Free The Girls of August by Anne Rivers Siddons Page B

but instead she looked anxious,
     as if perhaps my commenting on her appearance had upset her somehow. “You OK, Babs?”
    “Yeah, yeah. Of course,” she said. “Should we talk about chore assignments now?”
    “Hell no. That will wait until Miss Crabby Coochie gets out here,” Rachel said.
    I snapped open my napkin, determined that our first shared meal on the island would
     not be ruined by Crabby Coochie’s presence or absence. As I slipped my spoon into
     the velvety soup, I asked, “How are the kids?”
    “They’re fine,” both women answered in tandem.
    “And Curry?” Rachel asked.
    “She’s great. Seems to be loving Cambridge.”
    “Hope she feels that way once school starts,” Barbara said. “But she should be A-OK.
     Smart girl, that one.”
    “Yes, she is,” I said. And then we all fell silent, and not because we didn’t have
     anything to say, but because this wasn’t right. The set number was four. And Baby
     didn’t count. She wasn’t a girl of August. She just wasn’t.
    After about thirty seconds of our staring out at the ocean, not eating, not drinking,
     Rachel finally said, “Oh, Christ. Let’s just get this over with. I will never forgive
     Teddy for taking Melinda from us. Never. I am still angry and still waiting for him
     to fess up that he was responsible.”
    “It won’t bring her back,” Barbara said. “There’s nothing he can say or do to make
     it right.”
    “But it’s his fault.”
    “I don’t know, y’all,” I said. “I imagine Teddy feels worse than anybody about the
     accident. I mean, he really, really loved her.”
    “He really loved who?”
    We all jerked our gazes away from the water. There stood Baby, hair wet and combed
     flat. She’d slipped into a turquoise cotton shift. Barefoot, without any makeup on
     and sweetly tanned, the child was a natural beauty. I had to give her that.
    “Melinda,” Rachel said. “Teddy really loved Melinda.”
    Baby’s face quivered and turned scarlet, as if she might be on the precipice of
     tears. As I watched her, willing her not to break down, it dawned on me that being
     the third Mrs. Teddy Patterson was no walk in the park. The other wives, to varying
     degrees, were always in the room.
    She pulled a chair over and Barbara made room for her on her side. Baby surveyed
     the soup and sandwiches. Her face brightened. “This looks great!” she said, spooning
     several ladlefuls of soup into her bowl. She dipped her sandwich into the soup and
     then said, her mouth full, “He still does.”
    “He still does what?” Rachel asked, her eyes narrowing, snakelike.
    “Teddy still loves Melinda.” Baby wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Evidently
     money did not automatically come with manners. “And that’s OK.” She glugged her wine,
     set down the glass, and, with barely a pause, said, “He should love her. I wouldn’t
     want to be with a man who fell out of love with his dead wife.”
    Barbara did not conceal her surprise. “Wow! That’s a great attitude, Baby. I’m sure
     Teddy appreciates it.”
    Baby nodded, her normally animated face still and serious. And serious looked funny on her, like when a little child tries to explain to a parent a situation
     she finds grave and inexplicable.
    “I told Teddy that I think of her like my sister. And I want to do right by her.”
     Then Baby said, “But I don’t know if I can.”
    I glanced at Rachel, who was not convinced. She opened her mouth, and I was sure
     a poison-tipped arrow was about to fly, so I jumped in.
    “Baby, Melinda was a very fine person. And we miss her something terrible. But that
     doesn’t affect how we see you.”
    “Awwww! Thank you!” Baby’s eyes brightened. “I just love you guys!” she said.
    Rachel responded by making a clucking sound.
    And that’s pretty much how our first night on Tiger Island went. We ate good, simple
     food, drank lots of wine, divided the chores among us (I would play chef and Barbara