by Nat Burns
Rosalie flushed a deep burgundy and had the grace to look sheepish. “I’m not worried about that, Delora, and I can’t believe you are. Your husband is dead. By the way, I have a lot of questions about how that happened.”
Refusing to acknowledge Hinchey’s panicked grimace or her memory of how Louie died, Delora replied with simple grace. “It was his time. You should just let it go at that, Rosalie.” She paused a long moment. “We don’t need to be stirring up any shit. Why don’t we just let the dead rest in peace?”
Delora expertly mixed a rum and Coke for Lem Staton and took it down the bar to him as Rosalie studied her.
“That’s your limit, Lem,” she said to the tottering older man as she placed the glass on the bar in front of him.
“Aww, come on, Lora, Don’t cut me off just yet. The night is young.” His eyes drifted curiously to Rosalie, who still stood sentinel at the bar.
Delora grinned at him. “Yeah, but you ain’t. It’s getting late and you need to sober up for about an hour or so before I can let you out of here.”
“That’s right, Lem,” Esther added, appearing at Delora’s elbow. “I spoke to Mary the other day and she told me to keep tabs on you.”
Lem shrugged and took a deep swallow of his fresh drink.
“You know better than to listen to her, Esther. Just cuz we married she thinks she can tell me what to do.”
Delora laughed hollowly. “And it’s a damn good thing. If she wasn’t looking out for you, no telling where you’d be today.”
Lem’s friends laughed and slapped his back good-naturedly.
Delora turned back to Rosalie, who started in on her right away. “All I know is if you’d been leading him proper he’d be alive today.”
“I did all I could to bring him back. Hinchey, too. He was already about dead when we got there.” Her voice trembled, and she hoped Rosalie wouldn’t notice. She’d always had a suspicious nature when it came to Delora.
“That may be, but I think I’ll have a word with Sheriff Jonas and tell him he ought to have another look into what happened that day.”
“Esther, watch the bar,” Delora snapped as she exited through the saloon-style doors. Her face grim, she motioned for Rosalie to follow her. Once Rosalie had extricated herself from the barstools they moved to the vestibule outside the bathrooms. Delora moved forward and placed her face right up next to Rosalie’s. “If you say one thing about Louie, I swear I will tell everyone I work with what you and Louie been doin’ while I’m out workin’ three jobs to support everyone.”
Rosalie’s jaw dropped. Delora felt powerful, ready finally to shed the meekness that had plagued her since her parents’ deaths. Her newfound relationship with Sophie had made her strong.
“What are you saying? No one’s going to believe your pack of lies. Just who in the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m a woman who’s tired of bullshit—yours and everyone else’s. Leave it be.”
“But…”
“Louie’s gone and that’s it. Leave it be, Rose. I’m willing to if you will. I’m not coming back under your roof and that’s the way of that. You’ll just have to get on without me, okay?”
Rosalie sneered and moved away from her foster daughter.
“You’ll be back. How do you think you’re going to make it on your own?”
“Probably by working three jobs like I been doing. Slaving for your place or for my own place couldn’t be but so different.”
Delora turned from Rosalie and walked back to the bar and the expectant, curious faces of her friends. She knew that another chapter of her life had closed and it felt good.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The house on the bayou had not changed in the five years since Faye had last passed through. It still seemed like it had been birthed entire from the depths of the swamp. Spanish moss-draped trees hugged close as if huge protective lares. She remembered hearing the branches scrape against the thin walls of her bedroom. The sound had terrified her as a child. Her mama had been good about it, however, finding no fault in her troubled daughter.
Faye sighed. She still couldn’t believe she would not see her mother framed in the door of Salamander House. If truth be told, she was a little angry about the whole thing. Without thinking about it too hard, Faye had somehow expected her mother to live on forever the same. The thought of her death, even as frail as she had appeared on Faye’s last visit, had never bothered Faye. And now her mother was gone. Like her brother Keene, taken by cancer four years ago.
Wearily, Faye opened the car door and stood next to the dark blue Buick. “Wake up, Johnny.”
Johnny Macht, who was snoring gently from his slumped position in the passenger seat, stirred and peered about through sleep-thickened eyes.
Faye strode toward the house as Johnny extricated himself from the car.
“Well, hello. How was the trip, darlin’?”
Faye flew across the deck and caught the skinny black woman in her arms. The large, heavy pocketbook she carried swung to one side and knocked them both off balance.
“Lord, what do you have in there?” Clary asked once their embarrassed laughter had subsided.
“Just some doodads for y’all.” Faye tucked in an escaped strand of her shiny blond hair. “Where’s Sophie?”
“Had a baby to catch. Said she’d be on as quick as she could. Was the drive okay?”
Faye moved into the house, past the screen door that Clary held wide. “What do you think ten hours in a car with a man would be like?” She turned back, suddenly realizing that her husband wasn’t with her. “Now, where is he?”
Clary looked behind and watched Johnny struggling to remove bags from the trunk of the car. “He’ll be on, I expect,” she answered absently.
“So anyway, I’m glad to be in one place for a while. Just sorry it has to be under such circumstances. Has Sophie started the burial yet? I hear Mama was alone when she died.”
Clary hung her head, ashamed her lust for Salty had caused her to leave Beulah’s side. “Yes. It was a bad thing. But there’s been no anger here. I think she’s at peace.”
Faye dropped her bag on the sofa and lit a cigarette thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem like the same place…” She looked around the living room, eyes sorrowful and a little afraid.
Clary moved to give the woman a one-armed squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Miss Faye. Don’t you worry. Sophie and me are still here. Guess we always will be.”
Faye smiled up at her. “Thank goodness for that.” She pressed a kiss to Clary’s cheek then extricated herself to go to the door and check on Johnny.
“Mama!” Sophie called as she burst through the screen door, her arms laden with luggage. She dropped the bags to one side, then grabbed her mother in a slow hug, lifting Faye so high that her high-heeled pumps left the floorboards.
“Sophia Rene Cofe! Put me down.” Faye tried to sound stern, but she was smiling helplessly.
“But it’s so good to see you.” She put her mother down, then held her cheeks and turned her face from side to side, examining her. “You look good. Healthy.”
“Now why wouldn’t I be? I’m not old yet.”
Johnny moved through the door and carefully placed his load of luggage next to the load Sophie had brought in. He eyed Clary nervously.
“Johnny, there you are,” Faye said.
“Johnny, this is Clary, my best friend since we was practically babies.” She took Clary’s arm and pressed their bodies together side to side.
“Clary,” Johnny said, nodding. “Good to meet you.”
Clary took Johnny’s extended hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. “I know y’all are starving after that trip. Come on in here and let’s have us a sandwich.”
Sophie followed the group silently, her arms folded across her chest.
“We just had something a little while ago, Clary, really,” Faye protested.
“You know better than that, Mama,” Sophie chided softly. She pulled out one
of the kitchen chairs and motioned Johnny into it. She slid into the one next to him.
“So, who had a baby?” Faye asked as she took a seat. She glanced once at Grandam’s conspicuously empty chair.
“Birdy Lawhorne. Her fifth.”
“Oh no,” Faye gasped.
“Birdy?” Johnny asked.
“Her fifth, you say?” Faye asked.
“She’s Mama’s friend from school. They’re the same age,” Sophie explained to Johnny. “Yes, Mama, three boys and two girls now.”
“Damn,” Faye muttered. “Who woulda believed that?”
Johnny Macht showed a little personality finally, a devilish grin spreading slowly across his face. “Now, see there, darling, you coulda had all kinds of young ’uns by now.”
Faye slapped playfully at him as she lit another cigarette. “No, thank you. I made my contribution.”
Her eyes found Sophie and turned soft. “The world got the best I have to give right here. Anything else would be a waste.” She held Sophie’s hand. “I’m sorry about your grandma, honey. Are you holding up okay?”
Sophie nodded. “I’m just upset I wasn’t here, Mama. I should have been with her.”
Faye fell silent, thoughtfully drawing on her cigarette. “I thought you people know when each other is moving on, Sophie, honey. Why didn’t you know? Where were you?”
Clary, busily moving cold cuts and vegetables from the refrigerator, stilled and the air in the kitchen rapidly grew rarefied as all awaited Sophie’s response.
Sophie colored slightly. “I was with Delora, Mama. Her husband had just died and she was going through a rough patch. I spent the night with her. I didn’t know Grandam was gone until the next morning when I got home. And as for knowin’, I guess I was distracted.” Sorrow weighted her voice.
Faye’s eyes sought Clary’s. “Delora who? Do I know her?”
Sophie shook her head, and Clary placed food on the table in front of them. Bereavement dishes had been appearing since Grandam’s death—funeral casserole, green bean casserole, pimiento cheese, deviled eggs, squash, pickles, huge platters of cold cuts and sliced cheese. The Cofe refrigerator had never been so full. Johnny’s eyes grew wide at the offerings Clary placed on the table.
“You’ll meet her, Mama,” Sophie said, helping Clary steady a platter. “She’s a Clark who married a November.”
“Clarks. Sherman and Rita’s girl?”
Sophie nodded.
“Good people, honey, and a little far from the bayou. How in the world did y’all meet?”
Sophie gave her mother a wry look and then told her about Delora’s first late-night visit and a little about her injury.
Faye listened intently, her hands busying themselves with making Johnny a sandwich. “Why, that’s just awful, Sophie. Poor gal, losing her parents in that squall, then this happening. I guess she’s just ready to roll over and die.”
Clary smiled broadly and shoved a piece of ham into her mouth. “Not anymore, she ain’t,” she interjected as she chewed exuberantly.
Faye slid the sandwich plate in front of Johnny and paused. “What does she mean, Soph?”
Sophie chuckled and hung her head. “Nothin’, Mama. We’re just keeping company is all.”
Faye seemed to be pondering this new information. She glanced at Clary and saw the truth confirmed. “Sophie, honey, I thought you’d given up that foolishness,” she offered gently.
Sophie’s back stiffened just a little, not enough to be noticed unless you were looking for it. Clary noted it right away, knowing this was old ground they trod.
“Mama,” Sophie sighed.
“What is it?” Johnny asked, one moistened finger lifting bread crumbs from his plate.
“Nothing,” Faye and Sophie said in unison.
“You need to find you a husband, Sophia. Someone who’ll take care of you, that you can love proper.”
Sophie slapped her thighs and stood. “Well, I gotta run. There’s a place I gotta be this evening. I’m gonna take Grandam up the tributary later tonight, Mama, if you want to see her first. I’ll be back in just a little while.”
“Is everything ready?” Clary studied Sophie’s face, seeking signs of discontent. “Can I do anything?”
Sophie tilted her head and regarded her dearest friend. “It’s all done. She’s in the shed. Maybe y’all can go by and say goodbye while I’m gone.”
“I’ll do that,” Clary said. “We’ll do that,” she added, looking pointedly at Faye.
Chapter Fifty
The people of Rosalie’s church were confused. They knew condolences for Louie November’s death were necessary, but they didn’t know at which house to pay them. The rumor mill took the Rosalie-Delora altercation and ran with it. As a result of this confusion, a wealth of casseroles, fresh baked bread and cold salads piled up on tables at the Glorious Hour Funeral Home on Mangrove Row in Redstar.
“But Miss November, we can’t have it,” said Womack Remsan in a harsh, frightened whisper. “We’re not licensed to serve food here. Not even on family night.”
Delora studied his broad, pained face and wanted to laugh. Stifling the unacceptable urge, she realized suddenly that Remsan was one of Sophie’s people. Why hadn’t she noticed before? She’d known this man most of her life and had never put the pieces together. She’d never really thought much about the people of the bayou back then. It was like they never existed in the world she lived in. Meeting Sophie had opened her eyes to this new world and now she felt she could spot the bayou folk in any crowd.
“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Remsan. Really. I never agreed to this and I don’t know how it happened.” She watched as yet another dowager placed a dish on the polished bureau of the anteroom.
“Well, someone’s got to do something. We simply can’t have it here. My staff will be glad to carry it out to your car and stop any more coming in, but you have to tell them which is your vehicle.”
Delora sighed. “Wait. Let me see if Rosalie—Mrs. James—can take it in her car.”
Dreading the encounter, Delora entered the main viewing room where the ponderous casket rested. She had asked that the coffin be closed. The fall hadn’t improved Louie’s face one whit, and she thought a closed coffin would thwart the prurient among the visitors. The coffin, ominous nevertheless, drew her eye immediately. She pulled her gaze away, half expecting Louie to rise up and accuse her of killing him.
Rosalie and her two sisters were on the left side in the front row. The two sisters were trying to comfort Rosalie, who was weeping copiously.
“Mama, there’s a problem with the food,” Delora began. All three heads snapped up, and Delora could see the contempt roiling in them.
Refusing to be intimidated, Delora greeted them. “Hello, Aunt Phyllis, Aunt Grace.” She’d been in the back attending to last-minute paperwork, and this was the first time she’d seen the trio since Louie’s death.
Rosalie made a huffing sound but not one word fell back in greeting.
“Well,” Delora continued, “Mr. Remsan says the food has to be taken somewhere else because of licensing. Can I get his people to put it in your car? So you can take it home after?”
“I guess you can’t take it because you don’t need a home,” Phyllis replied.
Delora ignored her.
“Is it unlocked, Mama?”
Rosalie nodded, shook a wet tissue at Delora and broke into fresh tears. Delora moved away, wishing she could feel some sympathy in her heart for her foster mother. It simply didn’t exist anymore.
After showing the funeral director which car was Rosalie’s, Delora was surprised and relieved to see Sophie standing in the entryway. She immediately went to her.
“You’re so good to come, Sophie. I know with what’s weighing on you it must have been a real task to come out tonight.” Her eyes searched Sophie’s dear face, seeking comfort and solace. The eyes were shuttered tonight, however, and weren’t lit with their usual deep light. Sadness has her, thought Delo
ra, feeling her heart tug in her chest. She wished she could comfort Sophie somehow, could hold her and make it better. She felt so helpless.
“The coffin is closed. Do you need to go in?”
“It doesn’t matter, Lora. I’m here for you. I figured it must be a tough time.”
“You don’t know how tough,” Delora replied and went on to tell Sophie about the altercation with Rosalie the day before. “She’s in there with her sisters now and they’re not really talking to me ’cept to talk trash.” She paused and studied Sophie. “When will Grandam be laid to rest?”
Sophie tamed her hair with both palms. She looked dressier than usual tonight, having taken great pains with her appearance. She wore a sedate black cotton suit with a white button-down blouse. Polished black shoes peeked from the bottoms of her long trousers and a thick silver ring adorned each hand. Silver earrings caressed earlobes framed by a corona of braided hair. “I guess day after tomorrow. Can you come?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call for directions.” Delora looked around at the milling, socializing crowd and suddenly felt claustrophobic. “Hey, can we go outside a minute?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sophie pushed open the glass door and ushered Delora through.
“I don’t know what to make of this,” Delora said as soon as they had moved around the side of the building. “I know I should be upset he’s gone, but I just can’t be. I don’t think that sorrow is even anywhere in me. Am I that horrible?”
“He killed whatever love y’all had a long time ago, hon. It’s that simple.”
“I hate it that I’m that way,” Delora commented, chewing the skin around her thumbnail. “Some wife I was.”
Sophie’s gaze grew warm, her voice low. “You’d be a good wife to me.”
