by Karen White
“Of course,” Ceecee said. “And before it gets dark, I’ll drive around town to see if anybody has heard from her or seen her. Maybe she decided to stay a little longer, get supplies. I’m sure they’re fine.” She wasn’t sure at all, but it sounded like the kind of thing she should say.
“Thank you, Sessalee. You’re a good friend.”
Ceecee flinched. He’d said that to her before, after they’d found out about Margaret’s pregnancy. Before her life had caved in. Before Margaret had pulled out the first rock that had started the avalanche.
“We’ll find them,” she said with more conviction than she felt. “You go back to work and don’t worry.”
She heard a muffled male voice speaking to Boyd. He returned and said, “I’ve got to go. Please let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
“I will. Boyd . . .” She wanted to tell him what she’d almost told him the day before at his office. When he’d told her that he still loved her. But he’d already hung up.
Carefully, Ceecee replaced the receiver and turned to Bitty. “Margaret never arrived in Augusta. Boyd’s called the police to get them to check at Carrowmore, but they can’t go right now.” She felt again the frisson of fear for Ivy and embraced it. Fear was a good enough motivator to hang on to when there was nothing else left. Nothing but her love for a golden-haired little girl.
Bitty was already shaking her head. “You are not going to Carrowmore. Not with a hurricane coming. And it will be dark soon.”
“If I leave now, I’ll still have daylight. It’s hardly even raining yet.”
“Ceecee . . .”
Ceecee cut her off. “I’m thinking of Ivy. What if she’s hurt? What if Margaret is hurt and Ivy is left to fend for herself? She’s just a baby!”
“You could get trapped there if the bridges go out.”
“I know—but Carrowmore has weathered more than two hundred years of storms and turbulent weather. It can withstand one more hurricane.”
“Then I’m going with you.” Bitty jutted out her chin.
“No.” Ceecee shook her head. “You need to stay here and go looking for them. Ask neighbors and friends. Drive around and see if you can spot her car. Anything.”
“And if I find her?”
“Call Boyd at the hospital first, and then call me at Carrowmore.”
“But what if the phones go down? They always do during a storm.”
Ceecee forced a smile. “Then we pray that we’re all fine, and that we’ll meet up again when the storm passes.”
Bitty stared at Ceecee for a long moment before giving a reluctant nod. “All right. But the minute the storm passes, I’m coming to find you.” She started walking to the door. “I’ll go looking now. Are you going to tell your mother where you’re going?”
“No. I don’t want her to worry—there’s enough of that going around. I’ll tell her that I’m borrowing the car to go looking for Margaret. I just won’t tell her where.”
“And if she calls our house wondering where you are? What should I tell her?”
“Tell her that I’ve gone to help a friend.” Ceecee’s lips twisted. “Friends forever, right?”
Bitty rolled her eyes. “Right. Maybe if we’re lucky, the river will rise enough to take out that damned tree.”
After Bitty left, Ceecee retrieved her purse and her father’s car keys from the hook by the front door. As an afterthought, she threw a couple of apples and a box of animal crackers in her purse. She thought about telling her mother she was leaving and taking the car but didn’t want to waste any more time trying to avoid telling her the truth.
On the front porch, she found Lloyd chewing on another Tootsie Roll that Bitty must have just given him. “Tell Mama I’ve taken the car to go look for Margaret, all right? I expect to be back by nightfall, and I’ll stop and get groceries on my way home. Tell her not to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“She’s gonna be mad.”
“I know. But she won’t be mad at you—just me.” She ruffled his hair, even though he was too old for her to be doing that. “If I’m not home by dark and she’s worried, tell her I’m with Bitty and I’ll call her as soon as I can.”
He started to say something else, but Ceecee ran down the porch steps, eager to leave before she lost her nerve.
Errant raindrops splattered on the windshield, and the wind blew hard, saturated wisps of air. For a moment it felt as if Ceecee had forgotten how to drive, how to shift the car into reverse and which pedal to use to accelerate. She focused on the mechanics, forcing herself to get them right if only to give her brain the distraction it needed from worrying about Margaret and Ivy.
Daylight clung to the sky with the kind of desperation Ceecee felt, a lost hope facing the inevitable. She flipped on the car radio, then shut if off again when news of Hazel heading toward the Carolinas filled the car.
No cars were headed north on Highway 17, though heavy traffic flowed south, away from Myrtle Beach. Ceecee gripped the steering wheel tightly and thought of the Pavilion and the Ferris wheel, imagined the force of the wind shattering them into a million pieces and scattering them to the four corners of the earth along with her memories.
She turned on her headlights to make sure she didn’t miss the turnoff from the highway, carefully navigating her father’s car over the unpaved road and through the massive iron gates that announced to any visitor that they were on Darlington property.
The large white house shone against the darkening sky, the tall white columns seeming too sturdy to capitulate to a strong wind. At first glance, it appeared the house was empty, each window dark, no sign of a car. But as Ceecee stared at the front of the house, she thought she saw a shadow pass in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the white room.
She didn’t want to go in, and had almost convinced herself that it had been a trick of the fading light, but then she saw it again, the light from a candle, moving slowly across the width of the window before disappearing from sight.
Ceecee reluctantly put the car in park, then grabbed her pocketbook from the front seat. With hesitant steps, she climbed to the porch and stood for a moment in front of the door before pushing the doorbell. She listened as the sound echoed off the marble tiles of the foyer. She waited for a few minutes, straining to hear footsteps, then pressed the bell again.
After two more tries, she turned to leave, then stopped at the sight of the porch swing. She remembered sitting there with Margaret and Bitty hundreds of times during their girlhood. All the secrets and confidences they’d shared while swinging on it, Margaret always in the middle, Bitty and Ceecee on either side, willing conspirators. All the happiness. All the good memories.
She thought she heard something and turned to face the door again. What if Ivy was in there? What if she needed her?
This time, Ceecee didn’t bother ringing the doorbell. She turned the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. She remembered the nurse telling Boyd that Margaret had already locked up the house in preparation for leaving. For the first time, Ceecee felt a fear that had nothing to do with her worry over Margaret and Ivy.
She pushed on the door, letting it swing open into the empty foyer, the faint light from outside casting a gray glow on the polished wood of the banister, dulling the crystal pendants of the chandelier.
She glanced to her right, to the entrance to the white parlor, and recognized the glow of candlelight bouncing off the walls. She took a step forward. “Margaret? Is that you? It’s Ceecee.”
She took a few slow steps more, then stopped, her breath trapped in her throat.
“Margaret,” she finally managed.
In the silence, Ceecee drew a deep breath and walked into the room, holding her pocketbook in front of her like a shield. She paused at the threshold, trying to process what she was seeing.
Margaret wore a long, white nigh
tgown Ceecee remembered selecting with her at Berlin’s in Charleston for her wedding night with Reggie. She held a candle in her hand and was lighting one of the three-pronged candelabras Ceecee remembered from the Darlington dining table. The second was already lit and sitting on the fireplace mantel, creating a halo of light against the white wall.
As if this were any visit and any day, Margaret didn’t turn around as she continued to light the candles. “We lose power during storms, and Ivy’s afraid of the dark. Mama always lit these candelabras during a storm. They give the most light for the longest time.”
At the mention of Ivy, Ceecee’s eyes darted around the room, settling on a small white bundle on the settee. Ivy’s eyes were closed, her head resting on a pillow, a white blanket spread on top of her, her stuffed bunny, a gift from Ceecee when she was born, tucked into the crook of her arm. Her chest rose and fell in sleep, her little rosebud mouth settled into a small smile.
Ceecee knelt on the floor beside the settee, almost groaning with relief. Gently, she pulled the blanket up over Ivy’s shoulders, then quietly walked toward Margaret. Whispering loudly, she said, “Why aren’t you in Augusta? Boyd is so worried.”
Margaret gave her a sharp glance. “Is he?”
“Of course he is. That’s why he called me.”
“He wanted us to go—I didn’t. I don’t know his aunt, and I really think we’ll be safer here. So I just pretended to agree. Carrowmore is built on a high bluff and has weathered more than its fair share of storms and floods. I know it can weather one more.” Her lips turned up in a small smile. “You don’t need to whisper, you know. Ivy won’t wake up.”
Ceecee looked back at the bundle, lying so peacefully. “What do you mean?”
“I gave her a pill—just half of one, actually. Boyd gave them to me to help me sleep. Ivy gets really scared during storms, so I thought it would help.”
“You gave it to a child?”
“Don’t be such an alarmist, Ceecee. You’re always expecting the worst. I’ve done this more than once. She’ll sleep for a long time and wake when the storm is over.”
“Why didn’t you just call me? I would have taken her.”
“Yes, well. But she’s not yours, is she? I’m her mother, and I choose how to take care of her.”
Ceecee walked back to where Ivy slept and placed her hand on her chest to make sure she could feel her breathing. Then she turned toward Margaret, watching as she placed the final candle back in its place, the long sleeves of her nightgown dipping perilously close to the flame.
“Careful,” Ceecee said, straightening.
“Are you afraid I might get hurt?” Margaret quirked an elegant eyebrow.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Margaret’s expression became serious, her tone less mocking. “Because if something happened to me, Boyd would be free.”
“Don’t say that, Margaret. You know you don’t mean it.”
“Don’t I, though? I sometimes think that if I went away, everyone would be better off. You, Boyd, even Ivy. I love her so much, but it’s like my heart is wrapped in cotton. I just can’t feel anything. I just . . . I just don’t see the point anymore.”
“Oh, Margaret,” Ceecee said, understanding her grief with the same depth as with which she felt her own anger. “Please don’t say that. Because then everything will be for nothing.”
Margaret’s beautiful blue eyes followed her as Ceecee walked to the elegant white-and-gold telephone on a side table. “Let me call Boyd and Bitty. Let them know that you and Ivy are here and unharmed. The hurricane is supposed to hit well north of here, so we should be safe from the worst of it. We’ll figure this out in the morning. Everything always looks brighter in the morning.”
“Yes,” Margaret said, her voice oddly monotone. “Everything will be better in the morning.”
Ceecee held the phone receiver to her ear. She heard only empty air and the sound of the storm picking up outside, the wind tossing dead leaves and debris onto the window glass. After two more tries, she hung up in defeat.
“The phone lines always go out first,” Margaret said. “It’s the wind.”
They were silent, the popping noises from the candle wax mixing with the sound of the wind and the smattering of rain as it slammed against the side of the house. As they stood listening, the single electric light, a small lamp by the phone, went dark. Ceecee moved to the switch on the wall and flipped it, but the room remained dark except for the flickering candlelight.
Ceecee went to one of the windows and peered outside. Daylight had finally given in to the clouds and setting sun. The wind had picked up, the rain now blowing almost horizontally. “I should probably stay. I don’t know how safe the roads are. I’ll just have to hope that Bitty remembers to tell my parents where I am.” She turned to Margaret. “Have you eaten? I’ve got two apples and some cookies if you’re hungry. Although I think I’ll save the cookies for Ivy for when she wakes up.”
“We already ate,” Margaret said, her words spoken slowly, distractedly, almost as if she’d already forgotten what she was saying by the time she finished her sentence. “I suppose the only thing to do now is go to bed and wait for morning.” She looked around at the candles. “I’ll stay here with Ivy. So she doesn’t wake up in the dark.”
“It’s still early,” Ceecee said. “I could stay down here, and we could talk for a while.”
Margaret smiled, her face cast in shadow. “I have a book. Why don’t you go to sleep? You can have the bedroom you used to stay in. The blue one at the top of the stairs.”
“Shouldn’t I stay down here with you and Ivy?”
“I doubt that I’ll sleep. If the storm gets bad, I’ll come and get you. We can all hide in the wine cellar.” She smiled again, her lips thin. “Everything will look better in the morning.”
Another gust of wind and rain hit the house. Something in Margaret’s voice, something lost and desolate, made Ceecee cross the room and embrace her friend. “It will. And remember that you still have Bitty and me.”
“Friends forever,” Margaret said, pulling away. Her eyes searched Ceecee’s. “If there was anything I could do to change the way things are, you know I would.”
Ceecee felt a chill race down her spine, recalling Bitty saying the same thing just hours before. A spark of anger chased the chill, making her straighten. “What would you change, Margaret? Meeting Reggie?”
Margaret stared back at her with dull eyes. “No,” she said eventually. “I should probably say yes, but I can’t.”
“Well, then,” Ceecee said. She moved to the settee and kissed Ivy on the forehead, feeling again the rise and fall of the small chest.
“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning, if not sooner.”
“All right,” Margaret said, settling herself into a stuffed armchair and placing her feet on an ottoman. “Good night, Ceecee.”
Ceecee took a tapered candle in an old-fashioned candlestick and lit it using one of the candelabras, then went upstairs to the familiar bedroom. Everything was the same—the wallpaper, the navy blue bedding, the rug. The only thing different was her reflection in the dressing table mirror, the candle in her hands casting dark holes where her eyes should be.
She didn’t bother to close the drapes, wanting whatever morning light there was to awaken her. Weather allowing, she had to get back home, reassure her parents that she was all right, and call Boyd.
Mostly, she wanted to get Ivy away from this place. She’d ask Margaret to come, too, but she wasn’t going to ask her permission to take Ivy.
Ceecee placed the candle on the bedside table and pulled back the covers, taking off only her shoes before lying down. She closed her eyes, but sleep was as elusive as ever. Her head hurt and her heart hurt; she went back and forth from feeling pity for Margaret to anger. And pity for herself, too, for a life she found
almost unbearable.
The wind outside pushed at the trees, the loud rustling of the branches like a bristled brush being pulled through hair. Twice she got out of bed and headed toward the stairs. Twice she headed back to her bed without going farther than the top step. She tripped over her pocketbook the third time she rose from the bed, and she heard the bottle of pills hit the wood floor.
Ceecee sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the storm raging outside, and placed one pill on her palm. She saw Boyd’s face in his office as he’d asked her how she was, and heard him telling her that he loved her still. And she heard Margaret’s voice, saying she’d never give up meeting Reggie.
Desperation for an escape from heartache and the oblivion that only sleep could offer raged inside Ceecee. She wasn’t afraid of the storm—she was at Carrowmore, and if the storm got bad, Margaret would come get her. She stared at the pill in her hand for a long time, then placed it on the back of her tongue and swallowed it dry. When sleep still didn’t come, she took one more. After waiting another half hour, restless and wide-awake, the storm tossing itself against the windows and walls of the old house, she thought about taking half a pill. Maybe the original dosage hadn’t been right. Maybe she was more resistant than most. Either way, she needed to sleep.
Sighing, Ceecee shook out one more pill into her hand. She tried biting it in half, then considered going to the kitchen for a knife to cut it. Finally, in tired desperation, she put the whole pill in her mouth, lay back on the pillow, and closed her eyes, waiting for the blessed relief of sleep. It was only as she was finally drifting off that she thought of the candle on her bedside table, a single light in the interminable darkness, and was unable to remember whether she had doused the flickering flame.
thirty-four
Larkin
2010
Sitting at the dressing table in my bedroom and staring at my reflection in the mirror, I absently played with the small cigar box Gabriel had given me, releasing the hidden bottom again and again. I’d already torn two nails, and a third was getting ready to break off.
