Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (14 page)

you know.”

“Whatever.” Beth smiled at me. “You need to wash your

face.”

“Hey! Who’s the mother around here, miss?” I swatted her

backside.

“Hey! Quit killing me! Listen, forget about Jonathan. If he

calls, we’ll figure it out.”

Upstairs in my room, I realized I had won this battle

unfairly. By allowing Beth to hear me cry I had tipped the scales

in my favor. My mother used to do that all the time.When she

couldn’t argue to a win, she’d spread the guilt as thick as peanut

butter on white bread. Then she’d cry, and oh, how Marie

Catherine Hamilton could cry. Big MC with the champion tear

ducts. She cried more tears during her life than Shem Creek

holds shrimp. Her despair was the backdrop of my childhood

and probably what made me the sharp-tongued wench I was

today. I was terrified of weakness and sadness and made jokes

about everything. Maggie, on the other hand, denied every-

thing. Even at Momma’s funeral I looked at her and said, “As

usual, old MC’s lying around and we’re doing everything.” She

looked at me and responded,“What do you mean? She’s fine.”

Well, I hadn’t used my wit fairly and I could no longer deny

that Beth and I were dealing with my own adjustment to Life

After Tom as well as hers. As I washed my face, I realized I held

the ammunition to decimate Beth’s relationship with Tom.

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Piece of cake for a brutally clever girl like me. After all, Tom’s

pants didn’t fall off in a strong breeze. He was the bad guy, not

me. I could let her know about the money situation, tell her the

toothbrush story, tell her how I’d found them, but no, I wouldn’t

allow myself to sink that low. It was as if Satan was tapping me

on the shoulder but, thank the Lord, I recognized the devil’s evil

touch.

Now, if my mother were in my position, what would she

have done? Easy. She would’ve had a meeting at the table with

all us children and stood on the Bible while she informed us

that our father was a fornicating sinner and that he had chosen

another woman over his own flesh and blood. Then she

would’ve lined us up on the front porch while she threw all his

clothes over the rail and forbid us to say good-bye to him.

Finally, she would’ve gone to bed for a year and let us fend for

ourselves while she drank and cried away her grief.

And if Livvie were in my shoes, what would she do? She’d

take Tom aside for a little “come to Jesus” meeting and give him

the tongue lashing of his life. She’d tell him how it was all gonna

be, in simple English and Gullah, so nobody got confused in the

future.Then she’d tell her children not to worry, that everything

was gonna be fine and that Daddy still loved them just as much as

yesterday and that life goes on. She would then get on with the

business of raising her children and putting food on the table.

“Well, this girl is about to rise like a phoenix,” I said to my

bathroom mirror. “Put on some lipstick and go deal with your

daughter, and this time, be fair.”

I s e rv e d “ t w i c e dead chicken,” nuked potatoes and salad from a

bag, wondering how I’d ever gained weight from my kitchen.

Beth and I found our rhythm again and everything was fine.

“Want some help with the dishes, Mom?”

“No, honey, you go do your homework.This isn’t a big deal.

But if you’d put some soap in the washing machine, there’s a

load of towels in there, that’d be a help.”

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“Sure. No problem.”

She pushed back from the table and took her dishes to the

sink, rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher. I sat star-

ing into space and listening to the fill cycle of the washing

machine begin, followed by her footsteps. She kissed me on the

head, the same way I do to her, and in that moment we both

grew up a little more.

As I cleaned the kitchen I found myself sighing a lot as relief

spread through my body. I decided to polish the bottoms of my

pots as several sitcoms on the television droned in the background.

My mind was traveling. I poured myself another glass of white

wine and flipped on the eleven o’clock news in time to catch

the weather report.

“High tomorrow, ninety-seven, lows expected to be in the

eighties tomorrow night.And if you’re going out tomorrow, don’t

be surprised if it feels like the tropics, as the extreme humidity is

gonna cause a very bad hair day all over the Lowcountry. Expect

shower activity off and on throughout the day . . .”

The young, blond meteorologist smiled and tilted her pretty

head as she spoke and I found myself imitating her while I

poured Cascade into the dishwasher and turned it on to do the

small load, amusing myself once again with the banalities of life

in this information-obsessed society. Finally, I moved the towels

to the dryer, turned off all the lights and made my way upstairs

to Beth to say good night.

I opened the door and saw her sitting in bed, wearing a

Citadel football jersey and reading her history book with great

intensity.The low light of the room was warm and the cabbage

roses of her wallpaper seemed to expel a sweet fragrance. Her

room was the perfect expression of a young girl balanced

somewhere between childhood and womanhood. Posters of

the Grateful Dead hung on the back of her bulging closet door

and her old teddy bears, frayed to a nub from years of affection,

were pushed in between textbooks on the shelves above her

word processor. Her cheerleader pom-poms hung from her

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85

closet doorknob. Around the top of her room were Barbies,

perhaps over a hundred of them, their frozen idiotic smiles and

zombie limbs sticking out like twigs in a molded plastic gar-

land. They always made me laugh to look at them. Occasion-

ally, I would take one down and pretend to be her in a singsong

voice to get Beth to talk to me when she was annoyed about

something. But tonight, I just stuck my head in the door and

traveled the room with my eyes, waiting for Beth to see me.

She looked up at last.

“Whatcha doing, doodle bug?”

“Oh, got a test on Friday and figured I’d better get on it,

you know?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I forgot to ask how your French test

went.”

“Ninety-three.”

“That’s my girl.” I hung on the doorjamb, waiting for an

invitation.

Beth smiled at me and the light of her bedside lamp caught

her profile, casting her into Botticelli’s Madonna. Her blue eyes

met mine and I could detect no trace of emotional damage.The

primal urge to protect her washed over me. How will we rebuild

our lives? Together.

“I love you, Momma.”

“I love you too, Beth, I’m so proud of you.”

“Do you want to talk for a few minutes?”

She moved to the other side of her bed, the same one that

had been mine in my childhood, to make room for me. She pat-

ted the empty space next to her, encouraging me to join her.

“Sure, why not?”

These late night talks were my treasure.

“I hate growing up.” She sighed and looked at me.

“Me too.”

“Mom, you are grown up!” she reminded me affectionately.

“I am? Oh well, it’s a hard business and it doesn’t happen in

one day, you know.”

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“Like Rome?”

“Yeah, like Rome.You know, it’s a very uneven process. One

day you get up and think you can handle anything. The next

day, life deals you a joker and you’re struggling to survive all

over again.”

“Like Daddy bailing out on us?”

“Honey, Daddy didn’t bail out on you. He bailed out of our

marriage.”

“I guess so.”

“Anyway, life takes a lot of patience and it helps when some-

body loves you along the way. Love helps a lot, but patience is

your best weapon. Livvie used to preach to me that I needed to

slow down to think things through. Poor woman, she needed

two tongues to raise me. I was so stubborn.”

“Do I hear a Livvie story coming on?”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you.”

“Please! Tell me what it was like in the dark ages, when

you were a kid and Livvie came to work for your family . . .

back when you were gonna be a writer and move to Paris,”

Beth said with all the drama she could muster. “I love the

Livvie stories, promise!” She added a Girl Scout salute for

good measure.

“Move over, then, I need a pillow. She saved our lives, you

know.”

“She loved you the best, didn’t she?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think she had this amazing

ability to make all of us feel like she loved us each the best. She

was remarkable.”

“She was like your momma, wasn’t she?”

“Well, honey, you only have one momma, but if I could’ve

had two, she would’ve been the other one I’d have chosen. God,

she understood everything. . . .”

“Earth calling Mom!”

“Sorry, drifting again. I was just remembering what it felt

like after she came.”

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“Well, tell me . . . I’m waiting! Tell me about how you and

Aunt Maggie and Uncle Timmy met her.” I settled myself

between the bumps and lumps of her old goose down pillow as

the stories began to surface.“Scratch my back,” she pleaded.

I reached up under her top and ran my short fingernails

across her skin, the way she likes, careful to avoid the tickle zones.

“It’s the gospel truth, you know. Every word.”

Five

Livvie

}

1963

AGGIE and I were shaking the sand out of our

beach towels and Timmy was winding up the

Mcrabbing lines.A bushel basket full of blue crabs

sat beside us.

“I have a ton of sand in my bathing suit too,” Maggie said.

“Do you want to rinse off with me?”

“Me too.Augh! It’s so disgusting!” I pulled away the bottom

of my swimsuit and turned out a lump of wet sand.

“You’re gonna go to jail for indecent exposure!”

“Kiss my butt! Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

From the dunes, we sprinted to the water, not stopping until

the incoming waves knocked us down, thoroughly soaking us.

“You’re rotten!” Maggie dove under a roller and came up with

me beside her.

I took a mouthful of water and spewed it at her with the

force of a garden hose, hitting her square in the face.

“You are so gross! I’m gonna murder you!”

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Maggie sputtered, rinsed her face and slapped water in my

direction. Laughing, I dodged her retaliation and sent her a

flood of water from the ocean surface, drenching her face again.

Our shrieks were a call to arms for Timmy, who watched from

the water’s edge, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, Maggie! I’ll save you from the enemy!”

Timmy dropped the crabbing gear and took a heroic, flying leap

over the low waves. He grabbed me around the neck, pulling me

down backwards in the shallow water. I gurgled and fought,

broke free and pulled Timmy back under the water and dropped

him there. Coughing my brains out, I tried to escape to the safety

of the shore, but Timmy dove underwater and caught me by the

legs, pulling me down again. All the while, Miss Maggie floated

in regal splendor, enjoying the sounds of her little brother and

sister pummeling each other.

“Help! Take that, you little creep!” I grabbed a handful of

mud and threw it at Timmy, stinging him on the legs.

“Wait!” Timmy stopped and pointed in the direction of

Maggie.“Let’s get her.”

Timmy and I, with our noses skimming the water and the

stealth of submarine spies, cut through the water toward an un-

suspecting Maggie, whose attention appeared to be focused on

the sounds of the seagulls. I came on her from underneath and

Timmy from behind. I grabbed her bathing suit and pulled her

to the floor of the ocean, attempting to stand on her. The cur-

rent had its way with all of us as we toppled, and Maggie rose up

to the surface like a sperm whale, vowing to kill us both.

“I’m telling Daddy! You know you’re not supposed to do

that! That’s how people drown!” Maggie’s hair was over her face

and she washed it back to better view her attackers.“Y’all are in

deep trouble now!”

“Ah, try to get me! Come on!” I challenged her good-

naturedly.

“Yeah, you tell and we’ll get you again!” Timmy said.

“Oh, just forget it. Come on, we gotta get home.”

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Maggie surrendered, all of us knowing she wouldn’t tell our

father. On the way out of the water we bodysurfed, riding the

waves to shore.

“We really got her,Timmy!” I crowed after sending one last

mouthful of water in her direction.

“Susan Hamilton,” she said,“you are a gross pig, and no man

is ever gonna want you. Ladies don’t spit!”

“Is that a fact?” I giggled and gave Maggie the finger.