Page 49 of That Last Carolina Summer

Phoebe snorted and reached under a pile of sorority T-shirts to pull out a large hardbound book and placed it in her lap. “I think my mother would have self-combusted if the words penis or sex ever crossed her lips. Addie and I are convinced that our parents had sex exactly two times.”

“You might be surprised. Just because some people find it difficult to talk about sex doesn’t mean they are incapable of passion.”

“Ew. Please. Now I have a mental image that will be hard to erase.”

I looked at the book in her lap, recognizing the scrapbook-style photographs on the cover and the text on the top left.

Everyone has a story . I recited the words in my head from memory before my eyes settled on them.

I’ll tell you right now. Legend 2008 . “Is that Addie’s yearbook?

Julie had the same one, which makes sense, since they were the same year. ”

I held out my hands and stared at it for a long moment as I thought.

Julie’s yearbook had been taken by the police hoping to find some clue or cryptic notes within its pages or inside the covers where dozens of her friends and classmates had written little messages in colored ink with matching hearts and smiley faces.

I felt an urgent need to hold it in my hands, to read the things her classmates had written to her. To hold a piece of her again.

I opened the cover, not surprised to find most of the white spaces taken over by words and hand-drawn pictures. One talented friend had drawn the South Carolina Gamecock, the mascot of USC.

“Did Addie graduate from USC?” I asked.

Phoebe nodded. “With a major in broadcast journalism. Her minor was in partying, but she managed to get a good job in her field right after graduation anyway. I’m still not sure how she did that, but whatever.”

“Julie was planning on attending USC in the fall, too. She wanted to be a nurse. Like me.” I scanned the signatures inside the front and back covers, and then, on a whim, I found the pages dedicated to the choir with Julie’s picture spotlighted during a solo performance.

It showed her doing what she loved best, her face transformed into something even more beautiful.

I didn’t display this picture in a frame.

It was too hard to see it and remember what could have been.

Scattered in the margins and between photographs, there were lots of autographs and greetings with arrows drawn to faces, mostly in the alto section, since that was the part Addie sang.

But there was one heart balloon hovering over the soprano section, tethered to a singer in the front row.

My Julie. Inside the balloon were the words Go, Cocks!

Julie had found it highly amusing that she could shout out two words that to the rest of the country might be construed as more than slightly off-color but to USC fans were a point of pride.

“Isn’t that your granddaughter?” Phoebe asked.

“It is. Addie did say they might have known each other in passing from choir. They sang different parts so they would have stood in different sections, so that makes sense, I suppose.”

“True,” she said. “I don’t think I could name half of the girls I graduated with.”

I flipped through a few more pages then skipped to Julie’s senior page but saw no more notes from Julie. I handed the book back to Phoebe. “What pile does this go in?”

She indicated a towering stack of items whose fate had to be determined by Addie.

“Put it on top there. I’m tempted to leave this pile in the middle of the hallway so she sees it, but I’m afraid it might stay there indefinitely.

” She stood. “Wait here a minute. I’m going to dump it all on her bed so she has to deal with it. ”

“She could just move it all on her floor,” I said.

Phoebe leaned down and picked up a pile of clothing, the yearbook squeezed between her chin and the pile. “Not my problem. As long as I don’t have to look at it and we have a functioning hall wardrobe, it’s all good.”

“Fair point.” I stood and began replacing the neatly folded sheets and towels on the shelves.

“What are you doing?”

Addie stood at the top of the stairs. She wore cutoff shorts and a torn tank top, her face and hair splattered with paint. I’d been happy to see her on the dock again, painting with the new brushes Dale had given her.

Phoebe emerged from Addie’s bedroom after tossing her last load onto the bed. “We were just cleaning out the wardrobe and found a lot of your junk that you’ve been shoving in there for at least the last decade. I’ve put it on your bed so you can decide what you want to do with it.”

Addie’s face flushed with anger. “You had no right to touch my things.”

“Technically I did because this isn’t your wardrobe. You just sort of appropriated it.”

Trying to defuse the situation, I turned to Addie with a smile. “I would be happy to help you clean out your closet, too. It’s sometimes easier with an unbiased participant to help you determine what stays and what goes. It can be very—”

She slammed her bedroom door, cutting me off.

“Well, that went better than I expected.” Phoebe gently closed the wardrobe door just as Elizabeth awoke and began calling out her husband’s name.

When Liam arrived home, he found me in front of the open refrigerator where I’d been standing for much longer than I should have been. I had intended to see what I might fix for supper, but my thoughts had been hijacked by memories of the afternoon, going through the hallway wardrobe with Phoebe.

I took out a partially thawed package of chicken breasts and tossed them in the sink. “Sorry, I forgot to finish defrosting these. Supper won’t be ready for a while.”

He kissed me on the cheek. “I had a late lunch, so I’m good. And you don’t have to cook for us every night, you know. Will and I would be fine living on pizza.”

“I’d have to turn in my grandmother card if I allowed that to happen.”

He laughed and kissed me again. “We could always send Will to the dock to catch our supper.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather not disturb him.”

As if noticing the absence of electronic sounds for the first time, Liam said, “Where’s Will? Don’t tell me you’ve got him whitewashing fences in the neighborhood.”

“Not yet, but I’ll keep that on the list. He’s actually on the back porch, reading.”

“Reading? As in reading a book?” He peered out the door leading out to the porch where Will was oblivious to the world outside Narnia. “Who is that boy, and what have you done to my son?”

I laughed. “I know. It’s refreshing to see him doing something besides video games, isn’t it?

It’s the first book in the Narnia series.

Ophelia lent it to him on the strict instruction that he take very good care of it and return it when he’s done.

She’s already read it about two hundred times—her estimation, not mine—so he can keep it as long as he needs, but she expects him to come back for the second book within the week. ”

“Great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

I considered him for a moment. “You know, since we have time, can I ask you to do something for me?”

“For you, anything. What do you need?”

I led the way up the narrow stairs that opened up onto a short hallway that contained two bedrooms and a bath.

I paused briefly outside Julie’s room before opening the door.

I hadn’t been inside since the previous Christmas.

I always decorated her room with tinsel and a small tree just as I’d always done before she’d left, just because it was too sad not to.

I’d spend the first of January boxing it all up again, storing it under her bed until the next year.

The room smelled of dust and stagnant air, but I always liked to imagine I could smell the perfume she used to wear, too. The bottle still sat on her dressing table, the liquid changing color inside the glass, each darker shade like the rings on a tree marking another year gone.

I opened the door to her closet and stepped back. Pointing to a corrugated box on the top shelf, I said, “Could you please bring that down and set it on the bed?”

“What’s this all about?” Liam asked as he placed the box in the middle of Julie’s bed.

“I helped Phoebe clean out a wardrobe at her mother’s house today, and we found Addie’s senior yearbook. I just had a sudden need to see Julie’s.”

I sat down on the bed next to the box and pulled out the last item I’d placed inside: her diploma. Julie had been missing at the time of graduation, and Liam had walked up onstage to collect it for her.

“What’s this?” Liam pulled out a small trophy, a brass-colored treble clef set on top of a wooden pedestal. The glued-on plate read Most Musical . It had been an informal award, bestowed by her fellow choir members, but one that she had cherished the most.

“She was so proud of that.” I glanced behind him to her nightstand. “It shouldn’t be hidden in a box. Put it on the table next to her bed.”

He didn’t argue as he did as I instructed.

We pulled out a handful of long strands of Mardi Gras beads that had been draped on her bedpost. Instead of the purple, green, and gold of Mardi Gras, these were all crimson, black, and white as a nod to Wando High School’s colors.

Next, I pulled out her final essay for AP history, and a frayed red-and-black pom-pom.

We’d neared the bottom of the box before I found the yearbook.

I pulled it out and held it to my chest. “Thank you for humoring an old woman.”

“I’m not sure what old woman you’re referring to, but you’re welcome.”

I laughed, and as I began replacing items back in the box, my gaze caught on a familiar red folder.

“Look, Liam,” I said as I pulled it out.

“It’s Julie’s choir music from when she made All State her senior year.

” Her name had been written across the cover in purple glitter glue, most of it long since flaked off.

I opened the folder, seeing the sheet music for Jubilate Deo on top.

I could almost hear her sweet soprano voice practicing the descant in her bedroom over and over with a recorded piano accompaniment.

She’d have me sing the alto part so she could practice harmonizing but quickly found an alto friend to rehearse with at school since I had trouble staying in the right key.

I pulled out the music and opened the cover, wanting to see Julie’s meticulous notes in the margins where she’d jot down the director’s instructions. It was all so clear in my head, as if she’d just left to go to school, the rooms still echoing with her voice.

“What’s that say?” Liam asked, pointing to writing in the margin.

I squinted, but I couldn’t see the small letters. I handed the music to him. “Here—you try.”

He raised the page close to his face. “Only part of it is in Julie’s handwriting.

” He tilted the page to read it from a different angle.

“Looks like another person is begging Julie for a ride somewhere. It’s not mentioned where, so it must be from an ongoing conversation.

Lots of question marks after the word please , and the periods beneath the marks are diamond-shaped instead of just dots.

” He turned the music the other way. “This looks like Julie’s handwriting, but it’s only one word— maybe . ”

I continued replacing items into the box. “Sounds like they were passing notes in class.”

“Something like that.” He flipped to the next page. “Here the other person says I promise to be careful . And there’s a little drawing next to it that looks like a V , but it’s hard to tell.” His eyes met mine over the music. “Any idea what she meant or who V is?”

“No idea,” I said. “What did Julie say to that?”

Liam shook his head. “Not a thing. Not here anyway. It’s blank.” He thumbed his way through the rest of the pages then closed it. “You want me to keep this out?”

“No. That’s all right. You can put it back.”

We replaced the rest of the box’s contents and tucked in the top flaps. He put his hand gently on mine. “It’s been seventeen years, Gran. When will it be long enough before you can let us grieve?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I know there’s only a small glimmer of hope that she’s still alive. But if I don’t have hope, what’s left?” I stood and placed the yearbook on the shelf with Julie’s other books then left the room.