“Thank you for tellin’ me. And for givin’ me a shower,” she added, feeling shy. She was in totally unfamiliar territory. She stared at the shiny bath tile. In all her life, no one had ever given her a party. This seemed inconceivable, and not something she could tell anyone.
Emma was saying, “Well, honey, of course I’m givin’ you a baby shower! And I’ve designed these really cool invitations. I know you will want to market them. They—and the entire party theme—are goin’ to be your color pink!”
Belinda thought how Emma knew things about her. Things like how she did not like surprises, and did like the challenge of marketing and a particular shade of pink. Things that likely Lyle, whom she had pledged to love and cherish until death did them part, and with whom she had sex and had gotten pregnant, did not know.
Emma, the quintessential Southern lady, elaborated on her shower party plans. It would be held at Emma’s lovely house, with only those people Belinda really would want to attend, and lots of pink decorations, and chicken salad and a salmon dip—both from Paula Deen’s magazine—a light punch, sugar cookies with pink sprinkles and an apricot aspic.
Emma said, “Apricot was as close as I could get to pink. It will be so pretty.”
When Emma was about to hang up, Belinda could not resist asking, “How do you know so much about me?”
“Like what?”
“That I wouldn’t want a surprise party, and just who I would not want to come…and my favorite color pink.”
“Well…I don’t know. I guess because you’ve told me.”
Belinda thought about that answer as she got out of the now-cold tub and wrapped herself in her robe.
Lyle’s words came back to her: You don’t let me in.
Understanding came in that sudden fashion: she kept him out by not telling him the things that let him see into her heart.
And the same with her mother, she thought, jerking tight the belt of her robe.
Lyle had breakfast waiting for her. Two boiled eggs (she ate just the yolks, high in cholesterol but easy on her stomach), a banana and a cup of vanilla yogurt. Breakfast was no longer an inviting proposition. But she smiled as she sat down, because he was watching her with a worried air.
“Are you gonna start pickin’ things out for the nursery?” Lyle asked hesitantly.
Belinda dug out the yolks. “Yes…I’ve been lookin’.”
“Well, I thought I’d paint the wall this weekend, since it is my off weekend. You’ll need to pick up the paint.”
She watched him spread strawberry jam thick on an English muffin.
“Are you really gonna paint?” She decided she could risk just a tiny bit of strawberry jam on a rice cake and got up to get it from the cabinet.
“Yeah.” Pointedly said. “The walls really need it.”
“Oh.” Then, “Have you ever painted? We could hire someone. That’s what I thought we would do.”
“I’ve painted.” He was emphatic. “I painted the rooms of my mom’s house, and my sister’s, back before I moved up here. It isn’t somethin’ you forget. And Giff’s gonna help me.”
“Okay. I’ll get it at MacCoy’s today.”
On her way to the bedroom to dress, she veered on down the hall and opened the door to the room Lyle had emptied of his weight equipment.
Sunlight poured through the window. Running her gaze over the room, Belinda also ran her hand over her belly.
She and her daughter had made it well past six months now. The most serious chance of miscarriage was behind them.
“I can do this, sugar, if you can,” Belinda whispered.
Moving quickly, she went to her bedroom, where she retrieved two magazines from her night chest drawer. She drew them out in a manner similar to someone hiding illicit pornography. Carrying the magazines to the empty room, she looked at the colorful pages of nursery decorating ideas and then around the room. Her mind bloomed with images.
Pink. A bright shade. Her pink, Emma called it. Accented with white and lime green. Old-fashioned dotted Swiss at the window. Crib and dresser of natural oak. She could stencil butterflies all over this one wall. Easy, the article said. Belinda had never done such a thing.
And—no question about it—a door cut in the wall to connect it with the master. Maybe a French glass door. Or none at all. She was such a heavy sleeper—what if she did not hear her baby cry? The prospect caused her to press the magazine to her heart.
“Oh, here you are.” Lyle stood in the doorway. “I’m headin’ out.”
“I want a door there.” She pointed. “I want to be able to hear the baby and get in here quick.”
“Okay.” He grinned.
Then she burst into tears and hid her face in her hands.
“Honey, what is it?” He pulled her against him.
She held the magazine page up to him, saying, “I—I want to stencil these…but-terflies…but I have-n’t ever done anything like that. Will…will you help me?”
“Sure I will, honey!”
He was rewarded by her smile.
Her feet had expanded. She got new walking shoes to help encourage her. Bright pink.
“You aren’t likely to get run over wearin’ those,” her mother had commented when she saw them.
Belinda sat at her desk chair and tied on the shoes. Then she slipped her cell phone into the pocket of her dress. She had grown out of her walking suit. She felt like a ripe giant peach, with bright pink feet. There truly was no way anyone was likely to run her over.
Yet someone did in the next moment, just as she headed for the front of the store. She was looking down at her pink shoes, and apparently Andy Smith was not looking where he was going, either. He came barreling through the doorway and smacked into her so hard that he about knocked her over. She would have fallen had he not grabbed hold of her.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah…I’m fine. Really.” She was mostly stunned to see him, and so close. And he was sort of dancing her around as he moved into the back room.
“Uh, I was just…on my way to the restroom.”
“Uh-huh. It’s right through there.”
“Thanks.”
She wondered at him being in the drugstore, and that maybe he had a bladder control problem. Then, rubbing her belly as if to reassure her little girl, she thought that, no matter her size, she needed to keep a lookout.
Her mother was taking care of the soda fountain, which was all but empty except for Winston at a table reading the paper and a man at the counter whom Belinda did not recognize. Judging from his appearance (he had carefully styled longish hair and wore a sport coat), he was a stranger passing through. Her mother was serving him a large latte and engaging him in conversation. He was middle-aged, which put him twenty years younger than her mother but still within flirting range, apparently.
“Mama, I’m off for my walk. I’ll be back in about half an hour.” Continuing toward the front door, she paused in an uncharacteristic manner to kiss the top of Winston’s head as she passed.
He looked up with some surprise.
She had surprised herself, too, but she only smiled. It was rather nice being pregnant. One could do things and not be thought of as strange. It was all put down to hormones. She wondered if she could get away with shooting a few people.
Sticking on sunglasses, she turned toward Church Street and walked with determination.
Just then she saw the surprising sight of Andy Smith at the corner. He stepped off the sidewalk and headed with his long-legged lope across the street. He must have gone out the rear door of the drugstore and come around. The man was a puzzle.
The weather was staying sweetly pleasant longer into the day. This made walking easier for her. The short distance east on Main, turn up Church at the corner by the sheriff’s office, puff a little as the sidewalk headed uphill, but then she turned back west on Porter. Such a lovely street, with tall trees and deep yards. Then down First to Main again, and one full loop around Main
, if she could get herself to do it.
“Here.” Julia Jenkins-Tinsley jumped out the door of the post office, startling her, as she thrust forward a small contraption. “It’s an iPod.”
“I know. I’ve seen them.” And had deliberately avoided them. She drew the line at a cell phone.
Julia said, “I have this one all fixed with music that’s good to walk to. All you have to do is press this and you’re set. I know you don’t especially like walkin’. Maybe this will help.”
“Uh, thank you.” Belinda was touched by Julia’s generosity and tender expression.
“Use it as long as you want. I got a new one. I’d walk with you and keep you company, if you didn’t walk midmornin’.”
Belinda stuck the earpieces in her ears and waved as she headed away. She did not want to give Julia any chance to figure out a way to walk with her.
At that moment Reba McEntire’s voice rang in her ear. “Walk on…”
Julia was a clever sort of person.
Day after day, she continued her routine, although her strides became slower and slower as her belly grew and she had to manage to balance it. The orange tabby cat that lived somewhere in the alley or a house right behind took to joining her. He would walk along beside her like a dog, his tail a flag flying. She named him Bubba.
Belinda would admire Sybil Lund’s chrysanthemums and exchange greetings with Leon Purvis, who had in his retirement taken up making his yard look like the cover of Home and Garden. In a manner that she had never before experienced, she would gaze with fascination at the five little children playing in the fenced yard of the house where Connie Barco ran a day care.
During the middle of the day, she worked at the drugstore, and in the early afternoon it was back home for her rest, where she discovered that Agatha Christie audiobooks worked better than meditation CDs. Very often she fell asleep before the end, because she had a mind to figure out the plot. When she would arise, she would take her blood pressure, and it would be the lowest of all day.
She began to actually like to walk, and to rest. Her careful diet, however, was another matter. She got very tired of carrot and celery sticks. Sugar-free cookies were a help, as was a good cup of tea sweetened with agave, which she allowed herself each day. Yet any of that fell far short when fears or overpowering aggravation assailed her.
It was bound to happen, of course. She went into the Quick Stop at the end of her walk, telling herself she was simply going to get a bottle of cold water, which she definitely needed. Upon passing the display of Little Debbie snack cakes, however, her hand reached out of its own accord and grabbed a package of chocolate cupcakes. Right in front of Paris Miller at the checkout counter, she tore open the package and took an enormous bite of the sweet cupcake.
Oh, my goodness. She closed her eyes as her tongue delighted in the ecstasy of rich flavor and melting texture.
Then she opened her eyes to see Paris snatch the second cupcake and begin wolfing it down. Gazing at each other, they continued to eat.
Belinda, finished and, breathing deeply, said, “Well, I feel better. Thank you for helpin’ me out.”
“You’re welcome,” said Paris, still chewing.
Belinda was lying on the couch reading, when, much to her surprise, Fayrene appeared in the dining room entry.
“You don’t have to get up,” said Fayrene. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s okay.” Belinda had succeeded in getting herself into a sitting position.
“I just wanted you to know that I brought your supper. I put it in the refrigerator.”
“Uh…thank you.”
“Well, Lyle came by and said you’re havin’ a little trouble with your appetite. I know you like Woody’s chicken salad.” Fayrene came slipping into the room and down onto the edge of a chair, while casting curious glances around. Her gaze returned to Belinda. “Lyle, he’s crazy about you, you know.”
Belinda couldn’t find anything to say to that.
“We left off the pie—in your supper—but Woody sent a small piece of his corn bread…and a jar of his split-pea-and-ham soup that was on the lunch menu today. He says it’ll keep for a couple of days. None of us could remember if you like that.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”
“Oh, I was on my way to the laundry, anyway. So, how are you doin’?” Fayrene’s eyes scanned Belinda.
Belinda looked down at herself. Could people not see she was growing enormous, tired and bloated?
“Fine,” she said. It was easiest, and she did not want to whine. “Catchin’ up on my readin’.” She lifted the paperback book in her hand—The Complete Guide to Parenting—and gestured at the four other books lying around her legs, three more books on parenting and one Agatha Christie novel.
Fayrene looked at the books, nodding. “That’s good.” She took up one of the parenting books and glanced over it. “I always wanted a baby. Guess that sounds silly, but I did.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” said Belinda. Improbable, but not silly.
“Well, things never worked out, and I guess that’s for the best. I’m happy for you. I really am. You’ll be a great mother.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Belinda, startled. The entire visit was a surprise.
“You just will. You mother everyone.”
Fayrene left moments later. Belinda listened to the back door close. Then she managed to get herself up off the couch. She went to the kitchen, where she brought the foam container of chicken salad from the refrigerator. The food was all arranged in a pretty fashion.
As she sat at the table and ate, she thought of what Fayrene had said. Maybe it was true that she did mother people.
CHAPTER 19
Vella Blaine Gets Married
CORRINE PENDLEY CAME HOME THE WEEKEND of Aunt Vella’s wedding. She came with a new red dress and high-heeled shoes to match for the occasion, a new haircut and six weeks of living away on her own under her belt.
As she drove Aunt Marilee’s car around town, drinking in the familiar sights with a thirsty soul, Corrine suddenly thought she might cry. Home. The word swelled her heart and made a lump in her throat.
Yet she saw things that she had not seen before. How small the town seemed. How shabby and old-fashioned much of it looked. She was different, she thought. More mature. She sat up straighter. In the few weeks she had been away, the girl she had been had rather disappeared. She felt very much a young woman now.
She cruised to the school. After the metropolitan campus of the School of Science and Mathematics, the old school looked minuscule, and it was funny to see the little ones playing in the field. A yearning touched her to be with her friends inside, yet something told her that she no longer fit. It was quite a confused feeling. She never had really fit very well with others of her own age. She had always felt so much older.
Then, “Hi, Mr. Grace!” She waved out the window at the florist, who was arranging a display of yellow, orange and crimson chrysanthemums in front of his shop.
Maybe that girl was still there inside, after all, she thought, laughing.
At the stoplight at First and Main, she looked in the mirror to make sure of her hair and her lipstick, and the bit of mascara she wore these days. Then she turned down First and drove to the Texaco, pulling smoothly to a stop in front of the pumps.
The next instant, here came Jojo out the station door. The girl flung herself into the passenger seat with a wide grin. “So look who’s home! Like the haircut.”
“What are you doin’ out of school? Oh, Jojo!” Corrine bent over to hug her younger friend.
“How ya’ doin’, Corrine?”
Larry Joe was at her window.
“Oh, fine…glad to be home.”
He smiled at her, like he always did, and she smiled back.
“Aunt Marilee said to fill it up and charge her.”
Larry Joe went about putting fuel into the car, and Jojo explained that she was out of
school that morning because of an early-morning dentist appointment and had to return after lunch. Corrine barely heard a word. She was busy looking in the side-view mirror, watching Larry Joe.
Jojo leaned over and whispered something that Corrine did not fully hear.
“What?” Corrine leaned toward Jojo.
“He broke up with Miss Huggins,” whispered Jojo.
Corrine’s eyes widened, and Jojo nodded.
Then Larry Joe appeared, washing the windshield. He looked in at Corrine through the glass, and she looked back at him, until she did the silliest thing. She jerked her gaze from Larry Joe, turned to Jojo and said, of all things, “Want to go get a Bama Pie at the Quick Stop?” in a childishly high-pitched tone. She could have died.
When Larry Joe handed her the receipt, she lowered her tone to a woman’s voice as she thanked him. She headed the car out onto the street with her foot heavy on the accelerator, like a woman who knew what she was doing.
All the way to the Quick Stop, she quizzed Jojo about the facts of the breakup, but all Jojo repeated was, “I don’t know.”
Finally Jojo said, “I really don’t know anything but that they broke up. I don’t know when, I don’t know why. I don’t even know if they won’t make up…but Mama doesn’t think so. That’s what she said when she told me and Mason this mornin’ at breakfast.
Corrine bit her lip and focused on her driving. Having an accident because she was distracted over Larry Joe Darnell would be highly embarrassing, and not at all mature.
It turned out that Paris Miller was working the cash register at the Quick Stop. She hugged Corrine in her cool manner, explaining, “Half the class is off at a pep rally, and I’m failin’ algebra, anyway. I like your hair.”
“Thanks.” Corrine put a hand to her hair. She had always been somewhat awed by Paris, but just then she realized that view had faded. She noted changes in her friend. Paris had always been both lean and gloomy, but now she seemed gaunt and totally without spark. And as Paris turned away to return behind the checkout counter, Corrine saw a large bruise on her friend’s neck.
Little Town, Great Big Life Page 21