Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (55 page)

and looked at my alarm clock. Seven-thirty. The ringing and

tooting continued. I put my pillow over my head.

I got up on my knees and looked out the window. Timmy and

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Henry were riding on new bicycles around the yard in their paja-

mas, cutting doughnuts and figure eights through the morning

mist. Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis had their arms around each

other and were obviously very pleased with themselves.They had

made Christmas happen for the boys and for all of us, really.

“Look at them!” I said.

“They’re having a ball!” Maggie said, now awake too.

“I love Christmas, don’t you? I mean, this is kind of what it’s

all about, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

The noise continued and soon the house smelled of coffee

brewing and bacon frying. My aunt and uncle left, threatening

to return sometime around noon.

Momma had a huge bowl of pancake batter mixed up and

she stood by the stove.

“Let’s go open presents,” I said, “we can feed the hoards

later!”

“Good idea!” Momma said.“Call the boys!”

And we did.There was something for everyone. Crazy, fuzzy,

purple bedroom slippers for me from Maggie, a secondhand red

union suit with a drop back door for Maggie from Henry that he

bought from the Army Navy store, an armful of comic books for

Henry from Timmy and, of course, a turtle named Rufus went to

Timmy from me. Momma had scraped up enough money to

buy us all new sweaters, all of them cotton, crewneck pullovers,

kelly green. My worst color. Well, it’s the thought that counts. I

put on the bedroom slippers and gave Maggie a kiss.

“They’re great!” I said.“I’ll wear them to church!”

“You will not!” Momma said, pretending to be horrified.

Maggie put on the union suit over her nightgown, unbut-

toned the back flap and let it drop open. Henry started laughing.

“I’ll wear it to the next dance at school!” she said.

“You’ll get arrested for indecent exposure!” Momma said.

“You’ll get
peeee-pneumonia
in your butt if you do!”Timmy

said.

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“Timmy!” Maggie said.

“Hey! We forgot the stockings!”

Furious competition ensued to see who’d get to them first.

It didn’t matter, because in true democratic style, they all con-

tained the same things—a Hershey’s bar, a pack of Juicy Fruit

gum, a Sugar Daddy and a handful of Fire Balls. At the bottom

of each one was a twenty-dollar bill. That was a fortune, in my

mind. One by one, we all threw our arms around Momma and

thanked her.

“Gosh! Where’d you get all the dough, Mom?”Timmy said.

“I’m rich!” Henry said.

“Thanks, Momma,” Maggie and I said.

I realized then that she hadn’t opened our gift so I reached

under the tree and pulled out the big box, wrapped in green-

and-red-striped paper, and handed it to her. She opened it,

unfolded the tissue and pulled the robe from the box. It was pale

blue quilted polyester with a front zipper. She stood in front

of the big mirror and held it up to herself, smiling at her reflec-

tion. Half-dancing, she turned to us, waiting to be paid with her

pleasure.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, “really beautiful.” She choked back

her emotions and we did the same.

“Let’s go make pancakes!” Maggie said.

“Yeah, I’ll help!”Timmy said.

“It’s the most beautiful robe I’ve ever had,” Momma said,

“and I’m not just saying that. It really is.Thank you so much.”

Experience told me that Momma was spiraling down again

and it wouldn’t be long before she was in the trouble zone. It

was a good thing that Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis were coming

back for dinner. Maybe they could slap a little sense into her. It

wasn’t that I didn’t care about how she was feeling, just that I

wanted a Christmas without tears.

After breakfast, the turkey was in the oven and an old Perry

Como–Bing Crosby movie was on the television. Momma had

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375

jammed the bird in the oven and gone to her room.We were on

our own and had made it through the morning. Maggie and I

set the table.

“Getting to be like déjà vu, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” she said. “This is good practice for when I’m

Mrs. Pettigrew.”

“Right. Mrs. Pettigrew. Right.”

“He wants to get married after we graduate.”

“You mean he wants to go all the way now,” I mumbled.

“
What
did you say?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Timmy and Henry came flying through the room, saving me

from Maggie’s wrath. If she wanted to screw Lucius Pettigrew

and get knocked up, ruin her reputation and wreck her life, that

was her business. It really was!

“I’m taking my bike out for a ride,”Timmy said.

“Me too!” Henry chimed.

“Just be back soon, okay? Dinner’s at two-thirty!” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,”Timmy said, and slammed the screen door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry echoed, slamming the door again.

Arms filled with plates for the table, I watched Timmy take

off on his bike with Henry behind him.As soon as he got to the

street,Timmy started riding with no hands.

Aunt Carol and Uncle Louis rolled in at one-thirty.“Where’s

your momma?” Uncle Louis asked.

“Taking a nap,” Maggie said.

“Is she always lying up in the bed?”

“No,” I lied, “she just tries to nap when the twins are nap-

ping. Gonna be a long day.”

“Yeah, well, Carol, go tell her we’re here.”

There was no reason for me to fan the fire between my

mother and uncle. He had started up picking on Momma right

where Daddy had left off. At that stage of the game, I’d heard

enough fighting to last me for the rest of my life.

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“Do you want some coffee, Uncle Louis?”

I was so polite, even Maggie gave me the hairy eyeball. But

what the hell, I figured, may as well be nice.

“Sure, honey.Thanks.”

Christmas dinner, which we finally ate at four p.m., was really

and truly delicious. I ate myself stupid and needed a nap in the

worst way, especially after picking at the pumpkin piecrust. I love

crust. I decided to lie down for a while. But then I saw Livvie roll

up in the backyard in her nephew’s car. She got out and went to

the backseat for a big cardboard box. I went out to greet her.

“Got y’all something y’all need in this family!” she cried.

“What?” I yelled back.

“Come on see, chile, come on ’eah and see!” She put the

box on the ground. A little pink nose stuck itself up over the

edge. It was a fat little puppy with a red bow around his neck! I

was wide-awake now.

“He name be Rascal! He ’eah to keep y’all company!”

“Oh, Livvie! He’s so cute! Oh, thank you! Timmy! Henry!

Maggie! Come see!” I was shrieking.

In an instant, they flew down the stairs and bent over the

box. He was as cute as a button, part collie, part German shep-

herd and part Heinz.We let Henry lift him out and he tumbled

and jumped and hopped all over the place. We played and

laughed until I thought we’d get sick from it. Aunt Carol,

Momma and Uncle Louis watched from the steps, Momma and

Aunt Carol each with a twin on her hip.

Livvie stood by watching. “It’s a good Christmas, ’eah, Miss

MC?”

“Yes, Livvie, it’s a fine Christmas after all.”

Eighteen

Simon

}

1999

N Friday, Tom came by to pick up Beth to do some

Christmas shopping and have dinner. His color

O wasn’t good but his mood was fine.

“Hi,” I said, opening the door,“how are you feeling?”

“Not bad for a guy going through chemo,” he said.

“Yuk, right?”

“Yeah,” he said,“my hair’s falling out, but thing’s could be worse.

I got a call from Youngworth this afternoon. I’ve been accepted into

an experimental group through the Medical University—some new

medication that allegedly makes tumors disappear.”

“Tom that’s truly wonderful,” I said, suddenly chilled at the

hope of a cure,“let me call Beth.”

I climbed the steps to the second floor to get Beth and also

a sweater for myself, thinking that we needed a miracle for

Christmas. Just one little miracle, God, please. It’s me, Susan

Hamilton Hayes, God, I don’t ask for much.Yeah, sure.

I told Beth that Tom was waiting for her, rummaged

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through my chest of drawers and threw a cardigan around my

shoulders.

Downstairs I found them reading the
Post & Courier.
Beth

was showing Tom my column.

“I knew it!” he said.“I saw this yesterday and said to myself,

that’s Susan or I’m a monkey’s uncle!” He smiled at me. “You

are one funny gal, you know.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“ ‘ . . . at my age, if I were sexually harassed, I’d send the guy

flowers,’ ”Tom read.“Susan, don’t you realize that every feminist

group in America must be torching the
Post & Courier
right

about now?”

“Read the rest of it, counselor,” I said, “then you can work

my gears.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, and continued reading it to the end.

“Ah, now I get it. It’s the unwanted advances that makes harass-

ment into harassment, right?”

I took a small bow.“Thank you very much,” I said.

“You should’ve been a lawyer, Susan,” he said, “there’s not

enough humor in the courtroom.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “See, even sexual harassment can be a

riot, right? Everything is point of view.”

“What made you decide to do this?” he asked.

“Your daughter and her mall habit,” I said and Beth groaned.

“Susan, everything’s gonna be all right,” he said. “Give your

momma a kiss, Beth. I’ll have her back by nine.”

“No problem,” I said.

It has been one hell of a year, I thought to myself. But I was

not unhappy with how life was playing itself out, with the

exception of Tom’s cancer. His twit girlfriend, Karen, was still in

the picture. Even after everything she had put him through he

was still seeing her. It seemed to me that their relationship at this

point was more grounded in guilt than love—her feeling guilty

for making him delay his surgery, and him seeing her to remind

her that his state of health was her fault.

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379

For once in my whole history with Tom, I finally felt that

things were as they should be. I had come to the conclusion that

Tom and I were better off living apart.And Michelle Stoney had

been right to advise me to leave the divorce proceedings in

place. That guaranteed consistent and necessary support. His

health was the bigger picture at the moment and we were

focused on that alone. If Tom’s treatments didn’t work I’d be a

widow.

Christmas was right around the corner. We tried to be

cheerful and not dwell on Tom’s cancer too much. Maggie con-

tinued to plan the holiday for our family and Beth and I looked

forward to seeing everyone and most especially to New Year’s

Eve. The Millennium. It was a time for profound thinking and

serious resolutions. It was also a season for great parties.

The following week, I stopped by the
Post & Courier
and

turned in another batch of essays that I’d been working on. I ran

into Max Hall.

“Ah! Ms. Hayes!”

“Susan, please.”

“Right! Susan! You’ve been on my mind. Glad I caught you.

The missus and I are planning a small holiday party. Julia is

dying to meet you and has been twisting my arm to ask you to

come. Next Friday at our house. I’ll drop an invitation in the

mail and hope you’ll join us.”

“A Christmas party. What a wonderful idea,” I said. “You

know, Max, I could use a little fun in my life! Tell Julia that my

calendar is embarrassingly open and that I’d love to come.”

“Yeah, and you can bring someone too, if you’d like. Hey!

Bring Jack!”

“Very funny,” I said. Couldn’t he just forget that one dumb

remark?

As soon as I got home and hung up my jacket, the phone rang.

Beth catapulted from the back porch in, it seemed, midair to grab

it. It occurred to me that I should insist she try out for the track

team and I made a mental note to do just that after Christmas.

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I assumed it was for her because the phone didn’t ring that

much for me. I was wrong.

“For you, Mom!” she called.

“Who is it?”

“Dunno, some man,” she called back.

I went to the kitchen phone and picked it up.

“Suz? Is that you?”

“Oh, God, this can only be one person,” I said. It was Simon

Rifkin.

“Yeah, it’s me. So how are you?” he said.

“How am I? Let’s see, well, I’m okay, actually. Yeah, I’m fine.

How are your broken fingers?”

“What?”

“Well, I figure your fingers must’ve been broken or I

would’ve heard from you.”

“Go ahead, give me some heat. I’m an old man now, you

know. Have some respect for your elders.”