Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [121]
“Let’s get going,” I called up to her. “For the first time in my whole life, I skipped lunch.”
“Starving?” John said.
“Like an animal,” I said.
“Yeah, you are,” he whispered, with a naughty expression.
“Hush!” I mumbled.
Patti hurried downstairs, took one look at John, and I wouldn’t say she gasped or went all gooey, but there was a marked change in her normal demeanor. Maybe giddy was the way to describe her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, in her usual way, but I knew better, because she was talking too loud.
He took her extended hand and put his other hand on top, holding on to it as though she was a rare and tender orchid he was protecting from a bruising tropical rain.
“So, you’re Patti, Cate’s beautiful sister I’ve heard so much about. You’re much younger than I thought you’d be. You’re a pastry chef, aren’t you? How do you stay so . . . I mean, Cate said you were a knockout but she didn’t prepare me for this! No, ma’am, she did not prepare me for this!”
Patti’s eyes opened wide; she leaned her head to one side and said in a new voice, one just above a whisper, “Please marry my sister. We’d love to have you in the family. I’m not kidding.”
Among the many qualities John Risley possessed, he was also able to lower the volume on my sister.
Massive giggles overtook us and countless disingenuous admonishments flew around the room like a swarm of crazy bees.
My sister’s such a great kidder, making jokes all the time! Who’s joking? For God’s sake, marry her! Do you think your sister would have me? Are you serious?
On and on they went until finally I said, “All right, you two? We can plan the wedding over dinner, okay?”
“I’ll make the cake. John, what kind of cake do you like?”
“I like every kind of cake,” he said. “Whatever you make is delicious, I’m sure!”
“And you’re so sweet to take us out to dinner. Can we make dinner for you tomorrow night?”
“I think that would be wonderful,” he said.
“Have you seen the things my sister can do with a chicken?”
“Well actually, only once but I can’t wait for an encore,” he said.
“I’ll make dessert. Do you like chocolate?”
“Hoo, boy,” I said, and sighed.
I followed them, turning out lights, but leaving one on so I could find my way to the door in the dark. Patti was completely, totally, and thoroughly taken by John. I know this to be a fact because she kicked the back of my car seat about every two seconds the whole way downtown and she kicked my shins under the table all during dinner at Rue de Jean. And whenever she thought John couldn’t see, she leaned over and pinched me. I was going to be black-and-blue if dinner didn’t end soon. But truly? I was so happy, blissful really, to see that Patti approved so enthusiastically of him. For the very first time in my life I was with the right man. I had found someone who was genuinely right for me, my sister was talking like a normal person, and I was thrilled.
He was giving her the story on some aspect of the Poetry Society of South Carolina and Dorothy Heyward’s involvement with the Dock Street Theater, even after DuBose was long gone. Patti was entranced.
“And I am insisting that your sister write her story,” he said. “She’s always wanted to write a play . . .”
“That’s true,” Patti said. “She made up tons of plays when we were kids but you should know she always gave herself the best parts. Just once, I wanted to be the princess, just once! But noooooo! Cate always got to wear the crown.”
“Would you like some more wine, Cate?”
“No, thanks, two glasses are plenty. The crown was cut from cardboard and covered with aluminum foil,” I said. “And just for the record, she never let me use her Easy-Bake Oven.”
“So, you were a baker even as a child?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Patti’s always been brilliant in the kitchen,” I said, thinking, oh Lord, how much manure can these two shovel in one night?
Apparently, their skills in this department knew no ceiling and they continued piling it on until we were interrupted by the jittery vibration