Nell and Lady: A Novel

by Ashley Farley

  Lady lifted her daughter’s chin toward her. “There’s more to the selection than just grades, sweetheart. You have an impressive résumé. All the community service you’ve done and the leadership positions you’ve held will pay off.”

  “I’m not worried about a thing, sweetheart. You’ve always come out ahead,” Willa said.

  Lady, who had never come out ahead on anything in her life, winced at Willa’s sarcasm, knowing it had been directed at her.

  Willa gulped down half a glass of champagne and smacked her lips. “Yes siree, Bob! I will die a happy woman watching my granddaughter deliver her valedictorian address.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  NELL

  Nell sat paralyzed in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel, long after she saw Lady’s taillights retreat to the lower levels of the parking garage. Seeing Lady again had brought on a torrent of emotions. Guilt, for not visiting Miss Willa or calling or sending her a Christmas card. Shame, for taking advantage of Miss Willa for so many years. Regret, for never showing her adopted mother proper appreciation for saving her from foster care. Heartache, at the memory of her own mother’s death. Fear, at the thought of having to return to that house. Anger, at the atrocities she’d suffered in the downstairs den. Fury, at Lady for not stopping it from happening. Humiliation, over the whole sordid affair. The intensity of the last emotion took her by surprise—provoking an ache in her chest and a torrent of tears. She was heartbroken at the thought of Miss Willa dying.

  Why was this happening now, when things were going so well for her? She was on track for a promotion at the hospital. Her son, Booker, was about to graduate at the top of his class and be accepted at an Ivy League college. And her husband was finally noticing her again.

  Nell had told her husband very little about her upbringing. And she’d told her son lies.

  Her phone pinged in the center console with a text message from Booker. Did you forget to pick me up again?

  She quickly thumbed a response. On the way. Got held up at the hospital.

  She backed out of the parking space and exited the parking deck.

  Booker was waiting for her in front of the library, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his fleece zipped tight under his chin against the chilly late-March evening. She wondered, as she did at least once a day, if her son would grow any more. At seventeen, he’d yet to reach Nell’s height of five feet six. The doctor promised that he had the potential to grow seven or eight more inches. Her husband claimed that he didn’t top out at six feet until his second year in college.

  Booker climbed in the car and buckled himself into the passenger seat. “Drive fast! I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Seriously, Mom. We’ve talked about this a gazillion times. Harvard is posting acceptances tonight at eight o’clock.”

  “Oh, right.” She glanced at the clock on the dash. Seven twenty. She’d planned to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Oh well. Her son and husband would have to settle for leftovers again.

  “You know, Mom, our lives would be so much easier if I had my own car.”

  Nell ran her hand over the top of his head. “Hang on a little longer, son. Graduation is in two months.” She put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  “I don’t understand why I have to wait for graduation. It’s not like it’s a surprise or anything. You already told me you’re buying me a car.” As they drove through town and across the Cooper River bridge toward Mount Pleasant, Booker presented his argument, outlining all the reasons his parents should give him his promised graduation present early.

  He’d worn her down by the time they arrived home. “Let me talk to your father.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Booker hopped out of the car and hurried inside.

  She gathered her belongings, entered the house through the front door, and passed through the center hallway to the family room–kitchen combo. Booker, perched on a barstool with his elbows propped on the granite countertop, was staring at his open laptop.

  She set her bag and lunch box on the kitchen table. “Well? Did they post anything yet?”

  “Not yet. Thirteen more minutes. What’s for dinner?” he asked, his eyes glued to the screen.

  She opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. “You have two choices—jambalaya or jambalaya.”

  He groaned. “Ugh. Not again.”

  “Sorry. You were in too big a hurry to stop at the grocery store.”

  “See!” he said, his pointer finger aimed at the cathedral ceiling. “If I had my own car, I could’ve stopped at the store for you on the way home from school.”

  “Give it a rest, son. I’ve had a long day.”

  Nell dumped the leftover container of jambalaya into a casserole dish and slid it in the microwave to reheat. She poured herself a glass of pinot noir and took it outside to the porch to enjoy the last few minutes of twilight. She sat down in a rocker and gazed across their dock to the glistening waters of the Wando River. She and her husband, Desmond, had started construction on this house the same month she’d discovered she was pregnant with Booker. Back when their marriage was solid and both their careers had taken off. My, how good things had been for them back then.

  Growing up, she’d always dreamed of one day owning a home like the Bellemores’. She’d gotten the big house. But she’d known from the beginning that something was missing. Something that had nothing to do with the problems in her marriage. That something was the love she’d experienced as a child in the Bellemores’ home. Back when her mother was still alive and Lady was her best friend. Nell of course loved her son with her whole heart. They shared a close bond, as special as any mother and son she knew. But the love that had filled that house on Water Street was tender and sweet and kind. She understood now what a rare gift it had been.

  When the sky grew dark, with only two minutes left until the appointed hour, she left the porch and returned to the kitchen. Standing behind Booker, she peered over his shoulder at his applicant status portal for Harvard.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Are you excited?”

  “I’m scared to death. I can’t look.” He closed his eyes. “Tell me what it says.”

  The notification appeared, and her heart sank. Wait list. She sighed inwardly. Why had they denied her son admission? This had to be an error. He’d been accepted everywhere else he’d applied—USC, UGA, UVA, Duke. His college guidance counselor had assured them he would be a shoo-in for Harvard.

  “Well?” Booker asked, his eyes squeezed tight.

  “They must’ve made a mistake,” was all she could think to say.

  Booker opened his eyes and read the announcement. “Dang it!” He pounded the counter with his fist. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “I’m sorry, son. I know you’re disappointed.” She rubbed circles on his back. “I felt certain you’d get in.”

  “Why, Mom, because I’m black?” he said and buried his face in his hands.

  “No, not because you’re black. Because your grades and SAT scores meet the criteria.” The fact that he was a minority certainly didn’t hurt, of course—she’d factored that in—but Nell wouldn’t admit that to her son, at least not now when he was so upset. “Duke is a fine school, your father’s school. He’ll be so proud.”

  “I don’t want to go to Duke,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “I want to go to Harvard.”

  “Well, a wait list isn’t a flat-out rejection. Maybe there’s a chance . . .”

  His head shot up. “You’re right, Mom. I’ll wait it out, until August if I have to.” The lines in his forehead creased, and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he conducted a Google search on the wait list statistics for Harvard. “They’ll take me off the wait list once they see my grades this semester and I’m selected valedictorian.”

  “That’s the fighting spirit.” She tugged on his arm. “Let’s get ready for dinner. You’ll f
eel better after you’ve eaten something.”

  Booker was setting the table and Nell was mixing a green salad when Desmond arrived a few minutes later. She smelled the sickly sweet floral perfume the minute he walked through the back door. The smell brought on a wave of nausea that made her want to vomit. She’d been so hopeful that this time would be different. True what they said—once a cheater, always a cheater. She wanted to claw his hazel eyes out and smack the smug look off his handsome face, but she would save the argument until later. Booker had experienced enough disappointment for one day.

  Dinner was a solemn affair. Booker picked at his food while his father extolled the virtues of Duke University.

  In a sweet voice that sounded fake even to her own ears, Nell said, “Gee, Des, if you ever get tired of being a doctor, you could apply for a job in their admissions office.”

  “I just want the boy to feel good about his decision,” Desmond said.

  “I didn’t make this decision, Dad. The decision was made for me.” Booker pushed back from the table and snatched up his plate. “You wait. I’m going to find a way to get off that wait list.” He dropped his plate in the sink with a clatter and stormed off to his room.

  “Who is she, Des?” Nell asked when they were alone.

  He stared at her over a forkful of jambalaya. “Who is who?”

  “The woman who wears that god-awful perfume.” Nell pinched her nose. “It would’ve been wise of you to take a shower before coming home to your wife and child.”

  He set his fork down. “Baby, I—”

  “Save it, Des.” She stood abruptly, knocking over her chair.

  He jumped to his feet, but she shoved him back down and righted her chair. She glared at the man she loved so much who had cheated on her time and again over the past ten years. “I really thought we had a chance this time. We were in such a good place.”

  Walking her plate to the sink, she rinsed both hers and Booker’s and placed them in the dishwasher. She refilled her wineglass and stood with her back to her husband, her thoughts racing through her head as she looked out into the dark night.

  Where do we go from here? she wondered. They’d tried everything. Counseling had worked for a while, until Desmond stopped showing up for the appointments. There was no fix for whatever was wrong with their marriage. Trying again would only prolong the agony. She needed to get out while she still had some semblance of dignity. While she could still look herself in the mirror in the morning.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she said with her back still turned to him. “Our marriage is over.”

  After a long moment of silence, he sighed and said in a resigned tone, “As much as I hate to admit it, I agree. This isn’t working for me anymore either.”

  She spun around to face him. “Did our marriage ever work for you, Des?”

  He stood up and crossed the room to her. “Of course it did, baby. You and I were good together in the beginning.”

  “I have one question for you. Will you at least do me the courtesy of answering it honestly?”

  He nodded. “I’ll try.”

  She took a gulp of wine for courage. “What is it about me that turns you off so, that has driven you time and again into the arms of other women?”

  He studied her face as though trying to decide how to respond. “You asked for honesty, so I’ll give it to you. It’s that chip you carry around on your shoulder. Something bad happened to you in your past that you refuse to talk about.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I know the pain it causes you, Nell. I hear you crying out in your sleep. That anger and bitterness is eating you up inside. Get some help, Nell. Find a good therapist. Releasing your burden will set you free.”

  “I want you to leave, Des,” she said in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

  A wounded expression crossed his face, and he dropped his hands. “Can I wait until after graduation? I don’t want to spoil this happy time for Booker.”

  Booker’s relationship with his father was strained at best, but divorce would be hard on him, as it was on most children regardless of the circumstances. But Desmond staying in the house meant pretending nothing was wrong. And she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t sleep in the same bed, do his laundry, and cook his dinners while he was having an affair with another woman. They would undoubtedly fight the whole time, which would turn Booker’s last two months of high school into a living hell.

  “I’m not the one spoiling it, Desmond. You did that all by yourself. I want you out of the house tonight.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  NELL

  1979

  Nell remembered the day as clearly as if it had been yesterday—that sweltering afternoon in late August of 1979 when her world had come crashing down upon her.

  Eager to tell her mama about her first day of high school, she’d rushed home from the bus stop. She was also eager to share her day with Lady, but Lady was staying late at her school for tennis team tryouts. They would have to wait until they’d had supper and finished their homework before they could stretch out on the cool floor in the downstairs den and compare notes. They had each set goals—with challenges of a vastly different nature—for the coming school year. Lady’s goal involved a new crush she had on a boy in her class, Phillip something or other, while Nell had committed to making the dean’s list. Over the long, boring summer, as she’d watched her mama slave away over another woman’s laundry and cooking and cleaning, she’d made a silent vow to make something of herself. What that something was, she’d yet to figure out. But she’d determined getting good grades was a step in the right direction.

  As she rounded the corner into the driveway, she expected to see her mama—her face as dark as night with her white uniform gaping open across her ample breast—waiting for her on the back stoop. But her mama was nowhere in sight. The kitchen door was open, and through the screen Nell saw a pot boiling over on the stove. Butter beans. She smelled them from where she stood. She dashed inside and dropped her book bag on the floor. As she moved toward the stove to turn it off, she tripped over her mama’s body crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  “Mama! Oh God, Mama!” She knelt down beside Mavis and tapped her cheek. “Get up, Mama. Open your eyes. Oh God. What am I gonna do?” She placed her index and middle fingers on Mavis’s wrist like she’d seen the paramedics do on TV. Relief rushed over her when she felt a pulse. “Hang on, Mama. I’m gonna get you some help.”

  Nell jumped to her feet. “Miss Willa, come quick! Something’s wrong with Mama.”

  She raced about calling for Miss Willa—up the stairs, to the drawing room at the front of the house, and back to the kitchen. Then it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen Miss Willa’s car parked outside when she came up the driveway. She raced outside to double-check. The driveway was empty. She darted across the tiny lawn to the neighbor’s house and pounded on the door, but no one answered. Returning to her mama’s side, Nell placed both hands on her mother’s heart and pumped with all her might, even though she knew she was doing it all wrong. If only she’d paid attention when they taught CPR in health class last year.

  She went to the black rotary-dial wall phone and dialed 911. “Help! Please help me!” she cried to the operator. “My mama’s passed out and can’t get up.” Nell babbled out her name and address before hanging up.

  She stretched out on the floor beside Mavis, draping her arm across her body. “Please don’t die, Mama,” she whispered over and over. But as the sound of sirens approached from a distance, she felt her mama’s body go still.

  Paramedics soon swarmed the room.

  “Please help her! I found her like this when I got home from school.”

  One of the paramedics, a man with kind brown eyes, said, “We’re gonna do everything we can for her,” as he fastened an oxygen mask to Mavis’s face.

  They lifted Mavis’s body onto a stretcher and began working on her as they wheeled her out the back door.

  Nell followed them outside. “W
here are you taking her?”

  “To the emergency room at MUSC,” the kind paramedic said. “Are you here alone? Is there anyone you should call?”

  She glanced toward the street and noticed Miss Willa running up the driveway.

  “What the devil is going on?” Miss Willa asked as she fought to catch her breath.

  “She’s dead, Miss Willa. I think my mama is dead.”

  “She can’t be.” Willa looked to the paramedic for confirmation.

  “Every minute counts,” he said.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” She stepped out of the way of the ambulance. “We’ll follow you in our car.”

  “Come on, let’s go.” Willa took her by the hand and dragged her down the driveway to her green station wagon parked by the curb. As she stumbled along beside her, Nell noticed Miss Willa’s honey-colored braid was wound on top of her head in a bun, and she was dressed in the proper suit—yellow polyester with a white ruffled blouse—that she reserved for church, instead of the flowery smocks she wore around the house.

  Willa turned on her hazard lights and raced her wagon through the downtown streets to the medical university. They entered the emergency room and identified themselves to the receptionist, who summoned a nurse to show them to the back. As they burst through the double doors, Nell saw her mother’s gurney in the hallway surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses. She watched in horror as one of the doctors drew a white sheet over her mama’s sweet face.

  Nell, rushing over and pushing through the tight circle, threw herself across her mama’s body. “No! Please, no!” Nurses on either side of her took her by the arms and led her down the hall away from the gurney. Cooing words of comfort, one of the nurses draped a warm blanket around her shoulders, and the other handed her a bottle of apple juice. Their kindness, at a moment in time when she needed it the most, had a profound effect on Nell, although she wouldn’t realize it until much later.

  After a short discussion with the doctor, Miss Willa came to collect Nell, and they walked out of the emergency room together. Judging by her pale face and quivering chin, Nell knew Miss Willa was fighting to keep herself together.