Read Online South of Broad by Pat Conroy - Free Book Online Page B

Rutledge added, “Fraser’s always been an incorrigible jock. She was doing cartwheels on the beach at Sullivan’s Island before she was two.”
    “A lot of cartwheels,” her brother said, “but not many dates.”
    “Leave Fraser alone,” Molly said in an even-toned voice to her boyfriend.
    “Do you like sports?” I addressed the question to Chad and Molly.
    “I sail,” Molly said.
    “I’m a duck hunter, a deer hunter, and I ride with the hounds,” her boyfriend said. “I’m a sailor too, because I grew up at this club. Played a little football at Porter-Gaud.”
    My mother then spoke to me, a brief summation of the day so far. “We spent the morning getting Chad and Molly registered for their classes. I thought, Leo, that you might be able to answer any questions they might have about Peninsula High.”
    As a nervous habit, I removed my glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. The room blurred and the people across the table were almost faceless until I put my glasses back on. I felt like a guppy in a jelly jar as those people took my measure.
    Mrs. Rutledge said, “It’s so nice of you to meet us here on such short notice. Did I hear it right? Is your first name Lee?”
    “No, ma’am,” I said. “It’s Leo.”
    “I thought you might’ve been named after the general. I don’t think I’ve known a Leo. Who were you named after?”
    “My grandfather,” I said quickly. I heard my father chuckle, then flashed my mother a death’s-head glance as a fair warning if she gave away the shameful provenance of my name.
    “How’s the cafeteria food, Leo?” Molly asked. I turned my gaze on this lovely, unapproachable girl, a type who seemed to spring so effortlessly from the city’s upper-class homes—their hair, their skin, their bodies, all shone with a surprising inner light. They looked as if they had been put together with the casings of discarded pearls and the manes of palominos. Molly was so pretty she was hard to look at without feeling like a humpbacked whale.
    “It’s like cafeteria food everywhere: inedible. Everyone complains about it for nine months,” I answered.
    At the other end of the table, an officious and no-nonsense Worth Rutledge clapped his hands together and said, “Okay, back to business. I took the liberty of ordering for everyone—thought it would save some of our valuable time.” He had established himself as a man of action and didn’t wait for any better suggestions. His wife nodded her bleached-out face in agreement. On Molly’s father’s face, there was a look of resignation, even defeat. But Mrs. Huger also nodded, in an odd, faithful imitation of Mr. Rutledge’s wife.
    “It’s been a rough morning,” Worth Rutledge said. “Do you think we’ve covered everything? We don’t want the kids to fall through any cracks now, do we?”
    “I think everything’s been taken care of,” my mother said, checking a list beside her plate as a white-jacketed waiter produced several baskets overflowing with rolls, biscuits, and cornbread. Water glasses were refilled and drinks replenished around the table. My parents were drinking iced tea, but Mr. Rutledge was drinking a martini with three tiny onions on a toothpick. They looked like the tiny shrunken heads of albinos. The other adults were drinking tall Bloody Marys, each skewered with a celebratory stalk of leafless celery.
    As my mother checked her list again, her voice droned over the barebacked details that she excelled in: “We’ve talked about health insurance, the policy for sick leave. The cost of a senior ring. The dress code. The penalties for drugs and alcohol found on any school property. The senior trip. The eligibility requirements for an extracurricular activity.”
    My mother was cut off abruptly by Worth Rutledge: “Why did you bring up the drug thing again, Dr. King?”
    Simmons Huger, a pallid man who had barely spoken since I had arrived, said, “Oh, for God’s sakes, Worth.