Page 78 of Dreams of Falling
“Exactly,” I said, looking at the nose, the brow, the cheeks. All of which could have been mine.
Mabry reached over and flipped the page. “Oooh—the beach!”
The first photo was of the three girls posed in front of the convertible next to a large sign that readWELCOME TO MYRTLE BEACH. I looked up atMabry. “Ceecee told me about this trip—it was a high school graduation gift from my great-grandparents. They would have been...”
“About seventeen or eighteen. Which makes this...” Mabry squinted one eye as she did the mental calculations.
“Don’t hurt yourself. I’m happy to get a calculator.”
“Nineteen fifty-one!” she shouted triumphantly.
I would have guessed early fifties, judging by the clothing and cars. But I wasn’t sure I would have recognized Myrtle Beach. There weren’t any high-rises or tacky tourist shops or packs of motorcycles. Just peaceful neighborhood streets with small, unassuming cottages and inns lined up on both sides, colorful names likeTHE JUANITAandTHE PERISCOPEon signs in the yards.
“Wow—doesn’t even look like the same place, does it?” Mabry said, echoing my thoughts.
I flipped a page and saw a photo of an open black iron gate topped with the wordsMYRTLE BEACH PAVILION. A palmetto tree motif was emblazoned at the top, on either side, and behind that, I could see the Ferris wheel and carousel, which were only legend now.
“I can’t believe they tore all this down,” I said. “When was that—four years ago? I remember reading about it in New York and crying. A piece of history wiped out so they could build more condos.”
I shook my head, then bent close to the pages, looking at the faces of the tourists waiting in line at the various concessions. “I remember going there with you and Bennett and getting sick from eating junk food and going on the rides.” I smiled. “Those were good times.”
“You, me, and Bennett went there once with Ceecee, remember?” Mabry asked. “She was feeling nostalgic and said she’d look silly all by herself, so she brought us kids. We were about ten years old, I think.”
I nodded, remembering riding the carousel and eating popcorn and cotton candy for dinner. I had an odd memory, too, of Ceecee. How we three kids were hollering and laughing and having the best time of our lives, but she seemed close to tears. I thought at the time it was because she wasn’t a kid anymore, and that was making her sad. Butnow, seeing these pictures of her with Margaret and Bitty, I thought I understood why.
I sat back in my chair. “Remember that long, circular drive she showed us on North Ocean Boulevard? It didn’t lead to anything, but she said that’s where the grand Ocean Forest Hotel used to be. She cried, but I didn’t say anything because she hardly seemed aware we were there.”
Mabry was impatiently pulling at the corner of the page. “Look, Larkin—boys!”
“Seriously, Mabry?” I said, annoying her by turning the page very slowly. “I’ve seen boys before.”
She yanked the page from my hand and laid it flat. “Yeah, but I think one of these guys might be your grandfather.”
She had my attention now. The two facing pages were filled with photo-booth pictures with cardboard cutouts with holes where the faces should be. The first two were of Bitty and Ceecee as a fat and skinny swimmer, respectively, wearing old-fashioned bathing suits. The next was of a mermaid-type figure withMiss Myrtle Beachwritten across her scales, and Margaret’s beautiful face peering innocently from the opening.
But it was the next photo that captured my attention. The sign painted at the top readMYRTLE BEACHJAIL, and behind cardboard bars were two young men trying to look miserable. I looked closer at the young men in the black-and-white photo, trying to remember my grandfather from my girlhood. He’d died when I was about eight, so I didn’t have many memories of him. “My mother has that same hairline, doesn’t she? And definitely his nose.”
“No, silly—not him. The other guy. I just thought because he looked so nice, he’d be your grandfather. Although, to be honest, they actually resemble each other. They must be related.”
I shook my head, pointing to the first man, and then the second. “I think it’s that one—definitely.”
Mabry nodded. “You might be right. We can ask Ceecee later.” She reached over and flipped to the next page. “That’s odd.” She turned the album to face me. “It’s blank.”
I took the album from her and thumbed through the remaining pages, all empty. “That is odd. I wonder why. There had to be my grandparents’ wedding pretty soon after, right?”
“What year were they married?” Mabry asked.
“I don’t have a clue. Except...” I thought for a moment. “My mother was born in 1952, so Margaret must have been married in ’fifty-one or ’fifty-two.”
“And Hurricane Hazel happened in 1954. I can understand why Ceecee wouldn’t have any photos after ’fifty-four, but why not before? I’m sure she and Bitty would have been bridesmaids or co–maids of honor or something at Margaret’s wedding.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” My eyes fell on the envelope full of loose photos. “Unless they’re in here.”
I took out the photos and gave half of them to Mabry. We were silent for a while as we flipped through them. I paused at a photo of my mother, about age five, standing in between Ceecee and a man I assumed was my grandfather, their faces cut off by the camera as they swung a laughing little Ivy in the air.
“It’s nice to know Mama had a happy childhood,” I said, indicating the stack of photos that all included my mother during different holidays or school events or vacations, most showing Ceecee touching her or standing nearby. “But I don’t see any photos beyond her growing-up years.”
“I have a few of her with my uncle Ellis.” Mabry slid three Polaroid photos toward me. “Looks like a prom or something. They’re both wearing corsages.”
