She tilted her head back and chuckled. My mama had a deep, raspy laugh that seemed too big for her tiny frame, but I never tired of hearing it. “How could I be sad when your sister has practically re-created the whole festival for tonight?” She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Oh, Nola. Wait ’til you see what she’s come up with. Why the decorations, the flowers, the food … it’s all just divine.”
Boy, I owed my sister big-time. “I’m so glad, Mama. And I can’t wait to see Hattie. When did she get back?”
“A few months ago when her father took ill. He’s in the convalescent home east of town. Alzheimer’s, I think. That family’s had its share of trouble, that’s for sure.”
I dipped my eyes, running my hand over the marred top of our family table. Poor Hattie. I never understood how some people had to bear so much sadness while others seemed to breeze through life without a care. Maybe that’s why I’d loved my job so much. It gave me a chance to try to right the off-balanced nature of life—something I knew wasn’t going to be possible from behind a desk.
“You know she’s started a dress shop down on the square,” Mama added, bringing relief to the downturn in the conversation.
My mood lightened. “A dress shop! Hattie?” Although I shouldn’t have been surprised. Hattie was always the epitome of Southern fashion. “How about Cade?” I asked, wondering if he was still around.
“Cade McKenna? He’s still here. He started his own contracting business.”
“Really? He always did like building things. Do you remember that old fort we made over by the Hole?” The Harper farm included over a hundred acres of land, most of which was planted in peach trees. The other part was wooded, with a branch of the Ocmulgee River cascading over large rocks and forming a deep, cool pool at the bottom. Growing up, we’d called it the Hole, short for the swimming hole. I’d spent many a hot afternoon cooling off there.
“Yes, you kids were always up to something.” She paused and took a long sip of her tea. I could hear Ida knocking around in the kitchen and wondered if she would join us soon. Mama swiped her napkin around the sweating glass again and continued, “You three were a menace. I had to keep a constant eye on you. Heaven only knows all the trouble you got into.”
I smiled, thinking she didn’t know the half of it. And never would, if I could help it. “I wonder if Cade will show up tonight.”
She leveled her gaze on me, her blue eyes twinkling. “Of course, he’s coming, dear. Everyone’s going to be here.”
*
MY MOTHER WASN’T exaggerating. In fact, the crowd started arriving early. It was only a little before five when I heard the first set of tires crunching on our gravel drive. Ray was already in position outside to direct the parking of the cars to strategically avoid a complete block-up of the property. Ida was no doubt directing everything downstairs. I was still in my room trying to decide between my only formal attire—a black halter-top dress, great for hot tropical climates, or a deep blue silk dress with long sleeves for countries with modesty codes—when a knock sounded on the door.
“Nola?”
I looked up to see Hattie standing in the doorway. “Hattie!” I screamed, running to hug her. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She hadn’t, either. Hattie always looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a Southern fashion magazine. Tonight was no different. She was wearing a cute little flowered sundress that barely glanced her knees and midcalf rhinestone-studded cowboy boots. She even had her dark hair done up big, with a glitzy barrette holding back one side. I glanced down at the bed, where I’d laid out my choices. Suddenly, neither dress seemed right. I was going to stick out like a sore thumb at the party.
“This suits you,” she said, reaching out and fingering my hair.
“You think? I cut it earlier when I went to Darfur. Long hair just didn’t work in the refugee camps.”
She sighed. “Well, bless your heart. I can’t even imagine. How long have you been gone this time—three years?” she asked.
“At least. I don’t think I’ve seen you since your mama …” I let my words trail off. A few years ago, Hattie lost her mother to cancer. I came back to support her during that awful time, but since then, I’d let our friendship slip. “Hattie, I’m sorry I haven’t called more often. I haven’t been a good friend to you.”
She clasped my hands, squeezing tightly. “It’s just as much my fault. The phone line runs both ways, you know? And you were here for me when I needed it most. It’s just that after Mama passed, I lost my bearings.” Her eyes grew moist. “You know, Nola Mae, there’s just nothing better than a mama that’s always there for you. You remember that, okay?”
I swallowed hard, trying to understand her sorrow, yet not wanting to think too much about the day I might not have my own mama. I just couldn’t face the possibility of such significant grief. I reached out and hugged her again. This time when I pulled back she wore a happier look on her face.
“Well, let’s not dwell on all that,” she said. “What’s important is that we’re here now and are about to celebrate a happy occasion.” She glanced down at the bed. “Having trouble picking your dress?”
I fingered the silk dress. “I bought this on a whim at an Indonesian market a few months back, but haven’t worn it yet.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not? It’s gorgeous! The color is perfect for your blue eyes.”
“Really?” I stood and carried the dress to the mirror and held it in front of me. I wasn’t sure. I’d never really considered such things. Most of my time was spent doing things like roaming field sites in search of water supplies, teaching English to slum orphans, and searching rubble for earthquake survivors—strictly jeans and T-shirt type of stuff. I was out of practice when it came to dressing up. Usually, I just applied sunscreen, threw on a baseball cap, and got busy. “You really think this one looks good?”
Hattie slid into the mirror next to me. She fingered the fine silk embroidery of songbirds in gold thread that edged the sleeves and matched the flowered trim around the scooped neckline. “Yes, I do,” she said, brushing aside a piece of my wispy bangs. “Especially after I fix your hair and makeup for you.”
I giggled. “The last time you said that was right before senior prom. I had a date with … oh, what was that guy’s name?” I’d stripped down to my skivvies and was pulling the dress over my head.
“Danny Hicks.”
“Oh, that’s right. Was that night ever a disaster! Especially when”—I choked on even saying his name as that night flooded back on me—“you-know-who showed up. He’s not still around here, is he?” I had a horrible vision of running into him at the party.
Hattie wheeled me around and started working the dress’s buttons. “Last I heard he was somewhere up by Macon. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back, though.”
“Good.” I let the image of that night, the wonder of it at the time, the horror of it later, pass by. I’d left that behind me, I reminded myself. Forever.
“Well, don’t worry,” she assured me. “All that’s in the past now. And tonight’s not going to be anything like our senior prom. Fifty years of marriage! Can you imagine? What could possibly go wrong when we’re celebrating something so wonderful?”
I turned back to the mirror and smiled at my image. At the moment, everything did seem right with the world. My parents were celebrating their marriage and embarking on an adventure, I had three weeks to hang at home, rest, and catch up with my best friend … and the dress did look darn good on me. “You’re right,” I echoed her sentiments. “What could possibly go wrong?”
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Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Page 26
