The poor, poor well-meaning, generous-hearted woman was dead in love with a celibate priest. But by Memorial Day, when a rumor began to float around that he had asked to be released from his vows, Maureen blushed and stammered every time we brought it up. Like my mother used to say, God rest her soul, there’s a lid for every pot. Still, I think my mother would have been flabbergasted like the rest of us.
Jackie continued nursing at the VA hospital. Deb and I continued our morning walks. Buster and I ended our evenings on the porch, rocking, listening to the ocean, looking up at the stars, and chatting about the day’s events. Sometimes I’d have my crocheting on my lap, and no one had the courage to ask me who the dainty pink blanket was for, especially Jackie. That made me laugh to myself.
Every night Maureen retired early, presumably to coo on her new cell phone with Ben, as he was now known. I had to give her credit. She was the least obtrusive houseguest I’d ever had. That inconspicuousness gave Buster and me the porch.
“I guess Jackie will be moving my mother’s quilt next door soon,” I said.
“Yeah, this time it won’t be so complicated for us to go for a visit.”
“Very funny, Mr. Britt.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Britt. But don’t you love the way she actually defers to him once in a while?”
“Yes, I do. It’s because she respects him, especially since the moment they rescued Charlie. I think that was the clincher. It’s when she finally let her guard down.”
“Took long enough, but everything happens when it’s supposed to, I guess.”
And I’d agree with him on that too.
“We’ve got it good, Buster,” I’d say on so many nights.
“Yep, as long as you don’t start fussing around and driving me crazy again,” he’d mumble, trying to get a rise out of me.
As always, I took the bait, but nowadays, it was all in fun. “Oh, hush, you old carp! I’ll tell my nerves to come over there and take a bite out of you!”
“No! You hush, you old . . . what did I call you last night?”
“Last night? Let me see. Hmmm. I think I was a flounder, or maybe that was Tuesday night?”
“You never gave up on me, did you, Annie?”
“No, I never did. Or Jackie or Charlie. And I never will.”
“We’re a family again because of you, Annie. You know that, don’t you?”
“It helped that you all cooperated,” I’d say and smile. “It’s also because you’re a fabulous man, Buster Britt.”
Then we’d reach out across the darkness to each other just to have a connecting touch and we’d remark on what a marvelous state contentment was. For all of the differences between us, Jackie and I always agreed on one thing: a good woman’s heart knows no bounds. And love is the most powerful and wondrous gift in the world. Yes, it is.
Acknowledgments
Actual porch lights became an inspiration for this story because I have always loved the idea that folks left their porch lights on when they were still pleased to receive a random visitor after dark or because they were waiting for someone’s safe return. And I grew up on an island with a lighthouse, whose powerful beam existed for the sole purpose of guiding boats and ships into port safely. Light has always been a symbol of welcome, anticipation, and safe harbor.
The other inspiration for this story stemmed from the fact that Edgar Allan Poe once called Sullivans Island home. I had read most of Poe’s work but didn’t know who the man himself really was. I couldn’t wait to find out. The very first thought that came to mind as I began to read about Poe was that everyone seemed to want to claim him—Boston, Baltimore, Charlottesville, and of course, Sullivans Island—but during his lifetime very few people seemed to love him.
Just as the true nature of Dorothy and DuBose Heyward’s characters had been a puzzle for me a few years ago, it seemed that James M. Hutchisson had been asking himself the same question about Heyward and then Poe. If you want to know more about the real life of Edgar Allan Poe, you must read James M. Hutchisson’s book Poe (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2005). I found it to be an engrossing read and an invaluable source of fascinating information. It shed new light on Poe, helping me gain a much deeper understanding of this very complicated, brilliant man and his quirky, truculent personality. So, Professor Hutchisson, just as I thanked you for your wonderful work on the Charleston Literary Renaissance and the life of DuBose Heyward, I thank you now for your irresistibly delicious biography of Edgar Allan Poe. And Matthew Pearl’s work on Poe entitled The Poe Shadow, which you should also read, led him to the extremely interesting theory that Poe did not die from rabies or poor lifestyle choices but from a brain tumor, which I think makes an awful lot of sense in light of the details. Thank you, gentlemen, for your excellent work.
Robert Rosen? Where are you, bubba? Step up and take a bow! It is my old pal Robert who is the masterful and witty pen-swinging gentleman behind a small but value-packed volume called A Short History of Charleston (Charleston: University of South Carolina Press, 1997). I can’t remember anything I’ve written without consulting the pages of ASHOC. To enhance a visit to the Holy City, I suggest every tourist should buy a copy of this fine work and read it.
I’m always looking for books on the Lowcountry that might teach me something new, bringing stacks of them home to ponder. In my travels I stumbled on another wonderful book, perhaps not as well known as the Hutchisson, Pearl, and Rosen books but no less helpful or interesting. If you want to amaze the children in your life or be the new “it” girl (or boy) on the beach party circuit, pick up a copy of 1001 Questions Answered About the Seashore by N. J. Berrill and Jacquelyn Berrill (New York: Dover Publications, 1976). If you own a beach house, you should own this book.
Special thanks to my dear friends Adrian Shelby and Ed Bindel for leading me to their gracious cousin Lieutenant Colonel Jocelyn Leventhal of the U.S. Army, who enlightened me on day-to-day life in Afghanistan. And to Tammy M. Finney, MSN, RN, SHCH, CWC, of the Ralph H. Johnson VA Medical Center in Charleston, South Carolina, for her important information and insights.
Thanks to Christian Georgantonis of Douglas Manor, New York, for the idea to make the Nintendo DS the favorite gaming device of my character Charlie McMullen. And thanks and smooches to my childhood pal, former mayor, and island king Marshall Stith, for getting the skinny on the windows of the Goldbug Island Clubhouse’s manager extraordinaire, Thomas Smith, and his help in lining up the cameos for some Station 22 favorite patrons: Mark Tanenbaum, Larry Dodds, David Kenney, Mike Richardson, Johnny Disher, Bill Roettger, and Steve Reeves. These excellent specimens of genteel islanders are no more in the habit of sending drinks to women than the man in the moon, at least, not to my knowledge. They appear in these pages in the name of good clean fun. And many thanks to my sweet friend Dawn Durst for fictionally providing the music for Vernon’s wake, and to my dear friends Fran and Sharon Wanat, many thanks as well.
And to Margaret Donaldson, many thanks for your support of the Lowcountry Open Land Trust, a mighty worthy cause. Ms. Donaldson will happily transform your home or place of business, but sorry, not your persona. But Hailey Nagel of the Allure Salon in Charleston, who walks through this story as herself, can help you out—especially if you have oxidized beach head. Or if you’re on the beach—Sullivans Island, that is—you can call Julie Nestler at Beauty and the Beach and she’ll take care of you just like she does Annie Britt. And to Mike Veek (Go, RiverDogs!), thanks for appearing here, and I hope you never get poison ivy, but if you do, call George Durst or Duke Hagerty, not Steve Plofker. Steve Plofker is our great pal in Montclair, and he is not a dermatologist but a generous supporter of the Montclair Art Museum. And I hope his wife, the one and only Bobbi Brown, thinks I painted a fair picture of Steve’s sweetest side. She should rest assured that Steve’s not messing around with Jackie McMullen in real life, only in this book. Jackie’s here because, well, because she’s one of the finest women I’ve ever known and I thought she’d g
et a kick out of being a leading lady.
I’d like to thank my wonderful editor at William Morrow, Carrie Feron, for her marvelous friendship, her endless wisdom, and her fabulous sense of humor. I am blowing you bazillions of smooches from my office window in Montclair. And to Suzanne Gluck, Alicia Gordon, Eve Attermann, Claudia Webb, Cathryn Summerhayes, Tracy Fisher, and the whole amazing team of Jedis at WME, I am loving y’all to pieces and looking forward to a brilliant future together!
And to the entire William Morrow and Avon team: Brian Murray, Michael Morrison, Liate Stehlik, Adrienne Di Pietro, Tessa Woodward, Lynn Grady, Tavia Kowalchuk, Seale Ballenger, Ben Bruton, Leah Loguidice, Shawn Nichols, Frank Albanese, Virginia Stanley, Jamie Brickhouse, Rachael Brennan, Josh Marwell, Michael Brennan, Erin Gorham, Carla Parker, Donna Waikus, Rhonda Rose, Michael Morris, Caitlin Rolfes, Gabe Barillas, Deb Murphy, and last but most certainly not ever least, Brian Grogan: thank you one and all for the miracles you perform and for your amazing, generous support. You still make me want to dance.
To Buzzy Porter, huge thanks for getting me so organized and for your loyal friendship of so many years. Don’t know what I’d do without you!
To Debbie Zammit, seems incredible but here we are again! Another year! Another year of tuna salad on Mondays, keeping me on track, catching my goobers, and making me look reasonably intelligent. I know, I owe you so big time it’s ridiculous, but isn’t this publishing business more fun than Seventh Avenue? Love ya, girl!
To Ann Del Mastro, George Zur, and my cousin Charles Comar Blanchard, all the Franks love you for too many reasons to enumerate!
To booksellers across the land, and I mean every single one of you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, especially Patty Morrison of Barnes & Noble, Tom Warner and Vicky Crafton of Litchfield Books, Sally Brewster of Park Road Books, and once again, can we just hold the phone for Jacquie Lee of Books-A-Million? Jacquie, Jacquie! You are too much, hon! Love ya and love y’all!
To my family, Peter, William, and Victoria, I love y’all with all I’ve got. I’m so proud of you and so grateful for your understanding when deadlines and book tours roll around every year. As always, just for being who you are, my heart swells with gratitude and pride when I think of you, and you are never far away from the forefront of my mind. Every woman should have my good fortune with their family. You fill my life with joy. Usually. Just kidding.
Finally, to my readers, to whom I owe the greatest debt of all, I am sending you the most sincere and profound thanks for reading my stories, for sending along so many nice e-mails, for yakking it up with me on Facebook, and for coming out to book signings. You are why I try to write a book each year. I hope Porch Lights will give you something new to think about and somewhere new to try. There’s a lot of magic down here in the Lowcountry. Please come see us and get some for yourself!
I love you all and thank you once again.
About the Author
Bestselling author DOROTHEA BENTON FRANK was born and raised on Sullivans Island, South Carolina. She and her husband divide their time between South Carolina and New Jersey.
Please visit her website at www.dotfrank.com and join her on Facebook.
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Also by Dorothea Benton Frank
Folly Beach
Lowcountry Summer
Return to Sullivans Island
Bulls Island
The Christmas Pearl
The Land of Mango Sunsets
Full of Grace
Pawleys Island
Shem Creek
Isle of Palms
Plantation
Sullivans Island
Credits
Cover design by Mary Schuck
Cover photographs by Leah Rucker and Shutterstock
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PORCH LIGHTS. Copyright © 2012 by Dorothea Benton Frank. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-196129-8
Epub Edition JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780062194862
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Dorothea Benton Frank, Porch Lights
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