Page 50 of That Last Carolina Summer

“When birds feel the time to migrate is approaching, they become restless. They begin to feed heavily to build up fat stores for the trip. When roosting at night, they will orient themselves on branches or other perches facing in the direction in which they will be heading. Of all the wonderful, magnificent, and magical things I know about birds, this is the one skill I wish I had been born with.”

Excerpt from the blog The Thing with Feathers

Phoebe

I STOOD NEXT to my mother at her dressing table, spraying yet another layer of Aqua Net at the crown of her head for extra volume, just like she’d taught me when I was in high school and she still had hopes that I might evolve into someone who considered a hair out of place as bad as a visible bra strap.

It was Celeste’s day off, and after a fractious day spent trying to entertain and involve my mother in her daily tasks, I’d made a last-minute plan to take another trip to Target.

Despite claiming that she didn’t shop there, it was a place I could take her where she would be purposefully engaged and almost content for the duration.

I held up two different earrings for her to choose from, a gold hoop and a small pearl stud. “Which one would you like to wear?”

She twisted her mouth and made a dismissive wave with her hand. “No, thank you,” she said.

I knew better than to argue. Even with her medications, her moods and outbursts could be unpredictable. I placed the earrings on her dresser and then selected two tubes of lipstick, one pink and the other coral. “Which color would you like? I think the pink would match your scarf.”

She barely glanced at the tubes before making her selection.

“Coral it is,” I said with false cheerfulness. My nerves were already so close to the surface I wasn’t sure how I could get through the rest of the day. I handed her the tube, confident that she would do a much better job of applying it than I ever could.

As we headed to the stairs, I heard the sound of movement inside Addie’s room.

Her door was open a crack, and I knocked lightly.

She looked up in surprise, caught in the act of shoving loose socks into a plastic garbage bag.

The mess on her floor had been there for almost a week, and I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn’t my responsibility as long as it wasn’t a tripping hazard for our mother.

“Just so you know,” she said, shoving a faded yellow sock inside the bag, “you’re taking the giveaway bags to Goodwill since this was your idea.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Okay, I don’t mind. I need to clean out some of the dresser drawers in my old bedroom and can take it all over together.”

She seemed mollified by my answer, as if she’d been expecting an argument. Her phone rang, and she glanced at the screen, hesitating a moment before rejecting the call.

“Was that Dale?” I asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I like him, and I thought you two were enjoying each other’s company. I’m just curious why I’ve been seeing a lot of Camaro Joe and not a lot of Dale.”

She placed her phone facedown on the rug. “Like I said before, Dale’s a nice guy. Just too nice for me.”

“What about Joe? Is he a nice guy?”

“Nope. He’s what I call karma .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged then hastily touched her sleeve as if to make sure it still covered her shoulder. “Nothing. Joe’s just more my speed. He doesn’t expect me to be any better than I am.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Any guy would be thrilled to be with you. Could you please translate?”

“Never mind. It’s just that Joe and I are a better fit than Dale and I ever could be. Leave it at that, okay?”

“Don’t say that, Addie. Dale’s known you forever, so he knows what he’s getting. And if he keeps coming back for more, then I say he’s a keeper.”

Addie barked out a laugh. “Maybe I’m not looking for a keeper.”

I watched as our mother wandered toward Addie’s closet door where she still had a pageant sash and photos from various events tacked to the wood.

“Seems to me if you’re going to be wasting your time with Mr. Camaro, you might as well be wasting it with someone who cares about you and wouldn’t dream of dropping you off in the morning so you can do the walk of shame up to your front porch. ”

“That’s enough, St. Phoebe. Maybe you should hang out with Mr. Camaro. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

“Stop arguing, girls. It’s not ladylike.”

We both turned. “Sorry, Mother,” we said in unison.

“Why do you keep pushing Dale?” Addie asked. “Is there something I should know? Something else you saw in a dream?”

She looked so intent on hearing my answer that I considered making something up. But the truth was that Addie didn’t need a dream to tell her what she needed to do.

“No, sorry.” Indicating the almost-cleared floor, I said, “If you’re done here and don’t have plans until you have to be at work, why don’t you come to Tar-jay with us?

Ophelia’s been asking for her own copy of the Narnia books so she can let Will have the ones they got at the library.

Target has a pretty decent book section, so we can look. ”

“I don’t shop at Target,” Mother said, looking at the photographs tucked into the frame of the cheval mirror.

Addie and I shared a look. I remembered something Celeste had said about being lucky to have a sibling to share this journey, and in that moment, I knew what she’d meant.

Nobody who hadn’t been raised by Elizabeth Manigault could ever appreciate the combined humor and grief of watching her slowly battle this unseen assailant, losing her armor piece by piece.

“Might as well. Ophelia is at Will’s house, and I don’t have to be at work until five.” She stood, smoothing the linen of her jumpsuit before casually swinging her hair into a messy bun and still managing to look like a cover model.

Addie drove so that she was the object of Mother’s repetitive question from the passenger seat about where we were going.

My sister didn’t seem to mind and answered with patience and redirection to get a conversation going.

She was terrible with schedules and following the rules and controlling her impulses, but even I had to admit that she was much better with our mother than I was.

We headed toward the cosmetics aisle. During the previous visit, Addie had made me buy an eye shadow quad—the first I’d purchased since college—and a pencil eyeliner.

She’d even taken the effort to show me how to apply them so I wouldn’t look like I was for sale, should I take my look out on the street.

Addie and I took turns pulling items from the shelf and showing them to our mother, being careful to wait for her to respond instead of overwhelming her by asking. We were halfway down the aisle when Mother announced, “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

I turned to Addie. “I thought you took her before we left.”

“I asked her if she needed to go, and she said no .”

“Addie!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have taken her.”

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” Mother announced, louder this time.

I shoved the handbasket at my sister. “Hold this. I’ll take her.”

One of the stalls was roped off with an Out of Service sign, and a line of four women stood waiting outside the only other one. I plastered on a fake smile I usually saved for meeting the parents of my most behavior-challenged students during parent–teacher conferences.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to cut in line, but my mother here really needs to use the bathroom...”

My mother looked at me as if I’d struck her. “I do not!”

“Mother, you just said that you had to go to the ladies’ room...”

“You lying bitch!” she spat out. “I said no such thing!”

The breath left my lungs as I felt the eyes of each woman staring at me. I recognized mixed expressions of surprise, embarrassment, and understanding, none of which made me feel any better. Before I could think of something to say, the door to the bathroom flew open, and Addie walked in.

“I thought that was Mother I heard shouting. I’ve got this, Pheebs.” She pressed the key fob into my hand. “You go wait in the car.” Mother allowed her to take her arm and lead her into the now-vacant stall while Addie nodded her thanks to the women waiting in line.

Everything was a blur as I stumbled out of the bathroom and into the parking lot. It took me a while to clear my eyes and remember where we’d left the car, but instead of getting inside I did ever-widening laps around the Lincoln in a vain attempt to calm down.

I was sitting in the back seat when they returned to the car. My mother smiled when she saw me. “Phoebe! What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

I grimaced so that I wouldn’t cry. “I’ve joined the circus, and I wanted to come back to say goodbye.”

She smiled at me then sat down in the passenger seat. “That’s nice.”

Addie started the car and turned on Mother’s favorite Sirius station, 70s on 7 , and began to sing along to Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge over Troubled Water.” Her strong alto voice picked out the harmony as I tentatively sang the melody.

Both of us mangled the lyrics to nearly every song until she turned the car into the driveway.

The dream came to me that night, an unwelcome surprise. I’d been so exhausted when I’d finally fallen into bed that I’d forgotten to prepare myself.

It was different this time. My view now seemed to come from a wide-angle lens, taking in more of the bridge and the water and the surrounding nocturnal landscape.

I was able to see more of the road, too, including a small yellow warning sign.

The white letters undulated like rivulets of water, making them illegible.