Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [114]
All night long I kept waking up thinking I was hearing someone playing my piano. Of course that was ridiculous. And it wasn’t like they were playing a whole song. It was a few faint notes here and a few hushed chords there. I thought, boy, Cate, you’ve got some crazy imagination and I made a mental note to buy earplugs at the drugstore in the morning.
I couldn’t tell you when I finally fell asleep but I could definitely tell you when I woke up—it was when my cell phone rang at eight o’clock. It was Ella calling.
“Y’all want some breakfast? I’ve got my waffle iron heating up and there’s a pound of bacon sizzling away in my big cast-iron skillet.”
Waffles? Bacon?
“I haven’t even seen Patti yet but I’ll say heck yeah for both of us. Give us thirty minutes?”
“See you then!”
I threw back the covers and called out to Patti.
“Patti? Ella’s making waffles. And bacon.”
“I’m up!” she said. “Should we get dressed for downtown or are sweats okay?”
“Sweatpants are fine. Let’s walk on the beach after we eat and then we can do all the other things we’ve got to do.”
“Perfect. You’ve got sheet marks on your face.”
“Big shock.”
We pulled ourselves together in record time, hopped in the Subaru, and we were off. When we got there I emptied their mailbox and Patti picked up the newspapers. We went inside, using my key.
“Aunt Daisy gave you a key?”
“I thought it was a good idea for a whole lot of reasons.”
“It really is.”
Ella was in the kitchen watching the Today Show and turning bacon with a fork.
“Morning!” I said and gave her a hug.
“Sure smells good in here,” Patti said and hugged her, too.
“Nothing on this earth like bacon. And I have an apple pie in the oven for that nice nurse. Why don’t you girls make yourselves useful and set the table?”
“I’ve got the mail and Patti got the newspapers. No word from the hospital, huh?”
“Not a peep.”
“That’s good,” I said.
Happy birthday from our friends at Smuckers! Here’s Bessie Johnson as pretty as a picture. She’s one hundred and four, still likes to go bowling and she sings in the choir! Never misses a Sunday! Willard Scott chirped.
“Humph,” Ella said. “She looks like she’s past dead, if you ask me! Listen to that fool man up there flapping his jaw. She sings in the choir? I’ll bet they wish she wouldn’t!”
“Yeah, and she bowls, too,” I said. “That’s gotta be fun to watch! These place mats okay?”
Ella nodded and I put them on the table.
“Someday they’ll have you and Aunt Daisy on that show,” Patti said. “Do you want me to melt the butter and syrup together?”
“Hush your fool mouth and hand me a plate, and yeah, melt it quick in the microwave,” Ella said and shook her head, hooking her thumb in its direction. “Oh, Lord! It’s so nice to have my two girls here.”
In minutes we were seated around the table, drizzling hot buttery maple syrup over steaming waffles and snitching a slice of bacon with our fingers before the first waffle was cut. Patti poured coffee and I turned down the television.
“Let’s bless this food with a little prayer for our Daisy,” Ella said and we did.
Fully fortified by another hearty meal, Patti and I thought about taking a short walk on the beach. Ella adamantly insisted on cleaning her own kitchen. It didn’t matter that Patti was an accomplished chef who cleaned and disinfected a kitchen like a surgical theater preparing to operate on the pope. Ella nearly always cleaned her own kitchen and when anyone else tried to help she twitched.
“We’ll be back in thirty minutes then we’ll run home and change and go downtown to Aunt Daisy? How’s that?” I said to Ella.
“You girls go get a little exercise but don’t be gone too long though. I want to get to the hospital before the morning slips away.”
“Wait,” I said. “We can skip the beach? Right, Patti?”
“Ella? We can take you downtown right now, and then come back,” Patti said. “Would that be better?”
“No, I’m just, you know, a little uneasy. That’s all. Besides, I can drive myself in my own car!” she said and I could see her anxiety all over her face. She would drive herself