Sea Change

by Karen White

  “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Gingerly, I held the pouch in one hand. It weighed almost nothing, and for a moment I wondered whether it was empty, or held instead something immeasurable, like love or grief. My finger loosened the drawstring, widening the opening, until it hit something small and hard. Hooking my finger into it, I pulled it out into the light, the gold ring perched on my nail and gleaming dully, like a ship drowning in fog.

  “It looks like a wedding ring,” I said, my voice dry and raspy.

  “It is. It’s very old, over two hundred years old. It’s been passed down in the Frazier family for generations.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the ring, noticing the scars of years in minute detail, imagining the hands that had worn it, the things it had witnessed. “Who did it belong to?” I asked, although I didn’t need to. I remembered Matthew telling me about a family heirloom wedding ring and how it had been lost. He just hadn’t told me by whom.

  “Adrienne. It was her wedding ring.” He leaned closer. “Look inside,” he said. “The inscription has had to be redone several times, but it’s what was in it originally.”

  I squinted, trying to make out the elaborate font inscribed on the inside of the wide gold band, my hand shaking and making it harder to see. But I didn’t need to see it; I knew what the word was before I said it out loud. “Forever.”

  I lowered my hand, placing it over my other hand to stop it from shaking. “Why do you have it?”

  “She gave it to me. About a week before she died.” He swallowed. “She told me it didn’t belong to her.”

  The ring slid from my hand and landed on the table on its edge so that it began spinning and spinning in dying circles until John placed his hand over it, stilling it completely.

  “What did she mean?” I could scarcely hear my own voice.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I kept it. For evidence of something—I just don’t know what. Yet. But I will.”

  I wanted to tell him that the ring and the missing briefcase and diary meant nothing, that they weren’t evidence of a conspiracy to hide the truth, whatever it might be. That none of it had anything to do with Matthew. But I stayed silent as he read the unasked questions on my face.

  He scooped the ring into his palm, then slipped it back inside the pouch. “And now you know why we think Matthew had something to do with Adrienne’s death, either directly or indirectly. All we want is the truth. And I imagine that now you do, too.”

  Sliding his chair back, John stood. “There’s a multineighborhood garage sale next weekend. You might be able to pick up a camera or two.” He bent down and kissed my cheek, his lips cool on my hot skin. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I said good-bye, then watched him leave, still feeling the cold, hard metal of the gold ring, recalling how there were no beginnings or endings in a circle, and how sometimes it was impossible to distinguish between the two.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gloria

  ANTIOCH, GEORGIA

  JUNE 2011

  I pushed the buggy past the coolers and red, white, and blue streamers, the triangular boxes of American flags alongside the supersize bags of chips and pork rinds. It was Wal-Mart’s nod to the upcoming summer holidays, but it just made me depressed. My brother died in Vietnam, and it seemed almost disrespectful to remember his sacrifice with tortilla chips and salsa.

  Mimi walked in front of me, moving much faster than any ninety-one-year-old had a right to. My knees and back ached from working in the garden, but I’d refused Mimi’s suggestion that I use one of those motorized scooter buggies at the front of the store. I knew she was just being spiteful because of the stack of Depends coupons I’d pressed into her hand as we’d entered the store. It had taken both of us to haul the large bags of adult undergarments into the buggy, but we’d managed.

  I followed my mother into the condiment aisle just as I began to hear Frank Sinatra belting out the song “New York, New York.” Mimi stopped and began fishing around in her oversized purse as the song got louder and louder. After finding her cell phone, she squinted through the lower portion of her bifocals to see the screen. She looked up at me. “It’s Ava.”

  I rolled my eyes. The boys had bought Mimi her first cell phone for Christmas. I didn’t know what a ninety-one-year-old needed a cell phone for, but she’d been delighted. Most of her friends were already dead, so she used it mostly to annoy me with incoming calls from her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It’s not like she could read the numbers to make a call anyway, but the incoming calls were frequent enough to make me begin to dislike Old Blue Eyes.

  I leaned as far to the side as I could so I wouldn’t have to squat down or bend over, trying to check the prices on the various brands of ketchup. I’d taught Ava and all of my daughters-in-law that just because you had a coupon didn’t mean it was going to save you money. Despite my instruction, I don’t think Ava had clipped a coupon in her life, or actually noticed a price tag in the grocery store. She was like Mimi that way, always spur-of-the-moment, without giving too much forethought to any activity. Like marriage.

  “She wants to know why I put the pink dress in the box, Gloria.”

  I busied myself straightening a shelf tag, focusing on the numbers without seeing them at all.

  Mimi continued her conversation. “I didn’t put it in there, Ava. I only put the albums in the box. I have no idea how the pink dress got in there.”

  I felt my mother’s gaze like a hole being burned into the side of my head.

  “Hold on, sweetheart. Let me get your mother on the phone.”

  I froze, my hands full of two jumbo containers of ketchup. I shook my head, but Mimi just stood there with her tiny phone held out to me. I had no use for cell phones, and certainly not in the middle of a Super Wal-Mart. I turned and stuck the bottles in the cart, then heard Ava’s voice, small and tinny, as if it were coming from another world. In many ways, I suppose, it was.

  “Mama? Can I just talk to you for a second?”

  A flashback of the rainy night we’d rescued our dog, Lucy, swept through my mind. I recalled her small voice that carried thoughts too big for such a small girl, and how she’d crossed her fingers thinking I couldn’t see. All these years later I still hadn’t told her that luck had nothing to do with crossed fingers, but everything to do with opening your heart a little wider to see what would fall in. I suppose I was afraid to tell her that, not wanting her to learn the consequences: that the more you held inside your heart, the more you had to lose.

  I took the phone, then pressed it against my ear. My clip-on earring dug into the side of my head, reminding me again of one of the reasons I hated the phone.

  “Hello, Ava. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Mama. Matthew and I are doing great.”

  She paused and I pictured her chewing on her nails or biting her lips, two nervous habits she’d had her entire life—I had no idea where they came from.

  “I have some news and I wanted you to be the first to hear. We’re not telling anybody else yet, but I wanted you to know.”

  I didn’t say anything, not wanting to ruin it for her, although I already knew. “Yes?”

  “I’m pregnant. Dr. Clemmens—that’s my new boss and my obstetrician—says the baby’s due date will be around February twelfth. Your birthday.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away from Mimi, who was pretending to study the sales flyer we’d picked up at the front of the store. “That’s wonderful, Ava. I would love to share my birthday with your baby.”

  “With your grandchild,” she corrected. “I think it’s a girl, too. I know it’s too early to tell, but I just have a feeling it’s going to be a girl.”

  I blinked back tears and swallowed so she couldn’t tell I was crying. “It’s been a long time since I bought anything little and pink.”

  I felt her smile through the phone. “Thanks for the crocheted dress.”

  “Yes, well, I figured you’d nee
d it eventually, and it’s time I began cleaning out the house. I’m not going to live forever, and I don’t want years of accumulated clutter to be my legacy for my children.”

  I had just made that part up, having no problem whatsoever with my children going through my attic and closets after I’d ceased to care. But the pink dress was hers, and it belonged with her. Stephen and Mary Jane were expecting their first granddaughter, and I’d seen Mary Jane eyeing the portraits of Mimi and me wearing the dress, so I figured it was only a matter of time before she asked for it. But it had never belonged to anybody but Ava.

  “If it’s a girl, I’ll get her picture taken with her wearing it when she’s two.” Ava waited a moment, as if she wanted me to explain why I’d never hung her picture and why it had been put in one of Mimi’s albums instead. But I didn’t. There were no words to explain more than three decades of waiting for the right time.

  “We were hoping that you and Mimi and Daddy would come for Christmas. I’d invite the whole clan, but I know they like to stay home for the holidays. Maybe after the baby’s born we’ll do a big reunion here at the beach.”

  The panic rose in me like a riptide at the thought of returning to St. Simons so many years after I’d left it forever. “I don’t know, Ava. You know how I don’t like the heat….”

  “Mama, Christmas is in December unless they’ve moved it and just haven’t told me yet. The weather will be nice, and it’s an easy drive. As long as you don’t let Mimi behind the wheel.”

  I heard her smile, but it did nothing to quell the panic. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I didn’t marry Matthew to spite you, you know.”

  I accepted the belligerence that had crept into her tone, knowing I deserved it now as much as I had when she was a teenager. It was a small price to pay for guarding my heart and preparing for disaster. “I know, Ava. I never said that you did. It’s just, well, you know we’re so busy here—”

  She interrupted. “And you’ve got four sons and daughters-in-law who are more than ready, willing, and able to step in during your absence. I’d like…” She stopped, and I strained to hear her say that she wanted to see me, that she missed me, but I had taught her too well. “I’d like you to see my garden,” she said. “The plants you sent are doing nicely. You know I don’t like flowers in my own garden, but I put them there anyway, in a small section. For you.”

  I pushed back my disappointment. “I’m glad.” I paused. “And I’d love to see your garden. It’s just, well, you know how much I hate all the Spanish moss. I just want to take a big Hoover and vacuum it all up.”

  There was a long silence, then, “Say you’ll come, Mama. Please.”

  I was surprised at how much I wanted to say yes. I missed my daughter, missed her in the same way I imagined I’d miss my sense of smell if it suddenly went away. My garden would lose so much of its joy and meaning.

  “I’ll think about it, Ava. After I speak with your father, of course.”

  “Thanks, Mama. I’ll call Daddy, too, to get him on my side.”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled to my lips. “You always did have him wrapped around your finger. Don’t expect things will ever change that much.”

  “Good.” She paused. “I called and left a message on your machine—I guess you haven’t had time to get back to me, but I was just curious if you knew Jimmy Scott and his family, and about what happened.”

  I stared down at the linoleum tile and at my feet in their practical low-heeled sandals, my chipped nail polish that screamed my need for a pedicure, forcing myself to remember. “Yes, I recall some sort of tragedy, but not how it happened or any of the details. We’d already moved, so I don’t remember too much. It was a hectic time for us, with your granddaddy getting sick so sudden-like, and your daddy having to move up to take over the business. And your brothers begged to stay to watch the Fourth of July fireworks on the pier, which meant we ended up sleeping on mattresses, because the movers had already come. It’s no wonder I don’t remember much of anything else happening that summer.” I swallowed. “Why do you want to know about something that happened so long ago?”

  “Just curious, I guess. Do you remember Tish, Stephen’s first wife? I met her when I first got here and she’s become a good friend. We’re working on a project to find unmarked graves in the area, and while I was at Christ Church cemetery looking for graves, I met Jimmy. He seemed…I don’t know, friendly. But Tish told me about his dad, so I was wondering if you knew them….”

  “Everybody at least knew of them. Jimmy was in Joshua’s grade, so I heard a little bit about some of the troubles in that house, but that’s it. And I never knew how much to believe, seeing as how it came from a ninth grader.”

  “Did you ever do anything for him? Because you were always so worried about us kids, about us having enough to eat, or if we were warm enough, or if our shoes still fit. You even made it your business to know about our friends and how they were doing, too.”

  I closed my eyes, and thought about everything she wasn’t saying, about how there weren’t any memories of me reading to her before she went to bed, or planning birthday parties, or talking over the kitchen table about crushes and best friends. Only memories of her being clothed and fed, and put to bed at night with a roof over her head. Things every ordinary mother did but without the frills.

  Ava continued. “I just wondered if you knew about what was going on. It would be something you would have done, I thought. And Jimmy seems so nice, I’d like to think that there were people here who helped him.”

  “Like I said, Ava, I only knew them distantly and didn’t really know what was going on until…until afterward.”

  There was another long pause, and I was getting ready to hand the phone back to Mimi so she could figure out how to turn the darned thing off when Ava spoke again. “Our house is on a creek, and I can go down to the dock by myself and it hardly bothers me anymore. And I’ve seen the ocean, Mama.”

  I slipped off my earring so I could press the phone closer. “Were you scared?”

  “Yes. And I’ve only had a few more of those drowning dreams since I’ve been here. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

  “It is.” I was nodding into the phone, but stopped when I realized what I was doing. “Maybe Matthew can help you. Have you asked?”

  “No, but he’s suggested it. I will, though. Soon.”

  Mimi was now leaning heavily on the shopping cart and I knew we needed to go, but I was reluctant to say good-bye. “Are you drinking your milk? You need it now as much as the baby.”

  I heard the smile in her answer. “Of course, Mama. I’m a midwife, remember?”

  “Of course.”

  “Say you’ll come here for Christmas. Please?”

  “I said I’d think about it. I’ll let you know soon. Promise.”

  I looked up to see Mimi chatting with Holly Wright, one of Ava’s high school friends. She’d once been a Pilates instructor but had contracted some kind of metabolic disorder that had caused her to balloon up to over three hundred pounds, forcing her to change jobs from fitness instructor to Wal-Mart greeter and get a motorized scooter. She enjoyed charging up and down the aisles of the store, accosting customers who’d managed to sneak past her at the entrance.

  She stuck a smiley-face sticker on Mimi’s blouse, but when I saw her approaching me I shook my head, indicating the phone as if my conversation didn’t allow for smiley stickers. Fortunately, Holly retreated with a wave to show there were no hurt feelings.

  “I’ve got to go now, Ava. Mimi’s fading and I don’t think I can carry her and the groceries out to the car.”

  Mimi scowled, but I turned my back and said good-bye into the phone.

  I held the phone up to my ear after she’d hung up, wondering how long Ava could continue looking backward before she finally found what she was looking for.

  Pamela

  ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA

  JUNE 1811


  I woke up to the gentle sound of a woman singing and the pillow beside me cold and empty. In my half-awake state I imagined it was my mother singing, vaguely recognizing the lullaby she’d once sung to Georgina and me when we were small. But the voice was different, and I felt the sob in the back of my throat for the loss of my mother. My eyes snapped open before I could allow the grief to swallow me in its easy embrace.

  I sat up, feeling the nausea that had assailed me for the better part of a month. I could find no discernible reason and had exhausted my own supply of tonics and powders. It left me dry-mouthed and heaving for most of the day, and as a result I’d lost a great deal of weight. So much so that I could no longer lift Robbie into my arms. I looked and felt like an old woman, with parchment skin and dark eyes that seemed to grow larger every day, eclipsing my face until I thought it might fade away completely.

  I somehow managed to wash and dress without retching into the chamber pot, most likely because my stomach was empty, as I had not been able to eat the evening meal despite Leda’s having made my favorite of bacon and collard greens. All I’d been able to tolerate had been a peppermint essence I’d instructed Georgina how to make.

  The earth swayed as if I were on the deck of a ship, and I had to grab the doorframe to hold myself steady. Standing in the hallway I saw that Georgina’s door was open, as was Robbie’s. The clock chimed ten times in the hallway below, and I rushed down the stairs as fast as my aching body could carry me. I had not slept this late since my confinement with Robbie nearly five years before, the realization alarming me even more than my inability to diagnose what ailed me.

  After ascertaining that I was alone in the house, I placed a shawl over my shoulders and stepped outside. It was the middle of summer, but the heat could not penetrate my frozen bones. It seemed, I thought, as if I walked in a perpetual shadow, either real or imagined, yet I couldn’t find my way out from under it.

  I followed the sound of singing to the kitchen house, expecting to find Leda and Jemma working while keeping an eye on Robbie as he played. He was a good and obedient son, never straying too far, and happily occupying himself until an adult was ready for play.