Benedetta “Bunny” Pringle takes a step back. She looks around, her chest filling with anticipation. Covey. Where is she? They had made a plan to meet here in Los Angeles tonight, just outside the auditorium.
The last time she saw Covey, Covey had whispered hurriedly in her ear. “I found him, Bunny. I found Gibbs. We changed our names. We had children. We live here.” There was no time for anything else. Etta gave Covey her business card and thought she’d hear from her again, but she didn’t, so Etta asked one of her assistants to locate a Mrs. Eleanor Bennett somewhere in the Anaheim area. In the fall of 2018, she called the number she’d been given.
“This is Etta Pringle,” Etta had said, taking care to keep her tone steady and professional. “I am looking for Mrs. Eleanor Bennett.”
“Oh, Bunny,” the woman on the other end of the line said, and she knew it was Covey.
“Mrs. Bennett, I have another date coming up at the convention center where we met.”
“Eleanor. Please call me Eleanor.”
“Eleanor, do you think you could make it? We could work out a way to meet after that for a proper chat. I could leave you two passes, for you and your husband, or more, if you’d like.” It was then that Covey told her that Gibbs had died. They were both quiet for a while, then ended the call agreeing to meet on this date. There was no need to say no more phone calls, no emails, no letters. They had found each other again. But they would have to be discreet.
Bunny stands before Covey’s children now, turning this way and that, looking for Covey. The young woman who looks just like Gibbs shakes her head.
“Our ma,” she says. “She got sick.” Her eyes start to tear up.
Bunny looks at the other woman for a moment until what she is telling her finally registers.
Covey is gone.
She covers her mouth with one hand. Then she spreads her arms and embraces all three of her friend’s children.
The Letter
Byron has the same face, the same deep tone, same broad shoulders as his father, only he is thicker than Gibbs Grant was, at least the last time Etta saw Gibbs. He was barely twenty years old when he left the island and Etta never did see him again. Though not for lack of trying. She tried to contact Gibbs sometime after she and Patsy had moved to London, after the birth of her baby, but Gibbs seemed to have disappeared. Now Etta knows why.
Gibbs and Covey’s son, now well into his forties, hands Etta an envelope. Etta tears it at one end and pulls out a sheet of paper. She feels her face grow warm at the sight of her old friend’s handwriting.
My dearest Bunny,
I am writing to you now because I don’t think I will be able to see you again. I’m so sorry. We had a plan, I know, but my health is failing me. I didn’t want to upset you by telling you. I thought I’d be well enough to make our little rendezvous. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to lay eyes on you again at the convention center, after so many years. I have always followed you in the news, Bunny, every single one of your swims, and I am so proud of what you have accomplished. You don’t know how many times I wanted to get in touch before this year but, well, we both knew the situation. Finally, I took a risk and went to see you that day and I am so glad.
Bunny, you have been a true friend. You did more for me than I could ever repay. So please forgive me for asking you to do me this favor. It’s about my children. This won’t be easy for them. Can you help them? Charles Mitch, my lawyer and close friend, will tell you more about what I am asking you to do. He will tell you more about what has been happening in our lives.
There’s so much I wanted to tell you in person but I’m afraid that, unless there is some kind of miracle, I will have to say my farewells here. But only farewell, Bunny, not goodbye. I won’t go far, I promise. I’ll be there in the water with you, every single time. I always have been.
Take care, dear friend, and watch out for those naughty jellies.
Yours always,
C.
Etta holds the letter against her chest, stands there for a while, eyes closed. Then she folds the paper back into the envelope, tucks it into her jacket pocket, and nods at Eleanor’s children.
“Okay,” says Etta, “I need to see Charles Mitch. Can you take me to see him?”
Pearl
The thing about the island where Pearl grew up is, a lot of people end up leaving. They may go looking for work, or follow their grown children overseas, as did Pearl. Either way, many of them carry something from the island deep inside, a story or memory that, for one reason or another, they never share with others. The same is true for Pearl. That’s why it always does her a world of good when Bunny Pringle comes to town.