by Anne George
“Let’s go to the Hunan Hut for lunch, Aunt Pat,” she suggested.
“Nope, your mother will be there.”
“What about the Anchorage then? Get some veggies.”
I flushed the toilet and straightened up. “She’ll be there, too.”
“And get mad at both of us?”
“I’m not worried about the mad. I just don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Well, I don’t, either, Aunt Pat.” Marilyn followed me down the hall to the other bathroom. “I think I’ll call Debbie.”
“Good idea.” Spread the guilt around. I sprayed cleaner into the sink and sneezed. “Did you and Woofer have a good walk?”
“He marked every tree we passed.”
“Good boy.”
“And he didn’t want to come in. He went in his igloo.”
“I’ll take him some treats in a few minutes.”
Marilyn stood in the doorway looking as if she wanted to say something but was hesitant.
“What?” I asked.
“Has it ever occurred to you that Mama is a force of nature?”
I burst out laughing. “Frequently. Now go call your sister.” I was getting a load of washing from the hamper when she came in to tell me that she was going over to Debbie’s.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m just confused.”
I dropped the clothes and hugged her. Hell, I’d be confused, too, if I were about to go to a fertility clinic to be impregnated with a baby that I would have to raise by myself. A baby whose father I knew nothing about. I’d opt for Charles Boudreau in a second, whether I could live with him or not. Maybe that was what Debbie would tell her. On the other hand, Debbie had gotten the most precious twins in the world at UAB.
“Well, you don’t have to commit to anything today.”
“True.” She was still sniffling when she left, though.
I put the washing on and went out to give Woofer his treat. The sky was getting lighter. By afternoon the sun would probably be out. Hopefully it wouldn’t be so cold tonight that the peaches would freeze. We have to worry about that every year. Most people think of Georgia as the peach state, but Alabama’s peach crop is one of our leading farm products. A late March freeze and it’s wiped out.
“Patricia Anne?” Mitzi called over the fence. “You want to go out for lunch?”
“The Club?”
“See you in an hour.”
The Club sits atop Red Mountain with the best view in the state. From the dining room you can see Jones Valley and Birmingham on one side, and on the other, you look across toward Shades and Double Oak Mountains. This was where Debbie and Henry had had their wedding reception and a helicopter had landed on the terrace to whisk them off to their honeymoon. It was also where my Haley had met Philip. As Mitzi and I sat down at our table, I remembered I hadn’t checked my e-mail this morning.
“Only a couple of more weeks, and Haley will be home,” I said. “A couple of weeks.”
“I wonder if she’s looking pregnant yet.”
“Probably a little paunch.”
The waiter set our food in front of us. You know you’re in the South when the nicest restaurant in town has collard greens on its menu. Mitzi and I had both ordered them.
“I saw Marilyn walking Woofer this morning,” Mitzi said, her fork poised above the collards. “Is she here for a meeting or something?”
“A meeting.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“She’s such a beautiful woman.”
I agreed that she was, and then changed the subject by asking her if she had read the morning newspaper.
She had. “Can you believe that Mooncloth guy was Russian?”
“Mary Alice says he had to be a spy, that there wouldn’t be any reason for a Russian ballet dancer to be in Birmingham.”
Mitzi looked puzzled. “Why would a Russian spy be here?”
“God knows. Just one of Sister’s flights of fancy.”
“Is she still writing fiction?”
“She had a story accepted. I thought I told you.”
“No. That’s wonderful.”
Lunch was good; the company was good. I was relaxed and enjoying myself when I heard, “Hey, y’all,” and looked up to see Bernice Armstrong standing by our table.
“Hey, Bernice,” Mitzi and I said together.
“I thought it was you over here,” Bernice said. “Day and I were having lunch. She had to leave to go back to work, and I told her I was going to stop and speak to you.”
“Have a seat,” Mitzi invited.
“Just for a minute.” Bernice pulled a chair out and sat down. When she was young, Bernice had been the most beautiful girl in Birmingham. Tall and elegant, she is still beautiful in her mid-sixties. Her hair is now white instead of blond but styled so it cups her ears. She was wearing a simple blue suit and her makeup was perfect. I remembered how Mary Alice had hated her when they were in school together. Looking at that perfect skin (the woman didn’t even have any spots on her hands, for heaven’s sake), I could understand why. Even her scarf was tied artfully, something that deserved hatred. Tying a scarf so it looks right is, as far as I am concerned, impossible.
“How are y’all doing?” she asked.
“Just fine,” we chorused.
“Is Dusk still here?” I asked. “We saw her dance at the Alabama the other night. She’s very good, Bernice.”
“You were there? Wasn’t what happened awful?”
We nodded.
“Dusk couldn’t believe it. She’s been in bed ever since it happened, bless her heart. I tried to talk her into coming to lunch with Day and me, but she said she didn’t feel like it. She’s supposed to go back to New York day after tomorrow. I hope she’ll be up to it.”
“He was taking a class with Dusk?”
“Not really. I think he was dating one of the girls in her class and would come down and dance with them some.”
“The paper said he was quite an outstanding dancer,” Mitzi said.
“Apparently.” Bernice wiggled her fingers at a waiter who was passing by. “Could I have some coffee, please?” She turned back. “Day has seen him dance when she’s been in New York. She said he’s the best.” A slight hesitation. “Was the best.”
“And they have no idea why he was in Birmingham dressed like Elvis?” I asked.
“Lord, no.” Bernice’s coffee arrived, and she reached for the cream. “They think it’s the craziest thing they’ve ever heard of. He was Russian, you know.”
“Well, he was here for something other than doing an Elvis impersonation,” I volunteered. “He had an appointment the next day with Debbie for some business he wanted her to help him with. An appointment he didn’t keep, obviously.”
Bernice frowned. “Mary Alice’s daughter Debbie? The lawyer?”
I nodded. “She didn’t have any idea what it was about.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter much now.” Bernice gave a small shrug. “How are both of your husbands?”
“Just fine.”
“I heard Arthur got shot, Mitzi, but that he’s all right.”
“Couldn’t sit down for a few weeks.”
“Mama?” Day Armstrong approached the table. She resembled her mother, tall, willowy, blond. I remembered Marilyn saying that Debbie had been in school with Day, which would make her in her mid-thirties. She looked ten years younger.
Bernice glanced up in alarm. “Something wrong?”
“Dusk called me on my cell phone just as I got in my car. She says she’s feeling terrible.”
“Oh, my. I was scared I shouldn’t have left her. She was too quiet. Did she give any specifics?”
“Just that she’s sick.” Day turned to us. “Hi, ladies.”
We nodded. Bernice got her purse that was hanging on the side of her chair and stood up. “Why didn’t she call me?”
“She said she tried to.”
“I’ll bet I
don’t have the damn thing turned on. Well, you go on back to work, honey. I’ll go see about her and let you know. Bye, y’all.”
“Let us know, too, Bernice,” Mitzi said.
She nodded. “Bye, y’all.” She and Day hurried out.
“It doesn’t matter how old your children are, does it?” Mitzi said.
“No. Thirty years from now, Haley will still panic if anything is wrong with Joanna.”
We smiled at each other.
“Want another orange roll?” Mitzi asked.
“I’ll half one with you.”
E-mail from: Haley
Mama and Papa
Subject: Happy. Happy.
Just think. This is one of my last e-mails from Warsaw, y’all. We’re flying KLM to Atlanta and then Delta to Birmingham. The flight gets there just in time for supper, and I want fried chicken and biscuits and milk gravy. I know that’s terrible, but I can just taste it. Morning sickness isn’t getting me down at all, Mama. Obviously. In fact, I’ve already gained four pounds.
We’ve still got a lot of packing to do and friends to say good-bye to. There’s so much about this place that I love and will miss. But I’ll be HOME!
I e-mailed Freddie and Alan about the baby, and they both e-mailed back that you had called them and how happy they are for us. Maybe this will give Freddie some ideas.
Got to go. Just think, y’all. April.
I love you,
Haley
There was one more e-mail. Martha Stewart and I have become good friends since I signed on to her website. I get nice chatty notes from her about big cookie cutters and nesting rabbit dishes. When I retired from teaching, Sister gave me a subscription to Martha Stewart Living, saying it would perk up my appetite and maybe I would gain some weight.
Well, to give Martha credit, the pictures do perk up my appetite, but Fred drew the line when I served him lettuce and herb soup declaring that men didn’t eat boiled lettuce. Actually, I thought it was right tasty.
Today Martha was telling me what fun the children would have drawing on the windows with her crayons, easily removed with window cleaner. Ha!
While I had the computer open, I looked to see if there was a website for Griffin Mooncloth. There wasn’t. I clicked on to the New York City Ballet. He was listed, but not as one of their principal dancers. Hmm.
I glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty. Marilyn would be at UAB. I wondered what they would tell her, what she would decide. I wondered if Dusk Armstrong was all right and who had killed Griffin Mooncloth and why. I wondered if it would freeze tonight and ruin the peach crop.
The only thing to do was to take a nap, which I did, with Muffin curled beside me on the sofa and the afternoon sun dimming through the kitchen window.
Eight
While I was out walking Woofer, Marilyn called and left a message that everything was okay and that she would fill me in on the details later. She was eating supper out so I shouldn’t worry. She knew where the key was.
It was freezing outside and the clouds had lowered again. If it weren’t March, I could have sworn that it was going to snow. I brought Woofer inside, and he immediately lay down on the heat vent. Muffin, as always, was delighted to have him in the house. She rubbed against him adoringly; he sighed and put up with her attentions.
I turned on the early news to hear the weather report. Thirty-four degrees tonight with wraparound clouds from the cold front that had come through. No precipitation. All of those extensive green blobs on the radar were virga, the weatherman explained, precipitation evaporating before reaching the ground.
I was considering a hot bubble bath when the phone rang.
“Bring garlic bread,” Sister said and hung up.
Fred came in the back door, kissed me on the neck, and got a beer out of the refrigerator.
“It’s not supposed to snow, is it?” he asked.
“Not according to the weatherman. Did you have a good day?”
“Fine. Has Marilyn gone?”
“She’s having supper out. And we’re having steaks at Sister’s. Don’t forget that Sister doesn’t know Marilyn’s here.”
“I know nothing. Is Henry bringing the hors d’oeuvres?”
“Probably.”
Henry Lamont, Debbie’s husband, is a chef at one of Birmingham’s finest country clubs. Fred loves Henry’s cooking so much that I think if he hadn’t asked Debbie to marry him, Fred would have gotten his shotgun out.
“Good.” He took a swig of his beer. “Hear any more from Haley?”
“We got an e-mail. I printed it and put it with the rest of the mail on the desk.”
“Good girl.” He slapped me on the behind.
I slapped him back on his and went to look in the freezer to see if we had a loaf of garlic bread.
Three cars were already parked in Mary Alice’s circular driveway, and lights glowed from all of the downstairs windows.
“Looks like a sure enough party,” Fred said. “I thought it was going to be a little family cookout.”
“Virgil’s kids and Debbie and Henry. We’re getting to be a pretty big family.” I stepped from the car and admired the house, which I think is one of the most beautiful in Birmingham. Sister has always wanted a house like Tara with columns and a veranda. This house fit its setting, though. Elegant and sturdy.
Something damp hit my face. I held out my hand and looked toward the porch light. “Fred, I think it’s snowing.”
“Couldn’t be snow. It’s way above freezing.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Sister opened the door before we knocked. She was dressed in a purple velour pantsuit, and the porch light made her hair look more golden than usual. Or maybe she had made a trip to Delta Hairlines today. She thrust out her hand. “You got the garlic bread?”
“And a good evening to you, too, dear sister-in-law. What a pleasure it is to see you this evening and don’t you look lovely.” Fred handed her the sack. “We stopped by the Piggly Wiggly and got two loaves.”
“Fool.” She took the sack and hurried down the hall. “Y’all come in,” she called over her shoulder.
“Southern hospitality,” Fred said. “May I take your coat, dear?”
“Yes, you may, dear, and then I’ll take yours.” We grinned at each other. I hung the coats in the hall closet, and we went back to the den.
Five people were gathered in front of the fire. Debbie, Tammy Sue, and a girl we hadn’t met were seated on the sofa. Larry Ludmiller and Buddy Stuckey were standing with their backs to the fire. Larry had on a plaid shirt and khaki pants and his black hair was combed back, lessening the Elvis look. Buddy, however, had on a black turtleneck and black jeans. His hair was combed Elvis style and his full lips curled on one side when he greeted us. Elvis himself couldn’t have done it any better.
Debbie stood up, hugged us, and made the introductions. The girl was Olivia Ludmiller, Larry’s sister. Olivia was thin, pale, and didn’t seem to care whether she met us or not. She said, “Hello,” and went back to studying her fingernails.
“Where’s Henry?” Fred asked. God forbid that Henry and his food not be present.
“He’s running a little late. I brought the hors d’oeuvres, though, Uncle Fred.” Debbie pointed toward a game table in the corner of the room. “I was helping Mama and forgot to put them over here.”
“I’ll get them,” Fred offered. I hoped the plates were full.
“Maybe I’d better go in the kitchen and see what I can do to help,” I said.
“The person who needs help is Daddy.” Tammy Sue pointed to the patio where a bundled figure huddled over a grill.
“I offered,” Buddy said.
Fred put a plate of what he calls “pinwheel patties” on the coffee table, helped himself to two of the patties, and walked to the French doors. “That’s Virgil out there?”
“Mr. Macho himself.” There was a slightly unpleasant tone in Buddy’s voice. Tammy Sue gave him a hard look.
“Well,
hell, it’s snowing.” Fred put both of the patties in his mouth, opened the door, and went out to join Virgil. Just then, Tiffany, the Magic Maid, came in from the kitchen. Tiffany is supposed to work for a maid service, but she spends more and more of her time at Mary Alice’s. Tonight she had on red capri pants and a tight red-and-white striped sweater. Her blond hair was French-braided. Tiffany is twenty-three. Need I say more?
“I’m taking drink orders,” she announced as both Larry and Buddy snapped to attention. “Hey, Mrs. Hollowell. I know you want Coke, and you do, too, Debbie, since you’re breast-feeding. Brother. But what about the rest of you?”
“You got any vodka?” Buddy asked.
Tiffany gave him an are-you-kidding look. “We got everything, Bud.”
“Buddy,” he corrected her.
“He wants it with orange juice,” Olivia said, marking her territory.
“And so does Larry,” Tammy Sue said. “I’ll have white wine.”
Tiffany smiled. “We got plenty of beer. Sure you hadn’t rather have that? Light, of course.”
Debbie and I glanced at each other. This was going to be a long evening.
“Mary Alice and Daddy have been telling us about the wedding,” Tammy Sue said after Olivia had also opted for white wine. “It’s really quick, isn’t it? They only met a couple of months ago.”
So that was why Mary Alice was hiding in the kitchen and Virgil was freezing on the patio. Tammy Sue had been expecting the news, but when it came, the news hadn’t gone over well.
Tammy Sue turned to Debbie. “What do you think about it?”
“I think it’s fine. There’s plenty of room at Elmwood for three more husbands.”
“No, there’s not,” I said. “Fred and I have been offered two of the plots and we’ve accepted.”
“What?” Tammy Sue looked from Debbie to me to see if we were serious.
“All of Mama’s husbands are buried at Elmwood together,” Debbie explained sweetly. “My daddy was the second one.”
“All?” Tammy Sue chewed on a cuticle.
“Just three.”
Tammy Sue looked so alarmed that I took pity on her. “They were all a lot older than Sister,” I explained.
