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“Anything’s cool with me, big shot, but you gotta know your mom will have a cow if she finds out you’re shacking up in her house.”

“Oh, please. I’m twenty-six years old. Does she think I’m a virgin?”

“Uh, yeah she does. Do what you want, but when she starts raising hell, don’t blame me.”

“How’s she going to find out?”

“She has little bitty cameras buried in the paneling, okay? How should I know? I just know that she’ll find out, that’s all. Anyway, I have to work so I won’t be around too much.”

“You got a job? You mean, someone actually hired you?”

“Yeah, ya big jerk.”

“To do what? Cut grass?”

“Like this place is crawling with career opportunities? Um, I’m hostessing at Atlanticville. I get my dinners for like next to nothing and the food is actually pretty good.”

“Oooh! Some perk. Girls don’t eat anyway. So maybe I’ll get everyone organized and come for dinner on Saturday.”

“You’ll need a reservation, dude.”

“Right, can you help me out with that?”

“Maybe. So who are you bringing besides some poor misguided woman?”

“A really great guy that I work with. He’s Henry’s heir apparent. The guy’s like an unbelievable brain.”

“Nice.”

“You won’t like him.”

“Good.”

They talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. Beth was actually excited that her cousin was coming. He was very good company. He was bringing someone? She concluded that he was probably bringing some random stupid girl and another guy—read: gargantuan nerd—from their Uncle Henry’s investment banking firm. But at least she wouldn’t be alone, not that she technically was if you included the Other Side.

“We’re having company, miss!” she said to Lola, who was curled up on one end of the sofa. “Should I put Mike and his Little Miss Hot Pants in the haunted bedroom? Come on, let’s figure this out.”

Beth walked from room to room with Lola scampering behind her. She opened windows in the rooms that smelled musty from the rain and checked the bathrooms for toilet paper and tissues. She decided that all the company could sleep downstairs and she would keep the upstairs for herself. She would rearrange the furniture in the second bedroom upstairs to resemble an office, which would deter Mike from sleeping across the hall from her with his girlfriend and making disgusting noises all night. It would also discourage his friend from staying there. After four years of living in dorms and cramped apartments with roommates, Beth was quickly adapting to having some space and some privacy—once again, the dead notwithstanding.

She found herself digging around in the attic for a folding table that could work as a desk. There was nothing up there except dust, old luggage, and boxes of junk.

“Oh no you don’t!” she said to Lola, who was sniffing around all the corners of the rafters. Beth scooped her up and quickly took her outside to the yard, where, as it happened, Lola needed to be.

When they got back inside, Beth called Cecily.

“May I just tell you how much I love your friend at the salon?” she said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I look like, well, I don’t know, better. I think.”

Cecily started laughing.

“Law, girl! You are supposed to say good things about yourself! If you don’t, no one else will! You want some company? Is that what this call is about?”

“Yeah. You had supper yet? And do you know where I might find a folding table?” Beth looked at her watch. It was almost seven.

“Under the house, next to the showers and the hoses. I’m starving.”

“Me too.”

The difference between supper and dinner might need some clarification. In the not-so-recent past, respectable Charlestonians from all walks of life paused their daily business to enjoy dinner at around one in the afternoon. Dinner was the main meal of the day and it usually included rice, which is why people say Charlestonians have important ties to the Chinese in that both cultures eat a lot of rice and worship their ancestors. Supper was much lighter fare served at the end of the day. These customs came into being as a result of climate and lifestyle. But with the advent of air-conditioning, business travel, and the wretched stresses of our times, dinner had become supper, except on Sundays, when, if a mother is extremely lucky, she can still coerce her family to gather around a table after church and before a football game. In any case, because she was still a Lowcountry girl, Beth said
supper
, which really meant
dinner,
although according to her cousin Mike, generally girls didn’t eat enough to call it a meal, except for Beth, who frequently claimed that she could eat a horse.

“Why don’t we go up to the Boathouse and have a Cosmo? Maybe pick on an appetizer?” Cecily said.

“Breach Inlet or downtown?”

“You think I’m going over that big bridge tonight? Honey, it’s enough to get me over the causeway!”

“I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

The waiting area at the Boathouse was crowded and Beth edged through the crowd to where Cecily waited at the bar, sipping a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, who was clearly under her spell. When she spotted Beth, Cecily’s eyes popped opened like a steamed clam.

“Is that really you? Lawsamercy! Beth! You look gorgeous! Oh no! I spilled my drink!”

It was all Beth needed to hear to put some loft under her wings.

The bartender quickly handed her a dish towel, scooped her glass away, and said, “I’ll replace that for you. Don’t worry.”

Beth reached for some paper napkins, handed them to Cecily, smiled, and said, “Here. Do you really think so?”

“Yes ma’am! You look unbelievable! Turn around! Are you wearing mascara?”

“Yep!”

“Mascara too! Mercy! What next?”

Beth did a little spin in the narrow space where she stood. Laughing with delight at the great success of Beth’s makeover, Cecily shook her head and clapped her hands.

“Eyeliner?”

“Yep!”

“Amazing! I knew it! I just knew there was a swan in there!”

“Thanks! Well, I owe it all to you! I never would have done this.”

“I know. Now, you thirsty?”

“I guess I just might be.”

“Jimmy darlin’? Can we have a glass of white wine for my friend?”

Jimmy was grinning all over his freckled face and he couldn’t give Beth her drink fast enough.

“On the house,” he said. “Any friend of Cecily is a friend of mine.”

“Gosh, thanks!”

During the period of time it took to down two glasses of wine, a Diet Coke, and two appetizers, Beth checked her cell phone for missed calls at least ten times. Cecily’s suspicions were confirmed.

“So, no phone call, huh?”

“Who? Who didn’t call?”

“I’m figuring either it’s Hollywood or Max Mitchell?”

“Um…”

“Okay, so it’s not Hollywood. Want to tell me what’s up?”

“I am wildly aggravated and mildly depressed.”

“Okay…why?”

“Oh, crap. I hate men. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Love stinks. That’s a song I think.”

“J. Giles. Bunch of old dudes. My mom loves them. Anyway, men stink too.”

“Not all of ’em. Just the ones I like.”

Beth looked up at Cecily. She found it hard to believe that Cecily had anything but a perfect life. And as that thought floated through her mind, another one was arriving. Somehow she always wound up telling Cecily every self-possessed little detail of her life and rarely had she ever asked anything about Cecily’s personal life. Once again, Beth came up short in her own eyes. She was a twit, an unfortunate but fitting term.

“Know what?”

“What?” Cecily said.

“This growing up thing is a very imperfect adventure.”

Cecily sat back and took a long look at Beth. Then she smiled that knowing smile, the one for which the Singletons were so well known.

“It’s a process, honey bunny. A long process that I expect continues till we go the way of all flesh, like my grandmomma used to say. Even though it hurts sometimes, don’t be rushing through. You’ll miss the good stuff. You know what I mean?”

“I guess. Sometimes I feel like I’m in control of my life and sometimes I wonder what in the world is wrong with me. You know? Here’s my big worry. Did you ever fall in love and get blown out of the box?”

“Are you kidding? That’s the only kind of relationship I’ve ever had. It’s my own fault, of course. I mean, I seem to collect all these hurt birds that I think I can fix. I make terrible choices.”

“You think love is a choice?”

“I don’t
think
it. I
know
it. Look, at some point you say yes or no, right?”

“I guess so, but that’s not a very romantic point of view, is it?”

“I’m just saying, until you meet the right guy? Say no. When Mr. Fabulous comes along, you’ll know. At least that’s what my momma always said. And my grandmomma.”

“You mean like you know in your gut that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone and you’re imagining what your kids will look like and you know this is it? And when you’re with him you can’t breathe, and when you’re not, you’re possessed by when you’ll be with him again?”

“Oh, lawsamercy. I thought you had sworn off this stuff.”

“Me too. Guess not.”

“Run away, girl. Like they say in that first-grade reading book? Run, run, run! You’re too young!”

“I don’t think I can run. I don’t want to. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Cecily just shook her head and looked at Beth with an expression you might give someone on death row.

7

Goose Bumps

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Susan, I’m sending Mike to the island to check on Beth. He’s older than her and more mature. He’ll tell us if she’s up to no good. Quit worrying. xx

[email protected]

Old woman, your son is hopelessly immature and will probably throw a kegger. Beth has to work, you know, and she’s not there to play hostess to your kids and their friends. But I love you. xx

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Ungrateful wretch! He’ll entertain in my half of the house. I’ll tell him not to be a slob, but I doubt if it will do any good. Boys. xx

I
T WAS AROUND
four in the afternoon when Monsignor Ben Michaels arrived at the Island Gamble. He knocked politely at the kitchen door and Beth invited him inside. It had been some time since Beth had seen the inside of a church, much less fulfilled her obligations as a Catholic. But like true love and deep hatred, guilt had a life span too. Beth blushed deeply and to his credit, the good monsignor made no indication that he noticed the blood rising in her cheeks. After all, guilty consciences were a large part of his business.

“Can I offer you a cold drink, Father?” Beth said.

“Ice water would be nice. Thank you. I’m beginning to wonder if this summer is ever going to end.” He removed a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the moisture from his brow.

“Yeah, me too. It’s been brutal.”

The moment was a little awkward for them as they were nearly strangers to each other, but his appearance worked to put her at ease. His thick white hair and pronounced paunch were the perfect complement to the crinkles of age that laced his kind blue eyes.

Beth opened the refrigerator and took out two small bottles of water, offering one to him. He took it and Beth had a sudden flash of her Aunt Maggie knowing that she had given a priest a bottle to drink from as though he was an ordinary person and not a representative of the Vatican. She would kill me dead, she thought.

“Would you like a glass?”

“No, no. This is just fine. Now let’s see. I think I remember your face from when you were a young girl,” he said. “Weren’t you at Midnight Mass on the millennium?”

“Wow! You have some memory!”

Father Michaels chuckled and twisted off the cap of the bottle, taking a long drink. Beth did the same.

“Nothing like plain cold water,” he said. “Well, to be honest, I’m just guessing. The odds are that you were there because your family took up three entire pews! That was some night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it sure was.” Beth remembered all that allegedly had happened with the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary and how the old people were fainting and calling out, claiming to see the plaster come to life. She and the rest of her family had not seen anything out of the ordinary happen that night, but the sudden and cloying smell of roses had nearly choked them all. There had been no denying that the condensed fragrance of roses was there and definitely real. In her opinion, the entire incident had been too weird to dwell on and Beth had not thought about it in years. “I remember now.”

“Yes, well, I think about it from time to time too. After that night we had television crews and all kinds of media folks coming around looking for a story and I just sent them on their way. Had to lock up the church! Can you imagine such a thing? I mean, I can’t say everything didn’t happen as the parishioners said, but I can’t say that it did either.”

“It was all very strange. I remember that we all loved the bells and how all of us went to the beach to watch the fireworks. It was really exciting. Holy moly. What a night, right?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed it was a holy moly night. Shall we sit for a moment?”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Where are my manners? Let’s go into the living room. This way.”

Beth prayed silently that her Aunt Maggie did not really have hidden cameras.

Father Michaels followed Beth to the ocean side of the house where the constant swirling of the ceiling fans cooled the room. It was a much more desirable place to sit than the kitchen, which baked in the afternoon sun. So as they found their place in the living room, Beth wondered for a moment, given the business at hand, if Livvie was hiding behind the silver of the old mirror, watching them.

“Wonderful house,” Father Michaels said, and settled in an armchair. “Wonderful house.”

“Thanks. It’s been in our family like practically forever.”

“Yes, I know. I used to come here for dinner when your grandmother was alive. I was just ordained and newly assigned to this parish. She was a good woman. You know, you resemble her a little.”

“Well, thanks. She died when I was little so I don’t remember too much about her except that she fed all the stray cats in the neighborhood.”

“Including me! She sure made the best okra soup I’ve ever eaten to this day. She really did.”

“I don’t have a clue how to make that or red rice or a lot of things my mom cooks. I’m pretty much a salad person.”

“And where are your Aunt Maggie and Uncle Grant? Did I hear they went off to California?”

“Yes, they did, and my mother is in France. She’s teaching at the American University for a year. I’m watching the store, so to speak.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure they appreciate it. Although, I have to say, it doesn’t seem like a terrible sacrifice to be here.”

Beth wasn’t about to start throwing dirt on her family by telling the family priest that she was living in bondage so she just smiled.

“So your family is all gone for how long?”

“A year. I mean, they might come home for Christmas or something. No one seems to have thought about that yet.”

“I see. Well, wouldn’t that be wonderful if they did? I’m sure they will if they can.”

“I hope so. It would be weird to not be with my family on the holidays.”

Father Michaels, sensing Beth was looking at many lonely nights, decided to change the subject. The moment had arrived to get to the heart of his visit.

“Now tell me, Beth, was there was something that happened that made you pick up the phone and call? I mean, are you nervous staying here alone?”

“Annoyed, maybe. Nervous, no. I practically grew up here too.”

“Annoyed? Why?”

Beth searched his face trying to decide if she should tell him the truth. If she did, how could she tell the story without sounding like a wall-licking lunatic?

“How open-minded are you, Father?”

“Well, I’ve been a priest in the Lowcountry of South Carolina all my adult life. Strange Brew is the name of the game around here, you know.”

“I’ll say.”

“I mean, sometimes I think that perhaps I have heard it all. And, to put your mind at ease, I’ve heard many stories about this house too, you know. So, just tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Okay. Okay. Um, the other night…”

For some peculiar reason about which Beth was unsure, she told him about the slamming noises and the messy state of her grandmother’s bedroom but she did not tell him anything about the mirror. He listened quietly and intently and when Beth was finished he spoke.

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. I have a theory about these things that would probably give the world of science a great big belly laugh.”

“A theory? I’d sure love to hear it.”

“Well, in a nutshell, it goes like this: Some people live happily and die happily. They have strong faith and believe that when their time comes, they are going home to God. So off they go to heaven. Others, well, their lives are marked with frustrations and heartbreaks they couldn’t reconcile while they were alive. But since you can’t take heartbreak and frustration through the pearly gates, they have to leave it here. What you are witnessing in your grandmother’s bedroom isn’t your grandmother—”

“It’s her frustration?”

“Yes, I think maybe it is. Or her anger and any other unresolved business that was very deep in her heart.”

“Bizarre.”

“Yes. Bizarre. And I can’t guarantee that blessing her bedroom will rid the house of this, uh,
phenomenon,
but it might. So, what do you say we give it a go? And while we’re at it, why don’t we do a general blessing for the entire house?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“My thought exactly.”

When Father Ben Michaels left later, Beth had a story to include in a book someday. She had stood with him and recited a number of prayers while he squirted holy water across the room from a little plastic flask with a cross on it. If she hadn’t been so disturbed by all the noises and the continuous disorder of the room, she thought she probably would have dissolved into a pile of snickers during the ceremony. The whole ritual just seemed like voodoo. Once again, she kicked herself, realizing that it was grossly immature of her to mentally mock religious practices condoned by her church. In fact, she had high hopes that between his prayers and Cecily’s salt, something would work to give her some peace and quiet. Maybe his theory was right; she didn’t know. If nothing else, it had been a relief to tell the story to someone and not to be treated like she was delusional.

The bill! She should have given him something! But she had not given him a donation for the church because she didn’t think of it until he was already gone. Besides, she didn’t have any cash in the house, didn’t use checks, and it seemed inappropriate to ask him if he would like to take a ride to the ATM machine at Dunleavy’s Pub. But she did feel that she was obliged to make some material gesture to thank him. Maybe she would buy him a nice card and maybe drop it off at the rectory with some cookies? No, she’d ask Cecily. Cecily would know what to do.

“Make him cookies,” Cecily said. “I don’t think he would be expecting a donation from you, baby.”

“You’re right. For once my youth is working in my favor.”

“How’s the scary room?”

“Neat as a pin. Who knows? Maybe it will hold, for a while anyway.”

“Prayer is a mighty powerful potion.”

“Whatever. We’ll see. So, my cousin is coming Friday and I’m just wondering about that. Am I supposed to go out and buy like a ton of food for them? I’m sort of on a budget.”

“Not in my book. I’d buy a coffee cake and some orange juice. They’re probably going to go out for lunch and dinner, don’t you think?”

“I’m totally clueless for this running a bed-and-breakfast thing. So listen, Cecily, do me a favor, okay?”

“Sure.”

“If you talk to my Aunt Maggie, please don’t mention that I had the priest over to perform an eviction, okay?”

“An
eviction
. Listen to you! Why would she care?”

“To tell you the truth, if it worked, I think she’ll miss the hullabaloo. You know, like all this peculiar stuff gives the house some, I don’t know…”

“Distinction? Cachet?”

“Yeah, something like that. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Your secret is safe with me, but if she comes home and finds that room all tidy, somebody’s gonna have some explaining to do, you know.”

“I can’t even believe we’re having this weird conversation.”

“Right. Let’s talk about other things like Mr. Heartthrob. Did he call?”

“No.”

Silence.

“He’s a dog.”

“You’re telling me? Anyway, I start work at my other job tomorrow night, so that’s a good diversion. And tomorrow I was planning to ride up the coast to see what I could see.”

“Well, make sure you stop at Litchfield. Between Georgetown and Myrtle Beach there’s nothing but development all over the place.”

“What’s up at Litchfield?”

“Lunch, you silly girl. You have to eat, don’t you?”

The next morning, Beth and Lola were on Highway 17 North, driving with a mission. And a plan of sorts. She was going to take pictures. Lots of them. She was going to talk to the locals. Where there was a construction site, she would stop and ask questions. She would learn the questions she should be asking everywhere and take notes like a madwoman. When she returned to the island, she would take the bold step of calling Max on the pretense of following up with some details. Then she would write her draft, polish it, hand it in, and begin her other job.

She got the whole way to Georgetown and realized she had not seen one single site worthy of her pitch and she didn’t even have a map. She drove on. When she got as far as Litchfield-by-the-Sea, she pulled into the BI-LO shopping center. There was a tiny bookstore right there called Litchfield Books. They would have a map, she thought. She parked and went inside.