Porch Lights

  I could hear the rhino sawing wood through the walls. Did I really want to live with that again? Maybe. But was he asking to come back? No. I looked in the mirror at myself and tried to see past all the reminders of fifty-eight years of living. My eyebrows were turning white. I wondered if he would be more anxious to come back to me if I was forty-eight years old instead. I could not be certain, but I suspected the answer was a lousy, inequitable, damn-Madison-Avenue-to-hell yes. Hide my soapbox on that topic, or we’ll be stuck here forever.

  I put on my new aqua linen trousers and shirt with my choker of freshwater pearls and brushed my hair. Well, screw it, I said to my dressing room mirror, I look good for my age and that’s the best I can do.

  When I got to the kitchen, Charlie was there, drinking a glass of milk and eating a banana.

  “Well, good morning! Why are you up so early, baby? You don’t have to work today. It’s Sunday.”

  “I know, but I’m used to getting up now. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes! Of course it does! Your body has its own alarm clock or something like that. Hey! I’m going to Mass. Want to come? I’ll take you out for breakfast afterward?”

  “Deal! Just gotta brush my teeth.”

  Charlie zoomed out of the room and was back before I could find my car keys and sunglasses.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  During Mass, I caught the monsignor looking at us and I would’ve stuck needles through my eyeballs rather than acknowledge him, so I did that thing where you sort of glaze over and let your attention drift elsewhere. After Communion, Charlie was kneeling, and I noticed that he seemed to be praying so fervently that it worried me. I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. He looked up at me with those eyes of his and smiled, but I could see his little heart was filled with sadness. I knew without asking that the larger part of any sadness he might be feeling had to come from missing his father. The rest? Who could say? Maybe he was remembering the funeral. I would talk to him over breakfast and try to gauge how he was handling his life. Life is a struggle, I would tell him. Some days are better than others, and every person’s life is bittersweet, filled with joy and pain.

  As true as all those sayings might have been, they really didn’t help. Pancakes helped. Running down the beach with a couple of happy dogs helped. Having friends helped. Mainly the best help was diversion for the short term and the passing of time in the long term. I had buried enough people in my life to know that was the absolute truth.

  We arrived at Page’s Okra Grill in Mount Pleasant, and the place was crawling with families just out of church. The men who’d served as ushers still had on their navy or seersucker blazers, and the rest of the men were in shirtsleeves. The ladies of my ilk wore sleeveless sundresses no matter the state of their upper arms or a nice linen outfit that covered the sins. The young people dressed as though they had no respect for the sanctity of the occasion of worship, but don’t get me started on that either. Church is no place for shorts and jeans, even if one attends the twenty-eighth splintered-off sect of some minuscule, hardly-heard-of Protestant church that holds its services in a barn. Sorry. You’re going to worship the Lord? Dress for the occasion, please. And brush your hair. Anyway, no one had asked me to establish a Sunday-morning dress code for all the Christians of the world, so I’d just keep that nugget to myself.

  “What looks good to you, Charlie?” We were finally seated in a booth for two and going over the menus.

  “There are so many choices! Have you ever had a western omelet, Glam?”

  “Yep, I have, and that’s the best way I know of to eat eggs, except for a Swiss cheese and mushroom omelet. Unless, of course, you’re talking eggs Benedict with extra hollandaise sauce on the side. And a Bloody Mary. Made with Zing Zang. Why?”

  “Zing Zang? What the heck is that?”

  “It’s a spicy mixture grown-ups use to make Bloody Marys. You don’t need to know that for another decade, I hope. The waffles here are good too. But you should try the western omelet if you like chopped-up green peppers.”

  “I love them.”

  The waitress, whose name tag read LIBBY, stopped at our table. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Please,” I said, “and iced water.”

  She put a mug down in front of me and filled it. “And for you, hon?”

  “Chocolate milk?”

  I looked at Charlie, thinking I had not offered him chocolate milk since he’d been here.

  “It’s Sunday,” he said. “Why not go all out?”

  Libby and I exchanged smiles.

  “Too precious,” Libby said. “I’ll be right back to get y’all’s orders.”

  I stirred my coffee and looked at my beautiful grandson. What a great gift he was to all of us. It was so wonderful to have a young person like Charlie in my life to shape and guide.

  “Did you hear my question, Glam?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. My mind was a thousand miles away. What did you say?”

  “I said, if it doesn’t rain this afternoon, we’re going to have our treasure hunt!”

  “Well, I know, and I’m so excited for you! Do you think they will make it really hard for you to find?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. Those kids can be pretty diabolical.”

  “Fifty-cent word,” I said. “Good one.”

  “Thanks. I just think the whole thing was such a great idea. I wish we could’ve found disappearing ink like they had on the cryptogram in ‘The Gold-Bug.’ ”

  “We could probably find it on the Internet. Too bad we didn’t have more time. Next time! Right? There’s always a next time.”

  Libby reappeared with Charlie’s chocolate milk. “So, what’s it gonna be, young man?”

  “I’d like the western omelet with French fries and ketchup.”

  “Sounds good. And for you, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I think I’d like an egg-white omelet with Swiss cheese and mushrooms. No potatoes. No toast.”

  “Yeah, I’m always on a diet too. Not that it ever lasts. Son? You want a biscuit?”

  “Sure!”

  “I’ll bring you two,” she said and left.

  “So, Glam? What’s up with you and Guster? Is he moving back in?”

  I nearly choked. Is this how his generation communicated respectfully with their grandparents?

  “Why on earth would you ask such a question?”

  “Well, because I think you need to have someone around the house. I mean, I can do things like take out the trash and change lightbulbs that are too high for you to reach. I like climbing ladders. And I can wash the car and cut the grass.”

  “Sweetie, you already do many of those things to help me, and I appreciate it so much.”

  “Yeah, but if I stayed and went to school here, it would be so much better for all of us. Don’t you see? I mean, what’s going to happen to Stella and Stanley if I have to leave? They’ll die from loneliness!”

  So will I, I thought, so will I.

  “You know, Charlie, I think you have to do what your momma wants you to do. She’s your parent.”

  “You don’t know how awful it is to live in Brooklyn compared to here.”

  Libby put our food in front of us. It looked delicious. “Y’all enjoy!” she said and walked away.

  “May I have the ketchup, please?” he called after her.

  She turned back to us and slid the bottle across the table. The ketchup bottle had been right in front of us all along.

  “If it was any closer it woulda bit your little nose off! Ha ha!” she said, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

  I was sorely tempted to roll mine.

  “Listen, Charlie, if your momma wanted to stay, she’d be welcome, just as you are, and I think you know that. But she has to make that call, not us. And whatever she decides, we have to honor it, right?”

  “I really don’t want to go, Glam.”

  “I know, sweetie. I wish you didn’t have to, but I’m afraid you will.
Look, once you get home and start school, time will fly. You know it will! And before you can whistle Dixie, Thanksgiving will be here and you’ll be back! Right?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “What don’t I understand?”

  “Our house smells like Dad. Everywhere you look there’s a picture of him or something that reminds you of him. When Mom gets back, she’s going to get depressed all over again. I don’t think I can take it, Glam. I really don’t.”

  What he really meant was that he would get depressed. I would have to speak to Jackie about putting away pictures and mementos and maybe even repainting so the rooms smelled fresh? Maybe Buster and I could buy them a new sofa so the old one wouldn’t remind him of sitting there with Jimmy watching television. Oh hell, I didn’t know what to do. I’d ask Buster.

  “I’ll speak to your mother,” I said. “Now let’s eat. There are starving children all over the world.”

  We finished up our breakfast, which was delicious beyond description, paid the bill, and went home. When we got there, the house was empty. Jackie was at work. And I found a note on the kitchen table from Buster that he and Steve had gone to the fish and tackle store to buy Charlie a rod and reel.

  Charlie looked at the note and said, “Awesome! Meanwhile, can I go see Jessee, Johnnie, and Jojo? Pleeeeeease?”

  “Sure! Go have fun! But if you leave their house to go anywhere else, you must call me, okay?”

  He gave me a thumbs-up, grabbed his skateboard and helmet, and was gone.

  I called Deb. “You busy? Want to go for a walk?”

  “Great idea. I need it. I’ve been doing nothing but eating since the funeral. I feel like a slug.”

  “Meet you at my beach steps in ten minutes?”

  “Puuur-fect,” she said and hung up.

  I changed my clothes and pulled on my sneakers, wondering what there was to be done about Charlie. I knew how Jackie felt. I had not moved a single picture of Buster in all the years he’d been fishing. Well, to be honest, I should say “since he had left me,” but I had told myself it was temporary so many times that now it was! And those pictures marked happier times: Jackie’s wedding, our vacations, and so on. Who wouldn’t want to be reminded of an occasion that gave you pleasure? So I could easily understand why she didn’t put pictures away. Still, I’d have a chat with her. And Buster.

  Deb was waiting for me, and in record time we were off and walking.

  “So do I look bloated?” she asked.

  “Of course not! If you feel bloated, eat asparagus. Or drink hot lemonade. You know that.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “But here’s the twenty-four-million-dollar question.”

  “What?”

  “Do I look like I had sex?”

  She stopped dead. “WHAT?” She started to laugh, and so did I. “With who? Buster?”

  “Hush! Someone will hear you! Yes, with Buster! Who else? The freaking milkman?”

  “Oh, my heart! Oh, my God! How did this happen? Where? I swear to God! I can’t breathe! I have to sit down!”

  “Stop! Keep walking. You’re drawing attention to us! If anyone heard us, they’d think we’re as crazy as hell. So remember yesterday morning I went up to Murrells Inlet with him?”

  “Jackie told me. You’d better tell me every single word, Annie Britt. Don’t you dare leave out one thing!”

  “I’m not! So, we went out to lunch at this crazy place called Drunken Jack’s, and it was pouring rain to beat the band, remember?”

  “Remember the rain? Are you kidding? It was a good day to build an ark.”

  “Truly! Well, since it was raining, we decided to get some Bloodys and fish po’boys. He had three and I had two, and we were completely snockered. I never drink vodka, as you know. Nasty. Anyway, somehow we got back to his rental house, but I knew I had to have a nap. He sure couldn’t drive back to the island without a nap, so we crawled in the bed. Before you ask, yes, there is a second bedroom, but the bed was covered with laundry, which figures. We took off our clothes, because who gets in the sack with all their clothes on? Then everyone would say, ‘Oh! It looks like you slept in your clothes!’ So we nodded off, and when we woke up an hour or so later, nature took its course!”

  “Well, that’s interesting, but did nature take his time?”

  “Yes, nature took his time, you nosy Nellie.”

  “So was it, I mean, you know . . . would you do it again?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Annie Britt, don’t lie to me.”

  “Okay, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Anyway, he’s staying in the guest room for as long as Charlie and Jackie are here.”

  “I heard that from your daughter. May I ask why he’s in the guest room, you daggum fool? He’s your husband!”

  “Because he snores like a beast.”

  “Actually, I made Vernon sleep in our guest room when he snored. God, that man shook the house.”

  “They all do. It’s amazing. Anyway, I wanted to tell you I know about Charlie’s cards. Jackie and I discussed the whole thing. Jackie asked Charlie, and he said the reason . . .” I told her Charlie’s explanation, and she nodded.

  “Children just see the world differently,” she said. “And they react differently than we do. I’m really glad there was nothing more to it. What a sweet child.”

  “Thanks but I’ll tell you what . . .”

  “What?”

  “That sweet child really doesn’t want to go back to New York.”

  “Look, shut my mouth and call me Aunt Fanny, but I think she should stick around for a while too. At least one semester. But she tells me she already has a job lined up for herself at the Brooklyn VA.”

  “She does?” I felt my heart sink.

  “Yes. You know? I mean, why can’t she see that her loss is bringing the rest of her family back together again? It’s as plain as the nose on my face!”

  “Because she’s a knucklehead. A truculent, shortsighted, self-involved knucklehead. And she’s so wound up in her own grief she doesn’t know what to do! Maybe her father can talk to her and get her to listen. I don’t know.”

  “Well, if you give the old man a little more lovin’, I’ll bet he will!”

  Deb started to laugh again, and so did I. In fact, we laughed off and on the whole way home. Who had ever heard of anything as stupid as hiding the fact that you’re screwing your own husband? It was one of those crazy family stories you hoped your grandchildren remembered to tell when you were long gone—under the right circumstances, of course.

  I invited Deb to sit on the porch with me for a while. Charlie’s treasure hunt was set to begin within the hour, and I was aching for a cool drink. I was pouring iced tea for us, and Charlie came through the back door.

  “Hey, Glam! Guster back?”

  “I just came in myself. Haven’t seen him. Want a cold drink of water or iced tea? It must be a thousand degrees out there today.”

  “Decaf?”

  “Your mother and her decaf business! Don’t you know that all those children in China drink tea all day long and they wind up at Harvard and MIT?”

  “Maybe I’ll just take water, then?”

  “How about watered-down iced tea?”

  “Sweet!” he said.

  “Oh, honey, did you want sugar?”

  “No, Glam, sweet means awesome.”

  I handed him the glass. “Well, I’m glad you cleared that one up for me, because I never would have figured it out. That’s for sure. Miss Deb’s on the porch. Go say hello.”

  “Sure! Then I’m going to wait on the back steps for the Greenville Three.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I said, and a few minutes later I followed him out to the porch.

  “Thanks,” Deb said when I handed her a glass. “So Charlie tells me he’s already buried his treasure. And that you helped him make a cryptogram like Poe’s. It sounds like an awful lot of effort went into this, Charlie.”

  “Y
eah, it did. But I think it’s going to be worth it. I can’t wait to see their faces when they get the cryptogram! Think I should give them a pencil?”

  “Yes! Of course! Just make sure it has a big eraser!” I said.

  We drained our glasses pretty quickly. Then, as I debated getting up to refill them, I heard the back door slam. I jumped. Buster knew how I felt about slamming doors. Maybe Steve did it. He probably didn’t know about me and slamming doors. In any case, the men were back.

  “You might want to go see what Guster brought home, Charlie.”

  “And, darlin’ child? Could you refill our glasses?”

  “Sure!” Charlie took our glasses and went inside. “Guster?” he called out.

  “In here, Charlie! Come see!”

  “You don’t want to go say hello?” Deb said.

  “You mean, get up again? I’m too pooped to pop. Besides, now that I’ve allowed him to enter the Magic Gate, shouldn’t he come to me?”

  “Magic Gate? Oh, girl! You are too funny!”

  Moments later, the door opened, and there came Buster with our tea, this time with lemon and sprigs of mint.

  “Why, thank you, Buster! We are so parched! Aren’t you parched, Deb?”

  “Like the Sahara,” she said and giggled.

  “I’m going to be on the steps with Charlie and Steve waiting for the other kids. Want me to call you when they get here?”

  “That would be perfect! I just need to sit for a few minutes. We walked quite a distance and in this heat? Mercy!”

  “You just need fluids,” he said. “All right, then. You ladies hydrate.”

  When she was sure that Buster was out of earshot, Deb said, “You collapsing camellia! You are so terrible!”

  “Not terrible. Just naughty enough. And only some of the time. All women are a little naughty sometimes.”

  “True. And he did bring us tea.”

  “Because he wants to visit the Magic Gate again. What did I tell you?”