by KD McCrite
Daddy looked at the woman. “Well, maybe the house isn’t as bad as we thought. Last I heard she was refusing to go inside.”
There was sudden silence when Ian turned off the roaring lawn mower. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.
“Hello,” Daddy called as we all piled out. “You look a mite overheated.”
Ian wiped the back of his neck with the kerchief and blotted his face again. He actually gave my dad a little smile.
“Yeah. You could say that,” Ian said. “I’ve not mowed the grass since I was fifteen—and it was nothing like this! In California everyone either uses a riding mower or hires it done.”
Oh brother. I’m so sure.
“We brought some iced tea,” Mama said, carrying the cold jug. She held up a Walmart bag. “Hope you don’t mind Solo cups. They aren’t exactly fine crystal.”
“That tea looks good, and those cups will be fine. Come on inside,” Ian said. He actually sounded like a real person instead of an uptight twit. Maybe Mama’s good cooking the other night shook loose his human-being-ness.
I tagged along behind everyone, dodging the weak, rotted places on the steps and the porch floor. The inside of the house was hot, and it smelled like mildew, cigarette smoke, and old mice nests. A few boxes and two or three sacks from Walmart were strewn about. A yellow-handled broom stood in the corner where the old pink-and-yellow wallpaper had peeled loose. That broom looked like it had never been used. Two webbed lawn chairs seemed to be the only furniture in the place.
Isabel, all hunched into herself, stood back from everyone, puffing a cigarette like she was an old steam engine. Her crutches were nowhere to be seen. She wore her preferred garb, all black. This time she was wearing shorty-shorts and a halter top. She was a sight, I tell you. You could see her ribs, and all her knobby ole bones were sticking out in plain view. Apparently, she hadn’t combed her dark hair for days, and now it stuck out every which way in short, pointy wisps. I might’ve screamed at the frightful sight if I’d come up on her unexpected in the woods or in the middle of the night in a cemetery.
“How’s your foot?” I asked, looking at the ankle that didn’t seem any bigger than the other one. In fact, they both were so thin and sharp, they looked like razor blades beneath her pasty skin.
“Fine,” she muttered, puffing her cigarette.
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Mama said, smiling, to which Isabel did not respond. She could have been a mountain in the Blue Ridge, the way clouds of smoke hovered around her head.
“Look, darling,” Ian said. “Our neighbors brought some iced tea.” The way he said darling wasn’t exactly endearing, and from the way she looked at him, Isabel knew it. She glanced at us as she puffed and blew and said nothing.
“Where’s your furniture?” I asked.
Ian and Isabel glanced at each other, so did Mama and Daddy, then Mama hissed at me to hush.
“Let me pour you some tea,” she said, setting the glass jug on a nearby box. She handed me the sack of cups. “April Grace, honey, open these for us.”
“And while you’re doing that, I’ll bring in the baskets,” Daddy told us all cheerfully.
“Baskets?” Ian echoed.
“Of food,” I said. “I thought it was gonna be our supper, but . . .”
I caught sight of Mama’s expression and let my voice fade.
“Food?” Isabel finally had something to say. “Really, Lucy—”
“Her name is Lily!” I hollered for probably the five millionth time.
“April,” Mama said, and I hushed. She looked from me to Isabel. “Isabel, Lucy is a very lovely name, and many women are blessed to have it. But it does not belong to me. My name is Lily. Please be kind enough to call me Lily.” She met Isabel’s eyes and didn’t even crack a smile. I wanted to do cartwheels all over that old house.
Isabel blinked about three dozen times. “Pardon me for making a mistake,” she said, all prissy. “And I have to tell you that we do not want your food. After that meal the other night, Ian could not get to sleep until after two thirty in the morning.”
“My inability to sleep had nothing to do with that meal!” Ian snarled. “It had everything to do with your whining—”
“We figured you’re tired of eating in restaurants, so everything we brought is fresh from the garden,” Mama said a little loudly, putting a halt to their exchange. “Except the baked chicken and the bread. We just thought you’d probably not feel like cooking when you’re so busy getting your house fixed up.”
Ian gave Mama a smile. “That’s kind of you. And it will be a help. We—”
“This house does not have a refrigerator or dishwasher or even a microwave. And besides that, I do not cook.” Isabel lit another cigarette from the one she’d just smoked down to its filter, then added the butt to an oversized, overflowing ashtray. She might not cook, but she sure was barbecuing her lungs fit to be tied.
“Maybe Lily will teach you,” Ian said.
You should have seen the look Isabel threw at him. I figured fists were gonna fly next. In fact, I wondered if the fists hadn’t been flying for a while. They acted like they’d like to lay into each other the way me and Myra Sue had done.
Mama cleared her throat. She put both hands on my shoulders and propelled me to where I faced the couple, who continued to glare at each other. She cleared her throat again.
With her fingers right firm against my shoulder muscles, she said, “My daughter has something she wants to say to you both.”
Boy, oh boy, I wished I’d written a speech and practiced it, because I felt real dumb. I shifted around a bit, but Mama kept her hands on me. “I’m real sorry for being rude when you were at our house needing directions to Sam White’s old place, where you now live,” I finally blurted.
Ian looked at me, and for a minute I don’t think he even saw me, but then his face kinda cleared and a little smile came to his lips.
“Thank you. We accept.” He shot a glance at the missus. “Don’t we, darling?”
Isabel crimped her mouth. I wasn’t sure if it were a smile or gas caught crossways. She didn’t say anything, but she puffed on her cigarette like it was the last one before execution sunrise.
Daddy came in with the baskets. As he settled them on the floor, he said, “Ian, that chicory and buckbrush and all the rest of it is too dense and too tough for you to cut with a lawn mower. Why don’t I bring over my tractor and Bush Hog and take care of it for you? Won’t take hardly any time—”
“Don’t you bring any pigs to us!” Isabel screeched. “It’s bad enough around here without smelly, disease-infested swine running loose.”
“A Bush Hog is a piece of machinery,” I told that ignorant woman.
“It’s a big cutting machine,” Daddy explained. “I’ll have all these weeds and small brush cut in no time. Then your yard will be manageable. But you’ll have to keep it mowed; otherwise, it’ll look like this again in another week or two.”
Ian nodded. “I can do that. I bought that mower yesterday at Walmart.”
Isabel snorted. “Sure. You can spend money on lawn mowers but none on furniture.”
“Fifty dollars won’t buy furniture,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “It barely bought a cheap lawn mower!”
Mama gave a Solo cup full of iced tea to Ian, then handed one to Isabel. I hoped it would cool them down and shut them up. Their loud fussing made my head hurt all over again.
“Not a bit of sugar in it,” she assured them.
I don’t see how anyone can drink iced tea without sugar, but then I don’t pretend to know everything.
Ian drained his cup in practically one swallow. Isabel just looked into hers as if she’d rather drink that Mexican booze with the worm in it. Mama refilled Ian’s cup, and you probably won’t believe this, but he actually thanked her and smiled real big.
“I want to go home!” Isabel shrieked so suddenly that I jumped and grabbed hold of Daddy. “Look,
Lucy—I mean, Lily!” She rushed to Mama, caught her hand, and pulled her across the room. She didn’t even limp. She pointed through a door. “That’s where I’ve slept the last three nights. Right there on that air mattress, on the floor. And I’m telling you, I hear wild animals skittering and scratching and eating all night long. I can’t live like this. I’m not a hillbilly!”
The hillbilly remark gave me a severe pain, but Mama overlooked it. “Why, I had no idea you were living in the house. We thought you were staying at the Starshine Motel in Cedar Ridge.”
“We were! For three days. Then Ian put a stop to all semblance of comfort and civility.” Isabel pointed to her mister and screeched, “He says we can’t afford to stay there anymore. He’s a beast! An insensitive lout who thinks of no one but himself!”
Then Isabel burst into tears, crying so hard, I thought she’d break all her skinny bones. Mama gaped at her with her mouth open; then she gently pulled Isabel into her arms and let the woman cry all over her.
“I can’t live this way,” Isabel kept saying every little bit, which only made her wail even louder. “I miss my home and my friends and my dancing!”
“I know, I know,” Mama soothed, patting her bony ole back.
Well, I’ll tell you something you might not believe, but I felt sorry for ole Isabel. If I’d been hauled away from everything familiar and everything I loved, I’d squall my eyes out too. And I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in that falling-down house, either.
When it seemed the woman had cried herself dry, she let go of Mama and pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, prissier than ever. “I’m not given to displays of emotion.”
Now, while I sympathized with her homesickness, I nearly hooted out loud at that remark. Practically every time I’d seen her, she was either in the throes of some kind of fit or on a crying jag. However, my own personal self, I wouldn’t have wanted to live in that falling-down house and sleep on the floor, either, so I completely understood what ole Isabel was saying.
“It’s perfectly reasonable,” Mama said. “You shouldn’t have to live without the things you need. When will they be arriving?”
Isabel looked at her. “They won’t.”
Mama blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Our stuff—our lovely furniture, custom built in Europe last year—will not be arriving, ever. Neither will any appliances, lamps, pillows, nor anything else that makes life worth living. Most of our clothes are gone, as well!” So that’s why she was dressed in that dumb outfit. But her next words ruled out that notion. “What I’m wearing and the few things in those boxes are the clothes I simply could not part with. But my furs. My jewelry. Most of my shoes . . . oh, my shoes!” Here came another nonemotional display of sobbing and whimpering.
“What’s the deal?” my daddy asked Ian in his quiet voice. Isabel’s face was buried in her hands, and I doubt she heard a word over her own wailing. “Did you folks have a burnout?”
Ian shook his head. He stared up at the ceiling, took in a deep breath, and blew it out.
“We lost it all.”
Lost it? My mind clicked. They had been living in San Francisco, where earthquakes happen. But I hadn’t heard of one in the last few months.
“Was there an earthquake like the one back in 1908?”
Ian looked at me in surprise. “You know about that?”
“Well, if you go to school and pay attention in history and social studies, you learn about things.”
“No earthquake,” Ian said. “Bad business investment, actually.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Daddy seemed to get it. “Well, I’m sure sorry,” he said.
Ian looked out the window, but you could tell he didn’t actually see anything. He went on, “I worked for twenty-five years trying to build our fortune and support Isabel’s career— which, by the way, never has taken off to any degree.” She growled at him, but he ignored her. “Almost overnight, we lost it all, every bit of it.”
“Yes,” Isabel said, coming up for air. Her bloodshot eyes stared meanly at him. “We had to sell what was left for legal fees to keep Ian out of prison.”
There was dead silence in that rickety old house for what seemed years.
“Oh my,” Mama said at last, faintly.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ian said. “Isabel, you know it wasn’t my fault, and that was proven in a court of law, so I wish you’d just get over it.” To Mama and Daddy, he said, “We all thought the guy was on the up-and-up. Instead, he misled me and my partners with false information and phony documents. That was proven in court.”
Isabel wasn’t about to let it go. “Well, it was your fault when you sold my Mercedes and my jewelry and my clothes—”
“I sold my stuff too,” he snapped.
“—then took that money to Las Vegas and proceeded to lose it there playing blackjack and poker and who knows what else—”
“You know I was trying to win back our money!” Ian shouted. “You know that!”
“Ha! You still have your ring, Ian St. James! I notice you didn’t sell that thing.” He curled that hand—the one with the diamond pinky ring—right into a fist just about then.
“My mother gave me this ring,” he snarled, “and I’m not selling it. Ever!”
She hissed like a snake. “You and your mother!”
“Don’t you say a word about my mother. She’s in her grave.”
“And let me tell you something else, you mama’s boy. It’s your fault we can’t go home again. It’s your fault no bank will ever hire you—”
“Isabel!” he shouted.
“Oh! You miserable . . .” Then she said names that I’d get into trouble for mentioning, so just use your imagination.
They glared and glowered and snorted and stomped and shouted for a long time. It was a regular rodeo in their house. Mama and Daddy looked at each other like they didn’t know what to say or do. After a bit, when Ian and Isabel had wound down a little, Mama drew in a deep breath.
“Mike, take those baskets back to the pickup. April Grace, you get the iced tea and the cups and go with your daddy.”
Each and every one of us stared at her. I would never in a million years have thought Mama would’ve turned her back on anyone, but boy, oh boy, it sure seemed to be happening.
“Isabel, Ian,” Mama said. “Pack your clothes and gather anything you want to bring. You two are going to come and stay with us so you can get some rest and relax a little. You’ve been under too much pressure.”
Good grief. I thought I’d die right there on that dirty floor.
THIRTEEN
Mike Reilly’s
Bighearted Idea . . .
and Lily’s Too
Ian just stared at Mama for a minute while he appeared to search his brain for some wits. Finally he spoke.
“It’s kind of you to offer, but we cannot—”
Isabel let out a strangled sound. “Oh, yes, we can, Ian St. James! I refuse to spend another night on that hideous air mattress, and you refuse to let me stay at a decent hotel—”
“We are broke, darling.” The way he said darling indicated he was thinking she was anything but darling. “How many times . . .”
He stopped speaking all of a sudden, glanced our way, and gave us a sorry excuse for a smile. He took a deep breath and turned his back on the little woman. Maybe not such a good idea, given that she was sending him murderous looks.
“As you can see, Mr. Reilly—” Ian started.
“I’m Mike,” Daddy said. “Mr. Reilly was my dad. And my granddad.”
“Yes. Well. Mike, then. As you can see, it is going to take time and money to get this place to a level that suits our standards. We can’t intrude on your hospitality for that long.”
Amen to that, I agreed silently. In my worst nightmares, I couldn’t dream of living under the same roof with Isabel St. James. Unfortunately, my mama must never have had any such nightmares.
“Of course you
can,” Mama said. “Your wife needs a comfortable bed so she can rest. And so do you. You’ve both been under far too much pressure in the last few weeks.”
“Lu—Lily is right,” Isabel said. “You listen to her.”
I felt downright queasy.
Daddy looked around and seemed lost in thought for a bit.
“Wait a minute,” he said.
He walked through the house. As we watched, he knocked on the walls and looked real close at the doors and windows and ceilings. He kinda heaved his weight up and down in a few spots. At one point, he took out his pocketknife, hunkered down, and stabbed the scarred old floor. With the rest of us trailing him outside like a pack of dogs, he went and eyed the roof from one end to the other. For a while, he disappeared into the crawl space beneath the house.
Ian sipped his iced tea, and Isabel smoked. Mama just stood there and smiled faintly. No one spoke.
Daddy finally wriggled out from under the house and stood up. He dusted off his good jeans and nice blue shirt. “Lily, honey, can I talk to you?” he asked.
They walked as far as the pickup’s tailgate and stood there whispering for a while. Mama nodded, and knowing how my folks treat people in need, I kept getting queasier and queasier. Ian and Isabel ignored me while I found the shade beneath the nearest oak tree and sat down to cool off.
Mama hadn’t given me any of the iced tea she’d made for the St. Jameses. If I’d asked for it, she would have told me Ian and Isabel didn’t have any at all while we had plenty at the house. Sometimes, I’m not so sure it’s a blessing to have such kindhearted parents.
When Mama and Daddy walked toward Ian and Isabel again, I got up and sauntered over to them.
Daddy stood with his hands in his hip pockets and leaned back against his thumbs, the way he usually did when having casual conversation with friends.
“I’m not trying to pry, Ian,” Daddy said, “but I’ve got an idea how to get you out of this fix you’re in.”
“Oh yeah?” Ian seemed skeptical, but interested.
“You plan to fix up this house and live in it, right?” Daddy asked.
