Folly Beach Part 8

"Well, I think you look great. Maybe I'll get another shot of coffee but I don't really feel like break . . ."

"Yes, you will! We all need breakfast, otherwise our blood sugar plummets before noon and we get all cranky. Besides, you can't live on pecan pie, no matter how good it is."

"Well, I sure would like to give it a try," I said and stood up to give her a peck on the cheek.

"Me too." She sank into the chair next to mine and put her mug on the table. I sat again. "But I'd get as big as a house. So now tell me. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a stone."

"Good, good. After breakfast, I want to get you moved over to the Porgy House. I think it's best if you have your own s.p.a.ce. Besides, all my rentals are full."

"Well, that's a lucky thing, isn't it? I mean, who rents a house at the beach in the winter?"

"Honey, this is Folly Beach. Everyone wants to come here. Remember? We're a bargain next to the downtown B&Bs. And the hotels? Forget it! Sky-high! You'd think only millionaires can afford a vacation!"

"Well, especially these days . . ." I was thinking about the G.o.d-awful unending recession.

"What? That's just ridiculous! No, no. I'm busy all the time, calling the housekeepers to come clean up after the last tenants and get ready for the next horde, coming with five more people than they stated on the contract and nasty old dogs that aren't allowed. I had one renter last month who brought their pet boa constrictor."

"What? What. Are. You. Saying? A boa?"

"Yes! They said, Oh, don't worry. Walter's in his cage. I said, Oh really? I feel much better! Get Walter and his cage outta here on the double or y'all can leave right now! During the summer it's ten times worse. So, I stop by unexpectedly, you know, on the excuse to see if they're happy, bring them brochures of things to do and then I count bodies and pets at the same time."

"Well, maybe I can help you with some of that. You know, the spy stuff."

"That would be a blessing, Cate. I mean, there's not much to it. Just some running around that . . . well, obviously, my running days are on hold until this silly cast comes off."

"Yeah, that's pretty clear. So how much longer is it supposed to be on?"

"I don't know. I go back to that d.a.m.n fool doctor sometime next week. I wish they'd just give me the one you can take off so I can get a decent shower! I'm so tired of wrapping my leg in dry-cleaner bags and rubber bands, you can't imagine!"

"Actually, I can. I wouldn't like it, either."

She stopped and looked at me. I knew she wanted to ask me something that she didn't quite know how to ask.

"Come on, Aunt Daisy. I can smell your wood burning. What's on your mind?"

"It's none of my business."

"Let's make it your business. I don't mind."

"All right then. I want you to tell me how someone as smart as you are got completely bamboozled by that son of a b.i.t.c.h Addison Cooper. And Lord love a duck, I probably shouldn't say this, but Ella and I never liked him one d.a.m.n bit. I mean, look, I understand a little bimbo on the side. It's not nice, but I get it. I even understand a love child-it happens. And I get the chasing skirts in the office. Men can be very stupid about their you-know-whats. They all think they're made out of gold!"

"Boy, that's for sure."

"Amen. And n.o.body understands how a business can fail any better than I do. I've been to the edge and back one hundred times. But here's what I don't get. Tell me how he leveraged your whole life, your house, your furniture, your everything down to your lightbulbs . . . tell me, number one, how he got that one by you and number two, why weren't you even suspicious?"

Wow, I thought, wow. Like I had not thought this through for almost every waking minute since I found his body? She must have thought I was the biggest idiot to ever draw a breath. Suddenly I didn't want to talk about it.

"Eggs might be good for me. You know, protein?"

"Well, as I said, Cate, it's none of my business. I know that."

I didn't know how to respond, so I just said, "You know what, Aunt Daisy? I don't know the answers to your questions. That's one of the reasons I came here, to try to figure that all out. I mean, you're right, it's bad enough to lose everything, including your husband, his reputation, which used to be something else entirely, stellar, in fact, and then to realize all of it was going on right under your own nose. And as far as borrowing money against the house, he must have forged my signature."

"My word! The skunk!"

"Exactly. That's all I can imagine, because Mark said the banks would've required two signatures. But who knows how elaborate his shenanigans were? How deep does that river of deception run? I learned about it all in a seventy-two-hour tidal wave until there wasn't a gla.s.s left in the house to fill up with liquor to chug or a bar stool to fall off of if I did. It doesn't really matter how he got away with everything, does it? It doesn't matter anymore, because it's a fait accompli. But I'm still a little sh.e.l.l-shocked, to tell you the truth. Yeah. I'm sh.e.l.l-shocked."

Aunt Daisy looked at me for what seemed like forever, planning her response. At first, she had been angry for me and even with me but now she saw me as I was. Damaged. Floundering.

"Truth," she finally said. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"Right now? No. I don't. Somewhere between Charlotte, North Carolina, and the outskirts of Charleston I decided that maybe the best thing for me would be to get into some heavy denial and tell myself this isn't my fault. Otherwise, I think I might crack into a million little pieces."

Aunt Daisy looked at me again with watery eyes, their once-blue color faded from age to a soft dove-gray. She leaned forward, taking my hand in hers. "It's not your fault."

I thought I would break down then. "You really don't think it was?"

"I do not think it was your fault. Any of it. And if you had your suspicions about things, and I'm sure you did from time to time, it would be only natural to sweep them under a rug."

"You know, I'm sure Patti told you, he was really changed."

"Stress. Stress does that to people. Why, he, he . . . he took his own life, Cate. He must have been completely, completely defeated."

"He didn't know how to lose, Aunt Daisy."

"Loss is a bitter pill. A bitter pill."

"Especially for someone like Addison. He was a very proud man. Don't you know he probably went through every possible scenario he could think of to save himself and our house?"

"Of course he did." She patted my hand and I looked down at hers. Aunt Daisy's knuckles were swollen and arthritic and probably ached all the time. After a moment or two she stood up and rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them. "Come on, now. Let's get some breakfast into you and get this day moving. Ella will tan our hides with a switch if we don't gobble up every crumb and tell her how wonderful it is."

"Aunt Daisy?"

"Yes?"

"In the end, I didn't like him, either."

"Well, now we're getting someplace."

"And what am I going to do if that woman with the little boy turns up?"

"We'll deal with that if and when the time comes. That's why G.o.d invented lawyers."

"I'm not so sure that was G.o.d."

So, while we talked about my children and Patti and Mark, we ate Swiss cheese omelets and rye toast and drank gla.s.s after gla.s.s of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

"I do love me some orange juice," Aunt Daisy said, sounding like a silly young girl from the 'hood.

She was so funny sometimes.

"You know, Cate," Ella said, "your aunt was voted the number-one supporter of the Marsh Tacky a.s.sociation and they sent us a bushel of oranges."

"And I got a plaque! Don't forget I got a plaque! A nice one, too, with a little three-dimensional bra.s.s horse on it. I'll show you later."

"Humph," Ella grunted. "She needs another plaque like a hole in the head."

"You two," I said, remembering Aunt Daisy's wall of fame in her office. "Listen, why don't you let me clean up the kitchen and y'all can go get dressed?"

"She's pretty particular about her kitchen," Aunt Daisy said, hooking her thumb in Ella's direction.

Ella smiled, shook her head, and pushed back from the table.

"I'll inspect it later with my magnifying gla.s.s. Come on, Old Cabbage, let's get moving."

"Old Cabbage?" I said.

"It's what Prince Phillip calls Queen Elizabeth!" Aunt Daisy said, beaming. "I saw it in that movie Queen."

"Helen Mirren," I said. "Love her."

"We saw it ten times," Ella said. "That woman was so good, wasn't she? Made me want a Corgi."

"Oh, now!" Old Cabbage said. "That's what we need is a dog! Cate? Did you hear what she said?"

I giggled.

"Mirren's a genius. Like Meryl Streep," I said. "They really and truly can make you believe they're somebody else."

"That's why they make the big bucks!" Ella said and turned to Aunt Daisy. "You want me to help you with that cast or what?"

"Are you telling me what to do?" Aunt Daisy said. "Because when the day and time comes that I need someone to tell me what to do, I'll let you know."

"She's impossible," Ella said, pulling a dry-cleaner bag from the stash of them in the pantry closet. "Come on!"

I could hear them bickering all the way up the stairs and I couldn't stop laughing. They weren't really bickering though. It was how the old cabbages showed their affection for each other.

After I wiped down the last counter and turned on the dishwasher, I repacked my overnight bag and went outside to a.s.sess the damage to my car in the daylight. It was pretty banged up alright. Well, at least it gave me an excuse to see that nice guy again. What was his name? I pulled his card from the side of my handbag. Risley. John Risley. The gorgeous married one with the legally insane dangerous wife. I wondered if I would hear from him. I had to get my car fixed before the b.u.mper fell off onto the street but the last thing I needed now was a fling with anybody. Even if he did have the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen on a man.

I heard a door close from under the house and looked up to see Aunt Daisy leaning on Ella's arm as they made their way from the elevator. All the new beach houses had elevators now, which would have been considered nothing short of ludicrous when I was little. But when Aunt Daisy renovated her house and had it jacked up to the required height to meet the code, she realized she wasn't getting any younger, so an elevator was added to the architect's plans. It was also very handy for them when they went to Sam's Club or Costco and came home with tons of paper towels, cases of water, and whatever else they stocked up on in case of an emergency.

"You follow us!" Ella called out.

"Okay!" I called back and started my car.

We drove the short distance down West Ashley Avenue to the Porgy House and pulled up in the yard. On the way over I sent a quick text message to Russ to let him know I had arrived. Maybe he and Alice would like to get together? It would be interesting to see how my relations.h.i.+p with Alice might develop. Dear G.o.d, please send the Holy Spirit to imbue my soul with charity. Thank you. Amen.

Ella went to the front door and began fumbling with keys, trying to find the right one. I hopped out to help Aunt Daisy and she turned around, eyes narrowed and focused on my b.u.mper.

"You can't drive that car in that condition," she said. "And you'll get a ticket in about two seconds for not having a taillight!"

"Yeah, you're right. But your friend Mr. Risley promised to call today and get it fixed."

"My friend? Humph." She raised her eyebrows and said, "We'll see just whose friend he is soon enough!"

"Oh, please," I said but I was talking to her back.

Ella finally got the door open and came back to help Aunt Daisy navigate the stairs but of course Aunt Daisy was already halfway inside the house. Between her cane and holding on to the handrails there wasn't much that could stop her from moving when it suited her but any fool could see she really was incapacitated by her broken foot.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" she said, calling out to Ella, who was turning on all the lights inside the little house.

A funny thing happened then. When the sun came from behind a cloud and through the trees, the ugly little weather-beaten cottage became adorable. It was absolutely charming and I was completely surprised by it. I felt an instant psychological lift as though this house was going to be my friend. But I knew the insides were very old, the plumbing and so forth, and I wondered how I would fare, trying to cook in a kitchen from the Dark Ages. This whole scene was going to be a cosmic test of my true mettle.

I stepped inside to a small living room that had been set up like a miniature museum exhibition, with Heyward and Gershwin paraphernalia all around on easels. There were playbills from the original production of Porgy and Bess, original copies of piano sheet music for "Summertime" and other hit songs from the musical. There was a gla.s.s case that held small gla.s.ses for c.o.c.ktails and a decanter collection.

"I don't think they used this room too much except to pour booze," Aunt Daisy said. "Come see the kitchen."

"Quaint," I said. "My piano should go in this room." I reminded myself to talk to Mark about s.h.i.+pping it down here.

"Maybe."

"What piano?" Ella said.

"My mother gave it to me when I was little."

"This house don't need a piano!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Hush, Ella! That piano is an heirloom! Anyway, I've kept everything this way on purpose. Can't you just see Dorothy Heyward standing here making supper for DuBose and Jenifer? Although, I understand she wasn't much of a cook. But this is history! Isn't it exciting?"

"Oh, goodness yes!" I said to make her happy, but if I had known the words to the song from The Rocky Horror Show I would have entertained them with my version of "The Time Warp."

The kitchen was, well, really sort of pathetic compared to my Rolls-Royce kitchen in New Jersey. There was an ancient white ceramic sink on the far wall to the right of the back door. In the center of the left wall was a white stove with one oven, and a cabinet and a counter stood to the right. A white refrigerator stood to the left of the stove. Both appliances were from the fifties or sixties and could be replaced with period examples if this place was to be a museum. But I decided to keep my mouth shut for the moment. A round pine table stood in the center of the room with a few chairs. Any one of the home decorating programs on HGTV would have eaten this room alive, taking it on as the almighty challenge. But the apple-green trim was certainly authentic to the period and I wondered how I might help Aunt Daisy enhance the decor. Anthropologie sold those hand-embroidered dish towels that were reminiscent of the thirties. And mercury-gla.s.s plates would look good on the plate rack. I had seen them in some catalog in pink and green, if memory served me. And there were the flea markets. Maybe I'd make this kitchen a project. It could be charming.

Aunt Daisy and Ella were already outside on the side porch.

"What's that funny look on your face, Cate? Is my funny little house already working its magic on you?"

"Maybe," I said and thought maybe it really was.

Aunt Daisy and Ella exchanged knowing looks. Perhaps there was more to the house than I knew but it didn't matter. I was anxious to get settled. I had to unpack my car and I wanted to call Russ again and Patti. Then I realized that if I had all that to do I had better set up a time to meet with Mr. Risley before the day got away from me.

As if she was reading my mind, Aunt Daisy said, "If you have to leave your car in the shop overnight, you can use mine. I can't drive now anyway! Go look around upstairs. You can bunk anywhere you want but if and when groups come through . . ."

"I know, I know. Don't worry. I'll make my life disappear so much that they'll think DuBose and Dorothy are in the room next door."