Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (54 page)

and remembering Daddy,Tipa and Grandma Sophie. Bad things

happen in threes, we told ourselves, and we’d seen the three.

Christmas was a few days away, Simon was merely hours

away and my ears thumped from waiting to hear him pull up in

the backyard. I wanted to ride in that car of his in the worst

way, but I’d sworn to Maggie that I’d be cool about it. Finally, I

heard the motor turn in to our yard and stop. Maggie looked

at me.

“He’s here,” I whispered to her.

“Yep,” she whispered back,“he’s here. Now what?”

“I don’t know! Should I go out and offer to help him carry

his stuff inside?”

“Don’t you dare! He’ll think you’re a tomboy if you do that!”

“Right. Stupid idea! I’ll just stay here and ask him if he

wants to help decorate the tree!”

“Are you nuts? He’s Jewish! Jews don’t decorate Christmas

trees!”

“Right! I’ll just stay here and do nothing!”

“Right! Get a grip on yourself ! Just play it cool and relax!”

“Right.”

“What are y’all whispering about?”Timmy asked.

“Nothing,” Maggie and I answered at the same time.

Simon Rifkin, arms filled with clothes on hangers, stuck his

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367

head in the living room to say hello. “Hi! Oh, wow! What a

great tree!”

Timmy immediately stuck out his hand to him. “Hey!

Welcome to the Island Gamble! I’m Timmy, remember? And

this is Maggie, my sister, and that’s Henry over there making a

mess.You probably don’t recognize Susan. She had major work

done on her head yesterday but, yep, that’s her.”

“Hi, Susan! Great haircut!”

“Thanks,” I sputtered.

He turned to face Maggie and inhaled. I knew it. One look

at her blond perfection and he was gone.

“I’m Margaret Hamilton, the eldest,” she said coolly and

offered her hand to him as though it were a rare orchid.

The family’s ugly duckling seriously considered a double

murder.There was no hope.

I t wo u l d b e our first Christmas without Daddy, Sophie and

Tipa. It was very strange not to have them there, almost as

strange as it had been having them. The silence was loud. The

sweet smell of fresh air, offensive.The peace, painful.We had tried

so hard to get past all our crying jags and our feelings of empti-

ness and guilt that we were almost used to the idea that they

were gone to their great reward. With the preparations for

Christmas Eve dinner and Midnight Mass came reminders of

them everywhere. But no one spoke of them. Not one word.

For Momma the worst moments had come when she had

to clean out their closets, or when bills came due. More and

more often, she’d pour herself something in a dark red, double

old-fashioned glass, pop a pill and set about the task. Me, I stud-

ied harder than ever so I just wouldn’t think about it.

Maggie and I had set the table for our Christmas Eve feast

of fried fish and hushpuppies. It looked festive with red candles

in the polished brass candlesticks. Then we just cut some

branches of pyracantha with red berries from the yard, flicked

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off the bugs and put them on the table around the candlesticks.

The house smelled good. We got a big can of Johnson’s Paste

Wax from Uncle Louis last week and had waxed everything that

resembled wood.

The gifts we had bought for each other were modest, but

nobody cared about presents too much.

What to buy for Livvie had been a problem and we argued a

lot about it, but finally we settled on a cardigan sweater. I wanted

to buy her a white one so it would match everything, but no,

Maggie said, it would get dirty.After a whole lot of bickering, we

bought a red one, knowing she’d love a red sweater because it

was exciting like she was.

The twins were all washed and dressed in red velvet dresses,

courtesy of Aunt Carol’s charge account at Condon’s department

store. Timmy and Henry had their hair plastered down with

water and had on new sport coats, khakis and Top-Siders, thanks

to Uncle Louis’s charge account at Max’s men’s store. Maggie and

I wore new pastel Villager sleeveless princess dresses with our ini-

tials monogrammed in the center of our chests. The matching

cardigans waited on the hall chair. These were our gifts from Aunt

Carol and Uncle Louis. Momma had on her standard black dress

because she had refused to shop with Aunt Carol.

In any case, we appeared to be ready for Christmas.

We were all about to sit down to Christmas Eve dinner

when Simon came down the steps. As always, Momma took on

this instant new personality in his presence—the charming, effu-

sive innkeeper. She fluffed her hair, sort of licked her lips and ran

for the door. I quickly sucked in my stomach. Simon just had this

effect
on practically everyone.

“Simon!” Momma said. “We were just about to have din-

ner! Fried fish and hushpuppies with grits and salad! Won’t you

join us?”

“Is that what it is? I could smell it upstairs! Smells wonder-

ful, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Son, you couldn’t intrude if you wanted to. Come join us!”

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369

My face got hot, and I turned away to get another place set-

ting from the silver chest, as Simon greeted everyone.

“Hey, Susan! Merry Christmas!”

“Thanks, you too!” I replied automatically. “Oh, Jesus! I

mean, oh, God, Simon, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I mean, you know, saying Merry Christmas and, Jesus, I

mean, oh, just forget it.”

He was smirking at me and his brown eyes twinkled. I hated

it when people smirked at me. God, he smelled good. One of his

front teeth was a little crooked and I found myself concentrating

on how close I’d be to his mouth if we were dancing.

“Susan, Susan, Susan. Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m not a worrier, really, I just . . .”

“Trip over your tongue occasionally?”

“No! I mean, it just came out, that’s all.”

“Gosh, you sure do have yourself a little spitfire temper,

don’cha? Are you always this sensitive?”

“I am
not
sensitive! God! Men! Are you always this

exasperating?
”

“
Exasperating?
That’s a pretty big word for you. How old
are

you?”

“I’ll be fifteen in the fall, for your information.”

“Pretty smart for a fourteen-year-old.Anybody ever tell you

that?”

“Kiss off, doctor!”

He ruffled my hair. I punched him in the arm. He faked

pain elaborately, staggering and wincing. I was in love. And,

worst of all, he knew it.

After dinner Simon left to go over to the city to see some

friends of his. I regained consciousness as his car pulled out of the

driveway. Livvie and I were standing at the sink, washing dishes.

“You got it bad, ’eah, chile?”

“What?”

“Been bit by the love bug, that’s all. Ain’t fatal.”

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I groaned. How was it that I, who had been immune to boys

all my life, suddenly found myself in this slippery quagmire? And

how did Livvie always know what was going on with me? At

least Timmy and Henry seemed not to have noticed. So far.

“What am I gonna do, Livvie?”

“Remember this feeling all your life, gal, ’cause it’s true

magic. Can’t buy him, can’t fake him. If the spark ain’t there, the

spark ain’t there! Oh, chile, I was just about your age when I

meet my Nelson.” She stopped wiping the sink, her face soft-

ened, her eyes stared out into space and she shook her head,

back and forth, exhaling.

“Oh, it was sweet, so sweet.Tall and skinny I was, all lanky like

a filly.We done gone down to the church for a social, me and my

momma. I don’t know where my daddy was that night, but I

remember being with my momma.There was a breeze, and the air

smell like honeysuckle and pine all around. We could ’eah the

music before we get in the churchyard. I remember being all

excited because I was wearing stockings, might’ve been my first

pair! Anyway, we get in the door and my momma go over to see

some of she friends to say hello. I look across the room and there’s

my Nelson! He so fine looking! I finally get introduced to him

somehow, I don’t remember.Turns out he visiting some family, he

from Charlotte, North Carolina. I think to myself that he’s a city

boy and he ain’t gone find nothing about me to write home about.

Well, we dance and dance and I can feel the
heat!
I ain’t never feel

like that before or since! Yeah, when love finds you, you can’t hide,

no sir. Gone getcha! Ha! He was ten years older than me.”

“No kidding.”

“Mizz Susan, you listen to ol’ Livvie. Don’t you worry none,

when the time comes you can have him, iffin you want him.

’Cause, honey? The woman pick the man. The man don’t pick

the woman. Remember that! Time ain’t right quite yet.”

“Time ain’t right? How do I know when the time’s right?”

“You’ll know. That’s all. Gone now, now gone get yourself

ready for church, and ask Jesus to help you!”

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371

*

*

We wa l k e d to Stella Maris Church for the main Christmas

event for all the Catholic families on the Island. It was only five

blocks, and it was nice going down the street with Momma

pushing the double carriage. Maggie, my brothers and I followed

in her trail, under the stars.The brilliant stars! Millions of them!

There were no lights to speak of on the Island and the night was

velvet. It was a perfect lesson in humility to walk to Mass on

Christmas Eve under that sky.The night was cool enough to see

your breath, but not cold enough for a coat. If it ever got that

cold we would ride with Uncle Louis.

I enjoyed the walk, even though the lineup was short three

people. Under the stars I could believe that they were up in

heaven watching us, praying for us, asking God to help us. I

hoped they were. I really didn’t like to think about Daddy being

in purgatory or hell.

We walked by Fort Moultrie and just beyond it, across the

street, was Stella Maris. I’d always thought it was perfect, the old

stucco over brick, painted white weathered beige.The top had a

dome of blue light. Stella Maris—star of the sea.

Uncle Louis and Aunt Carol had saved seats for us. Momma

left the carriage by the door and we tiptoed up the aisle, genu-

flected, blessed ourselves, whispered Merry Christmas to them

and finally settled ourselves on the hard wood of the pew. It was

only ten-thirty; we had come early to hear the choir, but us kids

made a sport out of giggling at the snoring and of silently imitat-

ing the sopranos, poking each other and snickering. Last year

there would have been hell to pay if Daddy had caught us in our

predictable sacrilegious antics, but this year we had the sympathy

of the entire congregation.We had gone from being the “notori-

ous Hamilton brood” to those “poor Hamilton children.”Timmy

and Henry figured that was license to get away with murder.And

they did.When the soprano hit the high note in “O Holy Night,”

she sang
dee-vine
off key enough to break the stained glass.We all

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came undone; even Momma and Uncle Louis finally snickered in

agreement.We got our money’s worth of entertainment.

After church we stood outside, shivering then, while Momma

tucked blankets around Sophie and Allie. People kissed our cheeks

and wished us well, we said good night to Aunt Carol and Uncle

Louis and finally began making our way back to the Island Gamble.

At the Island Gamble, Livvie was waiting on the back porch,

the Christmas lights blinking all around her. She was waiting for

Uncle Louis to drive her home. I hated to see her go at night,

and tonight especially, but I knew she had to go be with her fam-

ily. Then I remembered that we hadn’t given her our present.

“Merry Christmas!” she called out to us as we crossed the

yard.

“Merry Christmas to you too!” we sang out. “Merry Christ-

mas, Livvie!”

Uncle Louis pulled up in the yard to take her home.

“Don’t go yet, Livvie! We have something for you!” I said.

I ran in the house and back to the living room to get her

present from under the tree. Running out, I saw that the kitchen

was clean. I looked up at the clock above the refrigerator. One

o’clock in the morning. Christmas morning.

“Merry Christmas, Livvie.This is from me, Maggie,Timmy

and Henry.”

“Thank you! I got something for y’all too but can’t bring

him till tomorrow! Y’all get some sleep now! It’s late! Merry

Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” we said, all together.

We watched her get in the backseat of Uncle Louis’s car.

Maybe Uncle Louis didn’t want her to sit next to him.Was that

it? I’d have to ask tomorrow. I’d ask Momma in the morning.

I h e a r d a bicycle bell ringing and a horn tooting. I rolled over