He looked up from his phone as Stephanie gazed at him, flipping her thick, dark hair behind her shoulders. The smell of her spicy perfume nearly turned his stomach.
“Want to get a night cap?”
Jed knew he shouldn’t let her drive in this condition, but he had no desire to get a night cap. He took a step back. “Listen, Stephanie. Let me drive you home. I think you’ve had a bit much, and I wouldn’t feel right about letting you get behind the wheel.”
She clapped her long, brightly painted nails on his arm before he could finish. “Okay!” She examined the garage. “Where’s your car?” Then she winked as she locked hers back up. “Maybe you can bring me back to get mine in the morning.”
He lifted his phone. “I don’t think so. I’ve got a little emergency on my hands.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Great,” she muttered.
They walked to his old Land Rover, which was caked in Rascal hair and a Rascal smell that was not to Stephanie’s liking. The woman couldn’t get out of the car fast enough when Jed pulled up to her place on upper King Street. She beat at her little dress as the black dog hair fell off of it on the sidewalk.
“This is a Roberto Cavalli.”
“Sorry,” he said as he walked her up the stairs to her front door.
“Me too.” Her tone was sarcastic as she swung around on the threshold, her long, dark hair swatting him in the face. She put her hands on her curvy hips. “What a disappointment you are, Jed Young.” She glared up at him, and he shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in his jeans like a sheepish schoolboy.
“Sorry again,” he said. Then she closed the door in his face, and he could hear her mumbling to herself as her heels clapped on the kitchen floor.
“Good-bye,” he said as he turned and strode quickly back to his car.
Once he closed the door, he grinned at the dog hair and then dialed Jane Anne’s number.
“Jed,” the lady said. “You know about Marney?”
“I just heard,” he said.
“Well, I don’t mean to get in the middle of your business, but I thought you’d like to know that Marney has summoned Julia home for a chat.”
“And she’s coming?”
“Tomorrow, I believe,” she said.
“Thank you for letting me know, Jane Anne.”
The lady cleared her throat, reminding him of a schoolmarm. “And you’re going to call her, right?”
He chuckled. Jane Anne was more Southern belle busybody than schoolmarm, and he appreciated her for that. “You bet I am, cousin.”
“Good boy,” she said. “Good night!”
Jed started his car and drove back to his apartment on Rutledge Avenue. He let Rascal out, and they raced together over to the Horse Lot where he threw the ball for him over and over beneath the buzz of the streetlamps.
Marney was dying. Julia was coming home to speak with her. Jed hoped for one chance to talk with her—to look her in the eye, to see if there was any inkling of mutual longing, if there was any way he could stop her from marrying next month.
He chased Rascal back and forth across the grassy field over and over until they both finally collapsed in the center and wrestled one another beneath the clear November sky as the stars, millions of miles away and already burned out, still glimmered.
CHAPTER 32
Julia
Julia nearly finished her budget proposal for the dean. She bought a ticket online and left for Charleston the next day. She would just be in and out because she had to put the final touches on the proposal and give an exam the following morning.
Her mother picked her up at the airport and delivered her directly to Aunt Dot’s where Marney and the children had been staying because of Marney’s need to be near the cancer center.
The children were waiting for her on the porch of Aunt Dot’s old home on the corner of Broad and Legare Street. Charlie and Heath ran out to greet her when her car pulled up, as Etta slowly made her way down the steps. She embraced them all hard and pulled back to get a good look at them. They had changed so much over the last six months. Heath looked at least two inches taller, and she had chopped off her hair in a stylish bob that made her look older. Etta’s hair was longer, and she was filling out just slightly. She was taking everything in as usual, recording it in that imaginative brain of hers where Julia expected it to show up in an image that spoke louder than words in the coming days and weeks. Charlie seemed bigger too. He had lost some of the baby fat in his cheeks, but there was still enough to want to kiss them over and over again, which Julia couldn’t help but do as he grinned and said, “Jewellllla. You came back.”
Aunt Dot looked much older. She had a walker and a tremble in her hands that made her look particularly fragile. But she had the warm smile that Julia had always remembered so fondly and a kind of inner strength unlike many people Julia knew.
As Julia watched her hobble out of the front door onto the piazza, she recalled the summer she was eight, when she and Meg stayed for two weeks with Aunt Dot while her parents took a vacation to France. How Aunt Dot would give them coffee with a lot of cream and sugar with breakfast each morning and tell them stories about when she and their daddy were little. They would play endless games of go fish and gin rummy and concentration, and at night Aunt Dot would read to them from her Bible—wild stories about a man in a lions’ den and another in the belly of an enormous fish. She would snap the book closed when she was finished and look them both in the eye. “You are loved by God who made you. He came to earth and gave his life because he loves you. Do you understand how precious that makes you?”
Julia remembered how her heart swelled when she heard those words each night as a young girl. They were like life to her or like sunlight, something even more powerful than art, and they remained etched in her heart even to this day.
After a lot of chattering from the children (except Etta, who only spoke with her eyes and let out one guarded smile), Aunt Dot nodded toward the upstairs. “She’s waiting on you, sweetheart.”
Julia nodded solemnly and headed up the old stairwell, its wall still covered in old black-and-white photographs and thick wallpaper with pink rose bouquets from the early ’60s. The wallpaper was browning and curling slightly where the seams met. Julia resisted the urge to press it down.
Julia knocked lightly and then slowly pushed open the door of the guest bedroom. It made a slow whine and she stepped in. Marney was sitting on a chair in front of the window overlooking Broad Street. She was draped in a yellow patch of afternoon sunlight, dust particles spinning in the wide beam in a way that made the whole scene seem ethereal.
But the closer Julia stepped, the more she realized how thin Marney was, how weak. Her face was nearly skeletal, and beneath the afghan Julia could see how knobby her knees and how reedy her legs were. Her hair had continued to thin, and it had grayed a lot since the last time Julia had seen her on her doorstep that evening last March. The smell of the room was an eerie combination of mustiness and medicine.
“Hi, Julia,” Marney said as she licked her dry lips. She slowly took a sip of water from a glass with a bendable straw on the side table and motioned for her to come in. Julia stepped back and closed the door until it made a quiet click, then walked over to the end of the unmade bed where she smoothed out a section and took a seat on the very edge.
“Thank you for coming.” Marney looked out of the window at the clear blue November sky, so crisp compared to the humid haze of June, then back to Julia.
Marney’s eyes were still those enormous azure discs, and though they had dulled some, they still struck you with their fierceness and their hunger.
Julia nodded. She couldn’t seem to find the right words for this strange, sad moment so she just uttered, “I’m sorry.”
Marney cleared her throat. “This is it.” She coughed into her hand and Julia noticed how loose the skin on her forearms was. She remembered the full-bodied Marney of their youth—so curvy and solid, so fully fles
hed out. Marney had always been physically stronger than Julia. She was the only one on the waitstaff at Dockside Restaurant who could carry an entire tray of eight entrées on her shoulder. She was the gal the frat boys always picked first at the intramural football games at Georgia.
Now Julia looked back into the blue eyes and Marney opened her mouth slowly. “I’ll be gone soon.”
“Don’t say that.” Julia repositioned herself on the bed and the old mattress groaned. “You’re going to fight this.”
Marney shook her head no. It took effort for her to speak, and Julia wanted to give her room and time. As much as she loathed Marney, this was a moment in which she just needed to simply be still and listen.
Marney breathed slowly, the afghan rising and falling. She kept her mouth half-open and it reminded Julia of a small, dark cave.
“It’s not my place to ask.” Marney’s voice was like dry gravel, but she pushed on. “But I have to . . .” She coughed again, this time without bothering to lift her bony hand to her mouth. “. . . for the sake of Heath and Etta . . . and Charlie.”
Julia’s heart began to pound rapidly. She suddenly felt frightened of this scene and had an urge to bolt to the door. Ask what? she thought. Was this some sort of Marney trick she was about to pull off even in her drastic and sickly state? She would be one to go down swinging, and Julia wouldn’t put anything past her.
Lord, have mercy, Julia thought to herself. She gripped the edge of the bed and braced for whatever the blow might be. Christ, have mercy.
“When I pass . . .” Marney sucked her teeth and looked out of the window as a horn erupted somewhere down the busy street. Her eyes were glassy and bulbous from that side angle and the sunlight seemed to shine right through them. Now she turned back to Julia. “Will you take them?”
Julia’s throat felt dry now, and her heart was knocking around like a wild animal in the cage of her chest. The room smelled even more antiseptic than before. And she thought there was the slightest hint of mildew too. How could she answer such a request?
She stood immediately and saw a few stars. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker by the moment, and she felt like she had to escape or she’d be trapped there forever. As if glioblastoma mulitforme was an infectious disease. As if death itself was communicable. And maybe it was.
Julia had so much she wanted to say to Marney, but how could she now? In this state? Julia made a fist as if to shake off the dizziness and all of the selfishness Marney possessed, as if to beat back the thick, stifling air. Yes, the children were precious and she cared for them, but she couldn’t possibly commit to raising them, to rearranging her entire life for them. It wasn’t fair. And she probably wasn’t the best one to rear them anyway.
After their years at Edisto, Manhattan would be a complete culture shock. They would be miserable. Simon would be miserable. Life, as she had built it so carefully, so steadfastly through the years, would cease.
“How could I . . . ,” she whispered, sitting back down. “How could I possibly?” Julia was surprised by the tightening of her throat and the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. She had trouble holding them back, and she had trouble catching her breath.
Marney nodded her head. She closed her eyes and did not speak as whole minutes passed. Had she fallen asleep? How many people had she sat in this room and asked the same thing of, Julia now wondered.
“What else am I supposed to do?” Marney’s voice was bitter and her eyes were still closed, though they seemed to move back and forth beneath the thin lids. Julia sensed Marney’s agony and anger at her situation. She felt for her, but she couldn’t take this on.
“There has to be someone else or some other way. You have to get better.”
Marney opened her eyes quickly and gazed directly into Julia’s. “You’re the one,” she said. “You have to take them.” She gripped both arms of the chair with her thin, jaundiced hands. “For your father.”
Julia stood quickly. “I need some air,” she said. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She couldn’t stop to talk to the kids, to let them see her in this condition. She crept down the stairs and out through the kitchen onto the back porch where she ran through the garden and then out onto the sidewalk. Then she bolted up Broad Street to Colonial Lake. She circled the lake again and again as the tears streamed down her face.
Finally, she collapsed on a bench. Then she pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket. It had been buzzing every few minutes since she walked into Aunt Dot’s house, but she hadn’t bothered to look at it.
Her eyes widened as she saw Jed’s name. He had sent her a text. Call me before you leave town. How did he know she was here? She thought of dialing Simon and telling him about the meeting with Marney, but she knew it would only upset him. He had little patience for her old life. Besides, his nerves were already on edge this week as he was preparing for a meeting with the MOMA board.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she dialed up Jed.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Sitting on a bench at Colonial Lake.”
“I’ll be there in ten.” She heard the phone click, and she slumped down on the bench and rested her head. She could hear the late afternoon joggers and bike riders and strollers rolling by her. A child’s voice said, “Is that woman asleep, Mama?”
Jed’s well-worn Land Rover pulled up moments later. Rascal was barking in the backseat, wiping his nose all over the back windows. Jed cracked each window for his dog, then jumped out of the car in his pale blue scrubs and running shoes and dashed over to her. She stood and jumped into his arms, and he embraced her hard for whole minutes.
She held him tighter than she’d ever held anyone or anything, breathing in his smell and the warmth of his broad chest, and she wept, hardly able to catch her breath, for so long that the sun had nearly set and the sky had become a pinkish-purple, streaked with low-lying clouds.
He rubbed her back as she wept. His hand seemed as wide as her entire torso, and she felt so very protected—if but for a moment—within his arms. When she finally looked up, he smiled down and said, “How about some tea?”
She nodded and got into his car, Rascal leaping into her lap and licking her face. She rubbed the dog’s soft scruff and buried her face in his sleek black fur.
They went to Kudu, a coffeehouse on Vanderhorst, where Jed ordered two chai lattes and found a spot for them in the back corner by an antelope mount.
“So tell me what’s going on,” he said as he set down the steaming, frothy cups and took a seat opposite her at the table.
“Marney wants me to take the children,” she leaned in and said quietly, “if she doesn’t make it.”
He took a slow sip from his mug and gazed at her. What a handsome man he was. Tall, dark, brown-eyed, broad-shouldered, youthful. But more than that, he was caring. He had a way of exuding warmth and compassion and concern, and he was sending that all her way as he stared into her eyes.
“It doesn’t look good for her, Julia,” he said. “I’ve known several cases, and she’s right to prepare for what is likely the inevitable.”
Julia balled her hands into two tight fists. Then she gripped the edge of the table and leaned into him. “What am I supposed to do, Jed? Call up my fiancé and say, ‘Hey, Simon, we’re going to adopt three kids. My half sisters and half brother. And move them in with us. Hope that’s not too much of a curveball for you, love’?”
Jed nodded empathetically. He didn’t speak, and she was grateful.
“Marney completely changed my life as I knew it once already.” Julia could feel her temples pulse. There was a large container of bitterness sealed off somewhere in her, and she felt as though someone was peeling off its lid. “Should I let her do that to me again?”
She pursed her lips and looked out the café window where college kids zoomed by on bikes and skateboards and their own two feet. She noticed a man outside of an Italian restaurant speaking his native tongue into a cell phone. Th
en she thought of the children. Heath, Charlie, Etta. She probably sounded like the cruelest woman in the world. Like the wicked half sister from some modern-day fairy tale. It wasn’t their fault. None of this. But were they her responsibility? For the next twenty or so years? Is that what was best for anyone?
She felt Jed watching her. It was as if he were willing to wait forever while she worked this through in her mind. He took a sip of his tea and sat back in his chair. She noticed for the first time that he was in need of a shave. He must have been in a long surgery today, and here he was sitting with her—just sitting.
“What do you think will happen to the children?” she said to him. It seemed like a silly question to ask of someone who was not a part of her family. But she needed to get to the end of these questions like a blind woman feeling her way around an unfamiliar room.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “What about your aunt?”
Julia shook her head. “She looked awfully fragile today. She’s in her late seventies. She’s older than my dad. I don’t see how she could do it.”
He nodded. “What about your sister?”
Julia swallowed hard. “She loathes those children . . . She’s more bitter than anyone. I can’t imagine her taking them. In fact, she’d probably love to see them thrown into the foster care system.”
Those words, foster care system. When they came out of Julia’s mouth, she felt sick to her stomach, and the tears came back. “I don’t know what to do, Jed.”
He reached over and put his large hands on top of hers and rubbed them gently. He looked at her until she met his deep brown eyes. “You’ll figure it out, Julia. You will.”
She blew into her napkin so hard he couldn’t help but chuckle a little, and she did too.
“Lovely, huh?” she said. Then she looked at her cell phone. “I’ve got to get to the airport. My flight leaves in an hour and a half.”
He cleared his throat and readjusted his posture. She could tell he wanted to say something, and she looked up, wiped her eyes, and gave him her full attention.
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