“Mom, please say you’re not selling this house to live on the road with Aunt Bernie,” I said, finishing the thought.
Any sentence that began with Your Aunt Bernie was a preface to some kind of lunacy. Mom’s sister, Bernice, had been widowed for ten years and had done the very same thing. Sold her three-bedroom house with a pool and lived out of a powder blue Winnebago, traveling the states and landing wherever the whim struck her. When it struck her to visit home, she’d take up half the street and you could almost hear the neighbors groan.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Jesus, this is ludicrous,” I said under my breath, turning around to find some normalcy in the pictures next to the TV. They weren’t packed yet. They still sat in the same place they’d always sat, nestled together on the table I’d tried to paint with watercolors when I was five. It still had a green spot at the bottom of one leg where the grain absorbed the pigment.
“Seriously?” Holly asked. “You need reasons why you need a real home? Not one with wheels and a port-a-potty?”
My mom grabbed a cookie from the tin and broke it in two, then halved those as well before popping a bite into her mouth and holding one down for Tandy, who suddenly sprang to life again at the potential for a snack.
“You know what?” she asked around the cookie. “I’ve been puttering around this house by myself for a long time.”
“We know, Mom,” I said.
“I’m still talking,” she said with a look that I knew too well and could instantly make me feel eight. “Now—I’m a grown damn woman. My kids are grown, hell, my grandkids are grown. I have no reason to lie around this house, baking cookies or planting flowers and waiting to die. And if I want to ride around in a big ugly tank eating Cheetos with my sister, then I can damn well do it. I don’t need you two little mother hens telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“We’re not doing that,” I said, glancing at Holly, who looked dumbfounded.
“The hell you’re not,” Mom said. “You two say more with your actions than you think. You come flying over here to see what this crazy old woman is doing, selling your precious childhood home out from under you, but where are you when everything breaks, falls apart, leaks, or when the taxes come due? You act like I’m senile or something, like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
She held her glass out, pointing it at Holly. “You make fun of me for my little side businesses, selling baskets instead of candles, but it’s those damn baskets that paid for those straight white teeth of yours, little miss all that. It was the scrapbooking classes and things you don’t even know about that kept the electricity on when your dad’s store went under.” Then she shifted to me and I wanted to duck. “And you. You get all uppity over me going to another real estate agent, but did it ever dawn on you that maybe I just wanted to do things my way, by myself for a change?”
I felt like we’d just gotten grounded, like I was in that uncomfortable place of not knowing if I was supposed to answer the question or stay shut up. I waited for Holly to pipe up like she always did, claiming some type of injustice or unfair point, but she said nothing. It felt like a huge chunk of silence before she moved to the bar and set her glass down, then she plucked her purse from the floor and walked out the front door without a word. When the knocker banged against the door, I met Mom’s gaze. The fire in her blue eyes had fizzled a little. I was sure she had imagined or at least hoped it would go smoother than it did, but the element of surprise was just a little over the top.
I walked over and picked up Holly’s glass, filling it with sweet tea from the pitcher and sitting down.
“What do you need us to do?” I asked, realizing she was past the point of talking down. It was going to happen. I grimaced as my phone went off yet again from the same person who was emailing since I didn’t answer my text, and clearly didn’t understand boundaries.
“For starters, turn that damn thing off.”
“It’s work.”
“It can wait five minutes. Now for here, you can start going through your stuff that’s still in your rooms,” she said, tracing a circle of condensation on the bar. “Throw out what doesn’t mean anything, keep what you want.”
I looked at her, trying to understand this woman that had taken over my mother. “Don’t you want anything?”
She shook her head. “I’ve already got boxes put away of the things I can’t live without,” she said. “It’s time for y’all to sort through what’s left.”
“Put away where?” I asked. “What are you doing with all your stuff?” I gestured in a circle.
“I paid for a storage unit the other day,” she said. “For the important things. Pictures and stuff.”
I was gaping. I knew I was. Maybe it was a full moon and it had rendered ex-husbands and mothers stupid. Or the world was ending. Or . . .
“Are you dying?”
She coughed on the tea she’d just swallowed. “Holy crap, girl, I hope not. Where’d you get that?”
I was relieved at her surprise, but it didn’t fix anything. “Well, last month you were worried about your gardenias, Mom. Planting banana peppers in the corner by the swing. Looking for Dad’s secret box. Now, you’ve got the house up for sale, getting rid of everything important to you, hitting the road with crazy Aunt Bernie—are you bringing Tandy with you?”
She chuckled. “Of course.” She leaned forward as the dog put her front feet up on Mom’s leg. “Like I’d leave my baby girl behind.” She looked up at me. “Scared I’d leave her with you?”
“She doesn’t like me, Mom, it wouldn’t be pretty. Actually she doesn’t like anybody but you and Cass.”
“Oh, she likes you just fine,” she said, scratching Tandy’s ear.
“No,” I said, smiling at Tandy when she turned around to gloat. “I think she sees all the rest of us as competition.”
Mom sighed and sat back up. “Well, us old girls will stick together.” She leveled a gaze at me. “Emmie, I’m just tired of the same old ordinary. I don’t want to get to the end and say I grew flowers in my old age. Maybe Bernie’s way isn’t stylish, but at least it’s doing something.”
I nodded. On anyone else, it made a new age–artsy kind of sense. On Frances Lattimer, it was like she was possessed by aliens.
“You know, you could have just gone on some trips with Aunt Bernie without selling the house.”
“I know,” she said. “But then I’d be worried about the house, or y’all would have to worry about it, and honestly I’m tired of all that. This house has more aches and pains than I do. And I do plan on finding that box before I go, by the way.”
I rubbed my temples. “Oh lord.”
For as long as I could remember, my dad talked about going to faraway places. He and my mom planned trips that they never went on, but he always said he was tucking money aside for them. Somewhere. For someday. It was their game.
Then he died. And my mother spent the last decade looking for some allusive box of money. Because he said there was one.
“Oh lord, nothing,” she said. “Think what you want.”
“So what about Dad’s stuff upstairs?” I said. “Any of that part of the things you can’t live without?”
She blinked away the sadness that appeared in her face. “I still have to deal with that. I’m talking about your things. All that stuff you conveniently forget is still here, tucked away in closets and the attic like your own little private storages?” She nodded with a knowing smirk. “You have houses they can go to now.”
“Okay,” I said, changing the subject. “Two things.”
“What?”
“Don’t sell it to Kevin.”
She physically jerked back. “Kevin! What on earth?”
I held my hands up. “He came by my house wanting to know what the asking price was. He’s looking for rental property.”
“No way in hell.”
I flicked one finger. “Done. Now two—you could have gone to any of fifty different real
tors in the area,” I said quietly. “Why Dedra?”
Mom smiled. “I’ve only had the house listed for two days and I’ve already called her”—she reached for a nearby pad and peered through her glasses—“eighteen times to ask questions and change my information.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“To be the client from hell,” she said, bringing an unexpected laugh from me. “You know how I don’t sleep, right? Well, I figure since I’m her client now, she doesn’t need to either.”
I covered my mouth, marveling at the level of shit-stirring my used-to-be-gardener-mother could conjure. It was her way of getting back at the woman Kevin had thrown our marriage away for. Or the one he got busted for, anyway. A little delayed, since that’d been ten years earlier, but hey, who was I to split hairs. Personally, I’d made peace with it long ago. Sort of. Watching him go through one bad choice after another definitely helped.
The door knocker banged, not as an opening but as an actual knock, and I did a double take as Tandy made a fire trail to the door and started raising hell. “Oh, I forgot I called Cassidy on the way here. Although I don’t know why she’d knock.”
“Actually, that may be the carpenter I called to come do some updates around here.”
I paused in mid-rise. “You have somebody coming to do work?” It made it more real. Less of my mother having a mental break. My stomach did a little wiggle.
“Yeah, my realtor told me there was a lot of work to be done,” she said. “Figured I’d get on that right away so there are no hold-ups. Bernie’s coming through in about a month, and I want to be ready.”
I laughed. “A month? Mom, it may be several months before this sells. It may be that long before it’s fit to sell. Maybe even a year.”
“Oh, I know, but Bernie’s ride has internet and fax and that video thingy where you can see people—I don’t need to be here when it actually goes down.”
I sighed. No, I would. With Dedra. Joy. I got up to answer the door. “So, who’d you call for all these fix-ups?” I yelled over the dog’s ruckus.
“Some guy that had a sign on the grocery store bulletin board. I think he said he went to school with you?” she said as I opened the door. “Name’s—”
“Ben,” I said.
“Emily,” he said, with a guarded but incredibly sexy almost-smile.
Forget the toilet. My day went straight to hell.
About the Author
Sharla Lovelace lives in Southeast Texas with her family, an old lady dog, and 19 cockatiels. She is the author of The Reason Is You and the upcoming Before and Ever Since, which is due out in November 2012.
Sharla is available by Skype for book club meetings and chats, and loves connecting with her readers! See her website at www.sharlalovelace.com for book discussion questions, events, and to sign up for her monthly newsletter.
You can follow her as @sharlalovelace on Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.
Table of Contents
Cover
Books by Sharla Lovelace
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Excerpt from The Reason Is You
Excerpt from Before and Ever Since
About the Author
Just One Day Page 14
