On Folly Beach Read Free Page A

slide into orbit around Cat’s sun, cast in shadow from her light. She wondered sometimes if Cat needed her to go so Maggie could witness that Cat was desirable and wanted, as if to prove that her father’s leaving and her mother’s death had nothing to do with them not wanting her enough.
    Cat stepped down off the chair, taking off the high-heeled pumps that she’d badgered Jim into buying for her instead of paying rent. She stood in front of Maggie, her green eyes pleading. “Come on, Maggie. I can’t go by myself—what would the neighbors say?”
    Maggie turned away, shaking her head at Cat’s use of Maggie’s own argument. “You’re a recent widow, Cat. You’re not supposed to want to dance. Or be in the company of other men.” Her heart tightened a little as it always did when she thought of Jim, of the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled, or the way he looked at you when you were speaking as if there was nothing more important in this world than what you had to say.
    Cat turned slightly to catch her profile in the cheval mirror in the corner, smoothing her blouse and skirt to accentuate her figure. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Maggie, there’s a war going on. All bets are off. Things that weren’t okay before are perfectly acceptable now.” She lifted her left eyebrow in the way she’d perfected after she’d seen Gone With the Wind. “I’ll let you borrow my blue dress—the one with the pretty collar—and my mother’s brooch. I’ll do your makeup, too. I can make you look like Bette Davis in that movie you like so much. You’re just as pretty, you know, if you just put some effort into it. Don’t you want a husband? There’re men everywhere now. And it’s up to us women to do our duty before they head off to do theirs.”
    “Jezebel,” Maggie said, saying the title of her favorite movie, which Cat could never seem to remember, along with Maggie’s favorite ice-cream flavor or how she was shy around men. At least she had been until she’d met Jim and forgotten to be shy.
    “What?” Cat asked distractedly, still studying her reflection. “Oh, right. The movie. Anyway, I can make you look just like her if you’ll let me.” She grabbed Maggie’s hands and squeezed them, looking right into her eyes, and Maggie knew what Cat was about to say before the words were out of her mouth. “You owe me, remember?”
    Of course she did. Cat had been reminding her since Maggie was eight years old and on a dare had left the safety of the sand and dove headfirst into an oncoming wave. Maggie supposed it had never occurred to either of them that she couldn’t swim, but Cat, with her strong and steady strokes, had made it to her side and hauled her out back onto the sand like a beached whale before another wave could drag her out into deeper water. And even though she reminded Maggie often that it had been she who saved her, Cat never did once mention that she’d also been the one who’d dared Maggie to do it in the first place.
    “Fine,” Maggie said, giving in to the inevitable, silently wishing she could stay home again with Lulu and their books, slipping away into other worlds where she was confident and beautiful like Cat and men were honorable and worthy like Jim.
    “Great,” Cat said, beaming. “You won’t regret it.”
    Maggie smiled back, halfheartedly knowing that she already did, and watched as Lulu turned her face away and began to cry again.

    FOLLY BEACH HAD LONG SINCE been considered the wilder sister of her barrier-island siblings. The cottages with their trademark weathered paint and rickety steps, the dirt roads and general air of don’t-give-a-damn made the tiny slip of island outside Charleston Harbor a haven to those who loved her, and an object of derision for those who didn’t know her well enough to love her.
    Maggie loved it because it was the place where the memories of her mother lived in each shell she plucked from the sand, and each marsh