Rose Gardner 01 - Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes

by Swank, Denise Grover

  I thought he would never reach us. The woman in front of him went on and on about the wonderful pies Momma had made the last few years. I bit my lower lip to keep from telling her those were my pies, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything. Let Momma go out in a pie-blazing glory.

  Joe shook Violet’s hand. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  Violet gave him a curt thank-you, obviously still blaming him for something, the act itself a mystery.

  Joe moved in front of me and allowed the person behind him to approach Violet. Grasping my hand, he said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Rose.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m equally sorry for the other night. Still friends?”

  He was serious. He thought we were friends. Although I knew I shouldn’t, I smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I’m okay.” It was then I realized he was still holding my hand.

  “Are you sure?”

  I turned to the side and put my back to Violet and the person with her. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I glanced to the line of people next to the casket. “They all think I did this, Joe. The whole town thinks I murdered my own Momma. No one will talk to me, they just ignore me. They’re all afraid I’m goin’ to start runnin’ around the room killin’ everyone.” Tears fell down my cheeks and I wiped them off with the back of my free hand.

  “I’m sure they’re not thinkin’ that.”

  “Joe, I heard ‘em.”

  Joe rubbed my arm and to my dismay, I started to cry harder. He leaned over to Violet. “I’m goin’ to take her out to get some air. I’ll bring her right back.”

  Violet didn’t look pleased, but even she had to admit my presence wouldn't be missed.

  Aunt Bessie watched Joe lead me out of the room, her eyes lighting up. The visitors cast sneers in my direction. If lynchings were still legal in Fenton County, I knew there’d be a big public execution tonight, bonfire included.

  Joe led me down a hall and out a back door. The sun had begun to set, hanging close to the horizon, the sky lit up in a pink splendor. We stood in silence, side by side against the brick wall, while I had a good cry. My tears unlocking the dam to my sadness over Momma’s death. When my tears slowed, Joe held up a box of tissues.

  I laughed. “Where did you get those?” I pulled several out and patted my face.

  “I swiped them off a table. Figured you might need some.”

  I blew my nose, the noise interrupting the chirping crickets and slamming car doors. “Momma hated parties.”

  “I guess visitations are kind of like parties.”

  “Momma hated most everythin’. I know I shouldn’t say it, but it’s true.”

  Joe dug the toe of his loafer into the crack of the sidewalk. “Some people think they need to make the newly deceased look like a saint and ignore all the bad parts of them. But I always thought the bad parts were just as much part of them as the good. Nobody’s perfect. We shouldn't try to remember them that way.”

  We stood in silence until Joe said, “I’m sure she didn't hate everything. She loved you and your sister.”

  I twisted my mouth into a sad smile and turned my face toward him. “And there you would be wrong. My Momma hated me.”

  “I’m sure you thought so at times.”

  I faced the sunset, the sun dipping lower, almost touching the earth. I wished I could disappear with it.

  “No, Joe. She did.” Of course, he would want to know why. What mother could possibly hate her child without a reason? But I’d finally found a friend. He said we were friends. I wasn't willing to lose him just yet.

  He waited for an explanation. I sighed and wiped the tears that started to fall again. “I’m not like everyone else. Momma always said I was evil and demon-possessed.”

  “Why on earth would she say that?”

  My breath caught in my throat. The way he studied me made me nervous. I couldn’t tell him. After seeing his compassion, I couldn’t bear to see it replaced with the fear and disgust I saw in everyone else’s eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if she was right,” I said. “If you stick around me long enough, you’ll figure it out too. Just like everyone else does sooner or later.” I grabbed a tissue out of the box and wiped my face.

  Joe’s brow furrowed, like what I said went against the law of gravity. Impossible.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I told him. “I better go back inside before Violet sends out a search party.”

  “I’ll walk you in.”

  I put my hand on his arm.“Thanks, but you know what? You’ve got enough strikes against you, being new in this town. No reason to hurt your social standin’ any more by bein’ seen with me. Good night, Joe.”

  I opened the door and took one last glance at him. He looked like he’d been blindsided. I supposed he had.

  Chapter Six

  I went back to the visitation room and plastered on a smile that said thank you for coming but my heart is breaking. And while the thank you for coming part wasn’t true, the my heart is breaking part was.

  A couple of hours later, my feet ached from standing and my cheeks hurt from smiling but a few stragglers remained. They munched on cookies while trying to determine the size and location of the hole in Momma’s head from the placement of her hat. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl stayed the entire time. They brought bottles of water to Violet because she did so much talking over the course of three and a half hours that she had become hoarse. And me, too, because Aunt Bessie worried that I’d become dehydrated from the slow flow of tears that I couldn't stop.

  Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl were supposed to spend the night with Violet. But Aunt Bessie suggested they stay with me instead.

  “Rose has grown an independent streak,” Violet said in a snippy tone. “She might not let you.”

  I gasped. “Of course, they can stay with me. They can take Momma’s room.”

  We said goodbye in the parking lot, Violet and I giving each other awkward hugs. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl followed me to the house. I pulled into the driveway and gave Joe’s house a mournful glance as I waited for them to get their suitcase from the car.

  “I heard Mr. Williams died a few months ago. Who lives there now?” Aunt Bessie asked, the softness of her voice telling me she knew my look meant something.

  “Joe McAllister.”

  “The young man from tonight?”

  “Yeah, but don't be thinkin’ anythin’ about it, Aunt Bessie. We’re just friends.” My tongue tripped over the word friends and to my chagrin, I felt tears building again. “I never met him before the night Momma was killed.”

  She watched me unlock the door. “Isn’t that deadbolt new? I don't’ remember seein’ it before.”

  I'd forgotten she had the memory of an elephant. “Joe put it in for me when he fixed the broken lock.”

  “Oh?”

  I ignored the question in her voice and flipped on the light. She oohed and awed over the new paint color, finding it perfectly reasonable and logical to paint two days after Momma died, given the circumstances.

  Uncle Earl took their suitcase to the room. I offered to help change the sheets on Momma’s bed, but Aunt Bessie suggested I put on pajamas and make us hot tea instead. I sat at the kitchen table with two cups ready when she entered the kitchen.

  Even though I dressed for bed, I hadn’t taken my hair down. Aunt Bessie stood behind me, taking out the pins, running her fingers through the strands. I closed my eyes, relaxing at the feel of it.

  “Tonight was a long night, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I murmured softly, leaning my head back into her hands.

  “Did Joe say something to upset you tonight?”

  Tears burned my eyes again. “No, if anything he helped me.”

  “Then what made you so upset?”

  “You mean other than the town folk of Henryetta rallying to grab their pitchforks?”

  “Yes, I know there was somethin’ else.” Aunt Bessie was a
hairdresser and knew how to massage someone’s head and make them so relaxed they’d give up their deepest darkest secrets. After only a few minutes in her hands, I was too soothed to care.

  “He said we were friends. He thinks we’re friends, Aunt Bessie.” I said it as if it were declared the eighth wonder of the world.

  “So? Why can’t you be friends?”

  “Because I’m different. You know that.”

  “Your grandmother, my mother, had the gift of sight. She had lots of friends.”

  “But she wasn’t like me. I’m different.”

  “Not so different. Besides, what’s wrong with bein’ different? Sometimes it’s good to stand apart from everyone else.”

  “Momma didn't think so.”

  Aunt Bessie continued rubbing my head for a bit then finally spoke. “Rose, your Momma had a hard life. There’s things about her you don’t know.”

  “That still doesn’t excuse the way she treated me.”

  “No, but sometimes if we understand why someone does what they do it helps take the sting of the hurt away.”

  “What about the way she treated Daddy? That wasn't right either.”

  Aunt Bessie sighed and sat down in the chair next to me. “Your daddy wasn't a perfect man. No one is perfect.”

  “That’s what Joe said tonight.”

  She patted my hand. “Then your Joe is a smart man.” She took a sip of her now cooled tea. “Your Daddy did some things that hurt your Momma deeply. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they broke her. Someday, you might want to know what happened, but now isn't the right time. When you’re ready, come to me and I’ll tell you everythin’ I know.”

  I wasn't sure I’d ever want to know, but I nodded and drank my tea.

  The next morning I padded around the kitchen, making breakfast and brewing coffee when Aunt Bessie came in.

  “That living room looks so bright and cheerful in the morning light.”

  I smiled as I turned my head to look at the glow. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Have you thought about where you’ll live now that your Momma is gone?”

  My heart skipped. “Why, I thought I’d stay here.”

  “I’m sure that’s fine, but more than likely, Violet will own half of it. You two will have to work out some type of arrangement.”

  One more thing I hadn’t considered.

  Aunt Bessie patted my arm. “No need to worry, Rose. Violet has her own house, she won’t want this one. You’ll probably just buy out her half.”

  I stewed about it as I poured our cups of coffee.

  “When was the last time you had your hair cut?” she asked.

  I couldn’t remember, so Aunt Bessie insisted on giving me a trim. She set me in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and snipped away with the scissors she said she always traveled with. I suspected she brought them with the sole purpose of cutting my hair, which had always annoyed the tarnation out of her. At one point during the cut, I had a vision and told her one of the hairdressers in her shop was going to leave and try to steal some of her clients. Aunt Bessie took it in stride, thanked me for my useful information, and continued trimming.

  The amount of hair that fell to the floor alarmed me, but Aunt Bessie said to trust her. Which I did. It wasn’t like my hair had a particular style anyway. When she finished cutting, she pulled out a fat curling iron and flipped out the ends.

  “Okay, go check it out.”

  I went to the bathroom, Aunt Bessie on my heels, and we stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was speechless.

  “It should be a lot lighter now. I razor-cut the edges and thinned it out a bit, you can take a big curling rod to the ends and flip them out or just wear it straight.”

  Aunt Bessie could have been speaking Greek for all I understand, but I didn’t pay much attention anyway. I was too busy gawking at my hair.

  “I can’t believe it’s me.” I turned my head from side to side, watching my hair sway against my shoulders. It now sported layers and framed my face with long bangs, a far cry from the dry, lifeless hair I had before. I shook my head and it bounced.

  “You’ve been hidin’ too long, Rose Anne Gardner,” Bessie said from behind me. “It’s time to shed that cocoon and become the beautiful butterfly you’re meant to be.”

  “Aw, Aunt Bessie.” I gave her a big hug. “Thank you. I love it.”

  We dressed for the funeral. I felt very sophisticated in my dress and new hair. I tottered down the hall in my heels, wishing I had thought to practice in them sooner. Aunt Bessie approved and insisted on putting a little bit of makeup on me, telling me cosmetics were not the devil’s oil paints, contrary to what Momma always said.

  I rode in their car to the church. We arrived early, which meant I had time to practice walking before Violet and Mike showed up. I was finally getting the hang of it when they entered through the opposite end of the foyer. As I approached, Violet was asking Aunt Bessie where I was.

  “Here she comes now.” The pride in Aunt Bessie’s voice was unmistakable, making me love her even more.

  Violet’s mouth dropped open. “What have you done?”

  “Violet…” Aunt Bessie cautioned.

  “What have you done?”

  “Violet!” Mike voice was sharp with warning.

  She turned to Mike, flinging her arm in my direction. “Mike, she went and got her hair styled! The day of Momma’s funeral! Who does that? What is she thinking?”

  “Violet, this is my doin.’” Aunt Bessie said. “I insisted on cuttin’ her hair this mornin’.”

  “She could have stopped you!”

  “Why?” Aunt Bessie asked. “Why would she stop me? For one thing, her whole life has been run by you and your mother, so what was one more woman tellin’ her what to do? And second, there is nothin’ wrong with her lookin’ beautiful. It’s not like she showed up to your mother’s funeral lookin’ like a hooker.”

  Violet gasped, the sound echoing off the tiled entrance.

  Aunt Bessie pressed on. “Rose looks very tasteful, very conservative. You should be happy for her.”

  Violet put her hands on her hips. “What are people gonna say?”

  “And right there is the bottom line, isn’t it, Violet? What are people goin’ to say?”

  I couldn't believe the two women I loved most in the world were arguing. Over me no less. “Stop! Stop it the both of you!”

  They turned to face me. Violet looked like she was about to give me a good throttling, then move on to Aunt Bessie.

  “Violet, I’m sorry if you are unhappy with my new haircut, but I honestly had no idea what Aunt Bessie was goin’ to do to it. I thought she was givin’ me a trim. But that bein’ said,” I smiled at Aunt Bessie. “I’m not sorry she did it. I love it and I’m sorry if you don't. And perhaps the timing was bad, but you and I both know that the people in this town are goin’ to talk about me one way or the other. They always have.”

  Violet looked like she was about to start spitting out carpet tacks. Mike grabbed her arm and dragged her away from our group, their heads bent together in a heated discussion.

  “Rose, if I had known Violet would react this way, I never would have cut your hair.”

  “Don't be sorry, Aunt Bessie, for heaven’s sake, it’s only hair.” But the truth was that the problem lay much deeper. I was changing and Violet didn’t like it.

  Violet calmed down a little before it was time to go into a private room to wait while the mourners were seated in the sanctuary. Violet looked like she would burst out the door to escape my presence at any minute.

  A few minutes after eleven o’clock, we walked to the front of the church. I offered a prayer of thanks that I didn’t fall over in my two-inch heels.

  Violet remained chilly at the graveside service, but I reached over and grabbed her hand, overcome with a wave of grief. I took it as a good sign when she didn't snatch it away, instead hanging on tight. We sat next to the open grave and clung to each other as
we buried our last remaining parent. We were orphans. I choked back a sob of despair. Even if Momma hadn’t been the best mother, she was still our Momma. And now we were alone.

  We rode in an uncomfortable silence to the church for the traditional funeral dinner. Any good Southern Baptist knows there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a casserole potluck, death included. I told myself if I could just make it through the dinner, then I could return to my solitude, or at least my own inner demon.

  We’d made it through the funeral and graveside service without mishap; I knew it was too much to expect to make it through the dinner, as well. Two older women watched me while I stood to the side of the buffet table. I recognized them as Momma’s friends, if you could call backstabbing, busybodies friends.

  Violet and Aunt Bessie made their hostess rounds while I did my best to stay out of the way. One of the women pointed to me, shaking her finger in outrage, then buried her face in their huddle. I did my best to ignore them, but they soon worked themselves into a chattering tizzy. A few moments later, they moved toward me and didn't waste any time getting to the point.

  “You have some nerve showin’ up at your mother’s funeral lookin’ like that.” The ringleader pointed to my dress with a gnarly finger covered in gaudy rings. Ethel Murdock, self-appointed morality czar of Henryetta. I had no doubt that Momma and Miss Ethel spent many an hour judging the actions of the First Baptist Church members. Then they’d move on to the remaining citizens of Henryetta for good measure.

  The blood rushed to my face and the all-too-familiar response to hide took over. I shook it off. It was time to stand up for myself.

  “What exactly are you talkin’ about? What’s wrong with the way I look?” I asked in a shaky voice.

  Miss Ethel’s eyebrows knit together and her mouth puckered as if she were about to give me a kiss. I knew there was little chance of that happening. “You’re dressed up all high and mighty. We know you never dressed like that before. You killed your own mother to get her money and you haven’t wasted any time spendin’ it, have you?” Her face turned red and splotchy. I worried Miss Ethel would have a stroke right there. I’d probably be blamed for that too.