Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [46]
“What’s that funny look on your face, Cate? Is my funny little house already working its magic on you?”
“Maybe,” I said and thought maybe it really was.
Aunt Daisy and Ella exchanged knowing looks. Perhaps there was more to the house than I knew but it didn’t matter. I was anxious to get settled. I had to unpack my car and I wanted to call Russ again and Patti. Then I realized that if I had all that to do I had better set up a time to meet with Mr. Risley before the day got away from me.
As if she was reading my mind, Aunt Daisy said, “If you have to leave your car in the shop overnight, you can use mine. I can’t drive now anyway! Go look around upstairs. You can bunk anywhere you want but if and when groups come through . . .”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll make my life disappear so much that they’ll think DuBose and Dorothy are in the room next door.”
“Well, actually, they are,” Ella said and laughed so hard I thought she had lost her mind. But Aunt Daisy was laughing, too.
“Okay, you two! What are you saying? This little place is haunted?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself!” Aunt Daisy said.
They smiled a little too serenely for my nervous system and left soon after that, handing me the key.
I went upstairs to see what my choices would be and I quickly decided to sleep in the bedroom in the back of the house. It faced west, so the sun wouldn’t wake me up in the morning. And it was next to the bathroom, which had a claw-foot tub and no shower. Well, I thought, I’ll just buy one of those rubber things from the hardware store that clamps over the faucet so I can wash my hair. Then I thought, Honey? You sure have come a long way from having your hair blown out at a salon three times a week, haven’t you?
“Thanks, Addison. You stupid jerk,” I said to an empty room.
The rest of the morning was spent trying to figure out what to do with my meager belongings. There was a tiny two-room guest cottage in the backyard of the house, which I had yet to examine, which I thought might be good for out-of-season clothes and some boxes of books. There was really no point in unpacking every last thing, because surely I wouldn’t be here that long. I went out there to see what kind of shape the guesthouse was in and, to my surprise, there were hundreds of conch shells in there all over the floor and not a closet to be found. It occurred to me then that Aunt Daisy had mentioned at dinner last night that this was where Dorothy and DuBose did their writing. That must have been true, because between the tiny windows and the miniscule rooms that were no larger than jail cells, I could not envision anyone living in there comfortably. It must have been murderously hot in the summer, too, because there was very little ventilation.
I was musing over the details of the Heywards’ life and my cell phone rang. My caller ID said College of Charleston. I am embarrassed to admit this but there was a distinct fluttering in my stomach. I wasn’t too old to flutter.
“Hello?” I said, trying to sound normal and not giddy.
“Hi! Remember me? This is the guy who creamed your SUV at the Pig last night? John Risley?”
“Oh, yeah! I remember you! How are you?”
“Still feeling awful about it and wondering if I can come pick you up and take you to the body shop and maybe out for lunch or something? I don’t have any more classes this afternoon.”
“Sure! Yeah! Why not?”
We decided I’d meet him at Taco Boy, we could eat there and I’d follow him to the body shop. Then he’d bring me home to Aunt Daisy’s. When I told him I was staying at the Porgy House, he was stunned.
“Well, my aunt Daisy McInerny owns it.”
“Well, it’s a small world, that’s for sure. I know Miss Daisy really well! I teach the Charleston Literary Renaissance at the college, in addition to creative writing and some other things when they need me to. But I love the Porgy House! I bring students out there all the time.”
“Yeah, she told me that last night. Well, okay then. I’ll see you at one?”
“Yep. I’ll be there.”
We hung up and my first thought was