by Cathy Holton
“No.” She shook her head and sipped her coffee. “At the end of the drive.”
“That’s probably best,” he said. He cleared his throat and she realized he was as nervous as she was. “Did you tell your husband you were coming over here?”
“No. I didn’t think it mattered,” she said, looking at him and trying not to feel guilty.
He tapped his spoon against the creamer, a blue ceramic dish in the shape of a cow. “It might have mattered to him.”
Nita watched the yellow dog amble across the backyard. “He’s got a lot on his mind right now. He’s going hunting in two weeks.”
“Really?” Jimmy Lee tapped his knee with the spoon. There was a frayed hole in the fabric just above his shin. “Where does he go?”
“Montana. For six days.”
Jimmy Lee put his foot down and dropped his hand to the table. It rested inches from her own. She picked up the spoon and stirred her coffee.
“Men are fools sometimes.”
She put the spoon down and looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Not all men,” she said.
LAVONNE AGREED TO negotiate the sale of the Duesenberg with the wealthy doctor from Atlanta. She figured she’d be better at lying than Nita. She took the file home with her with instructions that should Charles ask for it, Nita was to say that perhaps the housekeeper had misplaced it. Lavonne figured, correctly, that Charles had more pressing things on his mind to worry about than the Duesenburg file, which he assumed to be safely in his possession.
The doctor from Atlanta was quick to figure out what was going on. “Broadwell doesn’t know a thing about you selling this car to me, does he?”
“He doesn’t need to know. The title’s in his wife’s name. And he signed the transfer himself.”
“Selling behind his back, while perhaps not illegal, is certainly immoral and unethical.”
“Yes,” Lavonne said. “It’s similar to what Broadwell did to you eighteen years ago when he reneged on the promise made to his father. I guess it would fall under the category of ‘what goes around, comes around.’ ”
The doctor laughed. They dickered for a while over price. Lavonne was a shrewd negotiator. She convinced herself that it didn’t matter whether Nita sold the car to him or not, and by doing so, bargained from a position of power. He politely declined her price, and hung up. Forty minutes later he called back.
The final price, a compromise, was less than the appraised value but more than enough to give Nita a powerful bargaining chip when it came to renegotiating the terms of her marriage. A renegotiation was probably the best Nita could hope for since Lavonne was sure she would never seriously contemplate leaving Charles. Nita was one of those women who wrap themselves up in one man and then stay until the bitter end, or at least until the children are grown. Kind of like her mother had been. Kind of like Lavonne herself had been until she found out about the prostitutes and her husband’s hidden bank accounts.
“I can have my attorney draw up the bill of sale or whatever other legal documents we need,” he said.
“I think the title transfer alone will suffice. As you can understand, the fewer legal documents she signs, the better. I’ll schedule the closing here at the bank. You can choose the time convenient to you since you’ll have to drive down. We’ll need to close either Tuesday or Wednesday the week of the twelfth. And, of course, we’ll need a certified check made payable to Juanita James Broadwell.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow and we can discuss the final details.”
“Fine. Needless to say, I trust you’ll be discreet.”
“You can trust me,” he said, laughing. “I would never cross you. Women like you scare me.”
“I must admit,” Lavonne said, closing the file. “Sometimes I scare myself.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Eadie called the Ithaca Awning Company and ordered a tent to be set up on the front lawn. Then she called Denton Swafford. She hadn’t talked to him since the night of the firm party.
“Yeah?” he said, sounding like he was still in bed even though it was almost one o’clock in the afternoon.
“I need you to get over here,” Eadie said. “Now.”
“Look, Eadie, I’m real tired. I can’t be expected to perform at just the drop of a hat.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you, peckerhead. That’s over. Period. I need you to help me move some furniture is all.”
“What furniture?” he said, his voice thick with sleep and resentment. The last thing he needed was to throw his back out moving furniture. Then how would he make a living?
“The furniture I’ve got stored in my attic and cellar. The furniture that belonged to my sorry-ass husband and his sorry-ass family for the last two hundred years.”
“I can’t afford to throw my back out,” he began.
“I’ll give you five hundred dollars,” she said.
“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” he said.
IT TOOK ABOUT three hours to get the china, vintage clothing, trunks, mahogany and rosewood furniture, and oriental carpets out onto the front lawn. Eadie had put aside those pieces she thought Trevor might want to keep; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t be heartless enough to throw away heirlooms that might have sentimental value for him. Still, many of the heirlooms had spent the last fifteen years locked away in the cellar and the attic without so much as a visit from Trevor, so she was pretty sure if she hadn’t insisted they store them, he would have sold them long ago. Trevor never was one to dwell in the past. He wasn’t sentimental that way.
Eadie made a large hand-lettered sign advertising antiques and heirloom collectibles. It didn’t take long for the tourists to congregate like pigs around a trough, and by the end of the afternoon she’d made enough money to last her three months, if she economized, and that didn’t include the family silver and the Jefferson letter and the Nathan Bedford Forrest medical kit she had arranged to sell to the history museum, or the jewelry she had yet to pawn. The assets on her asset list had dwindled considerably but she figured it was better she get the money now before Trevor and Tonya got wind of what was up and tried to cut in for their share.
She remembered and went upstairs to the spare bedroom where Trevor kept his clothes. It was an old trick of his, leaving clothes in the bedroom closet that he would return for later. He had been doing this for years. It was one of the ways she always knew he planned on coming back, because he never came for the clothes, he just eventually moved back in.
There were several Brooks Brother suits and a stack of sweaters, some nice leather shoes, two big boxes of books, a golf bag, and a telescope that had belonged to Trevor as a child. Eadie stood just inside the closet door, smelling the faint scent of his cologne, and trying not to think about love and loss and the absurdity of fate.
She heard the shelter truck pull up to the curb, its brakes squealing loudly, and she went to the window and looked down at the lawn still dotted with tourists. Whatever she didn’t sell today she was donating to the women’s shelter. Denton saw her and waved. She opened the window.
“Do you want us to start loading this stuff in the truck?” he asked her.
“Yes.” Eadie stood on her tiptoes and shouted, “Folks, everything left is half price. You’ve got five minutes to make up your mind before it all gets hauled away.”
“How much for the portrait?” one woman asked, pointing to a full-length painting of Trevor’s mother done the year she graduated from high school.
Eadie thought, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to take it off my hands. Eadie said, “Sorry, that one’s not for sale.” She motioned for Denton to bring the portrait up to her. “Come up here and get the rest of this shit out of the closet,” she said.
“What shit?”
“Some Brooks Brothers suits. Sweaters. Shoes.”
“Brooks Brothers suits?” Denton was interested. It was hard to afford decent suits on his income. It was hard to afford anything on his income. He was beginning to rea
lize he was going to have to find a better way to make a living. “Can I have them?” he said, coming across the lawn to stand under the window. “The suits, I mean.”
Eadie didn’t hesitate. “I won’t need them,” she said, and closed the window.
NITA HADN’T TOLD her mother about Jimmy Lee, but somehow Loretta just knew. “Bring him around,” she said to Nita, the Friday before Charles left for Montana.
“Bring who around?”
“Whoever it is that’s putting the roses in your cheeks and the smile on your lips,” Loretta said.
Nita told her. When she had finished, she said, “Do you think daddy will get mad?”
“Honey, daddy just wants you to be happy. Daddy knows that love may not make the world go round but it sure makes the trip a lot more pleasant.”
“I can’t help the way I feel.”
“I just hope you’re being careful is all. I hope you haven’t done anything to give Charles Broadwell the right to take those children away from you.”
“I’m being real careful, Mama. Nothing’s happened between us. We’re just good friends, is all.”
“Uh-huh,” Loretta said. “Do the children know?”
“That me and Jimmy Lee are friends? Of course. I can’t tell them everything until after the hunting trip and this mess is all cleared up. At least I hope it’ll all be cleared up after the hunting trip, if everything works out the way we planned. Pray for us, Mama. Pray it all works out the way we have it planned.”
“Bring him around so I can meet him.”
“We’re supposed to take the children fishing tomorrow. I told them we were going fishing with a friend.”
“That seems kind of risky. If Charles asks them, and they tell him, won’t it look suspicious?”
“Charles won’t ask. He’s hardly ever home anymore. He spends all his time at the office getting ready for his trip. He doesn’t even get home until the children are in bed and he leaves before they get up.”
“Bring him around. Your carpenter, I mean.”
“We’ll come tomorrow for dinner, after the fishing. Tell daddy to be nice.”
THE NEXT MORNING Jimmy Lee met Nita and the children at the public boat ramp. It was still early; fog rolled in over the surface of the Black Warrior River, and the air was cool and thick with the scent of pine. They took Jimmy Lee’s boat into the coves where the catfish liked to sleep, where the bank was slick and overgrown with tall trees and the water was dark with tannin. The catfish were big as puppies, and almost as friendly, and after awhile Jimmy Lee and Logan quit catching them and throwing them back, and instead sat watching as Whitney fed them small pieces of the sandwiches they had brought along for lunch. Jimmy Lee taught Whitney the magical “Catfish Song,” which had been used by generations of fishermen to lure the big fish, and soon, whether from the “Catfish Song” or the feast of sandwiches, the water around the boat was teeming with fish that wagged their tails and raised their whiskered snouts out of the water.
“I didn’t know you believed in magic,” Nita said, laughing at him from the stern of the boat while her happy children hung over the bow and patted and stroked the glistening fish.
“Magic happens every day,” Jimmy Lee said, looking at her like she was proof of this very statement.
“You shaved off your goatee,” she said.
He shrugged. “I thought you’d like it better,” he said.
They went back to her parents’ house for dinner. Loretta James had cooked a big meal, and they sat down to collard greens and squash casserole and field peas with stewed tomatoes and fried chicken and biscuits, washed down with gallons of sweet tea. For dessert there was peach cobbler. The children ate like field hands and entertained them with tales of the catfish. Eustis James and Jimmy Lee had worked together on several projects over the years, and pretty soon Eustis began to thaw toward the young man, and include him in the conversation. After awhile Eustis and Jimmy Lee began to exchange fishing stories, each more wild and fantastic than the last as they tried to outdo each other. The children laughed and slapped the table and rolled their eyes at their mother with each new whopper. Jimmy Lee had second helpings of everything and praised Loretta’s cooking skills until she turned beet-red and gushed like a schoolgirl.
When it was time for him to go, Nita walked him to his truck. They stood together, side by side, looking at the stars. Nita had never seen such a pretty night sky.
“Look how clear it is,” she said. “You can see every star like it was painted on.”
His breathing was slow and rhythmic. She could feel his breath on her cheek. “Do you know in the city you can’t even see the night sky?” he said. “All the reflected light keeps it hidden. It’s one of the reasons I never could stay in Atlanta. I had to get back to a place where I could see the stars.”
“I didn’t know you lived in Atlanta,” she said, glancing at him. His face, so close to hers, gleamed in the moonlight. “I probably should be getting home,” she said.
“Will Old Chuck be waiting up?”
“Who?” she said.
He took her in his arms and kissed her so long and so slow that she lost track of time and space and the whole world seemed to collapse around her like a black hole. She had never, in her whole life, been kissed like that. When he finished with her mouth, he kissed her neck and then he dropped his head on her shoulder and lifted her up in his arms, holding her there just a few inches above the ground.
“Damn,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
“Put me down before you hurt yourself,” she said softly.
“I’ve already hurt myself.” He kissed her again and set her down. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said.
When she came into the house later, her body light and freed from the weight of gravity, her mother was waiting for her.
“Now that one,” Loretta said, wagging her finger in the direction of Jimmy Lee’s disappearing truck, “is a keeper.”
CHAPTER
* * *
TWELVE
THE SUNDAY NIGHT before Leonard left for his hunting trip, Lavonne walked around the house and waited, restlessly, for Mona Shapiro’s phone call. They had worked it out that Mona would call late, too late for Leonard to have time to think about what he would do, but Lavonne realized now she hadn’t specified what “late” meant. Late to Mona might mean eight o’clock. She could hear Leonard downstairs in the family room. She prayed their plan would work, but the voice in her head relentlessly calculated the odds for failure. She did a load of laundry, checked the clock at seven-thirty, folded a load of laundry, cleaned the bathroom, and checked the clock again at eight-fifteen. Her stomach throbbed. A rash broke out along her neck and her right arm. At eight-thirty the phone rang and Lavonne jumped like someone had touched a hot poker to her back. She let Leonard answer it, and then went to the top of the stairs to listen.
She could hear him a few minutes later, stomping down the hallway in his bare feet.
“Lavonne!”
“Yes. I’m up here.” She leaned over the banister so he could see her.
His face was red and slightly puffy. “That woman from the Kudzu Ball called again. She says she needs to talk to you about your duties as queen.” He wrapped his hands around the banister post like he was wrapping his hands around Lavonne’s neck. “I told her there was a mistake, that you wouldn’t be able to attend the ball but she said you have to call her.” His nose quivered. His bald spot shone like wet linoleum. “I thought we decided this was something you wouldn’t do. I thought I made it clear this was something I didn’t want you to do.”
Lavonne thought, I’ll be the goddamned Kudzu Queen if it’s the last thing I ever do. Lavonne said, “Sure, I’ll call her.”
Mona Shapiro called at ten-thirty. Leonard answered the phone in the kitchen and Lavonne could hear him arguing with her. After awhile he slammed the phone down and came into the family room.
“Goddamn it,” he said, throwing hims
elf into a chair. He stared despondently at the blank TV screen. From time to time his lips moved as if he were arguing with some phantom adversary. Lavonne pretended to flip through a magazine. She yawned. “Is there a problem?” she said finally, trying to sound casual.
Leonard groaned and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. He looked the very picture of rage and dejection.
Lavonne waited a minute and then asked again, “What’s wrong?” She forced herself to sound uninterested, her eyes fixed on the glossy pages of the magazine in her lap.
“You spend your whole year working your ass off, just so you can have this one week of relaxation,” Leonard said. “Fifty-one weeks of drudgery for one week of pure bliss.” He was working himself into a frenzy. He sounded like he might cry. Lavonne had never heard Leonard refer to a family vacation as “pure bliss.” She supposed family vacations would fall under the category of “drudgery.” “My one week of relaxation and now I’m going to have to miss it because of one crazy old woman who can’t make up her mind what in the hell she wants to do. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.”
Lavonne clamped her lips together and flipped through the magazine. If she sounded too interested, he’d know something was wrong. Normally, she didn’t give a shit about problems he brought home from the office.
Leonard leaned back in his chair, his hands dropped in his lap like slabs of raw meat. The vein in his forehead pulsed. After awhile he said, “I’ve been after her for three months to close. I’ve had the documents ready and just sitting in a file, waiting for her to make up her goddamned mind. We were supposed to close last week and then she called at the last minute and postponed.”
“Who?” Lavonne said.
“The Shapiro woman who owns the bakery on Broad Street. The one you hired to cater the party.”
