Hildreth 2-in-1

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  “Well, I’m not sure what all girls do, but it works for this one.”

  “I kind of always imagined that Mom just took off her entire face and sat it on a foam head next to her bed, then put it back into position in the morning,” he said, rolling on his back and sticking his feet up in the air as if he himself were Duke.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and I accidentally stuck a Noxzema-covered finger in my eye. “Ow! You are just wrong. But, in my twenty-four years of existence I have only seen her without makeup on one occasion, and I was in preschool. I asked her to hurry up and put it on, and I’ve never seen her without it since.” I wiped my face clean and started to brush my teeth.

  “Well, she looks good even without it. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that she told me tonight about the apartment she found you. Dad told her to let you make your own decisions.”

  I stopped in the middle of my brushing.“Wellimnodgonatakit. Whaddoyouthankshe’ldoweniteler?”

  “Besides attach a tracking device to your car, who knows?”

  I spit, rinsed, and wiped my mouth, then walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Looking straight ahead into my bathroom, I spotted a glimpse of dirt.“Do you think my bathroom is clean enough?”

  “Have you ever thought of therapy?” He jumped up and patted me on my head as if I was Duke and they departed. I just watched as he closed the door.

  “Have you ever thought of therapy?” I mimicked.“Blah, blah, blah.” I decided to go downstairs to grab a glass of water before I put my pajamas on and went to bed. I rounded the corner to walk through the den that is attached to the kitchen, flipped on the light, and let out a scream. Sitting there on the sofa in the now brightly lit family room was Vicky. The last thing I had been expecting to see was a person in that room, and the last one I actually wanted to see at that moment was my mother.

  Once I retrieved my nerves from the far corners of the earth, I continued to walk past her to the kitchen.“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

  “I was waiting on you, actually,” she said. She turned around to face me but remained in her chair.“I wanted to talk to you about your new place.”

  I kept my back to her as I filled up a cup with ice and water from the door of the refrigerator. “Mother, I’m not taking that apartment.”

  “Why not? It’s beautiful. And it’s right here.”

  “Mother, it’s like I wouldn’t have even moved away. I would be right across the street. I may as well stay here. And that’s not going to happen,” I added quickly.

  “Savannah, I don’t know why on earth you would think you need your own apartment anyway. It’s just silly. You have a beautiful room upstairs. You have someone to cook and clean for you. You don’t have to worry about paying rent or any of those other things that could happen to a young lady . . . alone . . . all by herself . . . in a strange place . . . with strange people,” she said in a rather entertaining form of mock fear.

  I turned to look at her. She had still not moved from her chair, but she now had her arms wrapped around her knees and the most exaggerated of wide-eyed expressions. I walked over to her and sat on the moss-green velvet ottoman directly across from her floral chair. “Mother, let me tell you something. There comes a time when a young woman has to take the opportunity to become just that, a woman. Lest you forget, I have lived the last several years in my own apartment at school. Now, instead of living in my own apartment hours away, I’ll be living in my own apartment possibly blocks away. But not across the street.” I took a moment to be a touch melodramatic and reached out to pat her leg, then I stood to be able to part the room after my final statement.

  “You should actually treasure this experience, Mother. This move is a testament to how competently you have raised me to be self-sufficient and a major contributor to this city, your city. That fact alone should make you as excited for this new adventure of mine as I am. I will now become part of your city, something you can share with your countless visitors, an asset to your community. I will now officially be a part of Savannah, all because of the excellent way in which I was raised,” I finished, feeling manipulative but successful, because with each sentence her lamentable stature straightened in confidence and pride. And with the knowledge that I had probably just created an even greater monster, I departed.

  The moment I saw him, I ducked behind the edge of the building. Grant made this walk every morning, from his house on 345 Habersham to his dad’s architectural building. In years past I had craved discovery, even choreographed it a time or two. But now, sight of Grant brought rejection and undue trauma. So as he rounded the corner of Lincoln Street, I rounded the corner of Jake’s and entered the back door slightly winded.

  Coming through the door, Dad spotted me.“Grant’s out front grabbing a coffee. Would you like to say hey?”

  “Grant hates coffee.”

  “Doesn’t seem to anymore. Maybe he’s picking it up for his dad.”

  “Or maybe for his floozy.”

  “Savannah Phillips! What did you say?”

  “I said I’m feeling a little woozy. I might need a double this morning.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” He placed the cups in the sink and wiped his hands on his apron while I got what I needed from the Coke machine. “It sounds like you had a rather eventful evening last night with your mother,” he said, heading to the coffee maker.

  “It was a rather brilliant performance, if I do say so myself. However, it was all true. And I have been raised exceptionally well.” I kissed him on his cheek and headed for the door.

  “Yes, and educated in the art of manipulation by the master.”

  “I’m not sure what time I’ll be home,” I added on my way out.

  “Would you let Mother know I’m going to grab dinner out?”

  “No, you can call your mother. I am not your messenger, young lady.”

  “OK, OK, I’ll call her. But I’m not sure if I’ll get her. I might have to simply leave the message on her voice mail. Oh, that wretched piece of machinery. It has totally devoured a culture’s ability to address each other personally. Modern technology will be our society’s eventual downfall.”

  “Technology and wimpy children will be our death.”

  As I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, the smell of Savannah mingled with the brewing of freshly roasted coffee. I turned around. “Dad, if you knew something that could possibly hurt someone you love, but the knowledge of that truth could prevent its ability to hurt even more people,would telling it be worth the risk?”

  Dad set down his pot and turned to me. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Savannah, and Lord knows if I really want to. I can tell you, though, that life has taught me that revealing truth isn’t always easy. But allowing someone to be hurt knowingly is unforgivable. Just make sure that what you reveal is actually true.”

  “That’s what I thought too,” I said. I headed out the door and into the alley, then back to the front of the building. Richard was outside standing by the door, watching Duke watch his beloved chocolate lab cross to the other side of the square.

  He never turned to look at me.“Poor thing. Never gets quite close enough.”

  “He is a woeful creature.” I turned to look at the lines that had now grown distinctively deeper through the years in the corners of Richard’s eyes . They were from his endless smiles and bouts of laughter. Next to my mother, Richard knew most everything happening in this town. The reason was that he did more listening than talking. Richard listened as people shared their stories, and he knew when they wanted his advice and when they simply wanted his ear. He was like your best hairdresser or priest.

  “Richard, I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot, Savannah,” he said, still observing Duke’s frustration.

  “Do you remember Emma Riley? She graduated from Massie School a couple of years before me? Really pretty girl who won all the local pageants?”

  �
��Oh, that’s a sad story, Savannah,” he drawled. “A very sad story. Seems she married herself a drunk, had four children like stairsteps, and barely gets by. I hear he beat her and the children. It’s a very sad story.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Actually, I hear she finally listened to reason and moved away from that jerk.”

  “Richard! That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Sorry, Savannah. Things like that just make my southern gentlemanly ways fade out with the northern breeze. Seems she moved into the apartment underneath her mother and father’s home once her divorce was final, changed her name back to Riley, and her folks help her take care of her children. But I don’t know that she’s any better than before.” He stopped and looked at me as if to remove himself from the land he had drifted to.“What in the world you readin’ now, Savannah Phillips?”

  “Oh, it’s To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  “Child, you haven’t changed a lick. We’re going to bury you with a book.”

  “Eww. No talk of such things.” I kissed Richard and patted Duke.“She probably drinks out of toilets, Duke. I’m sure she’s not worth it.” He sighed a heavy sigh, refusing to be consoled, and dropped himself back to the heated pavement.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Savannah morning sun had shifted into assault position. No one in this square would be able to escape it until late in the afternoon. It had already attacked the sides of my Coca-Cola cup and left me with a wet hand. I just about ended up bathed in Coke as I tried to find a napkin in my glove compartment, put my cup in a cup holder, and answer my ringing cell phone all at the same time. I grabbed the Coke before it cascaded down the front of my white linen pants.

  “Hello,” I answered, sounding rather discomposed for such an early hour.

  “Well, Miss Sunshine apparently has already forgotten that she has a real job and the possibility of moving out of her home in a very short while.”

  “Miss Sunshine just about rained on herself. Did you decide to work today, or do you want to come out and play with me?”

  “If I don’t sell some artwork, I can’t pay rent.”

  “Yeah, right, and if I hadn’t gotten a job, I’d’ve been kicked out of Vicky’s house. Anyway, I’m headed to Emma’s house now. Sure you don’t want to come?”

  “You mean you’re just going to go over to her house, show up on her doorstep, and say,‘Do you want to tell me your story?’”

  “Well, I was planning on it until you said it like that. Do you have a better idea?”

  “No, I don’t have any idea. I just hope you’re still packing that BB gun in your trunk. You might need it. And don’t tell her I said anything about her. I don’t want her sending her children over to me for art lessons, if you know what I mean.”

  “I have no idea what you mean. Well, I’ve got to go. I’m here.”

  “Good luck, brave soul.”

  The front of the Riley’s house was as beautiful as it had always been. Mr. and Mrs. Riley were well-respected in the city. They ran a local restaurant down on River Street that was a favorite of tourists and locals alike. They weren’t very assuming people, but they were stunningly beautiful, thus Emma’s flawlessness. I couldn’t imagine that this beauty from high school could be as haggard as Paige and Richard made her out to be.

  There wasn’t a doorbell by the apartment door, but there was a beautiful gold-plated lion’s-head door knocker. I clutched the ring that it held in its jaws and tapped it with three determined strokes. There was no sign of the door opening for an extremely long moment, but I could hear movement. Every shade in the downstairs apartment was drawn. After what seemed like enough time for Vicky to both groom and accessorize, a hand lifted the corner of the blind and a blue eye peeked out.

  “Who is it?” the eyeball asked.

  “It’s Savannah Phillips from up the street. I would like to speak with Emma, if it’s possible.”

  The door opened to reveal something I wouldn’t have believed possible. The natural beauty from high school was now just natural. Truth be told, she didn’t even seem natural. She was only two years older than I, but she looked as if she were my mother’s age. In fact,my mother looked better than Emma. Emma’s once sun-kissed blond hair looked as if it hadn’t had contact with a brush in years. Her skin, which used to be so golden and fresh, now looked sallow and worn. Her eyes were once a stunning blue. Now they lacked any life at all.

  Almost too shocked to speak, I mustered up something to the effect of, “I just finished my master’s work and heard you had moved back home, and I wanted to see how you were.” I felt like an idiot and knew I probably sounded more like an idiot than I actually felt.

  She stared at me, revealing she didn’t believe much of what I’d said. “Savannah, we hardly ever talked in school. Why would you want to talk to me now?”

  I decided since honesty had worked in my life up to that point, there was no reason to ruin my track record. The worst that could happen would be a door slammed in my face, or a challenge to make her beautiful again.“Emma, actually you’re right. I’m not here to just talk. I wanted to ask you a few questions for a story I’m working on. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?” She just stood there, staring, glaring.“I promise I won’t take long, and if you don’t want to talk to me, I will take my things and leave,” I said, motioning to my satchel that was hanging on my side.

  To my surprise, she opened the door to let me in. I didn’t know, however, that I was going to need a backhoe to make it past the foyer. The place was dirty, excessively cluttered, and filled with the stale smell of cigarette smoke. Emma walked ahead of me in a white tank top covered in I didn’t want to know what. She had on what looked like men’s boxers, and she kicked the toys out of her way to get down the hall to the small living room in the back. She never apologized or even spoke in the process; she just sort of shuffled. She shuffled stuff out of her way and removed clothes from the sofa, motioning for me to sit.

  If Vicky had come with me, she would have snatched up Emma, told her to get ahold of herself, then taken her to the bathroom and scrubbed her from head to toe. I, on the other hand, planned to sit there on that sofa and hope I didn’t have Cheerios stuck to my behind when I got up. Emma lit a cigarette, revealing the early lines that had formed around her mouth and the yellowness of her teeth. She really was a pitiful sight.

  “What do you want, Savannah?” she said flatly.

  “Emma,” I paused for an extremely long time, having no idea how in the world to even begin this conversation.“Emma, I’m sure you know people around town have speculated for years about what has happened to you. Some say your life turned upside down when you lost the Miss Georgia United States of America Pageant.”

  She took a long drag from her cigarette, but her face registered a moment of shock.“Is that so?”

  For a moment I believed she might put her cigarette out on my arm. So I responded quickly.“Well, yes, and if I told you I was working on a story that might reveal that the pageant was in some way rigged, would you be willing to tell me your story?”

  At that question, I was sure I saw a scant ounce of emotion in Emma’s eyes. I’m not sure what kind of emotion, but something. Something there reflected a brief recollection of a life past, a faded memory. It was almost as if in one transient expression I saw her experience a reality long since forgotten. As if with one volatile query she was confronted with the reason for who she had become. But it left before I could catch it with my own expression. Her original apathy returned.“I wouldn’t care to tell you anything about beauty pageants. Now if you’ll leave, I need to go get my children from upstairs.” She stood up and headed back to the door.

  I would make one last-ditch effort, see if I could retrieve her past and make her confront it. I stood as if to follow her but remained at the edge of the sofa. “Emma, you were once one of the most beautiful women in this city. What happened to you?” I was probably crossing a line, but I believed some
one needed to shake this girl up and make her confront her demons. And if my mother wasn’t here to do it, who better than me?

  She turned around and glared at me in the most menacing of ways. I decided this was probably how all beauty queens looked without sequins and tiaras, false eyelashes, and imitation body parts. For a moment, I thought about escaping out the back, not sure what women like her were capable of; but I decided, whether I ever published a story or not, this girl needed serious help. It was time for intervention. And if I was to be the interventioner (if that’s even a word), then so be it.

  “I mean, well, um . . . look at you!” I said, pushing back my fear, getting even bolder, and taking a determined step forward. “When is the last time you have taken care of yourself: brushed your hair, washed your clothes, picked up after your children?” I asked, gesturing at the mayhem. “When is the last time you looked in the mirror and saw someone you liked? I may not have known you well growing up, but I’m not dumb enough to think this is the real you.” The more I talked, the stiffer her upper lip became and the redder her face. Right before I thought she was going to explode on my head, I decided I would show myself out, but not without one last statement. Unfortunately she beat me to it.

  “Who do you think you are coming into my home, with your little preppy-looking self? You have no idea what my life is. You live in your little fantasy world, with no responsibility and no one tugging at your sleeve twenty-four hours a day. You spend time sipping lattes and hanging out with your prissy mama.”

  Well, heaven help the child who talks that way about my mama. I can tell you any story about her I dare please. But Emma’s words brought me to life in a way that, honestly, to that point I had never seen myself. “First, let me tell you one thing. I don’t drink lattes. I drink Coca-Cola. Second, I have responsibilities. But I actually take care of them.”

  “So do I,” she said, glaring.

  “Oh, do you? Well, I make sure at the end of the day when I lay my head on my pillow that I did the right thing, the right way, and at the right time, with hopefully the right motives. I don’t let others suffer at my hands.”