Bless Her Heart

by Debby Mayne

  “If you’re talkin’ about the class reunion invitation, I sent them out last week.”

  “You told me we wasn’t havin’ a preparty.”

  I turn around to face him, plant my fist on my hip, and stare him straight in the face. “And you told me we were.”

  He snickers as he crosses the room, opens the fridge, pulls out a can of beer and pops the top. Ever since we caught our oldest child, Bubba, sneaking a smoke in the backyard, I’ve worried that Pete might be a bad influence. He claims drinkin’ and smokin’ have nothing to do with each other, but I beg to differ.

  “So we’re havin’ the preparty here, huh?”

  I nod. “I figured that would be easiest.”

  “What’re we gonna do with the young’uns?”

  I glance over at Renee. “Why don’t you go on up and see what Bonnie Sue is doin’?”

  Her look of pure horror brings back memories of my own attempts to be cool. “She kicked me out of her room. Says I’m too nerdy to hang out with her and her stupid friends.”

  I jab my finger toward the door leading to the stairs. “You go right back up there and tell her that’s not okay with me.”

  She lifts her hands and backs out of the kitchen. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want me around either. I guess I’m not good enough for this family.”

  After she leaves, Pete takes another swig and tilts his head. “What’s that all about?”

  “Ever since Bonnie Sue made the cheerleading squad at the early tryouts for middle school for next year, she thinks she’s too cool for her britches.” My heart aches for Renee who has never been popular. It’s gotta be tough watching your younger sister grow more popular by the day, while you sit there counting flowers on the wall and then realize you’re one of ’em.

  Pete takes a long swig of his beer, makes a face as he swallows it, and slams the can down on the table. “If Bonnie Sue don’t get over herself, I got a good mind to yank her right out of cheerleading.”

  As annoyed as I’ve been with the snobbery that comes with Bonnie Sue’s newfound popularity, I know that’s not the answer. That would only anger her and drive the wedge even deeper between them.

  “You tell her she better straighten up and start treatin’ her sister right,” Pete says as he picks up his beer can and leaves the kitchen, half the words coming out on belches. I don’t know how he does that. Practice, I suppose.

  Once I’m alone, I shove my latest concoction into the oven, set the timer, and pick up one of the reunion invitations. I’m surprised Pete didn’t mention the fact that I included Celeste’s name as a co-coordinator. Back in high school, she had the biggest crush on him, and they even had a few dates. These days, she’s too busy flaunting her plucked and microdermabrased face around town, but Pete still thinks she’s making eyes and winking at him. I know better. It’s those contacts she hasn’t gotten used to yet, and they make her blink. I’ve been trying to talk her into getting some eye drops, but she’s afraid it’ll make her mascara run, and heaven forbid that should happen. Oh, another thing. I’m pretty sure she got a nose job, but it’s hard to tell with all that other stuff going on with her face. She never had a bad nose, but it does look a bit perkier than before.

  At any rate, I’m just happy to share the burden . . . and the blame for the reunion. The last one took every bit of energy out of me and nearly killed my husband ’cause I couldn’t give him the attention he needs. Even though Celeste helped me more than I’ll ever let on, no one held her personally responsible for anything.

  Tacky as she is, Celeste can be a hard worker, and I reckon she’s sort of amusing. The only thing I have to worry about is that she might go back to crushing on Pete, and then I’ll have to smack her. Not literally, of course, but with some words that remind her that he’s mine. She might be dating Jimmy, but he’s not near as cute as Pete, and I have to admit, I’m still a little insecure about it. Celeste really looks fantastic.

  “Hey, Miss Pudge, what time’s supper gonna be ready?” Pete leans against the doorjamb looking all wore out. Too much beer’ll do that to a man.

  “Don’t call me that,” I say. “You know how much I hate it.”

  He laughs as he pulls away from the door and comes toward me, his arms extended. “You know that’s my way of sayin’ I love ya, Honey.”

  I relax just enough to snuggle deeper into his arms. “I still don’t like it.” There’s something about this man, beer belly and all, that I can’t get enough of. I’ve thought off and on about leaving, but he’s loyal and cares about his family. Besides, where would I go with four kids? Besides, I really truly love Pete Moss, and I don’t think that’ll ever change.

  He gently brushes a few loose strands from my face, drops a kiss on my forehead, and then pushes me away. “I told Bubba and little Jack I’d toss the baseball with ’em before supper.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “They want to toss a ball with their daddy?”

  He shrugs. “They didn’t say they didn’t, so I reckon they do.”

  They’re at an age when I never know what they want, and Pete is trying to be a good daddy, so I decide to cut him a little slack. I glance over at the timer that shows we have about twenty minutes. “You have time so long as you don’t let the boys get too dirty.”

  “You know how our boys are. They can look outside and wind up with dirt on ’em.”

  “Then come inside in fifteen minutes so they can wash up.”

  Pete lifts his head and sniffs the air. “Watcha cookin’? Smells like one of your fancy dishes.”

  It’s just chicken, noodles, and vegetables from a can that I tossed with cheese, but to Pete who grew up thinkin’ all hot meals come from the school cafeteria, it’s about as fancy as it gets. “It is,” I say. “And I made some grape Kool-Aid to go with it.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows up and down as he rubs his tummy. “That sounds mighty good, Honey. Where’s the baseball gloves?”

  I start to ask why he thinks I would know when I see his gaze settle on the mudroom shelf behind me.

  “Oh, there they are. We’ll be back in to wash up in just a few minutes.”

  The screen door slams behind them followed by the sound of Renee and Bonnie Sue arguing as they enter the kitchen. “Don’t you dare wear that hideous T-shirt to school tomorrow,” Bonnie Sue says. “It’s bad enough you hang out with all the dorkiest kids. You don’t have to dress like ’em.”

  “So what’s it to you?” Renee stops at the snack basket and inspects the contents.

  “Why are you rummaging around that junk food? Aren’t you fat enough?”

  Renee pulls her hand out of the basket and slowly turns around to face her younger sister, her nostrils flaring and her eyes all squinty and mad. “You are the meanest girl I know.” Her chin quivers as she looks over at me. “Mama, make Bonnie Sue quit bein’ a cheerleader. She’s startin’ to act just like the rest of ’em.”

  “Girls.” I point to the table. “Sit down. Now. We need to talk.”

  “But—” Bonnie Sue frowns but clamps her jaw shut when she looks at me.

  “We are family, and I will not have y’all actin’ like this. Renee, I think it’s just a matter of time before you get your period ’cause you’re already PMSing.” I pause to let it sink in before I light into my younger daughter. “And Bonnie Sue, stop acting too big for your britches. One of these days you’ll wish you were nicer to your family, like when one of those girls you been hangin’ out with says something that hurts your feelings.”

  She bobs her head like the diva teen actresses do on those TV reality shows. “My friends will never do anything to hurt my feelings.”

  “Maybe not, but if they ever say or do anything to your sister or brothers, they are not welcome in our home.” I lean over until she makes eye contact with me in order to drive my point home. I can tell when it works because she jumps up from her chair and runs from the kitchen.

  Renee starts to say something, but I shut her up with one of my trademark gro
wls. “You are so mean!” Next thing I know she’s taking off just like her sister did.

  Anyone without a trained parent’s eye might think I’m making a bigger mess of things, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve always known the best way to bring people closer together is to give them a common enemy, and as someone who was snubbed and mistreated throughout my childhood and teenage years, I don’t mind being that person.

  Once the girls are out of the kitchen, I lean over and glance out at the backyard, where Pete is staggering around, trying to catch the ball one of the boys obviously just threw at him. Bubba and Jack look disgusted, but Pete is mighty proud of himself when he gets control of the ball after it wobbles a bit. He holds it up and says something I can’t quite hear, but both boys remove their gloves and throw them on the ground. Pete takes his off and throws it at Bubba, who turns on Jack. I stand there wishing things could be different for my family. Even when Pete tries to be a good daddy, he falls short, and I wind up having to come up with a way to make things better. One of these days, I won’t be able to, and I fear something really awful might happen. In fact, something did happen during the ten-year reunion, which is why I need this one to redeem myself and Pete.

  I’m about to open the back door and holler that supper’s ready, but before I put down my oven mitt, the boys come tromping in, grumbling about their daddy being too drunk to play ball and Pete raking his fingers through his hair like he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. I feel sorry for all three of ’em, but I have the sense to keep my mouth shut and let them work through things without my interference. I’ve learned to only stick my nose into matters when I can actually make a difference, and it’s obvious there’s not a single solitary thing I can do for them now. After Pete’s court-ordered therapy, I assumed he was cured, but apparently, it’s pretty common for folks to fall off the wagon over time. I’ve tried dragging him back to counseling, but he says he can stop drinking whenever he wants, and no amount of nagging I do will make him go when he’s not ready. I hate for the kids to keep on seeing him like this, but the only solution now would be for me to leave and take ’em with me. And I’m not about to go off on my own. First of all, in spite of his misbehaving ways, Pete loves his family, and we love him. Second, I don’t know what I’d do to support us, and without me around, I’m not so sure Pete would survive. I’ve got plenty of folks praying for us, though, and maybe one of these days, Pete will see the light and snap out of his addiction.

  “Where’s the girls?” Pete asks.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Why haven’t you called them down for supper?”

  I glare at him. “Because I haven’t. Why don’t you do it for me?”

  Pete licks the front of his teeth, which is a sign he’s already getting the dry mouth from too much beer. “Okay.” Next thing I know, he’s hollering at the top of his lungs, ordering the girls to come down right this minute, or they’ll miss supper.

  “I coulda done that.”

  He shrugs and pulls out a chair. “I didn’t mind. Don’t say I never do nothin’ for ya.”

  Renee shows up at the kitchen door. Alone. And with a scowl.

  “Where’s Bonnie Sue?” Pete asks.

  She lifts her top lip in a snarl and shakes her head. “How would I know? I’m not her keeper.”

  Pete frowns as he meets my gaze. “Did something happen I need to know about?”

  “Not really,” I say. “Just the normal PMS stuff.”

  “That is so mean!” Renee hollers as she takes off running back to her room.

  “What?” Pete’s clueless-man expression is so sweet I want to give him a hug, but I force myself to stay in front of the stove, dishing up some heaping servings.

  “It’s a girl thing,” I reply.

  “Girls are stupid,” Jack says.

  Bubba dances around behind his chair as he mocks Jack. “You don’t think Mackenzie’s stupid. I saw you—”

  “Boys!” Pete’s sly grin lets me know he’s in on something.

  “Is there something I need to know about?” I ask as I put a plate down in front of my husband.

  “Mama, I’m starvin’.” Bubba gives up his brotherly taunting and plops down in his chair.

  “We need to say the blessin’ first,” I say. I finish scooping food onto the plates and carry them to the table. “Bow your head. Bubba, it’s your turn.” I figure Renee and Bonnie Sue can eat later, after they’ve had some time to cool off. No point in giving everyone else a tummy ache from their bellyaching.

  Bubba mumbles a few words, followed by “Amen.” I say my “amen,” and by the time I move back toward the stove, I hear forks clinking against plates.

  No matter how dysfunctional we are as a family, I reckon the Lord will grant us some grace and mercy as long as we give him a nod every now and then. Suppertime blessings are the least we can do. I used to insist on bedtime prayers, but try forcing an adolescent girl to kneel beside her bed. It’s not gonna happen unless she wants it to.

  “Looky who the cat drug in,” Bubba says, imitating his daddy.

  I glance over my shoulder and see that Renee has shown up again. “Want me to fix your plate, or do you wanna do it yourself?”

  She grunts as she stomps past me. “I’m not an invalid, like some people I know.”

  Pete has been perplexed by our daughters from the moment they grew past his belly button. He pulls out the chair next to him. “Have a seat, Princess.”

  She plops down with her plate that’s heaping with vegetables, chicken, and gooey cheese. “You got the wrong daughter. The princess is still up in her room, talking on the phone to one of her stupid friends.”

  Pete pushes back from the table but stops and looks at me. “Want me to go up and get her?”

  I think for a second before shaking my head. I’d like to eat my supper in peace. “She can have leftovers when she’s ready to come down and be nice.”

  He scoots back into position and picks up his fork. “Just say the word, and I’ll take care of things.”

  Little Jack has scraped as much supper as he can get with his fork, and now he lifts his plate and sticks out his tongue. I slam my palm on the table. He jumps. “What did you do that for, Mama?”

  “You will not lick your plate like a dog.”

  “But Mama . . . ” He turns to get help from Pete, who shakes his head, grinning.

  “You heard your mama. It’s bad manners to lick your plate clean.”

  “But you do it.”

  Pete laughs. “Just when it’s us guys. Ya gotta learn things is different when you got women around, watchin’ your every move.”

  Bubba rolls his eyes. “Ain’t that the truth. Not a one of ’em laughed at my monkey imitation in the cafeteria.”

  “No wonder the girls think you’re such a dweeb,” Renee says as she scoots her chair closer to the table.

  “They do not.” Bubba scrunches up his face, reminding me he’s still my little boy.

  “Who does monkey imitations?” Renee asks, her mouth full. “This is good, Mama.”

  I jerk my head around to see if she’s being a smart aleck and see that she’s serious. She’s already shoveling another bite of food into her mouth. Her mood swings have me spinning in circles. One minute she’s spewing venom, and the next, she’s sweet as sugar pie.

  4

  Trudy Baynard

  I’ve barely come to terms with my size eight thighs, when bam! The button pops, and I’ve moved up to a size ten. That just beats all.

  Mama told me I needed to consider wearing Spanx last time I went to Piney Point, but until now, I’ve been determined not to. It’s obvious I need some help to smooth out these bulges, or I’ll have to resort to elastic-waist knits. The very thought sends a shiver down my spine.

  I flop down onto the bed and call Mama. “I can’t believe I’m resorting to buying a girdle. I’ve even been working out at the gym, eating diet food, and nothing I do seems to help.”

  “You’re in
your thirties now,” Mama says. “As you get older, you need all the extra help you can get. Patty’s been wearin’ Spanx for a while.”

  I hate when Mama brings up either of my sisters—both of them obviously more together than I’ll ever be. “That’s ’cause she has kids.”

  “I’m sure you’ll meet someone nice one of these days . . . that is, if you ever get past the fact that you and Michael will never be a couple again—”

  “Don’t start in on me about that.” Even after all these years of being divorced from my childhood sweetheart, Michael, my eyes still sting with tears when his name comes up. I’ve had dates, but not one of them was a good candidate. It never fails that if I want to pursue a relationship, the guy doesn’t, or the other way around.

  “I’m just sayin’—”

  “I gotta run now, Mama. Good-bye.”

  “Trudy, before we hang up, I got something to tell you.”

  I let out a sigh. “What?”

  “Amy is engaged.”

  My heart skips a beat. I’m happy for my baby sister, in spite of what other people might think. She’s the only one of us three girls who stuck around and made sure Mama and Daddy got the attention they need. “To Derek?”

  “No, he took off with one of the Stafford girls. She met Tyler Patterson at a church retreat. I have to admit I thought it was a rebound romance, but your daddy and I actually like him. He comes from a good family over in Hattiesburg.”

  Good family means everything to Mama, but this is quite a surprise, since Amy’s been dating Derek for the past three years. “I hope she’s happy.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s very happy. She’s always wanted to get married and have a bunch of young’uns.”

  I’m not so sure about that. From what I remember, it was Mama who wanted us to get married and have families. Don’t get me wrong. I wanted a family, too, as long as it was with Michael. The two of us were always the beautiful couple in town, so there was never any doubt we’d have beautiful children who could carry on the tradition of Piney Point royalty. The problem is he went and messed things up by finding himself a pretty young thing . . . and then another and another. Once girls hit their mid-twenties, he considers them over the hill. I used to be shallow too, but at least I’ve matured.