High Cotton

by Debby Mayne

  “I’m not one hundred percent positive, but I don’t think she’s keeping anything else from you.”

  “I hope not. All I’ve ever wanted to do was be a good husband, father, and provider.”

  My brother is so sweet but clueless. “Why don’t you just ask her and let her know that you’ll support her in whatever she wants?”

  “But what if she wants—” He cuts himself off. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, all she wants to be is a good wife, mother, and caretaker.” As I say that, I realize that my brother and Puddin’ are perfectly suited for each other, and as much as I appreciate their relationship, but wouldn’t want it for myself, I’m still a tad jealous. It sounds contradictory, but who can account for feelings?

  I wish I hadn’t told Digger that Shay has known about my job for a while. When he said he planned to call her and ask why she didn’t tell him, I realized that I was betraying the person who had to risk her brother’s trust to protect me.

  My mama used to tell me that lying is never good because not only do you have to remember who you told what to, you wind up with the lies pilin’ up on each other and eventually falling like dominoes. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening now.

  Sometimes the guilt I feel overwhelms me and practically renders me useless. After seeing Shay in church yesterday, I’m worried she might never speak to me again. Normally, she makes her way over to me for a quick chat before she goes to the Bible study, but not yesterday. When I glanced up to look for her, she’d disappeared.

  If it weren’t for having to take care of Jeremy’s needs, I might have called in sick today. I look at my child’s face that’s smeared with grape jelly. He should be able to find his mouth at his age, but he gets more food on it than in it.

  Now the guilt kicks me even harder. Have I somehow neglected our youngest child just to fulfill something inside me that should have waited another couple of years?

  “Mo’.” He thrusts his sippy cup toward me.

  I smile down at his sweet little face as I take the sticky cup from his pudgy little hands. “Sure, sweetheart.”

  I pour half apple juice and half water into his cup before snapping the lid back on and handing it to him. He grins up at me. “Kankoo.”

  At least he knows he’s supposed to say “thank you” when I do something for him. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  He chugs some of his juice before putting the cup on the table. “Skoo?”

  “Yes, you have school today, but we have to get you cleaned up first. Are you finished?”

  With a nod, he extends his hands toward me. My heart melts as I pick him up and carry him to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Out of all of our children, Jeremy has been the easiest baby and toddler. I’m sure I was a nervous mom with Trey. Hallie and Brett couldn’t have been more different, and they fought constantly. I think I spent more time breaking up their fights than lovin’ on them like I do Jeremy.

  Maybe I’m not such a bad mom to Jeremy, after all. He seems well adjusted, and he enjoys his friends at our church preschool, where he’s learning praise songs and short Scripture verses. He doesn’t speak well, but he can make noise and sort of carry a tune. As much as I tried to teach the older kids when they were younger, they squirmed until I let them go play with their toys. Jeremy might be developing some of his skills later than the others, but he’s getting a more solid Christian foundation. I’m pretty sure that’s the most important thing we can do as parents.

  Now that I think about it, maybe I neglected the other kids more, even though I stayed home with them full-time. I doubt Trey ever attends church now that he has a choice, and the other two . . . well, they find every excuse in the book to stay home on Sunday mornings.

  After I finish getting Jeremy ready, he throws his arms around me and gives me a huge, sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek. Then he pulls back and cups my cheeks in his sweet little hands. The smile on his face warms me from the inside out, and I’m tempted to call in sick so I can stay home and cuddle with him.

  “Skoo?”

  I fight back the love tears as I nod. “Yes, sweetheart, let’s go to school.”

  He squirms to get down, so I lower him to the floor. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the door.

  I walk him into the education wing of the church, where the teacher and her assistant greet him. As soon as he sees one of his friends, he runs into the classroom squealing with delight, and both of them fall into the middle of a pile of foam blocks, scattering them everywhere. Their giggles grow louder.

  His teacher smiles at me. “Jeremy is such a happy child. Everyone around him adores him.”

  I lift my chin but force myself not to let on how proud I am. “Thank you.”

  “No,” she says as she glances over her shoulder, then back at me. “Thank you for doing such a wonderful job with him.”

  How does she know I need the validation? It must be written on my face, but that’s fine. Now I can go to my job feeling like I own the world. I love my work, my husband accepts it, and my child is well adjusted, even though he’s a little behind on his speech. That’ll come later, so I’m going to try hard not to worry about it. Not today. This is a day for celebration.

  Amanda glances up as I walk in, then she does a double take. “You’re floating a couple inches off the floor. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

  I head back to the office where I drop my purse, then I go back up to the front. “I just feel good today. Not having to keep this a secret sure does make it more fun to come here.”

  “I hope you continue feeling that way.” Amanda closes the cash drawer and leans against the counter. “Now that Digger knows you work here, can you help out a little more with the customers?”

  I blink. Today keeps getting better. “I think I can manage that.”

  “I am so relieved. I didn’t want to hire anyone else, and it’s getting to the point where we need more help.” She tilts her head but breaks eye contact. “I have some personal things I have to do today.”

  Then I remember that I can only work when Jeremy is in preschool. “Don’t forget that I have to pick up my little boy by two.”

  “No problem.” She smiles. “Do you think you can do the books in between customers? I’ll pay you a little extra.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Most weekday mornings aren’t terribly busy, even though there are some regulars who prefer to come in when it’s not crowded.

  “I should be back by lunch.”

  It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to push her out the door. “Then go. I’ll be fine.”

  Amanda reaches beneath the counter and gets her handbag. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Now get on out of here before I throw you out.”

  She laughs on her way out.

  And that’s when my wonderful day ends. Amanda has barely been gone ten minutes when I get a call from Jeremy’s preschool.

  “He’s been hurt, Mrs. Henke. We had to call an ambulance.”

  My heart nearly stops. “Where is he now?”

  “On the way to Pinewood General.”

  “Slow down, Puddin’. I can’t understand a thing you’re saying.” Between her hiccupping sobs and disjointed sentences, the only words I can make out over the phone are “my baby” and “hospital.”

  She clears her throat and sniffles. “Can you come to the shop and keep an eye on things until Amanda gets back?”

  “I’m sorry, Puddin’, but I’m at the office—”

  “He’s hurt, and I can’t just leave here.”

  “Who is hurt?”

  “Jeremy.” A loud sob nearly deafens me, so I hold the phone away from my ear. “They just called me from the preschool.”

  Now I’m really confused. “Where is Amanda?”

  “She left me in charge of the shop. I’ve tried calling her, but she’s not picking up.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand if you have
to leave.”

  “Please, Shay, this is the first time she’s ever trusted me with the shop, and I don’t want to mess up.” She stops to blow her nose.

  I glance at my desk with papers scattered all over it. Most of my work this morning involves reading agreements and signing them, with an occasional phone call for clarification—nothing urgent. “Okay, Puddin’. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  “You are an angel.” She sniffles again. “Hurry up.”

  After stuffing the papers into my work tote, I go up to the reception counter. “There’s been a family emergency, so I have to leave for a little while. If anyone needs me, I’ll have my cell phone on.”

  A concerned expression washes over the receptionist’s face as she nods. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Puddin’ is standing at the front window when I pull up in front of the shop. By the time I get out of my car, she’s out the door, waving. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on.”

  Without another word, she disappears around the corner, leaving me to figure out what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never worked in a clothing shop, but how hard can it be? Fortunately, I have a little bit of cashiering experience from a job I had during college. But unfortunately, cash registers have changed, and I have no idea how to operate the one in the shop.

  I don’t have time to pray that no one needs a new dress. A carload of women from the Junior League pulls up behind my car, and they pile out. I hold my breath, hoping they walk right past the shop, but I should know better.

  One of them narrows her eyes. “Shay Henke, what on earth are you doing here? I thought you—” She stops herself, raises her eyebrows, and lifts her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  I force a smile at the women who never gave me the time of day when we were younger. “Don’t worry about it. My brother’s wife works here, and she had an emergency, so she called me to come help out since she couldn’t find Amanda.” I quickly clamp my mouth shut as I realize I’m rambling.

  “I hope it’s nothing serious.” I can’t remember her name, but I do know we had tenth-grade biology together. She and I have always traveled in different circles.

  “Me, too.” I glance around. “What can I help you ladies with?”

  They all look at each other before turning to me with skeptical looks on their faces. “We all need dresses for our Junior League Fall Ball.”

  One of the women laughs. “Well, Rita needs a dress today. The rest of us are going to crash diet for a week before we start looking in a couple of weeks.”

  Rita! That’s her name. I offer up a silent thank-you and gesture toward our ball gowns. “I’m not sure what all Amanda has, so please feel free to look around.”

  Rita casts a frown toward me before turning to her friends. “I don’t even know where to begin. Amanda has always started a room for me and brought the dresses to me.”

  I open my mouth to apologize, but one of her friends takes charge. “Why don’t you find one you like, and while you’re trying it on, the rest of us can bring you things we think you’ll like?” She turns to me and gives me a discreet wink before tilting her head toward Rita.

  “Okay.” Rita walks up to the rack and stares at it like she’s never gone clothes shopping before. I vaguely remember that she was voted “Best Dressed” back in high school, so I wonder if she’s always had things brought to her.

  She finally selects a blue sequined gown that even I, with my untrained, unfashionable eye, know will overpower her. But I don’t say a word as she lifts it off the rack and carries it into the fitting room.

  While two of her friends start perusing the ball-gown section, the friend who spoke up walks up to me and whispers, “We tried to talk her into waiting since the Ball isn’t until fall, but she’s afraid everything will be picked over. She’s spoiled rotten, but we love her anyway.”

  I stifle a laugh. I’m relieved I’m not the only one who’s been thinking that thought as I go back behind the counter and pull out one of the vendor agreements that I need to read.

  “I think this is the one.” The sound of Rita’s voice catches my attention.

  When I glance up, I’m shocked by the gaudiness of the gold-glitter dress she’s looking at in the mirror. “Are you sure?”

  She spins around to face me, a humongous grin plastered on her face. “I think I look like a princess.”

  Her friends stand behind her, all trying hard to stifle their laughter. At this moment, I realize they’re getting their kicks at her expense.

  “Did you choose this dress?” I ask as I walk out from behind the desk to get a closer look.

  She shakes her head and points to her friends. “No, they brought it to me.”

  “You know . . .” I fold my arms, lift my hand to my face, and tap my chin. “I think you’ll look good in anything you try on, and I think there might be something even better for you.”

  “You do?”

  The expectant look on her face touches my heart—something that surprises me. I nod. “Yes, in fact”—I walk over to the rack and quickly skim the selection in her size before pulling out a lighter blue one that matches her eyes—“this one is really lovely.”

  She turns to her friends. “Do y’all think that’s too plain for the ball?”

  Before they have a chance to respond, I speak up. “It might look plain on the rack, Rita, but once you put it on, it’ll come alive. You don’t need all that glitter to look fabulous.” I have no idea how to speak the language of fashion, but I do remember some things from my college Marketing 101 class. “It’ll bring out the color of your eyes, and with the right accessories, you’ll be the prettiest princess there.”

  I cast a narrow-eyed look at her friends and silently dare them to disagree. They actually look a little intimidated as they just stand there and awkwardly wait for Rita to make her decision.

  After a tense few seconds, she nods and reaches for the dress. “I doubt anything will come even close to the one I’m wearing, but I don’t have anything to lose by trying it on.”

  She disappears into the dressing room. Her friends have clearly gotten the message, so they avoid eye contact with me once she’s out of sight. Good. I go back behind the counter, read the last paragraph that I’d started, and sign my name to the agreement. I laugh at myself because it’s the boldest signature I’ve done in a long time.

  Yes, there’s definitely something empowering about putting haughty folks in their place. I reach into the jewelry counter and pull out a necklace that I think will look perfect with the dress. I go back to the fitting room and hand it to her. She gives me an apprehensive look but takes it.

  When Rita walks out of the fitting room, it’s almost as though someone turned the lights on brighter. She looks prettier than I’ve ever seen her, and that’s saying a lot since she’s always been one of those girls people couldn’t stop staring at.

  I give her friends a don’t-mess-with-me look before I give Rita my full attention. Her mouth hangs open as she looks at herself in the mirror.

  “Shay, this is the most beautiful dress in the entire world. If I didn’t care about messing up my makeup, I’d give you the biggest hug ever.”

  I smile and try to contain my joy. “It looks lovely on you.” Now I know what it feels like to work in a dress shop, and I like it. In fact, I like it so much I’m downright giddy.

  Rita turns to her friends who are now clustered together like little minions eager to serve their queen. “What do y’all think?”

  “Maybe you should—” The friend who seems to be the ringleader glances at me, stops herself mid-sentence, and smiles at Rita. “I think it looks beautiful. You should get it.” The other two women give enthusiastic nods.

  “Then it’s settled. Now all I have to worry about is the shoes.” She turns to me. “What color shoes should I wear?”

  I look down at the hem of the dress and slowly shake my head. “Something simple that
won’t compete with the dress.”

  “I have some glass slippers.”

  Of course she does. I smile and give her a thumbs-up. “Perfect.”

  “I’ll go take it off now so you can wrap it up for me.” She turns and floats back to the fitting room.

  Panic sets in. Not only do I not know how to run this cash register, I’m not even sure what she means by wrapping it up. The cashiers where I shop drop my things into a bag that might or might not have tissue paper, but that’s the mall for you.

  I’m about to ask if she can come back for the dress later, after Amanda gets back, when I see a blur of motion on the other side of the large display window. Puddin’ comes walking in, sending a flood of relief through me.

  “How’s Jeremy?” I ask, trying not to show anything but concern.

  Puddin’ rolls her eyes. “He fell on the playground and skinned his elbow real good.” She flips her hand from the wrist. “There was absolutely no reason for them to take him to the hospital. He was bloody and all, but it was just a skin abrasion.”

  “I’m sure they wanted to make sure nothing was broken,” I say.

  She shrugs. “More like wanting to cover their . . .” She looks around and apparently notices the customers for the first time. All four of the Junior League ladies are standing there, listening to everything. She narrows her eyes and gives me a questioning look. “How is everything here?”

  “Just fine.” I gesture toward Rita, who hasn’t yet taken off the dress. “Doesn’t that dress look lovely on her?”

  “Oh my.” Puddin’ walks over to Rita, gently places her hand on her shoulder, and turns her around. She stands back to take a better look. “You look absolutely stunning.”

  Rita grins. “Shay picked it out.”

  Puddin’ gives me a look of incredulity. “You did?”

  “Yep. Looks like I’m a natural with fashion.”

  Now she looks me up and down and lets out a deep chuckle. “Maybe with other people’s fashion.”

  I realize she thinks I’m strong enough to take comments like that, but deep down, I wither. Of course I know I’m not a fashion plate, but I’ve always thought of myself as somewhat stylish.