Moon Over Edisto

by Beth Webb Hart

  “Don’t try me, son,” she said, then turned to her mother, who was wringing her hands by the pittosporum bushes . . . as clueless as always, Meg thought, as to how and why things had all gone so suddenly wrong.

  “We have to go, Mother,” she said.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jed

  Jed strode briskly down Savage Street. It was dark, but he thought he saw Julia’s rental car parked on the street so he pulled into the first available spot and headed toward Mary Ellen Bennett’s house.

  Maybe they’d still be having dessert. He’d gotten out of the set-up date as quickly as possible. It was something his colleagues, Dana and Rick Strozier, had arranged weeks ago with Dana’s first cousin, Stephanie, who owned her own wedding-planning business in Charleston. It kind of gave Jed the hives just to think about dating a wedding planner, but Dana and Rick had been talking her up for months. One night not too long ago—after they all finished a six-hour operation involving the removal of three separate portions of a man’s large intestine—Dana pressed him again about it, and he said, “What do I have to lose?”

  They’d met at the bar at Husk for a drink. A drink to him meant just a drink, but she’d ordered several appetizers and more than one blackberries-in-champagne cocktail. She was nice enough. Attractive in that sort of carefully made-up and put-together way. She had a bridesmaid luncheon and a rehearsal dinner to plan the next day, so he thought it would all go very quickly, but she wanted to talk on and on about her life, the local celebrity weddings she’d coordinated, and her adventures traveling the world after business school. He was relieved when she got a call from her current bridezilla who was having a meltdown over a dress malfunction at a nearby hotel.

  She rolled her eyes as she put down her phone. “I better go see about her.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Best of luck with the weddings.”

  She’d jutted out her lower lip, which looked as though it had been surgically augmented. Had she wanted him to talk her into staying longer? He just wasn’t up to it.

  Then she’d shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. But I’m going to tell Dana you didn’t even spring for dinner.”

  He’d laughed cautiously. Then he quickly paid the bill, walked her to her car, and darted over to the old Bennett home in hopes of seeing Julia.

  As he walked toward the open privacy door of the single house, he heard voices and the clamoring of dishes. He stepped up onto the piazza and peered through the front door that was open.

  Through the foyer he could see the half-cleared dining room with the candles still glowing. His second cousin, Jane Anne Thornton, peered around from the butler pantry.

  “Jed!” she cackled. She was a tiny little spitfire of a woman, in her midseventies by now, and she had on a hot-pink apron and her signature gold charm bracelet that was as big as she was and clamored loudly wherever she went.

  She called over her shoulder, “Come see who’s come to call, Mary Ellen!”

  “Oh my,” said the voice in the other room. “I’m not sure I can take any more excitement.”

  The elegant woman was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she rounded the corner. Her eyes widened with surprise. “Are you Jed?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t contain his big grin or his delight over the amazing smells coming from the kitchen.

  He embraced her and then his cousin. “I’m sorry I’m so late.” He looked back and forth from the dining room to the living room. “I was hoping that y’all might be eating dessert. I really wanted to see Julia . . . and you too.”

  Mary Ellen put down the towel on the butler’s pantry counter and dusted off her hands. “Well, I’m so sorry you missed everyone. It all broke up very quickly after little Charlie got hurt.”

  “Little Charlie was here? What happened?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Mary Ellen said this in the direction of Jane Anne. Jed had the feeling that they had talked about it since all of the other guests had left.

  “Julia brought the kids because Glenda and Skeeter were both ill. They were playing outside after dinner with Meg’s children.”

  “Margaret,” Jane Anne corrected her.

  She chuckled. “Yes, Margaret. Anyway, Little Charlie got hit in the head with a croquet mallet and the blame was flying every which way—”

  Jane Anne cocked her hip and pointed at Jed. “But we know who did it.”

  “Is he all right?” Jed pictured little Charlie’s face. He hated the idea of him in pain.

  “Well, yes,” Mary Ellen said. “Julia just called to say they were on the way home from the ER. It was a pretty long gash, but not real deep, thankfully. Julia said they just put some of that skin glue on it, and it really wasn’t too bad at all.”

  Jed exhaled. “Wow. I did really miss it, didn’t I?”

  “Well, you must sit down and have some dinner or at least some dessert if you’ve already eaten.”

  “I haven’t eaten,” Jane Anne said. “And Mary Ellen was going to make me and our other neighbor a big plate.”

  “I’m here,” a burly voice called from the piazza. “And I’m hungry.”

  “Well, come on in, Nate,” Mary Ellen said.

  A gruff gentleman rounded the corner. “My mouth has been watering all day from the smells coming from this kitchen.”

  Mary Ellen beamed with pride. “Jed, this is my next-door neighbor, Nate Gallagher.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Jed put out his hand.

  Nate returned the handshake. “So this must be the surgeon.”

  “Yes,” Jane Anne said. “He’s just getting here too, and we will be offended if he doesn’t join us, won’t we, Nate?”

  “Most certainly,” the man said as he winked at each of the ladies. “Plus, it would be a terrible mistake”—he pointed to Mary Ellen—“to miss one of this lady’s meals. She might very well be the best cook in Charleston.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Jed smiled and turned to the hostess. “I remember your meals on Edisto with great fondness.”

  Mary Ellen blushed and swatted away the compliment with the back of her hand.

  “In fact, I’ve become a bit of a cook myself.” Jed turned to her. “I’ve taken a few classes at the Maverick Kitchen and Alice’s.” He shook his head. “But I’ve never been able to replicate your shrimp and grits or your deviled eggs, and I’ve never found anyone else who could do it either, not even the best restaurants in town.”

  Mary Ellen laughed a delightful laugh as Jane Anne pulled out the chair at an unused place setting at the end of the table. “Have a seat, then,” she said. “You are in for a treat.”

  As excited as Jed was to eat, he felt a longing in his heart as he stepped toward the table. His desire to see Julia was palpable, and he had to find a way to see her again before she left.

  “May I make a phone call real quick? I’m so sorry. I just want to catch Julia before she goes over the bridge and out of cell service.”

  “Well, of course,” Mary Ellen said. He could tell she was trying not to meet Jane Anne’s eyes, which were already twinkling, probably with all sorts of notions. “We’re in no hurry.”

  “No hurry at all,” Jane Anne said. “We’ve got all night. Go on in the living room and call that beautiful girl.”

  “Jane Anne,” Mary Ellen admonished.

  “Well, she is beautiful.” The lady shrugged her shoulders and walked toward the kitchen as if she owned the place. “Finish cleaning this crystal with us, Nate, and then we’ll warm up some plates.”

  Jed smiled as the two ladies moved toward the kitchen with the gruff man following behind them, then he stepped into the stately living room, sat down on the Chippendale sofa, and hit Julia’s number in his contacts.

  “Hey,” the warm voice said from the other end of the line.

  “Hey there,” he said. “I’m glad I caught you.” His voice cracked as if he were fourteen again. He cleared his throat. “I heard you had quite the evening.”

&n
bsp; “Boy, word travels fast around the hospital, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Actually, I’m at your mother’s house right now. I was hoping to catch you all for dessert. She filled me in on the whole thing. How’s the little guy doing?”

  “Well, after we promised him a full day of fishing tomorrow and a candy bar from the gas station on the way home, he was hunky dory. There was a lot of blood at first, but thankfully it wasn’t too bad and they just sprayed some of that glue on. He seems right as rain now. He’s gobbling up his Kit Kat and slurping down a can of Sprite.”

  “Ah, to be the age when candy was the cure-all.”

  “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she said.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry I missed you tonight.” He couldn’t hold back. He was too tired and old to play any games.

  “Don’t be,” she said. “You wouldn’t have wanted to partake of that particular gathering. My sister is like a stone, and I’m pretty sure she can’t stand me. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Well, I’m glad you got to see your mother and your nephews and niece.”

  “Me too,” she said. “I won’t be seeing them for a while so I’m glad it worked out.” She answered a question from one of the children in the backseat, then she said, “So how was your appointment?”

  His cheeks reddened. She was onto him. “Nothing special. Kind of relieved it’s over.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, I hope it wasn’t too painful.”

  “Listen,” he said, “I want to cook for you one more time before you leave. I think I can switch some things around at work. Will you let me come out and make you all dinner on Friday? As kind of a farewell?”

  She paused for a moment. “Yeah. That would be nice. Our crab trap is full if you want to use those. I was thinking of making some crab cakes in the next day or so.”

  “That’s one of my specialties,” he said. “I’ll be out there midafternoon day after tomorrow, and I can probably have dinner ready at six or so. I’ll pick y’all up by boat.”

  “Sounds nice,” she said. “Oh, and don’t leave my mother’s without getting some food. She cooked enough for an army.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “She and Jane Anne are making me a plate as we speak.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “Tell the kids hi for me, and tell Charlie I’ll take a good look at him when I get out there.”

  “I will,” she said.

  He swallowed hard. “And let me know if you need anything between now and Friday, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Good night, Jed.”

  “Good night, Julia.”

  “Hmm-hm.” Jane Anne was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Dinner is served,” she said. “But you may need a moment to wash that blush off of your face.” She winked at him.

  He stood and looked around the living room for a moment. There were photos of Julia and Meg everywhere—Christmases, summers sailing, out on the dock at Edisto. There was even one of Mr. Bennett with his arms around his two daughters. Julia was about eleven and Meg was eight. They were standing in front of a huge catch of fish—five flounder and half a dozen trout.

  Then Jed turned to walk toward the dining room where the amazing smells were coming from and saw heaven on a plate—fried chicken, honey ham, tomato pie, deviled eggs, spinach salad.

  “Now save room for dessert!” Mary Ellen said as they all took their places.

  “And go slow,” Jane Anne said. “We want to hear about everything going on in your life.”

  “Yes, ma’ams,” he said to them. Being in their presence made him miss his own mother. He nodded at Nate, who seemed to have the same sentiment in his eyes. One that said, “We’re lucky men tonight, aren’t we?”

  Jed couldn’t have been happier to sit and chat with this band of senior Savage Street neighbors, and he did so until it was nearly midnight, sampling every dessert, sipping delicious sweet tea and then decaf coffee.

  When he walked out to his car, as full and satisfied as he’d ever been, he looked up to the moon that was waning ever so slightly and uttered the first prayer he’d said in a long, long time.

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Margaret

  Meg curled herself up on the upholstered porch swing on her back deck, tucking her legs beneath her white eyelet nightgown. She had wept all the way over the Ravenel Bridge, all the way down Mathis Ferry Road, and all the way to the back of their Mount Pleasant subdivision where her three-story white clapboard home sat at the end of a cul-de-sac that overlooked the inmost fingertip of Molasses Creek.

  Preston had dealt with the children without even asking: the bathing, the story reading, the teeth brushing, the vocabulary quizzing, the prayers. And now, as the last of the bedroom lights on the third floor was turned out, she balled herself up even tighter as he made his way out and took a seat beside her.

  “You all right, honey?” He reached over and rubbed her knobby knees.

  “No.” She looked out toward the marsh. Something was rustling in the tall grass. A squirrel or a possum or a raccoon. Its marble eyes flashed for a moment and then there was a kerplunk sound and the parting of the water as it crossed the narrow waterway to the opposite bank.

  Preston yawned, untucked his golf shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair. She knew he’d had a deposition that morning and a Charlestowne Prep board meeting that afternoon. No doubt he was exhausted.

  “C’mon now,” he said. “It was a difficult night, but it’s not the end of the world.”

  Difficult didn’t begin to describe it. And neither did bad, tough, or challenging. Meg felt exposed. As if someone had ripped the mask off of her face for a moment, revealing the spindly little sister who didn’t have any natural eye or artistic talent. The child who had no scholarships or awards or specific career aspirations. The kid sister whose own kid probably assaulted one of the little vagabonds, sending him to the emergency room. And all of this after she had bragged and bragged about how exceptional her children were, about how superior her mothering was. About how her life’s work was yielding the sweetest of fruit.

  Preston leaned over to massage her neck, but she stiffened. He fell back into the cushions, rocking the swing slightly. Then he watched the moon above the live oak trees as it cast its soft light on the creek. The beauty of the night made Meg all the more miserable, and she sucked her teeth as she held back the tears.

  “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  She gripped the swing’s chain and cleared her throat. Then she swung her head toward him. “You can stop acting like Julia is the bee’s knees.” She scoffed and narrowed her eyes. “Just because she went off to New York and made a living painting bizarre, pointless images in tacky colors.”

  Preston gave her a side-angled glance. “The bee’s knees?” He chuckled. “Honey, I know you’ve got some wounds from your childhood, but—”

  “Don’t go there.” She held up her small, manicured hand. “Don’t lecture me about my childhood when yours was downright idyllic.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

  Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. “You’ve had everything, Preston. And you’ve always had it: two normal parents who stayed together, every material thing imaginable, an exceptional education, a well-paying job your father’s friends hired you to do.”

  Preston shook his head and a little burst of air escaped his lips. “Okay, you win, Margaret. Your life was harder than mine. Your dad was a little crazy and your mom was a little clueless.” He shook his head and met her gaze straight on. “But even so, you were loved. And that’s a lot more than a lot of people can claim. You can’t deny that.”

  They both sat stone still for several minutes, and Meg became suddenly aware of the crickets chirping. Loved, loved, loved, she thought she heard in their repetitive calling, backing Preston up like a unanimous and unyielding jury.

>   Eventually her husband stood and stretched and looked back at her. “I’m no shrink, babe. But you and I both know that you can’t hold on to this forever. Whatever it is that ties you in a knot about your family.” He leaned down and stared at her until she looked up. “It’s going to eat you up, Margaret. And it has the potential to devour our marriage and our kids too.”

  She turned away from his gaze. There was a gentle breeze that lifted the Spanish moss on the live oaks up and back down again, and it rustled the stiff, long fronds of the palmettos. She heard Preston sigh. Then he stepped away, calling back over his shoulder, “I’m going to check the evening news and the baseball scores, all right?”

  Meg sat still as a statue, looking away as he walked back to the door. She heard the doorknob click and then the light come on in the den and then the muffled sound of the television. She looked back at her house and spotted the blue glow of her computer on the kitchen table. She hadn’t posted anything on Facebook today. And she wondered, for a moment, what it would be like if people actually posted what was going on in their lives, what was ripping their hearts apart, what was turning them to stone. Perhaps she would write in her status box, Wounds from my family of origin may destroy my marriage and the lives of my children. Perhaps she would post the image that she had yet to shake after all of these years: driving out to the Edisto house to surprise her father one summer afternoon when she was seventeen. Finding her father embracing her sister’s friend on the porch, a little too long, a little too close. Then meeting the girl’s enormous blue eyes as she turned and stared Meg down. Meg was no fool. She knew just what those eyes were saying as her father backed away and hurried out to greet his daughter: Isn’t this too bad for you, kid sister? Isn’t this too, too bad for you and your sweet little family?

  Meg kept the secret from Preston and her friends for as long as she could. She went off to Wofford College that next month and displayed the silver-framed Christmas picture of her family in her dorm room as if they were one happy unit. She pledged Tri-Delt after a long rush season, she studied history and English literature, she joined the community service organization and volunteered at the local soup kitchen, and she met Preston at the University of South Carolina on the weekends for football games and fraternity parties.