By Invitation Only

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  I went inside. “Mom?”

  She was in the kitchen, washing and drying lettuce.

  “How bad is the damage? I can tell from the look on your face that it’s very bad.”

  “Devastating. The packing sheds are beyond salvage and the peach orchard was obliterated.”

  “Oh, no! Merciful Lord!”

  “But we have insurance and some of the fruit might be salvageable if we work quickly.”

  “Oh, no. I can’t believe it. Gone?”

  “Every last tree is lying on the ground, some of them are split down the middle.”

  “I planted some of those trees with your father and now they’re gone, just like he’s gone.”

  She began to cry, and I felt terrible for being so blunt. But she didn’t like the news sugarcoated any more than I did.

  “Floyd and I planted a lot of them too, Mom. Listen, nobody got hurt. We’re fine.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “We’ve been through drought, infestations, hurricane damage—you name it. Most of the trees were almost twenty years old and ready to be replaced anyway.”

  “Now what?”

  “We’re simply going to do what we always do. Clean it up. Pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and figure it out. Come on now.”

  She blew her nose in a tissue. She always had one in the pocket of her apron.

  “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I was feeling weepy before you got here. Is Alden staying for dinner?”

  “Yes. He just left to buy steaks for us,” I said.

  “Well then, for heaven’s sake, Diane, go do something about your hair. I’ll set the table.”

  “I just love you, Miss Virnell,” I said.

  “Don’t call me . . .”

  “Sorry.”

  Dinner was delicious, but there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm for it around the table. Alden and Floyd cooked the steaks and the potatoes on the grill. They were outside together, discussing the various attributes of various dry rubs and marinades while killing a lot of beers. Mom and I lit candles, drank a little wine and talked about replanting the grove.

  “You know, maybe we should think about planting clingstones. Keep the freestones for the store. Then we can give the clingstones to a packer to sort and pack. Maybe sell to Kroger’s. Then we don’t have to rebuild the packing sheds,” Mom said.

  I thought about it for a moment and said, “Maybe. I say we bread the waters with all the chains and see who takes the bait.”

  “We need more hands around here,” she said.

  “We sure do,” I said.

  The kitchen door opened and the smell of the steaks and potatoes Floyd carried was mouthwatering.

  “Okay, ladies. Here they are!” Floyd said.

  In the next few minutes we lit more candles, fixed our plates, and took a seat at the table.

  “This is so perfect. Alden, thank you so much,” Mom said.

  “It’s a great end to a terrible day,” I said.

  “Maybe we should go into the toothpick business,” Floyd said.

  “Oh, Floyd,” Mom said.

  Just as I was about to put the first forkful in my mouth, my cell phone rang. Usually I never take calls during a meal, but something told me to answer it. I’d left it in my bedroom, so I rushed to get it.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hello, is this the grandmother of a perfect baby boy?” It was Fred.

  The baby was born! I had a rush of adrenaline from the back of my head the whole way down my spine.

  “Oh! Oh! How’s Shelby? How much did the baby weigh? Where are you?

  “At the hospital. Shelby’s fine. The baby’s fine. I cut the cord and nearly passed out on the floor. I’m a father! I can’t believe it!”

  “Oh, sweetheart! Congratulations! I’m just overwhelmed with joy for y’all and for us too! Is Susan with y’all?”

  “Yeah, she’s in there with Shelby. They’re both bawling like babies and the baby is sleeping.”

  “Send a picture. You want to talk to Gram and tell her yourself?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  I went back to the dining room and handed my phone to her.

  “We’re eating,” she said, whispering.

  “I think you want this news,” I said.

  “Hello? What? Oh! Oh! Oh, how wonderful!” She paused for a moment. “What’s that? Yes, your uncle Floyd is right here. Hang on.” She passed the phone to him. “I’m a great-grandmother now.”

  “Is that baby here?” Floyd said, knowing perfectly well that he was. “What’s that? Oh! Well, Fred, that’s quite an honor. Of course I’ll teach him to fish . . .”

  In a minute or so the call ended. Floyd teared up and had to wipe his eyes with his napkin.

  “Guess what?” he said.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Mom said.

  “They’re naming him Floyd,” Floyd said. “After me and after Pop. It was Susan’s idea.”

  “Good gravy,” Mom said.

  Chapter 30

  Road Trip

  “A trailer? I love it!” Susan said.

  The very next day after he was born, we brought young Floyd home to Frederick and Shelby’s apartment and laid him in Frederick’s crib. His eyes were open and you could see him literally coming into the world, becoming more conscious, with each passing minute. He was absolutely precious. Precious and beautiful and perfect.

  “When I had you,” I said, “I stayed in the hospital for five days.”

  Shelby said, “Now they practically kick you out the door. But it’s probably safer to get out of there, especially with all the germs. MRSA and all that.”

  Little Floyd mewled, that sweet cry that all newborns have.

  “You’re one hundred percent right,” I said.

  “Are you hungry again?” Shelby said to Floyd.

  She had a new voice, the sweet one stored somewhere in us, the one that waits for a child to love. It was marvelous to hear.

  She picked him up, took him to the rocking chair, and nursed him as though she’d been nursing babies for years. In my generation, nursing was considered déclassé. Now it seemed like child abuse if you didn’t nurse.

  “He sure wants to eat a lot,” Shelby said.

  “I guess that’s normal,” Frederick said and then turned to me. “Is that normal?”

  “It’s normal,” I said.

  There had been no baby shower because we had no one to invite. Thanks, Alejandro. But the girls in Shelby’s office had a sheet cake and a joint gift from all of them on a pretty June day before she went on maternity leave. They gave her a car seat. Privately? I thought it was a dull gift. But as a practical matter? She had to have one.

  “It was a bona fide pity party,” she said. “But I thought it was sweet anyway.”

  “When I brought you home from the hospital, I sat in the backseat and held you in my arms. You’re probably lucky you’re alive,” I said.

  “Today you’d be charged with child endangerment!” Shelby said.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  Last week when Shelby was just beginning labor, or so she thought, her doorbell rang. Michael and Patty had come by to see Shelby and they rolled in a beautiful carriage that converted to a stroller. I happened to be there folding laundry, which, to my complete surprise, I kind of liked doing but I’d never admit it.

  “Well, hi!” I said, opening the door. “What a wonderful surprise! We actually didn’t buy a carriage yet! Come in!”

  “This is so perfect! Thank you so much!” Shelby said, hugging them and then inspecting the attachments. “Mom, I might be in labor.”

  “Oh my!” Patty said.

  “How far apart are your contractions?” I said.

  “I had a few this morning. And one just now when I stood up. It’s calm now.”

  “I think you’ve got a while yet,” I said, thinking she probably was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. “Would you like a cup of coffee?�
��

  “Oh, no,” Patty said. “But thanks.”

  Shelby said, “Well, I really love the carriage slash stroller!”

  “We can’t stay long,” Michael said. “Anyway, they told us this was the latest thing from Sweden.”

  “Denmark,” Patty said. “Doesn’t matter. The Scandinavian countries make the coolest baby products. But I saw a video of all these mothers in Sweden or Denmark walking their babies to a coffee shop, and they leave their babies outside while they go get their coffee.”

  “What?” Shelby said. “Don’t they have kidnappers there?”

  “Apparently not!” Patty said. “Isn’t that completely insane?”

  “Totally,” I said. “Have you seen Alejandro?”

  “No,” Michael said, “but the judge is handing down his sentence next Tuesday. I’ll be there for that.”

  “Maybe I’ll join you,” I said. “After all, we were married for thirty years.” I wanted to see Alejandro get his.

  “There will be a number of his former clients there. It could get ugly.”

  “He could not have decimated their lives any more than he did mine,” I said.

  “Yes. That’s true. But they view themselves as victims, not you.”

  “Well, they’re wrong,” I said.

  “Of course they’re wrong. But in their minds, there was a period of time when you knowingly or unknowingly benefited from their loss.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Shelby said.

  “So I’m guilty by association,” I said. “That’s so unfair. Am I going to see a settlement from the judge anytime soon?”

  “You should. I think the judge wants to talk to you in chambers after she renders her decision. I’ll call Ed this afternoon to confirm. He’ll know if you’re on the docket.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  A week before Shelby went into labor, I went to Target with my son-in-law’s credit card and filled a cart with all sorts of onesies, swaddles, and other things I—I mean, Shelby—would need for the baby, like diapers, wipes that came with a warmer, baby soap, shampoo, a baby bathtub, sheets, and super soft towels. Shelby picked out everything online, but her feet were too swollen to shop, she said. I didn’t mind because I could improve her choices. There were so many things to buy, it boggled my mind. I found the chest of drawers with a changing table on top that she wanted. It was too big to carry. Shelby also wanted a rocking chair and a bookcase. Maybe they delivered? But I could take home a diaper pail and a night-light and a hamper and a mobile that played “Rock-a-Bye Baby” as little pale pastel bears circled overhead.

  I pushed my overfilled cart up to the customer service desk.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Do you deliver?”

  “For thirty-five dollars you can have the whole store.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I’d never be able to fit any of the furniture in my old Jaguar, which I was considering selling. It would be nice to have the cash. I was waiting, though, to hear the judge’s decision.

  I was in the process of checking out and swiped the credit card down the side of the reader. I signed Frederick’s name and rolled the cart out to my car. Barely squeezing everything in, I found myself smiling and humming a little song I used to sing to Shelby when she was a baby. So far I loved doing grandmotherly things. Target was going to deliver everything else within an hour.

  In the days leading up to Floyd’s birth, and again the day after he was born, I was back at Target. It seemed like Target was just going to be a part of my life for the foreseeable future. This trip I filled my cart with groceries and cleaning supplies. I paid the bill and loaded my car.

  As I was backing out of my parking space, my cell phone rang, so I pulled back in to answer it. It was Diane.

  “How’s the baby?” she said.

  “Delicious! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

  “Well, I’m afraid that won’t be for a while,” she said. “We’ve got a disaster on our hands.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s called a microburst . . .”

  I was just flabbergasted as I listened.

  When she was finished with the terrible story I said, “Oh, my God! How awful! You must’ve been terrified! What can I do to help?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not much. We’re filing a claim with our insurance company and waiting to hear from the claims adjuster. It’s a mess. I think the sooner we clean it all up, the better we’re going to feel. And we don’t have any electricity.”

  “Awful. Do the kids know yet?”

  “No, they’ve got enough to deal with, just bringing a baby home and all that. I thought I’d trust you to tell them when the time is right.”

  “I will. Please give your mom and Floyd my best,” I said. “Is Floyd excited to have a baby named for him?”

  “Susan, I think it’s the thing that’s holding him together, if you want to know the truth. I’ve never seen him so upset. He’s not a yeller or a screamer. He smolders. And it’s very emotional for Mom too. She and Pop planted that grove together.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  I wanted to say, Tell him the reason I suggested naming the baby Floyd was so that I could say I love you, Floyd, and no one would think a thing about it. But for the time being, I was keeping that to myself.

  We hung up and I thought about the loss of their beautiful peach grove all the way home. It was so sad. Later, I put dinner together while Shelby rocked Floyd to sleep.

  “Mom, I still can’t believe I’m rocking my very own child in the coolest rocker ever! Thank you so much for pulling a nursery together.”

  “I loved every minute of it.”

  Actually, I really had enjoyed it.

  The coolest rocking chair ever was a midcentury-looking upholstered piece made by a Japanese company that was under three hundred dollars. In fact, the whole nursery bill for furniture and accoutrements was under a thousand dollars. I could recall dinners with Alejandro for a lot more than that, and in that moment, I saw how greedy he had been. But I had not complained about it, had I? I had sat there eating foie gras and drinking Cristal and never questioned Alejandro’s endless quest to be King of the Hill. Lord, my conscience needs a lot of help, I thought, and then wondered if that had been an unconscious prayer, a plea? Or was it just an observation?

  I was learning to cook from recipes I found online with videos. It wasn’t impossible. Over dinner of chicken, salad, and boiled potatoes, mashed with butter and salt that I actually prepared, I explained to Shelby and Frederick what happened to the farm. Shelby was trying to breastfeed, and that had almost all of her focus.

  “I think I need nipple guards,” she said. “This is pretty uncomfortable.”

  “Can you wait until morning?” I said. “I’ll make another Target run.”

  “Sure,” she said, wincing in pain.

  The good folks at Target would see me after dinner.

  But I could almost hear the wheels turning in Frederick’s head.

  “This is a real problem,” he said. “It’s going to take a lot to fix it.”

  “Yes, it will,” I said, agreeing. “And no electricity.”

  “It’s not just a loss of resources, it’s a huge loss of income. I mean, even if they planted new trees tomorrow, they won’t bear fruit for three years. I need to call the girls. Guaranteed Uncle Floyd didn’t tell anyone.”

  “He strikes me as stoic,” I said.

  “That’s the understatement of the night,” he said. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Good grief, it is the least I could do,” I said.

  While I washed the dishes, which was another newish thing for me that I sort of enjoyed but would never admit, I heard Frederick talking to Sophie first, then Stephanie and Ann.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said to each of them, telling them about the arrival of the baby and then the ruination of the farm.

  From what I could make of the side of the conver
sations I heard, they were all quite shocked and very upset for Floyd and Diane and their gram. But how in the world could they help?

  It was to be the first of many conversations between Frederick and his cousins as they tried to hatch out a plan.

  Our plight was decided for us. Frederick went back to work the following Monday and discovered he had a new boss whose first order of business was to fire him. This fellow did not come out and say that it was because of Alejandro, but it was implied. Then, on Tuesday, the judge sentenced Alejandro to 130 years in jail. He was to be transferred to a medium-security federal prison in North Carolina. There was cheering in the courtroom, and my ex-husband was led away in handcuffs with his head lowered like the bum he was. It was very likely the last time I would ever see him. Then the judge agreed to see me in chambers, and I went there with Ed Rabin and Michael.

  “I have agreed,” she said, “to repay Mr. Dean from your husband’s remaining assets. But there will be no more money for you. I’m sorry.”

  “What am I supposed to live on?” I said, shocked.

  “Figure it out, Mrs. Cambria. Like everybody else in the world.”

  She stood and left through the door behind her desk.

  “Wow,” Ed said, “that was cold.”

  “I’ll say,” Michael said.

  “It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t nice,” I said and thought, Oh, God, what am I going to do?

  When I came home from court I stopped by Shelby’s to see little Floyd, and to my surprise, Frederick was sitting on the sofa with Shelby and the baby.

  “How would you feel about a road trip? And maybe a reinvention of our lives?”

  “I think I’d be so happy I wouldn’t know what to do,” I said. “The judge cut me out completely. I am officially dead broke.”

  “It’s okay,” Frederick said. “I got fired.”

  “And I quit,” Shelby said.

  “I say, let’s load up a U-Haul and get out of Dodge,” Frederick said.

  We ordered a pizza with a side salad for dinner, but this time I’d be in another room when it was delivered to Frederick, just in case. It was so good, I wondered why I didn’t have it more often.

  “Shelby, would you like me to hold the baby so you can eat?”