It Burns a Lovely Light (14 page)

"Mind your own business." Claire eased the car into a parking space.

In the brightly decorated salon, Veda Marie tucked a roll of folded dollar bills in Farley's hand.

"You always want to take care of your shampoo
girl," she said. "Bring the tip directly to her lest there be some confusion of where it came from."

Claire snorted. Veda Marie snapped her purse shut.

"Laugh all you want. There is nothing like a good
head-scrubbing. Hell, I'd put the cash in her bra if I thought she'd rub my head longer."

"Mrs. Sullivan?" A scrawny young woman in a black smock held out her hand. "I'm Suzanne. I'll be doing your hair
today."

"Anne does my hair."

"She no longer works here. Don't worry, I have your file." Suzanne waved the file in the air. "I promise, I'll do your
hair just like she did."

"A change is what you need," said Veda Marie, elbowing Claire. "No crime in taking care of yourself. You're too young to be 'old lady gray.'"

Claire was hurt. "I am not gray."

"You're just a bit snow-capped." Veda Marie turned to Suzanne. "Give her some color and a fresh new cut, and put it on my tab."

Suzanne dusted the hair off Claire's neck and spun her chair around, so she could see the back of her head.

"You look a decade younger!" cried Veda Marie, clapping her hands.

Claire's hair was now a shiny auburn, cut in a classic bob.
Her face appeared thinner; even her skin looked brighter. She blushed and touched her hair, more pleased than she would admit.

Farley leaned forward in her chair and caught her breath.
She had been worried that her aunt's new cut and color would make her look more like her mother. Instead, she was just a younger, prettier Claire.

"Thank God that's over," said Claire, as they
walked to the car. "I need a nap."

"Farley James, that pixie cut is absolutely adorable on you," said Veda Marie.

Farley grinned as she mussed up her hair. Short pieces stood
straight up.

"If this isn't a new beginning, I don't know what is," said Veda Marie, closing her passenger door. "Claire, swing the car down by the river. I've got a surprise for us all."

Veda Marie removed a small athletic bag from the trunk and handed Farley a pair of sneakers.

"I took the liberty of stealing them out of your closet," she said. "Tie them up tight, so you don't trip over
yourself on the way up the steps."

Claire frowned. "What steps?"

Veda Marie looked over at the steep slope across the road. "
Those
steps, leading up that beautiful hill and ending up in our
back yard." She handed Claire a pair of Converse high tops. "I couldn't find any sneakers in your closet, so Joe lent you his. Put them on."

Claire stared at the high tops. "I'm not putting these
on."

"You most certainly are - and I'll tell you why." Veda Marie pointed to Farley, who had found a bench and was tying up her sneakers. "Those panic attacks of hers are a warning. She needs to work
off her stress. You need to work off your midnight refrigerator raids. And I need to hang onto my girlish figure."

"What are we supposed to do about the car?"

"Joe is picking it up after practice. So stop shaking
that sassy new hairdo at me, tuck your lower lip back in, tie up your Chuck Taylor's, and get your rear-end up that hill."

William carried Veda Marie's overnight bag to the car, ring-bearer style. Joe heaved Farley's suitcase into the trunk. Claire placed an overstuffed picnic basket in the back seat. Mr. Winston checked the oil and tire pressures for the second time that morning.

"You're good to go," he said, wiping his fingers with a rag. He opened the driver's side door for Veda Marie. "Now remember, keep an eye on your gauges."

Veda Marie raised one eyebrow. "I
know
how to
drive, Mr. Winston."

"Don't forget to lock your doors," said Claire.

Farley turned to William, who had been unusually quiet all morning. He stared at his shoes.

"Give me your hand, kiddo," she said.

Pulling the 'brave and daring' bracelet out of her pocket, she fastened it around his wrist. Then she leaned down and pressed her forehead to his.

"I'll be back."

His lower lip quivered. "You promise?"

"I promise."

As the car pulled out of the driveway William wiped his eyes
with his arm. So gentle he almost didn't feel it, Claire laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Pig tails!" cried Farley, as a massive pig truck came up next to them.

Veda Marie laughed. "Welcome to South Carolina. Pigs
and cotton and endless South of the Border signs."

They kept pace with the truck for miles, delighting in the rows of squiggly pink bums pressed against the truck's side. When the truck
pulled off at a rest stop, Farley rolled her window up and sat back in her seat.

"When I travel, something inside me comes alive. It's like...a spark in my soul goes off." She smiled. "Do you miss South Carolina?"

"I miss Mary. And Spanish moss, and the Pee Dee River."

Over the years, Farley had heard bits and pieces of Veda Marie's past life. She used to have a gambling problem and had married young;
that was about it. Her mother used to say life was her private business, which always struck Farley as odd, given Veda Marie's gift for gossip.

"You never talk about your life back then."

"What do you want to know?" said Veda Marie, steering
with her knees while she lit a cigarette.

Farley looked out at the acres and acres of cotton fields. "More about your life, I guess."

Veda Marie's chuckle sounded far away. "I was barely
fourteen when I fell in love with our hired hand. Chester was twenty-three. He had a way of staring off into the sky that reminded me of Fabian. The poor guy didn't stand a chance. For Valentine's, he carved my name in his arm in black
ink. By my sixteenth birthday I was Mrs. Chester Broke."

She was quiet for so long, Farley decided she was finished.

"Turned out," she said, her cigarette bouncing
between her lips, "my Chester was as dumb as a squirrel in the road. Those dreamy stares of his? Poor thing was merely trying to think straight. Still, I would have stayed with him, but for one thing. One day I took the long way home from the store. He was standing in the doorway with his arms all folded up. Hit
me right in the kisser. That was the beginning of a whole new relationship for us."

"So you left?"

"Not right away. I made a plan. From that day on, I
rummaged for coins. Not that there were many to find - no one had money to throw around. But if you look hard enough, you will find a penny in the grass, a nickel in the laundry, a dime between the sofa cushions. I pulled my mother's
old handbags out of the attic; you'd be amazed at what all I found in those bags."

She finished her cigarette and smashed it in the ash tray.

"Suddenly I was Mrs. Clean; 'airing' sofa cushions,
rearranging the cellar. I went through every drawer and cabinet, under the seats in the truck and the tractor. I even crawled under the front porch, petrified as I was of snakes. If Chester noticed my new cleaning habits, he never said a word. Saturday and Sunday mornings, I scoured the grass behind Rooster's
bar on my hands and knees. I swept the gutter in front of the church and let everyone remark on what a saint I was." She drove the next few miles in silence. "What's in that basket Claire worked so hard on?"

Farley unwrapped a sandwich and passed it to Veda Marie.

"How did you get away?" she asked.

"Rooster's announced a big poker tournament. Chester
and a buddy of his decided to win themselves a fortune by cheating. Peabody had a knack for cards, and he came by every night to drink beer and teach Chester the finer points. I kept my ears open. I knew their cheating plan was never going to work, but I sucked up Peabody's poker lessons like a sponge."

"The next time Chester's moods got a hold of him, I decided my odds on winning at poker were higher than my odds on surviving him. I grabbed my savings and took off for Las Vegas, under the made-up name of Mrs.
Tendersheets."

"Weren't you afraid he'd come after you?"

Veda Marie flashed a wicked smile.

"I called him from a roadside motel," she said.
"Told him I'd panicked, since I found out I had gonorrhea in the most painful way. I worked up some tears and cried for him to please come and carry me home. He didn't even ask where I was. He just hung up the telephone."

They had arranged to meet Mary in Charleston, about a half-hour from Kiawah Island. If she registered any shock at how different Farley looked, she didn't blink. In her white cotton sundress and short brown
hair, Mary threw her arms around Farley and squeezed, Veda Marie style.

The three women shared a late lunch of razor sharp crab legs and two dozen massive oysters on the half-shell. Farley loved hearing about Henry's life in New York. Although they still exchanged the occasional
postcard, they hadn't actually seen each other since the first time they met. She tried to picture him as a man, but the best she could do was put a chef's hat on the gangly boy with the dark eyes and brilliant smile.

After lunch, Mary led the way in her car and they headed out for Kiawah. Trees lined the narrow roads as they got closer to the island; the tops of their branches met in the middle, forming a tunnel, with Spanish moss dripping down the center like Christmas tinsel. They stocked up on groceries at
the Piggly Wiggly and picked up Mary's beach bike from the local gas station, where she had had the tires filled with air. At the house, Mary showed Farley the hiding place for the spare key (under the headless gnome, outside the back
door), and gave her another loving squeeze.

Veda Marie was not so quick to leave. She had things to say.

"I want you to work on something while you're here,
lovey. You need to get in touch with all those smothered feelings you've got inside. When they start to surface, let them come. Don't fight it. Don't be afraid. It'll feel like hell but it won't kill you. Roll around in it. And then let it go."

Farley waved goodbye, half relieved, half scared to death. Unconsciously, she adapted her mother's custom of making the house her own. She put away the groceries, made up the bed, unpacked her clothes and toiletries and wandered through the small house, touching everything. Then she put on the
navy blue one-piece bathing suit September and Resa had presented to her as a going-away gift. (They had also given her an obscenely thick joint and a book titled 'Learning to Shag.')

Directly out the back door was about a hundred yards of sand dunes and wild grass, leading to the ocean. She ran along the wooden footpath all the way to the beach. The sun had already begun to set as she dug her toes in the wet sand. Unbroken sand dollars, empty horseshoe crab shells, smooth
pebbles and shells seemed almost too perfectly placed, as if a set-dresser was trying to imitate the perfect beach for a movie.

She ate her dinner of grilled cheese and green beans on the
screened-in porch, enjoying the gentle sound of waves in the distance. For the rest of the evening she worked on a jigsaw puzzle under the dim light of a hanging bulb, finally crawling into bed and drifting into the most peaceful sleep she'd had in years.

It happened about six weeks into her stay. She dreamt she was in a darkroom, waiting for a photograph to reveal itself in the chemical tray. The image began to materialize...she could almost see it...

...this must be a Farley James...those images...lemon trees...old and new...here and gone... unfelt feelings don't go away...take care of your brother...she wouldn't get out of the car...

She sat up, the sheets sweaty and tangled tight around her
legs. Heart pounding, she covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. Something was loosening deep inside of her, rising perilously close to the surface. Oh, God, she couldn't breathe.

"Let it come," she gasped, squeezing her eyes
shut. "It won't kill you."

In blinding waves of sobbing and cursing and hatred and love, all the grief, longing, and rage that she had so vigilantly kept in check broke
free. As the white morning light crept into the room, the oppressive weight within her heart began to dissipate, and in its place rose the slightest, most magnificent sensation of hope.

Dear William,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. For someone who has nothing pressing to do all day, my days are awfully full! I've been running, riding my bike, fishing, crabbing, swimming and exploring the island. I'm taking some serious alone time, as you would say.

I've fallen in love with Loggerhead Turtles. Oh kiddo, they are beyond adorable! Unfortunately the rest of nature seems to like them, too. If the hatchlings survive the shell stage, they dash from their nest in the sand
dunes to the ocean. Meanwhile, blue heron, egrets, crabs and other predators lurk around with lunch on their mind. I volunteered to be a part of the local nesting program and I love it. We monitor the nests and check for emerging hatchlings, while trying not to disturb anything and stay out of the way. I'm
sending you a book on Loggerheads. I was hoping we could read it together when I get home.

Speaking of home, it looks like Bridge Manor will be home for a while longer. We can't access our trust fund for five more years. But don't
worry, we won't have to wait that long! As soon as I get home, I'll get a job and work hard and save every penny. In no time at all we'll be back in business - moving on, like we used to.

And now my sweet William, I need to tell you something.

I want to apologize for the way I've treated you since we moved to Bridge Manor. I'm sorry for hiding away and feeling sorry for myself. Most of all, I'm sorry for leaving you to fend for yourself. You were right, that night
on the steps. 'Us four' is gone, but we're still here.