20. Becks A Fate Worse Than Death
FRIDAY, AUGUST 20, 1976
Tip: In much the same way that lust is not love and rhinestone is not diamond, paper is not a napkin. Linen is a napkin. In all manners of life, Virginia, find the real thing. Never settle for less.
Becks placed the mother-of-pearl-handled dessert forks in the fork holder beside the stack of plates, smiling at the Rothschild birds hand-painted on them. She loved to examine each of the twelve pairs of birds, thinking of the story of how Baroness Rothschild lost her pearl necklace in the garden and, later, the gardener found pairs of birds playing with it in a tree.
It was such a lovely story, almost as lovely as the idea that the twelve pairs of birds were all ones who mated for life, who were destined to be together until the end, as were she and Townsend. Becks had a rousing thought: Perhaps she would be one of the lucky ones who outlived their doctor’s predictions. Perhaps she could carry on as usual for a long, long time, be there to see her children marry and have children of their own. Stay with Townsend until it came time for them both.
Heartened by the thought and by her beautiful table, Becks felt pride shoot through her. Finally, the kickoff party for the First Annual Beaufort Historic Site Old Homes Tour was here! She had made sure to put “First Annual” in the title. She felt it made it more likely that the tradition would continue. And, looking back on her time in Beaufort, Becks felt even prouder that after the rocky start she had had here, she was now making her mark on the town she loved—the town that, she felt certain, finally loved her back.
Townsend and Becks had moved to Beaufort as soon as they married, forty years ago now—just like he had always dreamed. When his grandparents passed away, they left the house to Townsend, the first grandson, as was family tradition.
The first time Townsend drove Becks over the drawbridge, she fell in love with Beaufort’s beautiful clapboard houses, its history, and its main attraction—the water. She adored Noe’s Hardware and F. R. Bell’s soda fountain. She bought fresh bread from Betts Bakery, met Townsend for sandwiches at the KozyNook Luncheonette, and enjoyed movie nights at the Seabreeze Theater. She loved the way she could walk up and down the boardwalk, practically surrounded by water, and that Townsend had Friday night boxing shows, Sunday skeet shooting at Noe Skeet Field, and his fellow sportsmen at the Edgewater Lodge to keep him entertained.
Yes, Becks loved the town. Only, the town didn’t quite love her back when she arrived, which she found endlessly frustrating. She wasn’t from there, which she learned quickly made the locals distrust her.
Becks was unfathomably grateful when Sarah, who had remained a dear friend, made it her mission to show Becks around and introduce her to everyone, heritage be damned. She was by Becks’s side as she participated in the First Annual Carteret Tennis Tournament and served on the altar guild at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church—where she had, despite believing it would be impossible, found a home church again. She and Townsend even took first prize at the Casino by the Seas’ Tacky Party, where their unattractive attire stole the show. (Jimmie Livingston and the NBC Orchestra were astonishing.) Oh, how she tried. But despite her best efforts to befriend them, the rest of the women were merely polite to Becks. They never quite warmed to her.
But then everything changed. When Becks and Townsend sat in their living room and listened to President Roosevelt say, “the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory,” Becks believed with all her heart—as her hands moved faster on her cross-stitch—that her husband would be spared from battle. He was the town’s only physician, after all. Which is why she was so shocked when he came home three and a half months later and announced, with bravado in his voice, “Becks. I’ve been accepted.”
“Accepted for what?”
“I’ve been chosen as one of forty-five hundred men who will enter the Army Air Forces Flying Training Command.”
Becks blinked at him rapidly, in disbelief. “I’m sorry. You’re a thirty-five-year-old doctor. Wouldn’t you be better able to serve your country by taking care of patients? Preferably at home?”
He shook his head. “Nah, Becks. They need able-bodied men over there, and it seems they have enough doctors. Plus, I can hire a new partner for here.” She didn’t know what to say and, suddenly, her mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak anyway. “Yup,” he told his wife, whistling proudly, “eighteen weeks of training, and I’ll be up in the skies, fighting the bad guys.” He paused. “You know how much I’ve always wanted to fly.”
Becks had gone pale. “In the skies? Where you could be shot down?”
He had shaken his head. “Nah, not up there. On the ground—now that’s where I’d be shot down. But up in the air, I can dodge them.”
Becks didn’t point out how disastrously flawed this thinking was, especially from a man who had never been in a cockpit, from a man who would be going to war with a paltry eighteen weeks of training. “Why would you volunteer?” Becks asked, her voice catching. “You might never have been drafted at all!”
Townsend looked at her adoringly, like she was silly to believe such a thing. “This way, darling, I get to choose what I do. And I can’t stay home while everyone else fights for our country. Would you want to be married to a man like that?”
It was the first time in their six years of marriage that Becks had felt truly angry at Townsend. How could he leave her? And willingly so?
It was the hardest time of her life, bar none, being without Townsend. But it bonded her to the women of Beaufort. Becks’s neighbor Ellen, the optometrist’s wife, had always been cordial, but with both their husbands gone, they had come to count on each other quite a bit more for evening porch sitting company. One night, during one of their chats, Becks had an idea. “Ellen,” she said. “My mother used to have the most spectacular dinner parties. If I could pull one together, could you invite some of the other ladies?”
Ellen had been thrilled by the prospect, and Becks knew that if Ellen helped host—she was very popular in town—the women would come. They all needed something to take their mind off the war and their beloved husbands away fighting.
It was nearly impossible to pull off a dinner party in those days, what with the sugar rations, the meat rations, the dairy rations, and the oil rations. But Becks saved her stamps, ate from her garden for weeks, and, when she was certain she could pull together a meager but suitable meal, invited ten women to sit at her table with Ellen’s help. She borrowed the menu from Mrs. Josephine Culbertson, the famous bridge hostess who was often featured in the newspaper with wartime meal tips and recipes. She prepared pork and beans and Mexican-style brown bread and butter sandwiches, baked apple rings, jellied perfection salad, and, for dessert, made brownies. It was a different sort of menu for her, but, with the war on, what wasn’t? The women raved about the hearty meal, and they bonded over missing their husbands, registering the serial numbers of their tires with the government, and being suddenly, fiercely alone.
She would later write to Townsend: Tonight taught me something: We can be from different socioeconomic backgrounds, different parts of the world, have differing political and religious views, but, if one thing binds us—just one—that is enough to start a friendship. That is what has happened here. Strangers have become friends. If that’s the one good thing that comes out of this dreadful war, then I suppose I will take it.
The dinner parties continued, morphing into something that more accurately resembled potluck—something Becks’s mother would have despised. But Becks had no way to feed people on her own rations alone. So they all chipped in and week after week, laughing over cups of coffee, soups, and stews, twelve women who had been acquaintances found more than common ground: they found a family. And Becks realized that something as simple as a dinner party could bond women into lifelong friendship, that something as small as a laugh with people who understood your plight could spark joy. Those parties gave her not only her larger circle but also her tight, true friendships with Ellen, Sarah, and Laura. And, for that, she would always be grateful.
Becks mused now, as she folded a linen napkin in the large stack that would serve dozens of guests at this cocktail reception, that these parties had changed her life. When she was younger, she had imagined being the family hostess, having her mother and father, children and, one day, grandchildren gathered around her table when it was time for celebrations. She hadn’t gotten that, but she liked to think she had made lemonade out of lemons. She had made family out of strangers. She had made celebrations out of summer suppers.
The napkin in her hand was starched and pressed to perfection. She folded it in half, then fourths, running her fingers down the creases, making crisp straight lines so the corners would meet. She smiled at her monogram, tracing her finger over it.
Townsend entered the room and kissed her. But even as she smiled, he frowned slightly and pulled away, examining her. “Becks, your eyes. They’re yellow. When did that start?”
Becks studied him.
“Do you feel all right?” Townsend asked, prodding her.
She could tell by the way he was looking at her, with such fresh shock, that Townsend had no memory of asking her about her jaundiced eyes a few weeks ago. He had no memory that he had worried about her before.
She pulled her husband close. “I am fine, darling. As long as I have you, I am fine.”
The fear over her husband’s health was replaced by a surge of joy at the remembrance her children were here as Virginia called, “Mom! Can you come up here please?” Oh, how she loved having her children home. The doorbell rang, and Becks knew the time for hosting had begun.
Becks had invited more than one hundred people to celebrate their hard work in making the Old Homes Tour a success—the docents, the ticket takers, the homeowners, the Historic Site tour volunteers, and more. And now they were arriving. Such fun! “You get that,” she said to Townsend, rolling her shoulders back. “I’m going to go help Virginia, and then I’ll be right down.”
When she entered her daughter’s room upstairs, Virginia turned to her and smiled in her usual way. Becks was so happy to have her daughter here to celebrate this occasion that already meant so much to her. She hoped she had started something that her daughter would take over one day, that this event would connect them even after her death. Virginia’s long brown hair was in loose, flowy waves down her back, and she was wearing a red crocheted dress that hugged her lithe body. Becks put her hand to her heart. “You look too beautiful,” she said.
Virginia scrunched her nose. “Are you sure? Because I have another dress I could wear if you think this one is inappropriate for the occasion.” Becks shook her head, and, suddenly, she was overwhelmed, light-headed with dread, anger, and fear. How could she leave this daughter who needed her? It wasn’t fair. It was too soon. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Becks heard voices downstairs. Her party guests were arriving. How many more parties would she host? Panic enveloped her. She needed to compose herself. “Sweetheart, I’m going to grab some air,” she said as normally as she could muster. Even still, she could hear the quaver in her voice. “Please make sure there is a fresh bar of hand soap and a fresh roll of toilet tissue in every bathroom.”
Virginia looked concerned. “Sure, Mother.”
Finding herself quite out of words, Becks hurried down the back steps and out the kitchen door. It was very unlike her, and it went against all her rules as a hostess. But, for once, she couldn’t put her feelings aside. Her breath was coming in fast gulps. It was like everything she had kept inside since she’d found out she was dying was bubbling up in her like hot, boiling lava.
She tried the door on the detached garage, which was, blessedly, unlocked. It was far enough from the house that no one would hear her. Becks opened the door, closed it, and let out a blood-curdling, howling, guttural scream that she only now realized had been building up inside her ever since that visit to Daniel’s office where he gave her the news that her life wasn’t going to turn out like she’d planned. Then, her body, feeling as though it was no longer hers, broke into gasping sobs. She sank down between the lawn mower and a forgotten tricycle, unable to keep it in any longer.
She was crying so hard that she didn’t hear the door open. It was only when she looked up and saw a strange man that she realized she wasn’t alone. She screamed again, in earnest. She recognized him immediately. The new neighbor who had leered at her so creepily. She didn’t want to be alone with him. But he put his hand up, so as not to startle her more. “Are you okay?” She could tell he was trying to remain calm. And that was when she realized how devastatingly handsome he was. “I was taking out the garbage when I heard a scream.”
Becks tried to wipe her eyes, tried to compose herself, but a dam had burst inside her, and for a reason she could not explain, she found herself pouring out to this complete stranger: “I’m going to leave them all, and they need me. My husband, my daughter, my son. It is my job to take care of them. That’s what I do. I take care of all of them. And they can’t do it without me.”
She knew the task of taking care of Townsend—even if his memory wasn’t failing, the man could barely pour his own milk—would fall to Virginia. To ask her to take care of a father, a potential new husband, and new babies who might come along all at once was unthinkable. And she wouldn’t be there to help.
This very handsome stranger knelt down in front of her. He nodded. “I understand. I do. I’ve recently had some changes that have made my world feel like it was burning down.”
Becks cocked her head, still unable to stop her tears, to catch her breath. She was a good listener. People had always told her their stories. She wanted to know more about this man and his past, and she knew enough to know that if she was quiet, he would likely tell her.
“I lost everything,” he continued. “My job. My income. My fiancée. But I’m starting over. I’m making a new life.” He paused. “Losing someone we love is unthinkable, but that’s what people do. They start over.”
Something about this story seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. Her eyes adjusted to the light and focused on his. They were a blue she’d never seen before. The color of ice crystals. The clearest blue I’ve ever seen. It was Virginia who had said that. But about a man from D.C. Not North Carolina. Becks shook off her nerves. What was wrong with her lately? That man was back in Kansas. Was it the medicine making her so jumpy? Or the thought that her end was drawing near? She couldn’t be sure, but, either way, it was unsettling.
He blew a breath out of his perfectly formed mouth. Becks was suddenly very calm as he studied her face and, almost comically, pulled a pin light out of his pocket and shone it in her eyes. “What kind of cancer do you have?”
“Pancreatic,” she whispered.
He winced, and Becks’s tears flowed anew, though her sobs had calmed now. “They can’t live the end with me,” she continued. “They aren’t strong enough.” She wouldn’t have been able to express the desperation she felt in words. But it suddenly consumed her. This man looked as if he was thinking, and her mind strayed enough from her own troubles to realize something. “You’re the new doctor in town,” she said. “That’s how you see that I have cancer.”
He nodded. “Yes. I’m Peter. I’m here to practice with Dr. Walker. Do you know him?”
He stood and Becks, calming, suddenly realized how much it smelled like gasoline and fresh yard clippings in there. She wiped her eyes and composed herself. “Dr. Walker is, in fact, my dearest friend besides his wife.” As if remembering herself—who she was, what she did—she said, “I’m Rebecca Saint James.”
Becks heard the fireworks she had planned as a surprise for her partygoers exploding on the dock. They were nothing compared to the volcano that had just erupted inside her. That ever-calm facade had cracked—and in front of a total stranger of all people. She couldn’t believe what a fool she’d made of herself.
Peter nodded. “I hope I can help you,” he said. “I’d like very much to try.”
Becks felt warm inside at this stranger’s kindness. She nodded, realizing that her initial instinct, the one that made shivers run down her spine, had been all wrong. Maybe it was the medicine that had ruined her internal barometer. But then Peter reached his hand down to help her up, and she noticed the scar on his hand. Unavoidable, totally distinct: a bat. In an instant, she knew exactly who he was. And everything inside her went white-hot with panic.