All the Single Ladies (31 page)

“Really?” Carrie said. “What did we do wrong?”

“Forceful entry, for starters? And, you know, this might go to trial? Therefore, the magnifying glass and the letter opener have to be entered into evidence.”

“Detective? Does the police department of Charleston really want to take responsibility for holding something with that kind of price tag?” David asked.

The detective thought for a moment before speaking. “To be perfectly honest with you, I think there is no precedent for a situation like this. I'll have to ask the chief. What time is it?”

“Ten after three,” Paul said.

“Oh gosh,” the detective said, and sighed. “He hates it when I get him out of bed.”

The chief of police was consulted and the situation was explained. When the detective finally got off the phone, he looked at us and said we should go home and get some sleep.

“I'm gonna let our CSI guys take some pictures of the magnifying glass and the letter opener, and I strongly encourage you not to come back around here to take anything else.”

A man with a camera stepped over and took pictures.

“What about the furniture in the apartment?” Suzanne said.

“We'll get that all sorted out later. Let's see what Ms. Murray has to say when she's interrogated. Here's my card. I have your information. We'll be in touch.”

We all went home to the Isle of Palms, except for Carrie, who had us drop her off at the hospital, where Mike had been admitted for overnight observation.

“If everything's okay, I won't bother you until tomorrow. I just want to sit with him.”

“We understand,” I said. “Give him our love, okay?”

She nodded and hugged all of us.

“We'll call you when we get up,” Suzanne said.

As we drove away Suzanne said, “Good thing Mike goes by ‘Mike' and not ‘John' or we'd be planning a funeral.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry said.

“I'll explain it to you another time,” Suzanne said.

The moment Suzanne asked David to stay with us at the beach for the rest of the night, he accepted. It was too late to check in to a hotel, or too early, depending on your point of view.

“I think I'm staying too,” Harry said.

Suzanne looked at him and smiled. Harry was guarding his territory.

“Oh, okay. But no funny business.”

“Who me?” Harry said.

“This is rich,” David said.

Finally, Harry had gained admittance to Suzanne's garden, but would he be given the keys to the gate?

“Some of us are late bloomers,” Suzanne said.

Later on I was curled up in bed with Paul and Pickle was in her bed on the floor. Sadly, I couldn't hear any creaking bedsprings overhead but Suzanne and Harry were exhausted. Paul and I were beyond tired too, but sleep wouldn't come. And the sun was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.

“This was some night, wasn't it?” I said.

“You sure run with a fast crowd,” he said, and kissed the back of my shoulder.

I smiled, and for the hundredth or so time, I thought about how relieved I was that Paul had not been hurt. Or Harry, or David, or of course the rest of us, really. Poor Mike.

“Did you say something?” I said.

“I said, I need to take you away from here where I can keep you safe.”

“What are you saying, Paul Gleicher?”

“I'm saying, marry me.”

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” I said, and smiled in the dark.

“I love you,” he said. “You have to marry me. Or I don't know what . . .”

Then I heard a little tiny snore. He had fallen asleep in midsentence.

“I love you too,” I said, and drifted off to sleep.

 

Epilogue

Suzanne gave Kathy's ashes to David before he left and he said he was going to spread them around their baby's grave site. Wendy Murray's face was plastered all over the papers every day for two months and we sent all the articles to David. Fortunately, all the charges against us were dropped, with a stern warning from the judge.

“I don't want to ever see your faces in my courtroom again. Is that understood?”

Wendy was charged with attempted manslaughter, illegal possession of a deadly weapon, resisting arrest, obstruction of justice, and grand larceny. Through a plea bargain, she was fined twenty-­five thousand dollars and sentenced to five years in prison without parole. The judge told her she was lucky he didn't throw the book at her because he could've sentenced her to thirty years.

“I wonder how she's adjusting to the life in the big house,” Carrie said, and jangled her bangles.

Yes, Wendy fessed up to stealing the bracelets. Suzanne gave them to Carrie.

“I hope she rots in hell,” Mike said.

His arm was still in a sling. I couldn't tell you if it was still necessary but it did wonders for his martyr status.

“Baby, you are so my hero, you don't even know!” Carrie said.

“And you're the love of my life,” he said.

“Excuse me!” I said. “There are children in the room!”

Carrie's affection for Mike had doubled, maybe tripled, ever since he took a bullet in the name of righ­teous­ness.

Paul and I were sitting on the porch with them, waiting for Suzanne and Harry to arrive. And no, I was not twirling a diamond around my ring finger. Paul and I were in no hurry to get married. We were going out for dinner on Sullivans Island at The Obstinate Daughter, where our love affair officially began. In case anyone was wondering why such a great little restaurant had such a peculiar name . . . well, of course, it's grounded in history. Back in 1776, the Battle of Sullivans Island took place as the patriots on Sullivans Island fought the British in a furious struggle to defend the harbor of Charleston. This victory prompted a British cartoonist of the day to depict and describe a “Miss Carolina Sullivan as one of America's obstinate daughters.” And that's really who we were too. Carrie, Suzanne, and even me. We stood our ground when the things that really mattered to us were at stake. And sometimes that resolve came with a price. For me, I was all but convinced I had lost the love of my daughter, Marianne. Every time I brought the subject up with Paul he'd tell me to be patient. On the outside I appeared patient, but on the inside my heart was broken into a million little pieces.

So imagine my surprise when we returned home from dinner and on the front porch there sat Marianne with my ex-­husband, Mark. Marianne jumped up from her chair. Her face was streaked with tears.

“What in the world?” I said.

“Momma!” She ran to me, threw her arms around me, and hugged me so hard I felt my vertebrae move.

I burst into tears and so did she.

Paul, Suzanne, Harry, Mike, and Carrie just stood there like a garden row of slack-­jawed and awkward asparagus.

“Y'all? This is my ex-­husband, Mark, and this is my daughter, Marianne.”

“Hello,” they all said, and shook hands.

It was an exchange of the most minimal hospitality I'd ever seen them offer.

Suzanne said, “Why don't we step inside and let Lisa have a moment?”

They shuffled off the porch and into the house, but if I knew anything about them, they would position themselves so as not to miss a word.

Mark looked pretty good for someone I hadn't seen in person for decades. Yes, I occasionally watched moments of his reality show out of morbid curiosity. He had on camouflage from head to toe, but other than that he seemed clean. Marianne, though, looked haggard.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” I said.

“I knew you worked at Palmetto House, so I went there and one of the nurses gave me the address,” Marianne said.

“Where's your husband?” I asked.

“Oh God! Oh, Momma! I made such a stupid mistake—­no, so
many
of them. Can you ever forgive me?”

“You're going to say this is my fault. And maybe you're a little right,” Mark said. “I'm the one who put her into her business and I'm the one who told her it was okay to marry that idiot. And don't be angry with Marianne. She's a good girl.”

“You still haven't answered my question,” I said. “Where is he?”

“He had to go away for a while,” Mark said. “He got into some trouble.”

“What do you mean ‘go away'?” I said. “What kind of trouble?”

“He was helping this guy drive a truck into Kansas and it turns out Kansas laws aren't as flexible about certain things as Colorado laws are.”

I knew he meant that it was a marijuana problem but I was going to make him spell it out.

“About what?”

“Horticultural issues,” he said.

“Horticultural,” I said. “Could you possibly be less vague?”

“He took some marijuana plants over the border, Mom.”

“How many?” I asked.

“A little over two thousand,” Mark said. “If you get busted with more than five it's a felony and you go to jail for twelve to seventeen years. Mandatory. No parole.”

“So, like they say on
Law & Order,
what did he get?”

“Seventeen years! Mom! Seventeen years!” Marianne continued weeping and collapsed into a chair, head in hands.

“Yeah, apparently he gave the judge some lip, so the judge screwed him. Asshole.”

“Who? The judge or my son-­in-­law?”

“That's the problem, Mom! We aren't married! We never got a marriage license!”

I sighed the biggest sigh of relief I had ever expelled in my entire life. In my mind my sigh had leveled the sand dunes across the street.

“The judge, of course,” Mark said. “He basically ruined this kid's future!”

“The judge ruined his future, did he?” I said.

“So, I brought her home to you, Lisa. We sold her business to some suits from Seattle. She's been crying nonstop, but she's got a fat bank account. You can't be in the hospitality business if you're crying all the time. She was afraid to come back to you on her own. Anyway, I'm sorry because I think I screwed up here somehow. Don't be hard on her. She's hurting.”

“You think?” I said. “Mark? You can go now.”

“What? You're throwing me out again? It's just like old times!” He started laughing.

“Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks for bringing my daughter home to me where she belongs. It's the first time in your life you've ever done the right thing.”

“You were always too judgmental,” he said.

Mark gave Marianne a kiss on the head and left.

“Are you going to kill me?” Marianne said.

“Kill you? Are you insane? I'm going to throw you the biggest party I've ever thrown!” I was so happy then I thought my heart would burst. “Come on. Let's go wash your face. I want to introduce you to some honestly wonderful ­people.”

And that marked the beginning of our healing process. There are issues in life on which two ­people may disagree and sometimes they will never agree. Nonetheless, Marianne's adventure had certainly posed an interesting question. In this life, you have to develop good judgment. You're not usually born with it. In fact, the question got all of us talking about morals, ethics, and values. And indeed, Paul and I harked back to the thirty-­six questions and remembered that we didn't care so much about money and fame but that we wanted our lives to have meant something. We wanted to be remembered well. Marianne agreed with that.

Suzanne welcomed Marianne into the fold like a long-­lost niece, and day by day there was mounting evidence that Marianne's wounded pride and broken heart were on the mend. In the first weeks of her homecoming we had lots of family dinners, which created a forum for interesting discussions. We talked about self-­recrimination and how much of it was healthy. We talked about trust and what love really meant. We talked to her about redesigning her life and letting go of the past. Her past wasn't a total disaster because while she was in that quagmire she had learned to run a business.

Everyone was very kind to her, offering advice when she asked for it, giving her space when that seemed like the thing to do. Oddly, none of my friends had children, so Marianne suddenly had an abundance of would-­be parents wanting to direct her to more worthy pursuits. I was so grateful for that. She was most interested in Paul's career and he had taken a definite shine to her.

“She's smart like hell,” he said.

“Thanks. Now, if we can put those brain cells to good use?” I said.

One night at Paul's condo over a bowl of his delicious Bolognese, Marianne said, “Well, if nothing else came out of living in Colorado for a while, I sure came to understand that we're screwing up the environment all over the place.”

“Well, maybe you can do something about that,” Paul said. “Would you like to come to work with me for a week or two? You might learn something.”

“Really?” she said, and for the first time since she'd been home, I saw a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “Yes, I would love to do that. I mean, I think I'm retired from tourism. I'm gonna have to find a new future.”

I didn't say one word. Not one word. I just smiled.

As you might imagine, one week turned into one month, and Marianne was becoming an environmental disciple.

“If you're thinking about doing this for a career,” Paul said to her, “you really should think about going back to school.”

“What?” I said. “I can't afford—­”

Marianne cut me off. “Don't worry, Mom. I can pay for school. The one good thing that came out of my adventures in hell is money. So, Paul? Where should I go?”

“Well, I'd apply to a few places and see who bites,” he said. “Meanwhile, I can keep you busy. It won't hurt to have an internship in the field on your résumé. And I can give you a letter of recommendation. Especially to Cornell. Listen, you might have to go back and take some undergraduate courses to get your transcript in order.”

“Thanks. I wouldn't mind that. Hopefully a good transcript will temper the rest of my sordid past, right?”

“Right, but I wouldn't call it sordid. Look, you're young. You're supposed to try different things. And you learned how to run a successful business and I'm sure you learned some other things as well.”

“I sure did,” she said. “But I also took a mental thrashing in a lot of other areas.”

“That's okay, sweetheart,” I said. “We all live and learn.”

I'd been spending more and more time downtown with Paul and Marianne was staying in my bedroom at Suzanne's and taking care of our dog. It was right before Thanksgiving when Paul told me he wanted to show me something.

“Come with me,” he said.

We went up in the building's elevator to the ninth floor.

“What's going on?” I said.

“Well, there's a two-­bedroom condo that's become available and I was thinking it might be good for us. Let's have a look.”

He had the key and opened the door.

From the minute I went inside my eyes were drawn to the huge windows. There was an unobstructed view of Charleston Harbor and the Ravenel Bridge. French doors opened onto a small terrace. There were no exposed pipes or snaking metallic ductwork, but there were beautiful moldings and a fireplace with a mantel that was kind of grand. I ran my hand across its smooth cool surface.

“The fireplace surround is limestone. It's about two hundred years old. The previous owner brought it over from France.”

“This place is a little palace,” I said, wandering from room to room. “This kitchen's gorgeous, isn't it?”

“Yeah, and look at this.”

He opened the door to the pantry closet, lifted a fake jar of mustard, pressed a button behind it, and the wall swung back to reveal a hidden wine cellar.

“Behold! The cave! Is this about the slickest thing you've ever seen?”

We laughed from the surprise of it. And it was beautifully constructed.

“No, you're the slickest thing I've ever seen!”

“Well, anyway, I was just thinking. If you won't marry me, at least we can shack up in style.”

He pulled me to his chest and kissed me.

“I'll marry you,” I said.

“You will?” He looked at me suspiciously.

“Yes, of course I will. Just not tomorrow. But you know I love you, right?”

“And I love you too. Listen. Lisa. Your daughter needs a stable environment,” he said. “She can't stay at Suzanne's forever. It's like living with
Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice
. She needs her own home.”

He was right.

“My daughter is an adult,” I said, admittedly stretching the truth. He stared at me. “My daughter is almost an adult. Okay. I'll think about it.”

“Well good, because I close on this place in thirty days and I just accepted an offer on my condo downstairs.”

“You knew I'd love this place, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did. If I can't sway your heart with words, I had hoped a place like this for us and for Marianne would do it.”

He was right again. I loved Paul like I'd never loved anyone in my entire life. And the big glaring lack in my life was a stable home.

“You win,” I said. “Want to get married on New Year's Eve?”

“Sure! But why New Year's Eve?”

“Because every year we'll have fireworks to celebrate? I don't know. It just seemed—­”

“Brilliant! It's brilliant! And now I don't have to return this.”

He dug into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a sparkling diamond ring. He blew off the lint and dropped to one knee.