“Oh my. I’d forgotten that nickname,” Chenille said. “I’m going to have to get accustomed to being in a quaint country town again.”
“Bible Grove is hardly the big city,” Chiffon said.
“True, but it’s a suburb of Greenville, so it’s much more cosmopolitan than Cayboo Creek.” Chenille loosened her poncho. “In fact, we got a Starbucks this fall. It’s two blocks from where I live.”
“Impressive,” Chiffon said.
The sisters fell into an uncomfortable silence, both thinking the same thing: If their first interactions were a forecast of the rest of their visit, it was going to be a long two weeks.
Chiffon glanced over at the dog, hoping he’d serve as a topic of conversation. “Can I take Walt’s coat?” she asked.
“Oh no, he should wear it. He’s sensitive to drafts.” Chenille paused. “And he prefers to be called Walter.”
“I see,” Chiffon said, wondering how Chenille could possibly know how her pet liked to be addressed.
Chenille glanced around the living room. “Did you know this is the first time I’ve ever been in your house? We’ve always had our gatherings at Mother’s. Where is Mother, by the way?”
“She went to the Quick Curb for some milk. She’ll be back in a minute,” Chiffon said, jiggling her good foot. Wanda’s absence made things even more awkward. The two sisters had rarely spent time alone.
As if on cue, Wanda bustled through the front door carrying a grocery bag. “Chenille! Thank God you’re here! I was going stark raving mad.” She dumped the bag on the coffee table. “Here’s that milk, Chiffon. Chenille, you’re looking kind of scrawny. Maybe you can share your diet secrets with Miss Piggy over here.” She put her pocketbook on her arm. “Chenille, I’ll let you take over. I’ve got all kinds of packing to catch up on. This accident of Chiffon’s has put me way behind. I’ll call you before I leave. Goodbye, girls.”
Twelve
Until you walk a mile in another man’s moccasins, you can’t imagine the smell.
~ Message in a fortune cookie at Dun Woo’s House of Noodles
Chenille stood shivering in her bathrobe watching Walter lift his leg to an azalea bush. It was four a.m., and the frozen ground crunched beneath her bedroom slippers.
“Come on, sweetie,” Chenille coaxed. “Don’t dillydally. Mama’s freezing.” Walter shot her an indignant look as she tugged on his leash.
Ever since she’d arrived at Chiffon’s house, Walter’s schedule had gone haywire. Three nights in a row he’d roused her in the middle of the night, demanding to be let out for his morning constitutional. She’d tried reasoning with him, patiently explaining that it was too dark and cold to go outside, but Walter would have none of it. He’d stand over her, his hot breath in her face, until she pulled back the bedcovers on the rollaway bed and placed her feet on the cold floorboards of the living room.
Dragging a reluctant Walter inside, she put on water for her sugar-free hot cocoa. Walter’s early-morning forays were the least of her worries. Yesterday she’d attempted to throw a supper together for everyone, but when she opened Chiffon’s refrigerator, it was no cooler than a breadbasket. When she suggested calling a repairman, Chiffon acted as if she’d proposed a trip to China.
“How am I going to pay him?” she’d said flippantly. “With my good looks?”
Chenille ran out to the grocery store and purchased three Styrofoam coolers, along with several ice bags to prevent the contents of the refrigerator from spoiling. Then she prepared a hasty supper of pizza topped with sprouts, kale, and zucchini. Surprisingly, the children failed to appreciate her efforts. Dewitt said the sprouts looked like worms, and Emily scarcely ate a bite. Chenille was surprised. She’d assumed all small children liked pizza.
After dinner, she’d talked with her sister and learned that Chiffon was down to her last dime. And since she wouldn’t be waiting tables until her ankle healed, it would be a long time before there were any household funds. Chenille promptly went to the phone to discuss Chiffon’s situation with Wanda and discovered the line was dead.
“I’m not surprised,” Chiffon said. “It looks like Lonnie forgot to pay the bills last month.”
Chenille was horrified. How could a man abandon his responsibilities to his family? And how had her sister put up with him for so long? She’d expected Chiffon to share her outrage, but instead of anger, her sister’s primary emotion was nostalgia. She sat for hours on the couch, poring over her wedding photo album and listening to weepy country songs.
Chenille insisted on going through Lonnie’s desk, hoping to unearth a passbook savings account or other evidence of hidden funds, but all she found were a tangle of fishing lures, back issues of American Cooner, and a plaque honoring him as the first-place winner of a dart championship at the Tuff Luck Tavern.
She’d left the desk in frustration and proceeded to paw through Lonnie’s dresser drawers. She blushed as she discovered several pairs of novelty briefs printed with suggestive phrases such as “hot stuff,” “Energizer bunny,” and “oversize load.” She also ran across a bottle of blue liquid called Wet Passion Lube. Just as she was about to slam the drawer shut in embarrassment, her hand touched a stack of papers.
Pay dirt! The papers were money orders made out to utility companies and other creditors. When Chenille had shown them to her sister, she smiled vaguely. “I knew he wouldn’t leave us high and dry. He just forgot to pay the bills again.”
Chenille had spent the next day making rounds to all of her sister’s creditors, distributing the money orders. Out of her own pocket, she paid reconnection fees so the satellite dish and phone were turned back on. She also paid to have a repairman from Whirlpool come and fix Chiffon’s refrigerator. Once the phone was working, Chenille called her mother and began to describe Chiffon’s dire circumstances.
“I know all about it,” Wanda said. “But I can’t deal with Chiffon right now. I’m leaving on my trip tomorrow. Drive her to Family Services to see if they can help her any.”
Chenille knew she couldn’t foot Chiffon’s expenses indefinitely. She’d accumulated some savings over her teaching career, but she had her own bills to pay, and she wouldn’t be able to look for another position until Chiffon’s ankle was better.
When she’d brought up the possibility of contacting Family Services, Chiffon was insulted.
“I refuse to go on the dole,” Chiffon said, her blue eyes flashing. “There’s my pride to consider.”
When Chenille had gently mentioned that pride wouldn’t put Similac in Gabby’s bottle, Chiffon picked up the phone and called the classified department of the Cayboo Creek Crier. She placed an ad offering for sale a pool table, guns with rack, a bass boat, two purebred Labrador retrievers, and three all-terrain vehicles.
“Bravo!” Chenille said after her sister got off the phone. “You’re selling all of Lonnie’s things instead of your own. It’s exactly what he deserves.”
Chiffon shot her a strange look. “I’m selling his stuff because I don’t have anything that’s worth any money.” She’d glanced down at her hand. “Except my wedding rings. But I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that the stone’s cubic zirconium.”
That was yesterday. Chenille tutted to herself as she rinsed out her cocoa cup. Clearly Lonnie was the type of man who blew all his money on himself, leaving his family with thrift-shop clothing and tattered furniture. Thankfully, the ad would come out in the paper today, and maybe Chiffon could raise some cash soon.
Since Walter had awakened her so early, Chenille decided she would use the time to organize her sister’s kitchen. When she’d first seen the interior of Chiffon’s home, she’d been shocked by the disorder she’d encountered in the grim little rooms. Dust bunnies huddled under the furniture, and piles of dirty clothes towered in the corners. Chenille couldn’t take a step without flattening s
ome cheap plastic toy.
Initially she’d raised an eyebrow at Chiffon’s utter disregard for housekeeping, but after a day or two of living with her sister, she realized how taxing it was to stay ahead of the children’s messes and to keep things tidy in such a cramped space. Still, the rooms didn’t have to be nearly as chaotic as they were, and during her stay, Chenille was determined to bring some organization to the household.
She’d been sorting through a jumble of condiments, wondering why on earth Chiffon needed over thirteen bottles of barbecue sauce, when the mistress of the house limped into the kitchen with Gabby clutched to her breast.
“Coffee. Hot. Now,” she mumbled.
“It’s perking, Chiffon,” Chenille said. “Why not have a glass of warm milk while you wait? I’ve heated some on the stove for the children.”
Chiffon gaped at Chenille as if she’d suggested a mug of mud. Then she hobbled into the living room, the tie to her leopard-print robe trailing behind her.
There’s nothing wrong with a bit of warm milk. Certainly it had to be healthier than the three cups of coffee loaded with cream and sugar that Chiffon downed every morning. And why did all of her sister’s sleeping garments look as if they came directly from a harlot’s trunk? Last night when the Weather Channel predicted a frost, Chenille offered to lend Chiffon her nicest full-length flannel nightgown, but she’d snorted at the suggestion.
Chenille appraised a row of salad dressings on the counter, each with an inch of sludge-like liquid in the bottom. She thought about asking Chiffon permission to toss them, but her sister wasn’t civil until she’d gotten her caffeine fix and her dose of “Good Morning, America.”
“Executive decision,” she whispered to herself as she tossed the bottles into the trash can.
The children were up by this time. They loped to the kitchen table in their pajamas, and Chenille placed a soft-boiled egg and a cup of warm milk at each of their places.
“Where’s my Frostees?” Dewitt asked with alarm.
“I thought an egg would be a nice change of pace,” Chenille said breezily. “All that refined sugar in the morning isn’t good for young tummies.”
Dewitt poked at the egg with his fork, releasing the liquid yolk. “It’s bleeding! My breakfast is bleeding!” he wailed.
Emily, who was normally a pleasant and accommodating child, took a sip of her milk and immediately made a sour face. “Something’s very wrong,” she said ominously. “This milk is warm.”
“European children always drink warm milk. It’s quite healthful,” Chenille said.
“I don’t want to be ‘pean,’” Dewitt whimpered.
Noticing the ruckus, Chiffon clomped over to the table with her crutches. “What are y’all whining about?” She glanced at the children’s plates. “Chenille, what is this mess?”
“It’s breakfast,” Chenille said. “A healthy breakfast without unnecessary additives and fillers.”
Chiffon sighed loudly. “Hand me a couple of bowls and the bag of Frootees.”
“Do you know what this cereal will do to their blood sugar levels?” Chenille said.
“Give me the flipping Frootees,” Chiffon said darkly.
Chenille was still stinging from the breakfast debacle long after the children had tramped off to school. When Chiffon asked her to look after Gabby while she went out for an hour or so, she had a hard time keeping the hurt out of her voice.
“Go along,” she said with a weak wave of her hand. “Gabby and I will manage.”
If Chiffon noticed her distress, she ignored it. She was much too busy shellacking her hair with White Rain.
“I promised Elizabeth and some of the others that I’d come to this meeting,” Chiffon said, shielding her eyes from the hair spray. “We’re trying to raise funds for the Senior Center.”
Chenille’s ears perked with interest. She’d never thought of Chiffon as a civic-minded individual.
“I just hope there’ll be some decent chow,” Chiffon said with a smack of her freshly glossed lips.
“Did you want me to drive you?” Chenille asked.
“Nope. Mavis is picking me up. The meeting’s at Elizabeth’s house and the number’s by the phone. Wake up Gabby if she’s still asleep in an hour from now.”
Chiffon, wearing a rabbit coat with several bald spots, looked out the front window. Chenille imagined how much smarter her sister would look if she borrowed her wool navy pea coat, but she knew better than to suggest it.
“Here’s Mavis. I’ll be back soon,” Chiffon said. She slung her pocketbook over her shoulder and treaded out the door in a cloud of imposter Obsession perfume.
Chenille was grateful to have the entire house to herself. It was a relief to enjoy some solitude, plus it gave her the opportunity to indulge in her favorite diversion. She unearthed the TV clicker from the sofa cushions and started searching for Law and Order episodes. Ever since she’d arrived at her sister’s house, she’d been forced to go cold turkey with her television habits.
Luck was with her. She sighed with pleasure when she found an episode featuring Benjamin Bratt as Detective Rey Curtis. He was so smooth and suave. When he squinted into the camera, Chenille felt the gooseflesh rise on her arms. Just as she’d settled in, the phone rang. Halfheartedly, she rose from the couch, her eyes still on the TV screen.
“Hello,” she said distractedly.
“Morning,” a male voice said. “Are you the folks with the bass boat for sale?”
The call turned out to be the first of many. For the rest of the morning, Chenille was forced to field questions regarding the items her sister had up for sale.
“What kind of bilge pump is on the bass boat?” “Do you know the model year of the ATVs?” “Have the Labradors been dewormed?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know the answer to that question,” Chenille kept saying. “I’ll have to let my sister call you back.”
By noon she’d taken fifteen phone messages and had completely missed her television show. During a lull in the calls, she had time to wake and feed Gabby and to make an avocado salad.
After putting Gabby in the playpen, she sat down at the kitchen table and was poised to take a bite of salad when the phone rang again.
“Oh dear,” Chenille murmured as she went to answer it.
“Is this Mrs. Butrell?”
“No, she’s out. Can I take a message?”
“But there is indeed a Mrs. Butrell? Married to Lonnie Butrell?”
“Yes, that’s right, and as I said—”
“Who’s speaking?”
“This is Mrs. Butrell’s sister, Chenille Grace. Listen, I’ve just sat down for a nibble—”
“Ms. Grace. This is Heidi Conner, a reporter from People magazine. I want to make sure I have my facts straight. Lonnie Butrell, Janie-Lynn Lauren’s new boyfriend, is he a married man?”
“He most certainly is,” Chenille said in a piqued voice. “Not only is he married, he also has three children. One’s still in diapers.”
“Is that so? Tell me, Ms. Grace, how does Lonnie’s wife feel about her husband having a very public affair with Ms. Lauren?”
“She’s barely gone out of the house since it happened. Not that she gets around that well since she sprained her ankle.”
“Mrs. Butrell has a sprained ankle?” the reporter asked.
“Yes, she was so upset about Lonnie and his dalliance with Janie-Lynn Lauren that she slipped on a puddle of Wesson oil in the grocery store. Now she can’t work as a waitress at the Chat ‘N’ Chew anymore. She’s selling Lonnie’s things just to pay the bills.”
The reporter gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Butrell isn’t providing for his family?”
“Heavens no! He had his paycheck forwarded to California, and he hasn’t sent Ch
iffon a penny. He’s left the whole family to starve.”
“That’s shocking! Tell me, Ms. Grace, is ‘Chenille’ spelled like the fabric?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Is this going to be in the magazine?”
“Most likely. And ‘Chiffon,’ is that spelled like the fabric as well?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t suppose you have a brother named Cashmere?” The woman laughed at her own joke.
“I didn’t realize this was going to be printed.” It occurred to Chenille that Chiffon might not want her personal business plastered on the pages of a magazine.
“I did say I was with People, Ms. Grace.”
“I know, but my sister has a lot of pride, and I’m afraid—”
“Ms. Grace, don’t you think Mr. Butrell should be held accountable for what he’s done?”
“Of course, but I’m just worried—”
What was she worried about? So Chiffon might get a little upset that Chenille talked about her plight with People magazine. Chenille was only telling the truth. Lonnie deserved to pay for all the pain he’d caused her sister. Maybe for once in his life he’d feel ashamed of himself.
“You’re right, Ms. Conner. Lonnie’s made his bed. Now he should lie in it.”
Thirteen
If our food and drink don’t meet your standards,
please lower your standards.
~ Sign outside the Chat ‘N’ Chew
Chiffon stared out the window of Mavis’s Chevy Lumina as it glided down Main Street. Jerry, from the Stuff and Mount Taxidermy Shop, shivered outside his door as he pulled on a cigarette, the smoke mingling with the condensation from his breath. A pair of old ladies tottered out of the Dazzling Do’s, clutching each other so they wouldn’t slip on patches of ice. Their hair color was the same steel blue as the sky above.
A Dollar Short (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 2) Page 9
