Her voices comes out raspy. “I’m a disgrace to you.”
“No, you’re not at all! You’re beautiful.” I almost choke on it because I heard her say that to me hundreds of times when I was fat and I knew it was a lie every time.
She sniffs hard. “Don’t kid a kidder.”
“Do you want me to help you lose some weight?”
“Oh, I can’t do it like you did it, honey. I’m too old to go running around town in some Nikes or something.”
“You don’t have to run. What about swimming? You could join the Y, and . . .”
“I can’t swim and you know it.”
“They do those water aerobics, right in the shallow end.”
My mom shakes her head, loose pieces of red hair flopping over her eyes. I would love to talk her out of that dye job. It’s fire-engine red and tacky to the extreme, but her appearance is a touchy subject.
I can’t stop thinking about how it will look in the wedding pictures. How she will look.
The hair, though, isn’t the real problem.
“Mom, you’ve got to do something.”
“Something like what? Like you said, the wedding is in August. This”—she sweeps her hand through the air over her lap—“is a lost cause.”
“I wasn’t talking about the wedding,” I rush to say, but I can feel a flush creep up my neck as soon as I get the words out. “I’m worried about your health.”
“Don’t start on me with the health thing. It’s not like I don’t know it. I have lousy metabolism. So do you. You had to run yourself to death and eat like a rabbit while your girlfriends ate whatever they wanted.”
“But you can’t—”
Agatha has returned with an armful of gowns, which she hangs on the outside of fitting room doors, to display them. They’re all tents, really. Huge sacks with some neck detail, in pastel colors. Gargantuan parodies of Easter eggs.
I squeeze my mom’s hand as she flinches away from them.
Stepping out of the air conditioning at Agatha’s, we get the full smack of afternoon sun right in our faces. Mom grimaces. “Oh, Lordy, it’s hot,” she says, and I know what she means. Heat is so much worse when you’re already wrapped in layers of excess skin and fat. It’s like being cocooned.
“Let’s get you a bottle of water before I take you home and head back to work.” The Nee Nance is between Agatha’s and our car.
Mom lumbers to a bench outside the store, next to the ice cooler. The Nee Nance isn’t air conditioned, anyway.
Anna’s at the register. “Hi!” I wave to her.
She looks through me for a second, before she blinks and says, “Oh. Hi, there. You’ll never guess who was just here,” she says, scrubbing with vigor at the surface of the front counter while I grab two cold waters from the cooler.
“Who?”
“Your fiancé.”
Her voice sounds odd. I feel like I’m missing a punch line or something. “Oh,” is the only thing I can think of to say. “Well, his work is just down the road.”
“Right. His work at Becker Development, my mother’s new landlord.”
“Really?” I put the bottles on the counter, but she doesn’t look at them. She has stopped scrubbing the counter and she’s staring at me now. “Isn’t that interesting.”
“The new landlord who’s evicting her.”
Evicting? “What? No, he wouldn’t . . . Are you sure?”
Anna narrows her eyes. “How would I be unclear on something like that?”
I know he must have a reason; there’s more to this story, something important I’m missing, that Anna’s missing. But I don’t know what it is; I learned early on Paul hates to be pressed for details. He shares on his own agenda.
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t get involved in the business, really.” I drum my fingers on the counter and check on my mom, in silhouette out the front window. She’s fanning herself with her hand. She’s baking alive out there. “My mom is waiting for me, and I’m late for work.”
Anna punches the register buttons hard, and it seems like she has had to start over, because it takes her longer than it should.
“Look, I didn’t know anything about it. Anyway, it’s not up to me.”
“I suppose that’s true. Do you want a bag for this?”
I shake my head, and I take my change from her. “I’m sure Paul has his reasons for what he’s doing. He has the best interests of Haven at heart.”
“Because this store, my family store, is a blight on the neighborhood?” Anna gestures around the store.
“No, but . . . I mean . . . He’s not a bad guy.”
“I’m sure he’s swell. I bet he rescues kitty cats from trees.”
I snatch the water off the counter and stomp outside.
I help my mom stand up and we begin our slow progress down the block to the car. I look over my shoulder at the outside of the store with its pukey green siding and the one e hanging sideways and the beer posters, and come to think of it, actually, it does look like crap.
Chapter 14
Cami
Lucky for me, it’s not hard to beat my dad to the mailbox.
Lucky is not a word I use often, or if I do, I have to laugh as soon as it occurs to me. Lucky that my dad is usually so drunk he’s still passed out when the mail gets here on Saturday?
I take what I can get. The mail truck pulls away with its distinctive rumble, and I dash out into the hard summer rain.
It was sticky-hot all morning until the clouds crashed the party around lunchtime, and now all the wet is pouring out of the air. I love it, actually. If it weren’t for the rain streaming so hard into my eyes I can’t see, I’d just stand out here and let it soak me cool.
But anyway, the letter. By my calculations, Trent has had enough time to get the letter by air mail, look at the photo, and tell me who those people are. I only hope he hasn’t forgotten it and tossed the envelope in some big stack of bills. It’s not like he spares much thought for anything back here in the States.
I see it right off; the foreign stamp gives it away. I slip the envelope into the back of my pants and put my shirt over it, in case Dad or that skank Sherry happened to wake up just now.
The house still seems quiet, so I duck into my room and latch the door.
Cami,
Sorry to say I can’t figure out who these people are. They don’t look at all familiar to me. I guess I can’t help you.
I’m a little worried about you. Do you need anything from me? I could loan you some cash if you’re strapped. Just let me know.
Trent
I study the photo again. The people look wealthy, though it takes me a minute of squinting to figure out exactly why it seems that way. It’s the setting. There’s a low stone wall, and a large porch behind them. A huge old tree, and in the distance, yes, there’s water. A huge lake. Maybe the sea.
I look at the back of the photo again, and it does not specify a date or place.
I slip the photo carefully back into the Bible and ball Trent’s letter up in the palm of my hand. I’m about to go throw it in the kitchen trash when I think better of it. No, better keep this one hidden. I shove the crinkled ball in the back of my old dresser, behind my socks, and slam the drawer shut.
I unhook the door and go in search of some lunch.
In the kitchen I find none other than Sherry, hunched over a coffee and wearing one of Dad’s old T-shirts and seemingly nothing else. I look away from her quickly, not in the mood for her to gloat over the fact she has the run of the house, or needle me about our last encounter.
There are some fruit flies buzzing over the dishes. I suppose I’d better cave in and wash them.
“Good morning,” croaks Sherry.
I start to pick the dishes gingerly out of the filthy water.
“I said, ‘Good morning,’ ” she repeats.
“I heard you. It isn’t morning anymore.”
“La-di-freakin’-da.”
I drain ou
t the filthy water and fill the sink again with the hottest water my hands can stand.
Sherry startles me by appearing at my side. “Here, lemme help you.”
I look her full in the face. She doesn’t seem sarcastic and it doesn’t seem to be a prank.
I shrug and hand her a towel. “You can dry, I guess.”
We slosh around in silence. My dad must have really tied one on to be asleep still. Or maybe they were screwing until late. That thought makes me queasy.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m sorry about the fruit thing.”
“What?”
“What I said about your brother. I got the impression from Tim that it’s kind of a sore subject around here, his boyfriend and all.”
“He doesn’t speak for me.”
“No, I guess he doesn’t.”
Sherry lowers her voice and glances back over her shoulder at the empty hall. “Did you, uh . . . Did you get in trouble or anything? Over what happened?”
“What kind of trouble do you mean?”
“I mean . . . I hope he wasn’t too mad at you over it.”
The puzzle piece drops into place. “Oh, you mean you’re wondering if he beat me up, yeah? Boy, you sure did pick a prize one in my dad.”
She clanks a plate down on the counter. “He treats me all right.”
“Goody for you.”
After a couple more dishes she says, “I’m going out back for a smoke,” and leaves me to finish up the rest. I finish the dishes as quickly as I can and decide to head for the Nee Nance, rain be damned.
I had to use an old phone book as an umbrella, so when I round the corner off Shoreline Drive, everything below my shoulders is soaked.
“Cami!” Maeve says. “Oh, honey, look how wet you are! You weren’t scheduled to work, were you?”
“Nope, this here is a social call.” I drop the phone book and try to wring out my T-shirt.
“We’re pleased to see you, but what got you out here in this monsoon? You should have asked Anna for a ride. She would have come to get you.”
“Nah, I don’t want to put anyone out, yeah? Besides, I like the exercise. I just really felt like getting out.”
Maeve nods, understanding without me having to say. People don’t know exactly what Tim Drayton is like, but they know enough.
“Anna is upstairs packing. Why don’t you go ask her to find you some of my clothes. You’re taller than me, but there should be something you can borrow. And then for heaven’s sake get Anna to take you home when you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks. I’d hug you, but I think I’ll wait until I’m dry, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Maeve says, chuckling. Then she stops and rubs the bridge of her nose.
“You okay?” My hand is on the stair rail.
“Fine, just a little headache, is all.”
I climb the steps, and though I don’t pray, not really, I glance up to the ceiling and smile as a thanks to the universe that there are a few decent people in my life.
“Hey!” I call up the stairs so I don’t startle Anna. I poke my head in to tell her I’m ducking down the hall to borrow dry clothes.
In a few moments I come back to her room wearing a white shirt and some shorts, my wet clothes hung up over the shower door in the bathroom.
“Need any help?” I plop down on her bed. “I came over for an impromptu visit, to see you off and say hi to your mom.”
“Nah, I’m just about done.”
Anna looks younger than I’ve seen her look since she’s been back. It’s because she’s dressed down, I think. Her hair is its naturally wild, curly self, and she’s wearing cut-off jean shorts and a U-M T-shirt.
“So, will you miss the bustling metropolis of Haven?”
“Oh, absolutely. I don’t know how I’ll fill my social calendar.”
“Will you miss Will Becker?”
She looks at me sharply, then resumes folding. “We’ll e-mail, like we always did. It was nice to have lunch with him, that’s all.”
We both turn at some ruckus downstairs. Anna drops her folding and we skip down the steps in time to see Maeve shouting out the door, “And you’re banned for life, you rotten brats!”
“Mom, what the hell?”
Maeve holds onto the newspaper rack with one hand, a broom in the other, bristle side up. She’s leaning on them both for support. Anna and I rush to her. I take the broom and lay it aside, and we both walk her to the office chair behind the counter. Her skin feels damp and clammy.
Maeve puts her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Stupid kids were stealing from me. First I didn’t care, because we’re getting kicked out anyway, but then I thought . . .” She pauses to pant, and Anna reminds her to breathe deep. I think, kicked out?
Maeve begins again. “I thought if I let them get away with stealing, they’d come back all the time, knowing I wouldn’t stop them. They wouldn’t leave, so I whacked one with a broom.”
Anna shoots me a look over Maeve’s head. “Did they assault you? Did any of them threaten you in any way?”
Maeve glares at Anna. “Stop lawyering me!”
“I’m just wondering, Mom. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just feeling a little shaky, is all. They made me so mad. I need to go upstairs.”
We help her out of her chair, but she shakes us off. “I’m not some frail old woman!”
She uses the counter for support as she walks toward the stairs, Anna and I trailing close as we can get without touching her.
When she gets to the potato chip rack, she pauses, frowns as if she forgot where she was going, and touches her hand to her head.
She folds like a puppet cut from its strings.
“Mom!” screams Anna, and I vault the counter, reaching for the phone.
Chapter 15
Amy
As I’m shaking my snow peas into the wok, I keep replaying my talk with Anna and arguing in my head for why my fiancé isn’t evil for evicting her mother.
Only, I feel bad about it, and since I didn’t even know, I can’t come up with the logical arguments I’m sure Paul must have. The microwave clock says it’s 5:35, and I decided not to wait for Paul anymore, and I just have to start dinner.
Frodo whines at the patio door.
“Not now, Frodo, it’s pouring outside. You already went pee.”
I add the sauce and skip the tofu, because I know Paul hates it.
A key turns in the lock and my shoulders relax. I didn’t even know I was tense until just then. I move the wok off the heat to come give Paul a kiss.
“Hey, babe,” he says, dropping his suitcase on the couch and throwing himself into the nearest chair. My kiss has missed his cheek, and for a second I’m puckered into the air like some kind of fish. Paul says, “Can you get me a beer? God, what a day.”
I go fetch him the beer but don’t take the cap off for him. Then I throw some tofu into the wok. And then a little more.
“I’m sorry it was a bad day,” I say. “Want to talk about it?”
He’s tipped his head back on the chair, squinting his eyes shut. He shakes his head slowly.
I check the brown rice and it’s done, so I start scooping it onto plates.
“I saw Mrs. Geneva today at the store,” I say.
He grunts and massages his temple in response.
“Sounds like you have an interesting project there,” I say brightly, setting the plates down. I go turn on some Norah Jones. “Do you want some wine?”
“I’ll stick with my beer.”
I pour myself a sparkling water. “Okay, dinner’s on.”
He hefts himself out of the chair and drags over to the kitchen table. He’s walking like he’s eighty.
“So, what have you got cooking for that corner? At Washington and Shoreline?”
“Oh, a high-end grocery and some loft apartments. It’ll look great.” He’s picking at his stir fry, frowning at the tofu and scooting it to the side.
“Oh,
good, how exciting.”
Paul frowns into his food. “Can we shut the music off?”
I scuttle over to the stereo and punch it off. “So the Nee Nance Store is gone, then?” I ask as if it’s nothing, just a question of logistics, and that’s really all it is, I’m just curious.
He grunts and says through a mouthful of food, “We’re really trying to class up that corner. It’s a gateway to the community.” A piece of broccoli falls out of his mouth.
“Oh, well. I guess so. She can’t be part of it, though?”
Paul groans and pushes back his plate. “Aww, c’mon, don’t you start, too. Change is hard, like Dad always says. Improvement to a neighborhood sometimes pushes out the previous residents, but what’s the option? Never make anything nice?”
I shift in my chair and ask him, “But isn’t there a way to give her a part of the project? Let her run the store?”
Paul folds his arms on the table and gives me a look, the same one I’ve seen him use at planning commission meetings and on investors. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what does she know about high-end wine? Imported cheeses? I don’t need someone just to punch a register, I need someone who can advise customers what’s the best thing to eat with pinot noir. And anyway, she can’t afford the rent. Haven is evolving. We’re getting more and more tourists from Chicago, Grand Rapids, Detroit, businesspeople with money who want a lakeside retreat. Not some Miller Lite and a package of hot dogs.”
“I just feel bad, is all.”
He pushes his food around with his fork, frowning down at his plate. “So do I, believe it or not. I hated to send that letter.” He looks up. “But she’s got Anna; she’s doing well for herself. It’s not like she’ll be sleeping under an overpass, right?”
I want to say, Who are you trying to convince?
He takes his plate to the kitchen and I can see he’s barely eaten. “Also, you’ve gotta look at it this way: The housing market is getting softer, and there’s only so much money to be made in that right now. We had to cancel phase three of Poplar Bluff already. Urban redevelopment might be just the thing to save our bacon, because we can get grants and stuff to offset the cost, which investors really like.”
The Life You've Imagined Page 7