by Karen White
She took the yellow dress from the hanger on my closet door and unzipped it. “Mama aired it out real good when she finished with the alterations to get that mothball smell out of the fabric. And then I sprayed it with Febreze just to make sure. It smells brand-new now.”
I dropped my robe onto my bed and stepped into the dress, then turned around to let her zip me. She stopped me before I could look at myself in the cheval mirror. “Don’t forget the shoes. We’ve been the same shoe size since seventh grade, so I hope these will fit.” Mabry buckled a pair of strappy metallic silver high-heeled sandals on my feet, and then stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You sure you don’t want another necklace?”
I reached up and touched the chain Bitty had given me all those years ago, feeling the sharp point of the arrow charm. “I’m sure.”
With a wide smile, she said, “You may look now.”
I turned and stared at my reflection. When I’d tried the dress on for the first time and seen myself, I’d been amazed. But that was before hair and makeup and strappy sandals—not to mention a soft tan that made my skin glow. “You’re a miracle worker, Mabry.”
“Not really—at least not when I have such a great canvas to work with.” She came to stand behind me, admiring my reflection. “Bennett won’t be able to resist you, that’s for sure.”
I met her gaze in the mirror. “Bennett? He’s like a brother to me.”
“Uh-huh. And the sky is pink.”
We heard the sound of car doors closing outside. Mabry rushed to the closet door where she’d left her own dress hanging. “I’d better hurry and throw this on. Can’t wait to see Bennett’s expression.”
My phone buzzed as I zipped up her dark green dress. I picked it up and looked at the screen. It was an 843 number I didn’t recognize, so I hit “ignore” and threw the phone into my evening bag next to Ceecee’s lipstick.
“You ready?” she asked.
I followed her out the door and down the stairs, leaving behind a bedroom that looked like a hurricane had passed through it. Jonathan and Bennett were waiting in the foyer, talking with Ceecee and Bitty, who immediately turned toward us and started making a fuss over Mabry and me and our dresses. I saw Jonathan and greeted him, then watched as he approached Mabry and kissed her.
“Hello, Larkin.” I turned and saw Bennett leaning on the newel post, his smile like that of a boy who’d just learned a secret. He wore a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and khakis, which somehow managed to make him devastating. “You aren’t planning on dancing?”
I smiled back at him, forgetting that I didn’t want to speak to him, and wondering if his eyes had always been that shade of green, if that was a new cologne he was wearing, or if maybe I’d never noticed it before. “Of course I am. Mabry’s carrying our flats in her bag. She said something about making a grand entrance.”
His gaze traveled from my feet up to my eyes, yet it felt different from when Jackson’s had done the same. As if Bennett was admiring me without claiming ownership.
Which made sense, of course. I’d never been his. But then I’d never really been Jackson’s, either.
“I think you’d do that with or without the shoes.” Bennett’s voice sounded different, like he’d just swallowed peanut butter and it was stuck in his throat. “You . . .” He stopped. “You look as if you’re wearing moonlight.”
I wasn’t sure if that’s what he’d meant to say, but the way he said it, and the way he looked at me while saying it, made it sound like something wonderful and extraordinary. “Thank you,” I said, suddenly shy.
“Shall we?” He formally extended his arm, and I placed my hand gently in the crook of his, feeling a small shock as my fingers touched his warm skin. “We’re driving to a friend’s house on Orange Street. He said we could park in his driveway, so you won’t have to worry about walking too far in those shoes.”
“Good,” I said. “I’d hate to have to make you carry me.”
“I don’t think I’d mind,” he said softly, stepping back to allow Mabry and me to pass through the front door.
We said our good-byes to Ceecee and Bitty, whose eyes were strangely bright, then piled into Jonathan’s Mustang with Bennett and me in the backseat. Mabry made Jonathan put the top up to protect our hair, then flipped on the car stereo. I leaned back against the headrest and said, “‘Save the Last Dance for Me,’ Michael Bublé.”
Mabry turned around and stuck her hand through the front bucket seats for a high five. “You’re amazing.”
“That you are,” Bennett said, close to my ear, but I pretended I hadn’t heard.
thirty-one
Ceecee
1954
Ceecee huddled under her umbrella, feeling the strap of her plastic rain hat rub the tender skin under her chin. Although it was close to the middle of October, the temperature was nearly eighty degrees, the cloying humidity doing nothing to help her hair, which she’d washed the day before and then carefully rolled.
Not that she’d been able to sleep, anyway. She had a sore throat that sucking on Sucrets did nothing to help, but she’d not been able to get a full night’s sleep in the two years since Ivy was born. Despite still living in her parents’ house, she arose at regular intervals throughout the night, imagining she heard a baby crying. Except there was no baby for her to go to.
For the first two weeks of Ivy’s life, Ceecee had slept on a cot in the nursery at Carrowmore, arising at every move and whimper the baby made, feeding her, changing her. When the baby was asleep, she’d leaned over the crib she and Bitty had selected and would rest her hand on Ivy’s back to make sure she was breathing.
Then Margaret hired a nanny and Ceecee went back to her childhood home as if nothing had changed. Except everything had. At least she no longer had to avoid Will Harris. He’d finally given up on her and married Emily Perkins, who was already expecting, judging by the loose dresses she wore to church each Sunday.
The only surprising thing about Ceecee’s life was that nobody could tell that she was an empty shell, a building that had imploded on the inside while the exterior had been left miraculously intact. She was able to smile and hold a conversation, clip flowers and put them together in beautiful arrangements. She could toss a baseball with her brothers, and sing in the church choir. But it was as if someone else were doing all these things. Though she was moving, she felt nothing. It was as if she were at the bottom of the ocean, trying to run underwater, her limbs slow and heavy while the world around her wavered through milky light.
Her mother would occasionally ask her how she was doing, would touch her arm and smile sympathetically. Although Ceecee had always known that her mother loved her, she had never been the demonstrative type. This was new to both of them, and it made Ceecee wonder if her mother, before she’d married Ceecee’s father, had known heartache and loss, feelings she’d long since buried, but remembered enough to offer solace to her only daughter.
Even Bitty had abandoned her. She was in her second year of college, studying art and education. She came home often to visit with Ceecee, although it wasn’t a hidden secret that her main goal was to see little Ivy. Margaret’s daughter had become the bright, shining light in all of their lives. Bitty and Ceecee had brought her into the world, which made them both feel protective if not a bit proprietary. But Ivy’s sunny nature, creative imagination, and inquisitive mind made her easy to love—and had made it equally difficult to understand Margaret’s apathy.
Bitty’s mother called it the baby blues, and that could have been most of it. Margaret said she loved her baby, just didn’t know how. Mrs. Purnell said that her loss of her parents had left Margaret hollowed out with grief. But Ceecee knew it was the opposite. The grief for Reggie had filled her, taking up all the empty spaces she might have used to love her baby girl. Grief was like that, Ceecee had learned. It either opened your heart or closed it.
At least for Ceecee, Ivy’s presence in her life was the thing that saved her. She hoped, for Margaret’s sake, that she would find something soon. Something to grasp and hold on to, something permanent and worthwhile like the love for her child. Ceecee refused to think of Margaret turning to Boyd for comfort. It was this thought that kept her awake most nights, leaving her to wallow in abject misery and self-pity.
Ceecee stopped in front of the doctor’s office and closed her umbrella. Despite leaden skies, the drizzle had stopped. She took off her rain cap and folded it neatly into her purse, surreptitiously finger-combing her hair so it wouldn’t look too flat. Clearing her throat, she approached the front door of the office and walked inside.
Since Boyd and Margaret’s wedding, she’d been seeing a doctor in Murrells Inlet for her frequent headaches and general fatigue, unwilling to risk the chance of running into Boyd. But today her father had taken the family sedan to visit a parishioner who lived out in the country, and Ceecee wasn’t sure she could wait another day to see a doctor about her sore throat and throbbing head.
She opened the frosted-glass front door in the old downtown building. The interior of dark wood and thick rugs hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been in to see Dr. Griffith, nor had the large mahogany reception desk in the corner or the framed diploma on the wall. She saw that there were two now—one with Boyd’s name on it, but she gave it only a cursory glance.
A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s cap whom she’d never seen before sat behind the desk and smiled brightly. “May I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Dr. Griffith,” Ceecee said, her raw throat hurting when she spoke.
The nurse smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. The doctor had an emergency house call. But Dr. Madsen is in and can see you now.”
Ceecee started thinking of excuses, already retracing her steps, when a door that led to the back hallway and examining rooms opened and Boyd stepped into the reception area.
“Sessalee,” he said, his face registering surprise. “I didn’t know you had an appointment.”
“I don’t. I mean . . . I have an appointment with Dr. Griffith.”
“Dr. Griffith was called away, but you have half an hour before your next appointment, Dr. Madsen,” the nurse helpfully pointed out. “So you have time to see Miss Purnell now.”
“It’s just a sore throat. And a headache. It’s probably the weather. I’ll come back,” she said, half wanting him to agree.
“Of course not,” Boyd said, his eyes giving nothing away. “Let’s bring you back to the examining room and take a look at that throat. The headache could be the change in air pressure from Hurricane Hazel. Apparently, it’s caused quite a lot of damage in Haiti. It’s expected to stay out at sea, but we’ll definitely feel the effects here.” He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I’m closing the office early as a precautionary measure. I’ll be headed to the hospital to ride out the storm, but Margaret and Ivy are driving to Augusta to my mother’s sister’s just to be safe.” He considered her for a moment. “Why don’t you go with them? I know Margaret would love the company, and of course Ivy would love to have you along, too.”
It seemed so odd to be having this normal conversation with him about his wife and child when the entire time all Ceecee could think about was how she felt in Boyd’s arms, and how his presence in the same room seemed to take all the air from her lungs.
“Thank you, but no,” Ceecee managed, her voice cracking, and she was glad for the excuse of a sore throat. “I doubt the storm will amount to much.”
He nodded. “Why don’t you follow me, and we’ll get a look at your throat?”
“Will you be needing my assistance?” the nurse asked.
“No, that won’t be necessary. Miss Purnell and I are old friends.”
The woman frowned slightly, then went back to whatever paperwork she’d been busying herself with when Ceecee had entered.
Boyd led the way to the door, then indicated for her to proceed ahead of him down a short hallway. Instead of taking her to an examining room, he took her to Dr. Griffith’s office, and sat her down in the same chair she’d sat in when she’d been diagnosed with chicken pox as a little girl and the old doctor had given her a lollipop. Boyd closed the door behind him and sat in the chair next to Ceecee’s instead of behind the desk.
For a moment she thought he would reach for her hand, and she found herself relieved yet disappointed when he didn’t. Everything was half-measure with Boyd, her heart and head waging a never-ending battle over what she wanted and what she couldn’t have.
“How are you?” he asked, his eyes warm. “It’s been so long since we’ve talked—just you and me and not in a room full of people.”
When she didn’t respond, he pressed on. “I miss you, you know. I miss knowing how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, trying not to notice the way his hair fell over his forehead, not to remember the way it felt under her fingers.
He held her gaze, and she knew she hadn’t fooled him just as surely as she knew she hadn’t wanted to. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Maybe if you tell me why, I might be able to help you.”
“You can’t help me, Boyd. No one can.”
His voice held a hint of desperation. “Won’t you let me try? I know I’ve caused you so much unhappiness. Please, let me try to help you.”
Through her pain and exhaustion, she wanted to strike out at him, to make him feel just one fraction of the pain she felt every day. She held his gaze. “I keep hearing a baby crying at all hours of the night. And I’ve been having the same recurring dream. A nightmare. I can’t go back to sleep afterward.”
His eyes remained steady, but his jaw throbbed. “What’s the dream about?”
“You. And Margaret.” She closed her eyes, recalling the stream of images. “We’re at Carrowmore in the white room. The room is filled with candles—candles everywhere. On the furniture, in the windows. On the floor. We’re all in the room together, but we can’t reach each other because of the candles. That’s when I realize that it’s not candles. The room is on fire. The heat is insufferable, and my skin is blistering with it, and I can’t breathe. And somewhere, the baby is crying. That’s when I wake up.”
He watched her for a long moment. “I don’t know what to say. I could refer you to another kind of doctor, someone who might be able to help you figure out what your dream means.”
“I don’t need another doctor,” Ceecee said, not bothering to hide her anger. “I know what I need to make me better, and I can’t have it. No doctor can fix that.”
He looked stricken, and Ceecee felt a dull satisfaction. Her words had hit their mark.
It wasn’t that she blamed him fully for what had happened. They were all willing contributors to the train wreck they found themselves in. Margaret had been the conductor, and Boyd and Ceecee passengers with no idea how to jump the tracks. Not one of them had any idea how to extricate themselves from the wreckage. But Ceecee couldn’t direct the anger she felt toward her friend, because Margaret was suffering, too, unwilling to see the joy her child could offer, or the wonderful life she’d been given a second chance to live.
Boyd cleared his throat. “I don’t sleep well, either. I volunteer for a lot of the on-call shifts since I know I won’t be sleeping anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to know that Margaret and I have separate bedrooms.”
Ceecee shook her head. “Please don’t say anything more. Your life with Margaret has nothing to do with me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Ceecee blinked, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “Of course not. How could it? She’s your wife, and I am her friend.” She closed her eyes and took two calming breaths. “Could you please give me so
mething for my throat? And my head? I’m in so much pain right now.”
Placing his elbows on his legs, Boyd leaned closer. “Of course. I think the headache could be due to your lack of sleep. I can give you something to help, if you like. You might find yourself feeling much better in the morning if you could get a decent night’s sleep.”
Even though Ceecee was confident that no pill could make her feel better, she was desperate enough to nod. “Yes. I could try it.”
Boyd stepped behind the desk, pulled out a prescription pad, and began to write. “You have to make sure you follow the dosage exactly. Take one, and wait half an hour. If you’re still awake, take one more, but no more than that. These are strong, and you could find yourself in trouble if you take more than your prescribed dose. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. Her smile failed, ending in what probably looked more like a smirk.
He returned to her side of the desk and handed her the prescription. “Let me look at your throat.” He pulled a small instrument from his pocket and asked her to open her mouth. She tried to pretend he was Dr. Griffith, so that the nearness of him or the touch of his fingers on her face didn’t erase all the resolve she’d built up over the last two years. But it did, and she pulled away as soon as he finished his examination.
“It’s very red, but most likely due to drainage from your cold. Throat lozenges should help, but I’d also recommend taking two aspirin if those don’t work.”
Ceecee stood, eager to leave, to resume the life she was trying so desperately to live without him in it. “Thank you, Boyd. For seeing me without an appointment.”
He stood, too, and stepped closer to her. She could smell his aftershave, and she suddenly wanted to close the distance between them and press her nose into his neck, to ask him if he remembered what it was like to kiss her.
“You still wear the red lipstick you wore when we first met,” he said quietly.
