Porch Lights

  I sniffed hard, wiped my eyes, climbed the steps, opened the screen door, and went inside. He was at the far end of the porch playing with the dogs, scratching them behind their ears. He stood.

  “Don’t get up,” I said.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? You been crying? You never cry!”

  “Allergies. It’s pollen from the sea oats. I get this from time to time.” I took off my sneakers and reopened the door, knocked the sand out of them, and left them on the top step under the overhang.

  “What the hell did you do to your hair? You cut it!”

  “Well, aren’t you observant?”

  “I thought you knew I liked it better long!”

  “It’s my hair. Not yours. So, don’t concern yourself with it. And speaking of hell? Just what the hell are you doing here?” Stella and Stanley got up and came over to me and licked my legs. Then they took another lick and another lick . . . “Stop licking me, you crazy animals!”

  “I brought a hurricane preparation kit.”

  Nothing short of a nuclear disaster could make the dogs stop licking my legs. I kept trying to push them away, but it was in vain. They were snacking on my new body lotion.

  “That’s nice. For what? I think that over the past decade I’ve been able to hold the Salty Dog together in one piece.”

  “I always loved that name.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I know. Anyway, Arlene’s up to a category three. That’s her name. Arlene.”

  “Great. Every Arlene I ever knew was a raging psychopath.”

  “Humph. Where’s my grandson?”

  “He’s out there somewhere in the streets of Sodom and Gomorrah with his friends from Greenville, and then the plan is to risk life and limb on that fool skateboard you bought him. Stop it, you silly dogs.”

  Buster smirked at me and pointed to the dogs. “Don’t worry about Charlie on the skateboard. He could give lessons. Whaddya have on your legs? Bacon?”

  “Excuse me! I’m going inside!”

  “I’d wash my legs if I were you!” he called out to my back.

  “Oh, stuff it, you old trout!” I hollered to him.

  “And you’re an old crab!” he yelled back to me. And he was laughing.

  Chapter 11

  “I thought so!—I knew it!—hurrah!” vociferated Legrand. . . .

  “Come! We must go back,” said the latter, “the game’s not up yet;” and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.

  —Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”

  Jackie

  I came home from the VA hospital wrinkled, sweaty, and with a part-time job. They needed help, and I guess I secretly wanted to see what it would be like to work there if I ever came back to Charleston. So I told them I’d work Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday from seven A.M. to seven at night. It was just for a couple of weeks, and I knew I’d learn something. You always learned something in a new job—a new treatment or therapy or about new medicines. As much as I loved visiting with my mother, I was beginning to get the itch for some diversion. And I missed nursing. Once it’s in your blood it’s hard to resist the call to duty. And I was aching to be with veterans. If nothing else, we would understand each other.

  I came into the house through the kitchen, and no one was there. So I went from room to room until I found Dad and Charlie on the porch. They were at the trestle table, leaning over a hurricane-tracking chart. There was a pile of colored highlighters and other things scattered around.

  “Hey, Dad! What a nice surprise to find you here!” I gave him a kiss on his cheek.

  “Well, I brought down some supplies in case this Arlene decides to pay us a visit. I wanted Charlie to know how to prepare for a hurricane. After all, he is the man of the house, right?”

  “Yup,” Charlie said.

  “We made a hurricane checklist. See?” He handed me a legal pad on which he had written a list of things to be sure you had on hand and a list of things to do to secure the house. I noted that it said the skateboard should be in the trunk of the car in case they had to evacuate. “And we’ve had a nice morning. I took Charlie down to Dunleavy’s for a chili dog, and I had a very tasty chicken pot pie. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

  “Yup,” Charlie said. “And now Guster and I are tracking Hurricane Arlene on this map. We got it free at the fire department. About an hour ago it looked like she was headed straight for the Bahamas, but now it looks like she’s just holding steady.”

  “Which might mean she’s gathering strength,” Dad said. “But if you ask me, I think she’s going to make the turn and head up to Cape Hatteras.”

  “I hope so,” I said, looking at the flashlights, hand-crank radio, and bungee cords on the table. I picked up the radio and looked at it. “We used to have one of these when I was a kid.”

  “Every house should have one,” Dad said. “If you lose all your power, you can still find out what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, like an alien invasion! Where’s Mom?”

  “She went inside to wash her legs about three hours ago,” Dad said and winked at Charlie, who covered his mouth to suppress the giggles.

  Some people were obviously having a laugh at Mom’s expense. And Mom had locked herself in her bedroom.

  “Okay, that makes no sense. What are you bad boys talking about?”

  “Guster said that Glam had this lotion on her legs and Stella and Stanley went nuts, licking her to death!”

  “Your poor mother was beside herself!” Dad said and smiled. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not nice to laugh, but you should’ve seen those crazy dogs just slurping away. Oh, me! It was some sight!”

  “Hush, both of you! So what else are y’all doing?”

  “Well, we were gonna measure the part of the island where I’m hiding the treasure. I challenged the Greenville kids to a treasure hunt. They’re making a map too. Just like in ‘The Gold-Bug’!”

  “Oh, I don’t know how long I can stay, Charlie.”

  “Stay for supper! Stay for supper! Please?”

  “Well, I did bring your grandmother a mess of flounder and some corn and tomatoes. I could show you how to cook fish—if your grandmother will have me, that is.”

  “I’ll go ask her,” I said and went inside.

  I rapped my knuckles on her door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Just me,” I said. “May I come in?”

  “Enter at your own risk! I’m trying to condense myself into a pair of Spanx. It’s not pretty.”

  Sure enough, there stood my mother trying to yank up a one-piece torture chamber that promised to flatten her tummy and smooth out her thighs and hips—or to cut off her circulation if she didn’t get it in place soon.

  “Need some help?” I asked.

  “Maybe. I’m just about worn out from this fool thing!”

  “Yeah, you pretty much have to have a degree in circus contortion to get in these silly things without breaking a sweat. Here. Look here. Get it where you want it on your thighs, and then I can pull it up inch by inch to under your bosom.”

  “This is so ridiculous,” she said. “But it really does make a difference. At least I think it does.” She fussed around with the legs until they were straight. “Okay, now let’s move this sucker north!”

  “Gotcha!” In a few minutes her body shaper was where it was supposed to be and I thought, Well, no doubt they should’ve sold her one that was at least one size larger. “Um, can I ask a delicate question?”

  “Of course!”

  “What if you have to use the bathroom?”

  “It has a slit, you know, a slit down there.”

  “Gross.”

  “Or you can just hold it. I think I’ll just hold it if I have to go.”

  “God, I would. Nasty!”

  “I agree. I mean, the slit is one of those concepts that sounds sensible, but in reality? It doesn’t live up to its hype.”

  “I’ve got the picture. Gross.” Who was I
to call anything gross? How many times had I used a hand-dug latrine? I picked up the aqua linen shirt and matching trousers that were lying on her bed. “Wow, this is a gorgeous color. Did you buy this yesterday too?”

  “Yes, Ms. Donaldson says I should wear one color from head to toe, except for black, which she thinks is too harsh for my complexion. Not sure I agree with that. Now I have to try and re-create my face.”

  I watched as Mom laid out all the new makeup she had bought, and I could see that she was confused.

  “I know I’m supposed to use all the serums and creams first and let them dry . . . now, where’s that chart?”

  “So I took a job today, just part-time, to make a little money and to help out at the VA. I’ve got seven A.M. to seven P.M. Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

  “Why, sweetheart! That’s just marvelous! It will give me a little more time with Charlie, and you can see what’s going on around town.”

  “So you don’t mind, then? It might put a cramp in your social life.”

  “Honey, there’s nowhere I’m going that I can’t take Charlie.”

  “Well, we’ll see how it goes. You do know that Dad’s here?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Did you know he’s out there explaining how to track hurricanes to Charlie with this huge chart, and then he’s got a crank radio—”

  “He’s the crank,” Mom said.

  “Well, you’re probably not going to like this, but I need to tell you that Charlie invited him to supper.”

  “What?” She nearly dropped a whole bottle of facial toner on her rug. “You must be kidding.”

  “Nope. And apparently Dad brought fish and corn and tomatoes and a basket of peaches. I guess he was hoping you’d let him stay too. What do you think? Yes?”

  “I think no. No, wait. Hell no. How’s that?”

  “This is going to look awfully bad to Charlie, Mom.” I could feel my temper rising. Now I was stuck in the middle.

  “Oh, fine. Now you’re playing the kid card?”

  “Sort of.”

  It finally dawned on her that she was putting me into a difficult position. It also dawned on her that Dad would see her looking pretty fine in aqua linen.

  “Well, maybe I’d be willing to cook, but I’m not sitting at the table with that man.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you serious, why not? Eleven years of no husband on holidays, birthdays, and God save me, our wedding anniversary, and now he shows up with a sack of fish and I’m supposed to scoot out there like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina and whip up a soufflé for Linus?”

  “I think you mean Julia Ormond.”

  “No, that’s a remake, dearie. Although, personally, I do prefer Harrison Ford to Humphrey Bogart. Bogart always looked like he needed a shower and a shave. Except there was one movie where he wore a white dinner jacket and looked very elegant.”

  “Casablanca? Look, Mom, I understand how you feel, but it’s going to look very awkward if you don’t sit.”

  “Believe me, if you don’t bring it up, they won’t even notice. I’m the Grand Facilitator to your father. I just always made things happen, but I’m not happening in them. He never needed a wife. He needed a housekeeper and cook.”

  I stared at her and thought what an unsatisfying marriage this must have been for her. Was Dad that much of a caveman? I didn’t believe that for a minute. At least I could always depend on Jimmy to be sensitive.

  “Then why in the world are you still married to him?”

  “That’s my business. Now, you go tell the old bastard he can stay but he’d better behave. I’m doing this for Charlie. I need to finish getting dressed, and apparently it could take a while. And set up the bar, okay? Scary as this sounds, I might have to drink my way through this.”

  This cocktail ritual of hers could become habitual and not good for her health. I’d talk to her about it another time. Tonight was not the night for her to go cold turkey.

  “Don’t worry. The bar will be perfect. And thanks, Mom. This will mean a lot to Charlie, you know, it will show him what being an adult is all about.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She was getting irritated, because my mother seldom cursed unless she was.

  “That people can have their differences of opinion, but family is family. And even if you and Daddy did get divorced, he’s still Charlie’s grandfather. I mean, looking back, don’t you think it was a little ridiculous that Daddy couldn’t come to Jimmy’s funeral because you were there?” I just threw it out there.

  “Well, who would you rather have had with you?”

  “That’s the whole point, Mom. Charlie and I weren’t supposed to have to choose.”

  She looked as though I had slapped her. In the time-honored tradition of families who live in a state of denial, I ignored her, closed her door, and went back to the porch. Like the rest of us, she had to live with the consequences of her decisions. It gave me a certain sense of liberation to tell her she had hurt me. No more eggshells for me. Since Jimmy’s death I had seen many changes in myself—some of them good and some of them based on fears that would most likely never materialize. But one thing was for sure: I didn’t feel her separation from Dad was justified anymore. She was exaggerating Dad’s abuse and, as usual, playing the part of the martyr. Did I really believe that Dad had never told her “Happy Birthday” or “Merry Christmas” in all these years? No, I couldn’t buy that.

  And I wanted her to be nice to him. He had certainly shown he had every intention of being nice to her. Maybe the fish, corn, tomatoes, and peaches were his way of wooing her? Come to think of it, all I had done was insinuate that there was a man flirting with her, and here he came like the Magi bearing gifts. And I’m sure in Dad’s mind they were gifts. They ain’t got no Saks Fifth Avenue up the road in Murrells Inlet.

  “You’re on for supper, Dad.”

  “Really? Why, that’s wonderful!”

  Dad’s surprise was all over his face. He had not expected his presence at the table to receive my mother’s papal blessing.

  “Great!” said Charlie. “Let’s go measure!”

  “Well, what do you say we do the width today and the length another time? After all, you want to cover a pretty large area.”

  “I can do the length tomorrow! Let’s go!” Charlie was already on his feet, pulling Dad up to stand. “Come on, Guster!”

  “Easy there, partner!” Dad said. “If you ever have another baby, could you have one with less energy? For my sake?”

  I was so stunned. More children? I sort of lost my balance. But I pulled myself together and hoped that my surprise didn’t show on my face and Dad’s remark had not registered with Charlie.

  “Y’all go have fun! Dinner at six?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  I shooed them off the porch and started to set up the bar on the same table by picking up all their markers and so on and putting them back into Dad’s tote bag. Another baby? I had no intention of ever getting married again, but what if I did? And if I did, what if I did find myself in the family way? How would that make Charlie feel? If I started a new life with someone else, wouldn’t Charlie feel out of place? It was true that in theory I could still have more children, but wouldn’t that be betraying Jimmy or at least Jimmy’s memory? Well, whatever the future had in store for us in that department, it would have to accept Charlie as a full citizen of any new family. We had been through too much together to have anyone try to squeeze Charlie out of the equation by the tiniest millimeter. A new family? Holy hell, marriage and more children were a mind-boggling thing to even consider, and there I was doing just that. Insane.

  I dug around in Mom’s linen closet for a tablecloth for the bar, something that seemed festive. I put my hand on a colorful table runner that looked like a Mexican serape. That would work. On the floor of the closet were a box of paper lanterns, the kind you string up for a party
, and a pair of glass hurricanes that needed a serious spritz of glass cleaner. I looked at it all and thought that even though it wouldn’t be dark until well after eight, wouldn’t they set a romantic tone when they were lit? After all, Dad was here, and wasn’t that a reason for at least Charlie and me to celebrate? Mom could stew all she wanted. I was determined then that Dad would have a wonderful night. And maybe some soft lighting would soften my mother’s heart.

  There were existing hooks around the border of the top of the porch, probably put there years ago for just this purpose. I hung the lights on them in minutes without a struggle. After I cleaned the table, I put the serape down the center. It looked so great that I wondered why she didn’t use it all the time. Well, the answer to that was pretty clear: it had been a long time since she had thought there was much happening in her life worthy of party decorations. But did she have unrealistic expectations of Dad? Was that why they were still apart? At that moment, I thought she did. On either end of the table, I placed the clean hurricanes over two big candle columns, wondering if anyone would catch the connection with the weather. That was probably too much to ask.

  I hauled all the liquor bottles out to the table and set them up in perfect rows on the left with mixers and garnishes and glasses on the right with an ice bucket and a wine bucket. I went to dig around the refrigerator and found the cheese ball. Perfect. A centerpiece! It looked great on Mom’s smallish round platter that had a design of red branch coral painted all over it. I took an unopened package of crackers and laid them next to the platter. Because the air on the front beach was basically always wet, open crackers at four were soggy crackers by six. Even I remembered that. And in a moment of uncharacteristic artistry, I arranged parsley sprigs all around the cheese ball, giving the platter that certain je ne sais quoi. Je ne sais quoi, indeed. Who was I kidding? However, it should come as no surprise to anyone that setting up a bar in this family was second nature to us all. I stepped back, squinted my eyes, and gave it an appraisal. To the squinted eye, it looked like a photo shoot from some food magazine. It was more than good enough.