Picture Perfect

by D. Anne Love

  “Yeah.” Nick squeezed my hand. “I’m glad Pop wasn’t involved in what happened to your dad. I wouldn’t want you to be mad at me.”

  One of the coaches opened the cafeteria door, blew his whistle, and waved everybody inside.

  “How is your mom?” I asked as we headed for the pep rally.

  “Better. She’s starting counseling. Her therapist wants us all to go.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I guess. It creeps me out, though, having to tell a complete stranger all our family secrets.”

  “At least your mom is facing up to the truth now.”

  “It’s about time.”

  We entered the auditorium and found seats in the back row. Despite the early-season loss to Mirabeau, our team had clinched the conference championship the week before, so this last game was anticlimactic. Although you wouldn’t know it from the way the cheerleader clones ran onto the stage yelling and clapping, then doing splits that looked downright painful.

  “It’s a blue!” they yelled, starting the cheer that always opened the pep rallies. “It’s a blue! It’s a blue, blue, blue!”

  Zane came in with Ginger and a couple of guys from the swim team. He waved to me and pulled Ginger onto a seat beside him.

  Nick and I scrunched down and tried to talk above all the noise. Pep rallies never were among my favorite activities. Basically they’re an ego trip for the jocks and the cheerleaders. Although a pep rally meant my PE class was canceled, always a plus.

  “So,” Nick said into my ear as the cheerleaders launched into another yell. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Normally, I loved Thanksgiving. Mama always went overboard on the fall decorations, filling the house with pumpkins, candles, maple leaves, and straw baskets overflowing with miniature squashes, grapes, and apples. She roasted a huge turkey and made corn bread dressing, sweet potato casserole, and cranberry relish from scratch. But this year she would be at a big sales convention in California. Shyla was going skiing with friends in Vermont, which left Daddy, Zane, and me to fend for ourselves. Daddy made great pancakes and excellent burgers, but let’s face it, turkey and dressing demanded way more culinary skill than he possessed. I had no idea what he was planning for the big day.

  “Maybe I could come over the day after,” Nick said. “We could hang out. If you want.”

  It was the first time Nick had ever suggested hanging out at my house. I was thrilled to pieces, but I played it cool. “Sure. That would be great.”

  When school let out for the holiday the following Wednesday, Zane and I went home to find Daddy already in the kitchen, thumbing through a stack of Mama’s cookbooks.

  “Hey, Dad,” Zane said. “What’s up?”

  “I was planning on fixing a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for us, but I’m afraid I may have started a week or so too late. Most of this stuff takes hours, if not days, to prepare. I don’t sec how your mother managed it.”

  “Maybe we can still get a reservation at the Eden Inn,” I said. “Their ad in the paper last week said they were serving a buffet.”

  “That’s an idea,” Daddy said. “I surely will miss a good home-cooked feast, but this year we will have to make do.”

  Then, as if she’d been waiting for her cue, the doorbell rang and Beverly called, “Hey, Trasks! May I come in?”

  “By all means,” Daddy said. “Come on in.”

  “I can’t stay long,” Beverly said, sweeping into the kitchen. “I have a conference call scheduled at five, but I saw your car in the drive, Sum-nuh, and I just popped over to see what you all are doing for dinner tomorrow.”

  “We were just discussing that,” Daddy said. “With Beth and Shyla away, we’re thinking of eating at the inn.”

  “Eating at a restaurant on Thanksgiving? I have never heard of anything sadder than that. Thanksgiving is for families.”

  Zane said, “Well, ours is a little fractured at the moment.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t I know it?” Beverly said. “That’s why I came by. To invite you all to my house tomorrow.”

  “That’s too much work,” Daddy said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “It’s no trouble at all!” she said. “They have places where you can order everything already prepared. You just bring it home, heat it up, and dig in.”

  I could see Daddy weakening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Beverly could see it too, and she pressed her advantage.

  “I thought we’d order the hard-to-fix things, like the turkey and stuffing, but we can bake our own pies. I’m very good at pecan pie. I use my grandmother’s recipe.” She laid her hand on Daddy’s arm. “You’d be doing me a favor. Otherwise I’m going to be eating all by myself, and that’s no fun.”

  “All right,” Daddy said. “But only if you let me take care of the turkey.”

  “Done! The name of the caterer is Garden of Eatin’. They’re in the phone book.” She glanced at her watch. “I must go, but I’ll see you all tomorrow. Come over around ten, and we’ll get started on the pies.”

  “Great,” Zane muttered, fishing out his keys. “I’m heading over to Ginger’s.”

  “Again?” Daddy said. “This is the third night in a row. You don’t want to wear out your welcome, son.”

  “Now, Sum-nuh, don’t fuss,” Beverly said, taking Zane’s side like she was his mother and this was an old argument. “You know very well that when you’re sixteen and in love, there is no such thing as too much togetherness.”

  Zane ducked out the back door, banging it shut behind him. Beverly just smiled her boys-will-be-boys smile and said, “See you tomorrow.”

  By ten thirty on Thanksgiving morning Daddy and Zane and I were in Beverly’s kitchen mixing dough, cracking eggs, and measuring out corn syrup for the pies. In the living room a fire crackled in the fireplace, and the TV was tuned to the Macy’s parade in New York. Daddy and Beverly chattered like magpies as we worked. I measured out flour and shortening for the piecrust, keeping one eye on the TV parade. Zane had reverted to silent mode, doing everything Daddy asked with exaggerated politeness.

  “So, Phoebe,” Beverly said, handing Daddy a rolling pin. “How is freshman year treating you?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What is the scintillating Mr. Clifton doing these days?”

  “Same old thing. Still as boring as a box of rocks.” I poured corn syrup into a measuring cup and put the lid back on the bottle. “Mrs. Grady is sticking to her lifelong rule of not smiling until Christmas.”

  Talking about Mrs. Grady reminded me of Nick, and I felt better, knowing I’d see him the next day.

  Daddy finished rolling out the pie dough, rinsed his hands at the sink, and went to the closet in the entry hall to retrieve his jacket. Beverly sent Zane to the garage with a bag of kitchen trash. She poured the pie filling into the shells and added a cup of pecan halves to each one. “How are things with you and Nick?”

  It was just one more question designed to worm her way deeper into my life, but I was so amazed that out of all the girls in the freshman class Nick had chosen me, I told Beverly the one thing I hadn’t even told Shyla yet: that he had invited me to the Snow Ball, the freshman winter formal.

  “That’s wonderful!” Beverly carefully set the pies in the oven, programmed the timer, and closed the door. “Maybe we’ll take another trip to Dallas after the holidays and shop for your dress.”

  “The dance isn’t until the middle of February,” I said. “My mother will be back by then.”

  Daddy came back into the kitchen. “I’m heading downtown to pick up the turkey. Anything else we need?”

  “No, I think we’re all set,” Beverly said.

  Zane and I helped Beverly set the table. Daddy came back with the food from Garden of Eatin’, and we put everything onto platters and into bowls. Beverly took the pies out of the oven and left them on the counter to cool. Daddy said a quick blessing, which he never did at home. Then h
e carved the turkey and we dug in.

  I had just taken my first bite of cranberry relish when a taxi pulled up to our house next door. Through Beverly’s dining-room window we watched as the driver got out, popped the trunk, and set three suitcases onto the driveway. He opened the rear passenger door, and a woman stepped out, shading her eyes against the bright autumn sunshine.

  Mama had come home.

  “It’s Beth!” Daddy said, rising from Beverly’s table. Then he stood there like he couldn’t figure out what to do.

  Me and Zane muttered a hasty “Excuse me!” to Beverly and raced across the yard to where Mama was digging in her purse for money to pay the driver.

  “Mama!” I launched myself into her arms, almost knocking her over.

  “My goodness, Phoebe, you’re strong as an ox.” Mama laughed and untangled herself. She reached around me to hand the driver his money. He tipped his cap, got in the taxi, and backed down the drive.

  She kissed me, then grabbed ahold of Zane. “Hi, baby.”

  Zane turned ten shades of red, but he grinned and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

  “I’ve been better, to tell you the truth. Where’s Daddy?”

  “We were having Thanksgiving at Beverly’s,” I said just as Beverly and Daddy crossed the lawn.

  Daddy hugged Mama and kissed her cheek. “What a wonderful surprise! You should have told me you were coming for a Thanksgiving visit! I’d have met you at the airport.”

  “I had to fly standby because of the holiday,” Mama said. “I wasn’t sure when I’d get here.”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” I said. “You’re home. How long can you stay, Mama?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Mama touched the scar above Daddy’s brow. “Are you all right? How is your collarbone?”

  “It’s knitting nicely,” Daddy said. “I’m fine.”

  “I would have come home when it happened,” Mama said, “but you had to be stubborn about it.”

  “Well, I’m sure your family is delighted to have you home now,” Beverly said, drawing her sweater around her shoulders. “And you’re just in time for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mama said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Nonsense.” Beverly linked her arm through Mama’s as if they were the best of friends. “Having you here makes the day ever so special for your family. Come with me, and we’ll start over.”

  Daddy and Zane took Mama’s suitcases into our house. Ten minutes later we were reassembled around Beverly’s table. Beverly kept up a stream of conversation all through the turkey and dressing, and on through coffee and pecan pie served in front of the fire in the living room. There were a million things I wanted to tell Mama, but right then I was content just to look at her, at the way the sunlight brought out the blue of her eyes and the dark beauty of her hair. Dressed in gray wool slacks and a bright yellow sweater, Mama looked thinner than I remembered, but she seemed okay; she’d eaten two helpings of sweet potato casserole and an extra-large serving of the skillet beans from Garden of Eatin’.

  When we finished dessert, Mama offered to help clean up the kitchen, but Beverly wouldn’t hear of it. “I want you all to go home. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do!”

  Daddy carried his and Mama’s coffee cups to the kitchen and picked up his jacket. “Thank you, Beverly, for a wonderful dinner.”

  “It was nothing.” She turned to Mama. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  As we started across the yard, Zane let Mama and Daddy go ahead of us and whispered to me, “What about Lucky?”

  “Omigod!” I ran past them, pounded across the porch, and let myself in so I could keep Lucky from escaping and knocking Mama down. By the time I had calmed his puppy exuberance, Mama was coming up the steps, laughing at something Daddy had said.

  When she saw me standing in the entry hall holding on to the collar of a fifty-pound mass of yellow fur, she stopped cold. “What,” she asked, “is that?”

  “Mama,” I said, “meet Lucky.”

  I held on to my puppy’s collar as we went into the living room. Lucky’s feet scrabbled on the hardwood floor as he tried to get to Mama so she could pet him. Any new person was fair game as far as he was concerned. “Me and Zane found him on the highway. We saved his life.”

  “Oh, Phoebe,” Mama said, sinking into her favorite chair by the window. “You know how I feel about dogs.”

  “He’s not just any dog. He’s special.”

  She sighed. “People always think their dog is special. But dogs stink, they shed, they pee on the rugs—”

  “Lucky doesn’t,” I said.

  Daddy said, “He’s housebroken, Beth. Feebs has done a great job with him.”

  “Sumner, don’t tell me I have to fight you, too.” Mama sounded incredibly tired, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to give up my dog.

  “I’m keeping him,” I said. “You’ll be gone again after this weekend. Surely you can put up with him for three days, and when you come back in February, he’ll be older and even better trained. He’s really smart.”

  Mama closed her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure he’s a genius.”

  “Mama, you can’t make her give him up,” Zane said. “It’s not fair.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Life isn’t fair. I am proof positive ofthat.” Then she started to cry.

  “Beth?” Daddy bent down and put his arms around her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, this is so hard. I wish Shyla were here so I’d only have to say it once.”

  My breath caught. I just knew Mama had decided to divorce her whole family and stay with Bee Beautiful forever. Which would make Beverly Grace absolutely ecstatic. She could marry my father and move right in, without even having to change the monogram on the towels in Mama’s bathroom.

  But then Mama got ahold of herself and said, “I can’t go back to Bee Beautiful.”

  “What’s wrong?” Daddy asked.

  “I have cancer,” Mama said quietly. “I just found out a week ago. Since then I’ve been tying up loose ends at the company and looking into my treatment options.”

  I went numb remembering when Lauren’s aunt Ella got cancer. We’d watched her go from a normal woman to a thin scarecrow with papery skin and no hair, and finally to a pale wisp of a person who one day slipped into a deep sleep and never came back. That couldn’t happen to my mother. It just couldn’t. Zane, Daddy, and I stared at one another, dazed, while Mama gave us the details of her illness and talked about the appointment she had already set up with a specialist in Dallas. Then Daddy called Shyla at her friend’s house in Vermont and told her to come home.

  When Nick called the next day, I told him my mother was home, but not the reason why. Zane and I had been the subject of too much talk at school ever since the beginning of the year; first there was all the discussion about the trial and then the attack on Daddy. I wasn’t up to having people whispering about me again. Besides, as scary as cancer was, you heard all the time about people who had beaten it and ended up good as new. And Mama was scrappy; she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “I should probably spend time with my mom,” I told Nick. “She’s been gone a long time.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  On the one hand I was glad he didn’t give me a hard time for breaking our date, such as it was; on the other I was disappointed he didn’t fight harder to see me. To fill the silence that followed, I said, “How is everything at your house?”

  “Okay. We’re supposed to have another family counseling session next week.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday, then.”

  “Yeah. Monday.”

  We hung up just as Shyla arrived. Mama and Zane were napping, Daddy was doing research on his computer. I went out to help her carry in all her stuff. She had taken three suitcases on her skiing trip to Vermont, and each one weighed a ton.

  “How is she?” Shyla asked as we heaved the luggage
onto the porch.

  “She slept most of the morning. Daddy says the trip wore her out.”

  “No doubt. The airports are a zoo this weekend.”

  “Mama had to fly standby. I’m surprised you got here so fast.”

  “I cheated. My friend’s father had access to a corporate jet and offered to fly me down.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty plush.” Shyla opened the door and called, “Hey, Dad?”

  He came out of his study, his glasses propped on his head. “Hi, baby. Let me give you a hand.”

  He carried her stuff upstairs and dumped it all in her room. Then Mama came into the hallway, still in her robe and slippers even though it was past noon.

  “Mama?”

  Shyla started to cry, and Mama held her firstborn, her favorite, just as she always had. “Don’t cry, honey. Everything will be all right.”

  Later, over tea and tuna fish sandwiches, Mama said, “If I’m going to fight this thing, I’m going all out. The doctor in California recommended radiation right away, and then chemotherapy, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Shouldn’t you get a second opinion, Mama?” Shyla asked, pushing her food away. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t eat either, thinking about what Mama was facing. “I mean, radiation and chemo seems so drastic.”

  “It is drastic,” Mama agreed. “And I will get a second opinion next week, but right now it seems like my best hope.”

  “I’ll drop out of school,” Shyla said, “so I can be here to take care of you.”

  But Mama said, “Drop out when you’re so close to graduating? Absolutely not!”

  “But who will take care of you when the chemotherapy starts?” Shyla asked. “Phoebe and Zane will be in school all day, and Daddy can’t shut down his court altogether.”

  “I’ll hire someone,” Mama said. “You have your whole future ahead of you. I don’t want my illness to derail your plans. I couldn’t live with that.”

  Which was basically what Daddy had said about Mama when he was in the hospital after the beating. I began then to look at my mother in a different light. I’d thought she was totally selfish to go off on her Bee Beautiful adventure arid leave us to fend for ourselves, but now I saw that maybe she wasn’t as selfabsorbed as I had thought.