All the Single Ladies: A Novel (18 page)

“Same thing as bull dukey,” Carrie said.

“Yes,” Miss Trudie said. “Except worse.”

Chapter 13

Labor Day Approaches

Every other day there seemed to be some new speculations about tropical depressions that were going to ruin Labor Day weekend, which was still two weeks away. No, they wouldn’t. Everyone with a brain in their head had a Plan B in place. But familiar with the tumultuous climate as I was, it was still remarkable to live through and witness the sudden changes in the ocean, the temperature, and the air. It was such a grand departure from the norm that it defied memory. The ocean sprang to life in crazy ways, twisting with choppy eddies, slapping itself with relentless whitecaps in the harbor, and on the horizon there were dozens of swirling water spouts. Swimming would be ill advised.

The good news about impending hurricanes was that they cooled the air. It was drizzling, small-­craft warnings were in effect, and the skies looked ominous. It wasn’t pretty but it was cooler. As you know, in the Lowcountry, the weather has a spectacular range like any other diva. Lowcountry natives are born with internal barometers. We feel changing weather in our bones.

Nonetheless, Suzanne, Carrie, and I decided to walk the beach Friday morning. We crossed the dunes with my dog in tow, but in one glance we knew the beach was too wild. Only a few ­people were out there, a ­couple of stalwart surfers and two determined joggers. The sand was running with the brisk wind, leaving wavy scars across the beach, and even from where we stood, it stung our ankles like thousands of tiny needles. Pickle had no desire to play. She stood on her hind legs leaning against my knees, squinting up at me. I picked her up so the sand wouldn’t hurt her eyes or go up her nose.

“I think it’s not a beach day for my pup,” I said.

“And for me either,” Carrie said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” I said. “This lemon ain’t worth the squeeze.”

“Pancakes,” Suzanne said. “Must have pancakes.”

“Uh-­oh,” Carrie said as we hurried to get back to the house. “Somebody has anxiety! Is this date-­related?”

“Well, hell yes, it is! Like, what am I supposed to wear?” Suzanne said. “Maybe the wind will pick up and they’ll close the bridges.”

I started to laugh. The weather was foul but it wasn’t nearly bad enough to close anything. Although, I was pretty sure no one was playing golf or tennis or going out in their boat this day or the next. And parasailing was probably a bad idea too.

“You’ll see,” Carrie said. “Dating is just like riding a bike. You never forget. I should know.”

“You sure should,” Suzanne said, and giggled.

“Wear your navy linen dress,” I said. “It looks great on you.”

“You think?” Suzanne asked.

Carrie said, “I’ll lend you my tan straw woven clutch. It would be perfect with that dress. And I have a great necklace you can wear.”

“Make sure you have on good underwear,” I said, and they stared at me, surprised that I might think that Suzanne would even consider diving into the sheets with Harry Black on their first date. “What? What if you get in a, heaven forbid, car wreck? Why are y’all looking at me like that?”

Suzanne shook her head and Carrie snickered.

“I need coffee,” Suzanne said as a way of changing the subject.

“Yeah, and a new push-­up bra,” Carrie said.

We burst out laughing and hurried back to the house, heading straight for the kitchen, where Miss Trudie sat at the table sipping coffee and reading something in her large-­print copy of
Reader’s Digest
.

“Could’ve told you this was not a good day for the beach,” she said. “My knees woke me up.”

Miss Trudie had joint pain. I wondered what she took for it.

“G’morning! It’s not a beach day. That’s for sure,” I said, and opened the pantry closet. “Okay, pancakes. Now, where do y’all hide the Bisquick?”

“Bisquick?” Suzanne said. “I don’t think we have any.”

“Suzanne? Even I know you can’t call yourself southern if you don’t have Bisquick in the pantry,” Carrie said.

“In this house I cook from scratch,” Miss Trudie said. “You girls want pancakes? Get me the canister of flour, Lisa. I’ll have a batter made in five minutes.” She got up and took milk, eggs, butter, and maple syrup from the refrigerator and put them on the counter. She was amazingly spry for her age.

“Carrie? Make yourself useful and give me a big bowl from the cabinet,” Miss Trudie said. “Bisquick indeed. I need the canola oil too, hon.”

“Maybe I’ll fry a pan of bacon,” Suzanne offered. “Y’all want bacon?”

“Are you kidding? I always want bacon. I’ll set the table,” I said.

“Well, I’m going to soft boil an egg for myself,” Carrie said. “I’ve finally lost enough weight so that my leggings don’t give me reflux anymore.”

“You’re the only person I know who would accuse her exercise clothes of such a thing,” Suzanne said.

“Well, it’s true,” Carrie said.

We had breakfast and began what I thought would be an unremarkable day. After we ate, I washed the dishes as the others went on to what they had lined up for themselves. That was becoming the routine and it suited me fine. They cooked, which was always a time-­consuming, messy process. Occasionally, I got out my juicer and made juice for everyone. But it was one thing to make a batch for one person—fresh juice for four turned the kitchen into a war zone. So they cooked and I washed the dishes, which was over in a flash, or so it seemed to me.

One of the nice things about dish duty was that there was a window over the sink. Outside, little Carolina wrens sang and hopped from one branch to another in a crepe myrtle tree. The birds were sweet to watch and they lifted my mind to a contemplative state once everyone had left the room. For some reason, Kathy Harper was on my mind that morning, almost as though she was nudging me. I knew, for some inexplicable reason, that the only way I would get the nudging to stop was to get to the bottom of her story. Who was she really? And what had been her true purpose in this world? And what had her life meant?

After I wiped down the stove, I went to my room to dress for work. The tower of Kathy’s boxes was staring at me in the face, taunting me.

“Okay! I surrender!” I said to the thin air.

I decided I would go through some of Kathy’s things that afternoon when I got home. Either that or live with a high-­rise of cardboard where Palmetto bugs (cockroaches) would eventually make their home. I don’t know why bugs love cardboard but they do.

There was a rapping on my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I said.

“You decent?”

It was Suzanne.

“Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

She entered the room and sat on the end of the bed.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said.

“Shoot.”

“Well, when I was talking to Harry, he mentioned to me that he was going to be cutting back your hours.”

“Are you kidding me? Oh God!” I dropped to the hassock that stood in front of the armchair. “I can barely make ends meet now!”

“I know. But that Green House Project is eating his budget alive.”

“So Paul’s going to be earning my salary instead of me?”

“In a roundabout way, I guess that’s sort of true.”

“Well, that really, really stinks.”

“I agree. Remember, we’re basically all in the same boat. Anyway, I was thinking that instead of you trying to rent an apartment, why don’t we swap some eldercare for rent?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Look, you said yourself that if I brought in someone to look after Miss Trudie that she’d throw them right out on their ear, and I think you’re right. She already likes you. This is a no-­brainer.”

“Yeah, but she needs someone all the time, Suzanne. I can’t be with her all the time.”

“I realize that. You’ve got an architect coming around here with high hopes, parents in Hilton Head who presumably like to see you once in a while, and a daughter and stuff going on, like the job you have. No, I get it. I was just thinking, though . . . here, look at this. I did the math.”

She showed me a piece of paper with a rate multiplied by hours that would bring my workload up to thirty-­eight hours per month. I’d still be trading hours for rent at a rate I’d never find in the marketplace. It was the deal of the century.

“Carrie and I can work our big important social lives around yours so that there’s almost always someone here. On those occasions when Miss Trudie has to be alone, I’m going to strongly suggest that she wear a personal alarm device.”

“What if she won’t?”

“Then I don’t know. But I can’t keep worrying about her like this.”

“Listen, Suzanne, I’m happy . . . no, I’m
thrilled
to offer my time in exchange for a place to stay, but you know this still isn’t going to fully protect her. You can’t ever fully protect anyone.”

“Yeah, I know. But you could keep her meds straight. I mean, that is the toughest one for me. She hates the intrusion. Anyway, I just want to be able to say that I did my best. Can you help me get one of those alarms?”

“I can bring you some examples this afternoon,” I said. “And Suzanne?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No, thank you! Like I said, we’re all in the same boat. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yep. Have a great day.”

I wondered why she didn’t ask her sisters for help with a full-­time person. But maybe they didn’t have control over their family’s money. It had sounded like that when she talked about them some time ago. Maybe asking for money might start trouble between her sisters and their husbands. That was probably the reason. Suzanne didn’t want to start trouble. They all stood to inherit the house, but they couldn’t finesse the care of their benefactress. How stupid. I told myself for the thousandth time that I’d never give control of my finances to another person. I might not have had much, but what I had was mine.

I looked at the box of Kathy’s ashes that was on the floor next to the chest of drawers and I sighed hard. Is this all there is?

I decided then that before I went to work I was going to compose a text to Marianne, and I did. If my daughter never spoke to me again it would be her choice. I was not going to give up on her. She was my child.

Marianne,
I wrote,
my heart is so heavy with sadness from not hearing from you. I can hardly bear it. Whatever differences we may have doesn’t change the fact that I’m still your mother and I love you with all my heart. Please take a moment to let me know you are all right.

I looked at my words for a few moments and thought well, it was my heart reaching out for hers. If this didn’t work, I’d do it again and again until I could find the right words to unlock her anger. I hit the send button.

I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and went upstairs to check on Miss Trudie and my dog before I went to work. The door to her sitting room was open.

“Miss Trudie?”

She came into the room from her bedroom. Pickle was right behind her.

“Oh! I thought you’d left for work!”

“Well, I’m leaving now, but I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go.”

She smiled at me.

“No, sweetheart, you go have yourself a good day. If I need anything I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to put my phone number right here next to your phone, so if you need a single thing just call me, okay?”

“Well, that’s awfully nice,” she said. “Did you know that I’ve learned how to steam PBS on my iPad?”

“Do you mean ‘stream’?” I said, smiling.

“I imagine so. ‘Stream’? ‘Steam’? Doesn’t matter one fig to me. Except that Miss Pickle and I are going to watch season four of
Downton Abbey
today, aren’t we, sweetie?”

My dog looked at me, made a whiny sound, and then she looked up at Miss Trudie and yipped.

“Well, I guess that settles that.” I laughed. “See you later!”

I gave my furry little love a ruffle on her neck and left.

The day, as I had hoped, was uneventful. But I stopped in Dr. Black’s office to confirm what Suzanne told me about my hours.

“Is it true?” I said.

“So she told you? I’ve never met a woman who could keep a secret. Well, I probably should’ve told you first but you know how I hate delivering bad news. Anyway, it’s only temporary, for a few months, until we can start renting some of the new space. All the nurses are taking a haircut. It’s better than laying anyone off.”

“Right. But I’ve already had a haircut on my hours, and I think I would rather have heard this from you.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that.”

No, he wasn’t.

“It’s not the end of the world,” I said.

“Good. Hey, you know I’m taking Suzanne to dinner tomorrow night. Did she tell you?”

I couldn’t help but smile. He was as animated as I’d ever seen him.

“Yes, and she’s looking forward to it too.” Though only the Good Lord knows why, I thought. “Try to behave yourself, okay? She’s a really nice person.”

“What do you mean? I’m
not
? Come on, St. Clair! The milk of human kindness flows through these veins. You know that.”

“That’s exactly what I always say about you.” I wagged my finger at him and left his office.

Judy gave me samples and the accompanying literature on alarm devices and I put them in a Palmetto House tote bag. And I picked up a blood pressure cuff at CVS. At some point over the weekend, I’d get together with Suzanne and Miss Trudie and walk them through the details.

The next night I was on the porch with Miss Trudie and our jointly held dog waiting for Dr. Black to arrive. The weather had cleared up somewhat and it was nice to sit in the fresh air. Suzanne had blown out her hair and tried on ten different outfits before she finally settled on the dress we’d all told her to wear in the first place. Carrie had done her makeup and accessorized her, and she looked great. So did Carrie, who had a date with Mike. Suzanne came out on the porch with Carrie to join us.

“Wow! You look beautiful!” I exclaimed.

“Thanks!” she said.

“Doesn’t she clean up good?” Carrie said.

“Get back in the house this minute!” Miss Trudie said.

“Why?” Suzanne said. “It’s not like I’m sixteen and going to prom.”