!” Arthur said.

I gave him a smacking kiss on his forehead. “Be right back.”

I followed Jim into the kitchen.

“Well, it’s Trixie. I think something’s wrong with her—I mean, we all know there’s a lot wrong with her. She’s as vicious as a copperhead. But she really doesn’t seem like her old copperhead self. She’s not acting right.”

“She rarely does.”

“No, that’s not the thing. She’s complaining of me not coming to see her often enough. In all my life she’s never even asked me when I was coming home. You know her. She hates having to deal with my life.”

“Maybe she’s just getting older, you know? I mean, look at Daddy. All of a sudden he’s over here all the time. I mean, he was so cheap all my life! Suddenly he builds me a deck and a porch and landscapes the whole kit and caboodle! Now, he’s even got us a turkey fryer!”

“Maybe. But, she’s forgetting things. Like, I called her last week to tell her I was going to be here and then I called her the next day to see if I could bring her something from San Francisco. She usually asks me for sourdough bread or Ghiradelli chocolate. She had completely forgotten that I had called her the day before. That’s not like her.”

“How old is she?”

“She’d slit my throat if I told but let’s just say she qualified for Medicaid a decade ago.”

“Wow, she looks good.”

“She should. Her plastic surgeon in Atlanta just bought a share in Netjet, this private jet company!”

“Oooh! You so bad!” I wagged my finger at him and we chuckled a little. “Well, when you get older, you start forgetting stuff.”

“Yeah, the back nine of life. Anyway, here’s the point. Yesterday, I lost my head and rented a little carriage house downtown—”

“What? Ow! Ow! I’ve got my Jim back!” I grabbed his face and planted noisy kisses on both cheeks and I did a little dance.

“You can’t dance worth crap, you know.”

“Shut up! I’m the dancing queen, I’ll have you know!”

“Forgive me, you’re the princess. You can’t be queen until I drop dead!”

“You are so wicked! I just love you to pieces!”

“And I love you too! So listen, I’m going to be here a lot more. With fax and FedEx and all that techno equipment that’s around for a song, there’s no reason that I can’t run my business from right here. I mean, obviously, I’ll have to be in Napa and Sonoma a good bit, but that’s not a big deal. I can fly. Besides, since Gary’s been gone and all—well, I miss you and Emily and I realize I’m way out there with no family.”

“This is the best news I’ve had in a million years, Jim.”

“Do you think I’m crazy? I mean, the years are just flying by.”

“Isn’t that the truth? You’re anything but crazy. I think you ought to surround yourself with the people who love you. That’s what I think. I mean, try it! If it works, fabulous for me, Emily, Frannie, and everybody. Including Trixie.”