Porch Lights

  Chapter 12

  . . . we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood . . . three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. . . . a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us.

  —Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”

  Annie

  It was early morning, and the skies were clear and blue. When storms turned out to sea, the Lowcountry looked washed clean, as though the good Lord was giving all us sinners another chance for redemption. I didn’t feel the need for another chance, but I knew somebody who did—the wild animal that was snoring like every hog in hell on the other side of the house. Jackie snored like a lady hog, Charlie snored like a baby lamb, and Papa Bear? I recognized Papa Bear’s unforgettable refrain. Maybe I should have the ductwork cleaned. There was definitely something off kilter on that side of the house, because I’m sure I never snored.

  The kitchen, by the way, glistened from a thorough scouring, and all the garbage had been taken out. Lucky for him. Well, even though Buster had shown very badly last night, it surely had been wonderful to have everyone around the table. That’s what my life lacked. My family and friends around my table. And I needed more fun.

  I was dressed in my walking clothes because my plan was to get out of the house before the old bastard got up expecting waffles and eggs. I called Deb’s house and got their voice mail. Then I called her cell phone and got voice mail again. That wasn’t right. The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end, and a chill ran through my body. I began to panic because my instincts told me something was dreadfully wrong. I grabbed my purse, ran down the back steps, and jumped into my car, headed for East Cooper Hospital.

  I drove there as fast as I could with the single purpose of getting there on time. On time for what? I knew for what. I could feel Deb’s terrible pain before I even got there. I could hear her in my mind praying for mercy. I begged God to change things but I knew in my heart that the worst had already happened. I knew it even before I pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of my car, and ran to the main entrance.

  She had said he was in the ICU. I found its location on the information board and barely got onto the elevator as the heavy doors were closing. I could feel my heart slamming against my ribs, and I was out of breath. Upstairs, I saw Steve in the hall with his arm around Deb and Deb’s shoulders were heaving. I ran to her side.

  “Oh, God! Deb? What’s happened?”

  “He’s gone, Annie. Vernon is dead.”

  “Oh, my poor dear friend! I am so, so sorry!” I put my arms around her, and she wept and sighed and wept and I wept with her. “Tell me what happened. Please, tell me what happened.”

  Steve ran his hands up and down his cheeks and sighed deeply. “He had what they call the widow maker. Even though all his tests were clear, he had a sudden rupture of plaque in his arteries which caused a massive heart attack. They tried everything to revive him, but unfortunately, the doctors couldn’t. It was the same thing that killed Tim Russert.”

  “Oh, God. I remember that. This is so unfair. Just so unfair.”

  “He was getting dressed to come home,” Deb said. “He was coming home, Annie.” She began to sob.

  I had never seen my friend in such a state of distress. I was distressed too. I’d loved old Vernon, even though he rarely left his La-Z-Boy to be with us for a meal or a movie. He was less like the big, brawny, can-do husband and more like Deb’s personal, very lovable, big old pussycat. I had known him for as long as I’d known her, and because Deb and I saw each other every day, I knew everything about him. I still could not comprehend that I was standing there in the hall of the ICU reeling from the news of Vernon’s death because death was incomprehensible anyway. And Deb was just a complete emotional wreck.

  “How can this be?” she kept asking over and over.

  “I don’t know, darlin’. I just don’t know,” I said. What else could I say?

  I turned to see Buster and Jackie standing there. One by one, they scooped Deb into their arms and hugged her. I heard Buster say, “Oh, my sweet friend, I’m so sorry.” And our poor Jackie, well, Jackie knew Deb’s pain better than she ever would have wanted to know it.

  Steve turned to me. “I called your house right before you got here. Jackie answered the phone and said you weren’t home. How did you know to come?”

  “If I told you, you’d never believe me.”

  “Try me,” he said.

  “Okay. I could hear Deb wailing—in my head. This is the Lowcountry, Steve. That’s how life goes around here.”

  “You’re that connected?”

  “No, we’re all that connected if you know how to listen.”

  “I’d love to learn,” he said.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to teach. You just have to tune in and listen.”

  I drove Deb back to her house but only after the head nurse gave her a few minutes alone in the room with Vernon’s body. There was nothing I had ever seen more profoundly sad than watching Deb, my friend of over thirty years, lean over her husband’s lifeless body, push his hair away from his forehead, and kiss him there with all the tenderness any woman could possibly have. The only thing more gut-wrenching was remembering the day I’d watched my daughter do the same thing. Deb did not know yet where her heart was headed. I did. Jackie did. But few would unless they had lived through the experience themselves. It was just so horribly sad.

  Steve had to do rounds at the hospital and go to his office and see patients, but he promised to check on us as soon as he could. So I gathered Deb’s things up and threw my arm around her shoulder, and we left in my car. Buster and Jackie were right behind us, Buster driving Deb’s car and Jackie in hers.

  I turned off the radio. This was no time for music. Not yet. Not even Michael Bublé. It was time to try and shore Deb up, because there was a lot to be done and I knew I would be the one to see her through. In fact, I wanted to be the one.

  “So, Deb? I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to be right by your side every step of the way, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You up for a few questions?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you want me to make phone calls?”

  “God, yes. I don’t think I can do that. Not right now.”

  “It’s okay. Just give me your address book. Jackie and I can take care of that.”

  She nodded and again said, “Thanks.”

  “And do you have a preference of Stuhr’s or McAlister’s?” They were the two most popular funeral directors in town.

  “McAlister’s, I guess. But it doesn’t matter really.”

  “I’ll see who’s free. And do you know if Vernon had a will and life insurance?”

  “Yes, there’s a will and there’s life insurance. The originals are in the safety deposit box at the bank, but I have copies at home.”

  “That’s good enough. And would you like me to call the rectory at Stella Maris to arrange a funeral Mass?”

  “I think Vernon would have loved that. But everything he wanted is spelled out in his will. You know Vernon. Or knew him, I guess I should say now. He has been waiting to die for years. He bought our plots at Mount Pleasant Memorial to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary.”

  We had a small gallows humor chuckle then.

  “Yeah, God, that was Vernon all right,” I said. “A practical man if ever there was one.”

  “Well, it wasn’t very romantic. He was a good man, but not very romantic,” she said and sighed from the bottom of her soul. “I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.”

  “That’s why I’m asking you these things now. I’ll get the ball rolling, and you get a nap. By tonight your house will be crawling with people. Where’s your sister?”

  “Hawaii. You know, we still aren’t speaking. We haven’t really spoken since Momma’s funeral.”

  “Well, you and I both know she shouldn’t have grabbed that amethyst ring for herself. It was supposed to be yours.” I??
?d heard the story of the ring a hundred times. “People are so greedy. They forget it’s a serious sin to take something that doesn’t belong to them.”

  “It’s called stealing. That ring will never make her happy.”

  “Let’s hope. Should I call her?”

  “Sure. But she won’t come.”

  “Yeah, but she’s your only sister. She should be told.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re more of a sister than she ever was. Oh, Annie. I can hardly even think right now. I can’t believe he’s gone. I mean, just like that!”

  “I know. I know. That’s why I’m here. It’s too terrible.”

  We arrived at her home, and Buster hurried over to help her out of the car, up the steps, and into her house. Deb wasn’t even sixty, but on that morning she was moving like she was one hundred years old.

  We went directly to her room. She handed me an accordion folder from a shelf in her bedroom closet. “The will, the insurance policy, and the deed for the cemetery plot are all in there. And here’s my address book. The library and faculty list is in the back. I’m just going to shut my eyes for a few minutes.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll come and ask you if I need anything. For now, you just rest.”

  She climbed into bed. I turned on her ceiling fan, closed her blinds, and pulled the door quietly behind me. I went to the kitchen, where Buster and Jackie were standing by the sink.

  “What can I do to help?” Jackie asked.

  “Get an inventory of the liquor and wine and mixers. You know people on this island drink like all forty. Make a list, and then maybe you’ll go to the store, Buster?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Then you and I have a lot of phone calls to make. Is Charlie okay?”

  “Yes. I spoke to him a few minutes ago. He’s just going to spend the day with his friends. He’s fine. The last thing he needs is more exposure to death.”

  “I agree. Okay, good.”

  I sat down at the kitchen table, attempting to read the insurance policy, and Buster sat down next to me. “Should I make a pot of coffee?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” I said, as evenly as I could.

  “Listen, about what I said last night?”

  I took off my reading glasses and looked at him with the most imperious face I had. “Yes? What about it?”

  “Well, I just want you to know that I think you look really pretty and you’ll probably be even prettier when you’re eighty.”

  “Is this your way of apologizing?”

  “Yeah. Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “Apology accepted. Now, why don’t I make coffee and you read this darned thing. I hate all this legalese. I am always so afraid of missing something.”

  “Sure. Hand it over.”

  “And there’s his will too.”

  “No problem.”

  The coffee was brewing in minutes, and I realized my stomach was growling. We all needed breakfast. But there was no time to stop and go to the grocery store. I found a loaf of bread and started making toast. There was peanut butter in her pantry, and there were some bananas on the counter. It would suit us just fine. I lined up three plates and thought about who to call first. The funeral home, I decided. They would help us write the obituary for the newspaper. And they sold everything else we needed.

  “Hey, Buster? Look at Vernon’s will. Did he specify what kind of a casket he wanted or any other details he wanted covered at his funeral?”

  “I don’t know. Let me see here . . .”

  I put a cup of coffee in front of him and a plate of food. He took a sip of the coffee. “You still make the best coffee on earth. Thanks.”

  “Well, thanks, Buster. I can’t believe Vernon’s gone.”

  “Yeah, it is unbelievable. Well, would you looky here—”

  I took the will from Buster and read the passage he pointed to. Vernon wanted a simple wood casket, but he wanted Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” to be played at his wake.

  “Oh, my God! Is he crazy?” I said. “We can’t do that!”

  “He was as crazy as a bedbug. It’s what the man wanted, but I say let’s let Deb decide this one. What do you think? Was he worried about going to Hell?”

  “Only if sloth could send you there, bless his heart.”

  “You are too much, Annie,” Buster said, smiling and shaking his head.

  Jackie came into the kitchen with a legal pad. “Do I smell coffee? Here’s the list.” I took it from her.

  “How are they set for booze?” Buster asked.

  “Thanks,” Jackie said when I handed her a mug. “It depends on what you count as booze. If you count sambuca, Campari, crème de menthe, Baileys, amaretto, pomegranate liqueur, and Marsala wine as liquor, then they’re in good shape. If you’re looking for vodka, scotch, gin, and, I don’t know, maybe rum? We have to go to the store.”

  “Vernon was a beer man,” Buster said. “I’ll bet there are five cases of Budweiser in the refrigerator under the house.”

  It didn’t meet code to have a refrigerator at flood level, but most people I knew had a refrigerator or a freezer or both under the house along with their bicycles, golf cart, boat, lawn mower, kayak, and of course, their cars. If a hurricane hit that flooded the island, a rusty old refrigerator loaded with beer would be the least of our problems.

  “I’ll go look,” Jackie said.

  By noon Deb was up and in the shower and we had notified everyone who needed to know. All that was left to do was to take Deb over to McAlister-Smith to choose the casket and find the clothes to lay him out in. In his will he had specified a black shirt and black pants, like his hero Johnny Cash.

  “What’s up with this Johnny Cash fixation?” Jackie asked when we told her about the music and the clothes.

  “Vernon was a man who had very specific tastes,” Buster said. “You know? I think the only live concert he ever went to was back in the seventies when Johnny Cash played at County Hall. It just stayed with him, I guess. I mean, he used to tell me about that concert all the time. He loved Johnny Cash.”

  “Everybody loves Johnny Cash,” Jackie said. “Even me.”

  “Yeah, but heavenly days, would you want ‘Ring of Fire’ played at your wake?” I said. “Probably not.”

  “You’re right. I’m going down to Café Medley to get sandwiches,” Jackie said. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “I’ll take a turkey on whole wheat,” Buster said. “Do you need cash?”

  “No, I got lunch covered. Mom?”

  “Anything’s fine for me. I’m not fussy.”

  Jackie left, and then it was just Buster and me alone in the room. We were doing just fine together. Did that mean anything to him? Not wanting to bring up the subject of our weird relationship status, I turned to the sink to wash up the cups and plates from the morning. He broke the silence.

  “Annie? Does Deb know about this?”

  “Does Deb know about what?” Deb said.

  “Hey! She’s up!” I said. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Believe it or not, I did,” she said.

  “You might want to look at this,” Buster said and handed her Vernon’s will.

  “You want coffee?” I asked. “I just made a fresh pot.”

  “Sure. Thanks. I need my glasses,” she said.

  “Take mine,” I said. I took them from the top of my head and slid them across the table.

  “Thanks. Now let’s see . . . what? Did y’all see this? Was he out of his mind?”

  Then she started to laugh and laugh and laugh. Her laughter was so welcome that we laughed with her. Had Vernon done this so that Deb would laugh her head off, or had he been serious? I asked her and got the wrong answer.

  “Oh, no! He was as serious as he could be! He always said he was going to do this, and I didn’t believe him!”

  “So we have to do it,” Buster said.

  “Wait!” I had an idea. “It doesn’t say that it has to be a Johnny Cash CD playing wit
h Johnny singing, does it?”

  “No,” Buster said. “It just says he wants that song played at his wake. Why?”

  “What if it was played by a chamber quartet?”

  Their mouths dropped open, and they stared at me.

  “Brilliant!” Deb said. “How much would it cost?”

  “Annie? You are a genius!” Buster said. “Don’t worry about the cost. He left you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in life insurance.”

  “He did what? Let me see that!” She looked at the amount of the policy and gasped. “Holy God. I can’t believe it. When did he do this?”

  “I don’t know,” Buster said.

  “Wonderful!” I said. “The bank is open and decorum has been restored! I’ll call my friend who plays viola with the South Coast Symphony. And what if they played other music too, like ‘I Walk the Line’ and ‘Green, Green Grass of Home’?”

  “Absolutely!” Deb said. “And who said they couldn’t play ‘Amazing Grace’?”

  “No one! And maybe just some pretty music like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons or Handel’s Water Music?”

  “You ladies sure know how to make lemonade out of lemons,” Buster said.

  “It’s what women always do, Buster,” I replied. “I’m calling Dawn Durst right this minute.”

  “That seems to be the case,” he said. “Just be sure they don’t play that song ‘A Boy Named Sue.’ ”

  By five that afternoon all the arrangements were made. Still at Deb’s house, we had a stocked bar ready and a huge platter of fruit and cheese on the dining room table in case someone wanted to nibble. As predicted, the old islanders began to arrive at dusk, bringing casseroles, hams, and pies, and of course, Marshall Stith brought one of his infamous coconut cakes, which rendered all others to the shadows of ineptitude. Everyone had a lovable story about Vernon and heartfelt words of sympathy for Deb. The wake would be the next day and there would be even more people, Deb’s friends from the school, friends from church, and, of course, Vernon’s friends from SCE&G, where he had worked his whole life until he retired at fifty-two.