Porch Lights

  Just as we thought, Deb’s sister, Anita, did not come. She sent flowers instead. The next day Deb and I were at McAlister’s and it was the dreaded appointed hour to view the body.

  “Who put a tie on him?” Buster asked. “He wouldn’t be caught dead in a tie.”

  “Apparently he would,” I said, deadpan.

  There lay Vernon’s body, dressed in black, with a black tie neatly knotted under his collar. Considering he was as dead as a doornail, he looked rather chic. For a dead person.

  I helped Deb up from the prie-dieu and took her around to see all the beautiful flower arrangements that had been arriving all day. The framed happy pictures of them together that surrounded the room would remind everyone that Vernon and Deb had had a long happy marriage.

  I didn’t want Deb focusing on Vernon’s body. She might begin to weep. Corpses in open caskets were beyond grotesque anyway. I hated when people said, “Oh, look what a good job they did on Mabel! She looks just like she could sit up and talk to you!” Please don’t sit up, Mabel, I’d think, please don’t. But Vernon had wanted an open casket, so that’s what he got.

  Deb had been holding herself together remarkably well. And she’d asked me to try and help her from being too maudlin. Wiseacre humor was my secret weapon of the hour.

  “I’m sure the salesperson at Belva’s misunderstood your sister, Anita, Deb,” I said. “No one sends flowers this dinky and cheap for the funeral of an immediate family member.”

  “You’re so wicked! But you don’t know Anita,” Deb said. “I’m surprised she sent anything at all.”

  The chamber musicians arrived, set up, and began to play. The music was beautiful, the wake lasted until nine o’clock, and no one, except Monsignor Ben Michaels, said a word about “Ring of Fire,” which I heard played at least twice.

  “ ‘Ring of Fire’? Are we concerned about Vernon’s immortal soul?” he whispered to Deb and me.

  “Oh, no, Father. I’m sure Vernon died in a state of grace,” Deb replied. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Well, I anointed him with the last rites, but I’ll say an extra novena just in case,” he said.

  “Thank you, Father,” I said. “You never know. It can’t hurt, and it might do some good.”

  “Have you been ill, Mrs. Britt? We haven’t seen you at Mass in a long time.”

  “Me? Oh, no. I’m fine. I’ve been traveling. You know my daughter lost her husband?”

  “Yes, I was very sorry to hear it. And it’s a relief to see you looking so well. I hope we’ll be seeing you at Mass more often, Mrs. Britt.”

  I nodded and gave him a tight-lipped smile, thinking, You sanctimonious old fart. He had almost no idea what went on in my life, but he didn’t mind reprimanding me in front of my friend and whoever else might have heard him. How did he know I hadn’t taken up the One True Cross over at Christ Our King Church in Mount Pleasant?

  The day of the funeral was a blur. While we were consumed by our mutual desire to get Deb through this ordeal with the least amount of pain and suffering, it would be a lie to say that I was not distracted by Buster and three new tropical storms that were brewing near the British Virgin Islands. Buster kept saying not to worry, he had a close eye on them. Saying he had an “eye” on a potential hurricane should give you some idea of Buster’s deep sense of humor.

  He had been staying over in the guest room, only scooting back and forth to Murrells Inlet once for a dark suit and a few other things. He had been especially charming, and, God knows, he had been more helpful than I ever remembered him being. I kept fantasizing that he would try and sneak back into his/my bedroom, but if ever there was a wrong time to patch up our relationship, this was it. And just because he was being so congenial after one minor screwup, it didn’t mean he wanted to move home. I tried not to think about what had become of us, but every time I saw him with Charlie or heard him laugh or caught his eye, well, the truth was my heart ached a little, not just for him but for us.

  Jackie said she would allow Charlie to come to the church if he wanted to, but I encouraged him to stay with his friends.

  “Bring him to the reception at Miss Deb’s afterward. There’ll be lots of other children there.”

  “Yes, that’s a better idea. I’m not so sure I can handle this myself,” Jackie said. “But I’ve known Miss Deb since the day I was born. I have to go.”

  “You just lean on me, sugar,” I said.

  “You can lean on me too,” Buster said.

  It seemed impossible, but we were acting as a family, all of us at once. And it hadn’t happened in so long, I was almost terrified to make much of it because if Buster and Jackie realized it too, what ground we had gained might be lost. Somebody might get nervous and head for the hills. Maybe it was the death of Jimmy that had been the catalyst, and now, with the shocking loss of Vernon, we were thrown together again. I thought about what Jackie had said when she reminded me that I wouldn’t let her father attend her husband’s funeral. She was right. I had been a very foolish woman to be so prideful. I owed them more than I had been giving. But wait. Weren’t women always made to feel like they never gave enough? And didn’t your family always want more? Well, right now Deb was my priority and I was determined to see her through. We could calculate the balance of my taking versus my giving at a later date.

  I don’t have to tell you that the graveside service was surreal. Anyone who has ever stood over open ground and watched a loved one lowered into it knows the wretchedness that comes over you. I watched as Steve, Buster, and the other pallbearers performed their duty with unbelievable dignity and respect. I was so proud of them.

  I’ve been to scores of funerals and graveside services, and I know this much: the family or the person who has suffered the loss needs you there. I cannot fathom how unbearable it must be to go through a burial alone. When my mother died, the scores of people who came to the services or brought food or sent cards—well, it just made all the difference in the world to me. It made the worst day of my life bearable. Hopefully, all the people who turned out to honor Vernon’s life made it easier for Deb.

  Finally we left the cemetery, and soon we were back at Deb’s house for the reception. As predicted, the suffocating rooms were overflowing with children and adults, the dining room table groaning under the weight of all the food and drink. The bereavement committee brought platters and bowls of mouthwatering fried chicken, red rice, potato salad, green salad, and rolls, and it all disappeared right before our eyes as though David Copperfield were behind the curtains working his magic.

  Deb was exhausted. We were all exhausted. When the last person left, Steve and Jackie took Charlie home. Buster and I stayed to help Deb do a final sweep of the house for glasses and napkins. I filled a plate with food for her dinner, covered it with plastic wrap, and slipped it into the refrigerator. I put away everything that remained in the dish rack, and Buster took out the last bag of garbage. We found Deb sitting in her living room, looking at pictures of Vernon in a scrapbook.

  “How are you doing, sweetheart?” I asked her.

  She closed the album and looked up at us. “All things considered? I think I’m . . . well, I’m okay. I’m doing fine.”

  “Would you like us to sit with you for a while?” I said.

  “No, y’all go on home. I think I need some downtime, you know?”

  “Absolutely,” Buster said. “Now, you know, we’re just a few houses away. All you have to do is pick up the phone.”

  “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how I would’ve managed without both of you,” she said.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said, and we left.

  On the way home Buster kept clearing his throat.

  “You warming up to sing an aria?” I asked, teasing him.

  “No, I just wanted to say something to you and I’m having trouble finding the words.”

  “Oh, just spit it out, Buster.” I was about to get a lecture. I could feel it in my bones. I had committed so
me transgression that he couldn’t allow to pass without a critique. “Since when do you worry about hurting my feelings?”

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I was going to say how much I admire the kind of friend you’ve been to Deb in the past few days. The tone you set made me be a better friend to her too. For Vernon’s sake. And yours too. I mean, you did so much to organize everything and it all worked out so beautifully, but it was a helluva lot of effort on your part and I just, well, I wanted you to know that. I saw how you put your heart into everything to make it easier on Deb. It was a very generous thing you did, Annie. Very generous and kind.”

  “It’s what friends do for each other, Buster.”

  “What the hell happened to our friendship, Annie?”

  We came to the bottom of the Salty Dog’s steps and stopped.

  “Oh, Buster. Listen, I haven’t changed. The kind of thing I did for Deb that you tell me you so admire is the same thing that drove you crazy enough to run you out the door eleven years ago.”

  “Well, then, I was a horse’s ass eleven years ago.”

  “You might still be one for all I know. Although you do seem to be showing some signs of improvement.”

  Chapter 13

  The chest had been full to the brim. . . . All was gold . . . with a few English guineas. . . . The value of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds . . . rubies of remarkable brilliancy . . . emeralds . . . sapphires . . . an opal. . . . a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments;—a prodigious golden punch-bowl. . . . We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a million and a half of dollars . . . it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure.

  —Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”

  Jackie

  It was early Wednesday and raining like the dickens. We were catching the outer bands of rain from one of those tropical storms. The others had turned to squalls and thankfully fizzled out. The nameless one that remained was one of those storms that didn’t have enough wind to do any real damage, but the standing water it would leave in its wake would provide breeding grounds for millions of mosquitoes. And frogs. Great. That was the thing about hurricanes and tropical storms, they left town in the same fashion that a stubborn old dowager would leave a cotillion, slowly saying good-bye to her minions, returning for one last waltz, finally leaving for parts unknown, maybe to dissolve into nothingness or to simply find another party, gather steam, and raise a little more hell.

  I was in the kitchen making brownies and watching Today on television. The weather in New York was much more appealing. It was dry and sunny, no humidity. I got a little homesick for Yankee territory then because as much as I was not obsessed with my looks, I hadn’t had a decent hair day since we had arrived.

  Mom appeared all dressed and smelling very good. Some mischief was afoot, because since when did she put on cologne at seven in the morning?

  “Morning, sweetheart!” she chirped and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Do I smell chocolate?”

  “Yeah, I’m making a batch of brownies for Miss Deb. I thought I’d go around to her house and sit with her for a bit, maybe go for a walk on the beach if it ever stops raining.”

  “Honey, you’re so sweet to do that, but you know she’s got a house filled with cakes and cookies.”

  Wasn’t it just like good old mom to remind me my efforts were ill conceived and unnecessary?

  “So she can freeze them. I didn’t know what else to do, and I’m not going over there empty-handed. You taught me that.”

  “Yes, I did. Now, can I make you some breakfast?”

  “Actually, I made a pot of grits and I was going to scramble some eggs. Where are you going all gussied up this morning?”

  “Up to Murrells Inlet with your father. He has to get some things. He asked me if he could stay for as long as you and Charlie were here, and I said, yes, but only in the guest room. No muffky-poofky, if you know what I mean.”

  “I see.” Did I need to hear that, especially at this hour? “Eggs?”

  “Why not?” she said. “I’ll make toast.”

  “Great.”

  I scrambled eight eggs because as soon as I had four in the bowl, Dad and Charlie appeared. We had a fast breakfast together, and Dad and Mom stood up, scraped their dishes, put them in the sink, and ran water over them. They seemed nervous for some inexplicable reason.

  “Wow, it’s really pouring,” Charlie said, looking out the window. “Maybe I should take an umbrella to walk the dogs?”

  “I would. There’s a big one in the hall closet,” I told him. “Hey, Dad? Y’all be careful on the road, okay?”

  “Now you sound like me,” Mom said.

  Charlie found the umbrella and zoomed over to Steve’s. Mom put on her raincoat and tied a scarf over her hair and under her chin.

  “Do I look like Sophia Loren in that fifties movie, what’s the name? It was shot in Italy?” she asked.

  “Spitting image,” I said.

  “Let’s go, Glam!” Dad said, calling her by her nickname for the first time.

  As they hurried down the steps to Dad’s car I had the distinct feeling that I wasn’t getting all the facts from those two.

  I cleaned up the messy kitchen and took the brownies from the oven, and the smell of them brought Charlie from the hammock to my side. He was riveted to Steve’s e-reader and “The Gold-Bug.”

  “Think I could have one?” he asked.

  “Of course! When they’re cool, I’m going to slice them and arrange them on a paper plate. Miss Deb won’t even guess that a couple of them are missing. The plan was to go over and see her for a bit. What about you?”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere in this weather,” he said, saying it just like Jimmy used to when it was foul weather in New York. I was so surprised. It could’ve been Jimmy talking. Jimmy could have been right there in the room.

  A little later I knocked on Miss Deb’s door, and after what I thought was a prolonged amount of time, she answered.

  “You busy?” I asked.

  “Lord! Come in out of this weather! You’ll catch pee-neumonia!”

  It was a curious pronunciation, but the one we always used to make children laugh.

  “I brought you some brownies,” I said, stepping inside.

  “Well, come on in and let’s have one. I just made some tea.”

  Her kitchen table seemed to be the hub of her house as the porch was of my mother’s. I took a seat and folded back the plastic wrap on the brownies. She put a glass of iced tea in front of me.

  “Sugar?” she asked.

  “Nah, I’m sweet enough,” I said.

  “That’s what your momma always says.”

  She was right. Here was yet another sign that I was metamorphosing into the Mother Fly.

  We squeezed a lemon wedge into our glasses and toasted to the general state of the world, picked up a brownie, and took a bite.

  “Mmmm!” she said. “So good!”

  “Thanks. Duncan Hines. So? How are you, Miss Deb?”

  She leaned back in her chair, inhaled and exhaled, and said, “I’m okay. I’ll tell you one thing, when something like this happens? You sure find out in a hurry who your friends are.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  “Yeah, we should start a club for girls in our boat.”

  “Some club that would be,” I said, sounding like authentic Cobble Hill. “United Widows? What a bummer.”

  “To be sure. So, Jackie, how are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m all right, I guess. I mean, this has been a great visit, especially for Charlie. I think that being around my parents has helped him so much. He’s smiling all the time. Dad bought him that crazy skateboard, you know.”

  “Yep, I’ve seen him whipping up and down the streets. He’s a little hot shot!”

  “He sure is. And Steve’s dogs have taught him a lot about responsibility and all that.”

  “Steve’s a sweetheart and a true gent
leman. You know, your mother and I used to tease each other about him, because he’s single and so handsome.”

  “Yeah, he’s a prince.” She looked at me funny. “No! He really is!”

  “I’ve seen you two sparring!”

  “Oh, he just likes to kid around.”

  “Not unless he’s gay. Men don’t just fool around.”

  “Humph. She did tell you he wears boxers, didn’t she?”

  “How in the world do you know that?” She started to laugh.

  “Because I’m the one who took the picture of them! You didn’t know that? Somebody owes me money.”

  “What? Your momma is such a liar! She told me she took the picture!”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  “Isn’t that just like her? Where is she today? I should’ve heard from her by now. But with this rain, we’re not walking today.”

  “She went up to Murrells Inlet with Dad.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Dad’s staying for as long as we’re here—but in the guest room.”

  “I see. The guest room. And why?”

  “You’re asking me? Maybe because he snores?”

  “Humph. Listen, between you and me? I think the spark’s still there.”

  “I think so too, but that’s their business. Anyway, I love both of them and I want them to be happy. However they work that out is okay with me.”

  Miss Deb looked at me and arched one eyebrow. “Really?” she said.

  “No. Actually, since I’ve been here and before Dad came back? I’ve seen things I’d rather not know were true about her. Number one, she’s been really lonely. I think she sits on that porch at night and talks to herself, drinking cheap wine until she can’t see straight.”

  “Well, you’re right about the wine. It is cheap. But I don’t know about how lonely she is.”

  “I do. And I think her fascination with Steve ran deeper than yours.”

  “Maybe. But it was just good clean fun. I think it’s your father she truly loves.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to think so. But he really hurt her. She’s been so pissed at him for so long I don’t know if they can patch it up and then stay patched up when Charlie and I are gone back to New York. Anyway, I can’t see why they live separately. They need each other.”