Sweet Tea Tuesdays

by Ashley Farley

  Georgia and Lang exchanged a look. There was something Lula was supposed to remember about them . . . something important about their marriage. Oh well. Whatever it was, was lost in the bowels of her cancer.

  “You go ahead.” Georgia nodded Lang toward the door. “I’ll stay and help serve supper.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Georgia

  Although the tension in the Horne household was high, Georgia was grateful for a reason to stay. She couldn’t face being in the house alone with her husband, couldn’t tolerate any more of his apologies and pleas to try and work their marriage out. Before they’d come over here, she’d asked him when he was planning to move out, and he’d responded with a curt, “Not anytime soon. Not with Lula in the state she’s in.”

  At least he was now sleeping in the guest room.

  She waited until she heard the back door shut before getting up. “Why don’t I get dinner ready?”

  “I’ll help you,” Lizbet said, and followed her into the kitchen. “I can’t believe my mom is talking about her brain like it’s a piece of cheese. She seems to have gone downhill so quickly.”

  “You heard Dr. Dog. If your mother refuses treatment, her condition will get rapidly worse.”

  Lizbet cut her eyes at Georgia. “You know about our nickname for him?”

  Georgia smiled. “I may have heard you and Brooke whisper it a time or two.”

  Her young friend appeared horrified. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean—”

  She gave Lizbet a half hug. “Of course you didn’t. I’ve always thought it kind of sweet.”

  “Please tell me Dr. Murdaugh doesn’t know we call him Dog behind his back.”

  Georgia opened Lula’s towel drawer and removed two hot pads. “As far as I know, he doesn’t. I certainly never told him. The great Dr. Dog wouldn’t think it so sweet.”

  Lizbet burst out laughing, and Georgia joined in. She felt guilty carrying on in the kitchen when her best friend was struggling to come to terms with the worst news of her life in the next room. She put on a straight face and opened the oven to check on the casseroles. “These are ready.” She gripped the casseroles with the hot pads and removed them from the oven. “Why don’t we fix everyone a plate instead of setting up a buffet?”

  “Good idea. We’ll have less cleanup that way.” Lizbet set out six plates while Georgia removed the mixed green salad from the refrigerator and drizzled on some champagne vinaigrette dressing. She spooned a helping of shrimp and grits onto each plate and added some salad and a chunk of homemade crusty bread. Lizbet delivered the plates to the Florida room while Georgia poured six glasses of tea.

  Georgia had just sat down with her plate when Lula said, “I believe I’d like a glass of white wine. Will one of you be a dear and get it for me?”

  No one made a move to get up, and Phillip said, “I’m not sure that wine is such a good idea.”

  Lula set her plate on the coffee table and slid to the edge of her chair. “Then I’ll get it myself.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” Brooke was already on her feet. “As long as you promise to sip it.” She went into the kitchen and was back in a flash with the glass of wine. She handed her mother the wine and returned to her seat beside Sawyer on the sofa. “Why don’t we discuss your treatment options?”

  “It’s my decision, and I’m choosing not to undergo treatment. I’d like to make the most of my last days on earth.” Lula glared at them over the rim of her wineglass, daring them to argue with her. “I have much I need to tend to. Sorting out my bill from Tasty Provisions is at the top of my list. I trust you enjoyed yourself, Georgia. I wasn’t able to join the party. I was shell-shocked after Brooke dropped her little bomb on me. I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now. I trust you’ve met my daughter’s lesbian lover. What’s your name again, dear?”

  The room fell silent. Georgia snuck glances at the others. Lizbet was frozen in place, her fork suspended in midair. Brooke’s face was a deep shade of crimson, and Phillip’s eyes were darting about the room as if searching for an escape. The girl set her fork on her plate and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “My name is Sawyer. Sawyer Glover.”

  Lizbet let her fork drop to her plate with a loud clatter. “You know her name, Mom. Stop being so difficult.”

  Georgia smiled at the pretty girl sitting wedged between the Horne sisters. “Sawyer, I understand from my husband that you’ll be doing your residency at MUSC starting this fall.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sawyer said. “I have orientation tomorrow. I’m looking forward to meeting the other residents.”

  Phillip spoke for the first time all evening. “I didn’t realize you were moving to Charleston.”

  Georgia noticed his face was pale and drawn from exhaustion. Like his wife, he was shell-shocked from the drama of the past two days.

  Lula set her eyes on their oldest daughter. “Does that mean you’re moving here with her?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m moving to Charleston with Sawyer,” Brooke said. “We’re in a relationship. That’s what couples do. I was planning to tell you, but considering everything you’ve been going through, I thought it better to wait.”

  With trembling hands, Lula lifted the glass to her lips and took several big gulps of wine. “You can’t leave California. You just got a promotion.” She set her wineglass down, and Brooke snatched it away from her.

  “The promotion I was referring to is my new job here, in Charleston. The firm is smaller. I think I’m really gonna like it.”

  Georgia felt guilty for having started this awkward conversation. She hated being privy to their family business. But she couldn’t very well get up and leave.

  Lula eyed the empty glass of wine in Brooke’s hand. “Where are you planning to live?”

  “At home for now,” Brooke said. “If that’s okay with you. We signed a lease on an apartment today, but it won’t be ready for a couple of weeks.”

  “And what if it’s not okay with me?” Lula asked.

  Georgia had to work hard to contain her surprise. This from the woman who, only a week ago, was jumping up and down in joy to have her daughter home again.

  Brooke shrugged. “Then I’ll find somewhere else to stay. It’s not a big deal. I just thought you might like to have someone to help you out around the house and to be here with you during the day while Dad’s at work.”

  Lula directed her attention to Sawyer. “And what about you? Where will you live?”

  “I’m going back to Atlanta after my orientation at MUSC,” Sawyer said. “My brother and I are flying out to California next week. He’s going to help me move our things.”

  “Sawyer has generously offered to pack up my stuff,” Brooke said, rubbing her partner’s knee. “She knows I’d rather be here with you right now.”

  Georgia was surprised at Brooke’s brazen move when her mother was obviously not okay with the situation.

  “I don’t need a babysitter. I may be dying, but I’m not wearing diapers just yet.” Lula forked up a shrimp and popped it into her mouth. “I hope this apartment you’re leasing is in some nice gay community west of the Ashley. I’d rather not have you flaunting your relationship in front of my friends.”

  Georgia watched the color drain from Sawyer’s face. “Lula, please,” Georgia said. “You and I both know plenty of people who have gay children.”

  “Since when did you become so accepting of gays?” Lula asked.

  “Lula!” Phillip said. “That’s quite enough. What on earth has gotten into you tonight?”

  Georgia felt her anger rising. “As a matter of fact, Lula, I helped organize Pride Week last summer.”

  “Oh, right. I remember you mentioning something about that. Sawyer,”—Lula flung her arm out at Georgia—“you’re looking at a woman who has served on every nonprofit board in this city. I’m nowhere near as accomplished as Georgia. I’m not the wife of an important doctor. My husband is a boring old accountant. My obituary will be short and sweet.
Lula McMillan Horne—wife and mother. All I’ve ever done is take care of my family. I wasn’t even successful at raising children, since one of my daughters turned out to be gay, and I doubt the other will ever get married based on her track record.” Her eyes sought out her youngest daughter. “Now that I think about it, Lizbet, I’ve never known you to have a boyfriend. Maybe you’re gay, too. Are you gay, Lizbet?”

  Lizbet’s face beamed red.

  “Lula,” Phillip said, his voice even but stern, “I’m warning you to back off.”

  “Answer me, Lizbet!” Lula pounded her fist on the arm of the chair. “Are you gay?”

  Lizbet dropped her eyes to the floor. “No, Mom, I’m not gay.”

  Georgia gripped the arms of the chair. She forced herself to remain calm by reminding herself that her friend had just been diagnosed with brain cancer. She’d known Lula to be unpleasant before, and it was no secret she was set in her ways, but she’d never known her to act this way to another human being. Least of all her children. Demanding, yes. Downright nasty, no. This was a woman who gave generously of her time to homeless shelters.

  Georgia set her plate on the coffee table and shifted in her chair toward Lula. “I think you should feel blessed that Brooke has found such a lovely young woman like Sawyer to share her life. I’m sure the two of you will be great friends once you get to know each other.” She winked at Lizbet. “And don’t you worry about Lizzy. She hasn’t found the right fella yet, but she will. She’s one of the dearest people I know. And every bit as beautiful as her mother and sister. Now.” She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “You mentioned a to-do list. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  The change of topic seemed to settle Lula. “Well . . .” She paused, thinking. “My garden could sure use some TLC, but I plan to jump on that in the morning before it gets too hot. I hope to have some bouquets for you in a day or two. I’ll bring them over when I have them ready.”

  “I can take them over for you,” Brooke offered. “I’ve been driving your minivan. I’ll rent a car tomorrow when I take Sawyer to the airport if you’d rather not share yours with me.” She broke off a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth.

  Phillip wadded up his napkin and dropped it on the empty plate in his lap. “According to Lang, your mother is not supposed to drive at all. He’s worried she could cause an accident if she has a seizure.”

  Lula’s head shot up. “A seizure? No one said anything to me about seizures!”

  “Lang left several pamphlets on the table in the kitchen,” Phillip said. “We’ll go over the information tomorrow, when you’re not so tired. There are a number of symptoms you may experience.”

  “That’s just great!” Lula slammed her plate down on the coffee table, breaking the plate into two pieces. Shrimp went flying in the air as the grits formed a puddle on the carpet. “What am I supposed to do if I can’t drive my own car? How am I supposed to get around?” She surveyed the room as though searching for answers, but the room remained silent. “I’ve had enough for one day. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.” She stood abruptly, and her knees buckled beneath her. Georgia dove for her, somehow managing to catch her before she fell. “Let go of me,” Lula said, shrugging her off and staggering out of the room.

  Georgia took in the long faces of the girls sitting on the sofa and Phillip in the chair across from them. This poor family needed some time alone. “I better get this cleaned up.” She gathered up the dirty plates, including the broken one, and took them into the kitchen. Eager to retreat to the solitude of her own bedroom, she quickly rinsed the plates and loaded the dishwasher. She was putting away the leftovers when she heard someone weeping. She listened more intently. Lula was calling for help from somewhere in the front part of the house. She hurried down the hall to the living room, where she found Lula sitting on the bottom step, her face planted in her hands.

  She tiptoed toward her so as not to startle her. “Lula, are you all right?”

  “No! I’m not all right,” she cried. “I can’t walk up the stairs.”

  “What do you mean you can’t walk up the stairs?”

  “I mean. I can’t. Walk. Up. The. Stairs.” Lula’s voice escalated with each word. She wailed and moaned, nothing intelligible, but the sounds broke Georgia’s heart and brought Lula’s family running.

  Lizbet was the first to arrive on the scene. Georgia leaned close to her. “Go next door and get Dr. Dog. Tell him to bring sedatives.” She knew her husband kept a supply of Xanax on hand for emergencies like these.

  Lizbet nodded, her gray eyes dark with fear, and dashed out the front door. She returned within minutes with Langdon in tow. Lula continued to sob hysterically despite her husband’s attempts to calm her down.

  “What happened?” Langdon asked, his voice close to Georgia’s ear.

  “I’m not really sure. She excused herself after dinner and headed up for bed. I heard her calling out for help ten minutes later. She told me she couldn’t walk up the stairs, and then she just broke down.”

  “Okay, follow my lead.” He nudged the others out of the way and knelt down in front of Lula. “Hey, sweetheart. I brought you something that will help you sleep. Are you ready to go to bed?”

  Lula lifted her blotchy face to him. “I can’t walk up the stairs.”

  “That’s okay. We’re going to help you.” With surprising strength, Langdon pulled Lula to her feet. Gripping her upper arm, Georgia supported Lula’s right side, but Langdon bore most of the weight on the left. When they reached the top of the stairs, he scooped her up, carried her to her room, and set her down gently on the bed. Georgia wondered how many women he’d carried to their beds, and then scolded herself for thinking ill of her husband when he was performing a good deed.

  He removed a prescription bottle from his pocket. “See if there’s a cup in the bathroom, Georgia, and bring her some water.”

  Georgia did as she was told. After handing him the water, she backed herself into the nearest corner, saddened by the sight of her distraught friend.

  Langdon placed the pill on Lula’s tongue and lifted the cup to her lips. “There now. It’ll be a few minutes before it takes effect. I’m going to stay with you until it does.” He lifted a greasy hank of her hair off her forehead. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  Lula rolled her head to the side, away from him. “I don’t know what happened. When I got to the stairs, my mind told my body to climb, but my feet wouldn’t budge. Oh God, it’s happening. I’m dying sooner than I expected.” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. “I thought I had some time. How much time do I have, Lang? Be honest.”

  He blotted her tears with a tissue from the box beside the bed. “A lot depends on what course of treatment we choose.”

  “I already told you, I don’t want treatment.” She snatched the tissue away from him and blew her nose.

  “I think you should wait and decide that in a day or so, after you’ve had a chance to digest everything that’s happened. I’ll prescribe some meds that will deal with all this emotional stuff and help you feel more like yourself.”

  “Pills won’t make me change my mind.” She grabbed hold of his wrist. “Tell me. I need to know. How long are we talking, months or weeks?”

  He hesitated, and Georgia knew he was debating how much to tell her. “With no treatment at all, you’ll live only a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, her eyelids already growing heavy. “I know you can’t cure me, but can you keep the drugs coming?”

  He smiled. “That I can manage.”

  Georgia watched their interaction, mesmerized. She was seeing a different side of her husband’s professional life. There was so much more to his job than performing miracles.

  Langdon rubbed Lula’s forehead until her breathing changed and she began snoring softly. Even then, he remained by her side. “It’s harder when it’s a loved one, but it’s never easy to watch someone die,
” he said, his eyes still on Lula.

  “What would you do if it were me lying in that bed?” Georgia asked in a hoarse voice. “Would you insist I seek treatment?”

  He turned to face her. “Probably not. The treatment itself could kill her, and it’ll only buy her a few weeks, a month max. Either way, the quality of life won’t be good. I can put her on a regimen of meds that will hopefully give her some good days. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do for her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Midge

  Midge left work sick after her appointment on Thursday morning. It wasn’t a total lie. She was sick from worrying over Lula. She spent the afternoon pacing back and forth from window to window, keeping a close eye on the house next door. Aside from the mail and UPS men making deliveries, the house remained quiet. She missed seeing Lula’s tattered sun hat flopping about her shoulders as she puttered in the yard—watering the annuals in her planters, weeding her flower beds, and clipping perennials in her garden. The Hornes’ yard was by far the most well-tended yard on the block. Midge knew enough about gardening to understand the difference between annuals and perennials, but she’d stopped trying to keep up with Lula years ago. Instead, Midge paid a yard service to come every week to mow and blow, and once in the fall to seed. She lacked the green thumb to grow much aside from her patch of Bermuda grass.

  When she called Bennett in tears over Lula’s diagnosis, he rushed right over with takeout for her lunch—a grilled salmon salad from Amen Street, one of her favorite raw bars downtown. Hard as he tried, he was unable to pry her from the window. “I know you’re worried, honey, but watching her driveway will not make Lula arrive home any sooner. Why don’t you go for a run?”

  “Are you crazy? I’d suffer a heatstroke running in the middle of the day.”