The Wedding Machine (21 page)

“I'm traveling all the time, Daddy,” he says to Cousin Willy as Ray gets them a Co-Cola and serves up some pickled shrimp that Willy and Justin caught in their sweet spot the other day. The sweet spot is some bend in a creek off the Edisto River, but those two will never divulge the exact location, not even to Ray.

Carson puts her hand on the back of Ray's tall and handsome son as he puffs up his chest and continues, “Just last week I was in San Francisco and Seattle, and then another associate and I stopped by Las Vegas for two nights on our way home. Our wives flew out to meet us, and I won twelve hundred bucks over the weekend. Can you believe it?”

“Sounds like you're livin' mighty high on the hog, Son,” Willy says.

“It's not too bad.” William punches his dad on the shoulder before silencing the beep coming from his cell phone. His eyes narrow as he studies the number, then slips the phone into the back pocket of his corduroy pants.

“You get work calls on a Saturday?” Ray asks.

Carson chuckles and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “We do.”

Now I tell you one thing
, Ray thinks,
I never would have said
“yeah” to my mother-in-law. Mama didn't teach me all I needed to
know about etiquette, but I certainly knew enough to include my
“ma'am” and “sir” with my “yes” and “no,” and I answered my elders
that way until they met the grave. Carson is from a nice family and
ought to know better.

Just then they all hear a large
thwomp
from the edge of RoundO Creek, and Tuxedo runs onto the dock and barks at the swirling water.

“Get back here, boy!” Willy hollers harshly down at him.

“Look at the size of that thing,” William says, pointing to the water, where two bulbous eyes and a large, square snout surface.

“Uh!” Carson says, grabbing William by the arm. “What is that?”

As the pointed knobs of the back and the tail surface, she shrieks and covers her mouth.

“It's just a gator, honey,” he says patting her.

Justin and Willy laugh as Tuxedo runs up onto the back deck and growls.

“An
alligator
?” she says.

“Heck, yeah,” Justin says. “You mean you haven't ever seen one?”

He looks into her dark green eyes as if she were quite a mystery.

“Um,
no
,” she says. She shakes her head in what seems to be a cross between disgust and disbelief.

“They don't have those in Buckhead, Justin,” Cousin Willy says, “except in the handbag section of the department stores.”

“What's he
doing
here?” Carson says.

“Oh, they come in and out of here from time to time,” Willy says. “There's an overpopulation of them right now, and they're looking for food.”

“He probably smells the hog,” Ray says.

“Yep,” Willy says. “He wants an invite to Ray's party, but he's not going to get one.”

“What are you going to do about him?” Carson says.

“Eh, we'll give him a few days to get out of here.” He flashes a smile. “If he doesn't, then we'll go in after him.”

“Tell William about last week's hunt,” Justin says as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah,” William says. “You said you had a story for me.”

“Well.” Willy glances back at Ray, and she nods because she thinks Carson can handle the wildlife story.

“I shot a beautiful buck last week from twelve,” Willy says.

“What's twelve?” Carson asks. She's not taking her eye off the gator, who remains motionless in the center between their dock and the salt marsh on the other side of the creek.

A blue heron lands for a moment on the edge of the water, but it quickly takes flight when the gator turns ever so slightly in its direction.

“That's one of the deer stands on Dr. Prescott's hunting property,” William says, as he puts his wide hands around the back of her neck and gives her a little massage.

“It's the one built in a tree overlooking a tidal creek that feeds into the Edisto River.”

“That's right,” Willy says, and Ray can tell he's proud that William remembers, even though he hasn't been hunting with his daddy in close to three years now.

“Anyhow it was the start of the rut season, and I spotted a nice-sized doe walking out at dusk, and she was followed by a beautiful buck with a nice-sized rack.”

Willy spreads out his arms wide to indicate the size.

“A ten point,” Justin adds. “At least 150 pounds.”

“Man,” William says. “So is the rack at the taxidermist?”

“Ooh,” Carson says, squinting her carefully plucked eyebrows.

“Nope,” Justin knocks William on the elbow. “
Listen
.”

“Okay, so I had a nice clean shot at his broad side, and I hit him smack in the shoulder, as far as I could tell.”

Carson puts her face into William's chest, but Willy is too excited to stop now.

“Anyhow, the doe took off into the woods, and the buck had enough in him to dart across the creek to the other side of the bank, where he collapsed on an oyster bank.”

“So what did you do?” William asks.

“Well, I put on my waders and took one step into the creek to retrieve her when a gator—must of been about a nine-footer—skulked up onto the bank and grabbed the buck's hind legs and dragged him down into the water.”

“No way!” William says, his eyes lighting up.

Carson covers up her ears and frowns.

“Yep,” Justin nods right behind Willy.

“It was unbelievable,” Willy says. “Darnedest thing I'd ever seen.”

“I'm sure glad he didn't cross that river,” Ray says. “If that gator was big enough to take that deer, who knows what he could have done to your father?”

“Eh.” Willy waves Ray away. He's taken care of a few nuisance alligators in his time, and he doesn't seem to fear them.

“We could go wrestle that one down right now, Uncle,” Justin says, rubbing his hands together, “before he gets Aunt Ray's hog.”

Willy makes a side-angled glance at William and winks.

“Want to, Son?”

“What?” Carson uncovers her ears. “You mean go into the creek and get that huge reptile?”

“Sure,” Cousin Willy says.

Carson pinches William's back and says to her father-in-law, “Are you insane?”

“Carson,” William says, as he tugs on a strand of her smooth, golden hair. “Daddy's been catching alligators most of his life.”

She whispers something in his ear; then William shakes his head. “Better not, Daddy.”

“I agree,” Ray says, patting Carson on her back. “I want y'all in one piece for my party, and that gator wouldn't think of rankling a yard full of people for a bite of barbeque.”

“C'mon, Uncle,” Justin says. “I'm ready to get my rope and go.”

“The girls are right,” Willy says. “We'll get him next week if he doesn't move on.”

Then Willy turns to his son and his nephew. “Let's check the pig,” he says, and they follow him out to the charcoal pit, where he lifts the lid and turns the hog over so it's upside down.

“Good grief,” Carson says, looking at the spectacle. “This is too much for me, Mrs. Montgomery. Let's go shopping for your birthday.”

“Okay, darlin',” Ray says, a little perplexed by the woman's fear and a little concerned about her hold over William.

Hunting used to be her son's out-and-out passion. He used to drive for hours from college to hunt down here, but ever since they sent him off to that expensive law school in Atlanta, he doesn't do that anymore. Ray has always been thankful that Justin has Cousin Willy for his father figure, but now she's glad that Cousin Willy has Justin. She can't imagine Justin ever leaving town, and they'll likely have a good time together fishing and hunting for years to come.

An hour later Ray and Carson are at a new store on King Street where Annie's Boutique used to be. A stylish but bohemian-looking lady Ray's age practically coerces her into trying on a brown and orange cotton pants outfit with small splotches of turquoise tie-dye designs all around it and a large necklace made up of rectangular turquoise stones. Ray feels a little strange in it, but she takes Carson's lead since she's the gift giver.

“C'mon, Mrs. Montgomery,” she says. “Don't you want something that doesn't scream ‘Talbots' for a change?”

What's wrong with Talbots?
Ray wonders.

She turns back to the three-way mirror. She suspects that she looks a little like a gypsy past her prime, but she hopes that there is some style to this getup that she can't quite discern. Some message that says “a young and vibrant fifty-five.”
That's the problem when
you're my age—when you try something trendy, it's hard to gauge if you
look absurd or admiringly fresh
.

As Ray picks up the price tag, she nearly falls over. The skirt alone is $260.00, and the top is $145.00. Who knows what the necklace costs?

“Don't look at that,” Carson says, gently pulling the tag out of Ray's hand. “It's great on you. And William and I want to get you something nice.”

So Ray has nothing to do but trust her daughter-in-law's chic sensibilities, and before she's buttoned her jacket Carson has charged the whole thing to her platinum card. The sales lady hangs the get-up and drapes it with a silver plastic bag that shimmers in the sunlight as they walk across King Street to the parking garage.

Then they head back to Jasper and over to Sylvia Crenshaw's beauty salon to get Ray's hair done. Ray doesn't care what Hilda says—she is
not
paying a hundred dollars in Charleston every time she needs a new do just to avoid Trudi Crenshaw. And as soon as she gets the nerve, she's calling to cancel her next appointment with Dr. Arhundati and head back to Angus for her menopausal medical needs.
Hormone replacement therapy, here I come!
she thinks
. Oh, I can't wait!

“Wanna get a manicure?” Ray says to Carson, who turns her nose up at the outdated
Ladies' Home Journal
magazines on Sylvia's coffee table. Trudi waves at Ray and motions Carson over.

“Okay,” Carson sighs. “Do you do French?” she asks Trudi.

“Yes ma'am.” Trudi repositions her hips in the pink round seat.

Ray nods and waves a thank-you to her, and she smiles back as if to say, “This town is too small to be enemies.”

Ray is relieved to be back in the care of someone who understands her hair and knows how to make it do. “I've missed you, Sylvia.”

“Me too.” Sylvia fusses with Ray's bangs. “Fill me in on everything. I hear Priscilla has a new man who's a friend of Little Hilda's.”

“That's right.” Ray is thankful to be able to gush about how Priscilla and Donovan have been seeing each other quite regularly these last few months since Little Hilda's wedding. “I can't help but keep my fingers crossed about it.”

Then she thinks of her last conversation with Pris a few days ago. Poop 2—that daredevil, J.K. Neely—has not liked her relationship with Donovan one bit, and he keeps calling her and writing her these mournful love letters that describe in graphic detail how strongly his heart aches for her.

“Don't respond, Pris,” Ray said to her the other day when she called to read her one.

“I won't, Mama,” she said. “But you have to admit, his letters are sort of sweet in a bizarre kind of way.”

“Bizarre is not what you want for a lifetime,” Ray said to her.

“I know,” she said. “Well, Donovan is picking me up for a pops concert on the Mall, so I better get ready.”

“Have fun!” Ray said, trying to keep a lid on her excitement.

“Oh, I hope this one works out, Sylvia,” she says as Sylvia pumps her foot at the base of the chair and lifts Ray up.

“Sounds like it will,” she says. “And if it does, you know I want an invite to the best wedding Jasper will ever feast their eyes on.”

It will be grand,
Ray thinks as she stares back at herself in the mirror while Sylvia works her hair with a comb. She can almost smell the gardenias in Priscilla's bouquet and pinned across the lapel of Donovan's white jacket. If she has her way, it will be a May wedding.
Lord, let it be
, she says as her heart pounds around her chest like a trapped bird.
Please, oh please, let this one turn out the way I want it to.

“So what would you like for your birthday?” Sylvia asks Ray as she takes a hunk of hair from the back of her head and clamps it with a hot pink clip. She picks at the strands beneath it and adds, “Other than Priscilla to marry that nice young buck?”

“Oh, I don't need a thing,” Ray says.

Then Sylvia leans in with a concerned look and whispers in Ray's ear, “Honey, you've got a few spots back here. Did you know about that?”