By Invitation Only

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “That’s funny,” Floyd said.

  “I don’t think our kitchen’s ever been dirty—like, the oven looks brand-new,” Shelby continued. “This is so different. We’re all here and pitching in, you know, like a real family on television.”

  “Babe, those people are actors,” Fred said.

  “You know what I mean,” Shelby said. “Like Modern Family!”

  “I’m just going to take that as a compliment,” I said and smiled. And, I thought, I’ll take it as a win also.

  I noticed Ann putting a healthy tablespoon of my peach jam on her biscuit, then proceeding to devour it in one bite. She was telling me about her recent promotion.

  “Good, huh?” I said.

  “Uh, yeah. You know, Aunt Diane,” Ann said, “my new job is all about making sure that our customers know we are environmentally responsible with things like palm oil and so forth. But there is an acquisitions department. There’s no jam like this on our product list. It’s like a live peach is in your mouth. Not too sweet. Not too tart.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” I said. “You grew up eating this jam.”

  “Well, I don’t remember it being this good. I’ll bet they’d love to buy this recipe,” she said.

  “It’s not for sale,” Mom said.

  “Oh, Ann, it’s just the same old jam Momma’s momma taught her how to make.”

  “Aunt Diane, it’s really special.”

  “Well, thanks, sweetie. I’ll give you a jar to take home.”

  “And strawberry. Give one to Shelby too!” my mother said.

  Shelby’s stock was on the rise with my mother. And me.

  All through dinner we made small talk and I kept looking at Alden’s lush poinsettia on the table, sitting right next to the sweet little one BJ bought. All I could think about was Alden and Betsy sitting by a fire, feeding bits of prime rib and mashed potatoes to each other and them sipping some rare and expensive red wine, cooing at each other, and God only knows what they’d do after dinner. She’d probably show him the sexy see-through nightie she bought for their cruise and he’d probably tell her she didn’t need it, that she drove him wild without any props. It was like a giant pill was sitting on the back of my tongue that refused to go down or to melt.

  And poor BJ was surely not having her best Christmas either. I’d call her later.

  As we cleaned up, I couldn’t help but notice that Shelby and Fred were having a lot of fun just drying glasses, holding goblets up to the light and inspecting them. I was looking right into the face of love and the face of my son’s future. I felt heartened then that their love was solid. They would have a good marriage.

  After the dinner dishes were washed and everything was put away, we all moved over to the big house for coffee and dessert. The trailer felt overcrowded. I carried the fruitcake and Kathy had the other tins of the same things we made every single year.

  Kathy said, “Miss Virnell? Can I help you cut the cake?”

  “Why, yes, Kathy. That would be lovely. My legs are telling me to rest.”

  “I’ll make us a pot of coffee,” I said. “Mom, why don’t you go sit with Fred and the others? I’m afraid they’ll be gone before we know it. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “I think I will. Thank you,” Mom said and left us there.

  We took out plates, cups and saucers, dessert forks, and teaspoons and lined them up on the table. I got the creamer from the refrigerator, the sugar bowl from the cupboard, and popped open the tins of rum balls and sands.

  “She’s so sad,” I said.

  “Can you blame her? First she loses her husband of sixty years on Thanksgiving Day and then she gets to think about her own mortality on Christmas. The end’s not easy.”

  “No. It really isn’t. But I have to say, she’s been a trouper.”

  “Because that’s who she really is.”

  “It’s true.”

  The coffee began to drip, filling the air with its robust fragrance.

  “Juan Valdez is in the house,” I said. “Don’t you wish coffee tasted as good as it smells?”

  “Yes, I sure do,” Kathy said. “So what did you think about Alden coming by?”

  She sliced the fruitcake in thin pieces and put them on the plates.

  “I’m glad he didn’t see us moaning and groaning—well, except for Mom’s little breakdown, which I don’t blame her for one bit. He’s a thoughtful man.”

  “Two sands and two rum balls for each plate?”

  “That’s plenty. There’s more if anyone wants it. Seems like every year we always make too much.”

  “Send it home with the kids.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  “Alden’s still in love with you,” she said. “And you’ve still got it going on for him, but I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

  She made me laugh.

  “I love how you keep your mouth shut.”

  “It’s just my opinion . . .”

  “But you’re keeping it to yourself?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  When the coffee was finished dripping we put everything on two trays and carried them to the dining room. Floyd was seated in Pop’s chair. I liked that he was assuming a leadership position, if that was what he meant by sitting there. It would make Mom feel more secure. It was interesting how one small detail, like taking your father’s chair, could change a whole landscape.

  “Here we go,” I said, putting down the tray to rest. “Everyone, help yourself, okay?”

  “I sneaked a rum ball in the kitchen, Miss Virnell. I believe they’re even better than last year’s.”

  “Well, thank you, Kathy,” Mom said.

  “I’ve never had a rum ball,” Shelby said. “Or fruitcake. Isn’t fruitcake supposed to be, um, disgusting?”

  “That’s a good one!” Floyd said.

  “You tell us,” I said.

  She had put herself under a magnifying glass and we all waited until she took a bite.

  “Go ahead,” Fred said. “Eat the darn thing. It won’t kill you.”

  She cut a bite with the side of her fork and held it up to inspect it, as if it might or might not be poison. Then she smelled it.

  “Go on, child!” Mom said. “Eat it!”

  She closed her eyes and put the fork in her mouth. Her eyes opened and she began to chew enthusiastically, taking another bite.

  “No more calls!” Floyd said with a hearty laugh. “We have another convert!”

  “It’s, like, totally amazing!” she said. “Poor little cake! Why do people say such terrible things about you?”

  “Because it’s not my fruitcake they’re eating,” I said.

  “Can you show me how to make it?” she said.

  Alert the press! I thought. The first millennial in the short history of millennials has bowed to a baby boomer.

  “And who taught you how to make it in the first place?” Mom said.

  “You did, Mom,” I said and turned to Shelby. “Of course. I’d be thrilled to show you. Come visit next October and we can make them together.”

  “This cake is from October?” Shelby said, feigning a gag.

  Ann laughed and said, “It keeps like some of the stuff we make!”

  “That stuff ain’t food,” Floyd said.

  “Tell America that,” Ann said. “We sell mountains of it.”

  “I happen to love the cookies!” Shelby said.

  “It’s just business,” Fred said.

  “You keep it wrapped in brandy-soaked cheesecloth, in the freezer,” I said.

  “But long expiration dates are a good idea for certain things,” Floyd said. “Like what you put in your bugout bag.”

  “What is this bugout bag thing, Uncle Floyd?” Shelby said, calling Floyd uncle, which made Kathy shoot me a look and Mom gasp.

  Here we go, I thought.

  “Well, Christmas Day probably isn’t the time to talk about doom and gloom, but I’ll give you the gist of the theory.”


  “Shouldn’t this wait until after the wedding, Uncle Floyd? You could scare her out of marrying me.”

  Fred was being pleasant and teasing his uncle, but I could see he was serious.

  “Don’t mind him, Shelby. When the trouble starts, he’ll be glad I’m prepared.”

  “What trouble?” Shelby said. “What am I missing?”

  Ann jumped in. “My dad thinks the end of the world is around the corner.”

  “He just wants to take care of his family in case something terrible happens,” Mom said, defending him.

  “Like what?” Shelby said. “A hurricane?”

  “Yes!” Floyd said. “Hurricanes are treacherous. Rising water, high winds. They can blow you to kingdom come. But what I worry about most is the grid.”

  “The grid?” Shelby said.

  “Power. Last time we had a big hurricane we lost power for a week. Remember Katrina? All those poor people on life support with no generator? I just want to be prepared, that’s all.”

  “What’s the matter with that?” Shelby said. “Seems like a good idea to me.”

  “The problem here,” I said, “is not that he bought BJ a bugout bag, it’s that he bought her a bugout bag for Christmas. That’s the problem, dear brother. To you, a bugout bag is essential. It’s not a gift. You couldn’t buy her perfume?”

  “Wait a minute,” Floyd said. “The bag I put together for BJ is the most deluxe version there is. For example, she didn’t just get a water bottle, it was a thirty-ounce Yeti for fifty-three dollars. I paid full price.”

  “That must’ve damn near killed you,” I said.

  Fred said to Shelby, “We pride ourselves on never paying full price for anything. Ever.”

  “Being thrifty is a virtue,” Mom said.

  “Anyway, to your question, Shelby, a bugout bag is like a survival kit. Let’s say lightning strikes and the house burns to the ground.”

  “Hush! The devil will hear you!” Mom said. “He doesn’t need any more ideas!”

  Shelby giggled and Floyd shook his head.

  He continued, “A bugout bag, if it’s thoughtfully put together, can ensure your survival in almost any situation, except nuclear war, of course.”

  “Oh,” Shelby said.

  “Mine has a tent, a tarp for the ground in case it’s wet, a portable stove, a pot with a top, a frying pan, a hunting knife . . .”

  “Mrs. Stiftel?” Shelby turned to me.

  “Yes?”

  Floyd kept going. “Protein bars, a rain poncho, convertible pants, underwear, wool hiking socks, a wool blanket, a first aid kit, all-purpose soap, toilet paper, a towel, a toothbrush, a mirror, a machete, a headlamp, and a lot of other stuff.”

  “A machete? A headlamp? Really? If your son gave me any of that stuff for Christmas, I think I’d run away too,” Shelby said.

  “You ladies would be awfully sorry if you needed it and you didn’t have it,” Floyd said.

  “Perhaps, but that’s not the point,” I said and smiled.

  “Aunt Diane is saying,” Ann said, “that it’s just not what every girl wants for Christmas.”

  “At all,” Shelby said.

  “Ever,” I added for good measure.

  “Women,” Floyd said. “I even bought her a small generator.”

  “Well, brother? You can’t please them all.”

  “Shelby? Come with me for a minute,” Gram said.

  I followed them to Gram’s bedroom. Gram’s mahogany spindle spool double bed, which she slept in with Pop for all those years, had belonged to her mother. The end tables were from Sear’s, the year she and Pop married. It was probably time to change her wallpaper because it was so outdated and yellowed with age. But when I was a little girl I thought it was so pretty.

  “Sit here on the side of my bed, sweetheart,” she said to her. “The best Christmas gift you could’ve given me is bringing my grandson home to me. I just want to thank you for that.”

  Shelby sat down and I began pulling Mom’s shades down for the night. Mom went into her chest of drawers and dug around for a minute. Finally she took out something wrapped in tissue paper and sat on the bed next to Shelby.

  “Now, this belonged to my grandmother and I want you to have it for your wedding day.”

  Shelby unfolded the paper to find a simple but beautiful linen handkerchief edged in blue.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful!” Shelby said.

  “Now you have something old, blue, and borrowed. You just need something new and a penny for your shoe!”

  “Oh, Mrs. English! That’s so sweet! Thank you!”

  “Don’t lose it. We’ll need it in case Ann or Stephanie ever gets a man. I think it’s too late for Sophie. And, oh, call me Gram.”

  “Gram,” Shelby said. “I have a gram now. This is such a nice feeling.”

  “It’s not too late for Sophie! It’s never too late for love,” I said.

  “Is that a fact?” my mother said. “Hmm. You could’ve fooled me.”

  My mother always has to have the last word.

  Chapter 20

  Diane—On the Way

  “What’s all that white stuff?” Floyd said.

  “The S-word,” Diane said.

  Back in December, in the moment when we opened our Christmas gifts from Fred and Shelby, we couldn’t imagine wearing suede boots lined in shearling. Or using the cashmere scarves and lined leather gloves they sent. They were beautiful, but it was hardly ever cold enough for any of those kinds of clothes. Maybe the scarf, but gloves? We had not worn gloves in ages, except for gardening. Nonetheless, I thanked them profusely and said they would come in handy in Chicago for the wedding. That’s why they had chosen those things for us. My son was so thoughtful, and Shelby was actually turning out to be a sweetheart.

  “Floyd? Do you have a winter coat?”

  “Somewhere,” he said. “Seems like I used to have one anyway.”

  “I’ll help you look,” I said.

  An hour of digging through closets and boxes yielded no fruit. But I did find a wedding gift with a card in a bag for Shelby and Fred from BJ and Floyd. I really needed to call her.

  “Guess I’ll go on L.L.Bean’s Web site and see what they’ve got,” he said.

  “If they have a sale, let me know. And we probably should get something for Mom too.”

  Floyd had decided he was bringing the rehearsal dinner, which was to be held at Shelby and Fred’s small apartment. He was packing barbecue off the bone and shredded, and shrimp and grits, in his big cooler and he was driving. And he was bringing cases of some local craft beer from Palmetto Brewery. Needless to say, he was throwing in five cases of small mason jars to use in place of wineglasses. I would’ve asked him to bring jars of our peach jam for all the guests to take home, but I knew it wouldn’t fly with Susan. She’d see it as mutiny. However, I’d bet she wouldn’t mind us giving away caviar.

  “Palmetto’s got one on draft now called Brassy Blonde. But I still like their amber ale.”

  “I like the pilsner. Maybe you should rent a big SUV, Floyd. That truck of yours has seen better days.”

  “Maybe,” he said, considering my suggestion. “I’ve got points on my Mastercard. I never use them.”

  “Maybe now’s the time,” I said. “Who knows what the roads are like?”

  “You’re probably right. Plus, my tires aren’t great.”

  And he was bringing a case of Double Cross vodka, a very generous wedding gift for Fred and Shelby from his friends who owned the company.

  Shelby was ordering a cake, and I was to arrive in Chicago a few days early to bake corn bread, find hamburger buns, and make enough coleslaw to feed all their guests. Maybe I’d make a few dozen deviled eggs too. Everyone always loved them. Fred did, anyway, and that was reason enough.

  And by the way, when they were with us on Christmas night, Shelby slept in Fred’s room and Fred slept on the sofa. No monkey business in my house, thank you. I knew what went on in Chicago, but that was
their business. Besides, Virnell would have pitched a fit to think that she had condoned or turned a blind eye to her grandson sleeping with his inamorata under her roof before they were married. In any case, I was still giddy over their surprise visit.

  And I was delighted that Sophie and Stephanie were coming to the wedding, and of course, Ann was too. I wondered what was going on with their love lives. I’d make a point of asking them nonchalantly at some point over the wedding weekend.

  So preparations were being made and we were all getting excited. Shelby had her dress and shoes. Fred had rented a tuxedo from Men’s Wearhouse, which made it easy for his groomsmen to rent the same one. Even Floyd rented one, which I thought was very special.

  He said, “I could buy a dark suit, I guess, but then what am I going to do with it later on?”

  “I wonder if they rent tuxedoes in camo?” I said.

  “They do. But very funny, Lady Di. Wait till you see me all spiffed up. Those Chicago women gonna believe James Bond is in town.”

  “If you say so.”

  He whispered in his mysterious spy voice, “Shaken, not stirred.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  I called BJ. “So, BJ, how are you?” I asked.

  “Hey, Diane. I’ll live, I guess.”

  “Well, I just found a wedding gift from you and my brother in a closet for Shelby and Fred. I will be sure to get it to them.”

  “I don’t see Floyd dropping it off at UPS, so thanks,” BJ said.

  “Exactly. So what’s your plan? Are you and Floyd done or is there hope?”

  “No. We’re all done. I just want more than he can give. It’s okay. I’m moving to Atlanta February first to teach first grade at a precious school in Marietta.”

  “Well, you know if you ever need anything . . .” I said.

  “Thanks, Diane, you’re the best.”

  We hung up and I thought to myself, She was too nice for Floyd anyway.

  I’d found a dress at Nordstrom, marked down after Christmas. It wasn’t beige. It was champagne colored, with a sweetheart neck and some sparkle. I’d never owned anything quite so glamorous, because farming didn’t require a black-tie wardrobe. I’d thought of using Rent the Runway, but when I found this dress, I knew I wanted to own it. I showed it to Kathy and she loved it. I asked Susan what color she was wearing.