by Karen White
I nodded, wondering when she was going to mention the apology I owed her. I was nine years too late. I found myself looking at the side of her head for evidence of a scar.
She laughed, realizing what I was doing. “Don’t worry. My hair hides it.”
“I came by the hospital to see you. After . . . Afterward. To see how you were. But you’d already been released and sent home.”
Mabry reached out a hand and squeezed mine. “I know. I understand. I just wish that sometime in the past nine years you’d have thought to call or write or come visit. I have a son, now. He’s four and looks just like Bennett, poor kid.” She let go of my hand, her face serious. “I never expected what happened to drive a permanent wedge between us. I don’t hold on to grudges, you know. They’re like expired milk in the fridge.”
But I do. I looked at her, so content in her green scrubs, her life as perfect as she’d always planned, and the old resentment curdled inside me. I wasn’t the only one who needed to apologize for events she’d moved on from and for which I’d had to rearrange my life.
I jerked my thumb in what I hoped was the direction of the waiting room. “I’ve got to go. We’re still waiting to hear from Mama’s doctor . . .” I let my voice trail off, unable to explain that the biggest grudge I held was against my younger self, the girl I’d been trying to bury for almost a decade.
“Sure. Despite the circumstances, it’s good seeing you. If you need anything, please let me know. I live on Prince Street—next to my parents. Nothing so exotic as New York for me.” Mabry smiled again, and I wanted to cry for the little girls we’d been before the world’s glaring spotlight eradicated our childish imaginations.
I began to walk away, but Mabry called me back.
“Have you finished your Pulitzer-winning novel yet? I’ve been keeping my eye out for my red-carpet dress. Remember, you said I could go with you to the ceremony.”
I thought I might be sick right there on the hospital linoleum, the emotions of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up to me. I wondered why other people’s minds chose to remember the most obscure and awful things, the ones you’d prefer they forget. Like a younger version of myself practicing an acceptance speech that would never be given.
“I’ve got to go,” I said without answering, and ran down the hall toward the waiting room sign. I entered without thinking, and both my daddy and Bennett spotted me before I could back out again. Both men stood, making an exit even more impossible, but reminding me, too, of something I’d missed while in New York.
I started to say that I needed coffee, to give me a reason for an immediate retreat, but the doctor who was overseeing my mother’s care exited the room, having apparently spoken to my father. I considered rushing down the hallway to ask him to repeat what he’d said, but I decided against it. It was something the old me would have done. The girl who’d thought that being demanding and rude was the same thing as being assertive. I’d been raised on it, and it had been one of the hardest lessons for me to unlearn.
Instead, I sat down across from the two men. Avoiding Bennett’s eyes and focusing on my father, I asked, “What did the doctor say?”
My father looked older than his fifty-eight years, his suntan beneath the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting making him look yellow. He actually looked like a man worried about his wife, someone he loved. Yet we both knew that wasn’t true.
He cleared his throat. “He told us we need to wait and see. She has a fractured skull, a broken pelvis, and a shattered arm and foot. It’s too early to tell what kind of outcome we can expect. I want to move her to an advanced trauma care center, but her surgeon said we should wait. They’ve got the technology they need here, and the staff is trained to care for trauma victims.”
The words hit me like dull darts, finding their target, then falling to the ground. I wished Ceecee or Bitty were there to guide me. But they’d retreated to the cafeteria. Ceecee had pressed a Little Debbie cake from the vending machine into my hands before she left, telling me I should eat something. Some things never changed.
Daddy cleared his throat. “The doctor said he didn’t expect anything new before tomorrow and that we should go home and rest.” He rubbed the back of his neck like he’d always done when he wanted to avoid meeting my eyes. “I think I’ll go home, take a quick shower. I’m not hungry, but I don’t think I’ve eaten since sometime yesterday.” He forced himself to look at me. “Why don’t you come with me?”
I was shaking my head before he’d finished speaking. “I think I’ll stay here—just in case there’s any change.” I held up the packaged cake. “I have this if I get hungry.”
He stood, shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “All right. Call me if you need anything.” For a moment, I thought he’d come over and kiss my forehead, but to my relief he didn’t. He glanced over at Bennett. “You coming?”
Bennett shook his head. “Mabry’s almost done with her shift. I’ll hitch a ride home with her.” He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to my father. “I’ll come by later to get my car.”
Daddy nodded, then with another good-bye directed somewhere over my head, he left the room.
To Bennett, I said, “I appreciate you bringing me here, but if you’re going to wait here for your sister, I’m going to wait someplace else.”
I made to stand, but he held up his arm. “Larkin, come on. It’s been a long time. Surely long enough for us to be able to sit down like adults and talk about what happened. Or why you didn’t say good-bye when you left.”
Because you already know. “Not long enough,” I said.
He remained sitting. His green eyes stared calmly back at me, as if he hadn’t had a front-row seat to the worst moment of my life. Or anticipated its inevitable arrival. “You look great, by the way.”
“You mean I’m not fat anymore.” The words were out of my mouth before I could pull them back.
Bennett didn’t flinch. “I always thought you were beautiful.”
His words took me by surprise. For a moment, I couldn’t say anything. “You and Ceecee.” I looked down at the Little Debbie cake and placed it on the side table. All my life Ceecee had been stuffing me with food, trying to feed my disappointments and insecurities and fill the void my mother’s absences left. It had taken me two years with a therapist to figure that one out.
“I’m going to the cafeteria. Tell Mabry I’m planning on heading back to New York as soon as my mother’s released. I don’t expect I’ll have time to stop by.”
Bennett’s face remained expressionless, but his green eyes were cool and assessing. When I was growing up, they’d been a barometer for my behavior, letting me know when I’d gone too far. At the very least, they’d been my warning that he, Mabry, or both were about to give me a reality check. For a while after I left, I’d found myself looking for his eyes in situations in which I needed them. But I didn’t anymore. I was a different person now, finally able to see myself as others did, and not just those who indulged me. But the memories of before still made me cringe.
“I’ll let her know. But she’s a block away from your parents, so it probably wouldn’t be too much of a strain on your schedule to stop by.”
I wanted to tell him that despite what she’d said, I knew Mabry didn’t really want to see me. If I were she, I certainly wouldn’t want to see me, either. Instead, I said, “Well, that’s how little you know about me and my schedule.”
Again, his eyes gave nothing away. I found myself squirming under the scrutiny.
“Did she tell you who she married?” he asked.
If I’d had any food in my stomach, it would have tried to come back up. “She didn’t mention it.”
“A nice guy named Jonathan Hopewell. She met and married him while they were both in nursing school. Thought you might want to know.”
I knew what he was trying to tell me,
what he thought I wanted to know. But I pretended I didn’t. I nodded stiffly. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Are you seeing anyone up in New York?”
“No. I’m pretty busy with work.”
“I can only imagine.” He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands between them, always a sure signal that he wasn’t done telling me all that he wanted to. “Do you still randomly identify music, artist, and lyrics, or a song that’s playing wherever you happen to be?”
I would have laughed if my mother hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed in a coma. If I remembered how. “No,” I lied. “I don’t.” I straightened, remembering the question that had been niggling in my brain. “Why were you with Daddy yesterday?”
Approaching footsteps sounded from the hallway. We looked up to see Ceecee and Bitty, the former carrying a cafeteria tray laden with plastic-encased pieces of cake, a doughnut, a brownie, two fried chicken legs, and a single apple. I was pretty sure the apple was Bitty’s contribution.
Bennett stood and greeted the two older ladies before turning back to me. “Mabry’s shift is almost up—I should find her. I’ll check in with you later, see how your mama’s doing. I’m sure my mother will be delivering a casserole tonight if she hasn’t already.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll probably hang out at Mabry’s and stay for supper. I can tell you all about it when you drop by to say hello.” He gave me a victory grin, then said good-bye and left the room before I had a chance to hit him.
Ceecee began placing the food on the small coffee table in front of my chair, opening up lids and placing plastic forks inside each container. “You must be starving. You need to eat something to keep up your strength.”
I picked up the apple and slid the doughnut toward her. “I could say the same for you. I haven’t seen either one of you eat since we found Mama.”
They looked down at the sugary offerings without enthusiasm. “I don’t think I could eat a bite,” Bitty said. “But taking care of you takes some of the worry off our sweet Ivy.”
Ceecee gave her an odd look, but anything else she might have said was interrupted by the arrival of a nurse carrying a large brown paper sack.
“Are you Ivy Lanier’s family?” she asked.
I stood. “I’m her daughter. Is everything all right?”
“There’s been no change. But I have your mother’s personal belongings here—including her jewelry and the clothes she was wearing. I thought you might want them for safekeeping.”
“Yes, thank you.” I took the bag and signed the form on a clipboard she produced. After she left, I sat down again, with Bitty and Ceecee on either side of me. The bag was light, almost as if it were empty. I remembered the sandals Ivy had been wearing and wondered whether I’d find them inside.
“Are you going to open it?” Bitty asked.
“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Ceecee frowned. “Ivy is going to wake up, and she might not appreciate us poking around in her personal effects.”
Bitty frowned back at her. “Mack took her purse, so there’s not a lot of snooping we can do. I thought we should look—just in case there’s some clue as to why she was there.”
“It’s her clothes, Bitty. There won’t be any clues.” Ceecee reached for the bag as if to put it out of the way, but I clung to the folded-over top.
“Maybe there’s some note inside. Or maybe not. Either way, we need to check.” I’d always felt like a referee between these two women, which was surprising, considering they were lifelong friends.
“There,” Bitty said, taking the bag. “Larkin understands, don’t you, sweetie?” Without waiting for a response, she began to unroll the top.
“I should be the one to open it. She’s my daughter.” Ceecee’s face was pinched with unshed tears.
Bitty sent her a look that I couldn’t decipher. “Then I’m glad I’m here to spare you.” She opened the bag and peered inside. “Just her clothes, and her sandals.” She leaned in closer, then reached her hand inside and drew something out. “And this.”
“A ribbon,” I said as Ceecee reached for it, clenching it in her fist before lowering it to her lap and laying it flat so that the words could be read.
I know about Margaret.
A fat tear fell on the ribbon, smearing the letter “M.” Ceecee didn’t look up or attempt to wipe away the teardrops that were running the letters together in a river of black ink.
“Does she mean my grandmother Margaret?” I asked.
Neither answered for a long moment. Then Bitty gave her head one decisive nod. “Yes. I suppose she does.”
I stood, staring down at these two old women. I’d known and loved them my whole life, but suddenly they seemed like strangers. “What about Margaret? What does she know about Margaret?”
Ceecee met the gaze of her old friend before turning to me. “I’m not sure. We always said Margaret was like the moon, glowing and shining light on the world around her. Everybody loved her.”
Bitty slipped her hand into Ceecee’s and squeezed.
“But why would Mama have written that on a ribbon and taken it to Carrowmore?”
Ceecee smiled weakly. “We’ll just have to ask her when she wakes up, won’t we?” She released Bitty’s hand and stood, using both hands on the chair’s arms and looking less stable than when she sat down. “I need to go powder my nose. Please excuse me.”
I watched her go. Her hair seemed more gray than silver, her movements slower, her shoulders rounded. It was as if she’d been carrying an enormous burden and had suddenly become aware of its weight.
Bitty stood, too. “I swear, the older I get, the more my bladder shrinks. I’d better go to the little girls’ room. If I can talk Ceecee into going home right now, we’ll ask Mabry for a lift. I’ll check in on you and your mama later.”
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then left, leaving behind a lingering scent of Youth-Dew perfume and an unmistakable sense of déjà vu.
six
Ceecee
MAY 1951
Ceecee’s mother kissed her on the cheek. Deep lines bracketed Mrs. Purnell’s eyes, almost as if the word “worry” were written between parentheses. As the wife of the Methodist pastor, she’d seemed torn between raising her children the right way in the eyes of her husband’s congregation and raising them the way she wanted to. As a result, her mothering wavered between suffocating strictness and lots of warm hugs, with the occasional blind eye toward minor transgressions.
She gave Ceecee another hug. “You call me as soon as you get to Mrs. Harding’s, you hear, Sessalee? I’m sure it’s long distance, so leave a quarter by the phone. If you offer to pay, she’ll refuse, so this way she doesn’t have a choice. You know we don’t believe in being beholden to anyone.”
Mrs. Purnell fixed the white piqué collar of Ceecee’s brown cotton dress, her lips pressed together with worry. Ceecee’s girdle dug into her ribs and pinched the breath from her lungs, or else she might have used some of the air to reassure her mother. She’d been nothing but worried since Margaret’s mother had called to explain what she’d planned for her daughter and her daughter’s two best friends. Not that it had really been explaining or asking permission. It had been more of a telling what was going to happen, with the assumption that permission was a foregone conclusion. No one ever said no to a Darlington, and neither Ceecee’s mother nor Bitty’s was about to be the first.
“Yes, Mama,” Ceecee managed, her knees nearly buckling with relief when she heard the car pull up in front of the house. Until she was inside the car and driving away in the direction of Myrtle Beach, she wouldn’t believe that her parents were letting her go.
Her mother and Lloyd, her brother, carrying her small traveling case, followed Ceecee out onto the porch. The case was her graduation gift from Margaret, and it had Ceecee’s initia
ls on it. Bitty had been given one just like it, but with her own initials. It was the finest thing Ceecee owned, and she couldn’t believe it was hers. Her mother and grandmother had worked so hard on a quilt for Ceecee for her graduation gift, but even it had lost its shine when placed next to the soft brown leather of her traveling case.
They walked down the porch steps together, Mrs. Purnell’s arm through Ceecee’s. Ceecee wasn’t completely convinced her mother would be able to let her go. She had to restrain herself from pulling away and rushing forward when she saw Margaret behind the wheel of her mother’s convertible Lincoln Cosmopolitan. Dark sunglasses sat on her nose, and if Ceecee hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn she was Lauren Bacall. A turquoise silk scarf, the color of her eyes, was tied beneath her chin, but it couldn’t completely hide the golden sheen of her hair.
Mrs. Purnell’s grip tightened when Margaret turned the force of her smile on them and waved. “Ceecee!” Bitty squealed from the backseat, using the nickname Ceecee’s mother abhorred. Mrs. Purnell’s worry radiated waves of heat, making Ceecee perspire.
“Hello, Mrs. Purnell. You’re looking well.” Margaret slid the sunglasses down her nose. “Just put her bag in the backseat next to Bitty, if you would, Lloyd.” She turned the force of her smile on Ceecee’s brother, making him blush.
Mrs. Purnell put her hands on Ceecee’s shoulders. Quietly, she said, “You don’t have to go, Sessalee. Just because Margaret Darlington invited you doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”
“But I want to go,” Ceecee said. “Please stop worrying. You’ve raised me right. And I’m eighteen years old, Mama. I know how to behave.” She smiled reassuringly. “Remember last summer, when Mrs. Darlington sent us all to the Junior Homemakers of America Camp Lodge at Ocean Drive Beach? We behaved like respectable ladies—you even received a nice letter from the camp supervisor telling you so. Remember? So, you don’t need to worry. Besides, Margaret’s aunt and uncle will be our chaperones at all times.”
