Plantation (54 page)

“Yes, that’s how they caught bugs in my great-grandmother’s day!”

“With sugar?”

“Oh, my, yes! Here. Look at her diary.” She showed him the cracked yellow pages. “They would soak the sponges, squeeze them nearly dry, sprinkle them with cane sugar, and put them on the windowsills. Those stupid ants lined up like fools! Then some poor fool would lift the squirming sponge and drop it into a pot of boiling water. Dead ants!” She reached down and tickled Eric’s ribs, sending him into peals of laughter.

“Stop! You’re killing me!”

Eric laughed and laughed. So did Mother. It was the kind of moment I hoped he would remember and one that would give her strength when she needed it. I went in the room then and picked up the leather book with its yellowed pages.

“Where have you been, young man? Up here talking fool with your grandmother?”

“Yep!” he said. “Did you ever read this, Mom?”

“No, I never did, but I’d like to.” I looked at Mother. She had held those diaries and journals in safekeeping all my life. “Can I?

You go help Millie, son.”

Mother smiled at me like she was seeing me truly for the first time. I knew what she was thinking, that I was acting as a parent should, moving the children along to their responsibilities. As she had done a thousand times. And that I sounded like her. And that part of her lived in me, as part of me would live in Eric.

“What?” I said, wanting her to confirm my thoughts.

“It’s impolite to read other people’s minds, Caroline,” she said and smiled again. “I know you think you’re like your father and not like me, but every time you open your mouth to direct Eric, it’s my voice you use.”

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I sat down on the end of her chaise and she leaned forward to me and took my hand. “It’s true,” she said, and patted my hand.

Then she held hers next to mine.

“I have your fingernails,” I said.

“Isn’t that miraculous? I mean, the whole reality of reproduction? The more I can see of me in you, Caroline, the easier this will be.”

“The easier
what
will be?” I knew she was going to talk about dying and I didn’t want to hear it.

“Caroline, listen to me. I’m not a fool. I have called my lawyer this week and we are discussing some changes in my will.” Her eyes searched mine and then she fell back against the chaise. “Oh! So many things trouble me now! I cannot leave this earth with Tall Pines up in the air. And, I cannot bequeath it to my son. I’m too afraid that he’ll gamble it all away. And you? What about your life? I can’t have you tied down to a place you don’t love. I don’t know what to do about all of this. I wish things were different. I truly do.

My illness just comes at a most inconvenient time, don’t you think?”

“Mother, we can discuss your future when Dr. Taylor arrives.

I’m not an expert on these things, he is. As to Tall Pines, it’s yours to give away. Not mine. You have to do what you think is right.

And, it’s true, you know I’ve got these vagabond shoes. I might tire of all this, but I don’t know that yet. Who has had the time yet to even think about that?”

“Well, I know one thing. I’m not going to have it ever turned over to a bunch of real estate developers. I’d rather see it used as a museum or a bed-and-breakfast. But condominiums? On the land my ancestors shed their blood to keep? I think not! I’ll haunt these halls until kingdom come!”

She was working herself up to a snit and I knew that couldn’t be good. Especially with company coming. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and brushed a few strands of unruly hair away from her face.

“Mother? I’m here. No one is going to do anything stupid 4 3 8

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k with Tall Pines now or ever. I promise you that.” That seemed to relax her a bit. “Dr. Taylor is going to be here in thirty minutes and I look like I’ve been working in the fields all day.”

“Yes, you do. Would you please take a shower? And put on some lipstick?”

I smiled at her, thinking how much I loved her cantankerous side. “Yes, I will, Miss Lavinia. To make you happy, I’ll even put on a dress!”

“That’s my good girl. And, one more thing.”

“Yes’m?”

“The diaries. You should have them. I want you to promise me you’ll take care of them.”

She extended the single volume to me, with a look of pride and surrender. The passing of the diaries. As symbolic a gesture of complete trust as I had ever received from anyone.

“You can rely on me, Mother, not only to take care of them, but to treasure them.”

“I know that, now go fix yourself up. It’s cocktail time!”

I showered, put on some makeup, pulled my hair up in a twist, and sprayed some cologne on my neck and wrists—Chanel No. 5—

the only one mosquitoes didn’t seem to drink. When I got downstairs, Dr. Taylor and Mother were in the living room, chatting like old friends. She had poured him a generous drink and was enjoying her bourbon, sipping away like a debutante. She was in costume.

Pucci. Vintage 1970. Neon paisley with turban. Feather-toed matching mules in lime. A thousand bracelets and, of course, her pearls.

“Here’s Caroline!” she said. “Don’t you look pretty, dear!

Come say hello!”

Dr. Jack Taylor got up from the wing-back chair, the one my father always sat in, and I got a good look at him. He looked very nice. I went to shake his hand and could smell his aftershave.

Very nice, I thought. Masculine.

“Hi!” I said, “nice to see you again.”

For the second time I noticed his eyes. Green. Nice. Didn’t he P l a n t a t i o n

4 3 9

have on glasses in his office and at the party? Maybe not. He wore a navy sport coat, a white silk T-shirt, and khaki trousers. Polished loafers. No socks. Updated Lowcountry look. Pretty cool, even if he was a doctor. Actually, he was gorgeous, but I would have called anyone a liar who said I thought that.

“It’s nice to see you too.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a flirt smile, it was an
I know this is gonna be a rough night for your mother and I’m
glad you’re here
smile
.

He was pretty much all business. That suited me fine.

“There’s a bottle of wine in the cooler, dear. Corkscrew’s in the drawer,” Mother said. “Caroline prefers wine, you know. In New York, they drink wine. Very chichi!”

“Oh, Mother!” I started to open the bottle and Dr. Harbinger of Doom stepped in.

“Here, I can do that for you,” he said.

It wasn’t sexist or a defensive takeover; it was just a nice offer. I let him have it.

“Thanks! I’ll see about the hors d’oeuvres,” I said.

Of course, as soon as I turned to leave the room, there was Eric with a round silver tray. Millie’s plump, steaming, and toasted brown phyllo pastry nibbles were arranged in a circle on the outer edge and a bouquet of chives, rosemary, and lemon mint (all of them blooming tiny flowers), tied with kitchen twine, rested in the center, pretty enough for a bride. How did she even think of these decorations or garnishes or whatever you called it if you were in the food business? I thought I was being old Julia Child herself to conceive of crab meat in a tomato soup! Hell, when I moved up from Waverly crackers to Carr’s Table Water crackers I thought I was a freaking gourmet!

“Watch your fingers!” Eric said. “They’re hot as Hades!”

“Thanks for the warning!” Jack Taylor said. “Are you Caroline’s son?”

“Yes! He’s my precious grandson, Eric!” Mother said. “Always offer the ladies first, dear, starting with the eldest, then the men.”

4 4 0

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k She took one and then Eric turned to me with his eyes rolled up in his head.

“Live and learn,” I said, taking one.

“Like I’m gonna be a waiter when I grow up?” Eric said, in a whisper to me that everyone heard.

“Don’t be a wise guy,” I said, before Mother could throw in her two cents again.

“What are you going to be, Eric?” Dr. Nosy said. “Any plans?”

“Yep,” Eric said. He put the tray down on the coffee table and stood, feet apart with his hands on his hips. “I’m gonna be a pedia-trician. Or else a paleontologist.”

“My word! I never even heard such a word!” Mother said, grasping her bosom. “You are so smart, Eric! I declare! Paleon . . .

what?”

“I’d go for paleontology, if I were you,” Dr. Career Counselor said.

“How come?” I said, just to be polite, wishing that dinner was ready.

“HMOs. Used to be that medicine was a lucrative field.

HMOs have taken all the fun out of it.”

“Shouldn’t healing people be the incentive? Not money?”

“Caroline!” Mother said. “What an appalling thing to say to our guest!”

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Eric said and gave me a private thumbs-up on the way out.

“Sorry,” I said. But I wasn’t sorry at all. I hated this man who had told me my mother was so ill. I knew it was juvenile behavior, but I couldn’t help it.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Jack Shit said. “It’s a legitimate question, to which the answer is no. I didn’t go to school for twelve years and live like a dirtball for another five to spend my time arguing with insurance companies on the necessity of tests patients need to determine their course of treatment! Used to be that doctors thought they were God. Now it’s the HMOs.”

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“I’ve heard horror stories,” I said, conceding an inch. “My ex-husband used to have patients badly in need of extended therapy, but the HMOs wouldn’t cover it. And half the meds they needed too.”

“My point exactly,” Dr. Greed said. “These days physicians practice at the mercy of big business and what some soulless, not-medically-trained creature at a desk thinks my patient should or should not have. It’s outrageous. And, not very effective.”

Millie appeared at the door. “Dinner will be ready in two minutes,” she said. She eyed Dr. Available up and down, then shot me a look that said,
You are even more stupid than I thought.This is a nice
man and you don’t like him ’cause he gave you bad news? Ain’t that like
shooting the messenger?

“Let’s go in to dinner,” Mother said, “shall we?”

She stood and her caftan billowed slightly. Dr. Jack Ass offered her his arm, which she took, winking at me to say,
You see? I haven’t
lost my touch! Take notes, my moron of a daughter
. I followed them to the dining room like a good girl, thinking to myself that he was taller than I remembered. And that I liked the way he touched Mother’s hand. It was sweet, like he was handling something rare, a tropical flower.

He was.

Dinner began with Mother’s usual flourish of protocol. Eric seated me and Dr. Manners seated Mother. The conversation was pleasant enough throughout the soup course. Eric and I got up, cleared the plates, and took them to the kitchen.

There, Millie was plating the next course.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Mom doesn’t know it, but every time she looks at me or Grandmother, that guy has his eyeballs glued to her!” Eric said.

“What?” I said.

“That’s what I wants to yanh!” Millie said. “Eric, you stay with me, boy. Let the grown-ups have their boring talk. You can help me whip cream!”

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Cool!” Eric said, and looked at me for permission to leave the table.

“All right,” I said, “but come join us for dessert?”

When I returned to the table and took my place again, the conversation had turned grave.

“. . . believe in God?” Mother was saying to him.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I surely do,” Dr. Biblical Prediction said.

“You do?” I said. “Don’t you think that most of what people describe as religious experience can be explained by science?

Apparitions? Voices?”

He looked at me and saw that Mother and I were borderline in the “accepting” department. If he knew how I flip-flopped back and forth, he’d surely think I was a woman incapable of convic-tions at all, not that I cared what he thought at all.

“Yes, science explains a lot, but there is a lot it doesn’t explain and even more that defies explanation. I’ve seen too much over the years not to believe.”

“Such as? Can I get anybody anything?” I said, waiting for him to shoot himself in the foot.

“I’m fine, thanks. Well,” he began slowly, “when I was an intern, I practiced emergency room medicine. I had the privilege to be with many folks at their last moment of life. I have seen dying patients claim to see Jesus. Many times.”

I took a bite of my fish and salad and mused for a moment on that. “Don’t you think people project what they want to see?”

“By the way,” he said, “this fish is delicious. Maybe, but not when they’re comatose.”

“Comatose?” Okay, he had my attention.

“My word! My grandson caught the fish himself ! But, let’s not change the subject. This could be useful to this woman I know who’s dying.”

We all stopped breathing for a moment. Here was the moment.

“And, she claims not to believe in God,” Mother threw in for good measure.

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Eric rambled back in and took his place at the table. He all but went unnoticed.

“Mrs. Wimbley?”

“Please call me Lavinia, Dr. Taylor.”

“And you call me Jack. Lavinia? Anyone who doubts the presence of a real and living God should spend a few days with me. I see people of great faith heal from life-threatening diseases and people of little faith die from minor illnesses.”

“Mind-body connection,” I said, the cynic in me rearing up on my hind legs.

“No,” he said, and blotted the corners of his lips with his napkin, “it just isn’t that simple.”

“What’s simple about the mind-body connection? Have you seen Bill Moyer’s stuff ?”

“Caroline! You are particularly contentious tonight! What on earth is the matter?”

“Mother? Dr. Taylor?”

“Jack, please,” he said.

“Eric? Please ask Millie for some more bread, dear.” I waited for him to leave the room. “Mother? Eric hasn’t been told anything yet, has he?”