Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (49 page)

332

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

trees. It means they don’t bake all day in the Lowcountry sun

and we might get one that will last all month.”

“God, Mom, you are, like, a total genius. You think of

everything.”

“Don’t say . . .”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

All the streetlights had glittering wreaths hanging from

them. Their red bows waved in the chilly breeze. The city was

putting on its holiday finery, and I was getting excited about

Christmas. Something inside told me that Tom would survive

and that he’d be fine. I was going to worry, though, just in case.

In my family’s Catholic tradition, if you took good health for

granted you risked terrible disease. So part of me ran a silent

novena, pleading to all the saints for God’s mercy for Tom, and

the rest of me prepared for the holidays with a child’s wide eyes.

And here I was, about to open the wallet for a fresh tree when

we had a perfectly good artificial one.That was an indication of

the slight recklessness I was feeling.

“I’m really excited about Christmas, doodle,” I said, “how

’bout you?”

“Yeah, I mean, I can’t believe that everybody is really com-

ing. It’s going to be a blast!”

“Yeah, Uncle Henry and Uncle Timmy and their clans are

coming to the Island. We have tons of shopping to do. They’re

staying through the Millennium too.What a party! What do you

want from Santa this year?”

“Oh, the entire contents of the Gap would be good for

starters. How about you?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. Let’s see. A Jaguar, a shopping spree

that never ends and a face-lift. How’s that?”

“You don’t need a face-lift, Mom.You have a gorgeous face.”

“Ah, my precious one, I see a Gap in your future!”

“So, Mom, what do you think about the Millennium? Do

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

333

you think the world’s coming to an end? A lot of kids at school

say so.”

“Beth, every day is the end of the world for someone. It’s a sin

to be superstitious. But I think it’s going to be the wildest New

Year’s Eve of your entire life, and nothing’s ending that I know of.”

“Well, I suppose.We’ll see.”

We pulled into the parking lot and got out. Kroger’s had

hundreds of trees from which to choose.A teenage boy wearing

a sweater over his apron was outside helping customers. We

would surely try his patience before we finally decided on the

perfect tree. He was cute—in spite of his acne—long and lanky.

He flirted with Beth with no shame.

“So, where do you go to school?” he said to her, smiling like

a Cheshire cat.

“Bishop England,” she said, grinning back.

“Are you a cheerleader?”

“Well, I do it for the exercise. Most cheerleaders are, you

know,
‘Puh-leeeze!’
” she said with rolling eye drama and he

started laughing.

“Yeah, airheads. Me, I play football.”

“Whatever,” Beth said, effectively blowing him off.

“I play tennis too.”

“You do?” Now he had her attention.“For who?”

“Porter Gaud,” he said.

“Do you know Jonathan Ashton?”

“Yep, whipped his butt about a million times. He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she said.“I went out with him.”

Now, technically that was a lie, but I didn’t say anything. I

just kept my mouth shut and looked at the Douglas firs.

“I’m Chris Stapleton,” he said and shook her hand.

Nice manners, I thought and pulled a tree away from the wall.

“Beth Hayes,” she answered.

“Excuse me, but do you think that you could hold this tree

up for us?” I said.

334

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Sure, sorry.” He cut the nylon cord from around the tree,

hit the trunk on the sidewalk and the limbs flopped down.

“Here we go.Whoa! This is a beauty.”

He was right. I walked around it and he watched Beth fol-

low me. A new puppy love was in bloom and I was a witness. It

delighted me to see it. And it made me remember Simon again.

He had never called. Maybe he was just not interested.

“Well. Beth, what do you think?” I asked.“Is this the tree of

your dreams?”

“Yep, definitely,” she said, and I knew she couldn’t have

cared less.

“We have to cut a hole in the ceiling to get this baby up, but

hey, it wouldn’t be the first hole in the house.”

“Mom!” She turned to him (obviously I was ruining her

life) and said,“We don’t have
any
holes in our house.”

“Okay, son, we’ll take it,” I said.

“Great. Just please take this tag inside to pay and I’ll wrap it

up for you.Where’s your car?”

“Here, Beth, take the keys. She’ll show you.”

In that moment of excellent judgment, I left my daughter for

a few minutes to give them the chance to swap phone numbers or

whatever it is that they do swap these days. E-mail addresses?

Beeper numbers? Cell phone numbers? Whatever. I was definitely

getting mellower lately.

When we got home, together we hauled the tree from the

car to the back porch, tripping and bumbling from the weight

and the sheer size of it.

“She had to have a fresh tree,” I said.

“Oh, don’t be a Grinch, Mom.”

“Sixty dollars.” I was short of breath and cash.

“What? Sixty bucks for a stupid tree?”

“Hold on! Take it easy on the steps!”

“On the other hand,” she said, “we’re the only family I

know that has a fake tree that sheds.”

“Okay, okay. Go get the bucket and fill it with water.”

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

335

We left the tree on the porch overnight to give it a good

drink. Decorating for the holidays had always been a family tra-

dition, something that we did together. In the short passing of

one year, all our traditions became things of the past—just

memories. Now Beth and I would face what life had brought

and find our way through the holiday together without Tom. It

broke my heart a little, thinking how it would be so lonely

without him. He was the one who always untangled the lights,

swearing to heaven that this year, he’d put them away neatly.

He’d string the lights on the tree while we supervised and he

always made hot cocoa for us while we hung ornaments. Tom

would direct us—“Too many big ones on top,” he would say, or

“Too many on the left.” We’d laugh and tell him to put away the

empty boxes and to leave the women to their work. But he

never would leave us. Tom loved Christmas as much as any

child.

Most years we would order Chinese food or a pizza and

play old Perry Como music, singing along.We always played the

Chipmunk Christmas album and imitated them, and then we’d

dance like crazy to an old Christmas disco tape. And the eve-

ning never came to an end until the mistletoe was hung and

we’d both kissed Beth.“I love Christmas,” Beth would say as we

tucked her in, “and I love you too.” It was the guaranteed best

night of the year for our family. Not Christmas morning, but the

promise of what Christmas brought out in us as a family. But this

year would be different, I thought, wondering how the old say-

ing that “everything happens for the best” would apply this time.

Tom’s absence would be painful.

On Friday after work, I found a tree stand in the shed and

somehow, between the two of us, Beth and I got the tree up. It

was magnificent and the fragrance was heavenly. I had bought a

wreath from the young one, as well as some garland, and Beth

had promised to wire ribbon to it.

“So, Mom. I gave Chris my number. Do you think he’ll call?”

“Definitely.”

336

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Really?”

“Yep. Betcha a buck.”

“If he doesn’t call, I’ll die.”

“You won’t die. Hand me the cord, will you? I have to

anchor this thing. Do you remember the year—”

“That we didn’t anchor the tree and the whole thing fell

down in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah.Well, ’eah, hold this thing straight.”

I hammered two slim nails in the corners of the windows

and tied the cord to them.Then I crawled out from behind the

tree and gave it a look.

“Rockefeller Center,” I said.“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah, it’s really beautiful,” she said.

The phone rang and I thought she’d go out of her skin get-

ting there. In the next moment I heard her practiced and breathy

“Hello?”
Marilyn Monroe lives. People who aren’t raising a

teenage daughter have no idea.

“Hi, Dad! What’s up?” Pause.“Sure, she’s right here.”

She handed me the phone and I held my breath, hoping the

news was good.“Tom?”

“Hi! Everything’s okay. I just left Dr. Youngworth’s office

and he said that from the tests it looks like a pretty straightfor-

ward, just-beginning-stages case. He doesn’t think the surgery

should be too invasive. So that’s good news.”

“Very good news,” I said.

“Yes, very good. So I’m scheduled for the operation next

Monday. Can you come?”

“Of course. Hey—wanna give two damsels in distress a

hand tonight?”

It took less than five minutes for him to arrive in the living

room.

“You got the wrong side in the front,” he said, kissing Beth

and eyeballing the tree at the same time.“I can’t believe you got

a real tree.”

“It’s a year for miracles,” I said.

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

337

“I hope you’re right,” he said.

Silence. Beth looked back and forth between us suspi-

ciously.“What’s going on?” she said.

“Anybody want hot cocoa?”Tom asked.

“Daddy needs to talk to you, Beth,” I said. “Come on, let’s

fix it together.”

“Wait,” she said,“tell me now.”

Tom put his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in

the face. “Here’s the poop,” he said. “I have early-stage prostate

cancer. I just found out. I’m having an operation and I’m going

to be fine.”

Beth’s face became pleated with worry, and her eyes filled

with tears as she searched his face for the rest of the story. “Are

you telling me everything?”

“Yes, I am,” he said.

He told her about his surgery, that the odds were ninety

percent that it would be a breeze. She took it very well and said

she’d pray for him.

“Now, let’s get that hot chocolate going,” I said.And we did.

By eleven-thirty, the tree was decorated and we were all very

tired.We sat together in the living room with just the tree lights,

listening to “White Christmas.” We had stolen a night from our

past. Not one unkind remark passed between us all evening.

Knowing that Tom’s surgery was but a few days away made me

very nervous, but after his initial telling about it to Beth, we didn’t

discuss it again. Without saying so it was understood among us

that the night we decorated the tree had to be free of stress. I sup-

pose we had put Tom’s health in the hands of someone higher.

When Tom left, I turned off the lights and after my closing-

up-shop ritual, I finally climbed the stairs to go to bed. Beth was

in my bed.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Sure, honey, just don’t hog the covers,” I said.

At last, I climbed under the covers next to her and turned

out the light.

338

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Momma?”

“Mm-hm?”

“When you pray, do you pray to the Blessed Mother or to

God?”

“Funny you should ask. I was just lining them all up for a

special emergency meeting.”

“What?”

“Honey, I pray to God, to Mary, to my poor old dead momma,

to Livvie—I pray to everybody and everything that has ears.”

“Did Livvie teach you to do that?”

“Yep, now just ask God to take care of Daddy. God listens to

children’s prayers first.”

“Think so?”

“Know so.” I threw my arm over her side. “Now, let’s get

some sleep, doodle.”

S u n d ay n i g h t, B e t h went to the movies with her new fellow,

Chris. He had called that afternoon and I’d said, “Okay, go

ahead, but be home by nine-thirty.” As expected, she floated

through the door on a cloud at ten minutes after ten. She looked

so happy I didn’t have the heart to reprimand her. I merely

pointed to my wristwatch to deliver the message.

“I’m totally in love,” she said and continued floating up the

stairs to her room.“I gotta call Lucy. Guess what, Mom?”

“What?”

“He
loves
to shag! He does this awesome break step. He was

showing me in the parking lot.”

“At last, the perfect man,” I said.

Monday morning Beth and I were at Roper Hospital by six.

“Nothing is gonna happen to Daddy, is it, Momma?” she said.

“Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’s gonna be fine.”

The purple hue of the early morning light and the damp air

rolling in from the harbor sent a chill down my spine. We went

right to Tom’s room to let him know we were there.The sight of

him in a hospital gown with an IV drip in his arm was frightening.

S u l l i v a n ’ s I s l a n d

339

His room was in darkness except for a night-light. And in the