by Julie Allan
Chapter 2
The family rolled down Highway 17 towards Snee Farm and Scott and Amy's house. The town had prettied up the long stretch of pavement with landscaped medians full of native plants—a distraction from the retail sprawl that had maxed out either side of the highway. A ride out to Snee Farm, one of the first subdivisions in the town used to be a ride out in the country. Lizzie and Bennett had just told the kids about the plan to move into Aunt Dorothy's house. Lizzie watched her children’s faces react, via the rear-view mirror. She had been sure that Sawyer would be on board, but Dot with her surging hormones was anyone’s guess.
“Will we still have our house? What room will I have? Do we get to bring all our stuff?” Dot fired off her concerns in the form of questions. Lizzie felt her anxiety; she and Dot were so much alike. Self-confidence and flexibility with change did not come easy for either of them. The difference for Lizzie was not anxiety about moving—she was thrilled to be moving into the house she had always thought of as her true home—her anxiety was about how Aunt Dorothy would handle all the disruption from the renovation work and the never ending chaos of an active family under her roof. Lizzie turned so she could look back at Dot while she answered her.
“We were thinking Sawyer would go in the room next to the hall bathroom. We would put you in the room I had growing up since it has that small bathroom attached. Your dad and I will be in Aunt Dorothy's room and the other room will be a guest room.”
“Where is Aunt Dorothy going to sleep?” asked Sawyer.
“She's moving into the den downstairs, doofus, don't you listen?” Dot said, punching her brother on the arm, which prompted a pinch back. “Ow!” Dot yelled.
“Knock it off, you two!” Bennett said sternly, and he began to cough.
“Are you still coughing?” Lizzie asked as she turned back around to face forward in her seat.
“It’s these darn allergies. I can’t seem to shake them this year.”
“What about our house and our stuff?” Dot asked again. “We’ll sell our house and mix some of our stuff with some of Aunt Dorothy's things and donate the rest. No worries; you can take anything from your room that you want to, and we will repaint the bedrooms and bathrooms before we move in,” explained Lizzie.
“Do I get to pick the color?” asked Dot.
“Of course! I thought we would get you brand new bedding and artwork too since you are about to be a teenager,” Lizzie replied.
“Thanks, Mama!” Dot said, all traces of anxiety gone. Lizzie felt some relief. These days, she was never sure if Dot was going to be her sweet girl or the temperamental almost teen she was blossoming into. Parenting was hard; she had lately discovered. She was bewildered by Dot’s mood swings and doubted her ability to navigate her way through the conflict that seemed to erupt over simple everyday things.
“You know, Bennett, if your crew is too busy to take on all the upstairs work, we can have them focus on the bathroom remodel, and I can take on the painting.”
“NO!” all three members of her family shouted in unison. Lizzie's disasters with projects outside the kitchen were legendary.
“Okay…just thought I would offer,” knowing full well why her family was so strongly opposed to the idea. She was determined that one of these days, she was going to complete a DIY project and prove to her family and herself that she could.
They pulled into Scott and Amy's driveway. The planters that flanked the steps up to the porch looked cheerful with their orange and yellow mums. Jeremy was tossing a football with Ben on the front lawn and Sawyer jumped out to join them. Lizzie and Bennett loved their nephews and niece, but there was a special bond with Jeremy. It might have been because he worshiped his Uncle Bennett; he had followed in his footsteps getting a degree in business. and he even worked for Bennett now. Jeremy had all but taken over the running of the fishing charter business and the property management company. Lizzie smiled, as she watched Jeremy toss the football to Sawyer and then pretend he couldn’t catch him. The same scene sixteen years ago flashed across her mind. Bennett had done the exact thing with a young Jeremy. That had affirmed for her what a wonderful father Jeremy would be one day.
Lizzie and Bennett had a long-established Sunday routine of dinner after church with Aunt Dorothy and supper at Amy and Scott's. They, in turn, would host the holiday meals, usually at Aunt Dorothy's, so that all could enjoy the water views. Lizzie cherished all the family gatherings. It was hard for her to grasp how fast Amy and Scott's children had grown. It made her want to hold on to her children as tightly as she could. Sawyer was still easygoing and compliant, but Dot was another story. Once she turned twelve, it seemed she thought she was sixteen, and at least once in any given day, Lizzie found herself in battle mode. Frankly, she was finding it exhausting. She needed to sit down with Amy and her other best friend M.A. and ask their advice on how to handle Dot. Both had first-hand experience with a teenage daughter. She had known M.A. for over thirty years.
Greetings and hugs were given all around and they scattered to their routine positions—Dot to play chess with Grandpa Wilson. Sawyer back outside to resume playing ball with Amy's boys. Bennett to grab a beer and man the grill with Scott. Lizzie to the kitchen to help Grandma Wilson, Amy, and Faith with the side dish preparations. Sunday supper was always a casual affair.
“I have some big news,” Lizzie offered as she tore the lettuce for the salad.
“Well, don't leave us in suspense. I’m assuming you’re going to explain what Aunt Dorothy meant about y’all moving in with her,” prompted Amy.
“Yes, that is the big news.” Lizzie shared the plans to move into Aunt Dorothy's and all the work that it was going to entail.
“Are you sure you can accomplish all that by Thanksgiving? Who is going to take care of the Biscuit Box?” asked Mrs. Wilson.
“Well, I have a good manager and employees, and the busy season won't kick in until the beginning of November, so I have about a month to prepare. Aside from selecting materials, I won’t have any hands-on action with the renovations,” Lizzie explained.
“Wise decision,” Amy said, laughing. “How are the kids with the idea?”
“Sawyer is completely on board, and Dot was a bit hesitant until she found out she gets to decorate her new room. I suppose it doesn't hurt that she will have her own bathroom, which is a step up from sharing with a little brother.”
“How about Dorothy—is she keen on all that renovation going on?” asked Mrs. Wilson.
“It was her idea. Besides the den, we are pretty much leaving the downstairs alone. All the big changes will happen upstairs.”
“Let us know if we can help in any way,” Mrs. Wilson said. So typical of the elder Wilsons; they were always ready to lend a hand. Since high school, Lizzie had thought of Pat Wilson as a second mother. Besides Aunt Dorothy, she was someone Lizzie looked up to as a shining example of a southern woman. Pat was gracious and kind. Very much like Aunt Dorothy, she rarely let anything ruffle her feathers. Pat’s strength and determination had helped her recover from her stroke in record time. Lizzie hoped she could be as successful with Dot as Pat had been with Amy.
Dot entered the kitchen, and Lizzie reached out to pull her into an embrace. Dot squirmed away from her. “Mom! I’m not a baby anymore!”
Lizzie’s face grew hot, “Of course you’re not. I just love you, that’s all.”
Dot walked over to where Grandma Pat was sitting and put her arms around her shoulders, kissing her grandmother on her cheek and looking over at Lizzie. Lizzie knew she was trying to tell her, I will take affection from everyone but you, but Lizzie did not want to give Dot the satisfaction of knowing she had hurt her. She ignored her and turned to engage Faith, asking her how it felt to be a senior in high school. After Dot had gone to see what the boys were up to, Faith gave Lizzie a hug. “Don’t worry, Aunt Lizzie, I used to do that to Mama all the time, but I grew out of it.”
Later that night, as Lizzie and Bennett were climbing int
o bed, Lizzie asked, “Bennett, do you think I’m a good mother? I mean, like your mother?”
“Of course you’re a good mother! What made you ask that?” Bennett answered.
“Well, I don't recall your mother fighting with Amy like I do with Dot,” she said, plumping up her pillow.
“That's because you didn't live under the same roof with us. Amy gave mom a really hard time from about age twelve to fifteen. Then things got better. I think that's the way it is with most mothers and daughters.”
“Aunt Dorothy says I was not all sunshine and flowers when I was Dot's age, but I don't remember the epic battles that seem to come out of nowhere with Dot.”
“I think you both are to blame there,” Bennett said, propping himself up on one arm to face her. “Wait, don't say a word, let me finish,” he continued, touching a finger to her lips to squelch her protest before it could be launched. “You and Dot not only look alike, but she also has your same temperament and seems to have inherited your accident-prone gene as well. She is trying to transition from little girl to young woman, as much as that pains me to admit. Separating from you is part of that process. She has no idea what she is doing and you, well, you have engaged her, fueling the fire.”
“I would hardly say I fuel the fire.” Lizzie pulled her hand away from Bennett.
“I know you think that because you know how she feels, you can somehow direct her, and she can skip the hard lessons you went through. But I think if you sit back and let her try to figure things out, she will seek your guidance voluntarily. I would bet money that is how Aunt Dorothy dealt with you at that age.”
“It is so hard; I made so many mistakes. I didn't understand what was really important and what wasn't. I just don't want Dot to go through unnecessary pain.” Lizzie felt her face flush with shame as she remembered, throwing away her early relationship with Bennett and her disastrous first marriage. She was determined to steer Dot into making better decisions.
“Trust that we have given her a strong foundation, and if she gets into any real trouble, we can step in.” “As usual, your cooler head prevails,” she grudgingly admitted. “You are right about Aunt Dorothy. She would wait for me, and she always had ice cream at the ready for when I did come.”
“Well, Sawyer and I would not complain if ice cream became a stock item in our freezer.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Good night, my love. You and Dot will be fine. It just might take a few years.” He coughed and reached for the glass of water he had set on the nightstand.
“Good night,” Lizzie said, and she reached up to turn out the light. She lay there contemplating the changes she was about to put her family through. She was dreading the sorting, the packing, and all the decision-making. She was not confident that Dot would seek her out on the truly important things. She heard Bennett cough again. She really needed to get him in to see the doctor. It might be time for some prescription-strength allergy medicine. It was not until she was lulled by Bennett’s steady breathing that she drifted off to sleep.
The next few weeks rolled high and low like the tide. Having their own construction crew to do the renovations on Aunt Dorothy’s house was a plus. The den had been completed first, allowing Aunt Dorothy to move downstairs. Every day, Lizzie helped her go through items to keep, throw out or donate. Then Lizzie did the same thing at her house. The tedium of it wore her down. The emotional drain of saying goodbye to possessions surprised her. When it was all said and done, Lizzie had donated about two-thirds of her furnishings and only a few pieces from Aunt Dorothy to the Habitat for Humanity Re-Store. The lightening of possessions and knowing others would be benefitting from their donations also seemed to lighten the burden she had been carrying in her heart.
If only it weren’t the busy season at The Biscuit Box. While dealing with all that was going on with the purging and renovations, she also had to make sure all her holiday orders were coming in and change her seasonal menus. Sometimes she thought she should sell the store and pay more attention to her family, but she just couldn't bring herself to give it up. The Biscuit Box had once been her dream, and now it was a symbol of how she had matured and grown into herself. Besides, her regular customers would stage an uprising if she sold the store. It had been hard enough for them when, after having Dot, she dramatically reduced her physical hours on site.
Things had become so busy; Lizzie had not even been able to put a homemade meal on the table. They had succumbed to the modern family’s diet of take-out and prepared foods. It was also the height of the children's fall activity season. Sawyer had golf, soccer, and karate. Dot had horseback riding, dance, and piano lessons—although dance was most likely going to be dropped soon. Lizzie had originally signed Dot up to help her develop grace and poise, as she had unfortunately inherited her mother's proclivity for bumping into or falling over things. It had helped some, but at this point, the focus at the dance schools was competition and Dot had no desire or skill to compete.
Lizzie had just dropped Sawyer off at karate, feeding him a sandwich while in the car, and was sitting in the parking lot outside the dance school waiting for Dot. The doors burst open, and Dot came running out at unusual speed, her hoodie tied around her waist. She jumped in the car, slammed the door and scrunched down low, “Drive, Mama, drive!”
“What in the world . . .” Lizzie exclaimed as she backed the car out of the spot. She remembered Bennett's advice and quietly drove away, patiently waiting for Dot to explain. When they got about two blocks from their street, Dot finally opened up. “Don't you want to know what happened?”
“Only if you want to tell me,” Lizzie answered as nonchalantly as possible. Inside she was screaming, I want you to tell me every little detail! “I take it something happened to embarrass you . . .” “Yes, ma'am, I don't think I can go back to dance ever again!” Dot wailed. “I can't imagine it was all that bad. I mean . . . I am sure it feels that way now, but it a day or two whatever it is will blow over,” Lizzie said, glancing over to see if she could read Dot's expression.
“No, I am pretty sure, Miss Trudy will not want me to come back. You see, she was making us do these pirouette moves, and I guess I was a bit too forceful with my spin. I knocked down some of the other girls, crashed into the mirror and somehow managed to split open my leotard,” Dot sniffled, trying not to cry. Lizzie bit her bottom lip to try to keep from laughing, but she could not keep her shoulders from shaking as the mirth built up within her. “Mama!” Dot exclaimed with all the indignity she could muster.
“Oh, Dot, I really am not laughing at you. It’s just that I got this visual in my mind, and it reminded me of the time I did something very similar at cheerleading camp. I am so sorry! I guess I gave you my clumsy genes.” Lizzie reached over to pat Dot on the arm. “I tell you what, I think it’s time I taught you about this great ritual I used to do with Aunt Dorothy, so when we get home I want you to run upstairs and change and then meet me in the kitchen.”
“Okay,” Dot said, relaxing against the seat, as her shoulders began to shake and she laughed deep from inside her belly. “It really must have been funny to watch,” she admitted.
“I am proud of you, Dot. Learning to laugh at yourself is one of the best skills to carry you through life. If you are anything like me, and it seems that you are, you will find yourself laughing a lot.” Lizzie pulled into the driveway, and Dot ran out of the car. She tore past her father, who was standing in the driveway, up the stairs, and into the house.
“What was that all about?” Bennett asked, kissing Lizzie hello.
“An embarrassing moment about to be healed by eating ice cream for dinner, and a mother and daughter kitchen table powwow.”
“Oh, boy! I’ll go fix supper for Aunt Dorothy and eat with her before I head out to pick up Sawyer.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Lizzie said as Bennett headed across the street.
“See you in a while,” Bennett called. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I met with Amy about the books today, and she wanted me t
o tell you to get going with the plans for a girl's night with her and M.A. That’s fine by me, but I think I might need a date night soon. It seems like lately we only see each other in passing.”
“I hear you. I will call Amy, and you bring your phone to bed tonight so we can set a date,” Lizzie replied. Then she headed into the kitchen to get the bowls of butter pecan ice cream ready. After triple scoops and a solid heart-to-heart, Lizzie had put out Dot’s current fire and hopefully helped her develop some coping skills for these embarrassing moments that would inevitably happen. At least she would find out if she had been even semi-successful when the next crisis hit. Dot had responded well to her first ice cream powwow. Hopefully, this will become a ritual for us, a chance to improve our relationship. She left Dot to finish her homework and walked across the street to Aunt Dorothy's.
In a few weeks, they would all be under one roof. Lizzie walked around the side of the house and let herself in the gate. Yawning, she was unable to hide the evidence of too little sleep and too much activity. She walked down to the dock and sat down. The evening sky was clear and the stars twinkling, with a smiling crescent moon to keep them company. The night was too dark to see the water well, but she could hear it lap soothingly against the dock. Lowcountry water was a balm for a frazzled soul. Lizzie sat, listening, the cool breeze caressing her hair. She pulled her cardigan close and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees. The lullaby of the gently lapping water was making her drowsy. She could not remember when, in the past few weeks, she had found a moment to sit still. She was going to savor this.
Lately, Lizzie had felt pressure to be at the top of her game from all sides. No one was purposefully demanding, but the circumstances of her loved ones’ needs and the impending busy retail season were pressing down on her all the same. Her old habit of doubting her ability to handle things was surfacing, and she was too lost in thought to hear the shuffle of feet come up behind her.
