The Ladies' Room

by Carolyn Brown

  Betsy sighed loudly. "What we'll probably get is a bill for ten years' back taxes and a house full of termites to split three ways. We'll end up in debt because of our inheritance."

  "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," I snapped.

  Marty gasped. "You sounded just like her. I swear, that was even her voice. Did her spirit stick around and crawl inside you?"

  The glare I gave her apparently erased all doubt. She shivered and looked out the side window the rest of the way to the church. When the funeral-home limo parked, Betsy giggled in an attempt to ease the tension, but it came out as a highpitched squeal. "Here we are! Dinner and then the will. Are we ready?"

  They couldn't get out of the limo fast enough. I didn't know either of them could run in three-inch pumps, but run they did. If I'd tried to keep up with them, I'd have fallen flat on my face right there-in-the church parking lot.

  I slowly walked toward the fellowship hall for the dinner. Charity was that teller with the tight little body and straight blond hair, I remembered. Short blond hair at that. I liked to wear my hair short and kinky, but Drew hated it, so I kept it long and fought with straightening irons and hair dryers every single day.

  Go to the bank and hit him where it hurts, Gert's voice said.

  We had a joint checking account and at least one joint savings account. If I wiped out those two accounts, I wouldn't have to end the marriage; he would.

  Was I ready to live in the same town with him and watch each new plaything drive a new Thunderbird? Blast it all, I was driving a five-year-old Chevrolet Impala.

  Some folks can't eat when they're stressed out. Not me. For me, food cures everything. Depression. Boredom. Anger. Chocolate cake can take care of ingrown toenails, and potato chips can eradicate acne. I've told my fat cells things like that for so long, my body believes all of it.

  The ladies of the church had prepared every Great-aunt Gert recipe they had in their files. There was potato salad. Barbecued chicken. Turkey, cooked long and slow with a stick of pure butter in the cavity to keep it tender. Corn bread dressing. Hot rolls with butter smeared on the tops when they're fresh out of the oven. Chocolate cake topped off with an inch of homemade fudge icing. Baked beans. Hash brown casserole.

  Folks lined up for the buffet and talked about how Aunt Gert had made this for Thanksgiving or always brought that when someone died. It was as if they were trying to use her favorite foods to give her the strength to face the afterlife. Those poor folks didn't know that Gert didn't need any extra strength. She could take on Lucifer himself and come out the winner.

  My plate needed sideboards by the time I finished loading it, but I just got frumpier every year, so it didn't matter how I comforted my aching heart. By the time I got through the line, the only place left for me to sit was right across from Marty and Betsy. There I was with the best plate of food since last Thanksgiving, and just looking at my cousins nauseated me. It wasn't fair that they'd shattered my whole world and taken my appetite too.

  "Feelin' better?" Betsy asked.

  I pushed my plate back. "I'm not hungry. I need some air. I'll see y'all at the reading of the will."

  Marty whispered but not low enough. "What's gotten into her?"

  Great-aunt Gert was barely in the grave, and the dirt was loose enough that she could still claw her way out of that pale pink coffin if I made a public scene, so I kept my mouth shut and didn't tell them what had gotten into fat Trudy, bless her heart. I meandered into the sanctuary and sat down in the pew where she'd always sat. Who cared if my mascara left black streaks, anyway? It was a funeral, and I was the only one in the sanctuary, so I gave way to tears and wiped at them with the back of one hand.

  Suddenly I could feel her presence so powerfully that I hesitated before I turned to look to my left. Naturally, there wasn't a ghost sitting there in the oak pew beside me; it was more like a feeling, and it wasn't a happy one, either. It was the same feeling I'd had the time she caught me buying a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving. I had gotten the entire thirty-minute tirade about how a person should buy the live turkey directly from the farmer and dress it herself if she wanted a perfect Thanksgiving dinner. I had stared dumbly at her. Dress a turkey? I wouldn't know where to start with a live bird. I could sense that she had a lecture all prepared for me but I sure didn't want to hear it.

  I blinked and allowed the feeling to pass. My tears dried up. I wanted to destroy something. I could have torn the pulpit down with my bare hands and then started on the oak pews. Forget about killing the messengers, Betsy and Marty. I'd deal with them later. Drew Williams was a different matter. He had vowed to be faithful right there in a church house in front of my parents, God, and even Great-aunt Gert. I could see him telling a lie to my parents and maybe even God, but he was a fool of the worst kind for lying to Aunt Gert. She'd get even, and she had a heck of a lot more power now that she was on the other side. He'd best be getting his affairs in order, because there was a good chance he'd be standing on a street corner with an empty Campbell's soup can begging for pennies before it was all said and done.

  Was Miss Charity keeping him company on his business trip, or was she at the bank that day? I was definitely going to wipe out those two accounts. Wouldn't it be a hoot if she waited on me? She'd do just fine for a taste of my anger until Drew got home.

  "Excuse me. Are you all right?" a masculine voice said right at my elbow.

  My cheeks burned scarlet, and I hoped none of my thoughts had been whispered aloud.

  The voice was deep and faintly familiar. I jerked my head up to look into Billy Lee Tucker's crystal blue eyes.

  "I'm fine," I said.

  "Well, I was sitting back there thinking about Gert when you came in, and I just wondered if you were all right. It looked like you were crying," he said.

  Billy Lee Tucker was a nerd with a capital N back when we were in school, and afterward he became Tishomingo's oddball. We had all started school together-Billy Lee always wearing his overalls and thick glasses. My friends and I largely ignored him, and he quietly found a corner to be alone, usually with a book in his hands.

  He didn't grow out of it. He just got taller, and his glasses got thicker. The other boys wore tight jeans, and he continued to wear bibbed overalls-always clean and starched, right along with his chambray shirts. He didn't play football, so that was another strike against him in Tishomingo, Oklahoma. He didn't play basketball. Strike three. He didn't drink or smoke or chase around town on Saturday night in a pickup truck. Strikes four, five, and six.

  His voice was a whisper of respect. "Mind if I join you?"

  I didn't answer, but he sat down in the corner of the pew. "It just don't seem right. Everyone is in there eating and laughing. How can they act so happy, like it's a normal day?"

  Billy Lee hadn't changed all that much. His angular face had a few wrinkles, but he was my age, and wrinkles come along at about that time. He was still thin, but the thing that almost took my mind off Drew was the suit he wore. If it wasn't Armani, I would eat my hat-tulle, fake black rose, and all.

  "What way do you think it should be?" I asked.

  "Gert was a lady. They should be sitting quietly and thinking about her and the way she brought happiness into the world."

  Gert, a lady? What rock had he been hiding under all these years? Poor Billy Lee was several bricks short of a wagonload, bless his heart. And Gert bringing happiness into the world? Was the man crazy? She had brought lots of things into the world. Opinions. Bossiness. Bitterness. But happiness?

  "They should be in here with us, not out there carrying on like they're glad she's gone," he said.

  Maybe he didn't have any bricks in his wagon. They were glad she was gone.

  "She was the wisest woman I knew and the best neighbor a man could ask for." Billy Lee kept talking.

  They say birds of a feather flock together. He and Gert were both slightly odd.

  "I didn't realize you still lived in your grandparents' house" "Ni
ce" wasn't difficult for me. Conflict was, and I was wondering how to get out of the sanctuary without being rude.

  He shrugged. "I was born in that house and have lived there my whole life."

  "I see. Then you knew Gert very well?"

  "Of course. She was my next-door neighbor and my best friend."

  Even though I'd had my head in the sand and my big bubble butt stuck up in the sky, I knew what had happened to almost every kid in my graduating class all those years ago-where they lived, where they worked, how many kids they had or if they had divorced, how many had had affairs and how many times-most everything Marty and Betsy knew. Or I thought I had until that morning. Evidently I didn't know Drew Williams at all. Or Billy Lee Tucker.

  My husband's name on the edge of my conscience jerked me right back into the present. I absolutely hated conflict. How would I ever psych myself up enough to confront him?

  "I guess I should go on back into the dinner," I said.

  "I'm staying right here"

  "Trudy? You in here?" Betsy whispered loudly.

  "I'm right here."

  What would Betsy tell Marty about poor, pitiful Trudy sitting with Billy Lee Tucker in a semidark, quiet church? I didn't need to wait to take action. There was a pulpit in front of me and a congregation in the fellowship hall. Maybe I'd call them all in and preach them a sermon on two-timin' husbands.

  She talked too fast and too loud as she walked toward the pew. "We are gathering in the children's Sunday school room for the reading of the will. The lawyer is some fancy-pants out of Dallas. Don't know why Gert couldn't use Drew for her business."

  "Guess she knew too much about him," I sniped.

  "Hello, Betsy," Billy said.

  "Do I know you?"

  "Probably not. I'm Gert's next-door neighbor."

  "Oh, I thought she lived next door to Billy Lee Tucker."

  "That's right."

  "Well, I'll be danged. Didn't recognize you with a suit on, Billy Lee. Sorry about that. It's time for the judgment, Trudy. Have you been prayin' that she doesn't leave you that eyesore of a house? If I hadn't been starvin', I would have joined you, and I haven't prayed in years" Betsy was trying to be amusing.

  "I was not.

  Betsy shot me a mean look. "You have been horrid all day long. You are acting just like Gert"

  Anger replaced the sadness in Billy Lee's blue eyes.

  I looked up at Betsy, standing there with her hands on her hips in defiance, and said, "You're right. I have been praying, and I really don't see a change coming anytime soon. Let's go hear the will. Billy, would you like to join us?"

  "I would love to"

  Betsy shot me another hateful look. "Why would he want to be there?"

  "Who knows? Maybe she left her house to him, and he gets to decide whether to burn it down or not"

  "I hope she left it to you, Trudy. I hope you get all hot and sweaty cleaning out that mess," Betsy said. "You've really been horrible today."

  `And just think, my dear cousin. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I may never change." I led the way out of the sanctuary and into the room where the lawyer and Marty waited.

  This is ridiculous," Marty said.

  Betsy folded her arms over her chest and snarled at the sight of the tiny chairs and tables. Billy Lee pulled one out and sat down, his knees drawn up practically to his chin.

  "Let's go into the sanctuary or the adult Sunday school room," Betsy said.

  The lawyer ignored her, opened his briefcase, and took out a single sheet of paper. "I am Steven McRae. Gertrude asked that her last will and testament be read in this room. It won't take long to take care of the business."

  He picked up the single piece of paper and adjusted his reading glasses. My stomach growled loudly. Marty stared at me. Betsy actually giggled. It wasn't fair to be hungry and not be able to swallow a bread crumb. Drew might have to pay for that as well as his philandering.

  "Will you get on with it? I want a slice of that sour-cream pound cake before it's all gone," Marty said impatiently.

  "It won't take long," the lawyer repeated. Then he began reading aloud. "Hello, you three girls. This is my letter to you, and if Steven is reading it, then I'm dead. It'll be over soon, and you can all go home, and two of you can rejoice that you don't have to deal with my house and all its contents."

  Billy Lee chuckled for the first time all day.

  Marty shot him and me both one of her famous "drop dead" looks.

  I fired one right back at her and eased down gently into a kiddy-sized chair and hoped it didn't fold with me. Surprisingly enough, it was sturdier than it looked.

  Steven McRae went on. "First of all, I chose this room because it's where I taught Sunday school for the past sixty years. Not that it makes a bit of difference, but even as I write this, I can hear Marty whining and Betsy refusing to sit in one of the little chairs.

  "You've all three been named after me, so I couldn't decide to leave my belongings simply to the one who had my name. I dislike all three of you, but I have to be honest and say that I dislike Trudy the least. At least she doesn't hide from me in the grocery store, so I'm leaving it all to her. Lock, stock, and barrel. Makes it right simple. If she's of a mind to give you other two a piece of my jewelry or a keepsake, then she can do it with my blessings. If not, then so be it. Go home and pout. I really don't care. ... .. . . . . . . . . . . . ...

  "And it is signed, notarized, and witnessed, so it is legal," Steven McRae concluded. "Mrs. Williams, this file contains your copy of her will and all her financial records. If you have any questions, she has paid my firm a retaining fee for the next thirty days to render any help you need, so feel free to call"

  "Thank God. Let's go home, Betsy," Marty said.

  Betsy shot me another hateful look. "Good luck."

  ..You are welcome to have anything you want." The whole time I was making the offer, I was wondering if Aunt Gert still kept arsenic under the kitchen sink to kill field rats.

  "I wouldn't be caught taking out the garbage in any of that dime-store jewelry," Marty said.

  "I don't want a single thing. You need me to sign anything to make that legal?" Betsy said.

  Mr. McRae headed toward the door. "No, that's between you and Mrs. Williams"

  "Then, Trudy, get this straight. We don't want anything, but by the same token we don't want you to be callin' on us to help clean out that junky place," Betsy said.

  They were hurrying to the door when I said, "I won't ask either of you for help. You've done enough already. And thank you, Mr. McRae"

  Billy Lee had a big grin on his face, and his eyes twinkled. Why was he so amused now? Minutes before, he had been bewailing the fact that there was too much merriment going on in the fellowship hall, suggesting that everyone in Johnston County should be tearing at their hair and gathering ashes to put on their sackcloth clothing because Aunt Gert had died.

  "So what are you going to do with the old place?" Billy asked.

  I made the decision. "I'm going to live there"

  I now owned a piece of property in Tishomingo, Oklahoma, lock, stock, and barrel. A two-story house with peeling paint, a sagging front porch, no air-conditioning, and an odd nextdoor neighbor.

  His face registered pure shock. "Is Drew moving in with you?"

  "No, he is not. But I suppose I'll be seeing you, since we'll be neighbors."

  "Probably so." He grinned.

  I walked through the fellowship hall, ignored Betsy when she called out my name, and continued right out the door without a backward glance. She didn't follow, but I hurried to my car in case she changed her mind. Twenty years of marriage had just burned to the ground. Sadness, weeping, anger, and pain were all rolled into one big unhealthy ball of raw nerves.

  I could stay with Drew. That was an option and the easiest one. After all, it wasn't a new thing he'd done. But I couldn't! My pride was already in ashes. Staying would push my dignity right down there among them.

/>   I drove slowly because there were little red dots flashing in front of my eyes. I didn't know if severe anger could produce a heart attack or a stroke, and there were things I had to do before I dropped dead. I pulled up in the yard and stared at the sprawling ranch-style house. It had been my home for more than twenty years, and I'd raised Crystal there. How could I entertain notions of leaving it?

  I got out of the Impala, opened the front door of the house, and headed down the hallway to the master suite. I opened my closet and pulled the biggest suitcase I owned from the top shelf, then stood there in front of the rack of clothing while tears dripped from my cheeks onto the lapels of my black jacket.

  What did I take, and what did I leave behind? I couldn't decide, but I was hungry, so I went to the kitchen, made myself a banana and strawberry smoothie, and hit the message button on the phone. Betsy wanted to know why I'd been so rude at the dinner. Marty said that she should come over to my house and kick my butt for being so hateful at a funeral. Drew called to say he'd be staying another day on his trip.

  I took one sip of the smoothie, and it tasted horrible. I set it on the counter and peeled out of my skirt right there in the kitchen, leaving it in a pile on the floor. Just that meager act of rebellion gave me courage to keep going.

  Next the ruined panty hose came off. I removed my wide gold wedding band, tied it to the leg with the big hole, and carried it back to the bedroom. I stood on the bed and looped the hose around a blade on the ceiling fan. I hoped Drew would flip on the light switch and the thing would knock him upside the head. I took off my jacket and threw it onto the floor and slung my hat against the far wall. When Drew came home, he could find the first mess in his house since we'd married. Good little wives kept a nice, clean home for their husbands. They kept his shirts ironed perfectly. They had his dinner on the table.

  Apparently good little husbands cheated, and everyone in Tishomingo knew about it. Except his wife. Okay, so a few times I'd wondered about a phone call or when Drew worked late, but didn't all women?