Dreams of Falling

by Karen White

  “You okay?” Bennett asked as he slowed the boat, bringing it close to the edge of the creek, then turning off the engine.

  “I’m fine. Just not used to this humidity, I think.” I reached for the Thermos. “I’m going to have some coffee. Like some?”

  “Please.” He reached into his duffel and took out two Styrofoam cups. “Still drink it black?”

  I nodded, pleased he remembered, and poured strong black coffee into each cup. He waited until I’d screwed on the lid before handing me mine. “See the nest?” he asked, indicating a tall platform on top of what looked a lot like a telephone pole. A pile of sticks, twigs, and grass covered the top, the panorama of the sky bleeding orange and purple into the marsh beyond it and making me wish I could paint it. To take it back with me and hang in my empty cubicle at work. It would be something of home.

  “Yep, I see it. Should I go up and see if it meets with female approval?”

  “You could. But if Daddy Osprey comes back while you’re up there, I’m outta here.”

  “So much for Southern chivalry,” I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee as he laughed.

  “Aren’t you going to start singing?” he asked. “You always used to sing that song ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’ when we came out to watch a sunrise. It’s hardly worth coming out all this way without the sound effects.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “There’re about a million insects and tiny creatures out here right now, rubbing their wings together and doing all sorts of things with their little insect bodies to make noise. And all of them are better than me singing. I’d die if I spotted a fiddler crab using his giant claw to point and laugh.”

  He snorted. “Well, I think you have a great voice.”

  “You’re also tone deaf.”

  “So you don’t need to be shy about singing in front of me. You never used to be. I remember a talent show . . .”

  “Stop,” I said. “Just stop. And if you mention it again, I will pour the entire Thermos of hot coffee in your lap, and then you’ll never have children.”

  “That would be a shame,” he said, the color of his eyes shifting in the growing light.

  He’d let the boat bob and drift with the incoming tide, the water moving us toward an ancient rice-field trunk, a wooden gate used to control water flow from reservoirs into the fields. The plantation was long gone, but this ancient relic clung to its spot in the marsh, facing tide after tide. I felt suddenly flustered, unsure why. I picked up the Thermos to give me something to do and poured more coffee into my half-full cup, spilling most of it into the bottom of the boat, but miraculously missing my fingers and leg.

  Bennett reached over and took the Thermos from me. “Burn yourself?”

  I shook my head, looking into my cup, and took a tentative sip. “Sorry about the boat.”

  He laughed, at least recognizing the joke. This was the same boat he’d had when we were in high school, the only cleaning it ever got the occasional hosing out, then flipping it over on a dry dock. It was like an unspoken agreement among South Carolina fishing hobbyists that to have a spanking clean boat was somehow unmanly. Beyond the scent of fish that never went away, I was pretty sure that if I looked closely in the crevices behind the planked seats, I could find remnants of my old candy bar wrappers.

  We sipped our coffee in silence, listening to the insects and tiny unseen creatures that were preparing themselves for the incoming tide. A pale white periwinkle snail shared the top of a nearby long stem of spartina grass with a grasshopper, both trying to escape the incoming water-bound predators. They’d descend to the marsh again once the tide went out, but for now, they were temporary roommates. I remembered more than once seeing the marsh at high tide from a bridge and having to look twice to see that what first appeared to be a cotton field with round puffs of white sitting atop green stalks was actually those snails perched in their ancient method of self-preservation.

  In silence, we faced east where the rounded edge of yellow sun began to nudge its way up into the sky, like a pat of butter spreading in a hot pan.

  “Have you talked with your dad?” Bennett asked without looking at me. Experience had taught us that the sun was impatient, and if you looked away, you’d miss its grand entrance.

  I thought guiltily of the unanswered texts and phone calls, of the quick avoidances in the hospital corridor as we entered and left my mother’s room. “No. I need to, I know. It’s just with everything going on . . .”

  “Yes, you need to. I don’t think this should wait much longer.”

  “I don’t understand the rush. I think we should wait until Mama wakes up and figure out what to do then.”

  He glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to the sky. “The developers are getting impatient. They’ve got you on their radar now and will probably contact you next.”

  I sat up quickly, nearly spilling coffee again. “What? But I’m hardly the expert on the best way to proceed. The property might be held in trust for me, but I don’t know the first thing about it, or what’s the best way to move forward.”

  “I know. Don’t worry, though. Nothing’s going to happen without Ceecee’s or your mother’s agreement. Or yours.” He took a sip from his cup. “While we’re waiting for your mother to wake up, if it’s all right with you, I want to bring in someone who knows about historical structures, Dr. Sophie Wallen-Arasi. She’s a professor of historic preservation at the College of Charleston and can let us know if enough of the house is salvageable. If it is, it might help you and your family better decide what to do with the property.”

  I shrugged, watching as the half-moon of light grew larger on the horizon, setting the water around us on fire. “I suppose. Although it’s hard to believe that this has anything to do with me.”

  “Really? You’re a Darlington, you know. And Carrowmore has been owned by the Darlingtons since before Lafayette landed in Georgetown. Not to sound overly dramatic, but that house and land are a part of not only your history, but the history of this country. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “No,” I said quickly, not sure if I was saying that because it really didn’t, or because I was angry with Bennett for sucking me into this family drama that I felt a part of no matter how much I didn’t want to.

  “Well, I’ll let you know when she’s coming, and you can decide if you want to meet with her. No pressure. I’m going to ask your dad and Ceecee, too. That way, when your mother wakes up, we’ll have all the facts to put in front of her so you can all be informed before any agreement is made.”

  The sun chose that moment to burst fully up over the horizon, flooding the marsh with its warm light and startling a flock of egrets into flight, their graceful wings like check marks against the blue sky.

  I must have made a sound, because Bennett looked at me and smiled. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

  “I’ve missed this.” I swept my arm over the side of the boat, meaning to indicate the marsh and the sky and the whole watery world around us.

  He kept his eyes on me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t, he finished his coffee and threw the cup away in a small trash can he’d attached to the side of the boat. “Mabry’s mimosas are in the cooler behind you if you’re interested. I think I’m good with just the coffee.”

  I turned to look at the cooler, the euphoria of the last few moments completely gone and replaced by an odd restlessness. “I think I’ll pass, too. I have a conference call with my office at nine, and I’ll need all my brain cells.”

  Bennett nodded, then gently guided us out of our secret corner of the marsh and headed back to Georgetown. I turned around on the seat so my back was to him, but not before I noticed how the bright light of morning filtered through his dark hair, turning the tips to gold.

  When we reached my dock, he tied up the boat and helped me out, his
hands strong and warm. “Thanks,” I said, feeling oddly awkward with him. “For the coffee. And the sunrise.” I half smiled, then felt the smile fade when he didn’t return it.

  “What is it?” I asked. He didn’t look surprised by my question. We’d always been able to read each other, doing away with unnecessary words that would have formed the bridge between thoughts.

  “Jackson said he asked you to dinner tomorrow night. On a date.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly.

  He narrowed his eyes a little. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  I bristled. “Yes, I’m sure. And I don’t really think it’s any of your business. Besides, I thought you two were friends.”

  “We are. That’s why I’m telling you I don’t think it’s a good idea. He’s, uh, he’s got a reputation with women.” He looked at me closely. “He likes them a lot.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, seeing as how I’m a woman. I’m going to dinner with him, not marrying him.” I stepped back toward the house, eager to end this conversation.

  “That’s a relief. Because I swear I remember you telling everyone you know since you were in grade school that you were going to marry Jackson Porter.”

  Heat rose to my face, and I wished I hadn’t left the visor on the boat, needing its shade now more than before. “I was a little girl, Bennett. I also used to tell people that I was going to be the next Leontyne Price, and I could have sworn I remember you telling anyone who would listen that you wanted to be a truck when you grew up.”

  He set his lips together in disapproval. “Yeah, well, just be careful. Don’t forget how he wasn’t so nice to you back in the day.”

  “That was a long time ago. We’re both completely different people now.”

  Bennett stood there, shaking his head. “Are you? He certainly hasn’t changed, and you, well, once we get past the glossy exterior, you’re still the same girl craving attention from the wrong guy.”

  “Seriously?” I said, almost spitting with anger. “Are you saying he’s only interested in me because I look better now than I did back then?”

  “In a word? Yes. Jackson’s not very deep. He’s made a science out of skimming on life’s surface and is quite happy that way. For the record, I always liked you, and I still do—although I shouldn’t. I’m still a little ticked off that you left without saying good-bye and didn’t keep in touch, but I’m also full of admiration for you because you did.”

  His words took the sting out of my anger, and I saw him once again as my lifelong friend who knew all my secrets—almost all of them—and liked me still. He knew how I loved watching the sunrise over the marsh and that I drank my coffee black. That my favorite color was yellow and that I hated green beans and watching tennis on television.

  “Thank you,” I said tightly, swallowing my anger. “I appreciate your concern—I do. But I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  He nodded silently, realizing there was nothing else he could say to dissuade me. Among all the things he knew about me was that once I made up my mind about something, there was no turning back.

  “I guess I’ll see you around,” I said, preparing to head up the dock toward the house.

  “One more thing,” he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. That always meant that he was thinking of the right way to present something his listener might find objectionable. “I visited Carrowmore yesterday to take some pictures and look at it more closely. I’m not going to lie to you—it looks pretty bad. Even stuff not burned in the fire has since been rotting in the wet climate. Not to mention the collapsed roof that allowed in a lot more of the elements than I’d say is healthy for an old house.”

  I was about to say something flippant about bringing in a bulldozer to put the house out of its misery, but the look on his face stopped me. He’d always been fascinated with old houses and old buildings, dragging Mabry and me on explorations of abandoned properties in Georgetown County and then farther afield when he’d earned his driver’s license. It occurred to me that he’d found a way to corral his passion into a career that not only suited him but made him thrive. I felt an odd stirring of jealousy that both he and Mabry had succeeded where I hadn’t. When we were growing up together, it had always been a foregone conclusion that I would be the one with all the boxes checked next to my goals and aspirations, yet here I was without a single check mark.

  “It kind of reminds me of you.”

  I’d been too busy feeling sorry for myself and hadn’t been listening until he said that. “What does?”

  “The house. Carrowmore.”

  “Because it’s a complete ruin?” I looked closely at Bennett to see if he was joking or just intentionally insulting me.

  “No. I think because it’s been waiting a long time to be rediscovered. To find its place in the world again. For people to recognize its strength and beauty.”

  “Like a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said sarcastically.

  He didn’t laugh. “Sort of. There was something else that I noticed while I was there. The purple martin houses—someone’s been tending them.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “They’re all pretty clean, and martins don’t do that by themselves. It had to be a person.”

  I recalled the feeling of something nagging me the last time I was there, something that hadn’t made sense. I realized now it was the martin houses. “Must have been Ceecee,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I already asked her. So I thought it might have been your mother. Except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  “Well, I found a ball of twine and two brand-new and cleaned gourds on the back porch today, and they definitely weren’t there the last time I was there. So it couldn’t have been.”

  “That is odd,” I said. “But not earth-shattering. She must have a friend who took it upon herself—or himself—to take care of them while Mama’s in the hospital.”

  “True. Guess I should ask my own mother.”

  I nodded. “Thanks again, Bennett, for the boat ride. I really enjoyed it.”

  He grinned broadly. “Me, too. Only thing that might have made it better would be if you’d sung that song.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Mama says hey, by the way. She’d love for you to come for supper sometime before you go back to New York. She’s into all that healthy cooking now, so I can’t promise anything tasty, but the invitation stands. I’m staying with them for a little bit, by the way. I can work remotely and avoid the trip back and forth from Columbia until we figure out what we’re doing at Carrowmore. Just thought you’d want to know, in case you needed to reach me. And when you’re ready to return my T-shirt.”

  I looked down at the red shirt I’d borrowed and took hold of the hem, getting ready to give it back.

  “Don’t,” he said quickly, his eyes widening briefly. “I mean, it’s still chilly. And I’m sure you’ll want to wash it first.”

  “Right,” I said, embarrassed. “Sorry—of course I’ll want to wash it. Thanks again,” I said, waving before turning around.

  “Sure wish I could have heard you singing, though.”

  I kept walking until I reached the porch steps, and then, because we were old friends and there’d be no judging, I began belting out the words, “Oh, what a beau-ti-ful morning . . .”

  I could still hear him laughing as I let the door snap shut behind me.

  sixteen

  Ceecee

  2010

  Ceecee stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing her skillet and peering out the window toward the dock. She couldn’t hear anything—dang old age!—but Larkin and Bennett were apparently having a heated argument. Except when Ceecee heard the back door slam shut, Larkin was definitely singing. Not exactly in tune, but close enough.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” she called out, bringing Larkin into the
kitchen. Even without makeup and with windblown hair, and wearing a ridiculously oversized T-shirt, Larkin was stunning. She looked so much like Margaret that Ceecee had to lean against the counter until she remembered that her friend was truly gone.

  “I’m starving,” Bitty said from the doorway, clutching a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Smells like bacon and eggs.”

  “And cheese grits,” Ceecee said as she picked up the bowl and brought it to the adjacent dining room.

  “Actually, I thought I’d go for a run first before my conference call at nine,” Larkin said, eyeing the platter of bacon and scrambled eggs, made with lots of cheese, just as she liked them.

  “You have plenty of time to eat now and let it sit in your stomach a bit. Besides, you’ll need your energy to go running, sweetheart. Sit down and I’ll bring you some fresh-squeezed orange juice and coffee.”

  “Well, maybe if I just eat a little bit,” Larkin said as she pulled out a chair next to Bitty.

  Ceecee shook her head. “I don’t know why you don’t just exercise with Jack LaLanne on the television like I used to.”

  “Probably because he’s retired,” Bitty interjected.

  Ceecee frowned in her friend’s direction before turning back to Larkin. “Your daddy said he’d stop by, too.”

  Larkin looked at Ceecee with alarm. “Is everything all right with Mama?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Ceecee said calmly. “The episode she had yesterday when you were with her was just an anomaly, the doctors are saying. Her brain activity spiked somehow as if she were regaining consciousness, and then returned to where it’s been. But she’s not worse. We have to remember that, and keep praying that she’ll get better and wake up.”

  “So why’s Daddy coming over?” Larkin asked.