Page 4 of Dreams of Falling
They’d known each other too long for the intrusions to be all unwelcome. Once, according to Ceecee’s mother, they’d been thick as thieves, she and Bitty and Margaret, inseparable since they were schoolgirls in smock dresses and patent leather Mary Janes. But time changed all things, oxidizing friendships like old copper pots, so they no longer saw their reflections in each other’s faces.
As Bitty drew near, the clownlike horn of the car beeped twice, making Ceecee jump, as she was sure Bitty had intended. She heard the crank of the parking brake, and then Bitty was running toward her, nimble as a teenager, her arms outstretched. It wasn’t until she was in Bitty’s embrace that Ceecee remembered the security of an old friendship. Like an ancient sweater with moth holes that you still wear because you remember how it once kept you warm.
Bitty looked up into Ceecee’s face. “You look tired,” she said.
“And you smell like cigarette smoke.” Ceecee frowned at the bright blue eye shadow and round spots of rouge on Bitty’s cheeks. Her makeup hadn’t changed since the sixties. “If I wore as much makeup as you, I’d still look awful, but I’d at least cover up my tiredness.”
Bitty dropped her hands. “Good to see you, too. What do you think has happened to our Ivy?”
Our Ivy. Those two words stirred up the old anger. Ivy didn’t belong to Bitty, no matter how much she wished she did. Some would argue that Ivy didn’t belong to Ceecee, either, but Ceecee disagreed. She’d raised Ivy, and Ivy called her Mama. That was as much proof as she’d ever need.
“You’ll be wanting coffee, I suspect,” Ceecee said, walking back toward the kitchen and leaving Bitty to handle her bags. Bitty was the only person their age who still drank fully leaded coffee and could fall asleep and stay asleep at will. She’d been that way since high school, when they’d all started drinking coffee just because Margaret did, and it was as irritating then as it was now. “And no smoking inside.”
She was at the kitchen door before she heard the sound of anothercar. “It’s Larkin,” she said, although it was obvious from Bitty’s vigorous arm waving that she’d already recognized the driver. Ceecee said it again, as if to claim ownership, and moved to stand next to Bitty. When Larkin’s tall form unfolded from the driver’s side, she wished she’d kept walking toward the car so she didn’t seem to be making Larkin choose between them.
Then Bitty was running toward the beautiful young woman with the honey gold hair that was just like her grandmother Margaret’s, and both Bitty and Larkin were laughing and crying, as if at a joke Ceecee hadn’t been part of.
But then Larkin turned toward Ceecee and smiled, and Ceecee put her arms around her before holding her at arm’s length and shaking her head.
“You’re too thin,” she said. “A strong wind might blow you away. I’m going to make some of your favorites while you’re home—my sweet corn bread and fried chicken.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Ceecee. Any word from Mama?”
Her bright blue Darlington eyes searched Ceecee’s face, and again Ceecee felt like she was looking at Margaret. Dear, sweet, impossibly beautiful Margaret. Never “Maggie” or “Mags” or “Meg”—always “Margaret.” Margaret Darlington of Carrowmore, the former rice plantation on the North Santee River. The Darlingtons were as shrewd as they were good-looking, their luck legend. Until it wasn’t.
Ceecee squeezed Larkin’s shoulders, feeling the bones, sharp as blades, beneath her hands. “No, honey. I’m so sorry. Nothing yet. Let’s go inside and get you something to eat, and I’ll call your daddy to let him know you got here safely.”
“I’ve already eaten, but can I have some coffee?”
Bitty came up on the other side of her and slipped her arm around Larkin’s waist. “A girl after my own heart. I knew I taught you something.”
Larkin leaned her head against the top of Bitty’s. “You taught me a lot. Like how to drive a stick shift—remember?”
Their strained reminiscences did nothing to hide the worry they all felt about Ivy.HerIvy. Without checking to see whether theyfollowed, Ceecee let herself into the kitchen and made a pot of strong coffee. Then she picked up the phone to call Mack to invite him to dinner. She knew Larkin would stay with her and not with her daddy. Not that she blamed her. It was hard to forgive a father who’d fallen rapidly and spectacularly from hero status in the eyes of his only child.
She held the phone absently, still scanning the tidy kitchen counters and her pretty antique teacup collection, which she dusted daily. She bent to straighten the dish towel on the handle of her oven, but stopped.
An unidentifiable object had fallen in the space between the oven and the edge of the cabinet and was peeping out at her from where it had wedged itself near the floor.
Ceecee left a brief voice message, letting Mack know about Larkin’s arrival, then ended the call. Her knees popped and cracked like breaking glass as she squatted. Reaching her fingers into the small space, she grasped the object and pulled it out.
“Are you stuck?” Bitty asked, standing over her, one of the rare occasions when Ceecee had to look up at her friend.
Ceecee started to say something but stopped, the thought lost the moment she realized what she held in her hand. Holding the counter, she pulled herself up, ignoring Bitty’s outstretched hand.
“What is that?” Bitty asked.
They both looked down at the white cardboard spool, the Hallmark price tag faded but still legible. A small section of gold foil ribbon was stuck to the inside, held in place by yellowed tape. Their eyes met in mutual understanding.
“What are you looking at?” Larkin asked.
Ceecee and Bitty turned toward Ivy’s daughter, unable to speak. Larkin stepped forward and took the spool. “Is this for ribbon?”
Finally, Ceecee found her voice. “Yes. I think it might have been in the kitchen junk drawer. Your mother must have dropped it.”
Larkin screwed up her face the same way Ivy did when she was confused or angry. Margaret had done the same thing in her day. “So,what? Why are you both looking like that?”
Bitty spoke before Ceecee could. “We think we know where your mama is.”
