“I can’t do that. I just can’t.”
“Well, then, go by her apartment and just hand them to her and then leave. How’s that?”
“Too cowardly. God, Huey, this whole drama keeps rolling around in my mind. I mean, I only did this because I thought she got duped, not because she came to me begging for help. I honestly think that she thinks if Nat doesn’t want to love her anymore, then fine. And I agree with that, but I sure wouldn’t give up my home and family unless I was making a fully informed decision. Sometimes being right is the worst thing in the world. She’s going to hate me.”
“That’s ridiculous, Abigail. Rebecca thinks you’re the smartest and most elegant woman she’s ever met.”
“Well, at least she’s right about something.”
“Abigail! Hubris!”
“Sorry. Joke, joke. But let me make a little prediction. She’s going to blame me, Huey. I’ve seen it happen thousands of times.”
“The old shoot the messenger. You know, Abigail. This is rather a sticky wicket, isn’t it?”
“I love it when you do your Rumpole, Huey. Help me figure this out. Huey? Huey?”
The phone went dead. We had lost our connection. I tried redialing him, but I couldn’t get any service.
The dead zone. Huge sixteen-wheelers zoomed by, and it was all I could do not to be consumed by the fact that I was traveling the same piece of road that had claimed the life of my son.
When other people traveled Highway 17, heading north from Mount Pleasant, they thought of Boone Hall Plantation, Brookgreen Gardens, Hobcaw Barony or all the beautiful places to visit that give the Lowcountry its unique reputation of grace and splendor. In contrast there was the rustic home cooking of Seewee Restaurant, the great charm of the shops on the waterfront at Georgetown and all the seafood restaurants at Murrell’s Inlet. But I rarely thought about those places. I thought about my own agony.
I tried to move away from my dark thoughts, remembering that when I was a child my father would take me to the Hammock Shops at Pawleys just to swing and to have an ice cream cone. Even today I knew lots of people who would drive from Columbia or Greenville only to have dinner at Louis’s Fish Camp, then spend the night in a hotel or a friend’s condo, take an early morning walk on the beach, drinking in the salty air before leaving the fantasy. Oh, yes, Highway 17 meant something wonderful for many people, but not for me. I could feel my chest tighten with anxiety as I approached the strip of land where the accident happened.
In an act of emotional self-defense, I tried Huey’s number again and this time the call went through. I cleared my throat and sighed, collecting myself so that Huey would not detect my passing panic.
“Hi! Sorry. We got disconnected.”
“Abigail, listen to me. I have been thinking about this, and there are several ways to deliver the news to Rebecca. One, you hand them to her, say you never looked at them and walk away. She’ll know you’re a liar, but she’ll have the opportunity for a private nervous breakdown— but she might do something crazy. So I don’t think that’s what you should do. Two, you hand them to her and say something like, Look, this is going to upset you. I can stay if you’d like or you can look at them in private. I think that’s the best bet. And obviously, I think the best thing is to give them to her outside of work in a relaxed environment. Why don’t I invite her over for supper and you come too. Maybe the best way to do this will come about naturally. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, Huey. What if she’s embarrassed that we’re both there? Two against one?”
“Look. I’ll make myself scarce if it comes to her actually opening them. But I think she might benefit from a man’s perspective, don’t you?”
“I think you want to see the pictures.”
“You know it, sugar. I’m already drooling.”
I knew if Rebecca opened them she would show them to Huey at some point anyway. I mean, who were we kid
ding here?
“I just...I think... oh, fine. What time?”
The guillotine was hoisted, Nat’s head was on the block and he may or may not be revealed as the venomous skank he was, depending on the depth of Rebecca’s curiosity and the strength of her will that very night.
At seven-thirty, I pulled around Huey’s road, passing Miss Olivia in the backseat of her Mercedes Benz, driven by Byron. They waved and I waved back. I could see Miss Olivia asking Byron to stop, and so he did. I lowered my window opposite Miss Olivia’s.
“How are you this evening?” I said.
“We’re just running out to get a few more string beans! We’ll be right back!”
I nodded and raised my window, smiling to myself. Miss Olivia didn’t trust Byron to even choose string beans. In her eighties and she still thought she had to—well... what could you say? She was just a pistol.
I pulled in and parked. Rebecca’s car was there. Good, I thought, maybe she’s had a glass of wine and loosened up. As I got out of the car I looked up. Like the old man down at Mr. Marlow’s store used to say, Low, looks like it’s making up a storm! There was a storm coming for sure, and I was glad of it. Maybe it would wash away the humidity.
I walked around the hedges, stopped for a moment and for maybe the hundredth time looked at what Huey had created for himself and his mother. By slipping away from the main house, and with the magic of landscaping, he had created a cul-de-sac that looked like it had always been there. His house sloped down toward the water, and hers appeared to adjoin his. It was only separated by the courtyard. The architecture of each house was identical but the main difference was that her interior was all of Universal Design. Outside, her entrance had a gentle slope up to her front door, in case, God forbid, she ever needed a wheelchair or a walker to move around. Inside, there were no saddles in the doorways, where she might accidentally trip, fall and break her hip. The windows were all on springs so she could open them with the lightest touch. Naturally, all the sinks had swing-arm faucets, and the bathroom was outfitted as you would expect, but beautifully so.
It must have been a source of great comfort for Miss Olivia to know she was so loved. Forget my own personal life. I knew it was going to shatter Rebecca when she discovered how profoundly Nat did not love her.
Eight
CIRCLES
s
I pressed the imposing brass handle of Huey’s front door and it clicked open with an ominous sound, like a handgun fired by someone playing Russian roulette, my life spared by an empty chamber. Rebecca was alone in the living room. She turned to face me and she smiled, her left lip dipped in nervous self-consciousness. For the first time I noticed that she looked smaller; thinner, really. The collar of her blouse stood away from her neck with such a gap that it could have been filled with a large scarf and still have been easily buttoned. She looked tired. Probably not sleeping very much. Or eating.
“Gosh,” she said, “seems like I’m here for dinner all the time. I mean, I should have y’all over for a barbecue, don’t you think? I can’t cook like Byron, but I can put steaks on a grill, at least I think I can.”
“Don’t worry about it. Huey is mother hen to us all.” I gave her a polite hug that always for some unknown reason included a pat on the back. It was a lady hug and one that indicated sorority sister affection. “You can cook for me anytime. I’m thinking of turning my kitchen into a sauna. It’s the least-used room in my house.”
I helped myself to a glass of mineral water while Rebecca chattered. All I could think about were the photographs (most of which I had kept aside in my car), and I didn’t hear a word she was saying. When I turned to face her, she saw in my expression that I wasn’t listening to her.
She stopped in midsentence and said, “Whatever it is you want to tell me, just go ahead.” Her face was blotchy, probably also from nerves. “I knew something was wrong the minute I arrived. Huey said he had to return some phone calls. And Miss Olivia went to the store.”
Huey had done as promised and had given
Miss Olivia the cue.
Before I could say anything Rebecca said, “You found out something about Nat, didn’t you.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“Look, Rebecca. My PI friend in Charleston, the guy I told you about that I’ve known for twenty years, did a little digging around and found out some, well... Look, I’m just going to say it. I have this manila envelope with pictures. You can take them home and look at them in private. Or you can look at them now or you can throw them in the river. I mean, it’s up to you.”
“I knew it.”
“Well, unfortunately, you were right.”
I held them out to her. Rebecca trembled slightly as she took the envelope, held it to her chest and gave a long sigh of resignation. She dropped the evidence in her purse without opening it, which surprised me. I would have ripped the envelope open immediately.
“You’ve seen them, haven’t you.”
Again, a statement, not a question.
For a moment, I considered making up something but I hated liars. Besides, lying would have placed me in the
realm of her foul husband.
“Yes.”
“Are they horrible?”
“They’re not wonderful.”
“On a one to ten?”
“For me they would be about a nine and three quarters.”
I could see she was bracing herself. She inhaled deeply and searched my face for answers. Was it infidelity? I could see that she suspected it. Did the pictures reveal more than infidelity? To me they did. They were about betrayal at a lethal level. I knew I was facing her down. I didn’t want her to throw them away. I wanted her to see what her husband was doing and who he really was.
“Oh, hell! What should I do?”
“Well, I know what I would do...”
She sank to the couch and put her face in her hands, her elbows stabbing her knees. I noticed that she still wore her wedding band. Knowing what I knew, if Nat Simms had been mine, I would have bribed his dentist to grind it and fill his front tooth with it.
After a few moments she looked up, not at me but at the portrait over the fireplace mantel of Huey’s very serious great-grandfather. He was dressed in the formal manner of his day, but like a spooky painting of Christ, his piercing eyes followed you.
Rebecca’s facial blotches had progressed to a deep crimson blush, and her eyes were brimmed with tears. I would not have blamed her for an instant if she had cried all over Huey’s silk jacquard couch. The strength of the storm whirling in her thoughts was all but impossible for me to detail. But to describe it in Lowcountry terms, although the hurricane was still off the coast of Puerto Rico, small craft warnings were in effect until further notice all the way to Maine.
She stood up, shaking and fidgeting, grabbed her purse and started for the front door.
“Rebecca! Are you leaving?”
“Leaving? Leaving? No. I’m going outside for some air. I’m going to look at this pile of bullshit your self-righ-teous, know-it-all conscience couldn’t resist shoving in my face, and then I will decide if I am leaving. Or if I am ever speaking to you again.”
She slammed the door, and the sound of it echoed like thunder all over the entire house. I stood there in the foyer, unable to move. I was completely surprised by her uncharacteristic fit of temper. I had expected it, I had predicted it, but when it burst forth from her in such an explosion, I was mortified. I had done something terrible and irreversible. Was I self-righteous or a know-it-all? It was an ugly thing for her to say. Either way, the price of my actions would perhaps prove to be more than she wanted to pay. An innocent woman would now suffer tremendous pain and humiliation because of what I had brought her. I was ashamed of myself.
Huey was standing next to me and I hadn’t even yet noticed.
“Should we go after her?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Let her have some privacy.”
We moved back to the living room where Huey poured himself a large glass of bourbon over ice and crushed mint. I stood by the window and watched her. She was all the way down at the dock and had yet to open the envelope, as far as I could tell. Her shoulders were heaving, her head was thrown back. I knew she was crying like a two-year-old. I felt like a scavenger, something treacherous and sneaky.
“This reminds me of the time the rattlesnake was on my porch. I called animal control and they came right away. They couldn’t find it, but after they left I did. It was curled around my doorknob. Oh, Huey! What in the world have I done?”
“We. And you haven’t wrapped a rattler around her doorknob. I am a partner in this, Abigail. I take at least half of the responsibility.”
“Oh, Lord! Look at her! She’s hysterical!”
Rebecca was walking in circles around the dock. I was afraid she would lose her footing and fall in the river. From our distance we could see that the sky and waters had grown dark and the swollen tide was swift and terrible, moving in bundles of choppy frenzy.
“I think I should go and get her. It’s getting very dark, Abigail, and any minute the skies are going to open up and rain like mad.”
But it wasn’t raining, just distant rumbles, and Rebecca had only just removed the envelope from her handbag. We watched, voyeurs mired in a horrible intrusion, as she flipped from one photograph to another and then all over again from the start. One by one, she tore them into little pieces and threw them with all her might into the wind.
“Well, there goes the goods,” Huey said with a sigh. “Abigail? Either we have saved her or we have destroyed her.”
“Huey. I feel absolutely ill.”
“What’s that? Who’s sick?”
It was Miss Olivia who must have entered the house through the kitchen door with Byron. We were so focused on the scene of Rebecca at the river that we hadn’t even heard her approach. Her eyes squinted and traveled with ours in the direction of Rebecca.
“Mercy! What’s happened?”
“I’m afraid that Rebecca has been the recipient of some very disappointing information about her husband, the scoundrel.”
Miss Olivia elbowed her way in front of us, peering with all her power to evaluate Rebecca’s state. “Get me a sherry, Huey, please, son, and don’t let her see you. Goodness gracious! You two are spying on her like a couple of guard dogs! You may as well be barking your fool heads off. Now watch me! You have to stand to the side of the curtain panel like I am! See? Not just out there for the whole world to catch you!”
Huey handed her a small sherry; she swallowed it in one gulp and held the glass out for Huey to refill without so much as a Thank you and another, please? Huey complied and we continued to watch. Finally the rain began to fall in great pellets and within the space of seconds it was pouring. I saw Rebecca then as she sank to her knees, ran her hands through the water and wiped her face. But then she stayed on her knees, and it was plain to see that she was weeping. At first I had thought she was considering a fatal swim, and I can tell you this much. We were all becoming very frightened—for Rebecca’s safety and her mental state.
“I’m going to get her,” Huey said. “She’s getting soaked to the skin and she’ll catch her death.”
Miss Olivia called out, “Byron? Byron?”
Byron appeared so quickly it was obvious he had been listening just out of our sight.
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Olivia?”
“I’m going to take my dinner in my own house.” Miss Olivia held her glass out for the second time. “This is too much commotion for me.”
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Olivia. I will bring it to you as soon as it’s ready,” Byron said and left the room.
I took Miss Olivia’s glass and filled it because Huey had moved to the hall to get an umbrella from the closet.
“Here we are,” I said, handing it to her.
She drained it quickly and said, “Oh!” When Huey opened the front door, the sounds of the storm rushed in on wet air. The storm was so violent we may as well have been outs
ide.
“Take me home, son,” Miss Olivia said. She took his arm, snuggled into his side and they left.
I watched them lean into the wind and cross the front terrace to Miss Olivia’s door, which was actually more expedient than taking the long covered pathway from the side of the house. If we were having storms like this in July, what in the world would the hurricane season bring?
Soon Rebecca and Huey were back. They were absolutely drenched. I didn’t want to talk about the pictures unless Rebecca did, and anyway the obvious first step was for them to get dry. Huey led Rebecca to the guest room, offering her a bathrobe and a hair dryer and saying that Byron would dry her clothes. She glared at me as she passed the living room, where I had curled myself up into the corner of the couch.
While they were gone, I tortured myself. Don’t shoot the messenger. Yeah, sure.
Byron reappeared with a tray of fruit and cheese, offering it to me.
“Some drama, hey, Miss Abigail?” he said dryly with a little smile.
“You know what, Byron? When you say these things, I am never sure how to respond.”
He stood back waiting for me to continue but I was not comfortable enough with Byron to engage him in gossip. Besides, he was Huey’s houseman. He put the tray on the coffee table, and sensing that there was no camaraderie forthcoming, he threw his hand back.
“That’s all right! You don’t have to dish it with me. I hear it all anyway.”
He turned, left the room and to his back I muttered, I am sure you do.
“I do,” he said from down the hall.
Well, that was just Byron and I was as sure of anything that Huey probably sat around with him at night and recounted every detail of his life. I don’t know what I thought about while I waited there alone for Huey and Rebecca to return, but I can tell you that the time passed slowly and I was hugely relieved when Byron called us to dinner.
Huey sat at the head of the table and I sat opposite Rebecca. Byron placed a tureen at my elbow and filled my soup plate. It looked like cream of asparagus, but it could have been broccoli or artichoke, for all it mattered to me. We waited in silence as he went around the table serving the first course, pouring wine and water and offering bread. Finally he left the room and Huey attempted to break the ice.
Dorothea Benton Frank - Lowcountry Tales 05 - Pawley's Island Page 9
