Chapter 24
I decided to get out of the house and commemorate the gift of freedom with the rest of the residents, as well as the hordes of tourists, on Sullivan’s Island.
Dressed in a red tank top and cutoff jean shorts, I went to the garage with a damp cloth and used it to wipe the dust off Olla’s golf cart.
I knew exactly where her Fourth of July décor was and thought maybe it would be fun to participate in this morning’s parade.
I remembered zipping around the island with her on this cart.
Olla always let me ride shotgun and had Cy sit on the back.
That one little perk really made me feel like someone important.
I had come out here last night and plugged the cart in to charge, but when I turned the key now, it did nothing.
I hopped off and lifted the seat and jiggled the battery cables.
Cy used to do this to get it going, but it didn’t work for me.
I tightened some bolts, wiggled a few other cables, but nothing worked.
It made me think about neglected relationships, if left alone to only collect dust, how difficult they could be to resurrect, much like the relationship with my brother.
Dusting my hands off, I made a promise to myself and to my daughter that by next year, the cart would have new batteries and she and I could decorate it together and be in that parade.
Leaving the dead cart in the back of the garage, I walked up the street and found a good spot to people watch and take in the festivities.
Locals liked to dress up, which only added to the fun of the day.
An array of Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty characters, lots of American-flag shirts, star-shaped sunglasses, and various red, white, and blue light-up accessories.
Golf cart after golf cart paraded by, all decked out in gaudy patriotic décor.
One was fashioned into looking like a ship named the Great Red, White, and Blue with a shark bite on the hull.
Another cart looked like a tiki hut with hula dancers.
But my favorite had to be the one with an inflatable Uncle Sam riding a surfboard on top of the cart.
Following the golf cart parade, most folks were on a mission to find some lunch.
The heavily scented smoke from grills clung in the air.
I weaved in and out of the congested festivities to get to the park, mindfully keeping an eye out for Deaton.
Alcohol was prohibited from the park so maybe that would keep him away.
“Junie!”
I turned to find Bekah walking over, holding hands with a redheaded guy with a constellation of freckles across his cheeks. “Hey.”
“Junie, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Leon. Leon, this is my old friend Junie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Leon offered his hand and I shook it.
“You too.” I smiled.
“Momma and Daddy are setting up a picnic over there.” Bekah pointed to a big oak tree with long limbs providing lots of shade. “You should join us.”
“Oh, I uh . . . I’m just . . . That’s okay.” I tucked my hands in my back pockets and reversed a few steps. “I have other plans.” Plans to keep to myself.
Bekah twisted her lips. “Bummer. At least come over and say hi. Momma would love to see you.”
I followed Bekah and Leon over to her family’s setup. It looked much like everyone else’s in the park. Red-white-and-blue-themed tablecloths with matching plates and napkins. And an array of food.
Bekah’s mother wrapped her arms around me. “Junie Wilder! It’s so good to see you!”
Laughing, I returned her hug. “You too, Mrs. Gwen.”
“You’re just in time.” She dropped one arm and used the other to steer me to the table. “Let’s make a plate.”
“Oh, no thanks. I just came by to say hello.” I held my hands up when she tried to hand me a star-shaped plate. “I can’t stay but a minute. Sorry.”
Gwen gave up after a few rounds of me protesting and asked the typical questions. How’s your parents? Brother? Anyone special in your life?
I plastered on a smile and responded with canned responses. They’re fine. Not at the moment.
“Leon, honey,” Gwen said, draping a hand on his shoulder, “you should be warned. These two used to be nothing but trouble.” She nodded toward me and Bekah.
Bekah scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laughed and it had a nervous hitch to it. Most people still considered me trouble.
Gwen clucked her tongue. “Oh yes you do.” She turned toward Leon. “These two girls, along with a handful of their friends, became felons one summer.”
“Momma! That is not true!” Bekah gasped and giggled, knowing her mom was teasing.
I forced a chuckle. More than likely, I was the only felon in this group.
“Well, then why did the sheriff bring y’all to the station and the entire group was put on probation and assigned community service for the rest of the summer?”
Bekah huffed. “That sheriff only brought us in to scare us.”
Leon frowned, but the glint in his eyes gave away his amusement. “Bek, what crime did you commit?”
“They got caught stealing,” Gwen interjected. Clearly she was getting a kick out of razzing Bekah in front of her fiancé.
I finally spoke up, “It wasn’t a crime, just a prank. And we returned all the property. No harm. No foul.”
Leon crossed his arms. “What property?”
“Most all the houses on the island have name plaques. You’ve seen the one on ours, right?” Bekah asked Leon.
He nodded. “High Tide Hideaway.”
Mrs. Gwen huffed. “These two decided it would be fun to swap house names throughout the entire neighborhood. They went around late one night unscrewing the plaques and switching them.”
“Yeah, and we wouldn’t have gotten caught if it weren’t for that kid Jonah. He tripped up the steps at one house and woke the residents. It was the last switcheroo too!” Bekah guffawed, and we all joined in.
“We spent the rest of the summer doing yard work for all those people whose plaques we switched.” I shook my head. Finding the humor in it now felt strange, yet satisfying.
Before I could excuse myself, Gwen started chatting away about Bekah’s upcoming wedding.
Nodding my head in the right spots and sprinkling in a well-placed aww here and there, I took in the crowd around me.
Families in lively conversations, eating and laughing.
This should have been a great change from my day-to-day routine of work and solitude.
Instead, it just emphasized what I didn’t have.
I felt out of place and not much in a celebratory mood, but I kept a smile carefully in place.
At the first chance, I slipped away but didn’t make it far. A little boy, maybe around eight or nine, came stomping in my direction and stopped right in front of me.
“It broke!” He wailed, holding up what looked like a noisemaker made from a paper towel tube painted blue and red. I didn’t know much about kids, but I thought he was a little too old for such a tantrum—or hissy fit, as Olla used to call them.
I took the noisemaker from his chubby hand and inspected it. “Looks like your top fell off.”
He produced the broken, crumpled part from his pocket. “I lost all the bells.”
“It’s okay.” I scanned the park. “Did you make this here today?”
“Over there.” He pointed toward a tent-covered table with children gathered around it. “At the kids’ tent.”
“Let’s go see about making another one.”
“No! I want mine.”
“Okay.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we can fix yours.” We walked over to the table and collected the necessary supplies to fix his noisemaker. Within minutes, it was back to making noise and the young boy skipped away without so much as a thank you.
Shrugging it off, I started to leave.
“Here!” A little girl with brown curly hair held out a coloring sheet. “You color with me.” She waved the paper in the air until I accepted it.
“I, uh . . .” I looked across the table at another lady.
Smiling, she handed me a box of crayons. “You’re trapped now.” She tsked. “They lure you in and won’t let you leave.”
Laughing, I took a seat beside the bossy little girl.
I figured she’d be content now that I’d sat down to color, but she undoubtedly wanted to be a teacher or dictator when she grew up.
She gave me instructions the entire time.
“Use the blue on that part of the flag. Red for the stripes. Blue and red for the fireworks. Not like that. Like this!”
The next thing I knew, I had been roped into making crafts with other children.
I wasn’t sure if I’d somehow gotten mistaken for a volunteer, but well, I guess that’s what I ended up being.
Some of the kids caught on that I actually knew how to draw, so for a while I had a little line waiting for me to draw designs on their noisemakers.
Another volunteer at the table, who looked to be in her sixties, laughed warmly. “You seem like a natural with children. I bet you’ll be a good momma one day.”
I figured a smile wasn’t a lie, so I offered that instead of any comment. Starting to feel like a phony, I made excuses and left the craft booth.
The day was a sensory overload experience, with people pulling me in so many directions. Between spending time with Bekah’s family and then all those children, it made me miss Fern even more.
Reaching my limit, I made my way home around dusk.
I went into the kitchen and as I plugged my phone into the charger, my eye caught the dish towel on the floor.
It must have slipped off the cabinet knob where I’d hung it that morning.
I bent to pick it up and noticed I must have tracked in some sand in without realizing it.
I tossed the towel into the laundry room and grabbed a broom to sweep up the sand.
Keeping Olla’s house spotless was my way of paying respect for her leaving it in my care.
Once I finished the floor, I grabbed a duster and made a pass around the living room.
By the time I finished tidying up, the sky had darkened enough for fireworks.
I made myself a glass of iced water and brought it with me out to the deck.
I glanced next door, finding it completely dark.
Henry had gone to his mom’s for the holiday weekend and I tried not to envy him for that, considering family time was typically a given thing for people who knew how to behave.
I hadn’t behaved, so now I had to face the consequence of spending holidays alone.
In the last year, that had included Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, Easter, all of them.
Only Gilbert had visited me on Christmas Eve, making me feel even more pathetic, having my probation officer as my only guest.
Scooting my chair closer to the railing and propping up my feet, I decided to focus on what I had instead of what I didn’t.
The warm breeze was pleasant, the view spectacular.
I had a nice home, much nicer than most, even though it didn’t feel like mine.
I had my health. And I was blessed to be born in a country with so much freedom.
A loud boom followed by crackles filled the air as colorful bursts lit up the Charleston Harbor sky.
Memories of Cy and me sitting out here with Olla had me softening toward my brother.
I could almost taste the lemon and cherry flavors of the Rocket Popsicles she always bought us.
No matter what we’d been through, I loved my brother. Missed him, even.
We hadn’t talked much lately, aside from the tense therapy sessions, but tonight had me feeling nostalgic enough to reach out to him.
I went inside and walked over to the counter to unplug my phone, but it was no longer plugged in. Glancing around, I tried to remember if I’d actually plugged it in, or had the towel on the floor distracted me?
“I’m losing my ever-loving mind.” Shaking my head, I checked to make sure the front door was locked—it was—then moved out to the deck.
After making a brief video of the fireworks, I texted it to Cy. Doesn’t this bring back memories?
I waited for a reply, but put the phone down when one never came. Maybe those were my memories to cherish alone, like most everything else in my life.