Kitabı oku: «The Beach House», sayfa 6

More houses and docks bordered the winding waterway than she remembered and many more boats were cruising. When she was young, she and her friends could jump from the dock and swim across the waterway to a small hammock of land where they could stand for a bit to catch their breath before they swam back. To try that today would be as dangerous as crawling on all fours across a two-lane highway. The wakes of boats rocked them as they sped by, but it was all in good sport with lots of waves and smiles.

As beautiful as the houses and marshes were, she far more enjoyed just sitting back and enjoying the vision of her brother in his own element. Palmer was a Lowcountry boy through and through, in love with every square inch of land and every drop of water that made up this special place on God’s earth.

He’d been a restless boy. Mama had called him Palmer the Panther because of the way he prowled with a hungry look in his eyes. But he was older now and Cara thought the paunch over the rim of his Tommy Bahama trunks and the extra roundness to his cheeks attested to a certain degree of satisfaction with his life—and his penchant for biscuits and barbeque.

“Auntie Caretta, do you want some soda?”

Cara turned her head to see a prim Linnea standing wide legged before her, trying desperately to maintain her balance while serving a cold Coke in a Koozie in a ladylike fashion.

“Why, thank you, darling,” she replied, taking the soda. “You are the sweetest, most adorable hostess I’ve ever seen. And you’re doing a wonderful job. Palmer, do you see how wonderful your daughter is? Not spilling a drop? She’s like a ballerina with all this bouncing around.”

“More like a drunken sailor,” he called back.

“Daddy!”

“Only kidding, sweetheart. You know I think you’re the best.”

“My mama told me I was the hostess,” she told Cara earnestly. “Since she’s back at the house fixing dinner. Do you want anything else?”

“Just a kiss.”

The little girl obliged, leaning far over to give a bumpy kiss on her cheek, then she was back on duty. “Grandmama Lovie, do you want something cold?”

Linnea moved across the boat, holding tight to seat backs, knees, anything she could grab to keep from tumbling over as the boat sped along. The child was trying so very hard to do her job right.

Cooper was only interested in driving the boat. His small but stout frame stood rigidly near his father, his round dark eyes trained on the gears and every move Palmer made at the wheel. Sadly, Palmer was too busy shouting out his comments to the adults over the roar of the engine to pay the boy mind.

“Daddy, can I hold the wheel? Please?” he asked for the tenth time.

“Cooper, go on over to your grandmother for a spell,” Palmer shouted, shooing the boy away.

Cooper’s face fell to a scowl but he obliged, moving stiff-leggedly to sit in the shade of the awning beside Toy and Lovie. Cara watched the boy as he squirmed in his seat for a few minutes, then chuckled to herself when she saw him sneak his way back to the wheel again to stare at his father, his brown eyes pleading. It was both funny and sad for Cara to watch, remembering how Palmer used to be the same way with their father, and how Daddy, too, had shooed his son away.

Palmer, Palmer, she thought to herself. Careful what you’re doing.

The red sun was sinking into the horizon as they headed back to Charleston and the waters took on a marvelous, glassy pink hue. The powerful engine churned as they cut through the choppy waters of the harbor.

“Look, Aunt Cara. There’s Fort Sumter!” Linnea exclaimed, pointing to a small island in the middle of the entrance to Charleston Harbor from the Atlantic.

Cara smiled and nodded, having seen the historical spot a million times in the past.

Linnea moved closer in an attempt to strike up a conversation with her. “Aunt Cara, did you know the first shot of the War Between the States was fired at that fort?”

Cara opened her mouth but was too surprised to find the words to reply.

Palmer let loose a loud belly laugh and shouted, “She thinks you’re a Yankee! That’ll teach you to live up north so long.”

Lovie only smiled and nodded her head as if to say, I told you so.

“Honey pie,” Palmer said between laughs, “if your Aunt Cara’s a Yankee, then so am I.”

Linnea looked at her father with confusion. “But Daddy, she lives in Chicago.”

“All too true, darling. But she was born and raised right here in Charleston. Just like you.”

Linnea turned to look at Cara again, the wonder in her limpid blue eyes mixed with speculation as to whether Cara was to be scorned or pitied for having lost her mind and leaving the Lowcountry.

Cara knew that she’d become something of an oddity in the family, the exile who lived somewhere cold and unfamiliar to warm-blooded southerners. Someone who only came to visit when duty called, wearing clothes that were different, and preferred to stay in a hotel than with the family. She felt the distance most acutely with these children who studied her now with measured glances.

“Don’t you worry, honey,” Cara assured her niece with a wry smile. “It’s not your fault for not knowing. I left long before the Civil War.” She exaggerated the phrase that marked her as a Yankee, just to tweak her brother.

“You just keep dating yourself, sister mine,” he drawled, not missing a beat. And though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his black sunglasses, she knew they were sparkling. “But I’ll always be your older brother, our mother’s darling and superior in every way.”

Cara took the ribbing in her stride, knowing full well that this was only the appetizer portion of what was yet to come. It was his way to make light of painful subjects—and it worked. Linnea warmed up to her once the family ties were straightened out. She took a seat next to Cara as much out of curiosity as affection. Cara felt the line of her slim body bump against hers as they headed straight for the tip of the Charleston peninsula and felt a surge of affection for her young niece. It was a new experience for her and she smiled warmly, gratified when Linnea smiled back.

Everyone in the boat quieted as they drew near to the city. Cara lifted her chin and felt a stirring of pride at seeing the cluster of historical homes along the Battery that gave the city its distinction. They loomed over the high stone embankment as pretty and desirable as a line of well-bred beauties leaning over an iron balustrade. No matter how many times one saw the view, stranger and local alike never got over the thrill of viewing the city in the same manner that travelers approaching by sea had seen the city for hundreds of years. Charleston showed herself off best from the water, she thought, still smiling.

The big motor slowed and the propellers churned the waters as the boat eased into the Charleston marina. The smell of gasoline mingled with saltwater. Cara’s stomach tightened as the boat rocked.

“We’re almost home,” Linnea said. Then, pointing toward the shore, she added with a child’s boast, “Our house is right back in there.”

Cara lifted her chin to look beyond the tall masts to Bay Street and the familiar row of stately homes. Home? She drew in a long breath while her thoughts traveled the few blocks farther back in that cluster of brick, wood and iron to the house that she had grown up in. She looked to her mother and was surprised to see Lovie’s gaze upon her, a small, knowing half smile upon her lips.

Under the cloak of night the loggerhead comes ashore. She slowly drags her body in a tanklike crawl to a dry site high on the beach. Only the female loggerhead comes ashore to nest. Once the male hatchling swims into the sea, he almost never will set flipper on beach again.

CHAPTER SIX

Her mother’s house was a handsome Greek Revival located on one of the narrow, palmetto and oak shaded side streets “South of Broad,” that golden perimeter of blocks where affluence still reigned in splendor. Charming was the word most people used to describe the distinctive architecture of the historical, pastel houses, churches and gardens with their elaborate grillwork. Olivia and Stratton Rutledge had purchased the house in the early 1960s soon after Cara’s birth for a fraction of its current worth and it was the only house Cara had ever lived in growing up. Her mother had fallen in love at first sight with the grace and charm of the rather dilapidated house. Owning it had been an adventure. Lovie had found countless artifacts in the yard as they dug the earth for the pool, and over the years she’d painstakingly brought the mansion, with its gracious three-story piazza, back to its former glory. It was Lovie’s glory that every fall for years the house was included in the Preservation Society’s annual house-and-garden tour.

Sitting at the curb looking at her childhood home surrounded by majestic oaks, Cara knew that a beautiful house was not always a happy one. She got out of the car, stepping into the mist drifting in from the harbor. She closed the door and quietly walked along the crooked sidewalk toward the front gate. Even as she moved forward she felt as she always did the urge to spin on her heel and run. Inside this grand house there were memories she preferred not to revisit. Nothing morbid or incestuous, nothing that would make scandalous headlines. Theirs was a more quiet and insidious kind of trauma. Palmer and she had suffered a long series of insults and sad incidents that curled thick and musty around her like the fog on this gunmetal-gray night.

Her chest constricted and she took a deep breath as she stood at the front door beside her mother and Toy, waiting for someone to answer their bell. Inside the house she heard the sound of children’s high-pitched laughter and a pounding of feet on the stairs. A moment later, Julia swung open the wide front door to welcome them each in a warm embrace.

“You’re here! We thought y’all got lost. How long does it take to get here from the dock?”

“I just wanted to drive around the old neighborhood,” Cara explained.

“Well, come on in and welcome. The children are like jumping beans.” Julia was tiny and slender in her lovely floral summer dress that matched exactly her pale-blue eyes. Cara hadn’t seen her in years and thought her sister-in-law had traded her youthful perkiness for a mature elegance that flattered her. Yet behind Julia’s bright smile she spotted a new hardness, especially around the eyes where fine lines accentuated the strain. She’d cut her long blond hair to a sporty, cropped look that exposed the large topaz-and-diamond earrings at her ears. Her makeup was expertly applied. Cara knew that if she ran into her sister-in-law at the grocery store she would look as well turned out.

It seemed to her that Julia was a bit presumptuous in welcoming Lovie as a guest in her own home, but she reasoned that it was only natural for a Southern woman to do anything she could to make everyone feel welcome. In contrast, Toy was being mulish, shuffling her feet and barely muttering a halfhearted hello. Cara knew her well enough now to know that this was a mask for her insecurities.

Julia did not take offense. Laughing at something Lovie said, she guided them all through the foyer to the veranda. Cara stayed indoors to wander. The house had the look and feel of one of Charleston’s grand historic houses with high ceilings, heavy amounts of wood trim, elaborate fireplaces and glossy heart pine flooring. Yet she found a difference now that was not so much in a change of furnishings as in mood. The stuffy wallpaper she remembered had been replaced by bright and cheerful colors: raspberry red in the dining room, sage green in the front sitting room, cool teal in the study. The heavy brocades and velvets on the windows were now gorgeous silk that seemed to float from the ten-foot ceilings to the floor. The brilliant colors drew attention to the antiques that had been in Cara’s family for generations.

“You look like you expect to see a ghost to materialize,” Palmer said, bringing her a gin and tonic. He’d changed from his boating clothes to trousers and a silk polo shirt.

Cara turned her head and broke into a wide grin at seeing him. She gratefully accepted the drink. “You mean Daddy?”

Palmer’s gaze went to the large painted portrait of Stratton Rutledge prominent over the staircase landing. “He’s still here, floating around. I never could escape the son of a bitch.”

“You could have.”

Palmer shook his head and forced a laugh, but his eyes appeared haunted. “I run the company now. I live in his house. I carry the name. Hey, what can I say? I gave up running from my destiny.”

She looked her brother in the eye. “We each make our destiny.”

“If you believe that, darlin’, I’ve got some swamp land I’d love to sell you.” He raised his glass for a drink of his bourbon but his eyes gleamed over his drink. Again, she felt the age-old connection they’d shared as children. “It sure is good to see you again,” he said. “You’re as beautiful as ever.” He skipped a beat. “And as tall.”

At five foot ten, Cara could almost look her brother in the eye. Growing up it had been a sore point between them that, though younger, she was taller than him. Then he hit a delayed growth spurt and beat her, but only by an inch.

“I’ve still got you beat,” he added.

“It looks like you’ve beat me in the girth department, too.”

He patted his belly with jovial pride. “Yes ma’am, marriage does that to a man. Not that you’d know about that.”

Cara remained unfazed. “I’ve managed to escape so far.”

“Woman, where’d you get all those crazy ideas? Not in the South, that’s for sure and certain. If you’d stayed here you’d have a strapping husband and a whole slew of babies running around right this minute. Oh, no, look out. Her back is up.”

“If you only knew the third degree I was getting from Mama. I’m worn out.”

He chuckled in understanding and swirled his drink. “So, how long are you staying this time?”

“Don’t know, exactly. Mama wants me to stay longer but, to be honest, I’m getting a little antsy already. There’s nothing for me to do here.”

“Cara, Cara,” he said shaking his head. “You just can’t wait to leave this paradise and get back to that cold city. I’ll never understand you.” He inclined his head in interest. “You said Mama wrote you a letter?”

She nodded and took a sip of her drink, turning more serious. “That’s right. Our usual status of a polite truce has worked well enough for us both over the years, but I sense things have changed for her since Daddy died. I like to think she’s missed me. More likely she just wants me to help sort through all the stuff now that he’s gone.”

Palmer’s face sharpened, barely perceptibly, but enough that she knew she’d hit a tender spot.

“What kind of sorting?”

“Again, I don’t know. I imagine all the clutter stored up in the attic, and dividing things up from this house now that she’s living at the beach house. I suppose she wants to sell this house. Hasn’t she talked to you about this?”

His face clouded and he studied her with a question in his eyes that she couldn’t make out. “No,” he replied slowly. “No, she hasn’t.”

“I believe she—”

“So how do you like the place?” he asked, interrupting her and extending his arm toward the living room.

Cara was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject but she went along with it, concluding that Palmer was upset that he’d not been consulted.

“The place looks quite different,” she replied, following him into the sunroom. “It looks much, I don’t know…younger. Cheerful, even. The decorator was brilliant.”

He beamed. “Julia gets all the credit and it’d be real nice if you said something to her about it. She slaved over every detail. And I don’t mind telling you I thought I’d go cross-eyed looking at all the fabric swatches she brought home for curtains or bedspreads or cushions—you name it. And the fringe! You never saw so damn much fringe in all your life.”

“I’ll tell her. She did a marvelous job.” Then looking at her drink she asked, “And Mama didn’t mind the changes?”

He looked at her queerly. “Mind? Hell no, why should she mind?”

“I don’t know. She lived in the house for so long….”

“No, no, she loves it,” he said with boisterous confidence. “And Julia loves fixing it up. And I don’t care one way or the other, so everybody’s happy. But I don’t figure this traditional stuff is your style. You prefer that modern, spare look, I hear.”

Cara’s gaze swept the gracious rooms and she wondered if that was still true. “Perhaps,” she replied, then caught his eye and smiled wickedly. “But it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“Well, you haven’t changed your mind about Frogmore Stew, I hope. Man, oh, man—I’ve a big pot out back with your name on it. Should just about be ready. Julia!” he called out.

She poked her head around the corner. “Yes, honey?”

“Get my sister something to nibble on while I tend to the stew. I’ll be ready to serve in a few minutes.” He turned to face Cara with a wink. “Made it special for you.”

Cara felt a flush of pleasure that he’d remembered it was her favorite after all and went to join Julia in the kitchen to help serve the feast.

They sat together in the raspberry-colored dining room while tall white candles glimmered around them and the ornate crystal chandelier glowed like the moon above. They spoke of old times. Or, for the most part, Palmer talked and she sat back and listened to him at the head of the long, mahogany table as he recounted funny tales and anecdotes of the happier moments they’d shared, both in the city house and at the beach. He had acquired their father’s gift of storytelling. It was a skill with words taught to young Southern boys that improved with age. But only a few inherited the real talent for drawing out choice details, for turning the colorful phrase and for nailing a characterization with such precision that the listener could see the person as readily as if he or she were standing before them in the flesh. The listeners leaned forward as Palmer brought to life old memories. He seemed to relive them as he spoke and brought Cara and Lovie to the past along with him. They each punctuated the telling with comments of their own.

Initially, Toy had tried to act bored but she, too, got sucked in. Cara caught glimpses of her sitting wide-eyed as she and the children gobbled up the stories as quickly as the steaming shrimp, sausage and corn. At times Palmer had them laughing so hard the children had to cover their mouths to keep the food in. Even Toy relaxed enough to crack a smile and let a laugh escape.

As the evening drew late, however, and more wine consumed, Palmer’s cheeks became flushed and his colorful, silken stories became fringed with bitterness. He touched on the darker side of their jangled-up histories and an uncomfortable tension crept over them. When he pushed back his chair to stand, the sigh of relief from the women was almost audible.

“I think we should open up another bottle, don’t you?” Palmer asked in a long drawl, lifting the empty bottles of wine from the table. “Y’all wait here and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he left the room, Lovie shot a loaded glance at Julia.

She immediately rose. “Come along, children. Hurry up and kiss your grandmama and Aunt Cara good-night. Quick like bunnies!”

There was a bustle of smooches and tender declarations of love and then Julia excused herself to put her babies to bed.

Toy took the cue. “I’m really tired, Miss Lovie. Would y’all mind if I stretch out on the couch a bit and put my feet up?”

Lovie appeared relieved. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Watch a little TV if you like. But don’t get too comfy. We’ll be leaving presently.”

Soon after Toy left, Palmer returned to the room dusting off another bottle of wine.

“Son, I think it’s time to call it a night,” Lovie said, placing her napkin on the table. “It’s been a marvelous day. I can’t thank you enough.”

Palmer stopped dead in his tracks. “No, no, don’t go,” he replied, a petulant pleading in his voice. He brought the bottle to the table and began to uncork it. “It’s the shank of the evening and we never see you anymore, Mama.” Then, as though he just noticed, he looked around and said, “Where did the children go?”

“Julia put them to bed,” Lovie replied.

He scowled and his eyes flashed with anger. “Now why did that fool woman hurry them off?” He took a step and craned his neck toward the staircase. “Julia!” he bellowed.

Cara stared at her brother with shock.

“Yes?” They heard her voice from upstairs, sounding a tad too cheerful.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” he called back.

“I’m putting the babies to bed. It’s late.”

“Hush now, Palmer,” Lovie said in an easy, calming voice. “You sound like a fishmonger shouting across the room like that. Let her put those darlings to bed.”

“They can go to bed any ol’ time. I want them to spend more time with you.”

Cara stiffened at the ugly and too familiar sight of a man turned belligerent from too much wine.

“They’ve had a full day and the awnings were dropping over those precious eyes. They’re young and need to go to bed. And I’m old and need to go to bed as well. Besides, I’m only a short drive away. You can bring my grandbabies to visit any time you wish.”

Palmer wagged his head, frowning. “It’s not the same with you gone. They need their grandmother’s influence. Julia’s a fine girl and all, but let’s face it, she doesn’t have your breeding.”

Cara eyed him sharply for shaming his wife in front of his mother and sister.

“Why’d you leave us, anyway?” he droned on. “This will always be your home as much as mine.”

“How grand of you to say so,” Cara said testily.

“Well, it is!” he replied in strong defense. “I never wanted Mama to leave.” He poured more wine into Cara’s glass, spilling a few drops. Then almost in a pout he added, “She insisted.”

“That’s true,” Lovie replied in a cajoling tone while placing her hand over her glass. “I know you wanted me to stay and I’m touched, but honestly, I couldn’t be happier than right where I am. I’ve always loved my little beach house.”

“You always loved this house,” Palmer replied, filling his own glass.

Cara and Lovie exchanged a worried glance.

“But since you brought it up,” he said, sitting down and getting comfortable, “let’s talk about this sensibly.” He repositioned himself in his chair and placed his elbows squarely on the table. Raising his eyes to Lovie’s he said in a congenial tone, “Okay, here it is, plain and simple. Mama, I want you to come back here to live with us. I don’t like you so far out there on the island. I want you right here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I’m quite content where I am.”

“In that ol’ place? First off, that place is a firetrap. It’s barely standing. Hell, one good wind will take that cottage straight off from its foundation.”

“That little cottage has withstood more hurricanes than I can count,” Lovie replied in ringing defense.

Palmer put up his hand. “Maintenance is just one thing. Hiring this girl when you could be living here with us is another. But those are small potatoes compared to the whopping hit we took from the recent tax assessment. The value of that little piece of land has skyrocketed in the past few years.” His eyes gleamed and he leaned forward on his elbows with import. “That worthless little cottage sits on prime ocean real estate. There’s not much of that left on the island anymore, and you know that’s true. The new tax bill made my blood pressure shoot sky-high.”

Lovie seemed agitated and she leaned toward her son. “But Palmer, didn’t you apply for the tax cap? I told you to do that for me last December when I moved out there.”

“I did, but it was still a sizable increase. Your money is largely invested, Mama, and with the stock market the way it is your cash flow is severely limited. It just doesn’t make sense to hold on to that place any longer.”

“I don’t need much.”

“That’s not the point, Mama. Now, don’t you get up on your high horse. Hear me out. I did my own investigating and I know for a fact that no matter how sorry a shape that cottage is in, it’s worth at least seven, maybe eight hundred thousand. Maybe even more. See, the thing is, there’s those three choice lots sitting across from you. Two of them were gifted to the Coastal Conservancy as open parkland forever.”

Cara’s brows rose. She didn’t know that. If so, that would add a great deal to the value of her mother’s site.

“Now the way I see it,” Palmer continued, “if I can buy that third lot that’s right smack in front of your place, then between them we’d have two prime lots. I could build two houses on spec, situating one on the ocean in such a way as to guarantee ocean views from the other. The land would be priceless then. Worth millions.”

“The land is already priceless to me,” Lovie said in a quiet voice.

“Why, sure, Mama, I know you love it. But we should strike while the iron’s hot. We need to buy that land before someone else does.”

“Do you know who owns the third lot?” Cara asked.

Palmer shook his head. “No, but I’ve got my people on it. It’s only a matter of time till I find out.”

“So, I gather you want me to sell now?” Lovie asked.

There was something about her mother’s tone that alerted Cara, an iron strength hidden in the question. She glanced at Lovie’s face. It was solemn and pale. Palmer’s face, in contrast, was beet red and his eyes were alive with the look of a bloodhound on the scent.

“I think we should talk about it. See what our options are.”

Lovie turned to face Cara. “Do you want me to sell?”

Cara didn’t expect the question. “It’s not up to me.”

“Why are you asking her?” Palmer interjected with heat.

Cara bristled. “As a member of the family, I have a right to at least an opinion.”

“A right? Hell, after twenty years’ absence you feel you still have a right?”

“Cara,” her mother said and her tone drew Cara’s attention back. “Do you want me to sell?”

Cara pursed her lips, considering. One of her strengths in business was her ability to remove herself from an equation and think objectively. When she replied, her voice was calm and decisive. “If what Palmer says is true and those two lots are deeded as a park, then your land is like gold in the bank. It’s safe. And money isn’t the issue, or it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Palmer. “If I recollect, Mama is invested in blue-chip stocks. If they go under, the country goes under. So,” she concluded, turning again to her mother, “as far as I’m concerned, you should do what makes you happy, Mama. It’s your land. Your life. Enjoy it.”

Lovie’s face eased into a soft smile and her eyes seemed to express relief and even, perhaps, hope.

“And you don’t have any interest in the beach house yourself?” Palmer asked.

It was an ugly question and Cara was sorry to hear it. She looked at her mother. Lovie was leaning forward, intently focused on her answer.

“No,” Cara replied honestly. “It belongs to Mama. I hope she’ll live there happily for a very long time.”

Palmer leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his belly. “Oh, do you? Well, I think it’s odd that you come home now, after all these years, with a sudden interest in sorting through this house and the beach property.”

It was the drink talking and she didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ve told you, Palmer, I’m home because Mama asked me to come. Let me put any fears you have of my being a mercenary to rest. I’m well-off, Palmer, not rich, but comfortable. I’ve always been able to fend for myself, as you well know.” She leaned back in her own chair and with a wry smile added, “I’ve made my money the old-fashioned way—I earned it. I don’t need anything from Mama.”

“Honey,” Palmer replied with a long drawl, “I made my money the real old-fashioned way. I inherited it.” He laughed and managed to diffuse the tension between them, though it was still there, simmering under the surface. He turned again to Lovie, his face appearing sincere. “Mama, be sensible. Aside from the financial picture, we have to be realistic about your health. As pretty as you are, you’re not getting any younger. It’s just not safe for you to be living out there by yourself. We’re downtown. Your doctors are downtown. If you should have some sort of emergency, you’d be too far from real help. What kind of a son would I be to leave you on your own at this point in your life?”

“I appreciate your concern,” she replied stiffly, “but I’m not alone. The Turtle Ladies look out for me and I’ve Toy to see to my everyday needs.” Lovie seemed to regret mention of the girl’s name because she closed her mouth quickly.

Palmer seized on this. “That’s another thing! What do we know about that girl? Why, she could be robbing you blind.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake…” Lovie said, shaking her head in her palm.

“Even if she’s not rifling through the silver, what kind of help can you get from a girl who’s so far pregnant she can barely walk? How can she take care of you? She’s barely old enough to take care of herself. I mean, hell,” Palmer slammed his hand on the table. “I’m not sure I want my children associating with her kind. I don’t even want her in my house. Who knows where she’s from? What kind of an example is she setting for Linnea?”