High Cotton

by Debby Mayne

  “Oh, hi, Elliot.” My face flames and I want to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. He continues watching me, and my face gets even hotter. I finally manage to speak. “I thought you got married and moved away.”

  “I did, but I’m back. After my divorce, I realized I needed to move back here to regroup and figure out what to do with my life.”

  So he’s divorced. He still looks as good as ever, and I feel that old attraction edging its way back into my heart. But my mind says, Hold your horses, Shay.

  “It’s hard to talk here,” he says. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we get together tonight—that is, if you’re free for dinner?”

  I let out a sigh and give him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Elliot, but I just made plans with a couple of my cousins. Maybe some other time?”

  He nods. “What’s your number? I’ll call later and we can make plans.”

  I give him my number, finish my shopping, and nearly float out of the store. Ever since Elliot and I were partners in tenth-grade biology class, I’ve dreamed of dating him. But he was on the high school football team, while I was president of our school’s chapter of Future Business Leaders of America. He had girls flocking to date him, while I had guys calling me for homework answers.

  One afternoon when we were finishing up our biology project toward the end of the school year, he gave me one of those heart-stopping smiles. I remember how my lips quivered when I smiled back. And then he asked me if I’d like to go to the movies with him. As my heart thudded, my mind went into automatic pilot. I knew who I was then—just as I know who I am now—so I turned him down.

  No way was I about to make a fool of myself over a guy. Guys like him simply didn’t date girls like me unless they needed help with homework or answers on tests. There have been times since then that I’ve wished I’d gone out with him just once to see if he was as different as he seemed. I once thought that I had to make a choice between college and personal happiness. Now I know I possibly could have had both.

  As soon as I arrive at my condo, I put everything away and pull out the rotisserie chicken and potato salad from the deli and put them in my own serving dishes. I slice a couple of tomatoes and arrange them on a bed of lettuce just like Mama always did.

  The twins arrive a few minutes later. “Come on in, girls. I have supper ready.”

  “Nice condo,” one of them says. Since they changed clothes, I’m not sure which one is talking, so I need to find some way to tell them apart.

  Now the other one speaks up. “How many bedrooms do you have?”

  “Three.” I gesture toward the living room. “Would y’all like to take a look around before we eat?”

  They both nod with enthusiasm. I can almost see the wheels turning in their heads, and I get it. Before I looked at this condo, I could only see myself living in a single-family house. Until now, they haven’t thought about a condo. However, I suspect my place is way out of their price range, since I know they just started a little mail-order craft business a year and a half ago. I don’t think they make enough money to swing a place this expensive. It took me a dozen years and several houses to work up to it.

  After they see the third bedroom that I’ve converted to an office, they glance at each other, smile, and turn to me. “This is what we need to do. A condo will be perfect.”

  I offer a motherly smile and lead them to the kitchen. It won’t be easy, but I can see that I’ll need to give them a basic economics lesson while they’re here. Maybe I can even help them come up with a plan to purchase a smaller house and work up to something this big and expensive.

  One of them speaks up as we get to the kitchen table. “Thanks for not calling us ‘Twins,’ Shay.” She glances at her sister, who nods. “Most people think we’re the same person, just because we look alike.”

  “To be honest, I still can’t tell y’all apart.”

  The more outspoken one speaks up. “I’m the pretty one.”

  The other twin rolls her eyes. “Sally’s the obnoxious one. I’m the sweet one.”

  I love this playful banter between the girls. I never realized how much fun they are. “I’m starting to get some clues.”

  Sally points to a tiny scar beside her eye. “When you’re in front of us, just look here. I fell when we were three, and I had to have stitches.”

  Sara nudges her and wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s still the clumsy one.”

  When we sit down, I bow my head to say the blessing. Before I open my mouth, one of them starts the prayer. After we all say, “Amen,” the twin to my left begins to chatter.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t think of buying a condo before, but this will be perfect for what we need.”

  Sara nods vigorously. “Sally was concerned that one of us would be stuck with a house and all the hassles of maintaining it if the other one got married and left.”

  I tilt my head and give her a curious look. “Why would it be any different with a condo?”

  Sally speaks up. “You don’t have to mow the lawn or do any of that stuff, do you?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I pay dearly for it. We’re charged an association fee.”

  “How much is that?”

  I expect her to be stunned by the amount, but she isn’t. She just looks at her sister, who leans forward on her elbows and tells me how much money they’ve saved. My chin drops. They actually have enough to pay cash for a condo, if they want to.

  As soon as I gather my wits, I blink. “But I thought y’all just had a little mail-order craft business.”

  “We sell little girls’ accessories and we have a few stores that buy in larger quantities.” She grins and holds up her hands. “And we’re making more than we ever made as bank tellers.”

  Then she tells me how much they pull in each month, and I’m shocked speechless. They can afford to buy two condos with what they’re making.

  I certainly hope my sister-in-law can keep our secret. Even though she thinks Digger will understand and accept what I’m doing, I know better. The few times I’ve tested his pride, hoo-boy, it was bad. It’s not that he hollers or threatens me or anything, but I think what he does is just as bad. He goes into a blue funk so deep that I can’t even get him up to go anywhere, including church, which is terrible since he loves spending Sunday mornings in Sunday school and church.

  Amanda hasn’t said much, but I know she’s itchin’ to find out what Shay and I discussed. She keeps giving me those looks that have question marks all over them.

  After several days of her odd behavior, I finally decide it’s time to bring it up. “Shay and I talked about how important it is to keep our little secret.”

  “You don’t think she’ll say anything?” Amanda’s eyes light up with eager anticipation, and then she pauses. “After all, Digger is her brother, and there is bound to be some kind of loyalty there.”

  “I know, and that’s what I’m countin’ on. Her loyalty makes her want him to be happy.” When I see that Amanda’s confused, I explain. “I told her all about the pride thing and how it upsets him to think he can’t provide for his family.”

  She shrugs. “I suppose that makes sense on some level, but you do realize you can’t keep this a secret forever, don’t you? In fact, I’m surprised you’ve kept it under wraps for as long as you have. I mean, it’s not like Pinewood is all that big, and people know people.”

  “It’s not a tiny town either. Besides, I’m usually tucked away in the back where no one sees me.”

  “Oh, that’s something else I need to discuss with you. I have a few things coming up when I can’t be here, and neither of the part-timers can fill in for me.” She makes a face like she’s scared to continue, but she does anyway. “Would you mind . . .”

  “Are you asking me to wait on customers?” I’ve always thought it would be fun to help women pick out their clothes, but it is awful risky, since everyone who is anyone shops at La Chic.

  Amanda nods as she gives me an apologetic look. �
�The times I need to be away aren’t typically busy, so you should be fine.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to control my hammering heart. “Like what time?”

  “Tomorrow morning for about an hour after we open, then next Monday right after the lunch rush.”

  I don’t see a problem since I know for a fact that those are definitely not high-volume times. “I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll even work on the books from the checkout desk so I’m not standin’ here idle.”

  A big old honkin’ smile spreads across her face. “Thank you so much, Puddin’! I was worried you wouldn’t do it, and I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  Momentarily, I’m annoyed that she just let me know I’m her last choice, but reality sets in, and I know it’s because I’ve made it clear that no one else is to know I work here. Whatever the case, I’m ecstatic.

  We talk for a few minutes about what I’m supposed to do. “Are you comfortable running the cash register?” she asks.

  “Yes, but why don’t I practice a little before I’m here alone?”

  “Good idea.” She pulls out her purse and extracts a twenty-dollar bill. “Here. I’d like to buy that scarf that I just marked down.”

  “You just marked down a scarf?”

  She holds it up, picks up the red pen, crosses through the price, and puts a new, much lower number on it. “I have now.”

  I laugh as I ring up the sale without any trouble. I’ve watched her enough times I think I know the whole process by heart.

  “Excellent.” She yanks off the tag and wraps the scarf around my neck. “You’re good to go.”

  I start to take it off, but she holds up her hands to stop me. I grin. “Thank you.”

  All I can think about while doing the books that day is how much fun it will be to be in the actual boutique. I know I’ll be living dangerously, but this is one of those times that the fun factor outweighs the risk.

  Digger gets home at his usual time that evening, walks up behind me as I flip the chicken-fried steak in the skillet, and gives me a kiss on the neck. I turn around and grin at him.

  “You’re lookin’ mighty chipper.” He unbuttons his shirt, making my breath catch in my throat. “Havin’ a good day?”

  I try my best to tamp down my excitement and bob my head in a half-nod. “I’ve had worse.”

  He laughs. “The way you were dancin’ when I walked in, I thought you might be havin’ a party.” He glances around. “Without music or people.”

  “I wasn’t dancin’. I’m just cookin’.”

  Digger looks at the food in the skillet and gives me a sideways glance. “I’ve never seen you cook to a beat before.”

  “That’s because you don’t normally get here until it’s done.” It’s time to get the subject off of me, or I might spill the beans. “Digger, honey, would you mind setting the table?”

  “Sure, but let me go put on some jeans. Be right back.”

  As soon as he leaves the kitchen, I take a couple of deep breaths and slowly blow them out. My excitement is getting harder to contain, but I need to get a grip so Digger won’t be suspicious.

  He comes back wearing some ragged jeans and a very old Petra T-shirt that we got at a concert when we were kids. But he still looks just as good as he did back then—at least to me he does. But my feelings for him are deeper than the physical attraction. He’s such a kindhearted man who wholeheartedly loves his family. His only flaw that I can gripe about is his old-fashioned ideas, but that’s one of the things I’ve always found attractive about him. Our gazes meet, and my tummy does a flippy thing. He gives me one of his too-charming grins, letting me know that he is fully aware of how I’m feelin’.

  “Mom, I’m starving!” Brett walks in through the back door, bouncin’ his basketball like he’s still on the court.

  “Take that thing outside, young man.” Digger points to the door. “And while you’re at it, leave your shoes in the mudroom. I don’t want you trackin’ mud all over the floors your mama works so hard to keep clean.”

  I slink down in my chair as I notice a dust bunny float across the floor and feel guilty as all get-out. It’s been more than a week since I’ve had time to mop. Fortunately, if Digger’s shoes don’t stick to the floor when he walks across it, he doesn’t notice the dirt.

  Supper is yummy, and I’m delighted that Digger and the boys have so much to say they can’t possibly notice that my mind is elsewhere. Life couldn’t be better for me at the moment, even though Hallie is actin’ a mite moody.

  “What’s going on with you, girlie?” Digger asks her.

  She shrugs and shoves another bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Everyone grows silent, but that only lasts a few seconds before Jeremy shrieks.

  We all jump and turn to face him. A humongous blob of mashed potatoes sits smack-dab in the middle of the top of his head, and he’s trying to add gravy. Digger starts laughing, and in spite of the mess I know I’ll have to clean up, I laugh, too. Even Hallie cracks a smile.

  After supper, everyone carries their plates to the sink while I pick Jeremy up from his booster seat and carry him straight to the bathtub. He’s such a happy child, always laughing and making funny faces, that I never get too mad at him no matter what he does.

  To my delight, when Jeremy and I return to the kitchen, the entire mashed-potato-and-gravy mess is cleaned up. I glance at Digger, who gestures toward Hallie. “She took care of it.”

  I close the distance between me and our only daughter, but after a brief instant of leaning into me, she pulls away. “Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t very well leave the mess for you,” she says. “I gotta go finish my homework.” Then she leaves.

  An hour later, after Jeremy is in bed and the other two young’uns who are still at home are in their rooms, Digger and I sit at the kitchen table to chat. “What are you doin’ tomorrow?” he asks. “I was thinkin’ about going in late so me and you can do something, just the two of us.”

  My heart stops as my brain goes numb. “I . . .” I don’t want to lie, so I smile and shrug. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Slow down, Puddin’. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning.” I sit up in bed and glance at the clock. It must be pretty bad for her to call me after ten o’clock because I know she and Digger go to bed early. He has to get up at dawn to start his route.

  “It’s Digger—no, it’s La Chic.” She loudly exhales. “No, it’s me and my insane secret. I promised Amanda I’d help her out at the shop tomorrow morning, and now Digger says he’s goin’ in late because he wants to spend some time with me. What can I do?”

  “Be honest with him.”

  “You know good and well I can’t do that. Not now, anyway. I need your help, Shay.”

  This is hard. I love and appreciate my sister-in-law, but she is asking me to get involved with something that would hurt my brother deeply, if he knew we were in cahoots in a secret plot that involves him.

  “Please do something, or at least tell me what to do.” The panic in her voice lets me know she’s worried sick about this.

  “Have you asked him to go in late on another day?” I ask. “You could have said you have to do something at one of the kids’ schools.”

  “But that would be lyin’.”

  “Puddin’.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, slide into my slippers, and get up. “Keeping your job a secret is a form of lying.”

  I hear her take a quick, shallow breath. “Don’t lecture me now, Shay. I’m in panic mode, and I can’t think straight.”

  She’s not kidding. I think as hard as I can, but the only thing I can come up with is pretty conniving. Still, I can’t let Puddin’ suffer like this, so I finally say, “Let’s hang up so I can call Digger. I have an idea.”

  Feeling like a disloyal monster of a sister, I speed-dial Digger’s cell phone. He picks up on the third ring and answers with a sleepy voice. “Whaddya want, Shay?”

  I sniffle. “I need to talk to you.”
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  “It’s way past bedtime. Can’t it wait?”

  “I don’t know.” I pretend to blow my nose. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “It’s late.” I hear him shift his position. “Are you cryin’?”

  “Digger . . .” Like Puddin’, I don’t want to lie, so I don’t answer. “Please, can we talk?”

  “I reckon. What’s it about?”

  “I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can you come to my office sometime tomorrow?”

  There’s a long pause before he makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I promised Puddin’ I’d hang out here with her in the morning, but if it’s important enough for you to call me in the middle of the night, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  “I know she will. Puddin’ is a very understanding woman.” If he only knew. “When’s the earliest you can be at my office?”

  “Sometime in the mornin’.”

  “Can you get there around nine?”

  He lets out a sigh of resignation. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  After we hang up, I stand and stare at the wall. Puddin’ and I need to have another serious, heart-to-heart talk because I can’t keep deceiving my brother like this. It’s just wrong.

  I toss and turn half the night thinking about what to say to Digger, and the only thing I can come up with is the fact that I saw Elliot Stevens at the Winn-Dixie. Digger has always teased me about Elliot, so he might understand my excitement. However, he might not understand why I would need his support . . . or he might. I’m not sure.

  Early the next morning, I get a call from Puddin’. “You’re plum brilliant, Shay. And thank you so much! I owe you one.”

  “I want you to talk to Digger about your job soon. He needs to know, and you can’t keep this up.” And I mean it, too. My involvement in Puddin’s scheme kept me up all night, and it takes twice as much concealer as normal to get rid of the dark circles.

  As soon as Digger walks into my office, he takes one look at me and lets out a low whistle. “You look rough, Shay. What’s going on? What’s got you in such a dither?”