Chin Up, Honey

by Curtiss Ann Matlock

  She was happy that what she said sounded very plausible. She convinced herself, and could see him working up a retort, but she cut him off with, “What exactly did you tell your mother? I’ll bet you made my mother look like some rich bitch.”

  “I…Mom didn’t take it like that at all,” said Johnny, looking completely guilty as charged. “She said that your mother loved you and was just havin’ difficulty letting you go. She said we should be patient but go on with our plans, that it is our lives and not your mother’s.”

  Gracie thought about that, torn between wondering if Johnny was slanting things in a more favorable light and the thought that Emma made her mother sound clingy and controlling.

  “When did you tell her this?” she asked, turning her mind to count her options.

  “Last night.”

  She considered that. “I talked to you this morning on the phone, and you didn’t think to tell me this?” She knew instantly that he had come that evening specifically to tell her this particular instance of his betrayal and had tried to slip it in with all the other boring information without her noticing.

  “I forgot, okay? It wasn’t somethin’ I was thinkin’ about when I was talkin’ to you at seven o’clock in the mornin’.” He reached for her. “Look…it isn’t that big a deal. My mom wasn’t upset and didn’t think anything at all. Really. It’s okay.”

  She let him pull her to him, and hug her and kiss her. She felt herself turning to butter, but then she thought of what Emma must think about her mother. She felt guilty by association.

  “You need to just go on and let me finish my work.” She pushed him away. “I have to get this shipment hung up before I can leave tonight.”

  He suggested meeting her after work, and she made the excuse of being way too tired, which she really was. Then, thankfully, Nicole came and asked Gracie to come up front to clerk, so that she could go on her break. Gracie shooed Johnny away, steeling her heart against his little-boy beguiling expression.

  Later, after closing the store and walking out to their cars, Gracie ended up telling Nicole all about the situation with her mother. She was just so upset that she broke into tears. Nicole was her closest friend of all the girls at the store, but Gracie had never told her such personal details of her life. Now they just came pouring out.

  Nicole listened long without offering any advice. When Gracie remarked on this, Nicole said with her mother and four sisters, she hardly could get a word in, so she didn’t talk much. This made Gracie laugh, as Nicole had intended.

  Before getting into her car, Nicole put her hand on Gracie’s arm and said, “Girl, what I do when I’m upset like this is go take a long, hot bubble bath, with candles all around the tub, and just cry as much as I want and pour my heart out to God. All of us girls and my mama do that. It sure does help. You just have a good heart to heart with God, and I think you’ll get to feelin’ better, sugar.”

  Instantly uncomfortable with the mention of God, as well as Nicole’s warm hug, nevertheless Gracie nodded and thanked her friend for listening, then got into her own car and waved a friendly goodbye.

  So many of the girls Gracie had met down in this part of the country just had to hug all the time and say the word “God.” They said things like, “I’m trustin’ God,” or “I’m believin’ in God,” or “I’m prayin’ for you.” Or the one that really set her on edge: “Have you been saved?” The first time Gracie had been asked that, she had said, “From what?”

  Gracie found all the hugging and talking about God and prayer embarrassing and maybe just a little insane. It wasn’t that she had anything against hugging, but she did not care for people she barely knew to touch her. And she believed in God, but she felt too self-conscious to say His name all over the place, and she did not fully trust people who did. No one had behaved that way in her experience while growing up. People just didn’t do that. They might say they prayed about something, but they didn’t just say, “Talk to God.” Those sorts of people were generally considered fanatical. Although Nicole didn’t seem fanatical. She even wore low-cut camisoles and makeup. And when Gracie had confessed her experience with being asked if she were saved, Nicole had laughed and laughed, and said, “Oh, girl, you are the sweetest thing.”

  On the drive home, however, Gracie found herself praying for help to calm down and know what to do about this situation, because she had to do something. She just had to. She barely addressed God and didn’t expect any answer, but by the time she arrived home, she had quit crying and an idea had come into her mind. Whether it was from God or her own anger, she didn’t know, but at least she felt better and set on doing something.

  She went to the phone, hesitated a few seconds, then picked up the receiver and dialed her mother, who was still awake, as Gracie had expected. She pictured her mother in her big bed with its all-white sheets and silk coverlet, reading glasses—which she never used at work—on her nose, and a stack of files in front of her.

  Without preliminary, Gracie said, “Mama, if you do not send Emma Berry a polite note of acknowledgment of her card, and if you do not change your mind and come to my wedding and be nice to Johnny and his family, I am never again going to speak to you. And I mean it this time.”

  Immediately hanging up, she then switched off the ringer and went straight to run a hot tub with moisturizing bath beads and surrounded by fragrant, comforting candles.

  As she sank back with relief into the soothing water and thought, Oh, God, her eyes popped wide open with the realization that she had both prayed fervently and called her mother Mama.

  She was not exactly certain what her mother feared about her marrying Johnny, but maybe it was something like that.

  Over a thousand miles away, Sylvia Kinney kept dialing Gracie’s phone number and getting her daughter’s voice mail. She tried Gracie’s cell phone and got the same thing.

  Frustrated beyond measure, she cursed voice mail as a horrible invention. Regular answering machines had at least afforded some satisfaction, because even if the party on the other end did not pick up, one could still scream across the line and imagine being heard.

  Unable to reach out and snatch her daughter back where she belonged, Sylvia threw the receiver across the room at the padded headboard. Then she wandered down the hall to a closed door—Gracie’s room, which was still as it had been when Gracie moved out.

  She went inside and stood looking at the room lit only by moonlight. She sat on the bed and took up a stuffed bear and held it for some minutes. Then, throwing aside the stuffed bear, she strode to the kitchen, poured herself a large glass of wine, found a pack of cigarettes tucked in the back of a drawer, took out one and lit it with a shaking hand. She stood there drinking in gulps and smoking like a fiend.

  The phone rang. She grabbed it up, expecting Gracie and jabbing the cigarette out in the sink, as if her daughter could see her.

  But it was Wadley Johnson’s voice that said, “Hi, beautiful woman.” He was down below in his car and wanted to come up.

  She wanted to let him, but would not. She could not bear for him to see her. While making all sorts of excuses, she walked to the corner beside the large refrigerator, away from her image in the dark window. She finally had to say straight out, “No, Wadley. I don’t want to see you or anyone.”

  He took that well, so well that when she hung up, she was angry all over again. Why did Wadley have to be so accommodating?

  She downed two sleeping pills, turned up the air-conditioning and went to bed, pulling the covers over her head.

  18

  The Nucleus of the Universe

  In the cab on the way to the M. Connor offices, while Belinda made a running commentary on the sights, Emma took out her compact mirror and checked her teeth to make certain none of her breakfast had stuck there. She checked her hair and makeup, and kept reminding herself to keep her chin up. Lifting the chin always encouraged confidence.

  Catching her ref lection in the glass on the way into the building,
she decided she would leave on her dark sunglasses. Unfortunately, with the dark glasses and her chin up, she didn’t see the unexpected steps and stumbled. A hand came out to catch her. It was attached to a handsome and stylish-looking man.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he said, “My pleasure,” in the way of a man appreciating a woman. That returned her confidence.

  She cast him a nod, then proceeded onward to locate the office directory on a wall across the wide lobby.

  Turning to call to Belinda, she saw that her friend had entered into a conversation with the man who had helped her. They apparently found the subject of steps just inside the door quite interesting.

  “Belinda, I’m goin’ over to the directory.”

  Belinda waved that she had heard and continued talking to the man.

  Discarding her sunglasses in favor of seeing, Emma found M. Connor, Incorporated. Fifth floor.

  Belinda appeared beside her, and accompanying her was that same man, who said, “Can I help you? I have offices in this building.”

  Emma said she had found the floor, thank you, but Belinda put in, “We’re lookin’ for Sylvia Kinney’s office. Would you know where that is?”

  “Well, yes…actually, I was just going that way. I’ll be glad to show you.” He stepped over and pushed the elevator button. Immediately the doors of one parted, and he gestured gallantly for them to enter.

  Belinda went right ahead, while Emma hesitated. The man regarded her expectantly, so she stepped into the elevator and turned to look at her ref lection in the shiny doors. While the elevator went up, Belinda and the man flirted with each other, exchanging the information that Belinda and Emma were visiting from Oklahoma and that the man was from North Carolina but also lived in Baltimore part-time because of business.

  To this Belinda said, “Emma’s from North Carolina, aren’t you, Emma?”

  Manners forced Emma to say, “Yes, I am,” and to give the man a nod, because one simply could not not acknowledge someone from one’s home state. His accent was so faint, though, as to make him suspect.

  So then he said, “Are you two friends of Sylvia’s?”

  “Acquaintances,” Belinda answered. “Actually, we know her daughter, Gracie.”

  “Ah.”

  Emma wondered why Belinda didn’t just tell him their names and phone numbers, and that Emma had come to address Sylvia Kinney’s animosity toward her son.

  The elevator doors opened onto a lobby. Emma turned to give the man a cordial thank you and bid him goodbye, but he strode ahead to a pair of large doors, saying, “It’s through here.”

  Belinda went right on after him, and Emma trailed behind, thinking that she did not need an audience for her confrontation. It crossed her mind to turn around and head right back down the elevator, but then the man was greeting the tall receptionist, who seemed straight out of Vogue magazine.

  “Good morning, Angel—we’re just going down to see Sylvia.”

  “Okay, Mr. Wadley,” the woman said with a flirtatious smile.

  Emma did not think he looked like he could be connected to a name like Wadley. She took note of him smiling and greeting women who passed, as if he were a kindly visiting prince. She peered into offices and cubicles. There was more modern design—glass, stainless steel and black lacquer—surrounding her than she saw in six months, without going to Las Vegas. The young professionals who passed looked every inch attractive executive types out of a television drama. She felt thoroughly an alien in an alien land.

  Their escort came to a stop at a desk manned by the first no-nonsense matronly looking woman Emma had seen in the entire place. The woman greeted him by the name of Mr. Johnson, and he called her Miss Lenore. Seeing the door with Sylvia Kinney’s name on it, Emma quickly concluded that either Sylvia Kinney was smart to employ a very capable sort of woman, or she wanted no competition in the area of youth and style.

  “These ladies are old friends of Sylvia’s,” the man said, moving to the office door. “I’ll just take us on in.”

  The secretary protested, but the man paid her no mind, simply rapped and entered breezily. “Sylvia…sweetheart, how are you this beautiful morning?”

  “Wadley, I have neither time nor inclination…” The woman behind the elegant desk—upswept dark hair and sophisticated suit—came swivelling around from a computer screen.

  Then she saw them. Instantly her countenance changed to impassive. Removing her glasses, she slowly stood. The man with the unlikely name of Wadley Johnson went to her and kissed her cheek, then presented Emma and Belinda, saying, “I ran into these lovely ladies downstairs—they’ve come to see you from Oklahoma. They’re friends of Gracie’s.”

  Emma saw the woman’s surprise, and saw the color leave her face as she met Emma’s gaze.

  Emma extended her hand, saying, “I’m Emma Berry. I know this is bargin’ in, but I had the opportunity to stop into Baltimore today and thought it would just be too rude not to introduce myself to the mother of the woman my son is marryin’.” It was as if all that she had been taught forever about politeness and graciousness just took hold of her.

  Sylvia Kinney stared at her and her outstretched hand for a noticeable moment, before taking it in a reluctant shake and saying, “Yes…this is a surprise.”

  Emma then introduced Belinda and made up a story about having come to Baltimore for Belinda’s business. “Belinda owns our drugstore in Valentine. It’s on the national register of historic places.” She went on about coming along on the spur of the moment, not even remembering Sylvia lived in Baltimore until that very morning. Belinda fell into the spirit, saying how Emma had been just “the kindest thing alive to get herself together and come with me.” There was something about the moment that caused both Emma and Belinda to fall into a thick drawl.

  Sylvia Kinney’s reply to all of this was, “How nice.” She stood there gazing at them as if counting the very hairs on their heads.

  Mr. Wadley Johnson, who seemed to now be pondering the situation, apparently decided on retreat. He promised to return a little later and left.

  Directly after his departure, Belinda said, “I’ll just wait outside and give you two mothers time alone.” As she softly closed the door, Emma had the image of her planting herself firmly on the other side of the office door, like a sentry.

  Emma and Sylvia Kinney gazed at each other. Emma thought clearly that John Cole was correct. She had gotten carried away again.

  She said, “Well, I am glad to meet you,” and, without invitation, sat herself in the chair facing the desk.

  “You’ll have to excuse me if I seem surprised,” said Sylvia Kinney, who slowly lowered herself into her high-backed chair behind the desk. She sat back, appearing to measure Emma for hat size. “Does Gracie know you are here?”

  “No,” said Emma in a pleasant tone. “I haven’t spoken to Gracie since last Sunday. She and Johnny were out to the house for supper, and we were discussin’ the wedding and shower plans.”

  The woman made no reply, but looked at Emma as if to say: Get on with what you have to say and be gone.

  “We find your Gracie a lovely young woman, and we are thrilled to have her joinin’ our family.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Can you? I’m so glad. I thought that it must be nerve-wracking to have your daughter halfway across the country and marryin’ a young man you barely know, and can’t be certain will love and value your daughter as she deserves. I thought you might need reassuring that Johnny loves your daughter with all his heart. His father and I welcome her, and you, as well.”

  This was received with a cool nod and murmur of, “That’s very kind of you, I’m sure.”

  Emma leaned forward slightly and continued on with the theme, which was that Gracie was marrying not only a solid young man, but one with a solid family and business behind him. Certainly Berry Enterprises was not anything on a grand scale—minuscule, actually, compared to M. Connor Corporation, quite obviously.

 
“Obviously,” Sylvia Kinney murmured.

  “Just the same,” Emma said, “our family business is a prosperous concern, and will support Johnny and Gracie and their family quite well. And Valentine is a good place to live. Oh, it is country and not at all sophisticated by your standards, I’m sure. But there are compensations. You know, it has a slower pace, and people take time to talk when they pass on the street…and they watch out for each other. Kids can play all over town, and old people can take walks in the middle of the night, if they want.

  “I just want you to know that in our community and in her marriage, Gracie has as much promise of a happy future as could be found on earth.”

  At all of this, Sylvia Kinney appeared unmoved. Her expression remained cool and impassive, and she commented only that she was sure Emma’s son had a lot to recommend him.

  Emma, however, had thoroughly succeeded in moving herself. In presenting the picture of what they had to offer Gracie, she experienced a rush of gratitude for her own life and even an eagerness to get back to it.

  “Well, that’s all I have for you,” she said. “Take it for what you will. You know, I don’t think there’s anything a parent can say, once an adult child has decided to get married. I know there was nothing that could be said to me, and when Johnny brought Gracie home, I knew there was nothing I could say to either one of them. Those two are goin’ to get married, with or without us, and if we don’t go along, we’ll be the ones to miss out. I don’t intend to do that.”

  That last brought Sylvia Kinney’s eyes wide. Although perhaps it was because Emma, who had said what she needed to say, had gotten to her feet.

  She reached across the desk and shook Sylvia Kinney’s hand firmly, saying, “I’m glad we got this chance to chat. I do hope to be seein’ you at the wedding. Come on down anytime. We’d love to have you visit…oh, the bridal-shower barbeque is in August. I’ll send you an invitation. No need to see us out—we can find our way.”