by Debby Mayne
After we get home from Puddin’ and Digger’s house, Julius hops out of the car and darts into the house. Bucky squints and shakes his head as he stares at the front door of the house of his dreams.
“What do you reckon’s gotten into that boy?” he asks.
“How should I know? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, forcing him to hang out with Brett like that.”
“It’ll do ’em both good. Julius has to learn how to get along with everyone, even people who aren’t up to his—” He shrugs. “You know.”
I lean against the car door, fold my arms, and glare at my husband. “No, I don’t know. People who aren’t up to his what?”
Bucky grimaces. “C’mon, Marybeth. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Seriously, Bucky, you sound like a snob.”
“I am not a snob.” He places one hand on his hip and rubs the back of his neck with his other hand before he looks back at me. “It’s just that some folks in my family are clueless rednecks.”
I’m not letting him off on this one, so I intensify my glare. Ever since the oil company started sending us bigger checks than we deserve, I’ve seen a change in my once-sweet husband whose main goal was to love and protect his family. Now it seems like all he wants to do is to act all hoity-toity and acquire more stuff so he can show it off to his family. It bugs me to no end that he has taken to insulting the people who love him in spite of his snobbishness.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” He quickly glances away. “It’s makin’ me uncomfortable.”
“That’s exactly how you make me feel when you go braggin’ all over the place about buyin’ this and buyin’ that. Do you realize how many times you did that while we were at Digger and Puddin’s house?”
“Are you ashamed of who we are now?” He levels me with a gaze that he always gives me when he thinks he’s hit a gotcha moment.
I continue glaring at him as I shake my head. “Sometimes I am.”
His shoulders droop. “How can you say that after I bought you all this?” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing around the property that includes a big ol’ honkin’ house, more cars than we have drivers, and a beautiful barn that we’ll never use.
“I was just as happy before.” The memory of our little split-level house in Hattiesburg flashes through my mind. I’d scrimped and saved to buy furniture and decorations to make that house a home, and I was proud of what I was able to do with such a small budget. The place where we live now is decorated in the style preferred by the professional interior designer referred by Bucky’s tax guy, who is a little too happy with our windfall.
“You don’t seem to mind when I buy you new stuff.” His expression has turned into a smirk that I want to yank right off his face. “In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, you were over-the-moon with that new diamond necklace.”
“It’s pretty, but I would have been just as happy with something not so . . .” I let my voice trail off as I try to think of a gentle way to say this. Our conversations have become so contentious lately that I know I need to tone it down before we wind up in a full-blown argument.
“Not so what?” He folds his arms and tips his head to the side as he challenges me with a narrowed gaze.
“Not so showy. I mean, Bucky, when am I going to have a chance to wear that necklace?”
“How should I know where women like to wear stuff like that?” He lifts his arms out to his sides and lets them slap his sides as he blows out a breath of frustration. “Wear it to the reunion.”
I can’t help but laugh, and it turns into a fit that sends tears streaming down my cheeks. This conversation is going nowhere, and Bucky obviously doesn’t get the fact that the only thing people think about our money is that it’s annoying and making our boy into the brat he is.
“If you’re gonna laugh at my generosity, I’m goin’ inside.” Bucky turns on the heels of his thousand-dollar boots and takes off in a huff.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m fully aware that I’ve contributed to the problem by not making Julius accountable for his actions. Maybe the court-ordered family counseling sessions didn’t affect Bucky, but they certainly made me do some serious thinking and reflecting on what we need to improve when it comes to raising our child. So far, I’m afraid we’ve made quite a mess of things.
Don’t get me wrong. In spite of the fact that I was always proud of each little thing I did with our piddly bank account, I’m relieved we’re not living paycheck-to-paycheck anymore because the stress was causing friction between Bucky and me. But now I think we’ve traded one kind of strife for another.
I’ll never forget the sick feeling in my stomach when the counselor looked me in the eye and said, “I’m concerned that Julius is suffering from being overprivileged.”
Bucky belted out a laugh. “Are you saying we shouldn’t give him anything?”
The counselor stifled a smile as she shook her head. “No, I’m not saying that at all. What I’m saying is that he needs to be more accountable.”
Bucky stood up and walked out when she said that, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she was right. I apologized for his actions, and the counselor told me she understood. “It’s not easy hearing this kind of thing, but I’m sure after he has some time to think about it, he’ll understand.”
“I certainly hope so.” I shook hands with her and left the office to find Bucky sitting in the car waiting.
Since we’re hosting the next Bucklin family reunion, I came up with a plan to get the boys together beforehand so they could work everything out. Bucky thought it was silly, and he still does for that matter. Julius said he didn’t want to go, but he quickly changed his tune when I said I’d take the keys to his car for a week. Bucky started to argue with me, but I shot him a look that let him know I meant business.
Now that we’re back from that miserable experience, I have mixed feelings about whether or not my plan has made any difference. On the one hand, both Julius and Brett acted like they’d rather be with anyone but each other. On the other hand, it gave Puddin’ and me an opportunity to show a united front—something I don’t think we’ve ever done before.
Ever since we’ve had money, I feel like Puddin’ resents me, yet she still tries to find ways to impress me. I wish she’d quit doing that, but I sort of understand. Throughout the lavish dinner she put together—no doubt a meal that cost her more than her typical weekly grocery bill—she talked about all the changes she and Shay have made to the shop since they bought it.
I have to admit that I get a pang of jealousy when I think about their success that comes from their hard work, while Bucky and I just fell into some money from land his granddaddy gave us. I’ll never be able to take credit for a single solitary thing I own, while she has true bragging rights.
The floodlight comes on, and then Bucky walks back out onto the front porch, puts his hands on his hips like he always does, and looks at me for a few minutes. I take a step toward him.
We stare at each other for several seconds before he eventually speaks up. “Why are you still out here?”
I shrug. “I needed to be alone for a few minutes.”
He snorts. “This house is plenty big enough for you to come inside and find a place to be alone.”
My cell phone rings in my purse, so I pull it out and see that it’s Puddin’. I gesture toward it so Bucky can see what I’m doing before I press the button to answer it.
“Hey, Puddin’. What’s up?”
I hear her sucking in a breath before she blows it out. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Marybeth, but Julius left some pot in Brett’s room.”
It’s been two days since the fire at the Chef’s Skillet, but I’ve managed to help get Mavis back in business. As soon as I saw the fire truck at her place, I ran down there and found her standing outside, staring blankly at the mess on the other side of the display window.
Fortunately, the fire was contained to the cooking area. She didn’t th
ink to check inside the ovens, where she forgot she’d stored a bunch of dish towels that didn’t sell. The entire shop had some smoke damage, but the fire department acted quickly, so she managed to salvage almost everything except the stoves.
We’ve replaced the stoves, scrubbed all exposed surfaces covered in the haze of smoke, and now we’re finishing up the painting to get ready for the cooking classes. Her phone has been ringing off the hook from people wondering if she is open yet and asking if she still plans to hold the cooking classes.
She hangs up after the most recent call, rolls her eyes, and groans. “It’s getting so annoying having to answer the phone every couple of minutes.”
I straighten up from painting the baseboard. “You can look at the bright side. At least we know people will be coming to the classes. I think it’s great that they’re so excited.”
“True.” She contorts her mouth—something I’ve noticed that she does when she’s thinking. “Our sales have picked up ever since we announced those classes.”
“I’m sure the sale ads haven’t hurt.” She’s running a special that changes daily, thanks to my suggestion to get people motivated to come in. My next recommendation will be to start selling some of the specialty items online. She never paid much attention to some of the business records, so when I pointed out that her mom had arranged to have an exclusive on one of the lines, the idea popped into my head. “And you’re still making a profit, even when you mark items down.” Until now, I never realized how much profit there was in cookware.
“True.” She steps back from the wall she just finished painting. “Ya know, I think this is a boring color. What do you think about changing it up?”
I put down my paintbrush, stand up from my squatting position, and walk over to her. “What color are you thinking?”
“Well . . .” She taps her index finger on her chin. “Last night I was doing some Web surfing, and I saw that certain colors increase people’s appetites, while others suppress them.”
“Ooh, sounds interesting.” I tilt my head and look at her with interest. “What did you learn?”
Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. “I never realized that blue and gray are appetite-suppressing colors.”
“Not good for a kitchen store.” I look at the wall. “So what color are you thinking?”
“The colors that stimulate the appetite are red, orange, yellow, green, and turquoise.” She grimaces. “Too bad, though, because blue is my favorite color.”
Another thing I’ve learned about Mavis is that she’s stuck in her own little rut of a comfort zone, kind of like how I’ve been. “Maybe you’ll learn to like one of the other colors.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe you can paint your office blue and gray but something more appetizing out here so people will buy more stuff.”
She glances around and nods. “That might work.” A smile spreads across her lips. “And with a blue office, maybe I’ll lose my appetite and a few pounds along with it.”
I nod. “We don’t have much time to change things up if that’s what you want to do. I think the two of us can knock it out in a few hours if we get decent paint that only requires one coat.”
Her grin widens. “Why don’t we get a little crazy and do peach and green?”
“It’s your store, so if you want peach and green, that’s what we’ll do.”
“That’s what I want.” She picks up the can of blue paint and carries it back to the storage room. “I’ll paint the office later, but now I need to go back to the paint store. Are you sure you don’t mind helping?”
“Not only do I not mind, I want to help.” I’ve actually enjoyed working in the store, since it gets me out of my condo. “While you’re getting the paint, I’ll go to the Lettuce Leaf and get some salads so we don’t starve.”
“Perfect.”
As she walks out of the store, I see a new pep in her step.
On my way to the Lettuce Leaf, I realize I’m happier than I’ve been in a while too. It’s obvious to me that I haven’t put enough time into cultivating interests outside of the bow business or working on relationships other than the one I’ve always had with my sister. But why should I have? Until she went and got married, she was always there, and hanging out with her was the path of least resistance, enabling me to stay in my rut.
Even though Mavis is older than me, and we actually have very little in common on the surface, it feels good to have someone else to talk to. Now I’m even more excited about the cooking classes that have sparked interest in way more people than I ever expected. What surprises me the most is how many young moms have signed up to take Puddin’s cooking-for-toddlers class.
After we eat our salads, it takes us the rest of the afternoon to paint the wall. Mavis wipes her forehead with her sleeve as she takes a step back.
“Well, what do you think?” she asks.
I look around the room and turn to face her. “I like it. But the most important thing is, do you like it?”
Mavis makes a face and shakes her head. “Not really. These aren’t colors I would have chosen.”
She actually did choose them, but I choose not to remind her. I’ve learned that she gets easily agitated and flustered, and I don’t want to trigger something I don’t know how to deal with.
“Let’s get everything put back in place so you don’t have to do anything in the morning.” I smile as I gesture toward the pile in the corner. “Just tell me where it goes, and I’ll put it there.”
As she gives orders, I follow them—only occasionally recommending something different. “I never would have thought to do any of this,” she says as we hang a few of the decorations on the back wall. “You seem to have a knack for arranging stuff.”
Mama once told me I should be an interior decorator, but I didn’t have the desire to go to college for four years and then have to work my way up with a design house, or work in a furniture store. Maybe I should consider it for the future.
“If you ever want a job here, let me know.” Mavis gives me a somewhat reserved look before clearing her throat. “I can only afford to hire you part-time, though—at least until I see how much business picks up.”
“I don’t need a job, but I’ll definitely be one of your best customers.”
“I’ll give you a discount on anything you want, and you can take classes for free.”
I shake my head. “I’ll take the discount, but I want to pay for the classes.”
“Suit yourself.” She lifts her hands and lets them fall to her sides. “I need to get my stuff and go home. Raymond expects me there every night when the news comes on.” She lets out one of her rare laughs. “He’s afraid I might miss something.”
“Then you’d better get going.” I glance at the time on my phone. “I need to go home too. Justin said he’s making lasagna, and I don’t want to miss that.”
Mavis gives me a curious look but doesn’t say anything, probably because she says her husband doesn’t even know what a spatula is, let alone how to make a lasagna. She turns off the lights as we leave.
On my way home, my cell phone rings. It’s Sara.
“Where are you?” she asks.
“Driving home. Why? Do you need something?”
“Yeah. Can you stop by Freddy’s Tire and Lube and ask Justin when he’s coming home?”
“But I thought—” I stop myself as my stomach growls. There’s no telling how my moody sister will react if I mention that I’ve been looking forward to Justin’s lasagna all afternoon. “Why don’t you call him?”
“I’ve tried, but he’s not answering.”
“Okay. Want me to pick up something for dinner on the way home?”
“Why would you do that? You knew we were having lasagna.”
“How can Justin cook when he’s still at work?”
Sara lets out a sigh of exasperation as though I’m annoying her. “He came home for lunch and made it. All I had to do was stick it in the oven and
turn it on.”
“Oh.” I’m relieved that my taste buds won’t be disappointed. “Okay, I’ll stop off and ask.”
Since I’ve already passed Freddy’s, I have to make a U-turn. I pull into the parking lot and look around for Justin’s truck, but I don’t see it anywhere. Maybe they have a back lot for employee parking.
I get out of the car and walk into the shop. Freddy greets me with a humongous smile. “Hey there, Sara. You sure are glowing. Pregnancy obviously agrees with you.”
“I’m not Sara. She called and asked me to stop off and see when Justin’s coming home.”
Freddy’s smile quickly fades as he shakes his head. “He took the afternoon off. Said he had something important that he needed to take care of.”
I’m sensing a lot of discord between my daughters, and it’s keeping me awake at night, gnawing away at my heart. What I don’t get is how these two girls who have practically been joined at the hip can be so indifferent toward each other now. It’s almost like they don’t have a history together.
It hasn’t always been this way. I’ll never forget the time when Sara fell down and skinned her knee, and Sally cried just as hard as Sara did. In fact, I wondered if some of Sara’s nerve endings had spilled over to her twin.
And then there was the time that Sally ran for treasurer of their class back in high school. She lost by a very small number, and Sara marched up to the school office and demanded a revote.
Now when I bring up Sara’s name to Sally, she changes the subject. And when I talk to Sara, she manages to turn everything back to what she and Justin are doing. When I asked them about it, they both said the same thing—that they’ve agreed to talk only about their personal lives and not what the other twin is doing. I respect that, but it sure would be nice to have the scoop from their perspectives. Besides, I’m a mama who worries I’ll miss something important.
And Justin is a whole ’nother subject. I used to think he was a nice boy, until he took off with Sara and eloped. Then I went through some serious anger that, at the time, I thought was hatred. Now I realize I was misdirecting my anger toward my daughter for not including her family in what’s supposed to be the best day of her life.
