Lessons of a Lowcountry Summer (19 page)

“Can we do it again?”

Tilting her chin, she smiled up at him. “Yes.”

“When?” His breath whispered over her mouth.

“E-mail me and I'll let you know.”

Theo chuckled deep in his throat. “I'll do just that.” Dipping his head, he brushed a soft kiss over her parted lips. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

She smiled in the shadowy darkness. “You're quite welcome.” He released her hands and walked down the stairs. “Theo.” He stopped but did not turn around. “You and your family are welcome to come for Sunday dinner.”

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling. “Thank you.”

Hope stood in the same spot, watching him drive away. The red taillights disappeared from view, and she still had not moved.

“How is it going, Sophie Lady?” asked a familiar feminine voice.

Hope spun around. Rebecca had come up without making a sound. “Good.” She smiled at her neighbor. “How are you doing with your basket-weaving lessons?”

Rebecca made her way up the stairs and leaned against the porch column. “Slow. I've been touring McKinnon with Janie's brother-in-law. He's spent the past two years gathering research on the culture of the Sea Islands, and I've volunteered to be his research assistant.”

Hope gestured to her. “Come sit down.” Rebecca took the chaise. “Would you like something cool to drink?”

Flashing a set of dimples in her deeply tanned face, Rebecca shook her head. “No, thank you. I'll explode if I have another drop of liquid. Janie and Thomas had a little something at their house to celebrate Ezra's birthday, and I overindulged on champagne.”

Hope flipped two switches next to the door, turning on the porch lamps and the ceiling fan. She slipped off her heels, sat on the rocker, and rested her bare feet on a footstool. Rebecca looked nothing like the woman who had come to McKinnon Island nearly three weeks before. Her hair was longer, lighter, her face darker, and she had changed her designer labels for a pair of white, cropped pants and a blue-and-white striped tank top that screamed Gap.

Rebecca closed her eyes. “It's kind of nice being just slightly drunk.” She waved a hand. “No cares, no worries, no nothing.”

“How much did you drink?”

Rebecca opened her eyes. “I lost count after the third glass.”

Hope whistled softly. Her neighbor's Mercedes sedan was parked in the driveway. “Did you drive home?”

“Ezra drove me back.” She gave a lopsided grin, raised her arms, and wiggled her fingers. “I'm free…” Her words trailed off as her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket. “Hello.” Her expression was impassive. “Yes, Lee. Have them bring their swimsuits. Call me when you reach the landing, and I'll meet you.” She ended the call and smiled at Hope. “My children are coming down Friday afternoon.”

Leaning over, Hope patted her hand. “That's wonderful, Rebecca.”

“They'll probably complain that there's nothing for them to do, but I don't care. I just want to see them, hug them.”

“You can take them to the playhouse to see
West Side Story.

Giggling, Rebecca kicked her feet. “I'll take them to The Fish Net and introduce them to ‘chitlins.' Will you come with us?”

Hope's laughter joined her giggles. “You're beginning to sound like a real down home girl. And to answer your question about coming with you, I have to decline.”

“But I want them to meet you.”

Hope knew Rebecca needed time alone with her family to reconnect. “I can meet them Sunday. I've invited Theo and his family for Sunday dinner. You're welcome to come, too. I plan to cook outdoors and serve everyone on the beach.”

Rebecca clapped her hands. “That sounds wonderful. Can I bring anything?”

Hope stared at Rebecca. Despite being a wife and mother to two adolescent children, she was still very much a child herself. Her need to please others and be accepted made her so vulnerable to disappointment.

“Bring anything you want, Sophie Lady.”

Rebecca gave a mysterious grin. “How are you doing with Theo?”

“What do you mean about how am I doing?”

There was a sharp edge in Hope's tone, but Rebecca chose to ignore it. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“That's because he
is
a nice guy.”

“So?”

“So, what are you getting at?”

The giddiness in Rebecca vanished, and in its place was a woman who suddenly appeared in complete control of herself and her emotions. “I asked you a simple question, and your barking at me made it sound as if I'd asked you if you were sleeping with him.”

Hope closed her eyes and blew out her breath. “You're right, Rebecca.” She opened her eyes, meeting her neighbor's narrowed stare. “I had no right to snap at you.” Placing a hand over her mouth, she leaned back on the rocker. “Theo's great,” she said through her fingers, “but right now I'm not really into men. At least not to sleep with one right now.”

Rebecca moved off the chaise, sat down on the footstool, and rested Hope's bare feet in her lap. “What happened, girlfriend?”

Hope lowered her hand and clasped her fingers together to stop their trembling. After she'd told her sister about Kendall, she had promised herself that she would never repeat what she had witnessed to another person. It would remain a secret between three people: Marissa, Kendall, and herself. Since she had come to McKinnon Island, the image of Kendall with another man had begun to fade, and she did not want to revive it by retelling the tale to Rebecca.

Rebecca sucked her teeth. “You're a fraud, Dr. Hope. You can give everyone else advice, but you don't practice what you preach. How many times have you told your readers to talk it out with someone? That talking was the first step in healing thyself. What's the matter, Hope? Did you really think you'd be exempt from whatever else we mere mortals go through because you're the great Dr. Hope?”

Hope glared at Rebecca. “You don't understand!”

“What's not to understand? Your man hurt you! Just like
my
man hurt
me!”

For Rebecca it had been easy. It was easy for women whose husbands or lovers preferred another woman. But everything changed when men preferred a same-sex or bisexual relationship.

“The difference is your husband slept with another woman.” Hope's voice was barely audible.

Rebecca's luminous eyes widened in astonishment as she brought her hands up to cradle her cheeks. “Oh shit!” she whispered. She lowered Hope's feet, rose slightly and hugged her. “I'm sorry, girlfriend. I had no right to say what I did.”

Hope hugged her back. “You said what you needed to say. And you're right about me. I have answers for everyone but myself.”

“Did you leave him?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Hope flashed a cynical smile. “I'm going to spend the summer on McKinnon Island as planned. Hopefully I'll discover who I am, what I want, and what I need to do before I leave.”

Nodding, Rebecca reclaimed the chaise. “Now you sound like me.”

“That's because we're not all that different.”

The two women sat on the porch, talking for hours. They told each other about their childhood, friends they had made and lost, and of the men who'd made them who they were. They talked until the sky brightened with the dawn of a new day, then fell asleep where they lay.

Hope and Rebecca had come to McKinnon Island as strangers and neighbors, but before the sun rose again they had become friends who had unburdened their hearts and bared their souls to each other.

 

 

R
ebecca spied Kyle and Ashlee
as soon as the ferryboat docked at the McKinnon Island landing.

Both looked as if they'd grown several inches, especially her son. He now was as tall as his sister.

Kyle waved to her and she returned the wave. The gangplank was lowered, and they raced toward her. She stood motionless. Something in her brain would not tell her legs to move, so she stood there waiting for her children to come to her. Ashlee reached her first, her arms going around her neck. Her daughter's face blurred as tears filled Rebecca's eyes.

“Baby. Oh, my baby,” she sobbed in Ashlee's curly hair.

“Mama, please don't cry.” Ashlee's voice quivered.

Pulling back, Rebecca wiped at her tears, smiling. “I'm crying because I'm so happy to see you guys.”

Kyle, who often said that kissing his mother was stupid, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

Tilting her head, Rebecca stared up at him. “What on earth is your grandmother feeding you?” Not only had he shot up but he had also put on weight.

“I've been working out with Dad at the gym,” he said proudly.

Rebecca winked at him. “You look good.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Her children may have changed in appearance, but Ashlee still called her Mama, while Kyle preferred Mom. The day he'd turned ten he'd declared Mama sounded too childish for a pre-teen boy.

Ashlee curved an arm around her mother's waist. “You look very pretty, Mama. I like your hair.”

Running a hand through her hair, Rebecca pushed sun-streaked curls off her forehead and ears. She could not remember the last time she had missed her weekly salon appointment. But then again, there was no one on McKinnon Island she had to impress. Not her husband or his business associates, her mother-in-law, or the wives who held monthly golf outings followed by luncheons at their husbands' country club.

“Thank you, Ashlee.”

She saw Lee behind the wheel of his silver BMW X5 as he drove off the ferryboat; a slight flutter settled in her chest, and she wondered if he, like their children, had changed. Less than a minute later he stood in front of her. Her question was answered. He had changed. There were flecks of gray in his close-cropped hair, and he was slimmer than he'd been the last time she'd seen him. Despite the changes, he was more handsome and imposing than he had ever been.

She smiled, her dimples deepening in her tanned cheeks. “Welcome to McKinnon Island, darling.”

Lee's dark eyes took in everything about his wife in one sweeping glance. She had gained weight and was deeply tanned. She was so ardently beautiful that he found it hard to breathe. He loved her more than he could ever imagine loving a woman.

He pulled her to his chest, lowered his head, and kissed her. He wasn't disappointed when her lips parted, permitting him to taste her. His body reacted quickly, drawing a moan from Rebecca.

“I've missed you, baby.” His hot breath feathered over her mouth.

Rebecca broke the kiss, her eyes sweeping over her husband's face. “I've missed you, too.”

He smiled. “I'm going to hang out here for awhile before I catch a later ferryboat back to Hilton Head.” He had driven from Charleston to Savannah, then picked up the ferryboat to McKinnon Island.

She stared at Lee. When he'd called to say that he was bringing Kyle and Ashlee, she had thought he would also stay the weekend. A tight smile masked her disappointment. “Well, let's get back to the house. Then we'll decide what you want to see or do.”

Lee's gaze swept over the parking lot. “Where's your car?”

“I left it back at the house.”

“You walked?” There was no mistaking his surprise. Anyone familiar with Rebecca knew she never walked anywhere. Not even to a house a block away.

“It's not that far.”

Reaching for Rebecca's hand, Lee directed her to his vehicle, Ashlee and Kyle following. Once she was seated and belted in, she said, “Pull out and turn left. Follow the road until you get to an intersection, then turn right onto Beach Road. I'm staying in the next to the last house.”

The joy Rebecca had felt when Lee had held her and kissed her had vanished with his statement that he did not plan to spend the weekend on the island. Why, she asked herself, had he bothered to come? Her parents could have driven their grandchildren down.

“Look!” Kyle shouted from the rear seat. “What is that?”

Turning, Rebecca looked out the side window. A large hairy animal with tusks and a snout ambled into the thick woods. “That's a feral hog.”

“Yuck!” Ashlee spat out. “I'll never eat pork again.”

Lee smiled as he drove slowly over an unpaved road lined on both sides with twisted live oaks. The scene unfolding before him was both fascinating and frightening. McKinnon Island, one of the smaller, less populated Sea Islands, appeared to have stopped in time. He slowed to ten miles an hour in an attempt to take in everything around him. He saw a sign advertising Palmetto Haven—a future gated community slated for completion the following summer. The developer had yet to lay the foundation for the new homes.

“How many new developments are projected to go up here?”

Rebecca stared at her husband's profile. “One—for now. Give it a few years and this place will never look the same.”

He turned onto Beach Road. Small, bungalow-type structures were on his right, and the ocean on his left. His wife had selected an ideal setting to spend the summer. He spotted her car and maneuvered into the driveway behind it.

Kyle leaned over the passenger-side seat, staring at the house. “It looks small, Mom.”

Rebecca unsnapped her seat belt. “It is small.”

Doors opened and everyone got out of the SUV. Rebecca walked up the porch and unlocked the front door, while Lee took two canvas bags from the cargo area. Open windows and oscillating fans in every room had cooled the house considerably. Rebecca had decided to purchase the fans because she knew her family was not used to sleeping in the heat.

Ashlee stood in the middle of the living room, a stunned expression freezing her features. “Where's the air-conditioning?”

Rebecca sat down on a love seat and crossed her legs. “There is no air-conditioning.” She enunciated each word as her gaze shifted from her daughter to her son. “Let me know now if you want to stay. Otherwise you can go back to Charleston with your father.”

Ashlee flopped down on an armchair and pushed out her lower lip. “I'll stay,” she mumbled.

Kyle stared at his mother. It was apparent she was angry, because vertical lines had appeared between her eyes. “I'll stay, too.”

“Please don't make it sound as if you're doing me a favor. I've missed you guys more than you'll ever know, but if you don't want to stay, then I'll understand.”

Taking three strides, Kyle sat down next to his mother. “I want to stay, Mom. Really.”

She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Do we get our own rooms?”

“Yes, Kyle, you'll have your own room.” Rebecca stood up. “Let me show you your bedrooms.” They followed her to the rear of the house. “Ashlee, this one is yours.”

Ashlee's disappointment about not staying in a centrally cooled house vanished as she walked into a small room with a large brass bed covered with a colorful patchwork quilt. A rag rug next to the bed covered uneven floorboards, while a large crock pitcher in a matching bowl rested on a drop-leaf table in a corner. Her smile was dazzling.

“I like it. This looks like something from
Little House on the Prairie.”

Rebecca left Ashlee in her room and led Kyle to the smallest of the bedrooms. It claimed a charm that was unique to the space. There was only enough room for a wrought-iron bed, rocking chair, and a highboy. A table lamp claimed a spot on the floor next to the bed, and large nails driven in the walls served as a makeshift closet. None of the rooms had closets except for a pantry off the kitchen. The air circulating from an oscillating fan lifted the sheers at the tall, narrow windows.

Kyle smiled at his mother. “The room's fine, Mom. It's not like I'm going to spend a lot of time in here except to sleep.”

Satisfaction pursed Rebecca's mouth. Her daughter complained about not having air-conditioning but did not mind sleeping in a room that was smaller than her bedroom's walk-in closet, while Kyle could care less where he slept as long as he had a bed.

She patted Kyle's shoulder. “We're going to have to work out a schedule for sharing the bathroom.”

“No problem, Mom.”

Lee crowded into the small space and put Kyle's bag on the rocker. He glanced at his watch, then his wife. “Is there a place on the island where we can get an early lunch?”

“I know the perfect place.” She would take her family to The Fish Net.

 

Rebecca sat on the porch
next to Lee, her gaze fixed on her son and daughter as they waded in the surf. They had yet to change into their swimsuits.

Eating lunch at The Fish Net had been a pleasurable experience for her and her children. Ashlee and Kyle had been amenable to sampling dishes they'd never eaten before, but not Lee. He'd complained that the restaurant was too small and noisy, there were too many dishes cooked with pork, and that he couldn't understand a word the servers were saying. She had held her tongue, because his complaint made her aware of how opinionated she'd been before coming to the island.

“I want to buy this house.” The notion she had been entertaining for more than a week was finally verbalized.

Lee shifted on the kitchen chair and stared at his wife. “You what?”

“You heard what I said, Lee.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want me to spend my money on this place? It's one step up from shack status. It should be condemned.”

Rebecca sat up straighter, her confidence increasing. She had changed—inside and out—since coming to McKinnon Island. She was no longer the Rebecca Leighton-Owens Lee knew, but someone who was aware of who she was and what she wanted for herself and her children.

“If you'd listened, you would've heard me say that
I
want to buy this house. You, of all people, should know that I have my own money.” She had been sole beneficiary of her maternal grandparents' life insurance policies. After they'd died, Rebecca had put the money in tax-free municipal bonds.

“But… but why would you want to buy property that will eventually be condemned once developers come with cash in hand to longtime residents the way they've done on the other Sea Islands?”

“That's just it, Lee. I don't want this island to look like all of the other Sea Islands.”

She told him about volunteering as research assistant to Ezra as he toured and gathered information on McKinnon Island. She stepped out of her role as wife and mother into that of teacher as she told him of a culture unique only to the Sea Island African-American. The passion in her voice matched the deep color in her face. Her hazel eyes glowed with an excitement that hadn't been there since she'd come face-to-face with Lee Owens for the first time during her college freshman year.

“Why can't McKinnon Island become another Williamsburg, Virginia, Lee? Why can't we preserve our culture for future generations?”

“But it's not your culture, Becky. You're nothing like these people—these Gullahs who are more African than they are American.”

“What are we, Lee?”

“Americans.”

“Wrong! You're deluding yourself. We
are
African-Americans. As long as we look like we do, we will never be Americans. Not in this country. You and I are only Americans once we leave these shores. Our passports read United States. The world views us as Americans, while America identifies us as African-Americans.”

Lee stared at Rebecca as if she were a stranger. She was talking about being African, yet the Massachusetts Leightons claimed more Euro-American blood than the South Carolina Owenses.

“Where are you going with this, Rebecca?” he asked. There was a gentle softness in his voice.

She leaned closer. “I want to preserve the Gullah culture.”

“How?”

“By setting up a not-for-profit McKinnon Island historical preservation society, and purchasing abandoned or vacant properties and restoring them. I don't want the Gullah language, basket weaving and quilt making skills to die with this generation like the oyster industry did in the 1950s on Daufuskie Island after industries along the Savannah River polluted many of the marshes and creeks there. The health officials closed most of the valuable oyster beds, so many folks left the island. Of course, the exodus impacted on many of the businesses.”