by Fannie Flagg
After he got into bed, he had to laugh at himself. How shocked he was, seeing how much he had aged. After all, he was almost eighty-four years old. What did he expect? You go along in life thinking old age will never happen to you, and then it does. But what can you do? As he lay there thinking about it, he realized he really didn’t care so much about looking good. For whatever time he had left, he just wanted to feel good. But lately his body was not cooperating. Whatever happened to just getting up out of a chair? He’d been forgetting names, and he lost his glasses a lot. But he figured as long as his brain was functioning pretty well and he could still walk, he had a little time left.
He also realized that maybe he should go ahead with a plan he’d made, and sooner rather than later. That old geezer in the bathroom mirror looked like he didn’t have a lot more time to spare. He needed to do it now, before it was too late, and just hope he could still pull it off.
Bud got in bed and closed his eyes and, as he often did before going to sleep, he thought about Peggy.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
2013
RUTHIE HAD PICKED her father up in front of Briarwood Manor and was driving him to the store to get his favorite coffee when he said, “You know, Ruthie, the one thing I really regret about getting older, is that I am sadly unmotorized.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a car. If I want to go somewhere, I have to call a taxi, or go with a gang of other people on the Briarwood bus. And when I do call a cab, that head guy Merris pokes his snout out of the front office and wants to know where I’m going and what time I’ll be back. I feel like a teenage girl.”
Ruthie laughed. “Serves you right, Daddy. Do you remember all the times you did the same thing to me? ‘Be home by ten,’ you’d say.”
“Yes, but you really were a teenager. And, by the way, don’t think I didn’t know all the times you snuck in after ten.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did, and not only that, I always knew where you were and who you were with.”
“You did not.”
“Did, too.”
“How?”
“Not telling.”
“Okay. But did you know that sometimes I came home before ten, let you hear me come in, and then snuck out the back door?”
Now Bud was surprised. “When?”
“Ha-ha, I have secrets, too.”
“Was that when you were dating that idiot Hootie Reynolds?”
Ruthie was surprised. “How did you know I was dating Hootie?”
Bud looked at her. “It was not hard to miss. You had ‘Hootie, Hootie, Hootie’ written all over your notebook with big kiss marks and hearts. What scared me was when you wrote ‘Mrs. Hootie Reynolds’ all over the page. It’s a good thing you broke up with him, or I would have had to kill him.”
Ruthie smiled. “Poor Hootie. He was cute, but he was an idiot, wasn’t he? I wonder what would have happened if I had married him.”
“You wouldn’t have. I would have seen to that. You did just fine in that department. You couldn’t have done better than Brooks.”
“No, I could not. I still miss him every day, Daddy.”
“I know you do, honey. I still miss your mother.”
* * *
—
AFTER HE BOUGHT his coffee, and she was driving him back, Ruthie said, “I wonder whatever happened to Hootie.”
“I heard he did quite well in sports. Even went to the Olympics.”
Ruthie was surprised. “He did? Doing what?”
“Javelin catcher.”
“Oh, Daddy. You made that up.”
“Yeah, but it could have been true.”
* * *
—
RUTHIE’S HUSBAND, BROOKS, had died suddenly of a heart attack three years earlier. At the time, their two children, Carolyn and Richard, were still living in Atlanta, and that had helped her get through it. But then, when Carolyn got married and moved to Washington, D.C., and Richard and his girlfriend, Dotsie, moved to Oregon, all Ruthie had left of family living in Atlanta was her father, and if anything happened to him she didn’t know what she would do. She adored him, and even after all these years, he could still make her laugh.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
MARTHA LEE HAD never completely accepted Ruthie into the Caldwell family, but that was not the case with her grandchildren, Carolyn and Richard. On the day each child was born, Martha Lee had come swooping into the hospital, dressed to the nines, accepting congratulations from everyone on the birth of her grandchild.
Before they were even born, Martha Lee had already chosen their middle names, the schools they were to attend, and the classes they would be taking. Ballet for Carolyn; tennis, golf, and swimming for Richard. And by royal command, every Sunday and every holiday meal was to be spent with Martha Lee at the club. And while at the club, any introductions to her friends went as follows:
“You know my son, Brooks, of course, and this is my darling granddaughter, Carolyn Lee, and my handsome grandson, Richard…and Brooks’s wife.”
Ruthie had tried so hard to be civil to Martha Lee for Brooks’s and the children’s sake, but it was getting harder and harder. Then came Carolyn’s wedding.
Ruthie was the mother of the bride. She was supposed to oversee her daughter’s wedding arrangements. But, as usual, Martha Lee had taken over. The first day Ruthie and Carolyn sat down and started planning, Martha Lee walked over to their house and announced to Ruthie, “Of course we’ll use my caterers, and the reception has to be at my house—your yard is far too small. I’ll handle the renting of the tents, and the band.”
Ruthie had gotten one word in. “But—”
Martha Lee didn’t let her finish. “And, Carolyn, I know exactly who we will use to do the invitations. I don’t know what date you and Brian were thinking about, but let’s not do June. It’s so overdone. I’ll call All Saints and set a date for the end of May.”
* * *
—
A FEW WEEKS later, when Ruthie went with Carolyn to pick out her silver pattern, Carolyn said she needed to ask Grandmother what she thought before the final choice could be made.
As the wedding day drew closer, and everything was being done without her, Ruthie became so frustrated and upset that she pleaded with Carolyn: “I’m your mother. Please, honey, let me do something!”
“Oh, Mother. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. Grandmother wants to do it. All you have to do is show up and look pretty. Grandmother has ordered the most gorgeous wedding cake. She showed me a picture. Wait till you see it, you’ll die. We’re looking at bridesmaid dresses this afternoon. Grandmother said we have to be very careful with color. She wants something springy, but not too flashy. She said bright colors take attention from the bride. She’s thinking a pale lavender, or maybe a blush pink, and for the shoes, she’s leaning toward a cream or natural pump. Nothing white, of course.” It was no use. It was clear to Ruthie that she was going to be just another guest at her daughter’s wedding.
When the day came, Ruthie wore a light beige dress. But, true to form, Martha Lee—going against her own advice—made her grand appearance in a lime-green silk organza dress, with a large hat to match. After all, every occasion was about her…wasn’t it?
* * *
—
RUTHIE HAD TO admit that as much as she had hoped things would change, they hadn’t. Starting at the age of five, if Carolyn was not happy with something at home, she would pack her little bag and march over to Grandmother’s house. Of course, Martha Lee was delighted to have her. And it was always the same old battle to get her daughter to come back.
“She’s my daughter, Martha. She needs to come home.”
“Well, she’s my granddaughter!”
“I understand that, but she’s got to learn she can’t always get her way.”
“Why not? I see no reason she can’t have anything she wants. Besides, she told me you were practically starving her to death. No wonder she comes over here.”
“Oh, Martha, we are not starving her. She comes to your house because you indulge her. A six-year-old child shouldn’t be allowed to eat two and three desserts. All that sugar is not good for her, and while we’re on the subject, please don’t give her any more wine at dinner. She’s way too young to be drinking alcohol.”
“I beg to differ. In France all children drink wine.”
“Fine, Martha, but we live in Atlanta.”
“She’s going to have to learn how to choose good wines, sooner or later.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I would prefer later, rather than sooner.”
This last exchange really threw Martha Lee’s nose out of joint and she called Brooks at work. “Your wife is accusing me of turning my only granddaughter into an alcoholic. She absolutely refuses to let her have even one tiny sip of wine with dinner.”
Brooks sighed. He had been down this road before. “Mother, please don’t give Carolyn wine, and don’t put me in the middle of this.”
“Well, of all things. There has never been an alcoholic on either side of our families. The very idea is absurd.”
Brooks didn’t answer, which was his way of letting her know that he was not going to get into a fight over it.
After a moment, Martha Lee said, “I can see that I am being overruled. So per your wife’s wishes, your daughter will have no more wine. But let me say this: It’s so sad to me that your wife doesn’t seem to have the faintest conception of the art of fine dining, something I was trying to impart to Carolyn.”
Brooks said nothing again.
After a pause she continued. “Not to tell tales out of school, but when you were out of town last week, I did spot a Little Caesars pizza delivery van leaving your house. Not once, but twice. I think that about says it all.”
Brooks hung up and felt tired and torn apart. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. After his father died, he had been under so much pressure, having to take over the company during an economic downturn. The firm was losing money hand over fist. Now he was constantly being put in the middle of his wife and his mother’s tug-of-war over how to raise the children. He loved them both. It was hard to continually be forced to take sides. He walked over and poured himself a drink. Ruthie had been right.
They should never have moved into that house in the first place. Living next door to Martha Lee all these years had not been easy. And now with his father gone, the tension between the two women was getting worse. But they were stuck. He couldn’t sell the house now.
Nobody knew it, but he’d taken out two extra mortgages on it just to keep the company from going under. And he knew if he lost any of the old original Caldwell homes it would just kill his mother.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
CALDWELL CIRCLE WAS located in the very center of Tuxedo Park, the most exclusive neighborhood in Atlanta. The Circle was a very large gated and private cul-de-sac consisting of three homes: the original Caldwell home, where Martha Lee lived, and two smaller homes on either side. Ruthie and Brooks’s home was on the right and his paternal aunt and her fifth husband lived to the left. Only they were never home. They, as Martha Lee said, “traveled.”
Martha Lee liked to point out that the Caldwell family had lived on the Circle for over a hundred years. The original Caldwell, a financier from North Carolina, had settled there in 1898 on a 250-acre tract. Now, the Circle was all that was left of the original Caldwell land.
It was a lovely place to live, with exquisite landscaping and beautiful trees surrounding each home. The problem for Ruthie was that although other homes had been built around it, she felt isolated from the rest of the world. Brooks had been the buffer between herself and Martha Lee. But now that Brooks was gone, Martha Lee didn’t even pretend to be nice to Ruthie.
With both her children gone, Ruthie felt lonelier than ever. She wished she could have a cat or a dog for some company, but sadly this was out of the question due to Martha Lee’s allergies. She knew she should figure out something to do with her time. She’d tried taking tango lessons, but the instructor gave her the creeps. Ricardo was evidently always on the rove to marry a rich widow, and as soon as she walked in he’d made a beeline for her. Ricardo didn’t know it, but she was not a rich widow. In fact, when Brooks died, she had been surprised to learn just how little money they had left. Their house was mortgaged to the hilt. However, when your name was Caldwell, people just assumed you were wealthy. She was still inundated with requests for donations, and invited to thousand-dollar dinners and five-hundred-dollar luncheons, where she was expected to bid on expensive auction items. Every other call seemed to be someone wanting her to donate something or give money for some charity. She knew Martha Lee would not want it known that any Caldwell had lost most of their money, so she gradually just dropped out of that social circle.
Although she was lonesome, dropping out was in some ways a relief. But she still had a long future in front of her. And filled with what? She was no longer a wife or a mother, both her children were grown and married. So who was she?
She should have finished college. She remembered how much she’d wanted to become an interior designer. She had even taken a theater course in college and had been very good at set decoration. But while she had been busy raising her children, the world had left her behind. Unless you were computer savvy, you didn’t stand a chance at getting a good job. And where modern technology was concerned, Ruthie was still somewhat in the dark ages. Her doctor had prescribed some kind of antidepressant pills, but they gave her anxiety, so she stopped taking them. She would rather feel depressed than anxious.
She was at a crossroads. She either had to turn left or right, or sit in the same old place and wait until it was her time to move on to Briarwood Manor, or, as her father called it, “God’s little waiting room.”
(WHISTLE STOP, ALABAMA’S WEEKLY BULLETIN)
April 28, 1954
BEAUTY SHOP TO CLOSE
Opal Butts tells me that since most of her customers were railroad wives, and so due to a lack of paying customers, she is going to have to close down the beauty shop and move to over to Birmingham. Sign of the times, I guess. I remember when I was growing up, there were thirty or more trains coming through a day, now there are maybe only four or five. Sheriff Grady says it’s partly because people are in too big a hurry to get somewhere and are jumping on airplanes instead of taking the train. As for me, I told Wilbur that I wouldn’t ride up in the air in one of those flying tin cans for all the tea in China.
Idgie Threadgoode says that business is down at the cafe, too. I sure hope she can hang on. What would we do without the cafe? Here’s hoping one of those super-duper highways they’re talking about will come out our way and bring a whole lot of new folks to town.
On a happier note: Idgie tells me that her brother Julian has now moved from Marianna, Florida, to Kissimmee and has purchased a two-acre orange grove. Also heard from Idgie that Buddy Threadgoode is still in the top five of his class at college and plans on becoming a veterinarian. And another little birdie (Peggy’s mother) tells me that wedding bells for Buddy and Peggy might be ringing real soon. As we all know, Buddy did not have a good beginning in life, but it sure looks like he is going to have a happy ending.
As of this week I am running out of news, so if you have any, bring it over. Make it good news if you can. We need all we can get.
…Dot Weems…
P.S. Here IS an interesting post office fact for you: Did you know that up until 1913, children in America could legally be sent by parcel post? Whew. I’m glad I wasn’t a postmistress then!
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
December 2013
THE YOUNGISH WOMAN with slightly pin
k skin and red fuzzy hair quickly adjusted her glasses as she scanned through the contacts file in Mr. Merris’s computer.
A clearly distraught Mr. Merris had just rushed into her office with the news, and ordered her to call Mr. Threadgoode’s daughter “right now” and let her know. Then he’d run back out, leaving her holding the ball. When she reached the names starting with the letter “C,” she suddenly felt a sense of dread. Oh Lord, she wished she’d never taken this job. She’d only been working at Briarwood for three months and already regretted it. If she hadn’t just bought herself a new Toyota hatchback, she would have quit the very first week. The job was just too emotionally draining. She was perfectly fine doing accounting and filling out payroll, but she hated having to deal directly with the families, particularly when she had to be the bearer of bad news. And why did Mr. Merris need her to call the daughter “right now”? Why didn’t he just wait and make the call himself? He was good at it, and was used to it. She wasn’t.
After she found the name and number, she took a deep breath and dialed. She could already feel the perspiration beginning to form on her upper lip. “Oh, please, let it be an answering machine so I can leave a message.” But, unfortunately, after three rings a live person answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Brooks Caldwell?”
“Yes, it is,” said a pleasant voice.
“Uh…Mrs. Caldwell, this is Janice Poole, assistant director at Briarwood Manor. We met the last time you were here, in the reception area….I have red hair?”
“Oh, yes. How are you?”
“Well, um, not so great at the moment. I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid we lost your father this morning.”
“What?…Oh no…”
“Mr. Merris wanted me to call you right away and let you know.”
