Shem Creek (14 page)

There was always a small cut-glass dish of homemade jam on the breakfast table, the ubiquitous fresh pound cake on the counter, a small nosegay of flowers, arranged in a “found object,” placed in a spot that surprised and delighted you. When she corrected her posture, you corrected yours. Mimi saw to it that everything we needed was always at our fingertips, including her abundant affection.

This summer had been the only time in my girls’ lives that they had experienced the daily benefits of extended family. I only hoped that through my relationship with Mimi and hers with me that we demonstrated to Lindsey and Gracie the importance and power of what being sisters was all about.

The girls thought the boathouse was precious. Despite the fact that its address had a South Carolina zip code, Gracie liked it because we could see the water. Lindsey compared it to a tree house. Best of all, Brad had negotiated a ridiculously low monthly rent with the proviso that we would walk through the big house once a week to check air-conditioning, leaks, mail, and so on for the Epsteins. No problem! I was thrilled!

But there was a problem. Signing the lease put Gracie one step further away from her fantasy of returning to New Jersey. She had pitched one fit after another and I was fast deciding that if she wanted to spend more time with her father, it would’ve been fine with me. But that was not in Gracie’s cards.

I had called Patti Elliott to test the waters with her—actually, I had called Fred, but he wasn’t there so I got stuck on the phone with Patti. The conversation went something like this.

“Gracie really doesn’t want to live in South Carolina,” I said.

“Does she mean she doesn’t want to live in South Carolina or that she doesn’t want to live with
you?
”

I could hear her chewing on something and I think it was my last nerve.

“I’m pretty sure it’s South Carolina,” I said, fighting hard to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“Hmmm, well, what does that mean? She wants to live with
us?
How do you feel about
that?
”

How did I
feel
about that? Since when did Patti care how I felt about
anything?

“I guess it’s a case of what’s best for Gracie. I mean, she’s got two years left in high school. All of her friends are there. I can understand that she’s not happy to leave them but life is filled with disappointments, right?”

“You can say that again.”

At least we agreed on
something
.

“And, I’m sure she’s a little nervous to start over again in a new school with all southern kids, and let’s face it, it’s not as culturally diverse here. I mean, she’s not as likely to have Pakistani friends or Canadian friends or friends from South Africa, right? Society here is a little more prescribed than it is in New Jersey.”

“So, she’ll teach them something about being more open-minded. Isn’t that southern bigot thing over and done?”

“Pretty much, but the pool to draw on is still shallow and I guess it all depends on who you’re talking to.”

“Well, for my part, I don’t care. I mean, I can put up with anything for two years . . .”

“Easily said, Patti. Gracie can be a handful.”

“I’m familiar. She doesn’t scare me, but listen, here’s how it is. I have a store and I work six days a week. I’m not around most of the time. I can give her a room and make sure she’s fed and all of that, but play
stepmother?
You must be kidding! Anyway, what makes you think she would listen to me?”

She was right. Gracie didn’t listen to anyone. And, what Patti was
really
saying was that she could only provide basic supervision. Fred would only do what he had
ever
done and that was to fulfill the most minimal obligation to his daughter.

“You’re right. She’s a knucklehead.” I sighed so hard that Patti sighed as well.

“Raising teenagers is just hell, isn’t it? Listen, after she and that kid drove that car into Edgemont Pond last winter and those other kids got busted for pot, she obviously needs more than I can offer, and Linda, I’m not trying to wiggle out of anything. . . .”

“No, I know you’re not. . . .” Remembering the afternoon I spent at the police station was all I needed to feel my pulse race. I had been devastated.

“Daughters need their mothers, no matter how difficult that may be. And, at least you have your sister there. She’s pretty straight, right?”

“She’s a regular Mother Teresa,” I said.

Patti’s voice softened in sympathy.

“Look, Linda, you and I have never been best friends but I’m going to give you my honest opinion. I think letting Gracie finish school here would be a disaster. First of all, we don’t live in Montclair, so she couldn’t go to Montclair High. And second, she probably needs a break from her old friends anyway. They were all headed for trouble.”

“Not all of them,” I said in Gracie’s defense, “just that boy she was mixed up with.”

We were both quiet for a minute and I knew in my heart that Patti was telling me the truth. Sometimes the road ahead is as unappealing as trying to shave a bobcat’s behind in a phone booth. And that, I’m afraid, was a pretty accurate picture of what it was like to raise Gracie.

“Listen, if you want to send her up here for a couple of days before school starts, we can probably work that out. I can arrange some time off and I’ll make Fred do the same thing. Maybe you need a break.”

“Some days, life between a rock and hard place just plain old stinks.”

I told her that I would think about it but I couldn’t see what possible good would come from rewarding Gracie’s poor behavior and bad attitude with a trip to see her friends. Besides, I was hoping to cash in my chits with Fred to help get Lindsey settled at NYU. Fred’s child support would end if he took Gracie, but it was so small and Gracie was so challenging that I think he would have paid me double to keep her.

I was thinking about all of these things and filling drink orders as fast as I could. By eight o’clock, the sun was setting, the crowd had mellowed and begun to thin out and I was dead tired. Louise suddenly appeared at my side. All the ruddiness of her high color was drained and it alarmed me.

“What’s up? O’Malley still not back?”

“No. I just took a phone call for Brad. Do you know where he is? His cell’s off and he was supposed to be here by now.”

“Louise! What’s happened?”

“It’s Loretta—his wife. Loretta’s dead. Oh my God, Linda, we’ve got to find Brad. Her daddy called, crying and carrying on. . . .”

“Sweet Jesus! How could that be?”

“Hit by a car crossing Peachtree Street! Big head injury and just terrible . . . oh, Lord! That child! His boy, Alex!”

“Oh, my God!”

Suddenly the thought of Brad having to tell his son about his mother . . . or did he already know? Of course. He already knew. Brad would have to raise Alex now. He would have to go to Atlanta, go through a funeral, take care of her estate and somehow manage to move Alex to Mount Pleasant. Poor Brad! Good Lord! And, what would happen to Theo, Loretta’s father? From what I knew, he doted on Loretta. He was a widower and Loretta was his only child. If Brad took Alex to live with him, Theo would have no one. Well, too bad. He was a bastard anyway.

Louise was thinking the same thoughts and both of us were getting plenty upset.

“Call Robert,” I said to Louise, “he’ll know where Brad is.”

Louise went straight to the phone and dialed Robert’s number. It rang and rang.

“No voice mail?” I asked.

“Humph. What’s the matter with you? You can’t leave a message like that on voice mail!”

“Oh, God. You’re right. Cell phone?”

“I don’t know what’s the matter with him and why they never answer the phone in that house! Come on with me! I got his cell number in my purse downstairs.”

I tossed my towel to Lisa, the other bartender, and followed Louise.

“Can I do anything?” Lisa said, calling after us.

I turned back to her and said, “Yes! If you see Brad, tell him to find us right away!”

Louise was fishing in her purse for her phone book and her reading glasses. Just as she said,
Okay, I got it right here,
Brad appeared by the office door.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said, chipper as usual. But then he saw our faces. “What’s the matter?”

“Steel yourself, Mr. Brad, I got terrible news,” Louise said and put her hand on Brad’s arm. “Loretta done been run over by a car and she’s gone.”

“What? Loretta dead? How can that be true?”

“Louise, give me Robert’s number,” I said, “I’ll call him.”

“Mr. Theo’s waiting to hear from you. He’s at Grady Memorial Hospital and here’s his cell number.”

Brad sank in my chair and pulled out his cell phone to call Atlanta. I dialed Robert’s cell number and he answered.

“Robert Rosen speaking,” he said.

“Robert? This is Linda? Linda Breland from the restaurant?”

“Oh, of course! What’s going on? I’m at Cypress having dinner with my lovely wife, Susan, and some friends . . . is something wrong?”

“Yes. Loretta has been killed in an accident and Brad just got the news. I thought you might want to know.”

“I’ll be right there. Tell him I’ll be right there. Okay? Can I talk to him?”

“He’s on the phone with her father right now. . . .”

“Okay, I’ll call him in five minutes. Wait! I’ll see him in ten! Good God! This is terrible! How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay but it’s a horrible shock. . . .”

“Of course it is! Old Xanthippe gone? Well, well. The Gates of Hell are open tonight! I’ll be right there!”

If Brad’s side of the conversation was any indication of the hysteria taking place in Atlanta, I had to help get him there. Maybe Louise and I could get him packed. No, Robert would probably do that. I decided the best thing to do was get him a drink.

Brad was choking up and any minute the tears would come.

“Robert’s on the way,” I said and slipped out of the office wondering if I should get him a cup of coffee or a scotch.

O’Malley was back, serving drinks to the crowd of patrons around the bar. I ducked under the service opening and stretched up to his ear.

“We got an emergency,” I said as quietly as possible.

“What?”

“Brad’s wife just got killed in Atlanta. We gotta get him outta here and on a plane tonight. His father-in-law is on the phone with him now.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, I’m not shitting you, O’Malley, just give me a scotch for him, okay? Better yet, give me a bunch of mini-bottles and two glasses. Robert is on the way.”

“What happened?”

“She got hit by a car. Head injury, I think.”

“Jesus, man! What a stupid way to go. When your number’s up, it’s up, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I feel bad for him though, you know? He’s got a son and all. . . .”

O’Malley reached down under the counter, produced a box of Johnny Walker Black Label minis and put a handful of them on a tray with a bucket of ice and two glasses.

“I’ll take it to him,” he said. “Cover me for a minute, okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

In a moment such as this, it was important not to become a dictator. Let O’Malley take the scotch in to Brad. Let him be one of the first to say that he was sorry about the accident. In fact, let everyone who wanted to say something or do something say it or do it. The most urgent detail was to get Brad packed and to Atlanta as fast as possible. And, I didn’t know how that would happen.

By the time I had served two white wines and one Budweiser, O’Malley was back.

“He’s shook,” O’Malley said, holding the lift gate up for me to pass.

“So am
I!
This is a
terrible
thing! Tragic!”

I wasn’t back in the office for more than a minute when Robert walked through the door. He must have been going a hundred miles an hour to arrive so quickly. He went straight to Brad and hugged him.

“God Almighty, Brad! Okay,” he said, “what can I do to help?”

“I gotta get there,” Brad said. “How am I gonna get a plane at this hour?”

“Let me handle it,” Robert said. “Um, maybe I’ll have a scotch too?” I poured him a drink and as I poured he was talking to Louise nonstop. “Did anybody call Delta? Somebody call Delta. They fly back and forth all the time. Call US Air and Continental too. Shoot! Call ’em all! Okay! Who do I know with a plane? What’s the difference? I’ll call the private terminal and see who’s there! Maybe you can hitch a ride with someone—a pilot, someone leaving late tonight—let’s try!”

“Where’s Susan?” Brad said, asking about Robert’s wife.

“We’re one step ahead of you,” Robert said. “I gave her the key to your house and she’s over there now packing you up for five days. Don’t worry. No one’s more organized than Susan. And if she forgets anything, I’ll bring it tomorrow. Susan and I are flying in tomorrow.”

Brad’s voice broke as he spoke. “Thanks, Robert.”

Louise put the phone down hard and her anxiety was obvious. “Nothing on Delta or US Air until tomorrow. I
told
them this was a life-and-death thing and you know those airlines don’t give a damn!”

Robert was on the phone with Mercury Air. “Yes. Bradford Jackson. Wife just died tonight and he’s got to . . . yes, sure. No problem.” He covered the mouth of the phone and said, “I’m on hold. I know this guy—did his divorce two years ago. Speaking of hold, how’s Theo holding up?”

“Like shit,” Brad said.

“And Alex?”

“Like shit too.”

“Yes! Okay! Okay! Thanks. Yes. We’ll be there at ten-thirty!” Robert hung up and said, “Okay. We’ve got you on a plane. Some guy from CNN is flying out on a Net Jet tonight after dinner. He said, no problem, glad to help. Let’s go to the house now and meet Susan.”

“Call us tomorrow, okay? If we can do anything . . . ,” I said.