Porch Lights (22 page)

By six o’clock, Dad and Charlie had returned and the three of us were on the porch enjoying a cool drink. Dad had brought in a small cooler from his truck with six cold beers neatly resting inside. I had obviously overstocked the bar, but so what? I’d become so used to carrying all those bottles and the accoutrements back and forth from the liquor cabinet to the porch that I was using the laundry basket for transport instead of making multiple trips.

For a change, I was wearing a cute blouse and a short skirt, hoping it would improve Mom’s disposition to see me pay some attention to my appearance. I even had on lipstick. And for the sake of Stanley and Stella’s sanity and mine, I did not use my mother’s moisturizer on my legs.

Charlie was guzzling a cherry Diet Coke that Dad made for him. They were rocking in their rockers, back and forth, debating what would go into the buried treasure Charlie intended to put together for the Greenville Three. Three candy bars that wouldn’t melt? Three comic books? Maybe something old-fashioned like a jump rope? Did anyone jump rope anymore? Dad wanted to know. What about yo-yos? Charlie said that yo-yos don’t work that easily, and Dad said he’d show him how to get it going. No problem. That he used to be a champion at yo-yo tricks. Really? Charlie said and ran to get his. Dad promptly showed him how to do a trick he called “rock the cradle,” and “walk the dog.” Charlie was so excited he could hardly breathe, but alas, even with Dad’s careful instructions, Charlie could not make it happen.

I loved being the bug on the wall for them, listening to Dad playing the grandfather and to Charlie just naturally being a kid with his Guster, the giggles, the questions, the innocence, their boundless joy that was so apparent—it was one of those transcendent moments I would never be able to re-create or describe with any degree of accuracy. But my heart was so full and satisfied. I was so grateful to have Charlie for my son. I was so happy that Charlie could bring such happiness to my father and my father to him. It was powerful stuff.

Mom finally joined us, stepping out into the evening air, a vision in aqua trailed by a swirling cloud of jasmine. Dad just stopped talking and stared at her.

“Cat got your tongue, Buster?” she asked, with the tiniest of self-satisfied smirks crossing her face.

“No, I just, uh—” Dad trailed off.

“You think she looks good now? You should’ve seen her last night, Guster! The old guys at the restaurant were sending her drinks every five minutes! You look great
again
, Glam!”

Well, out of the mouths of babes, just as they say. My attention had been directed at shaking up a batch of Manhattans, and I did not realize what Charlie had revealed until it was too late to hush him.

“Is that true, Annie?” Dad said. “You? Taking free drinks from men?”

“What of it?” She shrugged her shoulders to let Dad know she didn’t care what he thought. “Discretion is the better part of valor, Charlie,” Mom said, regurgitating one of the better-worn maxims of the Britt clan.

“What does
that
mean?” Charlie asked, looking to me for an explanation.

I leaned in to whisper to him. “It means that when it comes to the business of relationships between people, it’s best to turn on the filter between the brain and the tongue before you start talking.” Charlie knew he had made an error in judgment. But I wasn’t going to let him drown or even wobble on something so slight. “It’s true, Dad. The Codgers Committee gave Mom a thumbs-up. Big time. That color is
amazing
on you, Mom. Does anyone want a Manhattan?”

I hoped I had ironed out the wrinkles all around.

“Well, now, I believe I would
love
a Manhattan,” Mom said, sounding like a true belle. “That sounds absolutely
lovely
.”

“I think I’ll just have another beer,” Dad said to no one in particular with a trace of annoyance. He reached in his cooler. Clearly, he didn’t like the idea of competition.

“How come we never have this at home?” Charlie asked.

“What?”

“Cherry Cokes and party lights?”

“It doesn’t work as well unless you have salty air and a cheese ball,” I said. I popped open the crackers and heaped a moderate amount of Mom’s concoction on one, handing it to Charlie. “Taste this!”

Charlie popped the cracker into his mouth and chewed it up, his eyes growing large. Finally, he said, “Wow. That’s awesome!” Then he helped himself to another one. And another.

“Don’t ruin your appetite, baby,” I said and watched as Dad walked to the other end of the porch.

I could hear Steve’s car pulling up. Dad called out to him, “Hey, there, Steve! Come join us for a drink!”

Well, you didn’t have to invite Steve Plofker twice. He came bounding up our steps. To be fair, he had to get his dogs anyway. And they, hearing his voice, jumped up from their sleeping spots like two hairy Lazaruses and began yelping
Hello!
Hello! Hello!

Yes, I understood a certain amount of doggy-speak.

“Good evening, everyone! Boy, today was a muggy one, wasn’t it?”

“Aren’t you in your office all day? I mean, isn’t it air-conditioned?” I asked, being a little bitch for no reason other than I liked making him squirm.

“Yeah, like a meat locker,” he said without missing a beat. “But when it gets this hot and humid, the air-conditioning just can’t do the job. But thanks for your concern for my comfort.”

“Right,” I said, feeling my neck break into a sweat. “Would you like a Manhattan?”

“Why not?” he said, adding, “I haven’t had one of those in years! Thanks!”

“Steve?” Dad said. “You much of a cook?”

“Well, I can burn a steak with the best of them,” he said, giving my legs a stealth evaluation while simultaneously scratching his dogs’ ears and throwing his head back so they could lick his neck. “Can I help you with something?”

But I saw him looking and knew exactly what he was thinking. If he thought a woman like me would ever wrap my leg around his waist like that little slut had last night, he was cracked in the head. Besides, I wasn’t interested. In addition, dog spit on your neck couldn’t be sanitary.

“I was thinking that since the ladies look so nice and I promised Charlie I’d teach him to fry fish that if you’d stay for dinner, maybe you’d help me cook. Annie’s wearing a new outfit and all. You know . . .”

Steve spun around and looked at Mom, doing a double-take, which did immeasurable good for her ego.

“Wow! Annie! You look like one million dollars after taxes! You cut your hair!”

“I liked it better longer. Long hair is sexier,” Dad said. “So what do you say? Want to fry some fish with me?”

Mom and I rolled our eyes.

“Sure! I’d love to!” he said, and I handed him a drink. “Cheers!”

“The hush puppy batter is in the refrigerator,” Mom said and then whispered to me when they had gone inside, “They’re going to destroy my kitchen. And since when does he think about
sexy
in connection with
me
?”

“Who knows, but he sure was looking at you with
that
look! If they wreck the kitchen, we’ll make them clean it up,” I said.

“Oh, please. I think we should move dinner to the dining room. The kitchen is going to reek of oil and fish and onions.”

“I wouldn’t move dinner to make Steve Plofker happy,” I said. “And if we go to the dining room, you’ll
have
to sit with us, especially now that they’re cooking.”

“You’re right. Let’s go make us a centerpiece of herbs and flowers for the table. There’s always something in the yard. Besides, I don’t want my
short hair
to smell like fish.”

“Oh, hell, Mom, let’s go help them, or we won’t get dinner until Tuesday.”

Mom magically arranged handfuls of lavender and rosemary in two conch shells, which, I was later informed by Charlie, were actually whelks. Placed back to back and with votive candles around them, they looked really pretty. It was amazing what you could do with found objects. And, I had to admit, Mom was resourceful.

We slipped in between the men, moving the china from the kitchen table to the dining room. I slipped out to the porch, mixed up another batch of Manhattans, refilled our glasses, and took another beer to Dad. No one objected. I made Charlie a cherry Coke, and he was thrilled.

Charlie was having the time of his life with Mom’s deep fryer, dropping in big dollops of the cornmeal batter, cooking them until they were golden brown, and draining them on paper towels. For every three that hit the paper, one went into his mouth. Dad and Steve had two big skillets of fish frying, and discussions about how to season them peppered the air, no pun intended. Mom sliced the beautiful tomatoes onto a base of lettuce on a platter and dropped the corn into boiling water. We melted a stick of butter in a Pyrex casserole dish and placed it in the microwave, an old trick, so that when the corn was done we could roll it around and butter it evenly. Dinner was almost ready. And it was a real Lowcountry feast.

As soon as we sat down and had our glasses in midair to toast, Miss Deb came in the door and straight to us. Her face was awash with distress. Mom practically jettisoned from her seat to her side.

“Get another chair,” she said to me, but Dad got up to do it instead.

“Whatever is the matter, Deb?” Mom asked. “Is Vernon all right?”

“I saw the lights on, but y’all are having your supper. I’ll call you later.”

“Sit!” Dad said. “Sit and have some supper with us!”

He held a chair for her as Steve moved his place setting down the table. Miss Deb sat, but she looked at Mom with her
I’m not so sure
face.

Mom said, “Listen, you have to eat, and we could feed the whole island with what we have here tonight. Now tell us. How’s Vernon? Buster, get Deb a glass of wine. Jackie, fix her a plate. Thanks, y’all.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s just me. They admitted him for observation. I mean, there’s no real reason to panic, but I just have this terrible sinking feeling in my heart that, well, I don’t know.”

“He’s at East Cooper Hospital?” Steve said. “I can look in on him tomorrow morning. Who’s his doc?”

I put a full plate in front of her, and she looked at it as if she hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. But then, if it’s true that we eat with our eyes first, the food was irresistible. Steve poured her a glass of wine.

“Fran Wanat. I mean, Wanat’s the best cardiologist we’ve got in the whole state, and he says not to worry, so maybe I should just relax and have a nice evening with y’all! Right?”

“I know Sharon, his wife. She’s darling! Drink up, sister!” Mom said. “Vern will be fine.”

The doorbell rang, and I could hear children’s voices calling out for Charlie. “Is Charlie home? Char-lieeeee?”

“Can I go to the door?” Charlie asked me.

“Of course!”

He jumped up and ran to the door, returning with the father of the kids from Greenville.

The father, John the Elder, the infamous bankruptcy lawyer, said, “I’m taking the kids up to the Palmetto Grande to see a movie and then out for ice cream. My sister’s two kids are coming also. We’ve got two big SUVs loaded with varmints. Everyone wanted to know if we could invite Charlie. He can stay over with us. The kids have built a pillow fort all over the living room, and I guess we’re looking at a night of controlled mayhem.”

“Please?” Charlie said. “I’m done with dinner.”

His plate was clean. Not a crumb left. Who could tell him no to an invitation like that? I nodded my consent and hooked my thumb toward the door, indicating permission for him to skedaddle.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Come around here, boy,” Dad said, extracting a stack of cash from his pants pocket and peeling off a twenty-dollar bill. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Oh, Guster, thanks, but I don’t need it. I have a job, you know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of severely crumpled fives. There must have been six of them. Maybe eight.

Dad smiled and said, “Take the money and say, ‘Thanks, Guster.’ Okay, Mr. Big Shot?”

“Thanks! Love you!” Charlie snatched the twenty, hugged Dad’s neck, blew me a kiss and was gone.

“Send me a text when you get back to the island!” I said.

He gave a thumbs-up and ran ahead to meet up with the kids.

“I’ll take good care of him,” John the Elder said.

“Oh, I know that. Thanks,” I said and followed him to the back door.

“Pray for us,” he said. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

“Oh, you’ll have fun. Take pictures of the fort!”

Charlie piled into the car, smiling and happy, soon lost in a sea of adolescent goodwill and smiles. I felt pretty good about just letting Charlie go off with them like that. It never would’ve happened in Brooklyn. Oh, invitations came in Brooklyn, but there was more advance planning and less spontaneity. Here, doors were open, porch lights were on, and it was just easier all around to be inclusive and congenial. And I wasn’t worried for an instant that someone was going to carry Charlie off into the night. I was getting over my paranoia. Temporarily.

I went back inside, and Miss Deb was talking about Vernon. “They just want to run some tests. So they kept him. I mean, they’ve always sent him home before. So it makes me a little nervous.”

“I don’t blame you!” I said. “But I feel very sure that if he was in real danger he’d be in an ICU.”

“Well, actually, he
is
in the ICU. They want to monitor him overnight. But his EKG was negative, and one of the ER doctors said he thought it might be reflux. Vernon had had quite a bit of salsa and chips while he was watching television.”

“There you go!” Dad said. “That’s probably it.”

“Well, then, you don’t have to worry at all!” Mom said. “Isn’t that smart of them? I’ll tell you, modern medicine! They can perform miracles. Isn’t that right, Steve?”

“I see miracles all the time,” he said, and he shot me a look that said
doesn’t sound good
.

It didn’t sound good to me either, but Steve and I didn’t know much about cardiology beyond what they teach you in basic emergency care. Maybe he had done a cardiac rotation, but that would’ve been years ago. And then I saw something that reminded me of active duty in a triage setting in the hills of Afghanistan. Miss Deb began to talk in a higher-pitched tone of voice, totally laser-focused on another topic rather than Vernon, who should have been her only priority.