The Happy Hour Choir

by Sally Kilpatrick

  I nodded, and he turned to go. My throat was too closed up to speak any more. I glanced at Ginger, but she slept on. Someone rustled behind me, and I knew it was Tiffany because she carried the overwhelming, cloying odor of the florist with her.

  “I can sit here with Miss Ginger,” Tiffany said quietly as she slid her arrangement of flowers onto the windowsill. Now three vases of her practice arrangements sat on the sill, each a riot of color.

  “I think I’ll stay.”

  “Go. You haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.” Tiffany laid a gentle hand on my arm and bumped me with her belly by accident.

  Showing? Already?

  Tamping down an irrational panic, I looked at Tiffany, and she raised her eyebrow and lifted one hand as if to spank me. Motherhood had come naturally to that one. I backed out of the room, but I didn’t really know what to do with myself.

  Luke would tell you to pray.

  Luke can kiss my grits.

  I frowned. Where was Luke anyway? Had I permanently offended him? And why did that thought twist my insides into a bunch when I had no intentions of taking back a word of what I’d said?

  And there I stood in front of the elevator. I pushed the “down” button just as I saw a sign to the chapel. No way was I going to that chapel. Not after what I’d told Luke. But I also had a deep, aching need to keep Ginger close.

  The bell dinged.

  The door opened, but I was on my way down the hall to find the chapel.

  At the end of the hall, I found the tiny, dark room with plain chairs and only one stained glass window. A six-foot rail stretched across the tiny room, and Luke knelt at that rail.

  Dammit. He used to make his hospital visits on Thursdays. He must’ve stopped for a prayer before making his way over to Ginger’s room.

  He took up almost the entire room, and I sucked in a breath. Need, desire, and desperation mixed together.

  Hearing my gasp, he stood.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but optimistic.

  “I, uh, wondered if you wanted to go down and get some lunch.” My shoes were fascinating. The carpet was fascinating. Anything that kept Luke from asking me what I was doing in the chapel was fascinating. But I looked up at him anyway.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” he said with a sad, tired smile. In that smile I saw yet another person in a long line of people I had disappointed. He had hoped I had come there to pray, to redeem myself after all the awful, sacrilegious things I’d said.

  My feet stayed bolted to the floor.

  “I hear they have an extra-salty cream of tomato,” he said. He smiled to rid his face of any remaining disappointment and laid a hand on my shoulder.

  Tears ran down my cheeks hot and fast.

  “Okay, we’ll find something other than cream of tomato. . . .” Luke was no stranger to crying women, but he clearly didn’t like it any more than any other man.

  “Not the soup,” I croaked over the lump in my throat. No, it was the roller coaster of emotions, the belief that I had finally figured out what life was all about—the whys and the hows—only to be slapped down by the reality that I would lose Ginger sooner rather than later.

  “I know.” He folded me into his embrace, and I burrowed into his crisply ironed shirt, drinking in his scent of sandalwood and soap. I had wanted the comfort of his arms from the beginning so I let myself have a really good cry.

  As my sobs subsided, he held me tighter before planting a kiss on the top of my head. I reached up to touch one of the dimples I liked so much, and his smile faded. His eyes lost their twinkle.

  He leaned forward, but I met him halfway. We were desperate for fingers to touch, for lips to meet. His lips were every bit as soft as his hands were callused, and I leaned into him, into the memory of him from the night before. But something had changed. He tore his mouth from mine before either of us could deepen the kiss. He leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. Another woman might think he didn’t want to kiss her, but I could feel, almost touch, how badly he wanted to kiss me.

  “Good to see that the two of you are so concerned about Miss Ginger’s health,” someone said as I touched my fingers to my swollen lips.

  “Miss Lottie.” Luke nodded dismissively, his eyes never leaving mine. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  His tone suggested it was anything but.

  Miss Lottie carried on, oblivious to the steel in his tone of voice. “Bill’s wife told Miss Georgette, who told me that Ginger was in the hospital. I thought I’d stop by for a moment of prayer. That is what this room is for, right? Prayer?”

  And who was to say a heartfelt kiss wasn’t a prayer?

  “It is a place of prayer as well as a place to reflect on minding one’s own business.” He took my arm and led me out of the small chapel. Lottie Miller’s mouth hung open.

  “Beulah, I’m so sorry,” Luke said.

  “You’re sorry?” I hissed. “What are you apologizing for?”

  “For letting my emotions get the best of me in a place like this,” he said. “There’s something about you. I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

  I jerked my arm from his embrace. “So you were kissing me because you felt sorry for me?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “That’s what it sounded like. Am I an embarrassment to you?”

  “No, of course not.” But there was Luke the minister again, carefully choosing the words he would say next. “With my job, though, I have a certain obligation to be beyond reproach. I can’t think only of myself. I have to—”

  “You know what? You’re a horrible liar.” I turned on my heel to head back to Ginger’s room. My stomach growled in protest, but I didn’t want to share a hallway with Luke in that moment, much less a table.

  He grabbed my wrist and twirled me back in front of him. Gone was Luke the minister, and back was Luke, the mortal of the flashing eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Beulah. And don’t project emotions on me that aren’t my own. No, I didn’t want one of my church members to find me kissing you in a chapel, but I did it, and I would do it all over again.”

  “That’s not how you felt before. Do it.” I dared him. “Here. In front of God and everybody.”

  The elevator dinged to announce its arrival, and he let my arm drop.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said softly.

  Fire snapped in those blue eyes, and his hand reached the small of my back before I could gasp. “There’s more to it than you think. Come downstairs and let me explain.”

  I shook my head no and wriggled away from him. He thrust his arm between the elevator doors to keep them from closing.

  “Beulah?” he asked from the elevator, his hand holding the door open as an invitation for me.

  “I’ve heard enough explanations,” I muttered before walking back in the direction of Ginger’s room.

  Chapter 16

  Ginger was awake, but pain pinched her face into new wrinkles. I sat on the side of the bed and held her hand. I resisted the urge to bring my fingers to my lips, and, if she had deduced my latest little scandal, she wasn’t saying anything. She had Jerry Springer on, but the TV was muted as always. She had long maintained that the best way to watch daytime TV was without sound. Unfortunately, I was beginning to feel I was better suited to appearing on an episode of Springer than to real life.

  “Beulah, we need to talk.”

  No French toast to soften the blow this time.

  I didn’t say anything, and she squeezed my hand. “I’m serious. The more I think about it, the more there is to tell you. Especially now that we’ve inherited Tiffany.”

  I took a deep breath. “If I listen to what you have to say, promise me that you won’t up and die because you’ve told me everything you think you need to?”

  Ginger chuckled. “I never get tired of telling you what to do, Beulah. It’s one of my greatest joys in life. I’m not going anywhere yet, but I thought a heart attack
was taking me home.”

  Home. Ginger considers heaven to be home.

  “First, I had to spend a little bit of your inheritance—”

  “What inheritance? What are you talking about, Ginger?”

  “Your inheritance, Beulah. It’s not like I have a bunch of cats and need to establish a trust fund for them—the house and all of my money is going to you.”

  What money? I thought of all of the bills and tanks of gas I’d paid for during Ginger’s first round of chemo—not that she was with-it enough to know what I was doing.

  It took a couple of tries before I could get out the words. “Ginger, I don’t need your money. You need to spend your money on you.”

  “Beulah, I’m too old and sick to go gallivanting around the world or to buy fancy cars. I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted and then some. There are some bank accounts I didn’t tell you about before, but I cleaned out one of them to pay Luke back for your little trip to the emergency room.”

  My heart landed at my toes. I had been waiting for them to send the bill in the mail before officially worrying. “Ginger, I’m so sorry about that.”

  Ginger waved away my concern then winced at the pain such motion caused. “Don’t worry about that, but can’t you see you need a real job? One with health insurance? The time for playing around is over. I made you graduate from high school for a reason, you know. And that’s where my life insurance policy comes in.”

  “Your what?”

  “When I thought I might have a baby of my own, I bought a life insurance policy, one of those that you keep. I kept paying into it because I didn’t need that much money, I guess. I got a statement that I’d paid up right after you started living with me and thought it’d be a good way for you to go to college. It seems I underestimated both your stubbornness and my longevity,” she sniffed.

  “But—”

  “There’s over a hundred thousand in there. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Cohen over at the Farm Bureau. The policy’s in the lock box. He’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “There should be enough for both you and Tiffany to get started at the community college. She won’t be able to play softball, but I think she’ll be okay with that, don’t you?”

  “Ye-yes.” This was a surreal conversation, one that brought tears. Some were tears of sadness at the thought of losing Ginger; others were tears of gratitude.

  Ginger pointed to the box of tissues on the table by her bed. “Oh, quit blubbering, Beulah. You’re going to get me started, and it’s just plain silly. I’ve lived a long, long life. And if I haven’t taught you how to make it in the world by now, then it can’t be done.”

  I grabbed a tissue, blew my nose, and nodded to show I was on board.

  “All right. I already told you I don’t want an open casket visitation. You remember that. Everything should be paid for because I went to see Mr. Anderson a few weeks ago and prepaid. There may be shysters in the mortuary business, but Declan Anderson is not one of them.”

  “But, Ginger—”

  “It’s done. And paid for. There are some advantages to living alone frugally for most of your life. Now, the house.” Ginger yawned. “When I’m gone, you can do with it as you please, but you’re going to have to do something about the nursery.”

  I closed my eyes to the memory of my recent disastrous attempt to reconcile with the nursery.

  “Tiffany wants to redecorate a little, and you’re not going to let her lift anything heavy, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “And if she decides she wants to paint the room, you’re not going to let a pregnant woman paint and breathe in all those fumes, are you?”

  “But—”

  “I know you painted that room, but we didn’t know any better. Now, are you going to let Tiffany paint?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Ginger took one of my hands into two of hers. “It’s a room, Beulah, just a room. Sooner or later, you have to go into that room and make peace with what happened there.”

  I nodded my head affirmatively, even though I had no intentions of doing what Ginger suggested.

  “That’s enough for now,” she said. She lay back on her bed and waved one hand at me as though dismissing me from her royal presence. “Everything else I’m going to write out for you, but I wanted to lay out the important stuff. Especially about your hospital bill, because I knew it would eat at you once it came in the mail.”

  She settled into the pillow and closed her eyes. I didn’t want her to go to sleep. I had the oddest urge to shake her by the shoulders until she woke up and stayed awake, because if she went to sleep she might die. And I wasn’t ready for that, no matter how much money Ginger had stashed away.

  She opened one eye. “Beulah, it’s creepy having someone watch you while you’re sleeping. Go downstairs and get yourself a Coke. Read the paper. Do something.”

  I backed out of the door against my will. Why couldn’t I do something? For that matter, why couldn’t I take the cancer instead of Ginger? I was younger, stronger, almost as stubborn. If anyone deserved cancer, it was me. I was the bad person here, the person who got pregnant at sixteen, the person who refused to pray, and the person who played hymns in a honky-tonk. Ginger didn’t deserve cancer; she deserved a cabana boy who looked like a young Tom Selleck to feed her grapes by the pool while he massaged her feet. She gave and gave. And she got cancer in return? It wasn’t fair.

  I tamped down that familiar feeling of injustice and took the elevator downstairs to find a Coke and a paper. I knew Ginger would get a kick out of the celebrity magazines, so I picked up a couple of those, too. On impulse, I picked up a Milky Way, her favorite candy bar.

  At the register, my fingers reached out to touch a necklace with a cardinal pendant. I turned it over to see it was still twenty dollars, even on sale.

  Ginger does love her cardinals.

  “Do you want the necklace, too?” the cashier asked, but I jerked my fingers away and quickly shook my head. Jewelry was frivolous, and old habits died hard.

  “I’ll take it, though.”

  His familiar voice rumbled through me. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to throw myself into his arms or run like hell. Another Coke appeared on the counter beside mine. “In fact, this purchase is on me.”

  “Luke, you don’t have to do that.” I wheeled around. After all, I’m freaking rich, apparently. Rich enough to go to college just as soon as the nicest old lady in the history of man dies of a ridiculously horrible disease.

  “Beulah, you’ve got the frantic eyes again. Let me get this one.”

  “Frantic eyes?” He reached around me, and my traitorous body almost swayed into him.

  “Come on,” he said as he grabbed the paper and the little white bag with one hand then guided my shoulder with the other. He led me to a sunny seating area just inside the hospital’s main entrance and took a seat across from me.

  We each took a Coke and popped the top.

  “I wanted to apologize for earlier today. And for last night,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. Either time.” He studied the Coke can as though he’d taken a sip only to discover it wasn’t what he wanted after all.

  Apologize?

  “So, you are embarrassed to be seen with me.” It should have been anger bubbling up, but instead despair pulled me down. Not that I was about to let him see that.

  He slammed the Coke down too hard, and some fizzed over the top. “No, I was not embarrassed. I was taking advantage of you, and that isn’t right.”

  “Taking advantage of me?” I wish that was how being taken advantage of felt. Luke had no idea.

  He ran a hand through that glossy black hair, and it all fell right back where it was supposed to be. What I would give to see it mussed just once. “Look, you turned to me for comfort, and I knew you were hurting. And I took advantage of that. And I’m sorry. And it won’t happen again.”

&
nbsp; I had walked away. And now that he had taken the hint, I realized I had wanted him to follow me. No way to fix that now. “Apology accepted. I’m sorry I taunted you.”

  He nodded his acceptance. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

  He handed me the paper, then held up the necklace. “Need help with the clasp?”

  “I was getting it for Ginger,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel.

  “Of course,” he said with a tight smile as he let the necklace spill into my cupped hand. I wondered if he wanted to stand behind me and fasten the necklace as badly as I wanted him to. Maybe so, but he quickly drew his hand back instead.

  “Well, I still need to see Miss Ginger,” he said. I had already run into him by accident twice. He was giving me the chance to avoid him this time.

  “Thanks for the necklace . . . and everything else.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stood reluctantly, but collected himself and walked briskly down the hall. In his odd Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine, Luke the minister had squelched Luke the man. Only, Luke the man was certainly not the monster he seemed to think he was.

  I stretched out the chain of the necklace. Both chain and pendant were nothing special—some type of cheap gold plating. Still, the extra-fat cardinal reminded me of the one outside our window, and I wondered if Ginger would remember him.

  He bought it for you.

  So he had, but I couldn’t put on a necklace I’d intended for Ginger, not even for the brush of his fingertips against the nape of my neck.

  They released Ginger a couple of days after they admitted her. We all knew it was too soon, but Ginger was ready to escape the hospital, so I pulled the car around and waited while Tiffany and a nurse eased Ginger into the front seat. I noticed her new necklace had left a yellowish-green stain around her neck, but she refused to take it off.

  “You know,” Ginger said with a twinkle in her eye, “I believe I’m actually hungry. Beulah, you think we can swing by Burger Paradise on the way home, maybe give Tiffany something to check off her list?”