by Debby Mayne
“Have you considered . . . getting her some help?”
Pete nervously glances at his children before settling his gaze on me. I now realize I shouldn’t have said that in front of the children, but it’s too late now. Lord, please give me the right words to say. I don’t want to make a bad situation worse.
“I called her mama,” Pete says, “and she said she’ll check in on Laura tomorrow on her way to get her nails done.”
“Celeste asked me to come to see if I could help, but it doesn’t appear that Laura is interested in anything I have to offer.”
Pete motions for me to follow him back downstairs. Three of the children go back into their rooms, while the girl who admitted guilt comes with us.
Before Pete says a word, the girl looks at me with the most pitiful expression. “I didn’t really even want that skirt. A bunch of my friends was tryin’ stuff on and I didn’t want to just stand around looking dorky and I pulled it off the rack to try it on and the lady, she got all Cruella on me and . . . ” She looks over at her daddy and bursts into tears.
I realize Pete clearly doesn’t know what to do when he shuffles his feet and moves away from his daughter. This family needs way more help than I’ll ever be able to give.
But I still feel the urge to do something, at least to smooth things over for the moment. “Did you try to talk to that woman?”
The girl folds her arms, closing me off. “Why would she talk to a thievin’ preteen?”
“Bonnie Sue.” Pete tilts his head toward her and gives her his version of a loving look. “You’re not a thievin’ preteen.” I’m glad he finally said her name because I’d forgotten it.
“Would you like for me to talk to her, Bonnie Sue?” The instant those words escape my lips, I regret saying them. But now that I’ve started, I can’t very well wimp out on her. “Not that it’ll make any difference, but I can at least vouch for the fact that you’re so upset.”
“I don’t know,” she says as she turns back to Pete. “Daddy?”
“I don’t reckon it’ll hurt nothin’. It’s not like there’s anything in this for Miss Priscilla.”
“When we go, I think we should bring that skirt back to show you mean what you say.”
A flash of rebellion crosses her face before she nods. “I can do that, but Mama will have to wash it first.”
“That’s not necessary. Just put it in a bag, and we can take it back tomorrow. When do you get home from school?”
The next day I leave the Piney Point salon and drive over to the Mosses’ house to pick up Bonnie Sue. Laura answers the door.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere with my daughter,” she says.
I’m so happy to see her out of bed, bathed, and dressed that I smile. “I told her I’d take her to La Boutique so she can explain—”
“That’s not necessary,” Laura says. “I’ve decided it’s best to let it go, and maybe it’ll all blow over.”
“Things like this don’t blow over on their own.”
Laura snickers. “Maybe in your neat, tidy little world they don’t, but I have a messy life, and I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf. No more tryin’ to take control of everything. Most problems will go away if you just let them be.”
“I’d really like to help.” I hate being so persistent, but Bonnie Sue is such a young, impressionable girl, it would be a shame to go back on my word. “What if you ever want to shop at La Boutique?”
She snickers. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s not exactly my kind of store.”
True, but I don’t believe in limiting options. “What about Bonnie Sue? What if she wants to shop there?”
“Mind your own business, Priscilla.”
She’s right. I take a step back. “Okay, so I guess you don’t need me.”
“I didn’t say that. Celeste said we need to give you somethin’ to do, since you came all the way over here.”
“You don’t have to.” I take a step back, wishing I could run but not wanting to evoke Laura’s ire.
“Give me just a second. I have a tub of envelopes that need stuffin’ and addressin’.” She chuckles. “I figure you’ll need somethin’ to do since you’re stayin’ at your mama and daddy’s house for two and a half weeks.”
“Actually, I’m going back to Jackson now, but I’ll be back here the day after tomorrow. Can it wait?”
Laura’s jaw tightens. “I shoulda known better than to think you actually wanted to do anything constructive. I reckon I just have to do it all myself if I want it done on time. That’s the way it always is.” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Celeste likes to moan and groan so much about all the work she has to do, I hate giving her more.”
Is she trying to guilt me into doing this job? It’s obviously working. I extend my hands. “Okay, I’ll take them. When do you need the work done?”
13
Celeste
Looks like my plan backfired. I coulda got Laura back on her feet, but it’s been obvious since day one that there’s too much work for two people. When I called Priscilla, I assumed she’d show up, get Laura moving again, and maybe take some of the busy work off our hands. Now all I hear from Laura is “Priscilla this” and “Priscilla that.” You’d think they were best buddies or something.
I hear Priscilla didn’t even warm the bed at her mama and daddy’s house. She came to Piney Point, did what I asked her to do, spent the night in town, and got up bright and early to go back to her fancy job in Jackson, taking some of the work with her. I reckon she has an assistant who can do all the busy work, so she’s not gonna be too put out.
She has a way of getting all the attention when she’s around. But I have to say she did an excellent job of getting me started on my makeover. Even Pete took an extra glance when he thought I wasn’t looking.
After the newness of the new haircut and makeup wore off, I took matters into my own hands and had my nose shortened and straightened. And now I’m looking into Botox. That wrinkle between my eyes is starting to make me look cross-eyed. Jimmy says he likes me the way I am, but I’ve been around long enough to know how men are. They think they want something ’til a prettier, shinier thing floats by, and then they’ll take off, stomping all over your heart as they exit.
I might not have ever had a boyfriend before, but I seen it happen to plenty of other girls. Take Trudy, for example. That girl used to be gorgeous back in the day. And looky what Michael done to her. Yeah, I gotta keep this up, or I’ll find myself single again. And that ain’t no fun when everyone else is all paired off.
Granted Jimmy wouldn’t have been my first choice a few years ago, but now I know who I am, and even with my face all done up, I’m not a big enough catch for someone like Michael or Maurice . . . or even Pete. What blows my mind is how Laura, frumpy as she is, managed to catch him and keep him. That girl wasn’t ugly, but I never would have called her pretty either. She used to be a little bit chubby, but now she’s all spread out and squishy looking. I suspect having them four young’uns might have something to do with Pete putting up with her. That would be a lot of child support.
I’m sorta the opposite of Laura, what with being so scrawny. I used to get teased about it, but now when I look at the models in the magazines, I’m happy I don’t have to worry about going on some starvation diet.
Every once in a while, Jimmy feeds me thick-crust pizza and doughnuts, trying to fatten me up, but it don’t work. I eat ’em, but I don’t know where they go. I think I know why he wants more meat on me. His mama don’t like skinny women . . . says they can’t be trusted.
I rummage through my jewelry box for my hoop earrings, getting ready for my date with Jimmy. He’s the night watchman at the resin factory in Hattiesburg, so we can’t go out much in the evening. I try to take advantage of all my time with him to look my best and make sure other folks around town see us together.
One of the fashion magazines I started subscribing to had an article about how to look youthful and effortlessl
y stylish, and hoop earrings were one of the ways to do that. So I went out and bought myself a pair, and ya know, I think they’re right. There’s just something about a big ol’ honkin’ hoop earring that softens some of the sharp angles on my bony face. See, I’m a little older now, but it’s never late to start learning all about looking good. I add one of my chunky necklaces to complete the look.
Jimmy arrives right when I walk out the bedroom door. He takes one look at me and shakes his head. “Boy howdy, Celeste, you sure do look fine. But we’re just goin’ to the movies. Why’d you go puttin’ on all that . . . ” He wiggles his fingers around his neck. “You know.”
“We might just be goin’ to the movies, Jimmy, but I like to look nice,” I say in my best southern belle voice that I been working on for a while. “Never know who we might run into.”
He gives me a look of confusion but nods. “I reckon that makes sense.”
On the way to the movies, I do most of the talking. When I realize he ain’t said much, I shut my mouth, fold my arms, and give him one of them looks.
“What?” he says.
“Have you heard a word I said?”
“Yes, of course I have. You said—”
“Never mind what I said. What’s got you all in a snit?”
“I saw Maurice this afternoon at the mall, and he was askin’ about Priscilla.” Jimmy frowned. “Ya know, after everything I heard about what happened between them, I’d think he’d want to forget about Priscilla.”
“Why are you so worried about Maurice? It’s not like y’all ever been friends before.”
“I know, but I have a bad feelin’ he might start somethin’ at the reunion, and I know how much work you and Laura put into it. I wouldn’t want—”
My heart flutters. “You’re worried about me?”
“Yes, of course I am, Celeste. You’re my girlfriend, and I want you to be happy.”
He couldn’t have said anything more romantic if he’d tried. “That’s sweet, Jimmy.” I pull a tissue from my purse and dab at my eyes. “Just remember that we can’t control Maurice and his philanderin’ ways. And Didi’s not likely to act out in front of folks. She’s too worried about what other people think.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “That’s true. I guess I’m worryin’ for nothin’.”
I pat him on the arm as he pulls away from the light. “You’re a good man, Jimmy. And don’t let no one ever tell you otherwise.”
“Why?” He cuts a look over at me. “Has someone said somethin’?”
“No.” I laugh. Whoever said women were obsessive about themselves never met Jimmy. “Let’s try to enjoy the night.”
14
Priscilla
When I arrive at my parents’ house to stay for the next two weeks, I can tell something is different, although whatever it is isn’t obvious. There’s just something I can’t put my finger on.
Mother comes out from the kitchen and greets me with one of her professional smiles. “I wondered what time you’d arrive.” She glances up at the clock on the mantel. “Your father should be home in an hour or so.”
The way she says that is odd. There’s an unsettling tone to her voice, and she quickly looks away.
“I’ll just put my things away then,” I say. “I have to make another trip to my car.”
“Go on ahead. I’m putting the finishing touches on supper.”
As I bring in my bags and put everything away, I think about Mother and how she’s never been all that domestic, yet she always resisted getting household help, until recently. And her cooking? That’s always been a joke around the house. Mother is good at cooking just a few things that she’d rotate every few days. If we wanted something different and Dad hadn’t already picked up something on his way home from work, he and I either had to cook it ourselves or get takeout. We had all the good places on speed dial.
I join Mother in the kitchen after all my things are unpacked. “What can I do to help?” I ask.
Her mouth is in a straight line as it always is when she has to concentrate. “Why don’t you fill the glasses with ice?” She looks up at the clock again and nearly drops the platter. “Your father should be home any minute.”
Something is definitely going on, and it doesn’t appear good. “Mother, is my being here putting too much strain on you?”
“No,” she snaps. “I mean, things are always a little different whenever you’re around, but we love you, and you’re always welcome to stay whenever you want.”
She has said that so many times over the past few years, I know it’s rehearsed. Another thing I know is that I won’t be able to get an answer just by grilling Mother with questions. I’ll either have to continue trying to read between the lines or catch her and Dad slipping up and saying something they don’t intend for me to hear.
Taking the path of least resistance, I do everything Mother asks of me. I have just put the flatware on the table, when I see Dad standing at the door.
I scurry across the kitchen for a hug from my favorite man, and that’s when I notice the overnight bag on the floor behind him. He sees me looking at it but doesn’t say a word. If the tone in the house were different, I might ask if he’s going somewhere, but I don’t.
“I better go wash up,” he says as he takes a step back. “If y’all are hungry, go on ahead and start without me.”
“Don’t take forever, George,” Mother says in her professor voice. “I left the college early to prepare a nice dinner for the family.”
Whoa. I haven’t heard Mother talk like that since I dropped the bomb on her and Dad about leaving Ole Miss and starting beauty school. Mother doesn’t yell, but I think I’d rather hear that than the icy tone.
Mother finds things for her and me to do while we wait for Dad to wash up. He finally joins us in the kitchen, rubbing his hands together, fake smiling.
“Smells delicious, Suzanne.”
She glances at me before turning her attention to him. “I prepared one of the dishes Dr. Bromley recommended.”
Dr. Bromley is one of the biology professors at the Piney Point Community College. She has to be at least eighty, but she’s still going strong. After her husband passed away about ten years ago, she bought a small cottage a half mile from PPCC so she could walk to work. I’m sure all that exercise is what keeps her so healthy and young acting.
“Must be good then.” Dad glances nervously around the table, until his eyes settle on his regular seat.
I look up at Mother, who is standing there, waiting, almost as though she’s not sure what to do next. I let out a nervous giggle, which grabs their attention.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I pull out my chair. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
On the surface, everything appears normal. But the undertone of everything about the meal—from the blessing to the last bite of dessert—is charged with tension.
I’m relieved when we’re finished. “Why don’t y’all go on into the living room and watch some TV while I clean up?”
“No,” Mother says. “You haven’t seen your father in a while, so y’all go chat. It won’t take long to get everything in order here.”
Dad has already left the kitchen, which annoys me. It’s not like Mother stays home all day. They both have demanding jobs, so I would think he’d want to help out. Under normal conditions, I would have said as much to Mother, but this doesn’t appear to be the right time to add to the tension.
“Are you sure?” I say. “I can help—”
“No. Scoot. You’re in the way.”
Feeling like an intruder in the house I grew up in, I do as Mother tells me to. Dad is sitting in the rocker-recliner, staring at the blank TV.
“Have y’all rearranged the furniture?” The chair is on the opposite side of the room, and the sofa has been moved and now rests diagonally in the corner. There are a few more floral arrangements, and some of the pictures on the wall have been repositioned.
“
Your mother has.” He feels around on the table beside the chair before pulling his hand into his lap.
“Where’s the remote?” I ask.
Dad gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I have no idea.”
For Dad not to know where the remote is, there has to be something dreadfully wrong. And it’s not something I can ignore any longer.
“What’s going on around here?” I wave my arms around, gesturing first to the furniture then to him. “I feel like I’ve been abducted by aliens and dropped off on another planet.”
“Ask your mother. This whole thing was her idea.”
“What whole thing? You’re not making a bit of sense.”
The sound of Mother clearing her throat grabs my attention. I look toward the doorway.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to tell you this, but I think it’s time.”
“Suzanne,” Dad says. “If this isn’t the best time—”
Mother holds up her hands to shush him. “No, I think we might as well get it over with, George.” Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes in a deep breath and exhales. “Priscilla, your father and I have been drifting apart over the years, and we’ve decided to separate.”
In a matter of seconds, my entire world has turned upside down. “You can’t.” My voice comes out in a squeak as my throat constricts. All my life, I’ve felt secure, knowing my parents were always there. Together.
Dad stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. “We can and we have.”
“But when? Why?”
Mother and Dad look at each other, and Dad nods for Mother to tell me. “Your father moved out three years ago.”
I mentally flash back to the times I’ve stopped by over the past three years, and I can remember some things that should’ve been red flags. Dad was never there, unless I called in advance to let them know I was coming.
“We want different things,” she adds.
“But what about me?” That sounds selfish, even to me, but the words fall out of my mouth before I have a chance to think.
