Page 41 of Dreams of Falling
I raised my eyebrows. “There’re about a million insects and tiny creatures out here right now, rubbing their wings together and doing all sorts of things with their little insect bodies to make noise. And all of them are better than me singing. I’d die if I spotted a fiddler crab using his giant claw to point and laugh.”
He snorted. “Well, I think you have a great voice.”
“You’re also tone deaf.”
“So you don’t need to be shy about singing in front of me. You never used to be. I remember a talent show...”
“Stop,” I said. “Just stop. And if you mention it again, I will pour the entire Thermos of hot coffee in your lap, and then you’ll never have children.”
“That would be a shame,” he said, the color of his eyes shifting in the growing light.
He’d let the boat bob and drift with the incoming tide, the water moving us toward an ancient rice-field trunk, a wooden gate used to control water flow from reservoirs into the fields. The plantation was long gone, but this ancient relic clung to its spot in the marsh, facing tide after tide. I felt suddenly flustered, unsure why. I picked up the Thermos to give me something to do and poured more coffee into my half-full cup, spilling most of it into the bottom of the boat, but miraculously missing my fingers and leg.
Bennett reached over and took the Thermos from me. “Burn yourself?”
I shook my head, looking into my cup, and took a tentative sip. “Sorry about the boat.”
He laughed, at least recognizing the joke. This was the same boat he’d had when we were in high school, the only cleaning it ever got the occasional hosing out, then flipping it over on a dry dock. It was like an unspoken agreement among South Carolina fishing hobbyists that to have a spanking clean boat was somehow unmanly. Beyond the scent of fish that never went away, I was pretty sure that if I looked closely in the crevices behind the planked seats, I could find remnants of my old candy bar wrappers.
We sipped our coffee in silence, listening to the insects and tiny unseen creatures that were preparing themselves for the incoming tide. A pale white periwinkle snail shared the top of a nearby long stem of spartina grass with a grasshopper, both trying to escape the incoming water-bound predators. They’d descend to the marsh again once the tide went out, but for now, they were temporary roommates. I remembered more than once seeing the marsh at high tide from abridge and having to look twice to see that what first appeared to be a cotton field with round puffs of white sitting atop green stalks was actually those snails perched in their ancient method of self-preservation.
In silence, we faced east where the rounded edge of yellow sun began to nudge its way up into the sky, like a pat of butter spreading in a hot pan.
“Have you talked with your dad?” Bennett asked without looking at me. Experience had taught us that the sun was impatient, and if you looked away, you’d miss its grand entrance.
I thought guiltily of the unanswered texts and phone calls, of the quick avoidances in the hospital corridor as we entered and left my mother’s room. “No. I need to, I know. It’s just with everything going on...”
“Yes, you need to. I don’t think this should wait much longer.”
“I don’t understand the rush. I think we should wait until Mama wakes up and figure out what to do then.”
He glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to the sky. “The developers are getting impatient. They’ve got you on their radar now and will probably contact you next.”
I sat up quickly, nearly spilling coffee again. “What? But I’m hardly the expert on the best way to proceed. The property might be held in trust for me, but I don’t know the first thing about it, or what’s the best way to move forward.”
“I know. Don’t worry, though. Nothing’s going to happen without Ceecee’s or your mother’s agreement. Or yours.” He took a sip from his cup. “While we’re waiting for your mother to wake up, if it’s all right with you, I want to bring in someone who knows about historical structures, Dr. Sophie Wallen-Arasi. She’s a professor of historic preservation at the College of Charleston and can let us know if enough of the house is salvageable. If it is, it might help you and your family better decide what to do with the property.”
I shrugged, watching as the half-moon of light grew larger on the horizon, setting the water around us on fire. “I suppose. Although it’s hard to believe that this has anything to do with me.”
“Really? You’re a Darlington, you know. And Carrowmore has been owned by the Darlingtons since before Lafayette landed in Georgetown. Not to sound overly dramatic, but that house and land are a part of not only your history, but the history of this country. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“No,” I said quickly, not sure if I was saying that because it really didn’t, or because I was angry with Bennett for sucking me into this family drama that I felt a part of no matter how much I didn’t want to.
“Well, I’ll let you know when she’s coming, and you can decide if you want to meet with her. No pressure. I’m going to ask your dad and Ceecee, too. That way, when your mother wakes up, we’ll have all the facts to put in front of her so you can all be informed before any agreement is made.”
The sun chose that moment to burst fully up over the horizon, flooding the marsh with its warm light and startling a flock of egrets into flight, their graceful wings like check marks against the blue sky.
I must have made a sound, because Bennett looked at me and smiled. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”
“I’ve missed this.” I swept my arm over the side of the boat, meaning to indicate the marsh and the sky and the whole watery world around us.
He kept his eyes on me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t, he finished his coffee and threw the cup away in a small trash can he’d attached to the side of the boat. “Mabry’s mimosas are in the cooler behind you if you’re interested. I think I’m good with just the coffee.”
I turned to look at the cooler, the euphoria of the last few moments completely gone and replaced by an odd restlessness. “I think I’ll pass, too. I have a conference call with my office at nine, and I’ll need all my brain cells.”
Bennett nodded, then gently guided us out of our secret corner of the marsh and headed back to Georgetown. I turned around on the seat so my back was to him, but not before I noticed how the bright light of morning filtered through his dark hair, turning the tips to gold.
When we reached my dock, he tied up the boat and helped me out, his hands strong and warm. “Thanks,” I said, feeling oddly awkward with him. “For the coffee. And the sunrise.” I half smiled, then felt the smile fade when he didn’t return it.
