“Know what?”
“What?” Cecily said.
“This growing up thing is a very imperfect adventure.”
Cecily sat back and took a long look at Beth. Then she smiled that knowing smile, the one for which the Singletons were so well known.
“It’s a process, honey bunny. A long process that I expect continues till we go the way of all flesh, like my grandmomma used to say. Even though it hurts sometimes, don’t be rushing through. You’ll miss the good stuff. You know what I mean?”
“I guess. Sometimes I feel like I’m in control of my life and sometimes I wonder what in the world is wrong with me. You know? Here’s my big worry. Did you ever fall in love and get blown out of the box?”
“Are you kidding? That’s the only kind of relationship I’ve ever had. It’s my own fault, of course. I mean, I seem to collect all these hurt birds that I think I can fix. I make terrible choices.”
“You think love is a choice?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. Look, at some point you say yes or no, right?”
“I guess so, but that’s not a very romantic point of view, is it?”
“I’m just saying, until you meet the right guy? Say no. When Mr. Fabulous comes along, you’ll know. At least that’s what my momma always said. And my grandmomma.”
“You mean like you know in your gut that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone and you’re imagining what your kids will look like and you know this is it? And when you’re with him you can’t breathe, and when you’re not, you’re possessed by when you’ll be with him again?”
“Oh, lawsamercy. I thought you had sworn off this stuff.”
“Me too. Guess not.”
“Run away, girl. Like they say in that first-grade reading book? Run, run, run! You’re too young!”
“I don’t think I can run. I don’t want to. Please don’t tell anyone.”
Cecily just shook her head and looked at Beth with an expression you might give someone on death row.
7
Goose Bumps
[email protected]
Susan, I’m sending Mike to the island to check on Beth. He’s older than her and more mature. He’ll tell us if she’s up to no good. Quit worrying. xx
[email protected]
Old woman, your son is hopelessly immature and will probably throw a kegger. Beth has to work, you know, and she’s not there to play hostess to your kids and their friends. But I love you. xx
[email protected]
Ungrateful wretch! He’ll entertain in my half of the house. I’ll tell him not to be a slob, but I doubt if it will do any good. Boys. xx
IT WAS AROUND four in the afternoon when Monsignor Ben Michaels arrived at the Island Gamble. He knocked politely at the kitchen door and Beth invited him inside. It had been some time since Beth had seen the inside of a church, much less fulfilled her obligations as a Catholic. But like true love and deep hatred, guilt had a life span too. Beth blushed deeply and to his credit, the good monsignor made no indication that he noticed the blood rising in her cheeks. After all, guilty consciences were a large part of his business.
“Can I offer you a cold drink, Father?” Beth said.
“Ice water would be nice. Thank you. I’m beginning to wonder if this summer is ever going to end.” He removed a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the moisture from his brow.
“Yeah, me too. It’s been brutal.”
The moment was a little awkward for them as they were nearly strangers to each other, but his appearance worked to put her at ease. His thick white hair and pronounced paunch were the perfect complement to the crinkles of age that laced his kind blue eyes.
Beth opened the refrigerator and took out two small bottles of water, offering one to him. He took it and Beth had a sudden flash of her Aunt Maggie knowing that she had given a priest a bottle to drink from as though he was an ordinary person and not a representative of the Vatican. She would kill me dead, she thought.
“Would you like a glass?”
“No, no. This is just fine. Now let’s see. I think I remember your face from when you were a young girl,” he said. “Weren’t you at Midnight Mass on the millennium?”
“Wow! You have some memory!”
Father Michaels chuckled and twisted off the cap of the bottle, taking a long drink. Beth did the same.
“Nothing like plain cold water,” he said. “Well, to be honest, I’m just guessing. The odds are that you were there because your family took up three entire pews! That was some night, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it sure was.” Beth remembered all that allegedly had happened with the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary and how the old people were fainting and calling out, claiming to see the plaster come to life. She and the rest of her family had not seen anything out of the ordinary happen that night, but the sudden and cloying smell of roses had nearly choked them all. There had been no denying that the condensed fragrance of roses was there and definitely real. In her opinion, the entire incident had been too weird to dwell on and Beth had not thought about it in years. “I remember now.”
“Yes, well, I think about it from time to time too. After that night we had television crews and all kinds of media folks coming around looking for a story and I just sent them on their way. Had to lock up the church! Can you imagine such a thing? I mean, I can’t say everything didn’t happen as the parishioners said, but I can’t say that it did either.”
“It was all very strange. I remember that we all loved the bells and how all of us went to the beach to watch the fireworks. It was really exciting. Holy moly. What a night, right?”
“Yes. Yes, indeed it was a holy moly night. Shall we sit for a moment?”
“Oh! Yes, of course! Where are my manners? Let’s go into the living room. This way.”
Beth prayed silently that her Aunt Maggie did not really have hidden cameras.
Father Michaels followed Beth to the ocean side of the house where the constant swirling of the ceiling fans cooled the room. It was a much more desirable place to sit than the kitchen, which baked in the afternoon sun. So as they found their place in the living room, Beth wondered for a moment, given the business at hand, if Livvie was hiding behind the silver of the old mirror, watching them.
“Wonderful house,” Father Michaels said, and settled in an armchair. “Wonderful house.”
“Thanks. It’s been in our family like practically forever.”
“Yes, I know. I used to come here for dinner when your grandmother was alive. I was just ordained and newly assigned to this parish. She was a good woman. You know, you resemble her a little.”
“Well, thanks. She died when I was little so I don’t remember too much about her except that she fed all the stray cats in the neighborhood.”
“Including me! She sure made the best okra soup I’ve ever eaten to this day. She really did.”
“I don’t have a clue how to make that or red rice or a lot of things my mom cooks. I’m pretty much a salad person.”
“And where are your Aunt Maggie and Uncle Grant? Did I hear they went off to California?”
“Yes, they did, and my mother is in France. She’s teaching at the American University for a year. I’m watching the store, so to speak.”
“I see. Well, I’m sure they appreciate it. Although, I have to say, it doesn’t seem like a terrible sacrifice to be here.”
Beth wasn’t about to start throwing dirt on her family by telling the family priest that she was living in bondage so she just smiled.
“So your family is all gone for how long?”
“A year. I mean, they might come home for Christmas or something. No one seems to have thought about that yet.”
“I see. Well, wouldn’t that be wonderful if they did? I’m sure they will if they can.”
“I hope so. It would be weird to not be with my family on the holidays.”
Father Michaels, sensing Beth was looki
ng at many lonely nights, decided to change the subject. The moment had arrived to get to the heart of his visit.
“Now tell me, Beth, was there was something that happened that made you pick up the phone and call? I mean, are you nervous staying here alone?”
“Annoyed, maybe. Nervous, no. I practically grew up here too.”
“Annoyed? Why?”
Beth searched his face trying to decide if she should tell him the truth. If she did, how could she tell the story without sounding like a wall-licking lunatic?
“How open-minded are you, Father?”
“Well, I’ve been a priest in the Lowcountry of South Carolina all my adult life. Strange Brew is the name of the game around here, you know.”
“I’ll say.”
“I mean, sometimes I think that perhaps I have heard it all. And, to put your mind at ease, I’ve heard many stories about this house too, you know. So, just tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Okay. Okay. Um, the other night…”
For some peculiar reason about which Beth was unsure, she told him about the slamming noises and the messy state of her grandmother’s bedroom but she did not tell him anything about the mirror. He listened quietly and intently and when Beth was finished he spoke.
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. I have a theory about these things that would probably give the world of science a great big belly laugh.”
“A theory? I’d sure love to hear it.”
“Well, in a nutshell, it goes like this: Some people live happily and die happily. They have strong faith and believe that when their time comes, they are going home to God. So off they go to heaven. Others, well, their lives are marked with frustrations and heartbreaks they couldn’t reconcile while they were alive. But since you can’t take heartbreak and frustration through the pearly gates, they have to leave it here. What you are witnessing in your grandmother’s bedroom isn’t your grandmother—”
“It’s her frustration?”
“Yes, I think maybe it is. Or her anger and any other unresolved business that was very deep in her heart.”
“Bizarre.”
“Yes. Bizarre. And I can’t guarantee that blessing her bedroom will rid the house of this, uh, phenomenon, but it might. So, what do you say we give it a go? And while we’re at it, why don’t we do a general blessing for the entire house?”
“Can’t hurt.”
“My thought exactly.”
When Father Ben Michaels left later, Beth had a story to include in a book someday. She had stood with him and recited a number of prayers while he squirted holy water across the room from a little plastic flask with a cross on it. If she hadn’t been so disturbed by all the noises and the continuous disorder of the room, she thought she probably would have dissolved into a pile of snickers during the ceremony. The whole ritual just seemed like voodoo. Once again, she kicked herself, realizing that it was grossly immature of her to mentally mock religious practices condoned by her church. In fact, she had high hopes that between his prayers and Cecily’s salt, something would work to give her some peace and quiet. Maybe his theory was right; she didn’t know. If nothing else, it had been a relief to tell the story to someone and not to be treated like she was delusional.
The bill! She should have given him something! But she had not given him a donation for the church because she didn’t think of it until he was already gone. Besides, she didn’t have any cash in the house, didn’t use checks, and it seemed inappropriate to ask him if he would like to take a ride to the ATM machine at Dunleavy’s Pub. But she did feel that she was obliged to make some material gesture to thank him. Maybe she would buy him a nice card and maybe drop it off at the rectory with some cookies? No, she’d ask Cecily. Cecily would know what to do.
“Make him cookies,” Cecily said. “I don’t think he would be expecting a donation from you, baby.”
“You’re right. For once my youth is working in my favor.”
“How’s the scary room?”
“Neat as a pin. Who knows? Maybe it will hold, for a while anyway.”
“Prayer is a mighty powerful potion.”
“Whatever. We’ll see. So, my cousin is coming Friday and I’m just wondering about that. Am I supposed to go out and buy like a ton of food for them? I’m sort of on a budget.”
“Not in my book. I’d buy a coffee cake and some orange juice. They’re probably going to go out for lunch and dinner, don’t you think?”
“I’m totally clueless for this running a bed-and-breakfast thing. So listen, Cecily, do me a favor, okay?”
“Sure.”
“If you talk to my Aunt Maggie, please don’t mention that I had the priest over to perform an eviction, okay?”
“An eviction. Listen to you! Why would she care?”
“To tell you the truth, if it worked, I think she’ll miss the hullabaloo. You know, like all this peculiar stuff gives the house some, I don’t know…”
“Distinction? Cachet?”
“Yeah, something like that. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but if she comes home and finds that room all tidy, somebody’s gonna have some explaining to do, you know.”
“I can’t even believe we’re having this weird conversation.”
“Right. Let’s talk about other things like Mr. Heartthrob. Did he call?”
“No.”
Silence.
“He’s a dog.”
“You’re telling me? Anyway, I start work at my other job tomorrow night, so that’s a good diversion. And tomorrow I was planning to ride up the coast to see what I could see.”
“Well, make sure you stop at Litchfield. Between Georgetown and Myrtle Beach there’s nothing but development all over the place.”
“What’s up at Litchfield?”
“Lunch, you silly girl. You have to eat, don’t you?”
The next morning, Beth and Lola were on Highway 17 North, driving with a mission. And a plan of sorts. She was going to take pictures. Lots of them. She was going to talk to the locals. Where there was a construction site, she would stop and ask questions. She would learn the questions she should be asking everywhere and take notes like a madwoman. When she returned to the island, she would take the bold step of calling Max on the pretense of following up with some details. Then she would write her draft, polish it, hand it in, and begin her other job.
She got the whole way to Georgetown and realized she had not seen one single site worthy of her pitch and she didn’t even have a map. She drove on. When she got as far as Litchfield-by-the-Sea, she pulled into the BI-LO shopping center. There was a tiny bookstore right there called Litchfield Books. They would have a map, she thought. She parked and went inside.
There was an elegant woman behind the counter with long, thick strawberry blonde hair that was surely the envy of every woman she met. She looked up from her paperwork and smiled at Beth when the bell on the door tinkled as she entered.
“Hi,” she said, “can I help you find something?”
“Yeah, gosh, a map. I need a map. Thanks.”
“Sure. Now do you need a map of the state? The county? A local map? A map of Thailand?”
“I wish I needed a map of Thailand!” Beth smiled and relaxed. “No, I guess I need a map of the local area.”
“What are you looking to find? I mean, around here everything is either on or off Highway 17. Save your money. I can just tell you where to go.”
“Oh dear. Well, here’s the thing. I have an assignment for a weekly newspaper in Charleston to write about the changing face of the beach towns. You know, shopping malls and condo communities? I’m supposed to go along the coast and ask people if they like the changes, hate the changes, don’t care about the changes. I mean, right now I don’t know why I ever thought this was such a good idea.”
The woman looked at Beth and remembered being Beth’s age, just starting out in the world, really too young and
inexperienced to do much of anything besides sound like she just dropped in from Mars and had no clue where to begin or how to do her job. Her heart softened.
“You poor thing. I’m Vicki Crafton,” she said. “Have you had lunch?”
“Hi, I’m Beth Hayes. Island Eye News. My dog’s in the car.”
Vicki took this to mean that Beth had not had lunch and that she felt uncomfortable leaving her dog in the car alone, especially in the heat of the day.
“Well? Does your dog bite?”
“My dog? Goodness no! She wouldn’t bite a bug! She’s a mini Yorkie.”
“A Yorkie! A little tiger! Oh, I love them! Bring her in and let’s get you something to eat. I’m famished. A lot of people come in here around lunchtime, so if you hang out for a while, you’ll hear lots of stories. My dog’s in the back office. They can have a playdate.”
“Cool. I’ll be right back.”
“Hey! Let me ask you something.”
“Sure!”
“Is your mother Susan Hayes? The ‘Geechee Girl Remembers’ columnist?”
“That’s her.”
“Well, the nuts don’t fall very far from the tree, do they? Ha!”
“No ma’am, they don’t!”
Beth hurried outside to get Lola. Beth was so proud of Susan. Wait till I tell her! she thought.
Lola was thrilled to have a walk across the parking lot and she yanked Beth toward the grassy area on the side of the store.
“Okay! Okay! Got it!”
When Lola’s business was completed, Beth picked her up, pushed open the door of the bookstore, and there stood Vicki with her dog.
“Oh my goodness! He’s so cute! What is he?”
“Soft-coated Wheaton terrier. His name is Mac and he loves everyone and everything. Say hello, Mac.”
Return to Sullivan's Island Page 15
