House on the Forgotten Coast

by Ruth Coe Chambers

  Peyton sighed and looked away from the water. He bent over and touched his hands to the ground a few times before beginning his jog back to town.

  2

  In their own dusty time, the residents of Apalachicola waited for the arrival of the newcomers, accustomed, if not always pleased, to strangers sharing their space, their heat on a summer day, their salt breeze, and the quiet that inhabited the town like a benevolent spirit. Even newcomers couldn’t dispel the quiet or the stillness that were sure and lasting residents of the small fishing village.

  When the Fosters arrived from Atlanta, their year-old 1986 silver Jaguar nosed down Highway 98 going east into town. In no way grand, the entrance retained the humble origins of its first settlers, certainly not Jaguar haute.

  It was dark when the Fosters’ journey ended and the headlights illuminated the raw simplicity of their surroundings. Margaret Foster closed her eyes and thought back to her life in Atlanta, remembered the joy she derived from telling people about this move. “Fishing village” still lay on her tongue like fine caviar. How she’d loved saying it. Loved even more seeing people’s reactions when they learned it wasn’t just a rumor—Edwin and Margaret Foster really were retiring, leaving the sophistication of Atlanta for a fishing village on the Gulf Coast of Florida. The stunned disbelief of friends and acquaintances made the pain of their decision more bearable.

  The Fosters neglected to dwell on these details. They romanticized the idea of carving out a new life with primitive tools, of actually sweating over a day’s work. Sharing these tidbits was surprisingly cleansing, rejuvenating. It was the struggle that intrigued them. That’s what they told their friends anyway. Apalachicola would be their fountain of youth. They would be young, starting all over again. They dined on envy and felt renewed.

  ALL THROUGH THE PLANNING STAGES , all the time spent trying to decide where they wanted to live, right down to looking at housing in Apalachicola, they never once considered their daughter, Elise, in their plans.

  “It’d be a fight, Edwin. It’s our decision, and Elise can just live with it. I for one am tired of arguing. With Elise everything is an argument.”

  Elise had heard her parents talking about the move, but she was tired of arguing too. And anyway, she never won. They held all the cards. She built a brittle veneer to protect herself, to disagree without feeling the pain of rejection. This time, though, her veneer had hairline cracks by the time her mother finally broached the subject of the move. She felt the heat of her anger all the way to the roots of her hair. She was nearly eighteen years old, and they still held the map to her life. They plotted her course, and her consent was taken for granted.

  Margaret held a pencil and yellow legal pad. She tapped the eraser nervously on the paper as she stared at her daughter, still lanky at seventeen, still something of a tomboy. “Elise, we’d like you to postpone going to college for a year.”

  Elise’s eyes hardened to hold back the tears, and with deliberate nonchalance, she plucked a piece of lint from her casual but expensive shirt. She held her breath, afraid to breathe. Not my hard-earned freedom. Please, not that.

  “Did you say something?”

  Elise shook her head. “I’m speechless. This is the one thing I never expected.”

  “It’s only a year and then you can go anyplace you like. We should have said something sooner, I guess, but you know how busy we’ve been.”

  Oh, I know how busy you’ve been all right. To Margaret she merely shrugged and said, “Yeah, I know.”

  “Yes, ma’am’, Elise. Just because you’ll be eighteen soon doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

  “Mom, this is the ’80s. I’m not some Southern belle.”

  “Elise, you need never worry about anyone mistaking you for a Southern belle.”

  “I assume that’s a compliment?”

  “No, it isn’t. Not in my book anyway.”

  “Mom, why don’t I get a job? That’ll help with the money, won’t it?”

  “No, you don’t have to take a job. You can help us get settled in our new location. As for the money for college, we have it, of course, but it’s tied up just now.”

  Time and again Elise had overheard her mother telling people about this fishing village, and she couldn’t imagine how such a move could be financially devastating.

  “Isn’t that all the more reason for me to take a job? I could stay here in Atlanta and go to Georgia State part time.”

  “No, you can’t stay here in Atlanta. Didn’t you hear what I said? We need your help getting settled.”

  “You’ve never had a problem hiring help before.”

  Margaret’s nostrils flared slightly. “I told you we have our money tied up just now. Elise, we didn’t plan this. We just believe it’s the best solution to Edwin’s problems. I’d think you could be more considerate. This hasn’t been pleasant for any of us. And surely you realize that your father and I are a little anxious about this move ourselves.”

  Elise wasn’t sure how to respond, but anxious wasn’t the word she’d have chosen to describe her parents’ reaction to this upheaval in their lives. She continued to stare at her mother, quite occupied with her interior monologue.

  Margaret slammed the legal pad on the table. “I knew we should have taken you with us when we flew down to scout things out and look at housing, but Edwin felt that since you were just starting your senior year, it wouldn’t be fair to have you miss several weeks of school.”

  “Mom, you don’t really think he cares about what’s fair to me, do you? He just didn’t want me along.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he cares about you, about being fair.” This wasn’t going well, not at all the way Margaret had envisioned. “I know you won’t believe this, but Edwin has your best interests at heart. It’s just that we feel that for the family, for all of us, this move is necessary. A total change of scene.”

  Move to a fishing village? That’ll be a change of scene all right. She probably thinks it’ll be an easy transition.

  It wasn’t as though Elise would be giving up a wide circle of friends. She’d heard her mother remark often enough that Elise didn’t have close friends. Margaret, on the other hand, had always been popular. She had the yearbooks and trophies to prove it. In high school she’d been a cheerleader, and in college, Sweet-heart of Sigma Chi! It was apparent to Elise that her mother was quite at a loss in trying to deal with a daughter who was anything but popular—a loner, tomboy, introvert.

  “If you’d only invite people over, Elise.” How many times had she heard that! “You can’t get to know people if you don’t spend time with them. Smile more. Don’t be so caustic.”

  It all centered on her mouth—the sharp tongue, the elusive smile. A real Mona Lisa. Help me then. Help me understand why we don’t like each other, why I don’t even look like you. I’ve heard you say so!

  Her only consolation was that she’d never look like portly old Edwin. Her real father had been blessed with good looks. If only he’d lived . . .

  Stop! I can’t go there. It’s like the pain I used to get looking in the mirror. If I hadn’t been crying that day, Daddy would still be alive. It was my fault. Try smiling with that on your conscience, Mom.

  But she knew it was more than her looks, more than blame. Elise knew that. She’d overheard girls at school talking about her often enough. “Elise? Oh, she’s a nice girl, but . . .” There was always a but. “But she’s odd.” Elise knew her take on the world was off-center and different from theirs, but it didn’t keep her from wanting to be happy, to have friends. She’d truly tried, but she could never keep up the pretense of being sweet or giddy. Regret always trumped sweet.

  Even when Elise was too young to understand why, her mother was forever urging her to smile. She’d kneel on the floor and pinch Elise’s cheeks ever so gently and say, “Don’t look so sad, precious.” As though Elise was not only sad but deaf as well, Margaret would tilt her head back and look up at Edwin. “Why
doesn’t she laugh? Why does she look so sad?”

  “She doesn’t look sad, Margaret. She looks serious.”

  “Yes, well, I hope that’s all it is.”

  But Elise learned that it was more than a serious expression that bothered her mother. One day she heard the words that would form her view of herself.

  “Oh, Edwin, why can’t she be pretty?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Margaret. Do you really think you could have had an ugly child? She’ll be beautiful some day. High cheekbones make a woman. And I don’t want to hear any more about her carrying the burden of your guilt. She was too young to realize what was happening anyway.”

  “Do you think so, Edwin? I wonder. Sometimes I really wonder.”

  As Elise grew older and attempted to confide her unhappiness to her mother, she could see Margaret’s eyes glaze over with incomprehension.

  Elise knew what her mother was thinking. She was wondering, “Where does she get that boyish figure? No curves whatsoever. It’s not unbecoming; it’s just not like our family.”

  Mother and daughter were alike in some ways. Both preferred interior dialogue to communicating with one another.

  When Elise was in the fifth grade, her mother said, “Oh, just wait until you’re in junior high. You’ll see a big change then, Elise. Junior high will be the making of you.” And then, “Well, it’s only junior high, after all. High school will be different. Believe me, you’ll find your place then.” Here she was, Class of ‘87, about to graduate, and she was still caught between floors, still searching for happiness and settling for resentment.

  She knew something lurked in the back of her mind, but she could never quite grasp the fogged memory that seemed overlaid with her fear of mirrors, a fear so terrifying she could take only hurried glimpses of her own reflection.

  It began when she was small, that painful flash of bright light in her brain when she faced a mirror. She always thought that if she could only remember what prompted the fear maybe it would go away. She’d tried to talk to her mother about it, but Margaret seemed almost frightened by her questions. Elise finally quit trying. Over time the flashes subsided somewhat, but not the shortcomings she saw reflected. The good features she’d inherited from her parents—large blue-gray eyes, long, wheat-colored hair and slender build—sounded beautiful, but she was convinced that on her they were arranged in all the wrong ways.

  Could her mother be right after all? Was it because she’d never conformed that she grew comfortable being different? She remembered a day when she was twelve. The school children were at recess when it began snowing. She stood with a group of girls, laughing as they held their mouths open catching snowflakes.

  “They’re so cold,” one remarked.

  “Not for long,” another laughed.

  “They taste pink.” Immediately every mouth closed. They looked at Elise and then at each other.

  “You’re weird, Elise. You always say such weird things. You can’t taste colors.”

  “I can.”

  “No, you can’t,” and in one synchronized movement they returned to the school building and left Elise alone in the snow. She heard someone say, “She always spoils things.”

  “You’re just jealous,” she called after them. “You’re jealous because you never tasted pink.” She stood her ground, her navy tights emphasizing the frailty of her long, thin legs. Hoping the girls were watching her, in an exaggerated move, she threw her head back, opened her mouth wide and caught snowflake after snowflake, each one a flavorful, delicate pink. She held back the tears and walked into the classroom licking her lips.

  Things didn’t improve as she grew older. You had to be silly or giddy to be fun, and if you weren’t fun, you didn’t have friends. The few she’d had never understood her. Her closest friend wasn’t even a girl, but the son of one of her dad’s business partners. And he wasn’t really a close friend, just someone who stopped by fairly often. Elise never understood why Ronnie wanted to be with her, but he seemed as much of a misfit as she was, so how could she turn him away?

  Ronnie was two years younger than Elise and unbearably shy. He was also incredibly bright. Tall and thin, he had huge hands and feet and was at ease with his body only when he smoked pot. Elise hated pot. It made her slightly nauseous and dizzy, but Ronnie said it wasn’t fun if you smoked alone, so they’d light up behind the hedge in her backyard.

  It gave Elise a measure of satisfaction to learn her mother didn’t approve of their friendship. She’d gone to the kitchen for Cokes when she heard Margaret laugh and say to Edwin, “Real soulmates, those two.”

  “Good lord, Margaret, at least he’s human. Remember her make-believe playmate, that, that . . . Damn! What was his name? I remember it was such an odd choice for a kid’s name. We thought she’d never give him up. Remember trying to convince her he wasn’t there? Surely Ronnie’s better than somebody who never existed.”

  “Yes, I guess so. Oh, of course he is, Edwin. It’s just that Elise isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. If she and I were classmates, we wouldn’t even be friends! I feel like such a failure. Everything always came easy for me. Why is it so hard being a mother?”

  Before Edwin could answer, they saw Elise standing in the door. She took Cokes from the refrigerator, and stared hard at her parents as she bumped the door shut with her hip. She left the room with no one saying a word.

  “I suppose she heard that,” Margaret said.

  “Yes, I imagine she did.” Edwin poured two glasses of wine before Margaret answered.

  “She could have heard worse.”

  “Margaret, don’t . . .”

  “I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”

  Her mother didn’t have a clue! You forced me to give up my real soulmate years ago. Ronnie and I are just a couple of misfits. She handed him a Coke. “Let’s go outside. It’s stifling in here.”

  They leaned back in lounge chairs behind the hedge, facing the pool. The air grew sweet with the scent of pot. Elise leaned over and took a short, shallow drag from Ronnie’s joint. He inhaled deeply and relaxed but could see Elise was upset. She turned to him quite suddenly and asked, “Ronnie, are you a virgin?”

  He turned beet red, swallowed smoke, and nearly fell out of his chair coughing.

  “Lord, Ronnie, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Why won’t you answer?”

  “For one thing, we’ve never talked about anything like that before.”

  “Well, are you?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to be.”

  “Elise, I’m not going to . . .”

  She burst out laughing. “Oh, Ronnie, I’m not asking you to. I’m just so frustrated with life, with everything. It’s like having an itch I can’t scratch. This would be my decision, something under my control that would have nothing to do with my mother.”

  “I’m not sure losing your virginity would solve anything. Despite your differences, there’s no reason to resent your mother’s looks. You’re beautiful too, even if you don’t look like her. I’d think it would make you proud to have a beautiful mother.” His Southern accent always grew heavy when he had a buzz on.

  “That’s because you never had one.” Elise put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Ronnie, I’m sorry. I really like your mother.”

  “Mom’s cool. I never said she was beautiful. But look, Elise, it’s no piece of cake having a dad who wants you to be a jock.”

  “But you’re so smart. Surely that counts for something.”

  “It embarrasses him. He was this big athlete in school. I have to watch what I say, or he thinks I’m putting him down. We got in a big argument the other night because I introduced pheromones into the conversation.”

  “Pheromones?” Elise drew her legs up akimbo.

  “You know, the scent animals give off to their own species. It’s a way of communicating.”


  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Wish I could communicate with my mom that way and not have to talk to her.” Elise turned her head from side to side pretending to sniff something. “She thinks I’m a dork.”

  “Well, you’re not.”

  Elise leaned over for another drag and then stood up and did a cartwheel.

  Ronnie gave an appreciative whistle. “Mom says you’re the most mature young girl she’s ever known and that you have a sense of fashion beyond your years.”

  Elise laughed and shook her head. “Yeah. Mature girls do cartwheels.”

  “I’m serious. She says you have a gift and that maybe you should consider a career in fashion design.”

  “Your mother said that?”

  “Yep. You have a look, Elise, that sets you apart from other people.”

  “Apart from my mother, you mean.”

  “Your mother has nothing to do with it. You’re a lovely anachronism.”

  “Sure I am. But tell me that word again.”

  “Anachronism.”

  “No, silly. The other one.”

  “Pheromones?”

  “Yeah. I like that. What it implies.”

  “Just don’t forget who introduced you to it.” He popped some Tic Tacs in his mouth.

  “I promise.” She pursed her lips. “Pheromones,” she said, letting it roll over her tongue like smoke. “Pheromones.”

  Elise knew it bothered her mother that she seldom dated, yet was friends with Ronnie. On the rare occasion she had a date, Margaret was ecstatic, but Elise felt diminished as soon as a guy laid eyes on her mother. Slender with long shapely legs, Margaret Foster still had the fluid movements of a model, and Elise always resented her for it.

  3

  Hear the news, Dallas?”

  “Well hello to you too, Peyton. This must be some news. I can’t remember the last time you honored me with a phone call.”