In Front of God and Everybody

by KD McCrite

  “I just said he was good company for your grandma.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean something about him, personal.”

  She pulled in a deep breath and then took her sweet time exhaling it.

  “He has a nice, strong voice,” she said at last.

  Oh brother. My mama, who’d been able to forgive her great-aunt and nurse the woman until she died, could find nothing good to say about that old man, because believe you me, his big mouth was not a positive asset.

  “I’ve been trying to like him but—” I began, and Mama interrupted.

  “Good. You just keep on trying to like him, and pretty soon you’ll like him for real.”

  I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. She could not be serious. But she was. And I could tell by her expression she did not want to discuss Mr. Rance further. Boy, oh boy, did I have my work cut out for me.

  In the library parking lot, Mama stopped the car and said, “Now, I won’t be long. So if you get more books, be quick about it, and wait for me at the entrance.”

  Hoping I could take care of business in a hurry, I ran into the library, slapped my books down on the return counter, and waited impatiently for Miss Delaine to get off the telephone. Wouldn’t you know that would be the day somebody called to ask how to spell acidophilus or ignoramus or some crazy word like that? The other librarian, Mrs. Heathcliff, was always frowny and grouchy, and she didn’t like kids. I hoped I didn’t have to deal with her because she’d probably never cooperate.

  “Well, Miss April Grace Reilly, one of my favorite library users!” Miss Delaine greeted when she hung up the telephone and closed the dictionary on the desk. “You look all excited.” She smiled at me.

  “Yes’m. I need some information, and I don’t know how to get it.”

  “You came to the right place. What do you need?”

  “I want to find out about someone who died somewhere,” I said.

  “You mean a historical figure?” Miss Delaine asked.

  “No,” I said. “I mean a woman who died last year down in Texas.”

  She gave me a funny look, but she reached for a notepad and took the pen from behind her ear.

  “I assume you have a name?”

  “Yes’m,” I said. “Mrs. Emmaline Rance.” I didn’t worry too much about her making any connection between Emmaline Rance and Jeffrey Rance. That old man probably didn’t read and never used the library.

  “And where in Texas?”

  “Well, I don’t know the town. But the county is Beauhide.”

  “Beauhide?” She wrote that down too. “I need a date.”

  “Around Christmastime, last year.”

  “Hmm.” She stared down at the paper.

  “Can you find out anything about how she died?” I asked.

  That brought her eyes square on my face. “You want her obituary?”

  “Will that tell about her and how she died, like if she had been strangled or poisoned or died from a long illness or got kicked in the head by a horse or something?” I asked.

  She gave me another funny look, and I don’t mean funny ha-ha. “It might. Sometimes all an obituary contains is the bare facts. You know, name, dates of birth and death, names of survivors.”

  “Hmm,” I said.

  The expression on her face said she might be fixing to ask me some probing questions, and I preferred not to blurt right out that I thought Mr. Rance might have rubbed out his missus.

  I said, “Well, I’d like to know about her life. I’m getting ready to write an essay about Texas women who’ve died.”

  She gave me the funniest look yet. “That’s an odd topic.”

  I thought fast. “Well, you know, I’m going into sixth grade, and I hear my teacher expects us to write lots and lots. I want to be prepared. In fact, I’m working on ‘What Happened During My Summer Vacation’ already.”

  She kept looking at me as if she thought I had two heads with a horn growing out of the middle of each one. But what she said was, “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re getting prepared.”

  You can tell that Miss Delaine has Real Class.

  “Reckon we can locate more information on Mrs. Rance?” I asked.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. I’ll get in touch with the library in Beauhide County, see what they have. Will that work for you?”

  I was so happy that my grin hurt my face.

  “That’ll be great!” Then I lowered my voice and added, “But could we keep this just between us? I don’t want anyone else writing essays on women who’ve died in Texas.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “But I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Not even my mama.” When Miss Delaine frowned, I added real quick, “I want to surprise her and Daddy with all my early writing.”

  “All right. It’ll be our secret.” As I turned to go find a book to check out, she said, “April Grace, I hope you’ll let me read your composition. It sounds . . . fascinating.”

  If all went well, my “composition” might get printed right there on the front page of the Cedar Ridge Teller, with big black headlines, and right next to it, a photo of Jeffrey Rance being hauled to the Big House for murdering his wife to get insurance money to buy a brand-new, red Dodge Ram and then hiding from the law on Rough Creek Road. If that happened, I wouldn’t have to worry anymore about him doing Grandma any mischief.

  I guess you could say my backside got sore the rest of the day from sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear from Miss Delaine. I hoped she’d hurry and get me that information about Mr. Rance because the next day was Saturday, and that was the day of the Big Date. But she didn’t.

  I called the library bright and early on Saturday, hoping for a miracle. Mrs. Heathcliff answered the phone and told me in a real snotty voice that Miss Delaine wasn’t working that day.

  I asked if she knew anything about the information Miss Delaine was getting for me.

  “I do not,” she said, all snippy and curt. “If she said she’d call you, then she will. Bothering the other librarians with your questions will not hurry the process.” Then she hung up on me. Boy, oh boy.

  At lunch, while Mama and Daddy and me and Ian ate beans and cornbread, Isabel said she wasn’t hungry. She sat on the front porch and smoked. Myra Sue kept saying she wasn’t hungry, either, and needed to go work out, but she wasn’t getting away with it. You’d think after three weeks, ole Myra Sue would learn she couldn’t get away with everything Isabel did, even though she kept trying. She finally choked down a little yogurt and gagged on a sliced tomato.

  Daddy watched her for a while. He sat back in his chair and frowned at her real big. His eyes shone bright blue in a face all brown from the sun.

  “I don’t have time to sit here and watch you try not to eat, Myra Sue,” he said.

  “Then don’t,” Myra Sue said. “I’ve been eating without your help for years and years.”

  I stopped chewing so I could hear whatever new punishment would be added to her list.

  Daddy looked at Mama. “Honey, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but maybe if you’d fix her a grilled cheese? I seem to remember that being her favorite.”

  “I can do that, but—”

  “Don’t bother, Mother. I refuse to eat such a greasy, nasty thing.”

  Daddy stared at her so hard that even I squirmed.

  “Your mother will fix it, and you will eat it while I go back to fixing the fence.”

  “I won’t!” She tried to stare him down, but my daddy is stubborn.

  “Wipe that sneer off your face, Myra Sue. You’ll sit here until you eat it, or until you’re old and gray. Take your choice.”

  She pooched out her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest. I figured that dumb girl would not see another episode of Days of Our Lives until she saw the Pearly Gates.

  Right then, the back screen door opened and Grandma came in. I stared at her, and what I saw caused a great big hunk of cornbread to hit my stomach,
unchewed.

  “Grandma!” I screamed, goggling and choking. “What did you do to your hair?”

  Gone was the soft gray bun she’d worn the whole entire time I’ve known her—which has been my whole entire life. Her hair was now a soft brown with a touch of red, and it was short, short, short. I nearly died right there at the dining table. Every one of us stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, which I figured she must have done.

  “It’s a modified pixie cut. Like it?” She patted that modified pixie and giggled. “I went to Bella Donna’s in Blue Reed.”

  Blue Reed was sixty miles away. Probably Faye at Cedar Ridge, or Jane in Ava, or any other beauty shop person in a fifty-mile radius never in a million years woulda done what had been did to Grandma’s hair. I hated it.

  She held up a sack from Walmart. “Here’s the makeup I bought for the rest of my makeover. Where’s Isabel?”

  Daddy coughed so hard, I thought he’d collapse all his sinus cavities and both lungs. Ian’s eyes grew big, but he didn’t say a word.

  “We gotta get back to work on that fence on the back pasture before I turn the cows out in it,” Daddy said in a strangled voice as he hightailed it out of the kitchen with Ian right behind him. A second later he opened the back door again, stuck his head in, and said, “You eat your food, Myra Sue.”

  Mama didn’t make that grilled cheese right away. She was too busy gawking at Grandma.

  TWENTY

  Grandma Remade

  My sister seemed to forget about gagging on her lunch.

  “Grandmother,” she said in That Tone, “if you were going to change your hair, why in the world did you choose that silly style?” She must have forgotten her own orange head. “It’s much too young for you.”

  “Myra Sue!” Mama gave her the Look. She finally dragged her eyes away from Grandma long enough to start the grilled cheese sandwich for Myra Sue.

  Grandma didn’t seem as disappointed by that reaction as you might think. In fact, she looked kinda smug when she replied, “Isabel suggested it. She showed me a picture of an older woman with this same style in one of her dance magazines. Chas at Petite ChouChou Salon knew just who she was talking about. He done a real good job, didn’t he?”

  My sister blinked a dozen or so times. Boy, she was getting as good at it as Isabel.

  “Let me look at it again. Let me see the back,” Myra Sue said. “Oh yes! Now I see it. It’s darling! Just perfect for you! You look an absolute dear, Grandmother.”

  Oh brother. I hated it even more, knowing ole Isabel had been the one to think it up.

  The hinges of the front screen creaked as the door opened. You could hear the sharp click, click, click of high heels on the wood floor, and a second later ole Isabel herself clipped into the kitchen. She brought the stink of her nasty cigarettes right in with her.

  “Grace!” she said, beaming. Boy, you wouldn’t believe it, but when Isabel beamed like that, her whole face lit up. I’d never seen such a thing. It actually made her look kind of . . . pretty. “Your hair is darling!”

  She put down her cigarettes and empty coffee cup to circle Grandma as if the woman were a mare for sale during the Fox Trotters weekend up in Missouri. “Absolutely darling!”

  “That’s what I said,” said Myra Sue, giving the rest of us a superior smirk.

  “She doesn’t look like Grandma with that hair,” I declared. “And what is this? Everybody Color Your Hair Week? Mama, you’ll stay a redhead, won’t you?”

  “That’s enough, April Grace,” Mama said. “What’s with you two girls, anyway? Where are your manners?” She turned to the woman who clawed into Grandma’s Walmart sack like she was digging for gold. “Isabel, would you like another cup of coffee?”

  Isabel frowned critically at a bottle of Maybelline foundation she pulled out of the sack. Without looking up, she picked up her cup and held it out.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Please,” I added.

  This time Mama didn’t say a word to me as she took the cup and filled it. I figured since she’d just brought up the subject of good manners, she didn’t want to contradict herself.

  “Let’s see what else you have,” Isabel said to Grandma as she dove into the bag again and emptied it with gusto. “Rose blush, peach blush, blue eye shadow, green eye shadow, pink eye shadow, silver eye shadow, ivory powder, beige powder, light and dark concealer, blue eyeliner, black eyeliner, brown eyebrow pencil. Oh, didn’t you get tweezers? Your eyebrows . . . Well, do you really want woolly worms above your eyes? It works for Brooke Shields, but she’s a young girl.”

  “I got tweezers at home,” Grandma said.

  “Well, we must have them,” said Isabel.

  “We have tweezers,” Myra Sue practically shouted in her enthusiasm to be of assistance. “Shall I get them, Isabel darling?”

  “Yes, dearest. Run and fetch them, though I doubt they will be of a quality I need. On second thought, bring me the ones out of my makeup case on the dresser.”

  I did not approve of this whole business.

  “Tweezers is tweezers,” I muttered. Isabel looked at me darkly. “Are you gonna paint her face right here in the kitchen?” I asked. “Mama, won’t they be in your way?”

  “It’s okay.” She smiled as she sat down. “I want to see Mama Grace transform into a movie star.” She looked at the assortment of makeup on the table. “My goodness, Isabel, are you going to put all this on her?”

  “I’ll use what I need. In the absence of a salon nearby, I believe I can do a reasonable job. I am a professional, after all.”

  I tried to remember what Grandma had told me, and I thought of Mama’s generous attitude toward Isabel. I attempted to find something nice about the woman. I thought hard and came up with this: she’s offering to help without being begged.

  Well, what did you expect? That’s the best I could do with what I had to work with.

  Mama eyed the receipt. “Mama Grace, this was quite an expense.”

  Grandma reached out and snatched the ticket from her.

  “It’s all right. I want to look nice,” Grandma said as she began to remove items from their individual packaging.

  “But will you ever use any of this again?” Mama asked.

  Grandma stuffed discarded wrappings into the store sack. “If Isabel will teach me how to put it on, yes.”

  A vision of Bozo the Clown popped into my head, so I had a coughing fit.

  Myra Sue trotted into the room with the tweezers. “These are just magnificent,” she sighed, handing them to Isabel.

  They looked exactly like the ones in our medicine cabinet, and I said so, but no one paid me the least bit of attention.

  Only because I did not want to witness the process by which my grandmother was to be transformed, I jumped up from the table and began to clean up the kitchen. No one said a single, solitary word about my industry.

  “Eyebrows first,” Isabel announced. “Now, Grace, you’ll have to relax. And don’t draw your face up like that. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  I heard plenty of grunts and yips as eyebrows came out by the roots.

  “What are you going to wear tonight, Grandmother?” Myra Sue asked at one point.

  “Yes, tell us!” Mama said.

  “You did buy something in a boutique, didn’t you?” asked Isabel. “You aren’t wearing some discount-store bargain, are you?”

  “Yowch! Be careful there, sis,” Grandma said. “You’re gonna draw blood yet. I bought me the prettiest dark-green dress you ever saw at Sally’s on the Square. It’s got a big, lacy collar and padded shoulders. Y’know, I ain’t worn padded shoulders since 1945! Who’da thought that now in the 1980s they’d be in style again? And there’s lace on the bodice and a wide belt.”

  “What did Mr. Rance think of your haircut and new dress?” Mama asked.

  Grandma gave her a blank stare. “Woo?” she asked, all innocent like.

  “You said he was taking you to Blue Reed,” I piped up.<
br />
  She had the grace to blush. “Well, now, he’d didn’t take me.”

  “Mama Grace! Did you go by yourself?” Mama said. “You shouldn’t have—”

  “I didn’t want to be bothered, Lily! Sometimes I’d like to have some time to myself, do some things without everybody watching me. You people won’t even let me go to Cedar Ridge to buy groceries by myself anymore. Gotta send April with me to make sure I don’t die on the way there. You act like I’m old!” She sounded plumb disgusted.

  “We just want what’s best for you, Grandma,” I told her, though it was certainly never my idea to ride along with her.

  “That’s right,” Mama said.

  “Well, then.” Grandma acted like there was no more to be said, so the rest of us shut our mouths. I turned around and went back to my dishwashing. But about a minute later she hollered, “Oh my! I just thought of something awful!”

  She said this with such panic that I spun around, slinging soapy water across the cabinets, floors, and the makeup artist herself. Isabel sputtered and spewed way more than a few drops of dishwater called for.

  “What’s wrong, Grandma?” I said, ignoring Isabel’s glare. She had plucked away half an eyebrow, and I had to swallow hard to keep from screaming when I saw it.

  “My purse!” Grandma nearly shouted. “I don’t have a purse.”

  Now, I figured this meant she had misplaced it again. I dragged my horrified gaze from her brows.

  “Well, I can go find it for you,” I offered. “Did you look in the crisper of the refrigerator? You left it there just last—”

  “No, no. Not that purse,” Grandma said. “I mean an evening bag. I need something fancy to go with my new dress and my new shoes.”

  “And your new hair,” added Mama.

  “And your fabulous new face,” Myra Sue put in.

  “Yes, it must be something elegant,” Isabel said.

  “Something chick,” Grandma agreed, nodding.

  Isabel and Myra Sue exchanged a look that I did not like.

  “If Grandma wants to look chick,” I told them hotly, “then that’s her perfect right.”

  “It’s not chick,” my sister said. “It’s pronounced ‘sheek.’”