Page 110 of Dreams of Falling
Bitty visited each day, bringing flowers and chocolates for Ceecee, and toys and a new stuffed bunny for Ivy, since the old one had been destroyed in the fire. She brought news of the hurricane destruction in Myrtle Beach and other areas along the coast north of Georgetown. Miraculously, the Ferris wheel at the Pavilion had been relatively unscathed. Georgetown itself had sustained some flooding and wind damage, but had been spared the devastation of beach towns like Pawleys Island, where some buildings stood unsupported over sodden sand. Others had their fronts blown away, displaying an ugly disarray of broken furniture and soaking rugs.
Neither Bitty nor Ceecee mentioned the incongruity of dying in a fire during a hurricane. Nor did Ceecee mention the Tootsie Roll wrappers she’d found in the blanket. She told herself they must have been there before she lay down on the bed, although when she tried to remember, she was pretty sure she’d folded the blanket away because the air was so warm, and she hadn’t seen any wrappers. But maybe she just hadn’t noticed. And Bitty couldn’t possibly have carried Ceecee down the stairs and out of the house.
Still, the wrappers had been there. But Ceecee couldn’t bring herself to ask Bitty, and wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know the truth.
She kept waiting to see if Bitty would say something, giving herample time to speak, not bothering to fill in the conversational gaps and silences. But Bitty said nothing, behaving like the same person Ceecee had always known. Except when Boyd was there. She seemed to avoid him, leaving the room as soon as he appeared. Ceecee thought either it was her imagination, or maybe Bitty just wasn’t sure how to offer sympathy to a man who’d lost a wife he’d never loved.
The afternoon before Ceecee was due to go home, her mother came for a visit. Ivy lay napping in the crib next to Ceecee’s bed, her eyebrows creased in a frown. Since the fire, she had stopped smiling in her sleep, as if the angels weren’t sure what to say to her.
“Poor baby,” her mother said, taking off her gloves as she leaned over the crib. She tiptoed over to Ceecee’s bed. “I’ve had to throw away all the clothes you wore that night. I couldn’t get the smell of smoke out of them. And I couldn’t find your shoes.”
“I guess I didn’t put them on when I left my room.”
She looked at Ceecee strangely.
“What?” she asked.
“I met the ambulance at the hospital, Sessalee, so I saw you before you’d been cleaned up. You’d escaped with a child from a burning building, but you didn’t have any soot in your hair or on your face. And your feet and legs were almost clean.”
Ceecee just shrugged. “I can’t explain the soot, but my feet must have been wiped off somehow.”
Mrs. Purnell studied her daughter. “I suppose so.” She sat down on the end of the bed. “I’ve borrowed a child’s bed to move into your bedroom. Ivy can stay with us for as long as she needs. Boyd agrees it’s the best thing right now. As long as it’s all right with you, of course.”
“Of course it is. I think she’ll be as much comfort to me as I will be to her.”
After a moment of silence, her mother said, “The Westons have decided to move to Summerville to be closer to their children. They’ve put that beautiful old house on River Street up for sale. I know it’s too soon after... after the fire, but I’ve mentioned it to Boyd. They’re asking a fair price, and I’m afraid someone will snatch it up if he waits.It’s a big one, right on the river. It’s not Carrowmore, but it’s still a good house for a single man and a little girl.”
“Mama,” Ceecee said in a low, hushed voice, looking around to make sure no one could overhear. “Margaret hasn’t even been buried yet. Please let it be.”
Her mother patted Ceecee’s knee and stood. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.” She kissed her forehead and left. Ceecee fell asleep and dreamed of fire and rain, of candy wrappers pressing against her leg as she flew across the lawn at Carrowmore, the flames bright against the storm-darkened sky.
•••
?Life returned to normal after a while. Ceecee worked in her mother’s garden and organized the flowers for the services at her father’s church. Bitty graduated from art school and took a teaching position in Charleston. She called almost every day, and visited Ceecee and Ivy every chance she had.
Everything stayed the same except that Margaret and the great house at Carrowmore were both gone. Ceecee went back with Boyd about a month after the fire, to see if anything could be salvaged. They managed to extract some pieces of art and furniture, even some of the Darlington sterling silverware, which had escaped the worst of the fire. But what remained was the shadow of a house.
The martins had returned to those gourds strung from trees undamaged by the storm and the fire, and the Tree of Dreams remained. Standing under the branches, Boyd took Ceecee’s hand, and she knew they were both thinking of the ribbon he’d put inside the tree the day he’d told her he was marrying Margaret.I will love Sessalee Purnell until I die, and will hope every day that we will find a way to spend our lives together.
“I would never have wished for this to happen,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said. “I couldn’t love you as much as I do and believe that you did.”
His eyes brightened as he regarded her. “Does that mean there’s still hope for us?”
Ceecee smiled, looking out at the autumn marsh, the Lowcountry’sonly sure indicator of the change in season. The green spartina grass had mellowed to shades of gold and saffron, the color of the seeds the fall breezes would spread to ensure new grass in the spring. It was the only guarantee in life, the constant cycle of seasons, the ombré color scheme shifting from greens to golds to browns before going back to green.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes and remembering the day they’d met. How she felt about him hadn’t changed.
“Good,” he said, squeezing her hand before leading her back to the car. She stared at the blackened hull of the house as they neared, her heart tightening with grief. She imagined it always would when she thought of Margaret. The old Margaret. The girl she’d grown up with and loved, not the bitter young woman who’d unexpectedly discovered life’s sharp edges, who’d learned that dreams and wishes weren’t guaranteed.
As they approached the house, a ray of sun shone through a hole in the roof, illuminating a swath of the once-elegant staircase, now just a blackened skeleton. A flash of memory hit Ceecee—of Boyd, carrying Margaret up those stairs when she’d heard Reggie had enlisted, his strong arms around her, bearing her limp weight.
Ceecee turned to say something to Boyd, to ask him why her face and hair didn’t have any soot on them that night of the fire, and why her feet and legs weren’t as dirty as they should have been. Why she’d found Tootsie Roll wrappers on the blanket.
She opened her mouth, but then caught sight of the Tree of Dreams in her peripheral vision and remembered all of her hurts and losses. All the forgiving she had given to others while her own heart shriveled. She had always done everything she was supposed to. Had been a devoted friend, a good daughter. A woman with the strong moral compass her parents had raised her with. And look where it had left her.
She studied Boyd as they walked, gazed at his strong profile, felt his steady grip on her hand, and knew she could never let him go again.
