Plantation

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Perhaps it was indeed time for me to be my father’s daughter. He had been a problem solver, fearless and edgy. Up until today, when I reached out to Matthew, I had been a freaking wimp. Now that I had taken a risk, asked an old friend for a favor, depended on his integrity, what seemed a life-and-death situation had been reduced to a simpering mass of bubbles, floating away with each passing breeze from the river. No, this was good. Everything for Trip would work out. We had worked together—Mother, Millie, and I—worked together with what we could offer to solve a nasty, nasty flaw in my brother’s character.

  I knew then that he gambled to rebel. He was rebelling against Frances Mae, Mother’s thumb, Daddy’s death, and who knew what else? Logic told me that if he removed what there was to rebel against, the compulsion to bet would fade. Maybe. We’d have to see.

  I took a long drink of the sweet air. And then, another. For the first time in years, I was excited to be alive and I almost liked myself. I wasn’t a victim and I wasn’t a savior. No longer content to live in the script written by others, I was finally a woman almost worth something. Now the games would begin. Now, I would wage my mettle against fate.

  Hell, I thought, Caroline? You watched your daddy blow up as a girl, you were most certainly abandoned emotionally by your mother immediately thereafter, you left home in a huff for what? You married the most bizarre of all men you had ever known in some attempt to resurrect your father. You have carried these things alone for too many years.

  Now, finally, you have turned a tiny corner. You just took a small step toward your mother’s care and your brother’s well-being.

  Yes, I had done this. What else was I capable of doing? And, was I really as clever as I wanted to be? Probably not, but maybe there was a higher force at work?

  I was no magician. I knew that. Yes, I felt things and they happened. And I dreamed things that came true. And, on a rare occasion, I heard things and saw things. Don’t ask me to describe them. It has taken this long to admit it. I needed Trip’s trouble solved, Mother’s health to be all right, Eric to find his power spot and then I could concentrate on the veils of understanding and realization that were lifting faster than I could count their colors.

  I would greet Matthew with relief and gratitude. I would make him my friend again. I needed his friendship. We all did.

  Thirty-eight

  Family Stew

  THE front doorbell rang promptly at six. I thought I looked pretty darn cool in my Manhattan armor—little black dress, hair blown out straight, minimum makeup, major CFM Manolo Blahnik low-heeled slides in leopard. Bare legs—creamed within an inch of their lives. Small black handbag holding breath mints, lipstick, house key, comb, and a twenty-dollar bill, in case of whatever.

  Eric all but broke his neck getting there to answer it.

  “I’ll get it!” he called out all over the house.

  I heard him say hello and take Matthew into the living room, presumably to grill him. That’s what he did these days. Protect Mom.

  “I’ll be there in a minute!” I said, calling down the stairs. I just wanted to say good night to Mother.

  I stuck my head in her room and she was there, stretched out on her chaise, fast asleep with a magazine on her chest.

  “Mother? I’m going out now,” I whispered to her.

  “Perfume!” she said from her sleep.

  “What?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Go wash your neck! You smell like you-know-what!”

  “You know what, Mother? You can be one cantankerous old bird, do you know that? Can’t you just say, ‘Gosh, Caroline, you look nice? Maybe a bit heavy on the cologne, but it smells good, I must say’—something like that?”

  “I just want you to be aware,” she said. Then she sat up. “Come here. Feel this.”

  She took my hand and put it to her rib on her left side.

  “Feel that?” she said. “It’s been there for over a year. But now it’s growing. It hurts like the devil too.”

  It was a growth on her rib. No doubt about that. I choked up, knowing it was indeed not good to have a lump on your rib and a melanoma on your back. I wanted to ignore it. So did she. In her way, she just wanted me to know about it, but not to discuss it.

  “We’re seeing a doctor first thing Monday, Mother.”

  “I don’t need any doctors poking around me at my age. Try to get in at a decent hour, all right?”

  “I will, Mother.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Caroline?”

  I turned to her and waited.

  “You look lovely. Have a nice evening and tell Captain Strickland how grateful we all are to him. Don’t show him—never on the first date, dear—just tell him. Understand?”

  “Mother? I wish we could bottle you!”

  I blew her a kiss, she smiled, and I left her to go downstairs, hearing Eric and Matthew before I got there.

  “So, can I pour you a scotch?” I heard Eric say.

  “No, that’s okay, son,” Matthew said.

  “You gonna marry my mom?”

  “So far, we’re just having dinner. Is that okay with you?”

  I was purple! “Eric! Good grief !”

  Eric turned to me, decanter of scotch in his left hand and his jaw set firm. He was aggravated.

  “I just want to know what’s going on around here, that’s all. We were supposed to go to Charleston today and we didn’t.”

  God, he was right. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have time for this guy but not for me, is that it?”

  “Eric! Where are your manners?” I was mortified by Eric’s outburst. He had never acted like this before!

  “Eric,” Matthew said, “would you like to come with us? We’re going to a cocktail party down in Charleston for some old friends of mine and then we’re going out to my house on the Ashepoo to cook dinner. You’re welcome to join us. You can help me grill the steaks.”

  “My mother’s a vegetarian,” Eric said. As if to say, Shows you what you know!

  “Not anymore,” I said. “I’d love a steak.”

  “Want to come?” Matthew said. “Last chance! Not gonna beg you.”

  “Nah, I’m all dirty. Maybe next time.” He looked to me.

  “I’d love to have you along,” I said. “Just take a quick shower and throw on some khakis and a clean shirt.”

  “Really?” His blue eyes started to dance.

  “Yeah, really. Now, move it! You have exactly ten minutes or we’re outta here without a chaperone!” Matthew said.

  Eric took off running up the stairs, stomping every step like a herd of elephants.

  “He’s never acted like that, Matthew. I’m sorry.”

  “He’s perfect. Now about that scotch? A light one?”

  In fifteen minutes, we were on our way in Matthew’s Buick. I had thanked Matthew profusely in the living room and in the car for whatever it was he had done for Trip—which he obviously wasn’t prepared to discuss. Fine with me, I thought. Just end it. I don’t need the details. All I knew was that they were going to mark the money that Mother was giving Trip and that would help them trace the hands it crossed.

  Eric was in the backseat fully absorbed by his Game Boy. Very soon, the traffic became heavier as we approached Charleston, and then slowed, as we passed the Citadel Mall. He took Highway 7 over to the Cosgrove Avenue Bridge, then to Interstate 26 and we exited at East Bay Street.

  “Faster than going downtown,” he said.

  All along East Bay Street, we pointed out things to each other that we remembered.

  “Ever sneak into Big John’s?”

  “What self-respecting underage person didn’t chug their first beer in there?” I said.

  “I heard that, Mom!”

  “Well, just because I did it, that doesn’t mean you should.”

  “What about my self-respect?” Eric said. “Nailed you on that one!”

  “The boy’s sharp,”
Matthew said.

  I just rolled my eyes over Eric’s giggles. It occurred to me that I had no idea where we were going.

  “Whose house are we going to?”

  “Susan Hayes on Queen Street. Know her? She’s a bit older than us. She’s giving a party for the daughter of a friend of mine who’s getting married. Should be fun.”

  “No, don’t think I do. I’ve been gone so long, who remembers anything?”

  We turned right on Queen Street and pulled up behind a line of parked cars, taking the last available parking place on the street.

  “It’s up there on the left,” Matthew said. “You’ll like Susan. She’s hilarious!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, husband dumped her for another woman; she’s a single parent.”

  “Sounds frighteningly familiar,” I said.

  “Well, her ex got prostate cancer, nearly died but didn’t. They say he was cured by a miracle. Who knows? He and his new girlfriend moved to California. Susan took it up with her childhood sweetheart. He’s a pussycat of a guy. Simon. Rifkin, I think. I’ve only met him two or three times.”

  “Well, this sounds like fun. Eric, leave your Game Boy in the car, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, with a groan, and tossed it in the backseat.

  I combed his hair with my fingers and gave him instructions. “Now, remember your manners. Look at people in the eye and shake their hands, all right? And just stay with me like a good boy.”

  We rang the doorbell of the old Victorian and were ushered in by a teenage girl.

  “Hi! I’m Beth Hayes,” she said to us. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Eric,” my son said, completely moonstruck by her young beauty.

  “Wanna play Sims?” she asked. “My cousins are upstairs in my room going nuts with it.”

  “You got the Sims game? Cool! Yeah! See ya, Mom!” Eric looked at me and took off up the stairs.

  “All the children are upstairs, eating pizza and having their own party,” she told us. “The bar’s in the living room.”

  This made me giggle, as she couldn’t have been over sixteen.

  “Thanks, Beth,” I said and followed Matthew into the next room.

  It was a good-looking crowd of people—mostly in their forties, some slightly older, some younger.

  “White wine?” Matthew said.

  I nodded my head.

  “How did I know that? Be right back.”

  I made my way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd to the side of the room and found myself with my chest pressed against the back of a navy blazer. When he turned to me I saw he was one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen. I gasped.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “the enthusiasm of this crowd can be dangerous to your health.”

  “Are you a doctor?” I said, like an idiot. His eyes were like molten chocolate. He was my height. He had the most adorable salt-and-pepper curly hair.

  “Do you need one, ma’am?” he said and grinned at me.

  “No,” I said and tried to step back only to be pushed into him again, this time chest to chest. I blanched eighty ways to hell and back in pink, then red, then crimson. “But my mother does. Do you know Jack Taylor, by any chance?”

  “He’s my tennis partner three times a week,” he said. “Do you want to go somewhere to talk? Or should we stay here and get crushed ribs?”

  “If you can find a safe place, that’d be great.”

  He took my hand and worked his way through the crowd. Then he stopped in the kitchen, where the caterers were in full force, moving around and in between each other, stacking appetizers on silver trays and taking racks of glasses over their heads back out the door. It was organized, professional bedlam. He grabbed two glasses, a corkscrew, and a bottle of wine and I followed him out to the backyard.

  “Whew!” I said. Another very intelligent remark, guaranteed to impress this man.

  “Well put,” he said. “White okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  He popped the cork, poured two glasses and handed me one. “Cheers! Now tell me about your mother and why she needs Jack Taylor.”

  “Shouldn’t we be inside?”

  “In a minute. I hate crowds.”

  “Me too. So here’s the story . . .”

  I told him the history of Mother’s suspected melanoma and also about the lump on her rib. The whole time I spoke, his eyes never left my face. He was too handsome to be real. All I wanted to do was touch his hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. No wedding ring. Good sign. What about Matthew, you little slut, I asked myself, not giving a damn.

  Originally, I thought he had brought me out here to check my hormonal waters for the tide, but from the morose look on his face I finally got it through my thick head that he was not in the phallic mode. When I stopped running my mouth like the Chatahoochee, he put his glass of wine on the picnic table and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a number and held his finger up to me—a signal not to speak.

  “Jack? It’s me. Yeah, can you come out to the backyard? Sure. I have someone I want you to meet. Bring a glass. Yeah. Okay.” He closed the phone and smiled at me. “He’s here at the party.”

  “Oh. Good.” It was another poetic response that would take his breath away. “So, what do you think? About my mother, I mean? Are you married?”

  It just slipped out. God, I was so uncool. What a jerk I was. He smiled at me.

  “You know? I don’t think I even introduced myself! I’m Simon Rifkin—your host for the evening. No, I’m not married. I’m worse than married.”

  The back door opened and a man, who I assumed was Jack Taylor, came down the steps with a beautiful woman on his arm.

  “Hi, sweetheart!” Simon Rifkin, the one who didn’t call me an ass but should have, said. “I want you to meet my fiancée.” He said this to me, and extended his hand to her. “This is the woman of my dreams, Susan Hayes!”

  He pulled Susan to his side and kissed her cheek.

  “He only says that when he’s done something naughty,” she said and winked at me.

  “And you must be Jack Taylor,” I said.

  After hellos all around, Susan turned to me and said, “Now, do I know you?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said, “I came with Matthew Strickland. You have a beautiful home.”

  “No, I have a falling-down disaster of a home, but I have a beautiful man. I’m sure it’s my usual paranoia, but if I thought you were out here flirting with my man, I’d have to take those shoes right off your feet and put one of the spikes in your ear! Where did you get them? They’re fabulous!”

  Her blue eyes twinkled and she smiled the entire time she spoke, but I knew she was serious about this guy Simon and I couldn’t blame her. I had an instantaneous admiration for her way with words. She probably carried a stick in the backseat of her car to beat the women off of him when they went out in public. I decided I wanted her for a friend. I sure as hell didn’t want her for an enemy. She also had an engagement ring on that was big enough to choke a Great Dane.

  “What size do you wear?” I said. I looked down at my favorite mules and knew they were up for adoption.

  “Gunboats, honey. I wear a nine and a half.”

  “Jesus, me too!”

  At this point, Simon had taken Jack aside. Jack’s face was serious too. He looked over at me when Simon stopped talking. Susan stopped talking too when she saw how serious Simon was.

  Jack spoke first.

  “Caroline?” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, fumbling through it. “Here’s my card. You bring your mother to me at eight-thirty Monday morning. In case you get there before I do, just tell Trudy, she’s my head nurse, that I told you to come. Don’t worry about your mother. That’s my job. Whatever it is, we will get her the best talent we have and take it from there, okay?”

  “Okay. Gosh thanks, Jack.”

  “Don’t mention it. This happens all the time.”

  I looked at
his face for the first time. There wasn’t anything remarkable about it, except that it was almost perfectly symmetrical. He had nice green eyes and blond hair mixed with gray and amazing eyelashes. Even though there was hardly a line on his face, I guessed his age at around fifty. No ring. He was also taking inventory of me. Not in a leering way like Josh or in a wave of testosterone like Matthew. Just a nice way. He was tall but not lanky like Richard. He was solid and looked like he had probably played football most of his life. When he smiled at me, I felt shy. For me to feel shy is a helluva thing. I liked him. Better yet, I trusted him.

  Susan spoke up. “Um, y’all? We have a party going on?”

  This woman did a lot of speaking up, I decided. When I left with Matthew and Eric at around eight, I positioned my shoes on the front hall table with a note.

  Susan, great meeting you and Simon. If the shoes fit, wear them! Call me for lunch! Caroline Levine 843-890-4499.

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason why you’re barefoot,” Matthew said.

  “I like that woman,” I said. “We’d better get going.”

  Eric slept in the car. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly. I had to promise to buy him this Sims game for his computer the next day to get him to stop talking about it.

  “It’s like you’re God, or something, Mom! I swear it is so cool!”

  “Don’t swear, Eric. It’s not nice.”

  “But it is the most unbelievable game! Completely mind-blowing!”

  “That’s nice, Eric.We’ll look for it tomorrow, all right?”

  “But, Mom, let me just tell you one thing. I built this house, right? And then—”

  “Eric?”

  He got the message. I looked over at Matthew as he drove the car, his face in a smirk.

  “Boys,” I said.

  “Boys are great,” he said and smiled at Eric in the rear-view mirror.

  Later, after dinner at his house—grilled steaks and plenty of wine—we had a walk by the river, and then Matthew drove us home. Eric ran inside the house, slamming the front door behind him. I’d have to remind him not to do that. I looked over at Matthew and shrugged my shoulders. Matthew stood a safe five feet from me.