Lowcountry Summer

  “He’s back,” I said. “I’m gonna go meet him.”

  “Do you want us to come?” Matthew said.

  “No, it’s probably best if I go by myself. I won’t be long.”

  I began walking down to the dock and Trip turned to see me. His dogs, Mo and Abe, began to run to me.

  “Hey!” he said. “What’s Strickland here for? Running you in for illegal bear hunts again?”

  And then he saw my face. I’m sure it was puffy and red because whenever I cried that was what happened to me.

  “What’s wrong, Caroline? Tell me.”

  “Oh, Trip. I’m so sorry . . .”

  “What? The girls? Are they all right? Tell me!”

  “They’re fine, Trip. It’s Rusty. Oh, Trip, she was heading down to Beaufort to get that puppy for Chloe and there was an accident. A terrible accident.”

  “What are you saying? Is she hurt? Where is she?”

  “Oh, Trip. I’m so sorry. Rusty is gone, Trip. She’s dead. She got in a terrible accident with an eighteen-wheeler and she died right away. She didn’t suffer, Trip. She never even knew what hit her.”

  “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it! How can this be? No! It can’t be!”

  Trip was shouting then and his eyes were darting all around as though Rusty might hop out from a hiding place and this would just be some kind of a really bad joke. Some kind of cruel stunt. He began to shake, and no surprise, he broke down in tears.

  “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you? This is really so?”

  “Yes, that’s why Matthew is here.” I sighed so hard and put my arm around his shoulder. “He heard it on the police radio and went immediately to the scene. It was too late, Trip. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh my God,” Trip said. “Oh my God.”

  The next hour was spent as it is usually spent when these kinds of horrific shocks and devastating losses occur, trying to make sense of something that makes no sense. “Why?” Trip said at least one hundred times, and all we could say was, “I don’t know. This never should have happened. Why her? I don’t know, Trip. This never should have happened.”

  Millie and Mr. Jenkins were in some kind of shock, particularly Millie, who was so disappointed that her angel Oya had not been able to intervene—because, perhaps through her own negligence, her prayers had been offered too late. We told her to stop blaming herself.

  “Millie? Listen to me. It might have been more horrible if you hadn’t asked for mercy. Right? I was supposed to go with her. I could’ve died, too.”

  She looked up at me.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Millie said, and hugged me with all her might. “Praise God you’re safe! Praise God.”

  Mr. Jenkins was filled with grief, too. It was a terrible shock. “She was a fine woman,” he said over and over.

  “Yes, she was,” we would reply.

  Finally, after a period of time that seemed acceptable, I took the reins and began to figure out the details.

  “Do you know if she had a will? I mean, what were her wishes?” I said to Trip.

  “I have no clue about a will,” Trip said. “But I know she meant to be cremated. And she has a brother, Owen. His number is probably in her red leather address book. On her desk.”

  “I’ll find it,” I said, and went upstairs to look. My legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. “I’ll call him.”

  I found it easily and then bumped into Amelia, who was just waking up and on her way to the bathroom.

  “Mornin’, Aunt Caroline. How’re you?” She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. “Whoa! What’s wrong?”

  When I told her, she became terribly upset, talking fast and repeating herself.

  “Wait! She can’t . . . how did this . . . ? When did this happen? Where is she? Did they take her to the hospital? Where’s Dad? What can I do? How did this happen again? Couldn’t they do anything?”

  We went into Belle and Linnie’s room and Amelia brought Chloe in to tell them all. They were stunned and horrified. Chloe cried the hardest, with her head in my lap. Millie must’ve heard the commotion because she was there at the door and then in the middle of our grieving group with a box of tissues for all of us.

  “I just can’t believe it!” Amelia said.

  “But who’s gonna take care of me now?” Chloe said.

  What was left of my heart shattered again.

  “Don’t you worry, baby,” I said. “You still have your daddy. And Millie and I are right here.”

  Millie smiled at me then. So, okay, I may have seemed like I was suddenly willing to step in and take over, but that child’s tears just ripped me to pieces. To be honest, I was stepping in. I wasn’t leaving anybody’s little girl hung out to dry. Not in my family. Even if she was Frances Mae’s.

  “Do you want me to call Eric, Aunt Caroline?” Amelia said.

  “Yes, sweetheart. In a minute. Thanks. Just tell him to get up and dress himself.”

  “What? I mean, should I tell him what’s happened?” Amelia’s eyes grew large with the fear of delivering such an awful piece of news. “I’ve never been in this position before.”

  “No. Let his momma do that,” Millie said. “How about I go pick him up on the golf cart?”

  “That’s probably best,” I said.

  “You come with me, Amelia,” Millie said. “It will be easier for him iffin you’re there, too.”

  “If you all want to tell him, it’s all right,” I said.

  The girls asked a lot of questions, and not surprisingly, they wanted to know why she was on Highway 17 at that hour and on a Sunday to boot. When it was revealed that she was bringing home the puppy for Chloe as a surprise, I thought poor little Chloe was going to collapse.

  “It’s my fault!” she wailed.

  “It ain’t no such thing,” Millie said. “Rusty’s time came, honey, and that’s all there is to it. We never know the hour when God’s gonna call us home. That’s why you have to be very good.”

  “Rusty was good,” Chloe said, looking down at the floor. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I liked her.”

  “So did I,” Amelia said, and hugged Chloe. “She was really good to us.”

  Belle said, “Gotta say, well, Chloe’s right. Rusty was a nice person and she sure threw me a great party yesterday. She really did. I wish I had told her so but I didn’t, and now it’s too late for that. Holy crap. I mean, I wasn’t like in love with her, but she sure was way too young to die. For real. God, I feel terrible.”

  Suddenly all eyes turned to Linnie, who was still under the covers, not saying much.

  “What?” she said, looking very angry. “You want me to say how great she was? How much I wanted to be like her or something?”

  “No, darling,” I said very nicely. “I guess we’re just wondering how you’re feeling? I mean, do you want to talk about it?”

  “What is there to say?” She made one of those awful noises that start in the depth of your throat and convey extreme frustration, and she slammed her fists into her mattress. “We’re the Wimbleys, right? Nothing but one freaking trauma after another! Why can’t I just have a normal family? You know what I mean? Does anybody here know what normal is?”

  The room was quiet then. I did not point out that the responsibility for a fair chunk of the abnormal in her own personal life could be laid at her own feet. Even Chloe realized then how self-centered her sister Linnie was and she was uncomfortable for her.

  “Gosh, Linnie!” Chloe said. “Aren’t you going to miss her? Even a little?”

  Linnie simply glared at her.

  “This isn’t about you, Linnie,” I said, using the quiet and extremely polite voice of matriarchal authority. “It’s about Rusty losing her life. Your daddy is going to be very sad for a long time and he’s going to need his girls to rally and to help him get through this. And I’m gonna be sad, too.” They looked at me and nodded. All of them except Linnie. “All right now,” I said. “You girls get dressed and pul
l up your beds, okay? This is going to be a difficult day, so let’s get going.”

  “Okay,” they said.

  When Millie and I were alone in Rusty’s office, where I decided to make the call to her brother, Millie said, “Miss Lavinia is smiling at you, Caroline. She would say you handled that very well.”

  “Thanks. I guess.” I sighed hard and started looking through Rusty’s address book. “My father used to say that the first rule of power is to use the least amount necessary to get the job done.”

  Millie sighed. “Then Mr. Nevil would be proud, too. I’m going down to get breakfast started. Still gotta eat.”

  “Okay.” I found Owen’s number. “I’m just gonna make this call and I’ll be there.”

  I made the call to Owen Peretti, who was completely floored by the news.

  “Oh God! Oh, no! What can I do?”

  “Well, Trip is going to go down to the morgue to identify . . .”

  Owen said he was getting on the next plane. Rusty was the only family he had. He would call us back with his flight information and could he stay with us? Was there room?

  “Owen? The one thing we’ve got here is room. You can stay with me or Trip. We’ll figure that one out when you get here.”

  I hung up and sat at Rusty’s desk for a few minutes. I shook the mouse of her computer and the Web site for the breeder came into view. I clicked on the toolbar for the contact information and directions and printed it. I checked her recent e-mail, and sure enough, there was a thread of correspondence with the breeder. Rusty had planned to buy Chloe a female cocker spaniel puppy. Twelve weeks old. There was a jpeg attached to one of the e-mails with a picture. The puppy, like all puppies, was absolutely adorable. I was unsure of what to do but the breeder had to be called. So did a lot of other people—Miss Sweetie, Miss Nancy, Rusty’s old students. I decided I would coach Amelia and enlist her help to go through Rusty’s contacts, and notify them as soon as we had a plan. And there were Trip’s associates to consider as well. He had a list, too.

  I went downstairs and everyone was gathered around the table eating scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon. Even Matthew was chipping in, buttering a pile of toast. Everyone was there except my brother.

  “Hey, Mom,” Eric said, and got up to give me a hug. “I can’t believe . . .”

  “Yeah, me either,” I said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay. Just sucks, that’s all. I guess I should say ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ but, man, this is so awful.”

  “Yes, it is.” I kissed Eric on his forehead. “We’ll celebrate double next year. Where’s Trip?”

  “Feeding the dogs,” Millie said.

  “Right,” I said, knowing better. “I’ll be back in a few. I’m taking the golf cart.”

  The dogs were indeed devouring big dishes of kibble down at the kennels but Trip was nowhere in sight. I knew where he was and minutes later I found him. He was on my dock, leaning over the rail, trying to gather himself together.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Like shit,” he said.

  “Brilliant summation,” I said, hoping attorney humor might help him a bit.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He shook his head. “Jesus, Caroline. You know what? I still don’t believe it. I mean, I know once I see her in the morgue I will, but right now? It just doesn’t seem real. We just had coffee together a couple of hours ago and boom! Now she’s dead?”

  “I know. It’s completely surreal. I spoke to her brother, Owen. He’s coming.”

  “Good. How’d he take the news?”

  “Same as the rest of us. Terrible. Rusty was his only family.”

  “Oh Lord. Poor guy. I hardly knew him. To tell you the truth, they didn’t talk much.”

  “They’ll talk a lot less now.” Gallows humor.

  “Man, is that the truth? So, now what?”

  “Now we take a deep breath, go to Charleston, do the ID, arrange for a funeral home to collect her body, and do what we have to do.”

  “McAlister-Smith’s?”

  “Yeah, either them or Stuhr’s. They’re both top-notch. I know someone at McAlister’s.”

  “Then McAlister’s it is. Should we call them?”

  “I’ll make the call,” I said. “They’re going to want to know if we want to have a memorial service there.”

  “No, let’s do it here or the chapel. I think the chapel. What do you think? Too small?”

  “No, that’s perfect. If it’s a big crowd, I’ll get a tent. We can have a reception afterward at the house. My house. I have better parking. McAlister’s will help us compose something for the newspapers. Do you want to run it in The State, too?”

  “Why not? Should we call that reverend? What was his name? Charles Moore? Someone should officiate. God, I haven’t been to church in so long he’ll probably hang up the phone when he hears my name.”

  “Honey, when he hears your name he’ll see dollar signs. Not to worry. Just write him a check.”

  “How can you joke at a time like this?” He said this and looked at me as though I had no shame.

  Well, I stared back at him and said, “Who’s joking?”

  “How much do you think is appropriate? I mean, what’s the number?”

  “Just tell him what’s happened and you’d also like to make a contribution to the church as Mother used to do. You know, does he have a special need?”

  “Wait! I remember that guy! He’ll say he needs a new roof!”

  I couldn’t help but giggle then. Reverend Moore did know how to work the wallets of his flock, especially the ones who had some major long green in them. But here was Trip, once again, playing the role of El Cheapo.

  “Trip?”

  “I know. I know. Don’t worry. I’ll do the right thing.”

  “We should get going,” I said.

  We walked back toward the golf cart together. He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder.

  “Hey, Caroline?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. You’d do the same for me.”

  “Yes, I would. I mean it. Thanks.”

  A plan of sorts was made. Amelia and Millie would make the immediate phone calls and I would go down to Charleston with Trip and Matthew. Matthew took the rest of the day off to be with us.

  By late in the day, when we got back from Charleston, which, by the way, was the most emotional . . . it will be a while before I can talk about it, but by the time we returned, the reality of our tragedy was beginning to sink in. There were a dozen or more cars at Trip’s and it looked like there was a party going on. There was. But a pretty somber one.

  One of Trip’s clients greeted us at the door.

  “Hey, Trip. Sorry about your loss, man. Terrible.” This unidentified scruffy-looking man, who was on his way out, stopped, shook Trip’s hand like he was pumping water from a well. Then he said, “I brought you some kind of a pound cake from the wife. She said you’d need it and it sure looks like you do. And I brought you about five pounds of fish. All cleaned and ready to release into the grease. Lotta folks in there. Let me know when you have the, um, details, okay? I left my number with your girl.”

  “Thanks,” Trip said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Bad news travels like wildfire, doesn’t it?” Matthew said.

  “It sure looks like it,” I said. “I need a glass of wine.”

  “Me, too,” Matthew said.

  “Who the heck was that, Trip?”

  “One of my regulars,” he said. “I’m taking all comers these days.”

  “That was Joe Maloney, town rabble-rouser,” Matthew said. “I lock him up, your brother here gets him out. Part of our revolving-door policy down at the hoosegow.”

  “Good grief,” I said.

  The porch was bulging with people who were having a glass of tea, or something stronger, as the cocktail hour was nigh, after all. Trip disappeared into the crowd and Matthew and
I made our way toward the kitchen. I saw the older girls and was pleased to see that they were all dressed nicely and that even Eric had put on a dress shirt. I squeezed his arm.

  “Where’s Chloe?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders and continued talking to his cousins. For as bad as the situation was, it did me a lot of good to see Eric and his cousins sticking together. I went upstairs to put away my purse, and on the way back, I checked Chloe’s room. She was right there on the floor playing with a baby doll with her back to the door. She did not see me or hear me coming and I heard her talking to the doll in a very angry voice.

  “You’re ugly! You’re stupid! And, you’re bad! Yes, you are! And I’m going to cut you up in little pieces and feed you to the chickens! Oh, cry all you want, but you killed the queen and now you have to die!”

  She picked the doll up by its feet and slammed its head on the floor over and over.

  Now, I’m no shrink and we know pretty much how I feel about them since my ex-husband is one, but I think it was obvious that Chloe was acting out. She still thought she was to blame for Rusty’s death. Had Linnie told her that? Probably.

  “Chloe?”

  She stopped and turned to me. She didn’t say a word.

  “May I come in?”

  She nodded.

  I went into her room and knelt down right beside her.

  “Sweetheart? Can I hold your baby?” She let the doll drop and I picked her up, cradling her in my arms as though she were the most precious baby in all the world. “Look, Chloe! She’s just a baby! Babies don’t hurt anyone on purpose and they’re too young to take out grown-up anger on, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “You’re still my little baby niece and you’re still your momma’s baby and you always will be. Don’t you know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we’re not going to let anyone hurt our baby because babies can do no wrong. You’re only in the second grade, for heaven’s sake! Second graders are just too innocent to plot and scheme and carry out something terrible enough to die for. Aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened today is not your fault in any way, shape, or form. Do you believe that?”

  “No.”