by Cathy Holton
Della said, “No, I haven't checked the cheese toasts, have you checked the cheese toasts?” and turning she moved off, slow and ponderous as a battleship.
Virginia giggled nervously. “It's so hard to get good help these days,” she said, but quietly, so Della wouldn't hear.
“I'm surprised you don't look into getting yourself some Guatemalans,” Eadie said. “You could bring a whole family up and pay just one but have the rest of them work like slaves, even the children.”
“Really?” Virginia looked interested. It took her a minute to realize Eadie was kidding. “Excuse me,” she said, patting her smooth hair. “I'll just go check on things in the kitchen.”
“I think you had her going there,” Lavonne said to Eadie, as they watched Virginia swagger toward the kitchen in her high-heeled sandals.
“If I'd known this was going to be a dry party, I'd have brought my own giggle juice,” Eadie said gloomily, lifting her iced-tea glass.
“Virginia's trying to wean Redmon off the Jack Daniel's, so I hope y'all don't mind going without alcohol for an hour,” Nita said. “I hope you can hang in there another forty-five minutes without a drink.”
“Damn, girl, do I sense a bit of sarcasm in your voice?” Eadie said.
“Just look at that poor slob,” Lavonne said, nodding her head at Redmon, who stood slumped against a wall, awkwardly clutching a glass of soda water. He was dressed in a dress shirt opened at the collar and a pair of khaki slacks. His hair was slicked back off his face and she'd made him remove his gold chains and rings. The overall effect was that of a cuffed dog who'd just had his ass shaved. “Do you think Redmon had any idea what he was getting into when he married Virginia?”
“She's whittled him down pretty good,” Eadie said, shaking her head. “Another couple of years with Virginia and he'll be nothing but a stick of kindling and a little squeaky voice.”
Even Nita giggled at this. Across the room Logan set his tray down on the coffee table. He glared at his grandmother as she stuck her head out the door and called to Whitney. Virginia hadn't said two words to him all night. He made her nervous and she overcompensated for this by chattering on in a bright cheerful voice and never allowing him to say a word. Under this barrage of false gaiety, Logan became more and more sullen and morose. Charles treated him pretty much the same way, only he spoke in an affected masculine voice and asked Logan serious questions about his future. Things like, Have you thought about college? or What do you think you'd like to major in? Logan, of course, answered these as smart-ass as he could. He had not yet forgiven his father for his childhood. Forget college. I'm thinking about going to tattoo school and opening up my own parlor right here in Ithaca, he told his dad once, and Charles's right eye began to flutter and he looked like he might be on the verge of a stroke. Or, hell, clown school's a possibility. I hear there's always a market for clowns. You can't beat the clown business for job security.
The problem with Virginia and Charles was that they didn't get Logan's sense of humor. They got caught up in the way he looked, six-foot-three with a Mohawk and Doc Martens adding another four inches, black eyeliner and a lip ring, and the truth was, he did look a little scary. But deep down inside he was a poet with a sense of humor, as the lyrics of his latest love song, “Kill Me,” could attest.
Nita waved at Logan across the room and he waved back and went to stand with Jimmy Lee.
“This place reminds me of a haunted castle,” Eadie said, glancing around the big room with its cathedral ceiling and tall windows and gaudy masculine decor. “It's kind of creepy.”
Nita smiled. “You should have seen it before Virginia redid the kitchen and dining room and got rid of the red carpet. She told me she's planning on redoing the whole house but she has to do it slowly so Redmon won't freak out.”
“Myra must be spinning in her grave,” Lavonne said, noting the Elvis photo collage and the Naugahyde seating arrangement with built-in beer cooler that Redmon was proudly showing off to the other envious males. “She had one of the nicest houses in our old neighborhood.”
“I think that's part of the problem,” Nita said. “When Myra was alive, Redmon had to live the way she wanted, and when she died he just went wild and bought himself the swinging bachelor pad he'd always wanted.”
“Well, I can't believe Virginia agreed to live here,” Eadie said. “This place gives me the creeps. I wouldn't be surprised to see Boris Karloff step out of one of the closets.”
“Oh look, there's Boris now,” Lavonne said, and when they all turned to look, she said, “Nevermind. It's just Redmon.” Eadie snorted and poked Lavonne with her elbow.
“Behave,” Nita said.
“And I still don't get why Virginia invited us,” Eadie said. “I mean, I know she and Jimmy Lee are business partners, which is kind of weird in itself if you ask me, and she's Whitney and Logan's grandmother, so that explains why you and Jimmy Lee were invited. But why did she ask us to come? What's she got up her sleeve?”
“Maybe she's just trying to be nice,” Nita said, ignoring the look Eadie and Lavonne gave each other. Lavonne folded her cocktail napkin into a tiny square. “Y'all should give her a chance. You never know what it is that makes some people act the way they act.” Nita clutched her glass and tried not to think about how foolish that had sounded. She hadn't told a soul about what she'd discovered about Virginia's tragic childhood, not even Jimmy Lee.
Lavonne and Eadie stared at her. Eadie said, “What do you know that we don't know? Come on, Nita. Spill it.”
Virginia came out of the kitchen with her arm around Whitney's shoulders. They were giggling and sharing some secret moment, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Nita was glad to be spared a discussion of Virginia's childhood. She was glad to see Whitney had found a family member she could confide it. Adolescence was a tough time and all the child- rearing books she had read said it was important for girls to have a strong female role model they could rely upon. A teacher, a counselor, an older friend or family member. Rarely a mother, the books said. But that was normal. All teenage girls are locked in a love-hate relationship with their mothers, but that would change over time, the books promised. Nita could not remember ever hating her mother. Loretta always insisted that Nita had been “sweet as a watermelon's heart” as a girl, but that was beside the point.
The dying sun caught in the tops of the distant trees, shimmering the glass of the tall windows and filling the room with a warm glow. It occurred to Nita that the people she cared the most about were here in this room, with the exception of her brothers and her parents, and no one expected Virginia to invite Loretta to anything. It would be like sticking two pit bulls in a kennel crate and telling them to be nice. Everyone in this room was connected in one way or another. They were like one big family. She was glad that Virginia had finally understood this, too. Still, she wished Charles could be here to enjoy this moment of family togetherness. She wished he could be here to witness how far his mother had come.
She walked over to where her daughter and ex-mother-in-law stood, arm in arm, still giggling. “What's so funny?” Nita asked, trying to get in on the joke.
Virginia lifted one eyebrow and looked at Whitney, who immediately stopped giggling. “Nothing,” Whitney said. She yawned and wandered off to talk to Lavonne and Eadie.
“We were laughing at something that happened to one of her friends at school,” Virginia explained.
“Oh,” Nita said. She smiled and sipped her tea. “Why isn't Charles here?”
“Well, of course I invited him, but he has to be in court early tomorrow. He's getting ready for a big case,” she lied. She had told Charles two days ago about her plans and he had reacted quite unexpectedly, refusing to go along with her scheme. She had, of course, proceeded anyway. She had spent hours today making discreet phone calls to several professors at the University of Georgia, to an official at the Georgia Bureau of Indian Affairs, and to a Creek activist named Leonard Twohorses. Then she had
called her attorney.
“I hate that he's not here to see the children and everybody together,” Nita said.
Virginia looked at her curiously. After a moment she shifted her gaze across the room to where Whitney stood talking with Lavonne and Eadie. It was too late to start wallowing in forgiveness and goodwill at this stage of the game. The plan was already in motion and Virginia was determined to see it through to the end. As her daddy used to say, She would see it through even if it meant hairlipping the governor and every mule in Georgia.
“I hate that he's not here to share in the celebration,” Nita said, still talking about Charles.
“Well, I'm sure he'll hear all about it,” Virginia murmured, staring at her granddaughter.
Charles would thank her for this one day, she was sure.
ONE WEEK LATER, JIMMY LEE ROSE EARLY AND DROVE OUT to the island. He was whistling, happy as any man who has just left the arms of his sleepy wife can be. He had brought her a gift the night before, a pair of emerald earrings. It was only the second gift of jewelry he had ever given her, besides her wedding ring, and when she opened the black box her mouth trembled and her hand flew to her throat. The note inside read, “These are not as pretty as your eyes. Accept them as a token of my love and a promise of the good things that are to come.”
When she read the note, she cried, and he put his arms around her and kissed her tenderly. Her hair was damp and smelled of lavender. Her bosom rose and fell with her quick breathing, and when he put his mouth there, she moaned. He had meant the words he'd written. He had spent hours running the Culpepper Plantation projections through his cash-flow software and he foresaw a time when he'd be able to provide for her in a way he'd never thought possible back when he was a poor carpenter hired to fix her pool house. Back when he was a struggling handyman and she was the beautiful Mrs. Broadwell, mistress of a house so large a family of four could go for days without running into one another. And now, if his luck held, he'd be able to buy her a house just as grand as the one she'd given up when she abandoned her husband and ran off with him to the wild shores of the Black Warrior River.
The sun rose insistently over the horizon, filling the truck with a warm hopeful glow. With any luck, the excavator would finish today and they could begin laying out the forms for the concrete pour. He drove with the windows down, letting the sweet humid air blow through the truck. It was early enough to be cool but by mid-morning the temperature would climb to ninety-five degrees and then he would have no choice but to close the windows and turn on the rancid air-conditioning. Sunlight glinted on the waters of the Black Warrior River as he crossed the small bridge, his tires clacking against the expansion joints. On the other side, the mason was putting the finishing touches on the stone entrance sign and Jimmy Lee raised his hand and waved as he drove past.
He turned left and followed the meandering asphalt road up the side of the ridge. They had decided to put the first spec homes up here, where they'd have the best view of the river and the heavily wooded opposite shore. At the top of the ridge he could see a car he didn't recognize parked along the road and beyond that the excavator's truck. The bulldozer was curiously quiet. Jimmy Lee pulled in behind the car and parked, wondering if Redmon might have brought some of the bank officials out, although it was hard to imagine Redmon or a bank official driving a Honda Civic.
Jimmy Lee turned off the truck and climbed out. He was still whistling as he began the gradual descent to the building site, catching his hands in the thick underbrush to steady himself. Beyond a grove of sweetgum and red oak he could see the bulldozer resting beside the lip of the excavated foundation like some giant sleeping insect. He heard male voices, and someone called out sharply, “Oh my God, look at this.”
He reached the rim. A mockingbird sang in the top of a poplar tree. He would remember this moment later, the sweetness of birdsong, the sun- dappled shade beneath the tall trees, the air swarming with insects but curiously still, too, as if all of nature held its breath in anticipation of his ruin. He would wonder, later, at the ominous stillness he had felt there in the forest, standing at the edge of the opened pit.
There were three men at the bottom, poking their fingers into the exposed red clay bank. One of the men, dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, sported two long braids. His name was Leonard Twohorses, Jimmy Lee would learn later, and what he was removing, reverently, from the dirt bank were pottery shards dating from the Mississippian Period. The other two men, one a professor from the University of Georgia, and the other an official from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, crowded around eagerly examining the shards.
From the corner of his eye, Jimmy Lee caught a movement and he turned to see the excavator leaning against a fallen hickory tree, smoking a cigarette and watching the men with an attitude of feigned indifference and disgust.
Jimmy Lee raised his hand and waved. “Hullo,” he shouted, his voice loud in the stillness of the dappled forest. The three men in the pit turned slowly. Leonard Twohorses returned his gaze, his eyes dark and steady. Pine pollen drifted in a wide shaft of sunlight and beyond the treetops the cold blue sky stretched endlessly.
IT WAS CURIOUS, ONCE DISASTER BEFELL HIM, JIMMY LEE REALIZED he had been expecting it all along. He was Icarus who, through pride and a desire for fame, flew too close to the sun in his wax wings. He was a simple carpenter who had thought he could play ball with the big boys, and the truly distressing part was the money hadn't been his to lose in the first place. It was Nita's. And now he had to tell her it was gone.
Redmon took the injunction filed by the State of Georgia in his stride. He was a veteran of many land development skirmishes and he knew it would take time and money, once the lawyers became involved, but eventually he would prevail. In the meantime he could live forever on the money generated by his investments, rental income, and bank accounts.
Virginia seemed even less concerned. True, she had gotten her finder's fee money up-front, but she didn't seem unduly concerned that any future income she might have made from the sale of the lots was now tied up in the courts indefinitely. She stood in the middle of Redmon's office, while Jimmy Lee sat with his head in his hands, and chattered on as if she had no idea what was going on.
“So you mean we've lost all our investment money?” she asked innocently. She was wearing a flowered Dior skirt and high-heeled sandals, and her little toes had been painted a deep blood red.
“No, Queenie, I've already explained this to you,” Redmon growled. “We don't lose anything. We just have to postpone the time we actually make money on the project until the lawsuit is settled. Who knew your old family plantation was built on a goddamn Indian burial ground!”
Virginia giggled and waved her hand above her head like she was swatting at a low-flying bird. “In one ear and out the other,” she said gaily. “I never did have a head for business.”
Redmon smiled at her fondly. She was leaving to go to Florida with Whitney the minute this meeting was finished. The car was packed and Whitney sat in giggling anticipation in the waiting room with her friend Carlisle, who had been invited to come. Redmon was tempted to go with them.
“Oh no,” Virginia said, when he suggested this to her. She widened her eyes and pointed to Jimmy Lee with her chin. “Someone needs to stay here with poor Mr. Motes. We can't all abandon him to run off to Florida, now can we?”
Redmon sighed and glanced at Motes who still sat with his head in his hands. He wasn't crying but he looked on the verge of a breakdown and Redmon wasn't sure what advice he might offer. Something along the lines of If you're gonna run with the big dogs, son, be prepared to hike your leg in tall grass, which is what Redmon's daddy used to say to him when he tried, and failed, at some major undertaking. This comment had always spurred Redmon on to new attempts at success but he wasn't sure it would have the same effect on Motes. The boy looked like he'd been pistol- whipped.
“I better get on the road,” Virginia sang, twirling around so her flowered skirt frothed ar
ound her shapely knees. “We hope to be in Destin before dark.”
“Well come on over here and kiss me, girl,” Redmon said and, in front of the despondent Jimmy Lee, she had no choice but to do as she was told.
Jimmy Lee slumped in his chair, oblivious to all but his own pain and suffering.
“Aw, come on now, son,” Redmon said, winking at Virginia as she went out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her. “We got a lot of stumps in the field but we ain't finished yet. This is only a slight detour not the end of the road, and once the lawyers get involved they'll get that injunction lifted and it'll be back to business as usual. In the meantime, all we got to do is sit tight.” Redmon got up and went over to the cabinet where he kept a bottle of Jack Daniel's hidden from Virginia. He took out two small shot glasses and poured a couple of jiggers in each. “You want a drink?” he asked, and when Jimmy Lee didn't reply, he said, “I've never yet found a sickness that a little Jack can't cure.”
Jimmy Lee lifted his head and slumped back in his chair with his hands hanging loose in his lap. His eyes were dull and glazed, and his face was the color of ash. After a minute he roused himself from his stupor.
“Sure,” he said wearily, reaching for the drink. “Why not.”
NITA WAS SPEEDING TOWARD VIRGINIA REDMON'S HOUSE WHEN Jimmy Lee called. He sounded like he might be crying but she didn't stop, she didn't even slow the car down, racing down the busy streets clogged with rush-hour traffic and praying that she would get there in time, praying it had all been a terrible misunderstanding.
“Nita,” he said. “I don't know how to tell you this.”
She passed a slow-moving minivan, swinging over into the left lane and swerving back to the right, just in time to miss an oncoming truck. She turned left at one of the older neighborhoods, taking a shortcut, her tires squealing against the pavement. Live oaks rose against the darkening sky their branches draped with Spanish moss. In the distance, a line of ragged storm clouds rolled in, followed by the low rumbling of thunder.