Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (51 page)

heart.We’ve got to be brave for Daddy.”

“Tom, you know we’re gonna help,” I said. “Whatever we

can do, we will.”

“I know, Susan. Thank God for you,” he said. “Come on,

Beth, let’s try to pull ourselves together, okay?”

We lifted Beth from the floor and put her to bed. She con-

tinued to cry for three hours, nonstop. I cried with her. Tom sat

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by her and rubbed her back. Finally, she was quiet. When we

were sure she was asleep Tom and I went into the living room.

“Tom, I’m so damn sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said, and realized I

was crying again.

He put his arms around me and gave me a squeeze.“Why are

you sorry, Susan? It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Listen,

why don’t you help me plan whatever future I’ve got? Maybe

there’s someplace we can go, the three of us. A trip you always

wanted to take?”

“Yeah, but Tom, what if you get sick? How would I care for

you? How long do . . .”

“Do I have? Well, if that undertaker surgeon is right, about

thirty years if I’m lucky. Six months if I’m not. Certainly enough

time to put my affairs in order, which, by coincidence, I had

already started doing.”

“Six months or everything,” I said. I was quiet for a few

minutes. Six months was not a lot of time. If I could have had

my father for six months, what would I have wanted? “Spend

the time with Beth if you can. She needs all the good memories

you can give her, no matter what happens.You know?”

“You’re right.Well, my life’s not a total loss. I had the good

sense to marry you and have Beth.”

“She’s the undisputed love of my life, Tom. Thank you for

giving her to me.”

“She is mine too. You’re welcome, but let’s not get too

maudlin. I feel fine, other than a little nausea now and then.”

“I’ll pray for you,Tom,” I said.

“Thanks. I think I’m gonna need all the prayers I can get.”

“You pray too, okay?”

“Are you kidding? Hey, cheer up, I’m still breathing.”

He put his arms around me, my head touched his shoulder

and he stroked my hair down the back of my head as though I

was his child as well. When he left at last, I watched him back

out of the driveway and listened until I could no longer hear his

car in the distance.

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347

Beth
was
the best thing in his life. She didn’t know what

heartache lay ahead for her, but I did. My grief for Tom and for

her was magnified by the burden I had carried since the day my

own father died.

It was midnight when I finally went to bed. I was under

covers up to my shoulders. Everything was quiet. I barely made

out the soft sound of Beth’s footsteps coming to my room.

“You still awake?”

I said,“Sure, come on in.”

She crawled in the bed next to me.The house was chilly, as

the furnace had gone on the night cycle at ten o’clock.

“Think Dad’s gonna be okay?”

I patted her leg with a reassuring hand.“Yes, somehow I do.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Now turn off the light and let’s get some

shut-eye.”

In the darkness of my room, I listened to the rise and fall of

her breathing. She curled in a fetal position on her side with her

back to me, sleeping almost right away.

Seventeen

Christmas 1963

}

OMMA’S door opened without a sound and

Livvie appeared there, her face somber. We

Mwatched and waited to hear what she would say.

She said nothing. She passed me and her hand rested on my

shoulder.Then she touched the shoulder or arm of Maggie and

the boys. She’d arrived at our house an hour ago and she’d been

in there ever since. It was the morning after the day our father

had died.We thought Livvie was leaving us.

“Gone sweep the steps,” she finally said, and we exhaled for

the moment.

We got out the masking tape and came and went from the

chairs around the kitchen table, moving in a wounded trance,

corpses ourselves. The visiting neighbors, their hands out-

stretched, with generous offerings of fruited hams, bowls of

potato salad and pound cakes.The hams were baked with secret

glazes, the potato salads made with closely held recipes, the

pound cakes, each egg beaten in by hand. But our throats were

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349

closed to food. In spite of their kindness, food was the last thing

we wanted.

Our neighbors and friends were awkward and uncomfort-

able, anxious to have their duty done. They said they were

stunned, that they’d see us at the wake, that they were so sorry,

that if they could do anything . . . but what could anyone do?

The wake broke all records for McAlister’s funeral home.

That’s the main thing I remembered. Huge clumps of time were

missing from my father and grandmother’s wake and funeral and

I guessed that was a blessing. But in my recollections were snip-

pets of the events.

There were a ton of flowers. So many that I’d always hate glad-

iolus and carnations. Gladiolus never bloomed right. If the middle

of the spear looked good, the tops were too tight. If the tops were

in flower, the middles were on the wane. And carnations. Oh,

Lord, I hated carnations. I knew the florists used them so much

because they lasted a long time, but the smell of them was sicken-

ingly sweet to me.

I remembered seeing Daddy in his casket at the funeral

home and that was pretty terrible. He seemed far away, at the

end of a foggy tunnel. His skin looked gray. Maybe I never went

up to it, maybe I did.

On the day of the funeral Mass, Stella Maris Church was

packed with people. And the bells. Mr. Struthers rang the

funeral bells slowly. The bells rang out from the tower and every

dog on that end of the Island began to bark. My skin crawled.

Reality began to sink in. This was the moment we would put

the final blessing on them.They were gone.

We stood in a line outside the church as the two hearses were

opened and the pallbearers removed the caskets. My knees started

to knock and I couldn’t swallow.We were to walk behind Momma,

Maggie and I, then Timmy and Henry, following the bodies of our

father and grandmother. Aunt Carol had arranged us and told us

what to do. She and Livvie would follow with the twins.

We watched the caskets slide from the back like so much

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cargo. Lifeless. Still. Just the weight of our dead and their crates.

They can’t breathe in there, I thought ironically. Henry must’ve

heard my thought and he began to sob. Then Timmy lost his com-

posure, and began crying too. I grabbed Henry and rubbed his

head, trying to console him. Maggie threw her arms around

Timmy and I could see his back convulsing. Momma turned and

saw us and her heart flipped over, finally realizing the enormity of

our feelings. Unable to cope with us on any real level, she lifted the

veil of her black hat and opened her purse.

“Come on, now,” she said, rubbing our backs slightly and

dispensing tissues,“your grandmomma and your daddy wouldn’t

want you to carry on. Let’s try to put on a brave face now and

show everyone how strong we are.”

“My daddy’s in that box, Momma!” Henry said, continuing

to weep in my arms.

“Henry, you listen to me,” I said, not knowing what I would

say next. “This isn’t a bravery contest! Daddy’s in heaven.That’s

just his body. This is a terrible day. Just hang on to me! If you

want to cry, go ahead.”

His huge blue eyes searched mine and he felt I had given

him something, I guessed, because he took some deep breaths,

fell against me again and then stood back. I’d never forget the

fury in him as he lashed out at Momma.
My daddy’s in that box,

Momma! My daddy’s in that box, Momma!
I’d never forget his

words. And his little eyebrows, they knitted together in worry

and sadness. I wondered again what would become of us. We

just had to hold on to each other, squeeze our eyes shut and

soon it would be over.

The Mass was another blur in my memory. I only recalled

the horrible maudlin songs of our choir. Even as we pulled away

from the church in the funeral procession to the cemetery, I

could hear the mournful music.

By the time we got home, I was so tired. I’d never been so

tired. I just wanted to sleep. The house was still crawling with

people, but I managed to slip away to my room, close the door,

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351

kick off my patent leather shoes and lie on the bed with all my

clothes on. I pulled my quilt up around me. I should’ve recorded

everything about the funeral in my journals, I should’ve checked

on the twins. I should’ve been doing almost anything else, but I

felt like I had turned to stone, sinking into my mattress.The win-

dow was opened just a little and the sheer curtains floated out like

spirits on damp air.

I buried my father and my grandmother today, I thought. I

should’ve felt worse about it than I did.That was the problem, I

didn’t feel anything much except tired.

I must’ve drifted off, because when I opened my eyes, it

was night. I washed my face, splashing cold water in handfuls

over my eyes and cheeks and, at last, went downstairs to the

kitchen. Uncle Louis, Aunt Carol, Momma and Maggie were

talking, sitting around the table. I looked out the window over

the sink. The yard was finally empty of the cars, except Uncle

Louis’s.

“We’re just talking, Susan,”Aunt Carol said.“Why don’t you

join us? Are you hungry, honey?”

“No, thanks, I don’t have much of an appetite today.”

She was oddly solicitous. I looked over to Momma. She had

big poofy bags under her eyes, but for once, I didn’t blame her

for that. If I’d been her today, I probably would’ve torn out my

hair. We had all become older overnight, I thought.Yesterday I

hated my mother for not taking care of us, and today I sympa-

thized with her. I poured myself a Coke and took a seat.

“I was just going over some options with y’all’s momma,

Susan,” Uncle Louis said.“You know, honey, things are going to

have to change around here.”

“Daddy didn’t have life insurance, Susan,” Momma said.

“What does that mean?”

“In a nutshell, we’re flat broke,” Maggie said.“Flat out broke.”

“Y’all’re kidding, right?” I looked around at the faces of my

family. Jeee-sus, when would the trouble end?

“Now, Maggie, don’t go scaring your sister,” Uncle Louis

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said.“We’ve all been through enough for one day. Honey,” he said

to me, “here’s the truth. What money y’all have is what’s left in

your daddy’s savings account and checking account. It’s not

much.Your momma can get a job. But if she does that, she can’t

earn very much because she never went to college. Then, too,

who would take care of the twins and Henry? And by the time

you subtract the cost of transportation and clothes and so forth,

it doesn’t make economic sense. So, if she’s going to work, it

would have to be something she could do at home. For one

thing, I have a friend who’s always looking for a bookkeeper.”

“Louis, I don’t know the first
thing
about bookkeeping!”

Momma said, panicking.

“Well, then damn it all, MC, if not that, then something else!

You are simply going to have to find a way to earn whatever

you can! I’m sorry to say it so bluntly, but it’s true!”

It was the first and only time I’d ever heard Uncle Louis

curse, but I forgave it right away because I cussed my ass off all the

time. Uncle Louis was usually in a good mood, Mr. Easygoing,

but this situation would have stolen anybody’s sense of humor.

“We’ll see about that, Louis,” she said.

“What? Do you think that I can take care of all of you?”

“I’m going to bed,” Momma said in a low voice.“I need to

rest
a little.”

She rose slowly from her chair and looked hard at Uncle

Louis and Aunt Carol. She was pissed off to the gizzards. I

understood. If our momma hadn’t spent her life taking care of

Uncle Louis’s parents, she might have gone to college and

wouldn’t have been in this hopeless predicament today.

Uncle Louis refused to meet her eyes. He merely sighed,

dropped his head and rubbed his ears and the back of his neck.

He probably figured it wasn’t his fault she was a girl.

After Momma left the room, Aunt Carol smiled, got up and

investigated the contents of a cake cover, lifting it and inhaling.

“Mmm! German chocolate cake! My favorite! Won’t someone

share a slice with me?”

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*

*

By the next week, Uncle Louis had his plans for the survival of us

Hamilton children and his sister. Uncle Louis was a pretty handy

guy. If a sink backed up, Daddy would always call Uncle Louis.