Page 100 of Dreams of Falling
Jackson’s voice rang out loudly. “Do you really think I’d sleep with her?You’re kidding, right?I’m only letting her on my boat because Mabry and Bennett like her. Maybe if she weren’t such a dork and looked more like Mabry and less like a whale, I’d be interested.”
Jackson hadn’t seen me approaching his boat. I stood on the dock, holding a small cooler full of Ceecee’s lemon bars and homemade lemonade ice pops, my fingers numb from grabbing the handle so tightly. Bennett was still unloading beach chairs from the car, but a bunch of our classmates and Mabry were already on the boat. Mabry was wearing a pink string bikini that showed off her tan. She placed a slim hand on Jackson’s arm to get his attention, and that’s when he saw me.
But in my stupid adolescent mind, I hadn’t been angry at him. I’d been angry at Mabry. For that arm on his. For being thin and beautiful. For being all the things I thought I was until that moment when Jackson held up a mirror and I saw the truth. Mabry had known, but she’d let me deceive myself. Bennett, too. He was guilty by association. I imagined him laughing with Mabry and Jackson behind my back.
“Stop, Jackson,”Mabry had said, and all the hurt and anger and mortification bubbled up inside me. I was barely aware of lifting the cooler and throwing it as hard as I could in her direction. She hardly made a splash when she fell over the side, hitting her head on the dock with a sick thud.
Jackson and the others already on the boat just stared in surprise, and Bennett was too far away. So I dove in and pulled her out of the water, but I never believed I’d saved her. I was the one who’d put her there in the first place.
“So it’s true?” Bennett said, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead and making him look like a little boy.
I met his gaze, unable or unwilling to hide my shame and embarrassment. That I had allowed it to happen to me. Then, and now. Because there was no sense in concealing so many years of being stupid and naive and listening to no one brave enough to tell me differently. It was humbling to admit to myself that I hadn’t changed at all.
“Yes,” I said. “All of it.”
His eyes were serious as they regarded me, the distant sound of the band mixing with the closer sound of tires on wet pavement and a dog barking in a nearby yard. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked off.
thirty-three
Ceecee
1954
On Thursday morning, Ceecee woke to the sound of the television in the living room. A soft wind blew a mist at her window as she slid from her bed and threw on her bathrobe. In the living room, her mother stood in front of the set, wiping her hands on her apron, the smell of bacon and coffee emanating from the kitchen.
“Good morning, Sessalee,” she said, and returned her gaze to the screen. “The National Weather Bureau has issued a warning for the Carolinas. Hazel made a sharp northwest turn and is headed toward land, with possible landfall sometime tomorrow morning.” She wiped her hands on her apron again, a sign of agitation. “I’m going to keep the boys home from school and have them help me with shuttering the windows.”
“What does Daddy say we should do?”
“He went to the church early this morning, but he left the car so we can run to Poston’s and stock up on food. I called to see if I could get a delivery, but they’ve already got a waiting list for that. Your daddy’s been having one of his headaches, which always means there’s a bad storm coming.”
Ceecee rubbed her temple, feeling the throb of her own oncomingheadache. She’d taken the two aspirin Boyd had suggested, which had helped her sleep for a little bit, but she hadn’t taken any of the pills from the prescription. She hadn’t even intended to fill it, much less take one. There’d been something in his warning to her, about not taking more than she needed. Because she needed more than sleep. She needed oblivion. And when she poured the little white pills into the palm of her hand, she’d been afraid that she’d take more than she should. So she’d closed the bottle and thrown it into her pocketbook.
Her mother flipped off the television. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll go wake the boys, and we’ll get to work preparing the house.”
Ceecee returned to her bedroom, already dreading the shuttering of the windows, of closing out the light. It would make her headache worse, she knew, and deepen her sadness.
Later that afternoon, she was on the front porch with Lloyd, fastening the shutters, when a car pulled up in the driveway. She had to look twice before she recognized Bitty in the driver’s seat. The petite, red-haired woman climbing out of the car hardly resembled the friend Ceecee had last seen during Bitty’s summer break. Her hair had been cut very short, almost as short as Lloyd’s, and she was wearing denim capris with loafers, a bright scarf tied around her neck for Parisian flair. The ubiquitous cigarette was held in her right hand, impervious to the misty weather.
Ceecee looked behind her to see if her mother was there to disapprove and ruin her reunion, then gave silent thanks that she wasn’t. “Bitty!” she shouted.
True to form, Bitty strolled toward her, sucking on her cigarette as she walked. They embraced when she reached the porch. “I’m surprised you came up from school,” Ceecee said. “Haven’t you heard there’s a hurricane in the Atlantic?”
Bitty took another drag. “It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last. Besides, I thought my parents would feel better if I was with them.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” She touched Bitty’s head, the strands soft under her fingers. “And I love what you’ve done to your hair.”
Bitty laughed. “No, you don’t, but thank you.” She looked behind Ceecee to where her brother was struggling to nail down one of the shutter latches. “Hey, Lloyd. Want a Tootsie Roll?” She reached into the large front pocket of her jeans and pulled one out.
He grinned, his freckles stark on his face. “Thanks, Bitty.” He lifted a hand to catch the Tootsie Roll as she lobbed it across the porch.
“I’ll give you another if you go inside and see what else you can do to help your mama. Your sister and I would like to chat.”
He didn’t wait to be asked twice, letting the door slam shut behind him. Ceecee brought over the ashtray her daddy used for his pipe, then sat down in the swing, Bitty joining her with a jolt as she jumped up on the seat, causing it to rock wildly.
Bitty flicked ash into the ashtray. “Have you seen Margaret lately? I’ve been trying to call her for the last three days, but she won’t return my calls. Yesterday, no one was even there to pick up the phone. I’m starting to worry.”
Ceecee hesitated before speaking. Finding sympathy for Margaret and her moroseness had gotten harder and harder. If they lined up her losses and wins against Ceecee’s, Margaret would come out far ahead. Ceecee was still waiting for her to acknowledge, just once, that Ceecee had lost something precious, too.
