Chapter 10

I picked Kim up early Tuesday morning. She wanted to drive and I was happy to let her. She wanted to drive with the top down. I told her it would be pretty noisy but we put the top down anyway. I looked through Peterson’s Field Guide to Birds of Eastern United States sort of guessing what we might see. After looking at how confusing the different types of seagulls were, I focused on egrets and shorebirds.

We’d gone about twenty miles down the Savannah Highway, not saying a word to each other. It was too noisy. I looked at Kim and she pretended she didn’t notice. About two minutes later I looked again. She pulled over.

“It might be too noisy,” she said. It was the perfect time for a fool to say, ‘I told you so’ but since I’m no fool, I kept my mouth shut and put the top up.

“Poopoo head,” she said as she pulled back onto the highway.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it ... real loud.”

“I’m a poopoo head because I was thinking too loud?”

“You’re a poopoo head because of what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking ‘that was nice and refreshing. Too bad we’re putting the top up.’ That’s what I was thinking.”

“You were not, and now you’re a double poopoo head for lying about it.”

“This does not bode well for future loud thinking.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

Being the clever guy I am, I changed the subject. “Did Fallon have a good visit?”

“Nice. Yes. I think the highlight of her visit was our trip down Market Street. She talked to one of the Gullah basket ladies for an hour. She bought three baskets and the two of them talked for a long time. She learned all about the craft and how the designs were passed down from generation to generation.”

“I did that when I bought one for Mom for her birthday one year.”

“Well, that was just for starters. Fallon told her she was a composer and was looking for ideas. All she said was that she wanted to capture the essence of the Lowcountry. The lady, Miss Pearl, told her about Gullah spirituals, and the next thing I knew, she was singing. The song was simple and it repeated so Fallon joined in, and then some people from a couple of booths away joined in.”

“That’s crazy. What did they sing? I’ve never even heard of Gullah spirituals and I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Well, you’ve missed out. They sang a bunch of songs I’d heard before, like This Little Light of Mine and Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, but they sang some I’d never heard of. One was called Sit Down Servant. Anyway, they’re supposed to be sung acapella, but they clap or stomp and it’s almost like a chant. A bunch of people gathered to listen. It was funny to see this big black woman, and a little reddish blonde woman singing together. It was great. Fallon had fun, and Miss Pearl loved her for it.”

“Nice. I hope she got the inspiration she was looking for.”

“You heard what she played at the house but you didn’t hear these. She recorded a couple of them and when we got back to the house, she took the melody and improvised. I think she ended up with three or four pieces she was happy with.”

“Wow. I guess I thought it would take a long time to do that.”

“Me too. You saw what she did. When we got back to the house, she played a song with one finger, just sort of plinking away. Then, she’d play the same song but really add to it, using both hands and really filling out the song. It was crazy.”

“Must be nice to have talent.”

“Lani has talent. Alice has talent. Jack, this was a whole different level.”

“Michael was sort of like that with sticks and knives. He’s crazy good. Must be nice to have talent,” I said.

“Maybe you do. Maybe we do. Maybe we just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

It was an interesting idea but I thought that if you were creative, it would probably show up in a lot of different areas. Could Fallon paint? Did Michael play the ukulele? Who knew? Neither of us could sing. I hadn’t really tried to play a musical instrument, except for the noisemaker Franklin brought back from his honeymoon. We both liked to dance and I knew that some people were really creative in their dancing. We were just trying to learn and perfect the basics. I wondered if Victor Strzok, my biological father was artistic.

We turned off the Sea Island Parkway into the entrance to Hunting Island State Park. As soon as you leave the highway, it’s like you’re entering a different world. The narrow, one-way lane seemed like it had been planned by first class landscape architects but I thought it was probably just natural. There were short saw palmetto plants everywhere and the trees ranged from huge long leaf pines to shorter palmetto trees. Live oaks, draped with Spanish Moss covered the road. It seemed so primitive, I half expected to see dinosaurs walking around. There was a five mile per hour speed limit but we didn’t need the sign to slow us down. Who would want to speed through this primordial beauty?

With no one behind us, Kim stopped, and I dropped the top. This was too cool to enjoy from indoors. We needed to be a part of it. I pointed out river oak, white oak, and a couple of elms. There were a few magnolias and they were huge.

“Did you see what that sign said?” Kim asked, too busy enjoying the landscape to read it for herself.

“Please do not feed the alligators.”

“No, it didn’t. Really, what did it say.”

“It really said, please do not feed the alligators.”

“Holy crap.”

We pulled up to a little toll booth and paid to go in. “Could you tell me what the sign said back there?” Kim asked. “I missed it.”

“The little blue one says, please don’t feed the alligators. Some of them are getting fat,” he said with a straight face.

“Great. What are we going to do with all the chickens in the trunk, Jack?” she asked with an equally straight face.

“You can leave them at the ranger station. We’ll give them to the skinny ones.” It was a straight-face contest. Kim thanked him and we continued. The chickens in the trunk were suddenly very quiet.

The farther into the park we got, the taller the saw palms became. There were fewer pine trees and more palmetto trees and oak trees. The air was still and humid. “What do you think this place sounds like at night?” Kim asked.

“Probably sounds like frog heaven. Big bull alligators probably growl real loud. You’d probably also hear a lot of smacking sounds as people swatted at mosquitoes.”

“Oh, my gosh. I hadn’t even thought of that. This place is probably terrible after dark.”

“I don’t think it would be a good place to spend the night.”

Once parked, we did the same thing every tourist does. We headed straight for the lighthouse. It’s kind of surprising that we couldn’t see it until we were practically on top of it. It’s one hundred and thirty feet high, and you can see it from seventeen miles out to sea. That’s what the sign said. But we couldn’t see it from the parking lot because of all the trees. The lighthouse was round with white on the bottom and black on the top half. I knew that each lighthouse had a different shape and paint scheme so sailors could tell which one they were looking at. The Sullivan’s Island Lighthouse had the same paint scheme but it was square sided.

We walked up the circular iron staircase. About halfway up, I thought it would be pretty easy to get dizzy. I realized that Kim’s butt was at eye level. So did she. “Are you staring at my ass?” I poked it. “Not funny. Stop it.” I poked it again, got the evil eye, and kept my hands to myself for the rest of the trip to the top. Who can stand against the evil eye? Not me, that’s for sure. I tried thinking really loud but it didn’t work.

We got to the top as another couple started down. We had it to ourselves. Walking around the top, just below the giant light, we had a panoramic view. To the east, we could see the Atlantic Ocean, with sailboats and fishing boats, most too far away to see clearly without binoculars. I had binoculars. To the south we could see boneyard beach and Fripp Island. West of that was Saint Helena Island and north of us was Edisto Beach. The landscape was dominated by green to the west and blue to the east and overhead.

One hundred and thirty feet up, there was a light breeze from the south and we watched a squadron of pelicans taking advantage of it. There were probably thirty or forty of them, flying single file to the north. With their big bills and giant wingspans, they looked prehistoric. An hour later, we’d probably see the same birds flying back south. We watched a couple of terns diving into the ocean for fish. Even with binoculars, they were too far away for me to decide if they were common terns, Forster’s terns, or least terns. Kim said she thought they were left turns. Obviously, she’s a different kind of ornithologist.

We enjoyed the view and the breeze as we moved around the lighthouse. We had enjoyed a similar view when we flew in an airplane together but this was different. We held hands, hugged and kissed. It was a pretty unique place to make out and since there was no one else at the top, we did.

“Can you imagine what it must have been like to be the lighthouse keeper a hundred years ago? What a lonely job,” Kim said.

“He was married. They had eleven children.”

“They did not. Where did you read that?”

“I just figured that if I was the lighthouse keeper, I know how I’d keep myself busy.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to be a lighthouse keeper for that. We’ll be living together when we go to college in Atlanta.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“When are we going to study? You’ll want to play Mr. Lighthouse Keeper all the time.”

“We’ll study during breaks.”

“And you think that will be enough time?”

“We’ll study in short, frequent bursts,” I said.

“I think we should start down before you get any big ideas.”

“It is pretty private up here.”

“Right. What makes you think the people on that fishing boat don’t have binoculars?”

“We’ll give them a show. Flash them your tits.”

“Come on. Let’s go see the rest of this park.”

“Flash me your tits?” I pleaded. We started down. That could have gone a lot better. “Are you sure you don’t want to join the Lighthouse Club?”

“There’s no such thing,” she said as we continued down.

“It’s just starting. You could be a charter member. You could be the vice president.” We continued down. “It won’t be much of a club if I’m the only member.”

“Induct your right hand.”

“Ouch. Where’s your spirit of cooperation? Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

“Dufus.” That’s it. That’s all she said. Can’t blame a guy for trying.

We walked along trails that led through marsh and some deeper waters to the beach. Hunting Island had a boneyard beach similar to what we’d visited before on Bull Island. “What kind of birds are those?” Kim asked when a couple of little birds ran down the beach.

“Sandpipers,” I said.

“And those?” she asked pointing to a different group of birds.

“Sandpipers. Different kind of sandpiper.”

“Okay, what about those?”

“Also, sandpipers.”

“They can’t all be ... you don’t have a clue, do you?”

“In baseball, if you get one out of three, you’re a hero. Birdwatchers keep score like that, too.”

“You’re a mess.”

We walked down the beach to a boardwalk leading back inland. We followed it to a large impoundment and stopped halfway across. We spotted a dozen alligators, lounging by the side of the water. None of them looked skinny. Our chickens were safe. We leaned forward against the railing and just watched. There wasn’t much action in the water but there was at the other end of the boardwalk.

A couple were talking and it kept getting louder. We turned to watch and did the best we could to not stare. Every now and then a word would drift our way.

“What do you think?” Kim asked.

“I’m just watching body language. He’s bigger than her but he’s not threatening. Look at his hands. They’re relaxed.”

“So, we just stay here?”

“They haven’t asked for our help. If he tries to hurt her, I’ll stop him but I don’t think he’s going to. Let’s just wait until they calm down.”

“Can you tell what they’re arguing about?”

“Not sure I want to know. Oh, oh, here she comes.”

“Come on, Baby, don’t be that way. You know I love you,” the guy said as he followed her. They were getting closer.

“She needs some distance, Jack. She’s steamed.”

“Go with her, I guess. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Want some company?” Kim asked her when she got close.

“No, yes, I don’t know,” she said as she steamed past. Kim went with her.

“Hey,” I said.

“Shit. What am I supposed to do?” he said slowing up, throwing his hands in the air.

“You came together, right?” He nodded. “Then she’s not going to leave without you. Give her some room.”

“May as well. She just doesn’t get it,” he said, stopping next to me. We looked at fat alligators together. He was older than me but probably younger than Franklin. Definitely younger than Franklin.

“What’s the problem?” He rattled off a stream of issues but it seemed like there was one thing at the root of it all. I let him vent. He kept talking but the root of it all seemed clear to me. I wondered if it was clear to him.

“It’s Brian, right? What’s the bottom-line issue?” He took a breath and just looked at me. “She wants to get married, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want to get married,” I said and he started to interrupt, “wait a minute. You want to get married too, but you don’t make enough money.”

I’d nailed it and he realized it. In the middle of a couple thousand words of venting was that one issue.

“Does she know that? Does she know that you love her and want to marry her but you don’t want to propose because your job doesn’t pay enough?” Silence. More silence. “Dude! Tell her. Just tell her that. Then, you can make a budget and plans and all that. What does she think? She thinks you don’t want to marry her, doesn’t she?”

“Shit.”

“That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it? Dude, you messed up. Fix it. Just, fix it. Tell her.” He rattled off a whole bunch of conditions and possibilities and probabilities. It sounded terrible. “If she’s been listening to you say all that, no wonder she’s pissed off. All of that sounded like excuses.” It got really quiet.

We watched Kim, and Brian’s girlfriend, Annette, slowly walk back toward us. “I’m getting a ride with them, Brian. Kim said I could ride with them and they’d drop me off at home. I’m done.”

This wasn’t good at all. “Sorry, not Kim’s decision. My car. You’re going to have to ride home with Brian.”

“Kim? I thought you said he’d be good with it?”

“You two have a lot more to talk about and that’s not going to happen if I give you a ride home. Besides, we’re going to lunch in Beaufort.”

Kim raised her eyebrows in her, are-you-sure-you-know-what-you’re-doing fashion and I nodded. She was good with that. “You and I have talked. Jack and Brian have talked. It’s probably best if you two talk. Jack’s right. If we give you a ride home, you’re going to stew about it for two hours. You two have been together for four years. Don’t throw it away.” Annette thought about it.

“I’m sorry I blew up at you. Doggone it, Brian. What’s it going to take?”

He looked at me but I wasn’t going to give him anything. He already knew. “I want to marry you, Baby, but we have to talk about some things,” he said and they started walking toward the lighthouse and the parking lot. Kim and I stood there, right where we’d been standing when it started. We shared our conversations.

“How do we keep ending up in the middle of stuff like this?” I asked.

“You butted in, that’s how.”

“Me?”

She laughed. “Think they’ll make it?” We didn’t know but I said if he just told her what the issue was, she’d probably be fine. Kim wasn’t so sure.

“Let’s go get some lunch. It’s probably later than you think.” We made the thirty-minute drive in silence, both trying to sort through the conversations we’d just had. When I held the door for Kim, she stood up and we hugged. Neither of us wanted to get steamed at the other like the two of them had.

It was late for lunch and we got a nice table facing Waterfront Park and the river beyond it. Kim ordered the curry chicken sandwich and I ordered a shrimp po-boy. Kim said I was predictable. I thought I was consistent, which is much better.

“It won’t happen to us, Baby. Get that right out of your head,” I said. I knew what she was thinking.

“What makes you think we’re immune?”

“We’re not immune. But we talk. He didn’t want to propose to her until he had a job that paid well enough for him to take care of her. He didn’t want to shortchange her. What did she think?”

“That he was afraid of commitment. He was afraid to take the step.”

“And that’s not it at all. See, that’s why it won’t happen to us. We talk.” She played with her boiled peanuts, pushing them around on the little appetizer plate with her fork.

“What’s been our biggest argument?” she asked.

It caught me completely off guard. Our order arrived and we started to eat. It was pretty good. Kim’s looked good too. “Can I have a taste?” I asked.

“Uh-uh. You have your po-boy. Enjoy that. This is really good, though. Mmmm.”

“That was it. I wanted a taste of your curry chicken and you didn’t give it to me. Biggest argument I can think of.” She arranged a nice fork full of curry chicken and held it out to me. I took a bite. “Pretty good. Want a taste of my po-boy?” I held out my sandwich and she took a little taste.

“That was it, huh?”

“We don’t argue,” I said. “I honestly can’t think of when we’ve had an argument.”

“We should keep it that way. Annette was hot.”

“I’ll say. That guy was pretty lucky.”

“Not like that, you dufus. She was mad. That’s probably why we don’t argue. I’d feel guilty taking advantage of a dufus.”

“My secret is out. I’ll let your dad know and we’ll start on our book.”

“Good luck with that. I love you, Jack. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize what we’ve got.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s been a while since we read a book on relationships and marriage and stuff. We should do that again.”

“Even if it’s stuff we already know, or whatever, it’s worth doing. You know what I’ve been thinking? People say the first year of marriage is the toughest.”

“Right. And we’re going to be going to college, moving in together, and moving to a city that neither of us likes. And we’re not just moving to the city, we’re moving right downtown.”

“So, we better have our stuff together and plan for that. It’s a long way from Atlanta to the beach.”

“Or The Wappoo Cut.”

“We have five hundred and fifty-seven days to get our act together,” I said. She stopped eating and stared at me, fork hovering over her plate.

“Really? You’re not just pulling a number out of thin air?”

“Or one year, six months, and eight days. Really.”

“You’re counting down the days until we get married. That’s so sweet. You can have the last bite of my curry chicken,” she said, holding out her fork. I shook my head; she smiled and ate it.

We ordered dessert and talked about odds and ends. Kim mentioned that Fallon heard about the Carolina Youth Development Center, which was a truly fancy name for an orphanage. It was the same orphanage Kim’s mom had supported but I didn’t mention that. They drove up to North Charleston to take a tour and meet some of the kids. Fallon told a group of girls that she had been adopted and the questions began.

I asked about the kids, their ages, and where they went to school. Kim didn’t say it but she was thinking that she could have easily ended up there. It was fortunate that her grandparents were not only willing to take care of her but financially able. It didn’t hurt that they were estate planners and pretty good with their money.

We finished our cheesecake and started home, with a stop at The Chocolate Tree before we left town. The Chocolate Tree sells one thing; chocolate. They have dark chocolate, milk chocolate, chocolate truffles of every flavor, chocolate-covered peanuts, chocolate-covered raisins, powdered chocolate milk of every variety, and chocolates in the shape of everything from bunnies to battleships. In a word, it was heaven.

I came prepared. I bought a pound of chocolates for everyone at home. I knew their favorites. I marked each bag with the name of the recipient. I bought Kim a pound of chocolate marzipan, and one of some sort of rum butter truffle. I bought two pounds of chocolate raspberry truffles, which were the exact reason taste buds were invented in the first place. I took two out of the bag and put the rest in the trunk, where I couldn’t reach them on the drive home. As we pulled out of parking and into traffic, I looked at the little shop in my rearview mirror, thinking maybe we had left too soon. They still had a lot of chocolate and my car had a lot more room.

I’d been driving since we left Beaufort, the top was up and we had Emmylou Harris’ Elite Hotel on and playing softly. I’d eaten both of my chocolates and Kim was trying to make hers last. I had a series of thoughts running around in my head and I just couldn’t shake them. Ideas and possibilities popped in, rattled around for a while, and were replaced with their friends.

“Mighty quiet over there,” Kim said when we turned onto Highway 17.

“I’ve been thinking about the Carolina Youth Development Center.”

“What about it?”

“I’ve been wondering about the kids there. Where do they go to school? Do they go to college when they graduate? What happens to them?”

“I think they go to whatever school they’re closest to. Why?”

“I was just wondering?”

“Jack, you never ‘just wonder’ about anything. You have something in mind.”

“We go to Porter-Gaud for two reasons. More than that, really, but we’re smart and our parents can afford it. A good student could probably excel at a crappy school and a poor student wouldn’t do well at even the best school. But what if there are some really good students at the development center that don’t have the opportunity? What if they had the opportunity?”

“You have a solution in mind?” I had a couple of possibilities and I shared them. Actually, I had about a dozen different ideas in mind. “We should talk to Mr. McClusky about it and see what he thinks.”

School started in less than a week and we knew the teachers and staff arrived early. We just didn’t know how early. We decided to swing by and see if he was there and had some time. Probably not, but you never know. We pulled into a parking lot with probably fifty cars in it. I saw Mr. McClusky’s car. We’d see teachers soon enough so we trooped through the building straight to his office. We were told he was in with Coach Littleton but shouldn’t be long.

We practiced humming Summertime while we waited. When his secretary gave us the eye, we stopped. I thought it was funny. The door opened and Coach Littleton agreed a couple of times and turned to leave, saw us, then turned back. “Talk this kid into playing some football, will you, sir?” He might have been a little serious but he was smiling.

Kim and I went in and he pointed to seats across from him.

“Do you want to play football this year, Mr. Pierce?”

“No, sir, I think I’ll stick with swimming and baseball.”

“Huh. How about you Kim?” he asked.

“I was thinking about swimming and baseball as well,” she said, being just as serious as he was.

“I tried. What’s on your mind?”

Mr. McClusky listened while I told him about our visit from Michael and Fallon and how her personal adoption had drawn them both to foster care. Kim told him about their trip to the Carolina Youth Development Center and my concern that there were potentially good students that simply didn’t have the opportunity to attend a school like Porter-Gaud because of the expense. He guessed the rest.

“Your heart is in the right place but there are challenges you probably haven’t considered. Students who come to us from public schools frequently have challenges they weren’t prepared for. Students coming here from, oh say, Saint John’s, which is a very good school, frequently find they have to repeat a grade, simply to catch up. Throwing money at the problem isn’t going to solve it.

“Typically, a child in foster care is one grade behind by the time they reach fourth grade and two grades behind by the time they reach eighth. They may get promoted along with their peers but that may do more harm than good. If you provide a scholarship for one of their children, they may find the challenge too much for them.”

“You don’t think there are at least a couple of eighth graders who are ready for this?” I asked.

“Perhaps. But that would reach two out of however many kids they have. Any other ideas?” he asked.

I was stumped. I had thought that was the solution and all we needed to do was figure out the mechanics of it. I didn’t know how many kids they had but even if I could afford to bus them all to Porter-Gaud, that wasn’t likely to solve the problem. I shook my head. He looked to Kim but she didn’t have any ideas, either.

“Here’s a thought, and you can run with it or leave it here in this office. It’s up to you. First, what do these orphans need more than anything else? What one thing?”

“Opportunity,” I said and Kim agreed.

“No. Opportunity is obviously a good thing but not the most important. Think about it. These kids don’t have a mother and father, and possibly not even an aunt or uncle to care for them. They’re surrounded by kids in the same boat. Think about it. You know what other kids find inspiring about you two? You’ve both got it in spades. What is it?”

Ambition, I thought. Plans, maybe. And then it hit me. “Hope!”

“That’s exactly it. If you plug one of those kids into this school without preparing them for it, they might have hope, but when they see what they’re up against, they might lose it just as quickly. It could be devastating.”

“Preparation,” I said, wondering how we could help them with that.

“I have another meeting. I know you two would figure this out but I’m going to give you a head start. Alice Littleton was in the music room an hour or so ago. She might still be there. She was in leadership in the Key Club last year and Elaine Daniels, the president, graduated. Alice will probably take her place as President. Talk to her. If she thinks it’s a good project for Key Club, I’ll see that you have use of one of the buses at least once a week. You could take some volunteers to North Charleston and provide tutoring for a couple of hours.”

“Prepare them first, and if it seems right, put out the possibility of a scholarship here as an incentive,” Kim said and Mr. McClusky nodded.

“Big undertaking and probably doomed from the start. Might be worth a shot, though. Talk to Alice and see what she thinks.”

It sounded good to me. We stood to leave but before we did, I had a question. “Mr. McClusky, we were at graduation. You have a doctorate. Why doesn’t everyone call you Doctor McClusky?”

He laughed. “They do. Once a year. Titles get in the way. If I told you all the teachers we have on staff here that have their doctorates, you’d be surprised. Maybe not. Mister works just fine, doesn’t it, Mr. Pierce, or should I say, Aquaman?”

“Either way gets my attention.”

“I thought you’d see it that way. Talk to Alice.”

We thanked him for his time and suggestions and walked down to the music department. Alice was at the piano but she was just tinkering. We told her about our conversation with Mr. McCluskey and the suggestion he had, including recommending we talk with her. She listened, but it seemed like when she heard that we wanted to provide tutors for orphans, her entire attitude shifted. It wasn’t subtle. She said she would bring it up at the first Key Club meeting in two weeks. Clubs didn’t start until school was underway and all the scheduling changes had gone into effect.

“That didn’t quite go the way I expected,” Kim said on our drive home.

“She acted like we wanted to bake a cake for the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“That was a really weird analogy. Really weird, but I know what you mean. I wonder what the deal is. I want to ask my parents about it and see what they think.”

We drove to her house and arrived just a few minutes before they got home. After giving them a few minutes to relax, we met them in the kitchen and Kim relayed the story, all the way from her visit with Fallon to our conversation with Alice. When we shared our day or experiences with them, they always paid attention but this was different. This seemed personal to them.

“First of all, I think it’s commendable that you would want to do something for these children. Some of their stories are undoubtedly heartbreaking,” her father said.

“There are those,” Mrs. McTighe started, very slowly, “Who have a rather unfortunate view of children who have been adopted or are in foster care or an orphanage. It’s quite completely unwarranted. It is, I think, very difficult to understand for those who don’t share that view.”