scream.”
“I will never forget as long as I live you lying in that hammock with an ice pack
on your coochie!” I got up from the table and hugged Rachel. Barbara joined in.
“You all are crazy, but I love you,” Rachel said.
Baby the Outsider—in her own house, no less—stood there watching, and I felt certain
she was waiting for one of us to wave her over, but the invitation never came. As
Rachel planted a kiss first on my head and then on Barbara’s, Baby said, “I’m going
for a walk. Anybody want to join me?”
“Not me. I’m pooped,” Rachel said, holding on to us.
“Me too,” Barbara said. “That Bloody Mary did me in.”
She headed out of the kitchen, snapping off her bathing suit straps as she went.
“What are you doing?” I asked, fearing she was about to take everything off.
“I don’t like tan lines. Neither does Teddy. Maddy, you should know that.”
“Oh-oh,” Rachel said.
And to think I had actually been considering going with her. “Sweetie, anything
I ever had with Teddy was a long, long time ago. And we never made it to the tan
line stage, so get over it.” I’d had just enough liquor that I could speak my mind.
Baby’s bikini bottom was half down one hip. Barbara broke free from us and squared
her shoulders. “Baby, going skinny-dipping in front of the house is one thing. But
please tell me you’re not thinking about walking naked as a jaybird down the beach.
That is something totally different.”
Baby cocked her head at Barbara, defiance lighting her eyes. “And if I did, what business
is that of yours?”
“I’ll tell you what business it is,” I said, my slow temper flaring. “This isn’t
a deserted island, Baby. You know that. The Gullahs might live on the other side,
but it doesn’t mean they stay there. Why do you think any of them would want to see
you prancing around naked?” I was fed up with her nonsense.
“Maybe they’d like it,” Baby retorted.
Rachel swung around and came close to putting a finger on Baby’s chest. “You listen
to me. This may be your house but it’s not your show. We are the girls of August,
not the tramps of August. I’ve changed my mind. We’re going to go for a walk together,
and it’s going to be pleasant. And not a single damn one of us is going to take off
our clothes. Your coochie stays covered. Got it?”
Baby lifted a defiant little face at us, her jawline set hard, yet still pretty. She
had moxie; I appreciated that in her.
“Fine. Let me wrap up like I’m from Riyadh,” she said, grabbing a beach towel off
the back of a chair and wrapping it around herself so tightly she looked like a human
Q-tip. “Number one, I had no plans to march down the beach naked. And number two,
if I wanted to frolic nude from one end of the island to another, I damned well would
do it. And there’s nothing you could do to stop me. This is my island.” She tossed back her head as though she were the queen of England, pulled
the towel even tighter, and snapped, “Let’s go.”
* * *
Despite the kerfuffle with Baby, it was, all in all, a glorious first day on Tiger
Island. We walked the entire island, south to north—me trying and failing to figure
out where Mac’s old house might once have stood—and didn’t come across a single soul
until we neared the northern tip, where a young black man stood alone on the beach,
surf-fishing. His face looked carved from basalt, like a statue’s.
“Earl!” Baby squealed, and she ran ahead of us, greeting him with a hug.
“Who in the hell do you suppose this is?” Rachel grumbled.
“They sure do appear to know each other well,” Barbara said. “Look, she’s holding
his hand.”
“He looks like he ought to be on Easter Island,” I said.
“I’m glad he’s on Tiger,” Rachel said, and growled softly in her throat.
Baby waved us over. “Come on, come meet Earl,” she hollered.
Earl, it turned out,
“I will never forget as long as I live you lying in that hammock with an ice pack
on your coochie!” I got up from the table and hugged Rachel. Barbara joined in.
“You all are crazy, but I love you,” Rachel said.
Baby the Outsider—in her own house, no less—stood there watching, and I felt certain
she was waiting for one of us to wave her over, but the invitation never came. As
Rachel planted a kiss first on my head and then on Barbara’s, Baby said, “I’m going
for a walk. Anybody want to join me?”
“Not me. I’m pooped,” Rachel said, holding on to us.
“Me too,” Barbara said. “That Bloody Mary did me in.”
She headed out of the kitchen, snapping off her bathing suit straps as she went.
“What are you doing?” I asked, fearing she was about to take everything off.
“I don’t like tan lines. Neither does Teddy. Maddy, you should know that.”
“Oh-oh,” Rachel said.
And to think I had actually been considering going with her. “Sweetie, anything
I ever had with Teddy was a long, long time ago. And we never made it to the tan
line stage, so get over it.” I’d had just enough liquor that I could speak my mind.
Baby’s bikini bottom was half down one hip. Barbara broke free from us and squared
her shoulders. “Baby, going skinny-dipping in front of the house is one thing. But
please tell me you’re not thinking about walking naked as a jaybird down the beach.
That is something totally different.”
Baby cocked her head at Barbara, defiance lighting her eyes. “And if I did, what business
is that of yours?”
“I’ll tell you what business it is,” I said, my slow temper flaring. “This isn’t
a deserted island, Baby. You know that. The Gullahs might live on the other side,
but it doesn’t mean they stay there. Why do you think any of them would want to see
you prancing around naked?” I was fed up with her nonsense.
“Maybe they’d like it,” Baby retorted.
Rachel swung around and came close to putting a finger on Baby’s chest. “You listen
to me. This may be your house but it’s not your show. We are the girls of August,
not the tramps of August. I’ve changed my mind. We’re going to go for a walk together,
and it’s going to be pleasant. And not a single damn one of us is going to take off
our clothes. Your coochie stays covered. Got it?”
Baby lifted a defiant little face at us, her jawline set hard, yet still pretty. She
had moxie; I appreciated that in her.
“Fine. Let me wrap up like I’m from Riyadh,” she said, grabbing a beach towel off
the back of a chair and wrapping it around herself so tightly she looked like a human
Q-tip. “Number one, I had no plans to march down the beach naked. And number two,
if I wanted to frolic nude from one end of the island to another, I damned well would
do it. And there’s nothing you could do to stop me. This is my island.” She tossed back her head as though she were the queen of England, pulled
the towel even tighter, and snapped, “Let’s go.”
* * *
Despite the kerfuffle with Baby, it was, all in all, a glorious first day on Tiger
Island. We walked the entire island, south to north—me trying and failing to figure
out where Mac’s old house might once have stood—and didn’t come across a single soul
until we neared the northern tip, where a young black man stood alone on the beach,
surf-fishing. His face looked carved from basalt, like a statue’s.
“Earl!” Baby squealed, and she ran ahead of us, greeting him with a hug.
“Who in the hell do you suppose this is?” Rachel grumbled.
“They sure do appear to know each other well,” Barbara said. “Look, she’s holding
his hand.”
“He looks like he ought to be on Easter Island,” I said.
“I’m glad he’s on Tiger,” Rachel said, and growled softly in her throat.
Baby waved us over. “Come on, come meet Earl,” she hollered.
Earl, it turned out,
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