Dreams of Falling

by Karen White

  She wasn’t exactly sure that was true, but she could sense her mother’s resistance growing, most likely owing to the sight of Margaret in that scarf and sunglasses behind the wheel of the convertible. It probably seemed to her mama that the devil himself had pulled up in front of their house to take Ceecee away for good.

  Mrs. Purnell frowned, and Ceecee knew she shouldn’t have mentioned the aunt and uncle. Margaret’s uncle Milton was a friend of the Huntingtons from Connecticut, who’d bought nine thousand acres near Pawleys Island as a winter retreat for Mrs. Huntington’s health, as well as a place to display her sculptures. As if it weren’t bad enough that the land had once belonged to four large rice plantations, the Huntingtons were Yankees—and rumored Nazi sympathizers during the war. Ceecee had heard a rumor that they’d helped supply U-boats along the South Carolina coast, an easy feat since their land abutted the Atlantic Ocean. Nothing was ever proven, but people like her mother, who didn’t understand the concept of “summering” anywhere, were inclined to believe the worst of outsiders.

  “They’re decent people,” Ceecee said in a rush. “Mrs. Harding is Mrs. Darlington’s sister. God didn’t bless them with children, so they enjoy spending time with their niece and her friends. I’d almost say we’re doing a charitable thing by visiting.”

  Ceecee could see her mother wavering. She refrained from mentioning that Aunt Dot’s childless state was most likely intentional, judging by the book by activist Margaret Sanger in her bedside table drawer. Their own Margaret said she’d been looking for a pencil and discovered it by accident, but Ceecee wasn’t sure that was the whole truth.

  Regardless, they’d done the responsible thing and told Bitty’s mother about the book. She’d sat down and explained what it was all about and how the girls should never, ever mention the book to their mothers if they ever wanted to be let out of their respective houses ever again.

  “I brought my Bible, Mrs. Purnell,” Bitty said somberly from the backseat. “So we can say our evening prayers together.”

  Ceecee’s mother relaxed beside her, then turned to fix Ceecee’s hat, a monstrosity of straw and dried flowers her mother had said she’d need to protect her skin from the sun. Ceecee imagined a scarecrow somewhere might be missing its hat, but she wore it to make her mother happy. “That’s good of you, Martha,” Mama said. She was the only one who ever called Bitty by her real name. “And I know Sessalee appreciates it as much as I do.”

  She looked at Margaret, waiting for her to say something, but Margaret was busy refreshing her lipstick.

  Using her mother’s distraction, Ceecee opened the passenger-side door and slid quickly into her seat. Lloyd gave his sister a cursory wave, his gaze settling on Margaret. Ceecee waved to her mother and brother, facing forward as soon as she saw her mother raise her hand to her mouth like she might cry.

  “Don’t forget to take lots of pictures!” Ceecee’s mother called after them, forcing a smile that didn’t fool anyone.

  “Did you really bring your Bible?” Ceecee asked Bitty as they pulled away.

  “Yes. Just in case your mother needed more convincing. I didn’t want to lie to her.”

  Ceecee waited until they’d turned the corner onto Church Street before throwing back her head and laughing. Margaret pressed down on the gas pedal and headed the car north on Highway 17 until Georgetown was behind them and then, with squealing tires, pulled onto a dirt road and traveled along it until they couldn’t see the highway behind them.

  After putting the car in park, Margaret turned to Ceecee and slipped her glasses down her nose. “Sessalee Purnell, where on earth did you get that hat?”

  “Mama gave it to me. You know how badly I freckle, and she told me she didn’t want me looking like a pickaninny when I get home.”

  “Well, you look like a nun. I simply can’t drive into Myrtle Beach with that on your head.”

  Margaret reached for the hat, but Ceecee pulled back. “What? You can’t be serious . . .”

  “Really, Margaret,” Bitty said, always the voice of reason. “I think Ceecee will feel better wearing her hat until we get to your aunt’s house. We can buy her another before she heads to the beach.”

  Margaret turned to regard both of her friends with one of her brightest smiles, the ones that always sent alarm coursing through Ceecee. “Are y’all ready for the biggest surprise?”

  Bitty and Ceecee exchanged a look. Bitty could take Margaret’s surprises in stride, probably because of her parents’ uninformed (Mrs. Purnell’s word) views on the greater scope of life. But Ceecee was always pretty sure Margaret’s surprises would end with her feet dangling over the fire pit of hell (another of her mother’s observations).

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bitty said with a tight smile, squeezing Ceecee’s shoulder as if to show they were on the same team. Although a team of two was never big enough or strong enough to win against Margaret Darlington.

  “My aunt Dot thinks we’re coming to Myrtle Beach next week! She and Uncle Milton are at their house in Connecticut until the middle of May. Mama doesn’t know that, of course, and I’ll make sure Aunt Dot is in the know before we leave—she’ll love the conspiracy. We’ll have the house all to ourselves without having to worry about curfews or chaperones. Isn’t that brilliant?”

  If it had been anyone else, Ceecee would have mentioned the holes in her plan, as glaring as the craters in the moon. But Margaret was a Darlington—as she often reminded them—and therefore the possessor of a charmed life.

  Ceecee and Bitty exchanged a glance, and Ceecee opened her mouth to tell Margaret that this was unacceptable; that her mother trusted her, and this would be the absolute worst breach of trust she could ever imagine. But those words didn’t come out, her mind drifting instead to dreams and possibilities. She remembered the ribbon she’d put into the Tree of Dreams, the fundamentally unimaginative wish of an eighteen-year-old girl. I wish to marry the perfect man—handsome, kind, and with good prospects, and my love for him will be endless.

  In her head, she’d done it to aggravate Margaret. Margaret, whose dreams and aspirations always had a chance of coming true, had wanted her to wish for something bigger. But Ceecee hadn’t. Her world was too small for someone like Margaret to understand, too limited and practical. Those were two words Ceecee was pretty sure weren’t even in Margaret’s vocabulary (in English or French; she spoke both fluently).

  So instead of telling Margaret to turn the car around like she should have, Ceecee began unpinning the hideous hat. “I guess I’m never going to have another chance to be wild,” she said. “I might as well take it.”

  Before she could think about repercussions, she tossed the hat onto the side of the road. Margaret squealed and clapped her hands. “And here, put on some color. I don’t understand how your mama could be so against your wearing a little bit of lipstick.”

  Before Ceecee could protest, Margaret had steadied her chin with one hand and was aiming a gold tube of lipstick at Ceecee’s mouth. When she was done, she handed Ceecee a linen handkerchief and showed her how to blot her lips. “That’s Revlon’s Certainly Red—I saw it in Mama’s last issue of Vogue and asked her to buy it for me. It looks divine on you.” Margaret took the handkerchief and replaced it with a pocket mirror. “See?”

  Ceecee held up the mirror, wondering who this stranger with the messed-up hair and red lips might be. It was her, but not.

  “I think that color might look better on Ceecee than on you, Margaret,” Bitty said from the backseat.

  “And I think you’re right.” Margaret placed the black lid on the tube and slid it into Ceecee’s pocketbook. “A little gift from me to you.”

  “I can’t . . .”

  “Sure you can. And I’ve got a tube of Stormy Pink so my lips won’t look naked.”

  “Do you want my scarf?” Bitty asked, already untying the knot under her chin.

&n
bsp; “No, thanks. I’d like to feel the wind in my hair.”

  “Wonderful,” Margaret said magnanimously. “Glad we’re all happy now.” Not leaving any room for argument, she took the steering wheel and turned the car around.

  Ceecee hated her then. She hated her for making her pretend to be someone she wasn’t. And Ceecee loved her, too, for the exact same reason.

  It wasn’t until much later, when it was too late, that Ceecee remembered Margaret telling her that she’d written the same wish on her own ribbon that day they’d gone down to the river to tell the tree their dreams.

  * * *

  • • •

  Margaret’s heavy foot on the pedal made the drive from Georgetown to Myrtle Beach shorter. Despite Ceecee’s death grip on the door, Margaret showed no interest in slowing down for either the sanity of her passengers or fear of getting pulled over. Ceecee had never seen her get a ticket; the police officer usually knew her family or was easily susceptible to Margaret’s charms.

  Bitty sat up in the backseat, her chin resting on the front seatback so she could be heard over the wind rushing through the car and the radio playing Tony Bennett and Nat King Cole. Ceecee tried to relax, to enjoy the warm sun without worrying about freckling, to revel in a sense of freedom she’d never experienced. She’d never been anywhere without her parents or another responsible adult. It was like running into the ocean in February—the water hadn’t yet warmed from the sun, but it was too tempting to just stay on the sand. There was something alarming about how good it felt, but she couldn’t help feeling wicked just the same.

  “Anybody want a Tootsie Roll?” Bitty thrust a brown paper sack forward. “I brought extras for the trip.”

  “Bless your heart,” Margaret said, taking one and dumping it in her lap. “Mama won’t let me eat anything sweet. She says it will ruin my teeth and my figure. I should just have her look at you, Bitty. I don’t think there’s been a day since I’ve known you when I haven’t seen you eating Tootsie Rolls. I’d be as big as a house if I ate as many as you do.”

  “It’s patriotic to eat them, you know. They saved our marines in the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir.” Bitty took a bite and swallowed.

  “What are you talking about, Bitty?” Margaret asked, a pucker between her brows.

  “Didn’t you hear the story? Our marines were stuck in a mountain reservoir between China and North Korea without food or supplies, and when they finally received an airdrop, it was just a bunch of Tootsie Rolls! It was so cold that the candy was frozen, but the men were still able to eat them, so they didn’t starve. Even better, when they’d made them into a soft putty by chewing on them, they were able to repair holes in their vehicles, hoses, and other equipment. So they were able to escape to the coast and get to their transports.”

  “Not to be unpatriotic, but no thanks,” Ceecee said, worried about ruining her lipstick. As if reading her mind, Bitty rolled her eyes and slid back into her seat.

  As they drove, Ceecee could hear Bitty and Margaret’s conversation, even offered the occasional nod of agreement, but she was focused mostly on figuring out who this new Ceecee was, this Ceecee who let her hair blow wild in a convertible and wore bright red lipstick.

  They passed farm fields and ramshackle shacks and barns with the occasional bright white farmhouse and fencing that had recently seen a coat of whitewash. The wind rushing through the car smelled of summer, of freshly mown grass and hay heated by the sun. And always, always, the prevailing sent of the nearby rivers and marshes that crisscrossed most of Georgetown and Horry counties.

  Lloyd had once joked that the veins on their mama’s legs looked a whole lot like a map of the Lowcountry, showing all the tiny creeks and waterways. Ceecee’s laughter had gotten her a switch to the bottom and a trip to her room without supper. But even now, she couldn’t look at a map without smiling.

  As they approached Main Street in Myrtle Beach, Margaret slowed, remembering to use her signal before turning into an Esso station. “We’ve been practically on empty the last few miles, but I was sure we’d make it this far at least.”

  Bitty and Ceecee shared a glance as Bitty mouthed, Of course.

  Feeling flush with Margaret’s unexpected gift of the lipstick, Ceecee left the car as the gas station attendant approached. “I’ll go get us three Co-colas. Be right back.”

  At the service station, under a deep overhang attached to the building, the icebox and the red Coca-Cola machine huddled together in the shade. Ceecee was digging in her pocketbook for three nickels when she nearly bumped into someone already there. He—it was definitely a man, a tall young man wearing creased khaki pants—was thumping the heel of his hand on the front of the machine, as if the inanimate object might be a cow he could coerce into stepping aside.

  Feeling emboldened by her lipstick, Ceecee stepped around him. “Excuse me,” she said, wiggling the small silver lever. After a brief moment, the machine rumbled. A slight clicking noise announced that the small door had been unlatched, and he could take his bottle of Coke.

  “Well, don’t that beat all,” the man said, retrieving his beverage. He turned to look at Ceecee with deep blue-green eyes she was sure a girl could drown in. She thought she’d just smile and walk away, leaving him wondering who this enigmatic girl might be, but she wasn’t that comfortable yet with the new Ceecee.

  Instead, she said, “My younger brother showed me how to do that. He’s real smart.”

  He smiled, and his smile was as beautiful as his eyes, with perfect teeth and a cleft in his chin. “I’m guessing brains run in the family.”

  She found herself staring at him, her cheeks heating as she tried to think of something to say. She wished Margaret were there. She could talk to anyone. But she was also glad Margaret wasn’t there, because Ceecee was pretty sure this man wouldn’t have been speaking to her if she were.

  He held out a hand. “My name’s Boyd. I’m from Charleston, but I’m on my way home from medical school at the University of Virginia, having just finished a full-year internship in family medicine. Stopping in Myrtle Beach with my younger brother for a few days. He just graduated with a law degree. Guess we both need a break—don’t think I’ve had one of those since I got out of the army in ’forty-five.”

  His smile lost some of its brightness. “Sorry to go on and on. I can’t seem to stop myself when I’m around a pretty woman.”

  Ceecee blushed. “It’s nice to meet you, Boyd.” His fingers wrapped around hers, and she couldn’t breathe. She pulled away.

  He was looking at her closely, as if he could see beyond the lipstick and wild hair and still liked what he saw. “We’re staying at a guesthouse for a couple of weeks on North Ocean Boulevard. Maybe you could grab a friend and meet us tonight to go dancing.”

  She felt suddenly shy and out of her league. Her parents would never have let her go dancing with a boy she’d just met at a gas station, especially if they had never met his parents. “I don’t . . .”

  “I understand,” he said, his voice kind. “You’ve been raised right, and you don’t know me. But I fought in the Pacific, which kind of makes a person forget how they were raised, and I only know one person here in Myrtle Beach, so I’m wondering why I’m here at all. Then I see this beautiful girl, and I lose all my sense. How about I stop by your house and come meet your parents?”

  Ceecee thought about him coming to the house and Margaret opening the door. Or about him finding out that they were there unchaperoned. Either way, it would be a disaster.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That won’t be possible.” She stepped back. “Enjoy your Coca-Cola. And good luck to you.”

  Ceecee hurried back to the car, turning once, expecting to see him bending down to the bottle opener to open the cap of his Coke. Instead, he was staring back at her with that smile, his blue-green eyes squinting a bit in the sun, but following her just the same.
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br />   When Ceecee got back to the car, Bitty looked at her empty hands. “Where’d you put the Cokes?”

  “Machine was broken,” Ceecee said, sliding into the seat and taking her time arranging her dress so she wouldn’t have to look at her friend. Bitty always knew when she was lying. “Let’s get to Aunt Dot’s house and figure out what we’re going to do for supper. I’m assuming none of her help will be there, and we’ll have to do for ourselves.”

  Margaret punched the gas pedal. “Good plan,” she said. “As long as it’s food my mama won’t allow me to eat at home.”

  As Bitty laughed, Ceecee looked back toward the station, hoping to get a glimpse of Boyd, but he was already gone.

  seven

  Larkin

  2010

  Before I moved to New York, I’d spent my whole life within one square mile of the historic district of Georgetown, South Carolina, split between my parents’ on Duke Street and Ceecee’s on River Street. They were both older homes, Ceecee’s built around the time of the Civil War and my parents’ around 1900, with lots of creaky floors and nooks and crannies perfect for a little girl playing hide-and-seek. I had my own room in each house; both had walls painted in soft yellow—my favorite color—and had tall canopy beds.

  But Ceecee’s house was my favorite. It was where I’d go after school for a snack and to do my homework. It was where I brought my friends, mostly Mabry and Bennett, even though they lived on Prince Street, closer to my parents, and where I went whenever my mama was going through one of her self-improvement phases and decided it was time to try something new. These were the times when she’d turn inside herself and forget things like cooking supper or attending my dance recital. It would make Ceecee mad, but I always knew that Mama was chasing her dreams, and I was okay with it. Because one day I knew she was going to show me how to chase my own.

  Mama’s phases were sometimes easy to live with, like when she turned the library into an art studio and painted still lifes, or when she took sewing lessons and made new curtains for the living room. Her violin phase had been short-lived, mostly because my daddy said her practicing gave him a headache. He didn’t hear the music Mama and I heard beneath the mistakes, the lovely melody hiding just behind her unpracticed fingers. So she’d quit, but it was enough to know that she and I had heard the music anyway.