Chapter 14

hat afternoon they jumped into the golf cart and headed down to the village stores to do some shopping. Mel drove and Sara sat beside her. Lola and Annie sat in the back. The sun was directly overhead, and when they broke from the cover of the overhanging trees it was like opening the door of a furnace, the heat prickling their arms and faces. A narrow strip of asphalt stretched in front of them, bound on one side by scrub pine and laurel oak and on the other by the slumbering marsh. Out past the yellow spartina grass the green waters of the tidal creeks glimmered faintly.

“Are we sure we want to go shopping in this heat?” Sara asked. She wore a black tank top, a pair of white cropped pants, and a straw hat trimmed with a black ribbon. She looked like someone out of Hamptons magazine. “We should be lying on the beach.”

“We won’t be long,” Mel said. “Everything closes down at five so we don’t have a lot of time to get to the shops. We wasted all morning just lying around the house.”

From the back, Annie snorted. “Whose fault is that?” Across the marsh, a lone heron rose into the sun-bleached sky, dragging its legs behind it.

Mel said, “Hey, I can’t help it if y’all are lightweights. Don’t blame me.”

“You were the one making the martinis,” Sara said.

“You were the one who wanted to play Clinker,” Annie said.

Mel made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “No one twisted your arms,” she reminded them. “No one put a gun to your temples and forced you to drink.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, I’m not drinking tonight,” Sara said.

“Me either,” Annie said.

“I’ll drink,” Lola said.

Ahead the tunnel of live oaks began. They drove from the glaring sunlight into a cool green shade that closed around them like water. Beards of Spanish moss hung from the branches of the trees. Cicadas whirred in the shadows. They passed a cart with floats and boogie boards tied to its roof, ambling along the road. A father in flip-flops and board shorts sat in the backseat beside a curly-haired girl of eight or nine. A mother in a pink swimsuit drove the cart and, tucked beside her on the front seat, a sleepy child sat sucking his thumb. Lola waved as they drove past and the boy lifted his hand and waved listlessly.

“Henry used to love the beach,” Lola said, gazing fondly at the boy. “We had a place at Gulf Shores when he was little, and he and I used to stay down there for most of the summer. Briggs would fly down when he could. He used to scream and kick his feet whenever I’d make him come in from the beach.”

“Who, Briggs or Henry?” Mel said.

“His hair was so blond,” Lola said wistfully, her eyes fixed on the disappearing child. “He used to squat at the edge of the sand and dig holes with his little shovel. And when the water rolled up and filled in the hole he would get so mad and stomp his little feet and throw his little shovel in the surf and then I’d have to go in and get it.”

“How did a child with such a bad temper grow up to be so normal?” Annie asked earnestly. She glanced at Lola and colored slightly. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Sometimes her mouth worked before her mind had a chance to shut it down. Annie loved her own children but she hadn’t spoiled them. Once, on a trip through Birmingham, they had met Lola’s family at a fast food restaurant. Annie’s sons had sat quietly and politely at the table but Henry, on learning that he already had the toy being offered in the Happy Meal box, had insisted on going to a different restaurant to get another toy. When his mother refused, he had a screaming fit that culminated with Briggs throwing the boy over his shoulder and carrying him out. The whole time Henry had stretched his arms toward his mother, and with a tearful face, screamed, “I’m your only little boy! I’m your only little boy!” Lola stood it for as long as she could and then hurried out after them.

“You never know how they’ll turn out,” Sara said, thinking how sweet and docile Adam had been as a child. He would play by himself for hours, alone in his own little world. That was before he’d come to realize that he wasn’t like other kids. The knowledge had made him surly and short-tempered. Or maybe it was just adolescence; Sara didn’t know.

Lola smiled dreamily and continued with her daydreams of Henry. “Soon he’ll be a daddy with a son of his own,” she murmured. Caught up in her memories, Lola gave no indication that she’d heard a word anyone else had said and Annie was glad of that.

“Do you really think he’s old enough to be getting married?” Mel asked. “What is he, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

“I was twenty-two,” Annie said, “and so was Lola.”

“And I was twenty-four,” Mel said, “and that was way too young.”

Sara said nothing. She’d married at twenty-eight, two years after finishing law school. By then she and Tom had been dating, off and on, for three years and had been living together for two.

A soft snuffling sound made Mel glance over her shoulder. “Lola, are you crying?”

Lola smiled apologetically and dabbed her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “One day you’re standing on the beach with your child,” she sobbed, “and the next it’s your child standing there with his own son. Where does the time go?” Annie took a Kleenex out of her purse and gave it to Lola, and she took it and blew her nose softly.

It occurred suddenly to Mel that Lola was lonely. And Mel knew a thing or two about loneliness, although with her it was a condition she had chosen. Her career as a writer made a solitary life necessary but it was a choice she’d never really regretted. Well, most of the time, anyway. But with Lola the loneliness was forced, and that was different. Briggs had his money, Mel had her writing, Sara and Annie had their own families, but all Lola had ever had was Henry. And now Henry had found someone else.

“Lola, you and I need to see more of each other,” Mel said suddenly. She put her chin up and stared at Lola in the rearview mirror. Sara put her hand out as if to take the wheel but Mel pushed it away. “Why don’t you come up to New York in the fall? We can do the museums, take in a few shows, shop until Briggs cuts you off, and eat in a different restaurant every meal.”

The cart whirred through the cool green tunnel of the maritime forest. Insects floated in the still blue air. Lola sniffed and stuck her nose in the Kleenex. “That would be nice,” she said, blowing gently.

The village was bustling with noontime shoppers and diners who crowded the island’s only two restaurants, Sophie’s Seafood and the Oyster Bar. Both restaurants fronted the harbor and faced each other at right angles. Sandwiched in between was the marina, and across the harbor was the ferry dock, where the big ferries ran every thirty minutes between the island and the mainland, carrying happy or depressed tourists (depending on whether they were just beginning their vacation or going home). Clustered along the perimeter of the harbor stood tall, cedar-shingled houses and shops weathered to a soft gray. The boats in the marina bobbed gently on the tide, their canvas rigging snapping in the steady breeze that blew in from the sound and the open sea beyond. Golf carts trundled along the narrow roadways, and children played on the village green under the watchful eyes of their parents, who sat on the deck outside Sophie’s sipping frozen margaritas out of wide-mouthed glasses.

Mel pulled the cart into an open bay in front of the cluster of village shops. She got out and plugged the cart into an outlet while the others stood up and stretched.

“Where should we start?” Sara asked, yawning. The sun was hot but the breeze was pleasant and fragrant with the scent of cape jasmine and fried fish.

“There’s a really cute dress shop over there,” Lola said, pointing. She seemed happy again, which was just like Lola, sad one moment and cheerful the next. “And right next to it is a store that sells little gifts and collectibles for the home.”

“I need to go in there first,” Mel said, pointing to the Village Market, an upscale grocery store that also sold beach products, cosmetics, and various drugstore items. The building was small and gray-shingled, and looked like an old-fashioned country store complete with a bay window and some type of trailing, pink-blossomed vine running across the facade and up into the eaves. A series of stone steps led from the sidewalk up to the front door. Mel put her arm around Lola’s shoulders and they went up the steps together. A little bell tinkled as they walked in. The room was cool and musty with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. Wide planked floors gleamed beneath the overhead lights, and rows of tall shelves ran from the front of the store to the back. A bored-looking youth lounged across a counter reading a magazine. Behind his right shoulder hung a Boar’s Head meat sign. “Can I help you?” he said in a thick Ukrainian accent. A good portion of Ukraine seemed to be congregated here on this small North Carolina island. Fresh-faced waitresses, shopgirls, and deckhands all spoke with Ukrainian accents.

“Do you carry Corona?” Mel asked.

“Corona?” he said, looking puzzled.

“It’s a beer.”

“Oh. All beer is in cooler in back. You must be twenty-one to buy.” He grinned at Mel. She grinned back, a slow, lazy smile that showed her dimples to their best advantage.

“Oh, please,” Sara said.

She followed Mel back to the coolers, wondering what she was up to. Mel had that look on her face that she always had right before she did something wrong. Sara had spent most of her childhood anticipating that look. “Why are you buying beer?” she asked suspiciously. She was the oldest child in her family, and she had been raised to be the responsible one. It was a hard habit to break.

“It’s for tonight. I’m pulling out the big guns.”

“Big guns?”

“Corona,” Mel said, lifting a six-pack from the cooler.

“I told you I’m not drinking.”

“I’m not drinking either,” Annie said, appearing behind Sara like a disconsolate ghost. She had bought a kite for Agnes Grace, the girl she visited out at the Baptist Children’s Home, and was trying, unsuccessfully, to slide it into a plastic bag.

Mel ignored them both. “Where’s Lola?” she asked.

“I’m over here!” They heard her delicate little laugh one aisle over, followed by the sound of something metallic hitting the floor.

Mel checked her reflection in the glass-fronted cooler. “Since we’re not going out tonight, I thought I’d make something really special,” she said, fluffing her hair with her fingers.

“No,” Annie said belligerently.

“What?” Sara asked, unable to stop herself.

“Margaronas.”

“Margaronas?” Annie and Sara exchanged puzzled looks.

Mel continued on down the aisle toward the frozen foods. “Since we’re not going out. Since we won’t be doing any driving. When I serve them at home, I make everyone spend the night. A couple of pitchers of Margaronas and you’re out for the count. These things are deadly. Hey, do either one of you have a heart condition?”

“Not that I know of,” Annie said, looking worried. “But I haven’t had a physical in a couple of years.”

“You’ll probably be all right then.” Mel stopped in front of the frozen foods and scanned the frosty shelves.

“Assuming I was going to drink tonight, which I’m not” Sara said, “what exactly is a Margarona?”

“Okay,” Mel said, opening the freezer door and reaching in to grab a family-size can of frozen limeade. She shut the door and held the can up. “You put the frozen limeade in the bottom of a pitcher. Then you fill the empty can with tequila.”

Sara looked stunned. “Are you kidding me?” she said. “You fill that big can with tequila? That’s crazy.”

“Right,” Mel said. “Blend the tequila and the limeade. Then you pour in two Coronas, stir gently, and serve.”

“That sounds vile,” Annie said.

“Nectar of the gods,” Mel said, turning and wandering slowly down the aisle. They found Lola on the next aisle, standing in front of a magazine display. “Don’t read any more of those trashy magazines,” Mel told her. “They’ll rot your brain.”

Lola was thumbing through one of the more lurid rags. She looked up, puzzled, and asked earnestly, “Do y’all think Tom Cruise is gay?”

“Yes,” Mel said.

“Who cares?” Sara asked.

Annie was quiet. Like so much else in her life, she was still wrestling with the concept of homosexuality. Reverend Reeves maintained that it was a sin but Annie had begun to question that, too. Her friend Louise Ledford had a son named Roy who’d changed his name to Roi and moved to Chicago to open a bed-and-breakfast with his “friend” Mikhail. Even as a small child, Roi had been different. While other boys played Nintendo or paintball or drove their four-wheelers through the park, Roi had contented himself with giving his mother facials. He also did her makeup and dressed her so that when she went out of the house, she looked like a million bucks. (I love your purse, he’d told Annie once at a church function, but next time try a Baguette.) Everyone knew Roi was “funny” even before he changed his name and danced the Dance of the Seven Veils at the eighth-grade talent show.

Still, Annie couldn’t see any real harm in Roi. It wasn’t like he was a serial killer or an alcoholic or a drug addict. And he was sweet to his mother; he called her twice a week and never forgot her birthday, sending her designer dresses and Fendi bags so that she always looked like a fashion plate at the Women of God meetings.

Lola closed the magazine and put it back on the shelf, and they followed Mel down the aisle to a small cosmetics display.

Mel stopped, picked up a box of Miss Clairol, and began to read the back. “Hey, I know,” she said. “Let’s get drunk and give ourselves makeovers.”

“Oh, now, that sounds like a good idea,” Sara said.

“At the very least, let’s dye Annie’s hair.” She held up the box of Miss Clairol and grinned.

Annie gave her a steady sullen look. “No one touches my hair,” she said.

“Oh, come on, live a little.”

“No,” Annie said, wishing she could give in to spontaneity but knowing it was impossible. She felt brittle sometimes, as if she was slowly ossifying beneath her flesh, but she had never been a spontaneous person, with the exception of that brief, heady period twenty-three years ago.

And look how well that had turned out.