Page 13 of Dreams of Falling
“There’s been no change. But I have your mother’s personal belongings here—including her jewelry and the clothes she was wearing. I thought you might want them for safekeeping.”
“Yes, thank you.” I took the bag and signed the form on a clipboard she produced. After she left, I sat down again, with Bitty and Ceeceeon either side of me. The bag was light, almost as if it were empty. I remembered the sandals Ivy had been wearing and wondered whether I’d find them inside.
“Are you going to open it?” Bitty asked.
“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Ceecee frowned. “Ivy is going to wake up, and she might not appreciate us poking around in her personal effects.”
Bitty frowned back at her. “Mack took her purse, so there’s not a lot of snooping we can do. I thought we should look—just in case there’s some clue as to why she was there.”
“It’s her clothes, Bitty. There won’t be any clues.” Ceecee reached for the bag as if to put it out of the way, but I clung to the folded-over top.
“Maybe there’s some note inside. Or maybe not. Either way, we need to check.” I’d always felt like a referee between these two women, which was surprising, considering they were lifelong friends.
“There,” Bitty said, taking the bag. “Larkin understands, don’t you, sweetie?” Without waiting for a response, she began to unroll the top.
“I should be the one to open it. She’smydaughter.” Ceecee’s face was pinched with unshed tears.
Bitty sent her a look that I couldn’t decipher. “Then I’m glad I’m here to spare you.” She opened the bag and peered inside. “Just her clothes, and her sandals.” She leaned in closer, then reached her hand inside and drew something out. “And this.”
“A ribbon,” I said as Ceecee reached for it, clenching it in her fist before lowering it to her lap and laying it flat so that the words could be read.
I know about Margaret.
A fat tear fell on the ribbon, smearing the letter “M.” Ceecee didn’t look up or attempt to wipe away the teardrops that were running the letters together in a river of black ink.
“Does she mean my grandmother Margaret?” I asked.
Neither answered for a long moment. Then Bitty gave her head one decisive nod. “Yes. I suppose she does.”
I stood, staring down at these two old women. I’d known and loved them my whole life, but suddenly they seemed like strangers. “What about Margaret? What does she know about Margaret?”
Ceecee met the gaze of her old friend before turning to me. “I’m not sure. We always said Margaret was like the moon, glowing and shining light on the world around her. Everybody loved her.”
Bitty slipped her hand into Ceecee’s and squeezed.
“But why would Mama have written that on a ribbon and taken it to Carrowmore?”
Ceecee smiled weakly. “We’ll just have to ask her when she wakes up, won’t we?” She released Bitty’s hand and stood, using both hands on the chair’s arms and looking less stable than when she sat down. “I need to go powder my nose. Please excuse me.”
I watched her go. Her hair seemed more gray than silver, her movements slower, her shoulders rounded. It was as if she’d been carrying an enormous burden and had suddenly become aware of its weight.
Bitty stood, too. “I swear, the older I get, the more my bladder shrinks. I’d better go to the little girls’ room. If I can talk Ceecee into going home right now, we’ll ask Mabry for a lift. I’ll check in on you and your mama later.”
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then left, leaving behind a lingering scent of Youth-Dew perfume and an unmistakable sense of déjà vu.
six
Ceecee
MAY 1951
Ceecee’s mother kissed her on the cheek. Deep lines bracketed Mrs. Purnell’s eyes, almost as if the word “worry” were written between parentheses. As the wife of the Methodist pastor, she’d seemed torn between raising her children the right way in the eyes of her husband’s congregation and raising them the way she wanted to. As a result, her mothering wavered between suffocating strictness and lots of warm hugs, with the occasional blind eye toward minor transgressions.
She gave Ceecee another hug. “You call me as soon as you get to Mrs. Harding’s, you hear, Sessalee? I’m sure it’s long distance, so leave a quarter by the phone. If you offer to pay, she’ll refuse, so this way she doesn’t have a choice. You know we don’t believe in being beholden to anyone.”
Mrs. Purnell fixed the white piqué collar of Ceecee’s brown cotton dress, her lips pressed together with worry. Ceecee’s girdle dug into her ribs and pinched the breath from her lungs, or else she might have used some of the air to reassure her mother. She’d been nothingbutworried since Margaret’s mother had called to explain what she’d planned for her daughter and her daughter’s two bestfriends. Not that it had really been explaining or asking permission. It had been more of a telling what was going to happen, with the assumption that permission was a foregone conclusion. No one ever said no to a Darlington, and neither Ceecee’s mother nor Bitty’s was about to be the first.
“Yes, Mama,” Ceecee managed, her knees nearly buckling with relief when she heard the car pull up in front of the house. Until she was inside the car and driving away in the direction of Myrtle Beach, she wouldn’t believe that her parents were letting her go.
