by Karen White
“We were married while still in college, but divorced within a year—no kids, thankfully. We were too young, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must have been hard. It’s a good thing you figured it out before you had kids.”
“True. Still pretty traumatic. I guess I’d bought into that permanent part, and it was shocking to realize how wrong I was.”
Permanent. He’d used that word again. I stopped to look up at him, the large gaslight behind us turning the tips of his beard stubble the color of fire. His eyes were green tonight—definitely green because of the oxford cloth button-down he wore in a pale shade—and when he looked at me, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition. A flicker of something. Like a shared memory. But then it was gone as he looked at me with the simple expectation of waiting for me to speak. I should have said something then, but the old me wanted to be standing there with Jackson, pretending that the past didn’t exist and of all the girls in the world, he’d picked me. So I spoke, but not the words I should have.
“Or maybe,” I said slowly, “the word ‘permanent’ means something completely different depending on our age. Like how when we’re children, the word ‘old’ means anyone over twenty.”
“Yeah, that must be it,” he said casually, hurting my feelings a little bit, because I thought I’d just said something profound. He pulled on my hand. “Come on—let’s get some ice cream.”
I allowed him to lead me back to Gabriel’s. I held our seats at a table inside while Jackson got our orders—two cups of vanilla frozen yogurt with granola topping. Gabriel caught sight of me and raised his eyebrows when Jackson wasn’t looking. I simply shrugged, not sure how I would explain tonight to myself, much less to Gabriel.
I chiseled out the yogurt along the edges of my cup with my white plastic spoon while Jackson stabbed his right in the middle, taking out a big scoop. “This whole thing with your mother—I’m so sorry. You know, she came to see me recently, asking about various insurance policies.”
I lowered my full spoon back to the cup. “Was there anything in particular she wanted to know?”
“She was asking about that old burned-down plantation over on the North Santee. I had no idea your family owned it. My buddies and I used it for years as a party place. Always gave the girls the creeps, which just meant it was a good thing to be a big football player, you know? We’d build a bonfire and bring sleeping bags and a cooler full of beer. Always a good time.” He winked as he licked his spoon. “I sure am glad we were never tempted to go inside. Even back then it seemed like a bad idea. Besides, the girls didn’t want to go within ten feet of the place, and us guys were willing to keep them warm and safe.”
He put another big scoop of frozen yogurt into his mouth, oblivious to the fact that I’d known that he and his friends and the popular girls would go to an old burned-out plantation house and light a bonfire. Or that I’d never once been asked to go.
His smile faded quickly when I didn’t return it. “So, what did my mother want to know?” I asked.
“She said she wanted to find any insurance records from 1954, which is when the house burned. Mostly who the beneficiary was. My granddaddy owned the agency then, and I remember him saying that his office and all the records were a total loss because of all the hurricane flooding from Hazel.” He took another stab at his yogurt. “She seemed real disappointed, like she was figuring out some big puzzle, and just as she got near the end, she realized there were some pieces missing.”
I pushed my cup of half-eaten yogurt away, eager now to go home and speak with Ceecee. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m pretty exhausted—worrying about my mother, mostly. Would you mind if we head back now?”
“Of course not—I understand. I’d be worried sick, too, if it were my mother.” He stood and picked up our trash, depositing it all in a nearby can before pulling out my chair.
“Thanks, Gabriel,” I said as I walked by the owner as he was placing three big scoops of ice cream into a banana split boat.
“You come back soon,” he said, his eyes sliding to Jackson’s back. “So we can have a chat.”
“Will do,” I said with a wave before following Jackson, who was holding the door open for me.
His car was parked on the street in front of Ceecee’s house, but he insisted on walking me to the door. The outdoor lights were on, creating as much light as deep shadows on the front porch. I felt Jackson looking at me, but the light stopped at his neck so that his entire face was in shadow. I felt a small chill shudder down my spine as I wondered what the symbolism would be if this were a dream.
“I had a nice time catching up,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice.
“Me, too.” I shifted my feet, the sense of déjà vu almost overwhelming, and I wanted to ask if he remembered, too. But the memory was nestled like a silk dress between gum tree seedballs, prickling and tearing at the fabric, and I had no idea how to retrieve the dress without ruining it. So I left it where it was and smiled up at Jackson.
“I’ll call you about maybe going out on my boat this weekend. Or dinner sometime. Even if your mama wakes up soon, I hope you can stay a little longer so we can get to know each other again.”
For the first time in years, I wished Mabry were there as a witness. Or that I knew her phone number so I could call her and tell her that Jackson Porter just said he wanted to get to know me better. Then again, maybe I didn’t. Because I wasn’t exactly sure she’d be so happy for me.
“I probably won’t still be here this weekend, but let me give you my number . . .”
“Ceecee already gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’m usually at the hospital or here, so it’s easy to reach me.”
“Good.” He leaned toward me, and I didn’t move, not sure what I should do. He kissed me softly on the cheek, his lips warm and lingering, and I felt an odd sense of relief. “Good night, Larkin.”
“Good night, Jackson,” I said. I watched as he walked back to his car. I still felt his kiss on my skin and smelled the lingering scent of his cologne, which made me remember things I wished I could forget.
twelve
Ceecee
2010
Ceecee walked around the parlor, unnecessarily rearranging frames and her collection of Limoges boxes and other trinkets while listening to the ticking of the hall clock. She heard Bitty coughing upstairs, then smelled cigarette smoke, even though she’d told Bitty more than once that she wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house.
Ceecee had already washed her face and put on her cold cream and pinned her hair, but she couldn’t go to sleep until she knew where Mack was and that Larkin had come home. She’d called Mack’s cell phone twice already, knowing that visiting hours at the hospital had ended long before, but he hadn’t returned her calls. Gritting her teeth, she picked up a silver-framed photo of Ivy and Mack on their wedding day, then rubbed it against her housecoat to remove any flecks of imaginary dust. She had better not find out he was with that woman, not while Ivy was in the hospital. Not while Larkin was home. It would be beyond the pale.
Ceecee replaced the photo and picked up another from the mantel, this one taken on her own wedding day. There was Bitty, wearing the bright red dress she’d chosen herself, but which was simply another shade of gray in the black-and-white photo. She looked young and pretty with her wide-brimmed hat, and Ivy, too, wearing a soft yellow dress as befitted a flower girl. Ivy and the groom wore similar expressions of surprise, as if neither one could imagine how they’d gotten there.
Ceecee adjusted her glasses, bringing the photo closer to her face and examining the smudge behind her ivory-silk shoulder. She’d always thought it was a fingerprint the photographer had missed on the camera lens. It was Bitty who’d pointed out that the smudge hadn’t appeared on any of the other photos from the wedding, and that it must have been Margaret’
s ghost, letting them know she was there. Whenever Ceecee looked at the picture, she stared at the blurry mark, imagining sometimes that she saw a face and at other times just a fingerprint.
Carefully, she replaced the frame on the mantel, smelling old smoke and ashes from the fireplace. She couldn’t recall whether she’d had the fireplaces cleaned in the last year. It bothered her that she couldn’t remember the little things anymore—which was why she now wrote everything down. Bitty said that as long as she remembered the big things, she had nothing to worry about. The ashy scent was particularly strong tonight, and she wondered if the wind might be strong outside, blowing through the old mortar. She hoped that was the reason for her dreams of the past few nights, dreams of this very house engulfed in flames, the fire slowly climbing the stairs to the room where she slept.
Ceecee was on the way to the kitchen and her calendar to make a note to call the chimney cleaner tomorrow when she heard another heavy cough from upstairs at the same time the front door opened. After directing a frown upstairs, she moved to the foyer and found Larkin with her back to Ceecee, staring at the closed front door.
“Is everything all right?”
Another cough from Bitty brought their attention to the stairs. Ignoring her question, Larkin asked, “Has she seen a doctor about that cough?”
“I don’t know.” Ceecee’s answer embarrassed her, made her feel ashamed that she didn’t know. “She’s a grown woman, so I suppose she has.” She watched as Larkin’s worried expression turned into a slight frown. “I’ll ask her tomorrow. We both know how stubborn Bitty can be.” She said it with a smile and was pleased when Larkin looked relieved.
“How did it go tonight?” she asked. Ceecee looked for any lessening of the tightness around Larkin’s eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks, and the slight dip of her head that hadn’t been there when she was a child and seemed to get worse every visit home. It made Ceecee think of the chameleons she’d once seen at a zoo, how they changed their colors to match their surroundings. She wondered if Larkin was doing that on purpose, trying to fit in in New York. Or maybe she was trying to disguise herself enough that no one who’d known her before would recognize her now. Which was silly, really. Larkin was perfect in every way, and had always been. She had no reason to hide. Maybe it was simply the stress over her father and now her mother.
“It was fine.” Larkin didn’t move toward the stairs, but instead stood looking at Ceecee, her eyes now angry. “We need to talk.”
Ceecee forced herself not to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, afraid Larkin might hear her. “Of course. Can it wait until morning? I’m simply exhausted . . .”
“No. It really can’t. It’s about the fire at Carrowmore.”
Ceecee glanced up the stairs to make sure Bitty wasn’t at the top, listening.
“All right. Come into the parlor and we’ll chat. Can I get you a glass of sweet tea or a piece of cake?”
Larkin shook her head. “No. Thanks.” She moved into the parlor and dropped her purse, but didn’t sit down. Instead, she headed to the mantel and absently picked up Ceecee’s wedding photo. “Bennett told me about my grandmother. About how she died.”
Ceecee decided she should sit down even if Larkin didn’t. “It wasn’t his place to tell you.”
“No, it probably wasn’t. But I suppose we were both wondering why nobody thought to mention it to me before. I’m twenty-seven years old, Ceecee. When did you think I’d be old enough to know that my grandmother died in a house fire? Or that the house she died in still belongs to our family and will belong to me when I turn thirty?”
“I . . .” Ceecee rubbed her arms under her housecoat, feeling suddenly very, very cold. “It was such a horrible thing. And it happened long before you were born. Your mother . . .”
“She was there. Bennett said she was in the house. And so were you. You saved her, but you couldn’t save my grandmother.”
Unshed tears filled Larkin’s eyes, and Ceecee felt her own eyes filling. “It was the worst night of my life, something I never want to think about. I never talked about it to Ivy because she’d been there and I didn’t want her to suffer any more than she already had. Not that she ever really forgot. She remembered it in her nightmares. You remember those.”
“Her dreams of fire.” Larkin moved to an armchair and sat down heavily. “It’s why I started analyzing dreams. So I could help her understand them. So I could help her stop. But I only ever thought they were nightmares—not memories from her past.”
Ceecee hugged herself, the cold now penetrating her bones. “I didn’t talk about it with you for the same reason I didn’t talk about it with your mama. Some things are too sad, and best left in the past. I just wanted to protect you both.”
Larkin looked up at the ceiling. “That never works, you know.” She met Ceecee’s eyes. “You saved Mama’s life. I would have liked to grow up knowing that.”
Ceecee avoided meeting Larkin’s eyes, turning instead to look at the photo on the mantel. “Would it have made a difference?”
“Maybe.” Larkin’s voice sounded less confident than she’d probably intended. “Maybe if I’d known about Mama’s first husband, and how she’d lost her mother in a fire, I might have been able to help her instead of dogging her every step.” I swallowed. “I might even have avoided the disaster I became.”
“You were never a disaster. Ever. It seems to me that the more we try to dissect our pasts, the more we try to go back and relive them. Trust me, it’s more important to pick up the pieces and move forward and live our lives the best way we can. I’ve never been a fan of leftovers.”
She pushed herself to her feet, feeling more tired than she remembered feeling in years. “If you’re done with your questions, I’m going to bed. Please turn off the lights before you head up.”
Larkin stood, too. “Bennett also said that Ivy was trying to challenge your trusteeship so that Carrowmore would be mine now instead of waiting for three more years. Did you know that? Did she say anything to you? And why wouldn’t the house be held in trust for Mama instead of me?”
Ceecee heard herself gasp, felt the space around her heart exhale. “She never wanted anything to do with Carrowmore, which is why, after you were born, she and your grandfather set up the trust. But, no, she never said anything to me about changing anything.”
“She also went to see Jackson Porter to ask him about the insurance policy on the house when it burned—who the beneficiaries were. In case you were wondering, he didn’t know—all the records were lost in the Hurricane Hazel flooding in 1954.”
Ceecee began walking toward the bottom of the stairs, each step seemingly interminable. She looked at the heavy carved balustrade, focusing on it. If she could reach it, and hang on to it, she could make it to her bedroom without collapsing. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your mother when she wakes up.”
“Mack said that developers have approached you about selling Carrowmore. Maybe Mama found out about that, and that’s why she started questioning the trust.”
Ceecee leaned against the newel post, all the fight in her gone. “They did, and I didn’t give them the time of day. As for the insurance money, it’s all in the trust waiting for you. Along with other Darlington assets that belonged to your grandmother at the time of her death. I’ve never touched a cent.” She took a deep breath. “Good night, Larkin. I hope Ivy wakes up tomorrow so we can ask her all of these questions. Because she’s the only one who can answer them.”
“Good night, Ceecee.” Larkin watched as Ceecee slowly climbed the stairs. She paused at the top, then walked toward Ivy’s bedroom. When her husband had died, Ceecee had slept in Ivy’s empty bedroom, unable to bear the emptiness of her own room, of the cold sheets in the bed next to her. In the beginning, she’d slept on his pillow, smelling his scent, balling up his pajamas so she could press them against her heart. But eventually she’d
had to launder the sheets, replacing his scent with that of the detergent. That was when the emptiness began. The search for another place to sleep so she could pretend she was traveling somewhere alone where she wouldn’t expect another person in the bed with her.
But tonight, she couldn’t. She could almost hear Ivy slamming the door in her face, blocking her out like she’d done so many times as a teenager. Why, Ivy? The question burst like a bubble out of her heart, stinging her in the chest. Why did you go to Carrowmore?
A loud bout of coughing came from Bitty’s room, and Ceecee walked over to the closed door, hovering her fist over a raised panel and preparing to knock. She stayed that way for a long moment before silently lowering her hand and walking toward her bedroom.
She crawled into bed and lay on her side for a long time before rolling over and grabbing the other pillow, smelling it deeply as if it might still hold his scent. Instead, she imagined she could smell Joy perfume, the cool touch of the stopper on the inside of each wrist. Then she closed her eyes and remembered.
* * *
• • •
Ceecee
1951
Margaret held the bottle of perfume under Ceecee’s nose and laughed. “Come on, Ceecee—like I already told you, Aunt Dot won’t mind.”
Despite having been up most of the night throwing up, Margaret still looked beautiful. Her hair was unbrushed, her skin scrubbed free of any makeup, and she still looked like she should be on a pinup poster.
“Only if you’re sure,” Ceecee said, taking the stopper and hesitantly putting a dab on each wrist.
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Bitty said, grabbing the bottle and upending it on her finger before generously sloshing perfume behind each of Ceecee’s ears. “She’s got to know him a bit longer to make him get close enough to smell just that tiny bit of perfume,” she said around a cigarette clenched between her lips.
