Page 18 of Leave It to Us
Chapter 9
YVONNE
“I’m hungry,” Tami complained as she folded her arms over her chest.
“And hardheaded and loud,” Lana chimed in.
She was still very clearly pissed after the incident at the airport, and Yvonne couldn’t say she blamed her. Except their connecting flight had extended their travel time, so the morning’s incident had been almost nine hours ago. They’d landed in Hilton Head and hired a rideshare to get them to the ferry Embarkation Center, where they’d had to once again check their luggage with the crew and now waited to board the last ferry at nine o’clock. Also, like at the airport, there was a fifty-pound limit per bag with an accompanying price after the first complimentary suitcase. This had apparently called for another gloating look from Tami, since she’d been the one to lessen the weight of Lana’s bag. It had also brought forth another annoyed scowl from Lana, which led to the snappy vibe they were now ensconced in as the sultry evening air began to settle in.
Dealing with her sisters had always been an exhausting endeavor that teenage Yvonne knew shouldn’t have been her cross to bear. And yet it was, and she’d done the very best she could because they were two of the people she loved most in this world. That hadn’t changedover the years, even if the landscape of their relationship had. She’d been thinking a lot about that relationship these past few days, in addition to so many of her life’s decisions that had plagued her over the last twelve months. But for some reason, learning of Grandma Betty’s death and the inheritance had cast the tumultuous existence that had developed between her and her sisters since Mama’s stroke further into the spotlight.
She sat on the bench with her tired legs extended in front of her and crossed at the ankle. Her one complimentary suitcase had been stored on a cart that would hopefully get boarded on this ferry. If not, she’d have to wait until the first ferry going out tomorrow to receive her suitcase. The strap to her red-and-blue-plaid Vera Bradley tote she’d packed all her important items in—her medications, glasses, jewelry, wallet, Kindle, and laptop—was on her shoulder, the bag tucked close to her on the bench.
She could admit that during the airport incident, she’d shared Lana’s mortification, while Tami had shrugged it off as she collected Lana’s thong from where it had landed on the edge of the attendant’s computer. The attendant had then asked Lana for her number once all their bags had been checked in. Of course, Lana’s response had been to flash her left hand in the guy’s face, showing off that big-ass diamond-cluster wedding-band set. To which the attendant had only shrugged, as if to say, “And?”
They’d boarded the plane and, for the most part, got on with the next portion of their first travel adventure together in more than ten years. In their adult years, the three of them had rarely booked the same flight when traveling to the island every November. This time, Tami had sat by the window, just like she used to do once she’d turned five and Daddy had felt it was safe enough to sit in the row across from his girls instead of keeping his youngest with him. Lana had sat in the middle because Yvonne had always wanted to be on the end to make sure nobody bothered her sisters. She’d always protected them,no matter what. Maybe that’s why she’d come to expect so much from them. Why she wanted them to be better than she was. Smarter, more successful, happier.
Or maybe she’d just been doing what was expected of her, just like she’d done so many times in the past.
“You’re going to fall,” she recalled her seventeen-year-old self had said as she looked up from the book she’d been reading on a humid summer afternoon. The divorced forty-two-year-old protagonist in the book was just about to sleep with a man half her age because apparently what happened in Jamaica would also stay in Jamaica. But out of her peripheral vision, Yvonne had seen six-year-old Tami walking along the top of the fence like it was a tightrope.
“No, I’m not,” Tami had shot back in her ever-precocious tone.
“Yes, you are, and then I’m going to get yelled at for not watching you. So get down!” Yvonne had replied.
“You’re not the boss of me,” had been Tami’s next comeback, just as her left foot wobbled and she had to hold her arms out and do a quick squat to keep herself on the fence.
Tami had been the fearless one. Whatever they’d told her she couldn’t do, she did. Yvonne had thought that would come in handy for Tami one day. Tenacity and strength, just like Mama had. How else had a mother of three been able to obtain three degrees while simultaneously becoming one of the highest-paid Black women in the Boston Public School system?
“Just let her fall,” Lana had said. She’d been lounging on one of the chairs, flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine in order to prepare for the modeling classes she was set to start in the fall.
With a huff, Yvonne had stuck her bookmark between the pages and slammed her book onto the wide arm of the Adirondack chair she’d been sitting in. “Then not only will I get yelled at,” she had said as she stood, “but it’ll be just my luck she’ll bust her head and we’ll all have to wait for the ferry to take her to the big hospital.”
“I’m sure ole Ms.Bailey can sew her head up. She’s in that raggedy house, delivering babies,” Lana had replied.
But Yvonne had already gone down the steps of the back porch. She’d grabbed Tami by the arm and yanked her down. Then Tami had started to cry. The wailing and foot-stomping performance had been so loud and lasted so long that Yvonne had eventually wished she’d taken Lana’s advice and let the younger Butler sister fall.
Yvonne had indeed gotten yelled at that day by Daddy, who hated when Tami cried, mostly because he always ended up having to give her something to stop: A chocolate milkshake he’d go into Grandma Betty’s big kitchen and make himself. A doll he’d have to travel over to Bluffton or go farther into Savannah to buy in one of the gift shops there. A promise to take her somewhere special—“Just the two of us”—when they got back to the city. Anything to get Tami to wipe away thosecrocodile tears, as Mama had called them, and stop all that ridiculous noise she had liked to make whenever she didn’t get her way.
Grandma Betty, on the other hand, had taken Yvonne up to her bedroom later that evening. Her bedroom had huge windows and patio doors that opened straight out back, where the old blue house that Grandpa Riley had been born in still sat to the left. Just beyond that, the water spread out like a slice right through the earth. The other rooms had views of the water too, because Grandma had said that was the way she wanted it—her music room, where she liked to write songs or listen to her albums on the old record player; a huge dressing room; and a guest bathroom all faced the front of the house.
“She’ll grow outta that,” Grandma Betty had said, patting Yvonne on her knee as she came around to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. “And you’ll find something else about your baby sister that nags at you. That’s just the way sisters are.”
The words had been spoken with a hint of laughter, but Yvonne hadn’t felt any humor for the better part of that entire day. She’d hadcollege applications on her mind, the ones Mama had stuffed into her suitcase for her to complete during what was supposed to be her summer vacation. Probably the last summer vacation of her childhood. Mama had wanted early admission to the best schools, so those applications had been completed at the beginning of Yvonne’s senior year in high school. These applications had been for the second choices that Mama would accept only if necessary—which, by the tone she’d used when she’d put the list in front of Yvonne, had better not become necessary. Still, Yvonne had been expected to write the essays required for each application as if it were the sole school of her choice. When really, she hadn’t even been totally sure she wanted to keep going to school. Her brain had already been so tired from keeping up a straight-A status since she’d been tasked with coloring within the lines.
The sound of Tami’s loud “Thank the Lord” yanked Yvonne out of her reverie, and she looked over to see her sister jump up from the bench.
“What?” Tami asked when she looked over her shoulder to see Yvonne staring at her. “I know you’re glad to see that ferry pulling up too. I’m hungry and sleepy. Want to get to the house, find some food, and then fall into bed.”
Yvonne couldn’t disagree with her, so instead of commenting on how unnecessarily loud Tami’s voice was while out in public at ten minutes to nine at night, Yvonne just stood up and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. To her left, she noticed Lana had done the same, and the three of them began the walk out of the Embarkation Center and down the long dock to where the ferry waited. To the only place where she’d ever felt truly loved and connected to her sisters—and where she hoped she’d finally be able to figure out what had gone wrong in her life and how she could possibly fix it at this point.
Another hour later and Yvonne was running on fumes. She’d always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person, and tonight was no different. Except for that fact that it was ten minutes after ten in the evening by the time they’d walked off the dock onto Daufuskie Island. The deep indigo of night had fallen over the place, crickets chirped in the air, and the old and probably rotting wood planks of the dock creaked beneath her every step.
Her tote bag seemed a million pounds heavier than it had been when she’d first packed it and headed out of her house early that morning. And now her shoulder was sore from carrying it around all day. Her feet hurt, not because her shoes were too small or she’d worn the wrong shoes for traveling, like Lana had done. No, it was because her feet were also tired in the black Crocs she’d worn for ease of slipping in and out of during the security check at the airport. She wore thick, fluffy black socks, which had provided extra comfort for a while, but now her feet just wanted out. They, like the rest of her body, craved a hot shower and a bed. Pronto!
“Hello!” a man’s voice called out to them just as they stepped off the dock. “Butler sisters?”
Yvonne was the first to respond. “Yes,” she said. “And you are ... Jeremiah Sinclair?” She hoped it was him, because that’s who Robyn had said would meet them at the dock and take them to the summerhouse upon their arrival.
