by June Shaw
“We’ll be able to decipher whether his murder made her decide to delay wedding plans,” Eve suggested, and I agreed.
We hurried to the manor, cheerful since we’d shared incriminating information with the detective.
Not far inside, Mom’s friends sat gathered. Those in the Chat and Nap group who took daily naps must have already enjoyed them, although Mom wasn’t with them yet. These all appeared lively, their chatter echoing through the foyer. We exchanged greetings with them.
A woman at the outer edge of one sofa wiggled her fingers at us. “Hello, I’m new here. Y’all are so pretty.”
We both thanked her.
“I imagine in time I’ll learn which one is which of you. I’m Thelma.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Eve and I said.
“And this is my husband, Bud.” She held up a brown urn I’d thought was her purse.
I swallowed, not knowing whether I should tell Bud hello. I decided not to, while Eve obviously did the same. “Where’s Mom?” I asked. “Still napping?”
“She needed to go to her doctor for a checkup,” the pearl lady said. “Mac and his daughter took her.”
I exchanged a grim look with Eve. Our good moods were dead.
Chapter 6
“Sit down,” the woman who scooted over on a sofa told us.
I felt my face droop into a frown, exactly as what just happened to my spirits. Eve and I planted our bottoms on the places given to us. Squeezed in to fit, I felt the end of the stuffed sofa pressed against one of my hips and a large woman against my other one. Somehow that felt comforting.
Eve perched at the edge of a loveseat. “What do y’all think about Mac?” she asked, encouraging a whirlwind of replies from women on sofas and wheelchairs.
“He took your momma to the doctor. That was nice of him.”
“We’ve offered to bring her,” I said, “but she always wants to go in the manor’s van.”
“She says she doesn’t want to give us any trouble,” Eve said. “We’ve told her it wouldn’t be, but she refuses.”
“Mac isn’t bad looking,” one of the ladies said.
“And he always wears khaki pants. I like men to wear khaki pants.” This woman nodded from her wheelchair.
“He never has food on the front of his clothes like some men do,” another one said in their spitfire discussion.
“And how about when they scratch themselves? You know, down there.”
“Does Mac do that?” I asked. The correct answer could be something we could use in our argument to keep Mom from thinking of living with him.
Aging women looked at each other. Some seemed to concentrate before giving an answer. A number of them shook their heads no. One said yes.
“Shoot,” she said then. “The word accidentally slipped out of my mouth.” She shook her head at us. “He doesn’t.”
“What kind of person is he?” I shifted to a topic of much more interest than the clothes he wore or his personal habits, although those could also be important.
“Ooh, he doesn’t tip the Bingo caller,” one woman waving her hand said.
“He doesn’t?” Eve asked, her tone as enthusiastic as my mood from that woman’s reply. At least it was something negative we might use.
“Oh no,” said Ms. Grace, whose cell phone must have again slipped out of her bra and was now forming a third breast jammed above her belt. “He didn’t tip any caller who came in the manor from another place when he first got here, but after he saw everybody else giving a dollar to the caller after they won a pot, he gave them a dollar, too.”
“But that’s only if somebody comes in to call the games. We don’t tip the people who work here,” one assured us. It was something we already knew.
“Is he sickly?” I asked, causing some to give each other quizzical looks with raised eyebrows.
“Not that I know of,” one said.
“Neither me. But I don’t hear those things about men.”
The aroma of homemade bread swelled, gaining the interest of most in our group. Some heads turned toward the dining area.
“Yum, that smells good, doesn’t it?” This comment would have been most appropriate at the moment, except it came from Thelma. She looked at her urn when she asked it. Was she expecting the ashes inside it to give her a response? Or maybe it would shake to indicate yes or no.
Others began getting up and moving toward the enticing smell that now also included a hint of garlic in tomato sauce.
“Y’all are having spaghetti tonight?” Eve asked.
“Yes,” said the woman whose hip still pressed against mine. “And zucchini and a bun and salad and milk.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “We need to place an order ahead of time soon so we can come and eat a meal with y’all here.”
“They’re all good.” Her hip drew away from mine.
“Y’all enjoy,” Eve called to those still close. Some replied, some waved back, and some of them didn’t hear well and probably hadn’t heard her.
Residents and staff members were moving toward the food. Who could blame them? The aroma swelled around us. My sympathy went out to those who never left their suites or rooms. Unlike the nursing home in town, this retirement community catered mainly to those capable of taking care of themselves. They needed to be mobile and not require medicine delivered to their rooms or baths by staff members. The few who were here and needed more help hired their own; these were mainly parents of local doctors. Thinking of that made me recall Nelson from the gumbo kitchen who said Edward ruined his cousin’s life. Gaining a little optimism, I hoped Detective Wilet was finding information that would get his attention off us as killers.
Eve and I watched people entering this large space that was filled with white tables, each having four chairs. Residents had been assigned to their seats. Women sat together; so did men. Female and a few male staff members wearing navy tops and pants held up with drawstrings got trays of food and drinks from the wide serving window of the cafeteria and carried them to people’s places. The trays had matching numbers with each seat so they knew what meal went where. Some residents who got heartburn from red sauce received baked chicken breasts instead. Others who were on special diets would receive a tray holding the type of food or drink they could have.
Even the nurse, administrator, and the assistant-administrator took part at mealtime, so everything moved swiftly and meals arrived hot. The assistant moved toward the kitchen. The administrator passed near us carrying a tray. “Hi, are you two eating with us tonight? Did you order meals?”
“No,” I said. “We’re just standing here getting hungry from this great smell.” I sniffed the air and looked at the enticing plate of spaghetti.
“Really, we’re waiting for Mom,” Eve said. “We know Mr. McCormick took her for a checkup, but they should be back soon. Doctors’ offices are closed by now.”
“Mom is probably in her room freshening up. We’ll just wait a couple of minutes to get to see her,” I said.
She shook her head, rushing off with her tray. “Miriam said she wasn’t coming back for supper. After the doctor’s visit, Mac was taking her and his daughter to a restaurant.”
I stared at Eve. How could we feel any pleasure toward the man and his daughter? Both were shoving us out of our mother’s life.
“Do you want to eat out?” Eve asked after we had sullenly ambled to my truck in the fading light of day and then shut ourselves inside it.
There were only a couple of restaurants in town where a man would have probably taken a woman he cared about for a date. “Humph, a date.” I snorted, and Eve gave me a look, like that’s not what I asked. “Not today. I wouldn’t want to run into our mother and her new man and his child.”
Eve’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”
“I’ve got leftovers if you want. You can c
ome over.” She seldom cooked but liked almost everything I prepared.
“No thanks. I think I’m just going to throw a few slices of baked chicken on a salad.” That type of food was her normal diet, the reason she stayed so trim.
I, on the other hand, preferred food that added fluff over my bones. She and I rode in silence toward our homes. I considered turning on music but shoved off that thought. Remaining sour was more my mood.
Right before I dropped Eve off, she looked at me. “I’ll bet she’s pretty.”
I knew who she spoke of—our intended new sister whose father was judged by at least one of the residents as good looking. “Probably so.”
We gave each other slight good-bye waves once she reached her front door. It was as though that was all either of us could muster at the time. But when would that time be over? I wondered, driving the short distance to my house on the street parallel to hers. Suppose Mom married him and moved into a little house with his pretty daughter and him? I considered, getting out of my truck in my carport and slamming the door. Would we get to visit her often? Would they want us there? Would they still live around this town?
“No, we need to stop any of that from happening,” I told myself, unlocking the door to my house and going inside.
The moment I shut the door, the doorbell rang, making me jump. I stuck my eye against the peephole.
Dave stood outside.
“What do you need to stop?” he asked when I yanked the door open.
An overwhelming need washed through me. “Not this.” I threw my arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips. Feeling relief but somewhat shaken, I let him go.
He pulled me back into an embrace. “Good. Don’t stop this.” The man who was becoming most important to me drew me closer and gave me a warm kiss that lingered against my lips.
“Oh no, I won’t,” I said, responding to his statement about putting an end to us doing that. Instead of standing in the open doorway, I drew him inside. He was lifting his arms to me again, growing passion in the darker tint of his eyes, his neck shifting with his swallow. He closed in.
“No.” I placed my palm against his firm chest.
His shoulders pressed back. His happy composure collapsed. “No? Sunny, what’s wrong?”
Reality set in. “It’s been a rough day.”
He took my hands, his face tight with concern. “Tell me about it.”
“Sit down. I’ll get us some coffee.” Second thoughts came. “Or wine instead?”
“That sounds good.”
I poured cabernet into two stemmed glasses and sat next to him. With a grim smile, I tapped my glass against his and took a sip. The rich flavor felt good going down.
“It’s good,” he said after a swallow. “Okay, now tell me what’s going on.”
I thought a moment. How much of all that happened should I tell him? Did I really want to replay any misery? “Somebody asked me about you today.”
He cocked his head. “Really? And who was that?”
“Amy Mathews, my friend who runs the gumbo kitchen.”
He gave me a tiny uncertain smile. “Somebody knows about me? You told somebody about you and me?”
“Amy’s been my good friend since high school. We don’t hide anything from each other.”
He lifted an eyebrow, seeming impressed. “Then I guess you told her you and I care about each other.” The corner of his lips lowered a pinch. “You do still care about me, don’t you?”
I touched his hand. “Of course I do.”
Dave drew in a breath that made his chest rise and then he relaxed. He took another swallow of drink. “Then you might tell me what’s bothering you besides your friend inquiring about me.”
“Today I almost walked in on my mother and someone else who might be replacing us as her daughters.”
He cocked his head, forehead creasing. “Where was this?”
“At a restaurant in town. I’m not sure which one.” He narrowed his eyes as though he were trying to figure out what I was saying. I knew my brief comment must have been confusing, so I spilled out all of what happened at the manor—how Eve and I had gone and spoken with some of Mom’s friends and then waited for her in the dining room. Then we’d learned that instead of eating at her usual place there, she hadn’t come back but remained gone with those others.
Dave watched my face with no change in his, absorbing all the things I was telling him. Once I finished, he gave me a moment to calm my emotions. Then he reached over and brushed back the wave I realized had fallen to my face. “You’re afraid of losing her.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Your own mother.” He kept looking at me. “You think she’ll stop loving you?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But you’re jealous.”
“Of who?” I pressed my upper body forward, ready for a major argument with him. Jealousy wasn’t a trait I was fond of, not one I thought I possessed.
“A man that your mother cares about. Ever since I’ve known you, you and Eve and your mother seemed to have a close, loving relationship.”
“We always did.”
Dave leaned closer, the manly scent of his skin attracting me. “Do you believe your mother could ever stop loving both of you just because she might want to let a man enter her life? Don’t you think she has room in her heart for all of you?”
“Yes.” I pressed back in my chair. “No. Or I don’t know. But what I do know is that he seems pushy if he’s trying to marry her so fast. Or marry her at all.”
“Ah, I know.” He took a swallow of his wine. I did the same. “You want to keep them from being intimate.”
“Intimate?” I shoved up to my feet and slapped the table with my palm. “That’s not it. But hey, you’re talking about my mother here.”
A grimace tightened on his lips. “I know it. Everybody’s mother is sacred.” He stood and took a step back from me while anger broiled around in my chest. Dave picked up his wineglass. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You don’t have to do that,” was all I thought of saying when he carried the glass to the sink.
He headed for the front door, and I followed. “May I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.
I needed to check in with my anger. I wanted a kiss from this man much more than I wanted to argue with him.
“Yes.”
Neither of us revealed any passion with the brief kiss. It was the same kind I normally exchanged with my mother.
Busying myself, I washed and dried and put away our glasses, then remembered I hadn’t eaten supper. The experiences I’d had made me feel that I didn’t want a meal, especially when I considered my mom had gone out. I grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies and gobbled them down with a glass of cold milk. Then I swept the floor and went for a shower.
I stood under steamy hot water with strawberry shampoo making my eyes burn before I allowed myself to consider Dave’s visit and words. Was I jealous about Mom’s situation? If I admitted the truth to myself, it was yes. Whether male or female, I was jealous of anyone who stole my mother’s love from me.
And I had hurt Dave, the man I believed I may have fallen in love with. Pain held in his tone when he’d spoken of mothers being sacred. Now, while I could see my arms turning red from the steam, I considered how those words and our discussion must have hurt him. His mother and father had died when he’d been a young man. The woman Dave had married died from an illness some years back, too. They never had a child, and since his only sibling was a wonderful sister who adored him and was now wheelchair-bound, he would not understand my twin and I being uneasy about the possibility of gaining another one. Our other sister died. Nobody else could replace her.
The skin on my back stung by the time I stepped out of the shower. I would have to work with myself and my sister so I could come to grips w
ith what was happening in our lives, or else we would need to change it. After a good night’s sleep to clear my concerns, I hoped I would face a better morning but feared I would not.
Chapter 7
Eve’s phone call came soon after I woke up. “Hey, girl, we need to go finish the job at the diner. You want to do it this morning?”
I didn’t have enthusiasm for anything. “We’d just as soon.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
She wasn’t giving me enough time to push through all the haze of confusion that came yesterday and stayed with me this morning. I couldn’t fall asleep for hours last night. I tossed around the bed. Images about what Dave and I spoke about kept grabbing my mind like a robber and holding it ransom. Finally freed of those thoughts, I’d slept maybe one hour, possibly two. I shuffled my dragging body to go and put some clothes on so we could finish our work at the diner. We had previously sanded and refinished the chairs around all her tables with high-gloss varnish that made them look almost new.
The face that glanced at me from my bathroom mirror made me look away. That person had deep folds in the skin from being pressed against a pillow or sheet. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was pushed up on one side and lying limp on the other. She didn’t move as fast as most of the residents of the retirement home.
Since our main mission today was completing work for our Twin Sisters Remodeling and Repair business, I made an easy pick of clothes to wear. I pulled on jeans, and tennis shoes, and a purple T-shirt with our logo on back. That done, I sat on the edge of my bed waiting for Eve to come. Getting dressed hadn’t taken long even though my movements were sluggish. I waited and waited for Eve.
“Sunny, it’s late. What’s the matter?” She stood next to my bed, arms waving around like she was trying to grab sacks of air. “Are you sick?” She leaned in and did like Mom, pressing her lips to my forehead to check for fever.
I waved her away. “No, I’m fine.” I took long minutes more to enjoy the luxury of lying in my bed pushing up. I managed to support myself on one elbow, but it wanted to drop me back again. “I just didn’t sleep well.”
