Folly Beach Part 30

"You know what's in glue, don't you?" I said.

"Who cares? Here's my question for you. How are you going to keep your big fat mouth shut?"

"I don't know because I am seething."

"You're not going to be able to do that. I know you."

"Well, this was a pretty incredible secret for them to keep from me, wasn't it?"

"Keep from us, not just from you. I'm going to have a little chat with my husband and see just how this whole thing happened. He has to know everything."

"Want to go walk for half an hour? I think I need to, so when I face Ella and Aunt Daisy I can have on my game face."

"Yeah, let's do it."

We locked up the house and walked out to the beach. It was getting closer to noon and the tide was out. Low tide and a warm sun were a beautiful combination and I reckoned the temperature to be somewhere near sixty. I began walking quickly and I could see Patti was struggling a little bit to keep the pace and talk at the same time.

"I can't believe Mark knew about this and didn't tell me," Patti said.

"I can't believe that woman had the unmitigated gall to try and get money from Aunt Daisy."

"She probably hired some ambulance-chasing lawyer who took her case on contingency and he just figured he'd keep suing the next of kin down the line until he found some money," Patti said. "Can we slow down just a little?"

"Sorry. I'm so angry that someone would hara.s.s Aunt Daisy, I could just explode!"

"It's pretty horrible alright. Listen, she's just some tramp . . ."

"Patti? I don't care if she's a tramp who works as a stripper or a nice person who's a . . . who's a pediatric hospice nurse!"

"I'm not sure there is such a thing as a pedia . . ."

"You know what I mean. What's the matter with people? I still can't believe she had the guts to come to Addison's funeral!"

"Yeah, in that awful weather, too," Patti said and I knew she was trying to a.s.suage my anger with a little humor.

"With pictures! I mean, of all the crust! And then, to get some lawyer to go after Aunt Daisy? Is she kidding? I'm so mad I could spit! Heather Parke. What a stupid name. Sounds like a garden in Scotland."

"Yeah, her middle name is probably Lavender," Patti said.

"Oh, shut up, you stupid a.s.s." We started laughing then, like we always did when one of us talked the other out of anger or disappointment or any of the less welcome conditions that were visited on all of humanity. "Oh, Patti! What does this all mean?"

"It means my husband has a brain, Aunt Daisy has a heart, and Heather Parke has some pair of calzones."

"Great. All I need is a pair of red shoes and a dog named Toto."

Someday, when I was more secure, I was going to do something wonderful for my sister.

She looped her arm inside of mine and said, "Look, don't worry. I'll wrestle the whole story out of Mark and then we'll think of how to get her to leave Aunt Daisy and all other family members alone. There has to be a legal way to do it."

"I'd rather slap her in the face about a million times."

"You're right. That would be infinitely more satisfying. Now let's get downtown before Aunt Daisy slaps us."

"Hey! Are we really going to bring her a thermos of martinis?"

"Absolutely not. We'll get her popsicles," Patti said. "I'm in no mood for bullies. Or olives."

"Me either. Let's move it."

What happened next was truly like a scene from a play. The sisters, the two fiercely loyal felines from the sand dunes of Folly Beach, the middle-aged ones with dreams still in front of them to chase until their last breath, they power-walked, fast and furious, until they nearly collapsed at the bottom of the wooden steps that went over the white sand and scrub and b.u.t.tercups that would be back to bloom in summer, climbing the flight of steps to their aunt Daisy's deck and returned, albeit begrudgingly, back to reality.

"I hate reality," I said to Patti.

"Yeah, Folly Beach is way better."

I knew we couldn't stop Heather Parke, the tramp with the supercilious name, from suing us until eternity. But she'd never see a dime from us and I was going to handle this from now on. Not Mark. Not Aunt Daisy. Not Mel and Dallas. Me. I'd find a free lawyer somehow, I'd ask John whom to call, and I'd file something in the courts to make her stop. Or at least to upset her enough to make her go away for a while. That decision meant I'd have to confront Aunt Daisy and tell her I knew what had happened. So what? I was old enough to know that the truth was nothing anyone should ever be afraid to face. Like Ella used to say when we were just little girls, every back was fitted to the burden. Well, I thought then, heaven knows I've carried plenty of burdens and I was still standing.

On the way to the hospital, Patti and I rehashed the letter and I told her my plan.

"You're right, of course. But remember, you've got the stash money I gave you for just such an emergency. If you need it to retain a lawyer, use it."

"I'm buying a laptop and a printer," I said, apropos of nothing.

"What?" she said, confused.

"How am I supposed to write the Great American Play without a laptop and a printer?"

"Holy Dorothy and DuBose, Batman! Go for it."

"You're such a jerk, did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Why no, but thank you very much!" she said in the worst Elvis imitation ever. "Thank you."

We picked up a box of popsicles at the 7-Eleven near the hospital and dropped them off at the nurses' station once we got upstairs.

"How's she doing?" we asked the nurse.

"She wants to know when we have happy hour," the nurse said with a straight face.

"She's feeling better," I said.

"And you'll be glad to know she doesn't need a cast any longer. The X-rays showed her foot has healed just fine. We fitted her with a rocking boot this morning, for a little extra support."

"She probably wanted to know how many colors it came in," Patti said.

"Boy, you really know your aunt!" the nurse said and took the popsicles.

We sat with Aunt Daisy while Ella went out to stretch her legs and get a cold drink. It was such a relief to see her with her eyes open and to hear her voice, even as raspy as it was.

"Where have you been?" she said, in a whisper. "Ella's boring me to death."

"You are incorrigible," I said, smiling.

"We got a late start," Patti said, as though she felt the need to confess. "And we took a walk on the beach to shake out the cobwebs."

Aunt Daisy nodded and then she smiled.

"Teta.n.u.s! Who knew?" she said.

"Yeah, talk about a long shot," I said. "The doctor said it was only the second time in his whole career that he'd seen a case of it."

"He's single," Aunt Daisy said.

I just shook my head.

"Listen, Miss Matchmaker, I've got enough going on with John Risley. He's practically sending me back to college with this whole Charleston Renaissance business. I don't want to go to medical school."

"I'm meeting him tonight," Patti said. "But here's the big question: Is he worthy?"

Aunt Daisy sat up a little and looked down her nose at Patti. Then she fell back into her pillows and began fanning herself.

"Got the message," Patti said and giggled.

"Oh, Aunt Daisy," I said.

There was no lack of drama in this family.

We stayed for most of the afternoon. Ella had returned and Aunt Daisy began drifting off to sleep.

"We're going to go back out to the beach," I said. "John's coming at six."

"Just call us if you need a single thing, okay? You've got our cell numbers, I hope?"

"I put them into Ella's speed dial," Patti said.

"I marvel at your tech talents," I said.

We got in the car and rather than rush right back to Folly, I had this nagging urge to swing by the Charleston Museum to see the piano.

"Do you mind if we make a stop?" I said.

"No, of course not."

"I just want to check something out before we see John tonight."

It was a short ride and in minutes I swung into the museum's parking lot and parked the car.

"This will take five minutes," I said.

We paid our admission and hurried upstairs.

"Remember the old museum on Rutledge?" she said.

"Are you kidding? Remember that mummy?" I said.

"That thing used to give me nightmares."

"Me too. You know, during the twenties and thirties the museum was run by a woman, which was a big deal at the time."

"I'll bet it was."

"Yep, Laura Bragg was the first woman in the country to run a publicly supported inst.i.tution of science and natural history. And she was a lesbian."

"Oooh! Le Scandal!"

"Right? Lemme tell you, sister, back in the day? Charleston was wild! I could write a play just about her!"

"Who knows? Maybe you will."

"I just might. Where are we? I'm lost. I thought it would be in this room . . ."

Patti asked the guard to direct us to the piano and he pointed the way-after this gallery, turn right, two more galleries, turn right again . . .

Inside of a minute or two we were standing in front of the gla.s.s case that held the piano George Gershwin used to write some of the music for Porgy and Bess. It was identical to mine.

"How weird!" Patti said.

"It sure is."

On its top was a bottle of Rheingold champagne with two lovely cut-gla.s.s champagne saucers that looked like ones Aunt Daisy might have used decades ago for a special occasion. On the floor stood an old banjo and a cigarette in an ashtray rested next to the sheet music for "Summertime."

"I wonder who played the banjo," I said.

"Didn't lots of people play it then?"

"Yeah, but I never read anything about DuBose or Gershwin playing one."

"Maybe it's just a random decoration."

I walked around the side of the gla.s.s case and got a glimpse of the back. It was uncovered. Mine was covered with a panel of wood, finished just like the piano itself.

"Maybe. Hey, Patti. Look at this."

Patti came around and stood in the exact same spot where I was and looked.

"Cate? I think most upright pianos have an open back anyway."

"Yeah, I know. Usually they're up against a wall. And it's probably for sound, too. So why is mine covered up?"