by Karen White
His eyes narrowed. “Lulu’s an old woman, Emmy. Be careful what you say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I would deliberately hurt her?”
“I didn’t say that. What I meant is that I don’t think Lulu wants this to go any further. I figured that out when she hightailed it out of here after I showed her the box. I even almost called you to keep you from coming over, but figured I couldn’t stop you.”
“No, you’re right. You couldn’t have.” She had the irrational urge to stomp her foot. “I wish you wouldn’t fight me on this. It would be a lot more fun if I didn’t have to do this all by myself.”
“I thought you preferred to be left alone.” His eyes weren’t mocking and she relaxed.
“I don’t. It’s just been . . . easier.”
Heath shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, well, I’ve never found ‘easier’ the best way to go.” He began to walk toward the store. “Call your mother. She’s a bookseller, so she must be a lot like you. Bet she’d love to help.”
Emmy stared after him as he climbed the steps and entered the store, letting the door slam shut behind him.
Slowly, she got in her truck and started the engine, suddenly confused as to what direction she needed to go in. Glancing in her rearview mirror she caught sight of the box of books and felt reassured, somehow. She was nothing like Paige, but it might not hurt to call anyway.
She took a different route home, down East Cooper Avenue instead of East Ashley, visually scouring the yards for bottle trees. She told herself it was for researching an idea she had to directly market the trees to Folly residents, but after she’d passed the third tree, the sun glinting off glass like exposed treasure, she’d begun to wonder, yet again, what evil spirits Lulu was trying to keep away.
CHAPTER 21
FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA
November 1942
Lulu stood facing Maggie, jumping up and down. “So can I have it? She never wears it anymore, and if I bring it in, I’ll beat Sheila McKowskie. I’ll get a whole pound of sugar if I win—so it’ll be helping you out, too. Sheila’s brought in the most tin cans but nobody’s brought in a fur coat. They’re using them to line the coats of merchant marines.”
Maggie stared at Cat’s ruined coat as if it were a dead animal, feeling again the panic and pain of the day on the beach. It had hung in the closet, untouched, for three months until Martha had discovered it and taken it outside to beat out the sand and hang in the sun. It was unwearable now, but still Maggie hesitated to say yes.
“Let me see it,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
Hesitantly, as if she were expecting Maggie to take the coat and not give it back, Lulu handed it to her sister, releasing it only when Maggie tugged. The fur was coarse in places, and still smelled of Shalimar, Cat’s perfume. Opening up the coat, she examined the lining for the manufacturer’s label, curious as to where it had come from. But instead of a label, all she found was stitching in a rectangular pattern where it looked like somebody had carefully cut one out.
Maggie was about to hand the coat back to Lulu when she noticed a slight bulge in the lining. On closer inspection she discovered a slit pocket inside the right breast. Reaching inside, she pulled out a wadded handkerchief, her hand stilling as she remembered Cat clutching one on that disastrous morning on the beach. It reeked of Shalimar, its sickly sweet smell reminding Maggie of red shoes and smeared mascara and the unforgiving ocean.
Maggie handed the jacket to Lulu, and then the handkerchief. “And you can have this, too. I don’t care what you do with it.”
Lulu took the handkerchief and stared at it intently before shoving it into the pocket of her skirt. “Aren’t you going to ask Cat first?”
“No. She can’t wear it, regardless. Besides, she’s got other things on her mind right now, and I’d rather not upset her.” Cat had been confined to bed for the past month on doctor’s orders. It scared Maggie because instead of becoming difficult, Cat had instead retreated inside her bones, each joint pronounced under her skin and only the protruding ball in her stomach to show there was a baby inside. Cat’s hair and skin had lost all of their luster, leading Martha to say that the baby must be a girl since it was stealing all of her mama’s looks.
“Maggie?” Cat’s pitiful voice crept down the stairs.
“I’ll be up with your breakfast in just a minute, Cat.” Maggie glanced down at the breakfast tray with the buttered toast swimming in the runny yolks of the fried turtle eggs. She turned her head, barely able to look at them. Since the day she’d found out about Peter and Cat, she hadn’t been able to stomach them. She hadn’t even been back to the beach, but sent Lulu out instead to gather eggs. She’d begun to number the days until she and Lulu could leave, and she could start rebuilding the dead spot inside of her.
Maggie opened a silverware drawer and took out a fork and knife, then wrapped them in a napkin for the breakfast tray. She rubbed her shoulders, dreading another trip up the stairs.
“Can I help?” Lulu asked, looking sincere.
Maggie smiled. “No, sweetheart. But thank you for asking.”
Lulu picked up a copy of A Farewell to Arms that Maggie had left on the counter and put it on the breakfast tray. “Maybe this will keep her busy so she’s not always asking you for things.”
“Thanks.” Maggie studied Lulu’s face, noticing the freckles on the bridge of her nose and realizing that like Maggie, she’d never be a great beauty. It hurt Maggie, wishing things could be different for Lulu.
Maggie placed the utensils and napkin on the breakfast tray on top of the book. “I’ve waited to talk to you about this, but since Cat’s time is getting near, I figure now is as good a time as any.” She pulled out the letter from Aunt Edith and opened it carefully.
“You know I’ve been corresponding with Aunt Edith in Galveston, and she’s found us a house to rent. If I can sell Folly’s Finds, we should have enough money to get us through for a little while, or at least until I can get a job. She says the schools there are real good, so a smart girl like you shouldn’t have any trouble fitting right in.”
Lulu looked at her sister with wide eyes as if she were speaking in a foreign language. “What do you mean? You want us to move—like Amy? And never come back?
Maggie’s arms fell to her sides. “Oh, Lulu, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too. This is our home. But it’s . . . I can’t live here with Cat and Peter. It’s . . . complicated. One day, when you’re older, you’ll understand.”
Lulu swallowed hard, her eyes moistening, and Maggie wished she’d waited for a better time to bring up the subject. She glanced at the eggs, hardening now as they cooled.
“I don’t want to move, Mags! I don’t know any other place. Folly Beach is the only place I ever want to live.”
Maggie felt tears gather in her eyes, too, but she blinked them away, trying to be strong. “I know, Lulu. But I don’t have a choice.” She reached for the breakfast tray and lifted it.
“It’s because Peter married Cat, isn’t it? I wish we’d never met him. He’s ruined everything.”
Maggie gripped the tray tighter. “Don’t say that, Lulu. Don’t say those things out loud because somebody might hear you.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
Maggie closed her eyes. “You’re too young to understand. . . .”
“No, I’m not. You just said I’m smart, remember? I know a lot more than you think I do.”
Exasperated, Maggie put the tray down and turned to face Lulu. “Just because you read mystery books all day long doesn’t make you more knowledgeable about adult matters, all right? Now go get that jacket out of my sight. I’ve got to be at the store in half an hour, and I still need to feed Cat her breakfast.”
Lulu’s lower lip was trembling as she turned to go, dragging the jacket on the floor behind her. Then, just as she reached the door, she turned around and ran back to Maggie. “I know why Jim stopped asking you to
go get ice cream and started taking Cat instead.”
Maggie picked up the breakfast tray again and began carrying it to the stairs. Lulu had a vivid imagination, and Maggie could only guess at what story Lulu had concocted. She put her foot on the first step. “Why, Lulu?”
“Because Cat told him that you didn’t want to see him anymore. That you only went out with him because you felt sorry for him because he was just a dumb old hick. And that you were in love with Frank Ferriday from church and were going to get married as soon as he came back from the war. Then she kissed him on the mouth and used her tongue.”
Maggie stumbled, and the book and the glass of juice fell over the side of the tray, spilling on the steps and splashing the whitewashed walls. Leaning against the wall, she looked down the steps at Lulu. “That’s a horrible thing to say. Why would you say such a thing?”
But Lulu’s eyes and mouth were open as if in shock, reminding Maggie of when she’d had to tell Lulu that Jim had been killed. It was the look of a person who’d seen the thing that lurked behind doors and under beds. And Maggie didn’t need Lulu to say anything for her to know the answer. Because it’s the truth.
Dropping the jacket, Lulu ran out the door, slamming it behind her as she left. Maggie slid down the wall until she was sitting on the step and still clutching the tray with the ruined breakfast.
“Maggie? I’m hungry. Are you coming up?”
Maggie gazed up the stairs, but couldn’t find the air to speak.
The front door opened and Maggie moved her head to see if Lulu had come back to tell her that she’d been lying, that she was trying to hurt Maggie because Maggie wanted to leave Folly Beach. Instead, Peter walked through the door as if summoned, his eyes brightening when his gaze settled on her.
Stepping over the coat without a glance, he rushed over to the steps, kneeling in front of her. “Margaret—are you all right? Did you fall?” He took the tray from her frozen hands. “I saw Lulu running but she wouldn’t stop when I called her.”
Maggie shook her head, wondering if she was dreaming. “No. I . . . I had to sit down, that’s all.”
“What’s wrong?” He looked at her the old way, and she felt herself beginning to thaw.
She stared at his beloved face, remembering each line, each crease, the way his hair swept his forehead. “You said . . . you said before that you needed to talk to me. I’m ready. I’m ready to listen now.”
He glanced toward the top of the stairs, then looked back at her. He shook his head. Whispering, he said, “I’ll write you another note.”
Frowning she whispered back, “Another?”
A look of realization swept over his face.
“Peter? Is that you?”
They both looked up. Shaking his head again, Peter stood with the tray. “Yes, Cat. I’m back.”
“Could you please ask Maggie to hurry with my breakfast? I’m hungry.”
The book, which had fallen from the tray and had been leaning against the step, fell over, its back cover opened to one of Lulu’s ink drawings of her bottle tree.
“There,” he said quietly.
Their eyes met and it was as if the intervening months hadn’t happened, as if there were no Cat and no baby and Peter belonged to Maggie again. Peter called upstairs, “I’ll bring it.” Without another word, Peter headed upstairs with the tray, looking back only once as he entered the bedroom.
LULU WATCHED FROM THE DARKENED kitchen window as Peter left the house from the back door and quickly crossed the backyard to her tree. She hadn’t been to it since the morning Peter had given her his note to put in the tree because looking at it made her feel sick with guilt. As Maggie would have told her, keeping the note had been the sin of omission, and seeing her tree only reminded her of it.
Two of the bottles were missing, and the whole tree leaned to the side, like it was tired of holding up all that guilt. And now Peter was heading right toward it, and she sat up and squinted, glad for the full moon. He’d been sleeping on the downstairs sofa for a while now because of Cat being so sick, and Lulu might not have heard him except that she had gotten up to go to the bathroom and heard the creek of the sofa springs.
She watched as he took something out of his pants pocket and stuck it into the neck of the amber root-beer bottle on the bottom limb. When he turned around, she ducked back, but not before she’d seen his face clearly in the moonlight. He was smiling, and his eyes glittered like sea glass in the sun, scaring her a little. Even though she knew he couldn’t see her, she would have sworn he was looking right at her, and the thought sent goose bumps all over her.
Peering out again, she saw that he wasn’t heading back to the house at all, but was turning up the side yard. Rushing to the front window, she very carefully moved the blackout curtain aside and peered out, watching as Peter emerged into the front yard and continued walking to the street. Even though he wasn’t supposed to because of the blackout, Peter pulled what looked like a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. A few seconds later a match flared, and Lulu ducked, waiting for a German torpedo to find that one source of light in all of Folly Beach.
When nothing happened, Lulu peered out of the curtain again and watched Peter head down the street, keeping to shadows made by fences and trees, and heading toward the beach. She watched the orange circle of his lit cigarette until it grew too small to see. Lulu remembered the handkerchief Maggie had found in Cat’s jacket. She’d flattened it out and found three initials that didn’t make any sense because they weren’t Peter’s. It had taken Lulu a while to figure it out, but she still needed proof. The handkerchief was hidden in her box with her other treasures, and she had no intention of showing it to anyone. Yet.
As soon as Peter was out of sight, she rushed to the back door and quietly let herself outside. The note almost glowed in the moonlight, making it easy to see. She slid it from the bottle’s neck and brought it inside to the kitchen, where she found Maggie’s flashlight in a drawer and flipped it on. After waiting a moment to hear if anybody else was awake, she slowly opened the note with one hand and began to read: Our picnic spot. Two o’clock a.m. The horse patrol comes at one and three, so be careful.
Lulu shut off the flashlight and replaced it in the drawer, then held the note in the palm of her hand until the clock struck the hour. She wished Amy was there to talk to, to remind Lulu that she had hidden the first note only because she didn’t want Maggie to leave her. Even though now it seemed it didn’t matter what she did—Maggie was going away with Peter and leaving her behind. It was just like Jim had said to her—no bad deed ever went unpunished. He was right, she knew. She only wished that the punishment didn’t hurt so bad.
Quietly, she let herself out of the house again and made her way through the moonlight to the tree. Very carefully, she placed the note exactly where Peter had left it for Maggie to find.
Then she headed to the street to follow Peter, thinking she knew where he was heading and half hoping that she was wrong.
CHAPTER 22
FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA
October 2009
Emmy looked down at her new jogger’s watch, which sprouted buttons she still didn’t know what to do with, and picked up her pace from a walk to a slow jog. Her new running shoes slapped at the pavement, the sound insulated by the low-lying clouds, muffling her progress as if they, too, wanted to keep her secret.
She had parked her car at the store around five thirty, and gone over Heath’s final plans for the attic while she waited for the sun to rise. Then she’d headed down the west end of the island, hoping to make it all the way to the gates of the county park and back without stopping.
Emmy chose the streets this time instead of the beach, deciding it was time to explore her new home. She ran up Center Street and passed the pink city hall building, where the indomitable Marlene Estridge worked as the city clerk. Emmy had quickly found that if she needed an answer to any question about Folly, or about permits, or about anything, Marlene would ei
ther know the answer or know who would.
As she slowed back down to a walk, she passed larger, newer houses with manicured lawns and professional landscaping tucked between the older Folly cottages that Emmy had overheard a tourist at Taco Boy calling fraternity houses. She’d almost turned around to tell them to go to Kiawah or Seabrook if they wanted a different beach scene, but had held back when she realized that she’d thought the same thing when she first arrived.
But now, after living here for just a few short months, she’d begun to appreciate the charm of the town, and how different it was from the other sea islands that surrounded Charleston. It would never give airs of pretension or exclusion: what you saw was what you got, and there was something reassuring about that, especially for a person who wasn’t really sure who she was in the first place.
She made it down West Arctic and passed the house where George Gershwin had lived while writing Porgy and Bess, the house now completely surrounded by a high wooden fence. Marlene had told Emmy it was because of all the tourists who kept knocking on the front door looking for a tour.
Breathing deeply, Emmy smelled the salt of the ocean and the pluff mud of the marsh, and neither seemed so foreign to her. The air in Indiana at the beginning of October was full of the promise of the coming harvest, crisp and yellow with waiting corn. But here the air carried with it the weight of water filled with teeming life that lay hidden until you looked close enough to see.
Emmy made it all the way to the county park, walking more than she jogged, but she figured it was at least a start. Without pausing, she turned around in front of the park’s gate and headed east, crossing back over Center Street to East Ashley, passing Bert’s twenty-four-hour market with the handwritten sign that read “We might doze, but we never close!” on the door, then finally turning left to return to Folly’s Finds. She circled her truck several times, trying to catch her breath and feeling a lot older than she was. The old Emmy, Ben’s wife, wouldn’t have exerted herself like that. She wasn’t sure why; Ben would have loved her regardless. It had more to do with the roles they’d played for each other, and how she still felt lost, like an actress without a script.
