“Skipper’s fine. He’s like Lazarus!”
“Well, I’m so glad to hear it. What a relief.”
“So I guess you’re not going to give me any details?”
“As I said before when I was cornered by you and Ivy? I think it’s inappropriate to discuss the details of my marriage with anyone. I don’t mean to seem rude, but Clayton and I have to work out our issues ourselves. It can’t be a topic for conjecture or judgment with anyone else or how can we maintain our dignity?”
“You’re right,” she said.
For a moment I thought I should pull over to the side of the road so I could faint. I could count the number of times I’d been right in Maisie’s eyes on one hand.
“Okay, then. I’m driving so I should probably hang up. Maybe we’ll see y’all this weekend? And if you need a thing, like a ride to the doctor’s office, call Clayton. He’s going to be home until Monday. Then he’s going back to New York to take care of a few things.”
“Really! You trust him?”
“Maisie! Let’s not go there, okay? And he’s planning a vacation for us. He needs to relax a little.”
“Yes, that’s probably the best thing for y’all. Where are you planning on going?”
“We were thinking about something exotic like Bali.”
“I wish I could go on a vacation like that.”
“Well, I’ll be your guinea pig and I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Okay! Love you! Gotta go now!”
If she thought I was taking her and Skipper to Bali or wherever Clayton decided we should go to rediscover our romance, she was really cracked.
The phone rang again. The number was unfamiliar but I took the call anyway.
“Mrs. Waters? It’s Mary Beth. Ashley’s roommate?”
“Hi, honey! Is everything all right?”
“Oh, sure. I guess. I just wanted to talk to you about something and I was wondering if I could come by your office today?”
“Of course you can. Want to come for lunch? It’s pizza day.”
“Wow! Pizza. That would be great,” she said. “I just have a lot on my mind and I really feel like I need another perspective.”
“Well, these days, perspective seems to be my specialty so why don’t you come on over around noon? We’ll grab a couple of slices and close my office door. We can powwow.”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you then! Thanks!”
I gave her the address and we hung up. I started to wonder. What was bothering Mary Beth that was important enough to reach out to me? When she was just a freshman in college, we used to have soul-searching discussions all the time. But that was a long time ago. I’d find out soon enough. Well, whatever the reason was, I was very happy for her to come to me.
We ordered pizza at work one day a week, just for the fun of it. It brought the office together and gave us a chance to talk to one another about work and things other than work. Tom had a place he liked that delivered, so he always did the ordering. Our full-time staff was made up of only nine people including Tom and me. There was Dee, the director of Program Services, Lee Ann, our shelter coordinator, Sam, who ran Client Services, and Meg, Kristi, Lisa, Lee, and Barb, who did everything else. Our part-time staff provided counseling, advocacy, and all the other necessary help associated with Family Court and the Department of Social Services. Their backgrounds and experiences were as diverse as you could hope they would be. But here was the one lighthearted thing we all had in common: a passion for pepperoni and mushrooms on thin crust pizza. So Thursday was the appointed pizza day at My Sister’s House and every week Tom bought us two extralarge pies and a huge mixed green salad. I was so happy I didn’t have to eat boneless skinless chicken on a bag of salad that smelled like cellophane. And I didn’t have to eat white meat turkey on rye with mustard. And for one more day I could forgo white meat tuna packed in water on a bed of raw spinach with lemon juice. It was Thursday and by golly, I was going to eat pizza like a teenaged boy.
The door opened at five after twelve and there stood Mary Beth. I saw her through my open doorway and called out to her.
“Hi! You’re just in time! Lunch just got here and I’m starving. Come on.”
“Great!”
We went to what we called the break room and helped ourselves, loading up paper plates. She followed me back to my office. I pushed aside files and my stapler and my pencil cup and she sat opposite me.
“Sorry, my desk is a mess, but I’m one of those people who works better with everything spread out in front of me.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m a slob too.”
I thought, Oh brother, to be twenty-three again and to say those careless things without a second thought.
“Right!” I said and smiled at her. “So what’s going on, Mary Beth?”
“Well, before I tell you why I called you, I thought I should tell you something. Remember that dinner where I helped you not long ago?”
“Sure. What a fabulous night that turned out to be! Thank you again.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. Gee, this pizza is really good. Where’s it from?”
“Carmines on King Street. It’s really perfect, isn’t it? They have a full menu at night but they deliver pizza all day until midnight. It’s the real thing.”
“Yeah, it is. Um, so . . . remember that night I sort of hinted to you that I knew something about abuse?”
“Yes. I remember.” Here it comes, I thought.
“Well, I do. Unfortunately. My father, who’s a minister and supposed to be a man of the cloth and all that? Well, on Sunday he rocks the church with all these unbelievable sermons and his snake box.”
“A snake box?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Your father is a snake handler?”
“Yes. There are more than a few where I come from.”
“You never told me this! Has he ever been bitten?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Half a dozen times. But he says if the Lord wants him to live he will live and he quotes that part of the Bible about and you will take up serpents? I’m pretty sure that’s Mark sixteen. Anyway, so far he has lived. I think snake handling is dangerous and stupid and I wouldn’t touch a snake if you paid me.”
“Good heavens,” I said, not knowing what else to say at that point.
“Well, that’s the Sunday drill. Saturday night is the total opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do y’all have a microwave here?”
“Yes. We do. Why? Is your pizza cold?”
“No, it’s just that it’s hard to eat and tell you this story at the same time. Maybe I could just talk first and then eat?”
“Of course! Whatever makes you the most comfortable. We can zap your food later.”
“Thanks,” Mary Beth said and put her paper napkin down. “Well, on Saturday nights my dad goes out with his buddies and they get all liquored up and then he comes home and picks fights with everybody.”
“Have you ever seen him hit anyone?”
“Oh, yeah. He beat the hell out of my momma, my two brothers, and me all the time. It’s why I never went back home after college. We’re all afraid he’ll kill her, but we all just had to get out. He’s really crazy. My momma won’t listen to reason. I told her if she wants to live like that that it’s her business. She’s too scared to leave. She’s afraid he’ll kill her.”
“Do you think he would?”
“I hope not but you know he mixes up the Bible and his rights as a man and liquor and bad things start to happen. He’s always putting her down, saying she’s stupid, that she has to obey him and all that kind of talk. He used to say the same things to me but I knew he was wrong so I just tried to stay out of his way.”
“How did you know that at such a young age?”
“Because I had a teacher who was
really nice. We talked all the time. She really saved me, I think. Miss Howe was her name. She was amazing. She’s the one who arranged my scholarship to the College of Charleston. I even had a stipend for living expenses.”
“You’re very lucky, Mary Beth. I see girls all the time who don’t have anyone to help them—at least until they find out about this place.”
“I know. I wonder how many women would file complaints if they weren’t so afraid.”
“Well, intimidation is a big part of domestic violence. There are thirty-six thousand complaints of domestic violence filed every year in South Carolina alone.”
“Did you say thirty-six thousand?”
“Yes. Thirty-six thousand. Nationwide? Three women are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends every single day.”
“Every day? It’s sort of like bullying gone crazy, isn’t it?”
“If that’s what they call homicide these days, then yes.”
“Oh my goodness, I had no idea the number was that high. Terrible. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I’ve seen this stuff firsthand.”
I looked at her face and I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me then.
“Come on, Mary Beth. You’re holding back on me. What else is bothering you? Do you want to try and get your mother away from your father? I can sure give you a ton of information on where she can go for help.”
“That’s a fabulous idea. It really is. But that’s not the reason I asked to come over here today.”
“Then let’s figure out a way to get her out of there. Now tell me. What’s the real reason you wanted to see me?”
“See? Here’s the thing. I might be wrong. But I don’t think so. And it would be very wrong if I knew something and I didn’t say something and then something terrible happened.”
What was she talking about? And then I realized what she meant and who.
“Ashley? What’s going on, Mary Beth?”
“You have to swear this won’t go back to her.”
“You have my word.”
“It’s this guy she’s seeing, the senator. Porter Galloway. Something about him is just too bizarre. He reminds me of my father because he plays head games with Ashley all the time. He’s telling her all this weird stuff.”
The resemblance to her father’s behavior wasn’t good, but it wasn’t exactly grounds for an order of protection either.
“Like what’s he telling her?”
“Well, he told her he fell in love with her the minute he saw her the first time and that he’s been waiting for a girl like her all his life?”
“I think that’s kind of sweet, personally,” I said.
“Yes, but he thinks he owns her.”
“How so?”
“Well, he doesn’t want to know her friends, which is a bad sign if you ask me. And he always decides where they’re going and what they’re doing.”
“But Ashley’s friends are a good bit younger, aren’t they?”
“True. Look, I don’t know but he’s always telling her not to say yeah but say yes and not to say awesome, like he’s using mind control or something.”
“Well, he is a public figure and how she conducts herself would, silly as it seems, reflect on him. At some point. If their relationship really went somewhere that is. The public is fascinated by all that stuff. Remember when Kate Middleton and Prince William were dating? My goodness! They couldn’t go to the movies without someone having something to say about it.”
“Yes, well, here’s the story that really upset me. One night I was coming into the house and Galloway was running down the steps like I don’t know what. When I got inside, there was Ashley on the floor and her head was bleeding. Now, granted, she had obviously been drinking some wine—too much, to be perfectly blunt. But how could he leave her like that?”
“Maybe she fell after he left?” I said. I didn’t like that one bit.
“Then why was he in such a hurry to get out of there?”
“Maybe they’d had an argument? I don’t know but it’s a reasonable assumption, isn’t it?” Or not, I thought.
“Maybe. Look, maybe I’m wrong about this but I just don’t like him.”
“I’ve only seen him on television and he seems a little full of himself but then most politicians are overly confident. Clayton says they’re seldom right but they’re never in doubt. That always makes me laugh. Ah, that Clayton is such a card sometimes.”
“So then he’s doing okay, I guess?”
Had my mother sent an engraved announcement to every resident of Charleston County that I’d gone to the Big Apple to kick my husband’s behind for fooling around on me?
“Of course he’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be?” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Right,” she said. “Anyway, Ashley thinks she’s going to be the next Jackie Kennedy or something. It’s just annoying. And I was just really worried.”
Mary Beth was plainly jealous and that’s what this visit was all about.
“Who knows?” I said. “She might be the next Jackie, or she might be the next Mary Cassatt! Or both! You girls are so young. You don’t have to be the reincarnation of anyone yet. So tell me, Mary Beth, do you have a boyfriend?”
Now that Mary Beth’s suspicions had been met with reason and dispelled, she was a little uncomfortable. And like many people would when they’re in the hot seat, she began to babble, but something told me she was still holding back.
“Yeah. Sort of. I mean, my taste in men is probably worse than Ashley’s.”
“How so?”
“Well, this guy I’m seeing isn’t exactly the type I’d take home to Tennessee. And he comes from another culture where they treat women like cattle or something, you know, the women wear burkas and aren’t allowed to drive or go to school?”
“He sounds interesting to me! My son has a partner who’s Asian.”
“That’s different, believe me. This guy, Samir is his name, is peculiar in the intimate department.”
“How peculiar is he?”
“Well,” Mary Beth said and then she told me in excruciating detail exactly what it was that made Samir peculiar. “Sick, right?”
Her story nearly knocked the wind out of me.
“It’s a strange one, okay. Let’s go heat up your pizza,” I said. “Then you and I are going to have us a little girl-to-girl chat.”
I put her slice in the microwave, set it for thirty seconds on high, and pressed the start button. I had thirty seconds to figure out what to say to her. The television was on, as it usually was, and tuned to the Weather Channel. We stood there staring at it like most people did. Basically, during August and September the Lowcountry lived on storm watch. This had been a particularly busy hurricane season so far but luckily, except for late-afternoon thunderstorms, Charleston had been spared. Still, we watched and tried to figure out the path of one after another as they skirted our coastline and blew out to sea.
“What do you think about Melissa? She’s a Category One,” Mary Beth said.
“That’s not so scary,” I said. “I think we watch it and see. Right now it’s stalled. It might fizzle out. But if it comes directly for us, I want you and Ashley downtown with me. And Maisie and Skipper.”
“House party! I’ll make togas from top sheets!”
The microwave timer went off.
“Darlin’? No one but my husband ever sees me in sheets,” I said as I rolled my eyes at her and reached in the microwave for her plate. “I think I’ll take another slice for myself.”
She giggled and said, “Good one.”
I heated my second slice, and when the timer pinged, we went back to my office. I sat down and took a big bite of my pizza and thought for a moment while she practically devoured hers. In fact, we didn’t speak at all until we were finished eating.
Mary Beth?
Mary Beth? Who was this lost child before me? She was trained as an elementary school teacher. She only subbed occasionally and worked intermittently for a caterer. She had to be broke. But she had a darling personality.
“You still working for that caterer?” I asked.
“Yeah, when they need me, which is about three times a week, on a good week.”
“I know you majored in elementary education. What was your minor?”
“Psychology.”
Perfect! She’d be a natural in fund-raising for an organization like ours. I had an idea.
“Mary Beth? It’s time you got your life on a better track. You need a master’s degree in psychology. You have to go back to school.”
“Can’t afford it,” she said.
“Yes, you can. I’ll pay the tuition if you come here and do volunteer work for me in return. I need help in development for the campaign we just launched. Then when you graduate, you’ll already have business experience and no student loans to pay.”
“But I think I might like to open my own catering company.”
“I know. We’ve talked about that. Here’s what’s wrong with that. If you’re successful, you’ll never have a free night, weekend, or holiday.”
“But! I’ll also go to a fabulous party every night on somebody else’s money.”
She wasn’t wrong. She was just young.
“So you can take some business courses too. No reason why you can’t. And if you think a degree in psychology won’t help you in business, you’re dead wrong!”
“Are you really serious? I mean, you’d pay my tuition and all I have to do is help you here? Why would you do this for me?”
“For a lot of reasons. I’ve known you since your first day at the college. You’re family to us. Someone needs to help you off the hamster wheel and I can do that. And maybe this should be the primary reason: you understand domestic violence so I think you’d be really great at this kind of work. It would give you a chance to reassess your own self-worth. We’ll take graduate school one semester at a time. And don’t worry. This isn’t really a gift. You know me—you’ll earn your tuition money.”
The Hurricane Sisters: A Novel Page 25
