Same Beach, Next Year

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  If Daphne was mine, I thought, Adam would have her chopping wood all summer or something else equally torturous. In our family, poor performance brought consequences.

  “Well, they’re working for Adam, like they have since they could pick up a hammer. But he pays them the same as the other guys.”

  “Dean’s List?”

  “Yes,” I said with an involuntary grin.

  “Figures.”

  “They’re competitive with each other. It really isn’t about us pushing them. In fact, it might be the one advantage of having twins.”

  “I don’t believe I could manage two Daphnes! Oh, did I mention she got suspended for plagiarism?”

  “Well, girls are different,” I said, thinking, I don’t know if I could’ve managed the one she’s got. “She was probably just not thinking. They give you a run for your money.”

  “She does. And she got three speeding tickets!”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I was quiet for a moment and then I said, “Listen, I don’t think it matters if you have girls or boys. You worry.”

  “It’s true. Hey, here come the guys. I wonder who won?”

  Adam and Carl, red faced and sweaty, waved, peeled off their shirts, kicked off their sneakers and socks, and fell into the pool. In their tennis shorts.

  “I’d swear I just saw steam rise from the water,” I said.

  “I hope he left his cell phone in the condo,” Eve said. “But it’s probably in the pool.”

  The boys came up for air, flipped over on their backs, and floated like dead men.

  “Oh, thank you, God,” Adam groaned. “I finally whupped the son of a bitch.”

  “Good, darlin’,” I said, laughing to myself.

  “I nearly died out there,” Carl said. “It was so close.”

  “It was never close,” Adam said. “You lost by a country mile.”

  “He got me on a dink shot,” Carl said. “Very sneaky.”

  “It’s called playing the net,” Adam said.

  “I want a rematch,” Carl said.

  “Stop! You’re whining like an old woman,” Adam said.

  “Oh, really? Is that what you think?”

  Their banter went on for a while, entertaining Eve and me to no end. Finally, when their body temperatures had returned to normal, Adam and Carl climbed out of the pool and sloshed over to us, dripping on us as much as possible, creating puddles all around their feet. We jumped away and complained, but we were laughing all the while. Carl pulled his cell phone from his sopping wet shorts and tried to make a call—sadly, to no avail.

  “Fried another one,” he said.

  “What about putting it in the dryer?” Adam said. “You know, like in a sock or something?”

  “Yeah, right,” Carl said.

  “What did I tell you?” Eve said, rolling her eyes to me.

  “Oh, dear. There’s water in the cooler if you fellas want a drink,” I said.

  Carl busied himself drying and blowing on his phone, thoroughly annoyed that he had ruined yet another one. He was embarrassed.

  “Third one this summer,” Eve said, happy to announce that perfect Carl wasn’t so perfect after all. “Try covering it up in a bowl of rice. I read that somewhere.”

  “Can’t hurt,” I said.

  I was delighted that Adam had bested Carl on the tennis court. Carl had been beating Adam at golf and tennis and even poker for years, so it was time Adam had his pride restored. And it was also good because Adam could justify the amount of money he had spent on tennis lessons. After all the years we had been vacationing together, it had taken the challenge of Carl to make Adam competitive.

  Eve seemed happy to see Carl and Adam getting along so well. We both were. It meant that this vacation was going well and that there would likely be another. Like me, she had come to cherish this time we all shared. She didn’t like Raleigh anymore. Daphne was gone, Carl worked all the time, and she was lonely. I knew what loneliness felt like. At least her mother’s illness brought her to Charleston and that helped her loneliness—to be needed. On occasion, we would meet downtown for lunch. Maybe the fact that no one really needed her was at the bottom of her malaise. At least I could offer her genuine friendship, and spending time with me gave her a chance to catch a glimpse of Adam again, even if their relationship was as chaste as Abelard and Heloise. I could see Eve aching for Adam’s company. And she worked mighty hard so that no one could detect the fact that she still had feelings for Adam. But it’s pretty hard to hide love.

  Somewhere along the line, as Carl continued trying to salvage his phone, Eve caught Adam’s eye. I watched as Eve appeared to be eighteen again and so did he. Then I blinked and the moment evaporated as though it had never been. I needed to tell him that time had no patience for his longing. Guilt would eventually take a bite out of his soul and he should remember to be grateful for all he had—me, the boys, all that . . . still. I knew that something in him remained unfulfilled. But did anyone ever find all they dreamed of and all they needed in one person?

  It’s his age, I thought. He thinks he’s going down the fucking tubes.

  My husband had unquestionably arrived in middle age. We both had. There was nothing to be done about our advancing years except to embrace them and to pray that they continued to advance for decades to come. We were in perfect health and we looked pretty darn good for our age, and what else could we ask for?

  If I could’ve crawled inside his head, I knew exactly what he would be asking for. Adam would ask for an epic blizzard to occur, and that he would be caught in a wonderful cabin in Vermont and Eve would arrive and they would lose power and sleep together for warmth. Nature would take its course more than once. But Eve would wake up with a total case of amnesia in the morning and it would appear to her that Adam had slept on the sofa under a pile of quilts. He would be making pancakes (that he didn’t know how to make) in a cast-iron skillet over an open fire and brewing the most wonderful-smelling coffee in the world. Why not? Then he wouldn’t have any guilt.

  As I continued to watch him fantasize, I telepathically sent him a message that the odds of this happening were sharply not in his favor.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Adam said, “Let’s eat. I mean, what’s up with dinner? Did we make a plan?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could, given his self-indulgent bullshit daydream. I knew this man.

  “We have a table at Ronnie’s at six thirty,” I said.

  Ronnie’s was a popular seafood restaurant on Shem Creek in Mount Pleasant, just two tiny bridges and a stretch of causeway away. People from all over the country loved to gather there with locals to see the shrimp boats come in with their catch of the day and to watch the dolphins play in the water while the seagulls and pelicans performed their swooping dances and struts for free. It was a different show every night and one that never bored even the most jaded visitor.

  “Great!” Carl said.

  Adam said, “Are Cookie, Ted, and Clarabeth joining us? And what about the boys?”

  “The boys, no. They’re going to see a movie. But the elders, yes,” I said. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to be on time.”

  “Time to shake a leg,” Carl said.

  Soon all seven of us waited outside the restaurant as the throng of diners ahead of us slowly moved inside. I noticed that Clarabeth was having a little trouble with the steps, but I didn’t say anything.

  “This place is packed!” Carl said.

  “How long am I expected to wait? Don’t we have a reservation?” Cookie said.

  “We’re actually a few minutes early,” Eve said and shot me a glance as if to say, Here we go. Get ready to listen to some serious carping and complaining.

  I smiled and gave Adam a nudge. “Honey? Why don’t you tell the hostess that we have some special seniors with us who need to be seated quickly?”

  Clarabeth mouthed thank you to me.

  “You bet,” Adam said.

  I
watched as Adam worked his way through the people to the podium where two harried young hostesses worked in tandem, seating patrons as quickly and efficiently as possible. Adam explained the situation to one of them, who nodded and quickly counted out seven menus.

  “Just follow me,” she said.

  Adam turned back to me and the others and gave us the sign to come along. Soon we were all gathered around a nice table with a view of the water, ordering drinks and enjoying the complimentary crab dip and crackers.

  “This dip used to have more crab in it than it does now,” Cookie said, piling a generous dollop onto a saltine cracker.

  “Crabmeat is expensive,” I said, thinking that Eve was right. Cookie had become a malcontent.

  “Well, the dip is free, for heaven’s sake,” Eve said.

  “I’ll have a Heineken and a cold glass, if you have it,” Carl said to the waitress.

  “Yes, sir,” she said and looked to Cookie. “For you, ma’am?”

  “Well, I’ve been cut off at the knees, so I guess I’ll have a glass of iced tea. Unsweetened,” Cookie said with a smile that only barely concealed her dissatisfaction with her new alcohol-free life.

  “Yes,” Ted said, winking at her. “Our Cookie is sweet enough.”

  “Oh, you!” Cookie said and smiled.

  “I’ll have iced tea as well,” Clarabeth said, smiling at Cookie.

  “Misery loves company,” Cookie said.

  “There’s strength in numbers,” Clarabeth said. “My mother always said that.”

  Ted blew a kiss to Clarabeth for good measure. He always seemed to know how to bring Cookie around. In fact, Ted had become quite adept at improving and sustaining the dispositions of Clarabeth and Cookie, always seeming to strike the right balance so that one did not feel the other to be a threat to her status quo. They, in turn, fussed over him like two old hens.

  I assumed their sex lives were something of a distant memory. So, if that hot button was out of the equation, things had to be way less complicated among them. Still, I thought it was marvelous that Ted could manage to keep both women so happy.

  Over platters of fried seafood, crunchy and lemony, served with tartar and cocktail sauces, the conversation turned to age.

  “So, y’all turned fifty this year? You’re babies!” Cookie said.

  “I remember fifty,” Clarabeth said, adding, “vaguely.”

  “Cookie, that was a couple of years ago! But boy, I can tell you, fifty gets your attention,” Carl said. “AARP is stalking me.”

  “Time seems to be moving faster,” I said, “and there are still so many things I want to do.”

  “Like what?” Eve said.

  “Go to Greece.”

  “She gets this in her head about twice a year,” Adam said, adding very dramatically, “she thinks Greece is calling her home. Come home, Eliza!”

  Adam laughed. I could tell that he thought that was a ridiculous concept. He looked around the table for support, but there was none. There was a brief awkward silence.

  “Maybe it is,” I said. “Maybe there’s something there I need to know or see, or I don’t know, I just feel like I really want to go back. Even just to see the house where my mother grew up again. Maybe there are still some relatives around.”

  “Most likely they won’t speak a word of English,” Adam said. “You really need to let this fantasy go.”

  “There’s a lot of crime in Athens,” Eve said. “I read that somewhere.”

  “They don’t live in Athens,” I said. “And don’t talk to me about fantasy, mister.”

  The table got quiet. I was almost out of estrogen and Eve was still lacking in situational awareness.

  Carl looked at Eve. It obviously frustrated him that she seemed unable to speak with authority on anything. I could see it in his face. Eve was embarrassed and didn’t know why. Adam had dropped a bomb on the dinner and couldn’t recover quickly enough. But then Clarabeth cleared her throat.

  “All right, you youngsters, listen to your old Auntie Clarabeth.” Her faded blue eyes twinkled with wisdom and kindness inside the reddened rims of her lower eyelids.

  “Lay it on us,” Adam said jovially, hoping she could restore the mood to something that felt more celebratory.

  “Here’s the thing. If there’s something you see on television, like a cute little sports car or a beautiful vista in Switzerland or Hawaii, and you say to yourself, Oh! I’d like that! Or, I’d like to go there! But you turn off the television and go about your day. Chances are you’re not going to Switzerland or Hawaii and you’re not buying that little red sports car. But if you keep saying you want to go to Greece and you went there as a child and your mother was born there and the feeling stays with you for years? Good grief, girl! Take yourself to Greece!”

  I gasped. Then I got up from my chair, went around the table to Clarabeth’s side, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You’re right!” I exclaimed. “Not tomorrow, but soon. I’m going to visit Corfu and my family there.”

  On my way back to my seat, I gave Adam a little stink eye. He shrugged and threw his hands up in defeat, smiling sheepishly.

  “Well, if you need an old lady to help you carry your bags, let me know,” Clarabeth said. “I’ve got a little time on my hands and I’d love to see Greece!”

  “I went out with a Greek man once,” Cookie said and sighed wistfully. “We used to drink ouzo and make out like jungle animals in heat. He was a gorgeous thing.”

  “Mother!” Eve said.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  Adam was smiling then. Cookie was a trip. She always carried herself like she was related to the Queen of England. She dressed like she was Anna Wintour’s mother and tried to come across as royalty. When she opened her mouth, we all knew the devil had arrived.

  And of course, Clarabeth was right. If you had a longing in your heart, it had to be dealt with. I saw Adam look at Eve. Eve was staring in his direction and then she quickly looked away. What were they going to do about their longing for each other?

  chapter 10

  adam

  wild dunes, winter 2010

  A typical Lowcountry winter goes like this: In the early morning, it’s cold and damp, the temperature ranging anywhere from low thirties to low fifties. If you’re near any kind of a body of water, and the chances of that are high, there might be an otherworldly rolling mist. You need a sweater, a windbreaker, and a neck scarf. By noon, the mist has burned away, evaporating back into the genie’s lamp. You’ve shed your jacket and scarf, and the sweater you’re wearing is probably starting to itch, making you question your own judgment for ever buying anything made of wool. By three in the afternoon, you very well might be playing tennis in shorts, feeling like the weather is absolutely California perfect. But when you venture out to that backyard oyster roast later that night, it’s cold and damp again. Bundle up, Bubba.

  So much of how I plan my day depends on the weather. In our house, we talked about it a lot. In the months following the holidays, it could rain frequently, causing my business to slow down somewhat. But not this year. Boeing had come to Charleston, and the need for housing was off the charts. I was insanely busy. We were in Summerville most days and for long hours. So long that I rented a trailer to use as an office and hired a receptionist to field all the phone calls.

  It was the dead of February. Eliza was visiting Max at Duke and not due back until tomorrow. I decided it was a good time to work some handyman voodoo on our Wild Dunes condo. There was a dripping faucet in one of the bathrooms, a sliding glass door that was always getting stuck in its track, and some drawer pulls missing in the kitchen. I was sure that I would find a dozen other handyman jobs because DIY had become my specialty. So I packed up my toolbox, a cordless drill, a six-pack of beer, and an overnight bag. As soon as I rolled into Mount Pleasant I stopped at Lowe’s to buy some drawer pulls that I hoped would resemble the original ones that were still in place. It would be nothing short of
a miraculous event to find the same ones. I found some that bore a resemblance and they would have to suffice for now, which of course would drive me crazy and eventually I would replace them all. Call it builder’s pride.

  When I crossed the connector bridge to the Isle of Palms, I was struck for the millionth time by the natural beauty of the marshes and the changing colors of the marsh grass. The water seemed to be a deeper blue than it was in the summer, and maybe it was the current or the cooler temperature or the time of day, but the water beneath me shimmered and sparkled. To my right, long skinny docks with dry-docked boats dotted the Intracoastal Waterway. I thought then that I should try to make friends with the guy who owned that dock right down there because I could bring my boat over and enjoy my summer vacation even more. The Wild Dunes yacht harbor was always jammed. It would be so much nicer to just pull up to a private dock like I did at home on the Stono, which always made me feel like a man who had arrived.

  I stopped at the Red & White grocery store to pick up a few things like coffee and milk and an Entenmann’s coffee cake that I could eat unseen. Eliza was always telling me to watch out for my cholesterol like it was the family menace, some live thing lurking in the kitchen shadows, waiting to sink its claws into my good health. My cholesterol was perfect, thank you. Well, as long as I took my statin. Just gimme the coffee cake and nobody gets hurt. And I bought burgers and buns I could throw in a pan for dinner.

  By the time I pulled into my driveway at Wild Dunes, the sun had slipped away for the night, leaving the horizon ablaze in deep crimson and majestic purple, like the color of a king’s robe. I know that sounds a little sappy coming from me, but I don’t know how else to describe the scene. It’s that dumbfounding, like it deserves a soundtrack from an opera. I should go to work for Hallmark, I thought, I’m such a poet. A regular dang Walt Whitman.

  I went inside, dropped my things on an armchair, popped open a beer, and went outside to watch the sky. Winter sunsets always gave me pause. How could they not? It was like being in church. I was calm like the great Buddha, reminded once again how small and insignificant I was in the scheme of things—the cosmos, the universe, all that was out there. Venus appeared in the western sky, the first star of night in the cold months. It was going to be a beautiful night. I was intensely grateful to be a witness.