“She said, ‘Ain’t no chile—I don’t care who—ain’t no chile gone use that kind of talk in this house while I’m here!’
“God, I cried and spit and cried, but I never said ‘bitch’ in front of her again.”
“She gave it to everyone, didn’t she?”
“Yep, Uncle Henry ate soap, Uncle Timmy ate soap. Yep, when she nailed us, here came the suds!”
Beth and Tom were laughing. We were all enjoying ourselves so much it made me wish for a moment that the dinner could last forever. Tom refilled my glass with the theatrical flourish of a French sommelier in drag. I toasted him and looked around the table at the faces before me. We had been a great family once. A perfect family. Had Tom’s one indiscreet episode really destroyed that?
Beth insisted on doing the dishes. She filled the sink with suds while Tom and I cleared the table.
“She’s really great, Susan. I owe all that to you. You’ve given me a truly magnificent daughter. How can I ever thank you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A sack of fifties would help. Here, give me the napkins. They need to soak. Seriously, you’ve always been pretty solid behind me in whatever I did with her. I’ll share the credit with you.”
It was the truth, in all fairness to him. I blew out the candles and the smoke from the wicks traveled, spiraling through the darkened room. Now what? I took an arm filled with plates, flatware and soiled linen to the kitchen.
“How’s it going? Is the spark still there?” Beth whispered to me over the din of the running water and the ruckus of the storm.
“What kind of spark? Let’s just clean up and we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
I dropped the plates into the water, then turned to take the linens to soak in a tub in the laundry room and to check Tom’s clothes. She followed me, hissing like the snake tempting Eve.
“Mom! You’re always so impossibly philosophical!”
“No, I’m not. I’m realistic.”
“No, you aren’t! You’re blind! Can’t you see that you have a perfect opportunity here to snag Dad? Look, I’m going upstairs after the dishes are done. Whatever, okay? I’m not coming downstairs unless the roof does. Got the message?”
“Yeah, I got it. Look, let your father and me try to work things out. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Beth. Things aren’t always as simple as they appear on the surface.”
“There you go again. Just try, Mom. Try for me. For us.”
She gave me a hug and hurried back to the dishes. I needed to talk to Maggie and fast. I couldn’t trust my reserve and judgment after half a bottle of red wine. I picked up the cordless wall phone in the kitchen and dialed her number. Then I buried myself in the laundry room, pulling the louvered door tight.
“Maggie?” I whispered.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me. Susan.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you talking like this? Are y’all all right?”
“Yes! No! I mean, yes, we’re fine! I don’t want to be overheard. Listen, I need your advice.” I remembered I was calling her in the middle of a hurricane. “Y’all okay? The storm, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah, we’re fine. The lights flickered a little while ago but the power’s still holding. What’s going on?”
“Good, good. Tom’s here.”
“What? How did he get in?”
“Beth let him in. I come home, after another episode with that good-for-nothing cur Mitchell, and find him ’eah, waiting on me, in my own house.”
“Have you had anything to drink? You sound a little tipsy.”
“Yeah, Gawd. Been nursing a bottle of grapes with that man. Listen up, now. First he shows up ’eah with a bag of fulla filet mignon from Harris Teeter and an ’82 merlot.”
“Go on! Tom? Tom Hayes? That cheap sumbitch? You lie.”
“I swear on Saint Peter’s holy ring. Then he close up all the shutters to the south side of the house, up on a ladder in the pouring rain.”
“Better check he head for scarlet fever.”
“Oh, do chile, that ain’t de only fever he got. He hot for ya sister now! Red hot! I got Don Juan ’eah. Tell me what!”
“I can’t be telling you nothing. You is grown! But, iffin I was you, I’d be mighty careful.”
“What you mean, careful? He out there in my pink bathrobe, strutting like the NBC peacock!”
“What you say? Bathrobe? Oh, Lord, my sister done lose she mind! Y’all? Mind done left she head.”
I started giggling and couldn’t stop.
“I thinking you be taking a little nip of Oh Be Joyful you-self, ’eah?”
“What you gone do in a storm, ’eah? Jack Daniel be on the front porch, rocking with my husband and Maybelline, but I’m in ’eah talking fool with you! What you gone do? Give ’im back he pant or put him in the bed?”
“I ain’t be for know.”
“Then don’t be asking me,” she said. She paused and I heard the ice tinkle against her crystal glass. “Iffin that man was mine, first, I beat he behind good. Then when he real sorry, I mean, sorry for true, I might let him, you know, get he wish.”
“Oh, do chile, you is bad and you ain’t no help, ’eah? I gots to hang up. Y’all all right?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I was sitting on the floor at this point. I pushed the disconnect button and sighed in complete confusion. Suddenly, Tom’s hand opened the door, and there I was. Busted. He was biting his hand to keep from laughing. He’d heard every word.
“My pants dry yet?”
“Do you want them right now?” I was thoroughly embarrassed.
“Well, actually, maybe not. Maybe never. I like this robe. New image, all that. How’s Maggie?”
“Fine. Great. Fine.”
He offered me a hand and helped me up. It was the first time we had touched in months. It felt like the hand of a friend, which made it impossible to resist him when he pulled me against his chest. Then, he kissed me. In the midst of this reunion, we heard a thunderous crash, and the lights went out.
“What the hell was that?” I mumbled.
“Who cares? Did you feel the house move?”
“I’m not sure. Better check Beth.”
“Right.”
We dropped our arms from around each other and took a breath. It was as black as pitch and we couldn’t see a thing.
“Flashlight?”
“Yeah, right here in this drawer.”
“Pants?”
“Hold on a minute.” I reached in the dryer for his damp clothes and he put them on in a hurry. I handed him a flashlight and took another for myself. We hurried down the dark hall to the steps.
“Beth?” I yelled up the stairs.
“What was that?” she called back. “Did you hear that?”
“Dunno. Stay there, I’ll bring you a flashlight!” Tom called up to her. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He took my light and gave it to her.
“Come on down, honey, until we can see what that was,” I said.
“Y’all go sit in the living room,” Tom said, “and I’ll have a look around.”
“Tom?”
“Yeah?”
I reached out for his arm. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I think the damage has already been done.”
The understatement of the night.
A few minutes passed. By then I realized the house had been hit by something and I began guessing how much damage there was while at the same time thanking God that none of us were hurt. Beth sat close to me on the couch. We could see flashes of lightning through the shutters and the thunder continued to boom all around.
At last we heard Tom coming down the stairs.
“We’ve got company on the third floor. I need a mop, some towels and some big garbage bags.”
“What happened?”
“Branch came through a window into the guest room. There’s a helluva mess up there, but it’s
too dark to clean it all up. I’m gonna run for the saw and cut the limb, then just cover the window with plastic so the rain won’t keep coming in. It’s not fatal.”
“You were right, we should’ve closed the third-floor shutters.”
“Who knew? I’ll be right back.”
I held the flashlight and Beth followed me upstairs with the mop, towels and bags. When I opened the door to the room I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A live oak branch, six feet long, complete with Spanish moss, had invaded our house. The curtains, their swag and the rod were ripped from the wall and hanging from the branch. The window and its frame were destroyed. It would be tomorrow before I could assess the damage, but under my feet I felt pieces of bark, small twigs and soaking wet carpet. The wind and rain just kept coming through the hole in the wall.
“Some mess, huh?” Tom was behind me now.
“I never imagined one branch could cause so much damage,” I said quietly.
“That’s not the half of it; the rest of the tree is lying against the house. Too much rain this summer, probably loosened the roots. Better have the foundation checked and the support beams. Here, you hold the light and I’ll saw the branches away. Beth, try to pick up what you can, I know it’s dark, but let’s try, okay?”
“But, Daddy, this is terrible! We could’ve been killed if we’d been in here!” She began to cry. I put my arm around her for a moment. I had to admit I felt like crying myself.
“Beth, this is no time to start crying. Buck up, baby. Let’s help Daddy, okay? Later we can all have a good cry together.”
When silence came we knew the eye of the storm had arrived. We stopped our work for a moment to go outside and look at Queen Street. The three of us—the Wise Men, the Holy Family, the Three Stooges, the Ricardos—to think “the three of us” made me giddy with pleasure. The three of us opened the front door and held our breath. Our front yard was covered with limbs. To the left we saw the top of the oak tree peeking around the edge of our house. Clouds swept across the new moon, which would surely bring flooding. Tom and I stepped out onto the walkway.
“Stay there for a moment, Beth. Let us just see that it’s safe to come out.”
She nodded her head and rubbed her arms as though chilled. In a flash I wondered if she was dramatizing to make Tom see that she needed him. But, admitting the fallen tree had frightened me as well, I linked my arm through Tom’s and cautiously, in the light rain, we went to do a quick investigation before the back side of the storm arrived.
The street was littered with every kind of article you could imagine, from garbage cans smashed into windshields, to a rocking chair hanging precariously from a tree. Palmettos lay across the flooded roads. Wires hung down from every building in sight. The silence was eerie.
Carefully, we made our way around the house to see the tree. There it was—huge, uprooted and lying on the side of our house. I could only guess what the cost of repairs would be.
“Good thing I closed the shutters. Can you imagine if I hadn’t done anything?”
“Next time use duct tape instead.” Gallows humor.
“Very funny. Like it would’ve made a difference. Let’s go finish up.”
Tom finally cut away enough of the branch so that we could cover the window with garbage bags to keep the rain out. I took the spreads off the twin beds and pulled the curtains all into bags to take to the cleaners in the morning. Beth had disappeared downstairs. It seemed that the strength of the storm was finally dissipating.
“I’ve gotta wash my hands,” Tom said. “Think there’s anything else around here for me to put on besides your bathrobe? I’m soaked again.”
“Yeah, me too. I think I’ve got some old sweats that might do the trick. I’ll bring them to you.”
We were curiously quiet, the two of us. As we changed this time I didn’t think about what I was putting on. We made our way downstairs to find the living room lit with twenty candles, using every candleholder I owned. A bottle of white wine was on a tray with two glasses and a bowl of salted nuts.
“I’m going to bed,” Beth said, kissing me on the cheek and then Tom. “Call me if the house falls down.”
We watched her follow the light of her flashlight up the stairs, not saying a word. It was a powerful demonstration of her love for both of us.
“Now what?” I said.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
He poured the wine and handed me the glass, looking into my face. His eyes told me everything I wanted to know but still I needed to hear the words.
“It appears that our daughter has plans for us,” he said.
“Yes. Apparently she does.”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, so am I.”
We were still standing, not knowing what to do, where to sit, whether to launch the long overdue discussion, or to let the past slide and just come together again. “Tom, we have to talk,” I began.
“I know we do. I’m a no-good bastard.”
I was the injured party and the injuries still stung. “That’s good for openers, but that’s not really what I want to hear.”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking, Susan. I was a fool, a complete fool to leave you. I got swept away with a young woman and I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“It’s common.”
“So they tell me. But now I see what an idiot I was and I’m begging you to forgive me and take me back. I want to come home.”
“Oh, God,” I said and immediately choked up.
He put his glass down and took mine, placing it next to his on the coffee table. He took my arms and draped them around his neck, putting his arms around my waist. I didn’t know what to say. Tears began to slide down my face. Then he was kissing me, wiping my face with his fingers, pushing back my hair. I needed to be kissed. I realized how much desire I had and how many eons it had been since I’d been held. I returned every kiss, gesture, and touch with a surprising, growing passion. I began to grow hot, perspiring a little. He pulled me to the couch and I did not resist.
Who was this? It wasn’t the Tom I remembered, the one who groped for me in the dark and then before I could spell my last name was in the bathroom washing up. No, this man, this slow, tender Casanova, was all new to me.
We began the slow waltz of serious lovemaking. He undressed me and took a long look at me, saying I was beautiful. He was beautiful too. But unfamiliar. We were new partners, breathing together, moving together, following the lead of the other’s pleasure. I could feel the quickened beat of his heart against my chest as he held me tighter. Over and over, he said he loved me in a pleading whisper that begged me to love him too. I could feel it. He thrilled me, as I never had been thrilled in all our years of marriage. He had obviously learned more than a thing or two in his absence, and while that was a stunning reminder of his infidelity, he made me want him like I never had. At last, we rested. We were too tired to move.
“Damn!” he said. “So I really do love you, you know.”
“Really, really?” I said, feeling more than a little wicked.
“Yeah, really really. A lot.” I could feel him smiling against my shoulder.
“I love you too,” I whispered into his neck and kissed him there, ever so softly, branding him with a kind of tenderness that I hoped he’d never forget.
Nine
The Aftermath
1963
THE Lowcountry had been trampled. I knew it even before I opened my eyes. My father’s cries from the yard and the cries of our neighbors reached up through our bedroom windows. “Oh, my God! Look at this!…You got power? Lights went out last night about seven and that was all she wrote, bubba! In all my days…How’d this boat get in my yard?…Can’t find my dog!…Where’d the porch go?”
I listened to them as sleep dissolved into morning light. I squeezed my eyes tight. I remembered the night b
efore as if it were a terrifying nightmare. I wasn’t getting out of bed. I never wanted to see my father or my aunt again. I thought about my mother lying in the maternity ward and wondered if she had any inkling of what my father was up to. My heart was splitting for her. She deserved a parade in her honor for delivering twins, but I knew that she would return home to more lies and deception.
Momma would be in the hospital for a week and I was glad of that. She needed the rest. In the meantime, I would organize my brothers, Maggie and myself to help her. When we were in school, Livvie would be in charge of the twins. When we got home, we would rotate their care. Then Momma could rest, lose some weight, regain her sense of humor, make herself pretty and Daddy would fall in love with her all over again.
I rolled over to my night table and picked up the photograph of Momma and Daddy taken on the day of their engagement. My mother had been a beautiful woman when she was young. Her chestnut hair was carefully curled, her lips full, turned up in a smile of mischief, and those fabulous Bermuda blue eyes were filled with a love for anything life would throw her way. She was fine-boned and graceful, like a Dresden figurine, but quick and lively, like a sprite.
I ran my finger around the photograph, staring at her young face. She had wanted to go to college, but it was right after the Depression and there was only enough money to educate Uncle Louis. To this very day my grandparents thought it was a waste of money to educate women. That was not what women did. They made a good marriage and had a pack of children and settled down. As God intended they should, Grandpa Tipa would say, like the refrain of an old song. It was obvious to me that they had discouraged my mother from college because she might have left them, moved to Philadelphia or someplace, and married a Yankee. She had become their caretaker, and they were not grateful in the least. They were entitled to her servitude, or so they thought.
That would never happen to me. Somehow I would get to college. But, before that, I would try to help her dig her way back to life.
From my bed I could hear Daddy moving planks of wood. I couldn’t imagine why but at that moment I didn’t care. The sounds of dragging branches across the yard, interspersed with my father’s obscenities, drifted up to my window. Finally, I heard the brakes of Livvie’s bus. I heard her voice from the yard and I jumped up, ran to the window and had a look down.