Beach Trip (54 page)

She hadn’t meant to tell her friends about Lonnie. She had kept him secret all these months but then, coming in one evening after a hurried rendezvous, she’d been so happy that she couldn’t help herself. She brought him in with her. She had expected Mel to be a little more sympathetic. Mel, of all people, with her love of freedom, should have known something of how Lola felt being pledged, all these years, to Briggs. She had felt like a Hindu child bride being given away to a man she didn’t know. Only in her case she wasn’t Hindu, she wasn’t a child, and she knew Briggs very well. Too well. Which was probably why she couldn’t shake this overwhelming feeling of dread and apprehension that had barricaded itself inside her chest.

She had expected sympathy from Mel, but Mel hadn’t been sympathetic at all, not that first night when Lola brought Lonnie home, or in the weeks that followed, when she hounded Lola for information, little bits that Lola gave up grudgingly: how long she’d known Lonnie, how he made her feel, how many children she’d planned for their future, how exactly they planned to pull off the elopement. Annie and Sara didn’t ask any questions but Mel seemed to want to know everything. Lola figured she was gathering information for a future novel, now that she had decided to become a writer.

And it felt good, really, to have an ally in the house, a confidant. Sara kept to herself so much these days, closed up in her room, counting down the days until graduation. She’d already managed to find a job in Charlotte working as a paralegal in a law firm, and she was planning on moving immediately after graduation. And Annie; poor Annie was suffering from some kind of terrible unhappiness that kept her wandering the house at night like a lost soul. Once Lola had awakened to the sound of sobbing and when she went into Annie’s room, she found her kneeling beside her bed with her face buried in her arms. When Lola knelt beside her and said, “Annie, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong,” Annie only sobbed louder and said, “I can’t. I can’t tell anyone ever.” This had seemed unbearably sad to Lola because everyone needs a confessor. But try as as she might, Lola could not get Annie to unburden herself. She went around the house mute and anguished, and wouldn’t talk to anyone.

Perhaps the dread Lola was feeling was simply the dregs of her roommates’ unhappiness. Lola tried to convince herself of this, as the long days wore on and graduation slowly approached.

It was a small thing, really, but Lola should have seen it as a warning. Years later, thinking back on all of this, she would be astounded at her own blindness, she would wonder that she had not immediately sensed danger when her mother showed up two days earlier than planned. This was on a Wednesday morning, and graduation was to be held on Saturday. Lola was sitting in the front room drinking a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Briggs pushed past her and said gruffly, “I’ll get it.” Over the past week he’d spent every night at her place—she’d hardly been able to get him to go home—which also should have tipped her off that something was wrong.

He swung open the door and Maureen stood there, dressed expensively in a white linen pantsuit. Lola was astonished to see her mother standing on her doorstep. Briggs didn’t seem surprised at all.

He stepped aside for Maureen, and Lola said, “Mother, what are you doing here?”

“Hello, darling.”
(Dah’lin
, her mother always said, in the somewhat affected accent of her youth. Once a Scotty, always a Scotty) Maureen stepped into the room, letting her eyes wander over the cheap furniture, the stacks of books, and the magazines scattered everywhere. It killed her that her only daughter had chosen to leave the Delta Gamma House (without Maureen’s knowledge, of course) in order to live in squalor. This was what came of sending a child to a liberal arts college in the middle of North Carolina. “I came a little early to do some shopping,” she said, pulling herself in tightly so she didn’t touch anything.

“Shopping?” Lola said vaguely. She didn’t bother to rise and kiss her mother. The Rutherfords were not the kind of family that bestowed hugs and kisses freely.

“We thought you might like to do some shopping before graduation,” Briggs said to Lola. “You know, maybe buy a dress for the graduation party.” Maureen shot him a brittle look and he stopped talking. He was wearing a robe and a pair of blue slippers, and his face was swollen from lack of sleep.

Lola shook her head slowly. “I have a dress,” she said.

“Well, then, we’ll do something else,” Maureen snapped. She raised her hands and motioned for Lola to get up. “Hurry up, you two.” She included Briggs in her sharp gaze. “Go upstairs and get dressed and I’ll take you to brunch.”

Lola stood up. “Do you want me to wake the girls?”

“No. Just the three of us this time, darling. No one else. Just family.”

Maureen took them to the hotel where she was staying, the only four-star hotel in town. It was called the Swan, and had been modeled after the Greenbrier. It had seen its heyday in the years preceding the War Between the States, and had fallen into disrepair in the first half of the twentieth century. During the 1940s a hotel conglomerate had purchased the place and pumped money into it, although it still maintained its air of seedy elegance, a hint of better days long gone. Guests were housed in rooms that boasted no television, and were expected to dress for dinner. It was the kind of place where Maureen was in her element.

This, too, was calculated, Lola would realize later. Maureen had carefully chosen the place for Lola’s intervention, although very little intervening was done, at least on the surface; Maureen was more subtle than that. They ordered eggs Benedict and a pot of strong, rich coffee, and then Maureen began. She told Lola how proud her father would have been of her, graduating from college and moving into her place in society, just as the women in her family had done for generations. She painted a glowing picture of her future life with Briggs, the parties, the trips to Europe, the children (she knew just where to strike). She dabbed her eyes and spoke fondly of grandchildren and trust funds, of the benefits of never having to worry about money, of a life spent enjoying the finer things without the need for struggle. In Maureen’s worldview, struggle was bad. Poverty was worse. She reminded Lola of her own privileged upbringing, of her illustrious family, of Briggs’s own family connections, and the familial bonds they would forge by marrying. The Du Ponts and Rockefellers couldn’t have given a more stirring tribute. By the time she finished, both Maureen and Briggs were misty-eyed but Lola sat staring apathetically at her plate.

Maureen put her hand to Lola’s forehead. “Darling, what’s wrong? You seem feverish.”

Lola pulled away from her. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I feel fine.”

“Well, you don’t look fine. Does she, Briggs?”

“I don’t know,” he said sullenly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Lola said coldly.

“I don’t know,” Maureen said, touching her cheek. “Your eyes seem feverish. Here, Briggs, feel her cheek.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t fuss, Maureen,” he said.

Maureen raised her finger for the waiter and ordered another pot of coffee. Lola stared out at the window at a wide vista of lawn stretching down to an ornamental pond. She wondered what Lonnie was doing right now. She felt distant, removed from the other two at the table by her own secret happiness.

“There’s flu in Birmingham,” Maureen said to Lola. “It might be a good idea if you spent the next couple of days in bed. You don’t want to be sick for graduation.”

“I’m not staying in bed,” Lola said evenly. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Nothing a swift kick won’t cure,” Briggs said heavily.

Twin spots of color appeared on Lola’s cheeks. She turned her head and looked at him.

Maureen stretched out her hands between them. “Children,” she said. “Don’t.”

Briggs shook her hand free. “This isn’t going to work,” he said.

“I need to get back to the house,” Lola said. “I’ve got some packing to do.”

Briggs hooted derisively. “Packing?”

“Yes, packing. I’ve got some books to box up.”

He looked at Maureen and tossed his napkin on the table. “I told you this wouldn’t work.” He stood up and Maureen said, “Where are you going?” but he didn’t answer. They watched him stride across the crowded dining room.

Maureen put both hands on the table and leaned toward Lola. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm and low. “I don’t understand you,” she said.

The waiter brought the check. Maureen fumbled in her purse for her wallet, and Lola turned her face to the window. A pair of swans glided across the surface of the pond like boats in a carnival show. The sun, which had shone weakly all morning, slid behind a row of ragged clouds. Far off in the distance, a train whistle blew mournfully. Lola, watching the gliding swans, shivered suddenly and drew her sweater closer about her.

•  •  •

Lola and Lonnie had made arrangements to meet Thursday night at the duck pond. It was the last time they would see each other before Saturday afternoon. Lola had packed her boxes and left a note for Sara, along with some money to pay for putting the boxes in storage. She had packed her suitcases and hidden them in the laundry room. She would make some excuse to come back to the house to change clothes after graduation. She would tell Briggs to pick her up later. She’d left a note for him and one for her mother, too. Not that they would ever understand, of course, or forgive her, but it was something she had to do. Happiness didn’t come around all that often (she knew that all too well) and you had to grab for any chance you got. Lonnie would be waiting for her at the corner on Saturday, and they would ride off like cowboys into the sunset, into their new life together.

But tonight he was late, which wasn’t like him. Lola checked her watch again and looked at the sky. The sun had fallen behind the distant ridgetops. The sky was streaked with bands of red and yellow. Long shadows lay over the grass, and in the placid pond the trees were reflected like another world, like the gates to the underworld. A couple lay on a blanket in the grass, their heads close together. On a bench across the pond, a student sat reading.

Lola walked up to the road to see if she could see him. Maybe he’d had car trouble. The truck was old, and it was always breaking down, although Lonnie kept a tool kit in the back and knew how to use it. Maybe something had happened to his mother. Lola turned around and walked back down to the pond to wait. She sat down on a bench and stretched her legs in front of her. In another two days she would be Mrs. Lonnie Lumpkin. She trembled with joy at the thought. She would be Lola Lumpkin. Maybe they would name their children L names.
Louisa, Lewis, Laura, Lawrence. Lemuel, Lisa, Lula.
By the time the sky darkened she had a complete list ready. She stood up and walked around the pond, trying to keep warm. She hadn’t seen Lonnie in three days, and all she could think about was his arms around her, his mouth on her mouth. She didn’t care how long she had to wait to see him.

She would wait all night if she had to.

t was tragic. Sara could never look back on her college graduation without feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness and regret.

Two nights before they were set to graduate, Lola came home hysterical and crying that “Something happened to Lonnie!” They were supposed to meet that night at the duck pond and Lonnie had never shown up. Lola had hiked to a pay phone and called his mother, who told her Lonnie had left to meet her hours ago.

“I have to borrow your car!” Lola shouted at Mel, but she shook her head and said, “Lola, you need to calm down. You can’t go anywhere as upset as you are. Why don’t you sit down a minute and get hold of yourself and let us make a few phone calls?” They took her upstairs and had her lie down with a wet cloth across her eyes. Sara had never seen her so upset. When they went back downstairs, Sara said to Mel, “What do we do now?”

“Nothing,” Mel said firmly. “We sit tight and wait.”

Sara got up, went into the kitchen, and called the county hospital but no one matching Lonnie’s description had been admitted. She
felt, in some way, responsible for Lonnie. They had become allies, of a sort. The first time Lola brought Lonnie home, Sara had been shocked at her boldness. They had been walking in the woods (there were leaves in Lola’s hair) and she’d decided on a whim that she just had to introduce him to her friends. That night. Which was insane because Lola shouldn’t even be seen out with Lonnie, much less bring him home, where they were sure to be discovered. But you could see, looking at Lola, that she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was crazy in love.