Black Cake(62)

“That’s fine,” Benny told the driver. “We can leave now.” As the car skirted the cemetery plot, Benny consoled herself with the thought that her father never would have wanted to see her in this state. They hadn’t spoken for two years, and yet she was certain that if she’d told her dad what had happened to her just a few days before, he would have folded his arms around Benny the way he used to when she was little, he would have rested his chin against her hair and murmured, My baby girl.





Etta Pringle





Etta Pringle looked down at the program in her hand. Meet Etta Pringle, Endurance Swimmer and Motivational Speaker. She was traveling so much right now, she made sure to double-check the date and location before speaking into a microphone. February 27, 2018, Anaheim, California.

Etta smiled as the emcee introduced her as a small-island girl who had grown up to conquer the world. He spoke of how she had swum Catalina and the English Channel and circled the island of Manhattan. Of how she had braved some of the colder swims on the planet.

Etta always spoke openly to her audiences about the challenges she had faced, but there was one thing that she could never tell them, that wherever she went, Etta “Bunny” Pringle still thought of her dear friend Covey Lyncook. And sometimes she thought she saw her.

Losing someone could have that kind of power over you.

After Covey’s death, Bunny had been lucky to fall in love again, this time with someone who felt the same way. She and Patsy had raised her son and Patsy’s baby brother in the UK and watched them grow up to become scholars and parents. Patsy had become one of the first black women to join Scotland Yard. And through it all, the seas that had tested Bunny’s resolve each year had, ultimately, been good to her. Now, at seventy, Bunny had spent more years of her life swimming without Covey than with her, but she still couldn’t face the waves, or her fears, without imagining her friend a few strokes ahead of her.

And now, Bunny saw someone who made her think of Covey. When Bunny was done speaking and the lights had come up for audience questions, she took a good look at a woman sitting on the aisle, gazing up at her as Covey might have done. Bunny looked away, then back in that direction and narrowed her eyes. Bunny, who had put her body through punishing routines for six decades, who was stronger than most people half her age, didn’t think her legs could support the shock of what she thought she was seeing, but they did.

When you’d done as much public speaking as Bunny had, you learned to keep going despite the distractions. People coming and going to the bathroom. Someone talking into their cellphone. A fly buzzing around your face. But this, nothing had prepared her for. Bunny slipped her bare feet back into her shoes and took the steps that led down from the side of the stage. Her foot caught on the nub of the carpet. Concentrate, Bunny!

She answered one final question as she walked along the central aisle. Audiences loved that kind of close-up thing. People liked to see that a woman who could navigate the strong currents of the Molokai Channel was flesh and blood, too. They liked to see that she walked with a slight limp, had a mole on the side of her face, and was wearing a perfume that some of them, too, might have purchased.

Bunny went down the aisle and back up twice, buoyed by the certainty that this time, she was not hallucinating, not living out some fantasy fed by grief. She stopped. There was no doubt. That short-haired woman sitting in the audience was Covey. How was this possible? Bunny wanted to lean over and pull Covey out of her seat right then but she knew she couldn’t. There were video cameras everywhere. At the end of her event, Bunny waited for the crowd to dissipate, then scurried over to Covey.

“Bunny,” Covey said as she leaned on one of her crutches and embraced her. But then Covey squeezed her forearm and whispered urgently in one ear. Bunny stood up straight and stepped back but held Covey’s right hand in both of hers.

Bunny put on her best greet-the-public voice. “I am so happy that you came to hear me speak,” she said. “What did you say your name was, again?”

“My name is Eleanor Bennett,” Covey said, leaning back on her crutches. “I saw that you were coming to speak near my home and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, even though I’m still on these,” she said, wobbling on one of the crutches.

“How did you…?”

“Broke my leg surfing.”

“Surfing!” Bunny said. Covey nodded. They both laughed.

“Well, I certainly hope to see you again soon,” Bunny said, pressing a business card into Covey’s hand. Covey had white hair at the sides of her face. Covey was beautiful. Covey was alive!

A young woman in blond braids and a black pantsuit came toward them and beckoned Bunny toward a side exit. A clutch of television cameras followed them, eclipsing Bunny’s view of her childhood friend. Still, the room felt filled with a kind of light that would continue to follow Bunny for a long time. Bunny had indeed lived a good life and now she knew that it would be even better.

Back at the hotel, Bunny had barely enough time to close up her bags before leaving for the airport. She was laughing out loud when her assistant rapped on the door.

“Etta,” her assistant called.

“Just ten minutes more,” Bunny called through the door. “I’ll see you in the lobby.” Bunny sat down on the edge of the bed and let herself fall back, arms splayed, legs bent over the edge of the mattress, staring at the ceiling.