Shem Creek (20 page)

Jackson Hole felt like it had always been there, very much like an old friend waiting to throw an arm around your shoulder and offer you a cool drink. And, since we all worked there, it was the perfect place for a going-away dinner for Lindsey.

The day, like the entire month, had been a scorcher with temperatures in the high nineties. The humidity was performing unspeakable acts on my hair, which annoyed me to no end. In fact, the humidity of South Carolina’s Lowcountry in August was the reason God invented ponytails. I was feeling exhausted, cranky, sticky, ugly, fat, old and moody. And, I am ashamed to admit this, but the last thing I wanted was a party.

I realized the real reason I was so off-kilter was that Lindsey was leaving me. All along I had been so thrilled that Lindsey was accepted to NYU that I hadn’t stopped to consider what her leaving would actually feel like when it finally happened. And of course, we were living in New Jersey when she was accepted, not seven hundred miles away. With the passing of each minute, I was becoming increasingly weepy. It was a lot like nursing a terminally ill family member. During the illness you were completely obsessed with meeting their needs. But when they closed their eyes for the last time, you were shocked by the fact that your diligence and affection had still led up to their demise. I had cared lovingly for Lindsey every day of her life, preparing her for this moment. She was excited and I was depressed. I just wasn’t ready. It was yet another test of my stiff upper lip, which betrayed me with quivers every time I tried to speak. And my stupid eyes—no matter how I struggled to maintain my reserve, they would well up. Intellectually, I knew it was ridiculous. Emotionally, I was a two-year-old, bordering on a tantrum.

We got together at four and everyone found a place at the table. Duane announced that he had prepared a special dish for Lindsey, who, all summer long, had shown strong support and sympathy for his most bizarre medleys. This announcement, of course, produced heavy eye-rolling from Louise, which led to stealth rib-poking and guffaws followed up with Louise cutting everyone her most threatening eye. But we began our meal with our trademark crab dip (ours actually had crab meat in it) and Waverly crackers, a basket of steaming hush puppies and cups of peppered seafood chowder. It was delicious and we were all eating like starving fieldhands.

Brad tried to offer a toast, but the racket coming from our table was so loud that it took him a few minutes to get our group to settle down.

“I just want to say . . .”

Ping! Ping! Ping!
He tapped his glass with his knife.

“Ladies? Gentlemen?”

Finally, everyone became quiet.

“I just wanted to say how much I have enjoyed getting to know you, Lindsey. I remember the day I left home for Emory University. My stomach was all in knots and my mother was a mess, all weepy and moody like your momma is today. . . .”

“I am not. . . .”

Yes, you are!
came the resounding chorus.

Oh, fine, I thought, trying to collect myself before I started to wail like a baby. Mimi passed me a tissue and I took it, knowing I would probably need it.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say something about the importance of this occasion. Too often we take things for granted—a holiday meal, someone’s birthday—you cook, you run out and buy a gift and then it’s over. Many of these occasions are not life-changing, but this one is. Lindsey, you’ve arrived at a threshold and, once you pass through, the world will consider you a young woman. That may not sound like news, but life after high school is very different.”

Brad stopped talking as though he hadn’t really finished his thought. He just stood there at the head of the table, glancing in the direction of Alex, who seemed slightly more somber than usual. Speaking about pivotal moments had surely reminded Alex about his mother’s death, and being somewhat selfish, I hoped Loretta wouldn’t become a topic of conversation. Brad spoke again. However forced it was, he grinned from ear to ear while speaking.

“Anyway, I just wanted to encourage you to savor the whole experience. Now I realize you spent the first eighteen years of your life in the New York area, but living in the city is a horse of another color. Join a sorority or some clubs, see all the sights—it’s a very exciting place—try different food and get the recipes for us. . . .”

Everyone chuckled at that and the gray mood floated away. Brad wished Lindsey good luck, gave her a peck on the cheek and a card with a fresh hundred-dollar bill inside.

“Oh! Gosh! Thanks!” Lindsey said. “I didn’t expect this! I didn’t expect anything!”

“It’s WAM,” Brad said, and when it became obvious that no one knew what he meant, he said, “
Walking around money.
Don’t ever go walking around without a little WAM in your pockets.”

“Brad’s right,” Mimi said, “you don’t want the robbers to go away disappointed!”

Classic Mimi.

Mimi had brought Lindsey a pink wool muffler she had knitted that must have been ten feet long. “It gets mighty cold up there in New York,” she said. When I looked at her like she must’ve thought we were complete ignoramuses regarding real live full-strength winter weather, she added, “Y’all! I watch Willard Scott every day!”

Louise had a gift for Lindsey too—a digital alarm clock like those sold in the drugstores.

“Listen, this way you won’t be late for class, and if you break this, let me know and I’ll send you another one. Remember, you never be flashy because people will judge you by your possessions. It ain’t right, but that’s how it is.”

Lindsey blew Louise a kiss and said, “It’s perfect!”

O’Malley gave her a dictionary and thesaurus, saying, “I know they’ll have these at school, but it’s good to have your own, you know? I wrote something in them too so you won’t forget me or this summer.”

“I’ll be back, O’Malley,” she said and leaned over to hug his neck.

The generous gestures brought a glow to Lindsey’s face that reminded me it had been too long since she had been singled out for recognition. I was very grateful to Brad and to everyone else too.

Duane had baked flounder stuffed with lump meat crab for the table and served it all around with fresh asparagus sautéed in lemon and butter. Then with great flourish, he placed his pièce de résistance in front of Lindsey. It was a tower of shellfish and fish separated by paper-thin wafers that appeared to be made with cracked pepper or maybe sesame seeds. There was a red satin sauce drizzled all over the plate in a looping design and everything was sprinkled with minced parsley and dill. I wished I’d brought my camera.

Louise’s eyeballs had mysteriously tripled in size, bulging in their sockets. “Just what the heck do you call that, Mr. Doo-wayne?”

“Tour de Mer,” he said, with a slight indignant hiss.

“Tour de
who?
” Louise said, with a grunt.

“
La mer, la mer!
The sea, the sea!” There was nothing Duane liked better than to torture Louise. “That’s your whole problem, Ms. Louise. No imagination.”

“I don’t need imagination when you got enough for
all
of us!” she shot right back. But in a moment of curiosity, she stuck her finger in the deep red sauce on Lindsey’s plate and literally purred when she tasted it. “What’s that? Tomato?”

“Coulis of pomegranate,” he said, smiling his most superior smile of food snob victory.

“Well, if that don’t beat all. . . .”

We began to eat amid snickers and chatter about what Lindsey thought NYU would be like, and eventually the talk turned to Alex and Gracie’s experiences in their new school.

“Football practice is rough,” Alex said. “I thought Lovett was tough but these guys are animals.”

“But, it’s good, right?” Brad said.

“Yeah, if you like the taste of your own blood,” Alex said.

“Ew! Disgusting!” Gracie said.

“You’re just pissed because you’re not a cheerleader,” Alex said, “but you can join dance team.”

“Whatever,” Gracie said, “you’re just pissed because you’re still playing JV! Besides, I’m auditioning to take modern dance lessons at Charleston Ballet, and in between I’m working on a river sweep with Mr. Miller.”

“Would someone like to tell me what a river sweep is?” I said.

“Mom, you have no idea what’s going on around here. I mean, did you know that Shem Creek is dead?”

“What are you talking about?” Louise said. “Look down there on the dock. See that big old pelican? What’s he eating on?”

We glanced outside and sure enough, there was an enormous pelican tearing the insides out of a huge fish. Not exactly a lovely sight to behold from the dinner table, but if Shem Creek was dead, where did he get the fish? Simmons Seafood Market? No, not likely.

“That fish came from a fishing boat,” Gracie said, “and it might have come out of these waters but I’ll tell you this. There’s no shrimp and no oysters here anymore.”

“I’d still like to know what a river sweep is,” I said and was completely ignored.

“Where’d they go?” Brad said. “Murrell’s Inlet?”

Naturally, Mimi, Louise, Brad and I thought that was a clever enough remark, but I’ve also learned that what an adult may find amusing a teenager may use to skewer you. I looked at Gracie and saw that she was about to take to the pulpit for a sermon to educate us.

“Look,” Gracie began, “you guys might not think—”

“
You guys?
If you want them to listen,” Alex said, “don’t talk
Yankee
.”

“Oh, puh-leeze,” Gracie said. “Look,
everyone!
Good enough, Alex?”

He shrugged, indicating it was not exactly what he expected, but he didn’t know my Gracie. She would only say
y’all
on her deathbed pleading to the southern saints for time off in Purgatory.

“Anyway, there’s a whole environmental disaster growing all over South Carolina and if something’s not done about it, it’s gonna be bad.”

“What are you talking about?” Brad said. “I mean, over the last twenty years all these laws have been passed about clean water and recycling. I thought things were getting better. Can somebody pass the tartar sauce?”

“Sure,” Mimi said, handing the squeeze bottle to Louise to pass to Brad. “Brad’s right, Gracie darlin’, I mean everybody recycles now.”

“Well, maybe you do, but there are still plenty of people who dump their garbage in the creek. That’s what the river sweep is about. Picking up garbage,” Gracie said. “Anyway, the bigger problem is about all these new developments. You know that parking lot at the Kmart? The one out on Highway Seventeen?”

“The one as big as Alaska?” Lindsey said.

“Yeah, that’s the one. So, every time there’s a big rainfall—which is about every other day all summer long—there’s nowhere for the water to go, since asphalt doesn’t absorb water?”

“So what?” Alex said.

“So what? So
what?
” Gracie said, so excited that she was momentarily unconcerned about losing Alex’s favor. “I’ll tell you
so what.
How about that all that water runs into a little tiny tidal creek along with petroleum, chemicals from cars, garbage people toss like cigarette butts and soda cans and kills all the baby shrimp and fish that used to get hatched there?”

“And, that tidal creek feeds into Shem Creek?” Lindsey said.

“You got it!” Gracie said.

“And you learned all this from Mr. Miller?” I said.

“Yep,” she said. “He’s amazing, Mom. He showed us this film about these guys throwing a net to catch some flounder in Shem Creek at high tide. So they left the net there until low tide and all the fish died. Wanna know why?”

“Actually, yeah,” Brad said. “I’d like to know.”

“Because at low tide there’s not enough oxygen in the water for even flounder.”

“Gross,” Alex said.

“Yeah, gross,” Gracie said. “So anyway, that’s what I learned in my life-altering experience in school today. It’s pretty intense and I don’t think people know about it.”

I was about to say that Jason Miller was a wacko but then I thought better of it. Maybe this was a good thing, even though I suspected that one reason Gracie was aligning herself with Miller was because I had rejected him. But, maybe having Gracie involved in a community project would raise her consciousness above the usual teenage rebellious garbage she brought home to my doorstep like the neighborhood alley cat dragging in a dead something that thrilled the cat but left you disgusted.

“Well, Gracie, maybe all us old dogs can learn a few new tricks from you!” I said.

Gracie sat a little higher in her seat and Alex shook his head in approval.

Lindsey, who was always the least talkative of all of us, cleared her throat.

“What, baby?” I said.

“Well, I was just thinking that it might be interesting to take some courses in marine biology. You know, I was just running it around my head, that’s all. I mean, if South Carolina is really going to be our home from now on . . . maybe someday Gracie and I could figure out how to, I don’t know, educate the public and do something about it too.”

“Ah! The Mighty Breland sisters conquer the world!” Gracie said. “I seriously doubt it.”

Later that night, Lindsey, Gracie, Mimi and I were sitting around the kitchen after packing the last of our clothes in both cars, preparing for the morning’s move to our new home.

“Let’s get ourselves a glass of tea and sit on the porch,” Mimi said. “This is our last night together in the house and—”

“The last one where you don’t have to kick your way through our dirty clothes to find the bed,” Lindsey said.

“I have loved every single kick,” said Mimi, “and I’m going to miss seeing your faces when you get up in the morning. I really am.”

“Wow. That’s pretty masochistic, Aunt Mimi,” Gracie said.

I smiled and in the dim light of the kitchen, I saw Mimi’s smile too. There was recognition. In the same way Gracie had supported Lindsey’s harmless barb, my smile connected with my sister’s heart.