“The Lowcountry gets into your blood and binds all of us who live here. Rich or poor, we all live like kings. We never stray too far or want to live anywhere else.”
“It’s that unique combination of nature and history,” Russell said. “Richmond has that, too. Though when I’m in Charleston walking down the narrow cobblestone streets, I have to remind myself it’s 1974, not 1774.”
“Right out there,” Lovie said, pointing to the ocean, “not too far away, is the Confederate submarine, the Hunley, sunk during the War Between the States. Folks are still looking for it.”
“Like the Titanic,” he said ruefully. “I doubt they’ll ever find either one.”
The waitress interrupted them for their order. Caught off guard, Lovie glanced at the menu and quickly decided on her favorite, grilled flounder with collards and sweet-potato fries. Russell went for the classic shrimp and grits. Then, because he’d never tasted it before, they both ordered a cup of she-crab soup.
They began talking in generalities, finding their way through the awkward beginnings of a dinner date. They steered their way through what schools they went to, jobs held, people they knew. When the dinner came at last, their beers were finished and Russell filled both their glasses with chilled white wine.
“What’s it like living in Virginia?” she asked him. “You must feel the same sense of history in Virginia that we do here in Charleston. Especially with your family heritage.”
He set the wine bottle on the table and traced the edge of the label with his finger. “Oh, yes,” he replied without humor, “there’s that. My family history is always present, like a shadow.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have one brother, John. He’s younger and likes to joke that he’s an only child. He says that because he’s involved in the family banking business, lives in Richmond, and has two sons. As far as my father is concerned, my purpose for being born is to continue the family business—and the family name. I have a wonderful daughter. But he wasn’t happy until I produced a son . . .” Russell’s face went still as he stared at the flickering candle.
“I’m sorry.”
Russell shrugged. “That’s my father,” he continued, his tone bitter. “It’s always about competition for him. About winning. Especially for me as his elder son. Throughout my childhood he thought sports were a testing ground of my mettle. I had to try out for all the teams. For holidays he invited the cousins over for pickup games of football. I have this one cousin, Leopold.” He snorted. “Leo. He’s two years older than me and a real bruiser. Twice my size. He’d come after me with no holds barred. Thank God I could run fast, but when he caught me I got bloodied. Dad thought that it’d make a man of me.”
Lovie listened intently, moving the flounder on her plate. “He doesn’t sound so different from Stratton. Palmer is his only son but, sadly for him, he’s built more like me than his father. So it’s soccer and baseball and hunting. Palmer is not, shall we say, a scholar. But Stratton has a lot of expectations for him. I worry for my son and what that pressure does to him. Your mother must have worried for you.”
“Mother . . .” Russell thought for a moment. “If my father wanted me to carry on the family name, my mother wanted me to maintain the family honor. The Bennett name is her life’s vocation.”
“What did she think of your career choice?”
Russell raised his brows as he considered the question. “As long as I went to good schools, married the right girl, and maintained an honorable career, she’s content. To her mind there’s a certain prestige to being an academic. My father, of course, was furious that I didn’t follow in the family business or go into politics. He simply refused to accept that I found biology more interesting than banking.” Russell changed his voice to a gruff imitation of his father. “There’s no money in that, son.” He shook his head. “Every year, usually around my birthday, I can expect him to put his arm around my shoulder, offer me a good cigar, a glass of aged scotch, and discuss man-to-man whether or not I’m done with all this foolishness and ready to begin a real career.”
“A real career? Does he have any idea of how many articles you’ve written? In important journals, too.”
He lifted his brow. “You know all that?”
“Of course I do. You know, I should be put out that you’re surprised.”
“I’m only flattered. I wish I could say the same thing about my father.”
“I’d always thought you were so fortunate to have had so many choices—your wealth, family connections, intelligence, just being a male. I never considered how those same benefits could also be obstacles. Even still,” she said, cutting into her fish, “forgive me if I don’t cry a river. Those hurdles are small cotton compared to what a woman in the South has to contend with.”
Russell looked around the room, pretending to search. “Excuse me, but is that Flo I hear?”
Lovie laughed, enjoying the break of humor. “Flo’s not the only woman who feels this way, Dr. Bennett. At least as a man, you’re encouraged to pursue a career. Women are encouraged to pursue a husband. A woman who wants a career is looked upon as an odd egg. Look at Flo. She loves her career and she’s good at it. But she never married. Do you know what people think when they see her?”
Russell shook his head, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“They think it’s either”—she raised a finger—“such a pity that a good-looking woman like her couldn’t catch a husband, or”—she raised a second finger—“she’s a lesbian.”
Russell barked out a laugh.
“I’m serious! Any woman who wants to achieve outside the home has a lot of hurdles. Unless, of course, she wants to be a teacher, or a nurse, or a secretary. And even then, she often quits when she gets married or has children.”
Russell leaned far back in his chair. “I can understand that. Women I’ve worked with have told me stories of the battles they’ve had to get their degrees and how clever they had to be to break down barriers just to get jobs in the field. For the most part, they’ve given up a personal life to make it happen. Call me an optimist, they tell me it’s changing.”
Lovie was doubtful. “We both know that change moves as slow as molasses in January here in the South.”
He chuckled and lifted his hands in concession.
“It’s one thing to worry about myself,” Lovie continued in a more serious tone. “But I know my Cara won’t want a traditional lifestyle. I fear for the challenges she’ll face. And the disappointments. I’d hate to see her dreams squashed.”
“Have a little faith. We put a man on the moon, after all.”
“Exactly,” she said wryly. “A man. The women are still firmly rooted to the earth.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way for her. She’s young yet, like Pippi. Look at the barriers already being broken down today. The women’s liberation movement is making strides. She can be whoever and whatever she wants to be.”
“Is that so?” she said in a soft voice, thinking of Stratton’s directive to her that she take Cara to buy dresses—and white gloves!—to learn to be a lady, to take her place in society. “Maybe in California and New York. What concerns me most are not only the external obstacles like jobs, education, salaries. I think more insidious are the internal obstacles.” She paused, thinking of these obstacles she knew too well. “Things like lack of confidence, not speaking up, low self-esteem.” She looked at him. “And simple validation.”
Russell set his fork down and asked, “What about you? Did you ever want a career?”
“Me? No. I fell into line at an early age. The truth is, I never questioned that I’d get married and have a family. It’s what I wanted. I never really expected that I’d do anything other than be a wife and mother. I’m from a traditional Southern family, and when I met a man from a background not unlike my own and from a similar family, I more or less assumed my life would continue in the same way it always had. I moved from Aiken to Charleston, but
nothing was really very different. Like my mother, I’m involved in my children’s schools, my church, Junior League, and fund-raising.” She smiled wanly. “Not even the house I live in is all that different, with its high ceilings, plastered walls, piazzas, and garden.”
Lovie sipped her wine, thinking of the photographs she’d perused on her wall earlier. She slowly lowered her glass. “Honestly, I was so young and so naïve when I got married. I could write a book about what I didn’t know back then. What I do regret is not finishing college. I left after junior year to get married, so I never graduated. So, no, I never pursued a career per se. But I love to learn. I always have. And I loved sea turtles. I’d majored in biology in college, so I got a good foundation. Since then, I’ve pored over books and journals, just about anything I could get my hands on concerning turtles. That’s how I knew about your papers. And I can quote Carr chapter and verse. I might not have a career that pays me a salary, but I do have a vocation,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice.
“I’ve had graduate assistants who aren’t as knowledgeable as you are at fieldwork. Olivia, you are an amazing woman.”
She released a self-deprecating laugh. “Far from it. I’m just a Southern woman with a good mind, no fear of hard work, and a passion.”
The waitress came to take away their plates. There was a moment’s awkwardness as they waited. Russell poured more wine and they ordered coffee.
“What about Eleanor?” Lovie asked. “Did she graduate, have a career?”
He looked at his wineglass, swirling the wine, seemingly disinclined to discuss his wife.
“I’m sorry,” Lovie said. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying. Yes, she did. Like you, however, she wanted to stay home and raise the family. She’s very active in her community.”
“Her community? Not the same as yours?”
He cleared his throat. “Eleanor lives in Richmond with Pippi. I have a place in Florida near the university. Eleanor believes the schools are better, and then there’s family. It just seemed easier if I fly back and forth.”
The waitress brought the coffee and set down the sugar bowl and creamer.
“I didn’t realize you lived in different states,” Lovie said, after the waitress had left.
Russell picked up his cup of black coffee. “It’s the best solution we could come up with. She wants me to leave the university and return to Richmond. Eleanor was never as content as my mother with my career choice,” he said, and took a sip. Setting the cup on the saucer, he added, “She never adjusted to living on the salary of an assistant professor, and I didn’t want to depend on my family. I felt as my wife, she shouldn’t either.” He laughed shortly. “We argued about that, too.”
Lovie didn’t respond.
“Eventually,” Russell continued, “she began to take my father’s side. Eleanor felt—still feels—that it’s time for me to stop playing with turtles.”
Lovie was appalled on so many levels. “Your research, teaching—Russell, that’s who you are. It’s your life.”
Russell reached out to place his hand over hers. “I appreciate hearing that. I really do. But that life gets lonely sometimes. Work is only a part of my life.”
Dusk was setting in, and as the room darkened, the candles flickered brightly. Lovie was intensely aware of their hands together on the table. Her skin was electrified where it touched his. At the same time, she was very aware that they were in a public place and worried lest someone might see them. She couldn’t allow a scandal or, at her age, to make a fool of herself. She gently let her hand slide back into her lap and saw the disappointment flash in his eyes.
He looked at his hand and tapped his fingers on the table. “In retrospect, it’s too easy to blame my career or my travel entirely for the problems in my marriage. Or my son’s death. I was unhappy before we lost Charley. Perhaps I never loved Eleanor the way she deserved to be loved. I didn’t put her first. I take the blame for that. Now I’m quite certain that she’s not in love with me. Or she could never ask me to give up what makes me feel significant as a man. Or as an individual.”
They continued to talk or, rather, Russell talked and Lovie listened, about how he and his wife had become increasingly distant and separated from each other’s lives, how he didn’t know if the marriage could be saved. The candles flickered lower and the coffee cooled. Other diners had paid their bills and left. The room was quiet and intimate. Lovie felt he was looking to her for some response, and she struggled with her words.
“I know what it’s like to have your work—your passion—go unappreciated. You can deal with strangers feeling that way, but when it’s your loved ones, the hurt goes much deeper. It somehow diminishes you.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “So Stratton doesn’t support your commitment to the sea turtles?”
“Hardly.” She didn’t dare to go on, to tell him how her husband didn’t respect her work in their home, either. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table between them. “Goodness, it’s getting late. We’re closing the place.”
Russell raised his hand for the check, and the waitress hurried over, eager to clock out. Lovie looked around at the few people left at the bar and realized they must’ve been talking for hours. As they rose, she glanced at a clock on the wall, stunned to see it was already nine thirty.
“I had no idea how late it was,” she said as they left the restaurant.
“I didn’t either. I was lost in the conversation,” he said, gently holding her elbow. She stopped and looked at him. His face was all angles and shadows. “I really had a good time tonight.”
She looked in his eyes, saw the emotion flickering like the candles, and sensed he was going to kiss her again.
“Olivia,” he whispered, and reached out for her.
Lovie stepped back, flustered. “I had a lovely time,” she murmured, and turned and walked away toward the car. With each step she wondered what might have happened if she’d held on to his hand and not let it go. If she’d waited one moment longer before stepping away. And how one small gesture could alter one’s course for happiness.
Fifteen
The vast expanse of marsh shimmered in the flattering colors of twilight. Lovie and Russell were silent as the Gold Bug buzzed over the Ben Sawyer Bridge. Lovie relished the feel of her hair blowing freely in the convertible. The breeze was soft and salty, and the scent of the marsh permeated the air. She turned her head to glance at Russell beside her. His elbow was on the open window and the hair around his collar curled in the humidity. His profile appeared outlined in the deepening sky—strong cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips. As if he’d sensed her looking at him, he turned and their eyes met. Her colored cheeks gave her away, and they both smiled. Eyes back on the road, Lovie was lured into a mellow mood, sated with good food and conversation.
So when she pulled in front of Primrose Cottage, she was shocked to see Flo and Miranda swing open the front door, and she felt again that chill of apprehension.
Lovie climbed from the car as the women raced down the steps to meet her halfway to the house. Russell came more slowly behind her, keeping a respectful distance.
“Where were you?” Flo cried in accusation.
Lovie’s throat constricted and she paled. “I . . . I just went to dinner. At Shem Creek.”
“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going,” Flo said, eyes blazing.
“No . . .” Lovie stammered. “What’s happened? The children . . .”
Miranda stepped forward and put an arresting hand on Flo’s arm. “Everything’s fine, child.” She looked at Flo. “Don’t need to scare everyone all over again.”
“Miranda,” Lovie said, panic racing in her veins, “is it the children?”
“We had a little excitement earlier, that’s all,” Miranda said. “The children are fine.”
Lovie swallowed and took a breath. “What happened?”
“Kate called us aroun
d seven looking for you,” Flo said. “She was all in a panic. The girls hadn’t come home for dinner. No one knew where you were, and we called just about everyone. Including him,” she said, indicating Russell.
Lovie glanced over her shoulder. Russell stood quietly a few feet behind her, dressed in his blue jacket and pressed pants. Lovie realized that their clothing was evidence that their dinner was more than project business. Still, Lovie didn’t appreciate the tone of accusation in Flo’s voice. “What happened then?” she said curtly.
“We all went looking for them,” Flo said, stating the obvious. “We were out for over an hour, and I gotta tell you, Lovie, we were scared. You know how those kids take off—the woods, boats. They could’ve been anywhere. Charley Baker took his boat to explore the creeks, thinking maybe they got lost in there or stuck at low tide. I was most scared that I couldn’t reach you. It was after eight and the sun was setting . . . I was about to call the police when those two girls came walking into Kate’s house.”
Lovie’s hand flew to her heart. “Where were they?”
Despite her anger, Flo’s lips reluctantly twisted into a grin. “Those two . . . They got it into their heads to make it to the Point.”
“No!” Lovie said in a burst, and then laughed shortly. “I’ll tan her hide!”
“No you won’t,” Miranda said gently. “She’s already shaken and tired. And I seem to recall a time when two other girls hiked that trip.”
Lovie looked again at Russell. His face had relaxed to relief and mild amusement, and when their eyes met, their day at the Point flashed in her mind.
“How are they?” Lovie asked.
“Oh, they’re fine,” Miranda answered. “Under the circumstances, Kate thought it best to have Cara come home. She’s in her bed now. I think she needs her mama.”
Lovie nodded, feeling the need to be with Cara, too. “Thank you all so much. I had no idea you’d need to reach me.”
Beach House Memories Page 23
