Chapter Five
Joe ended up helping me move all the furniture into the dining room, then helped me tape. We didn't talk much while we worked, and after my initial nervousness of being near him in such tight quarters, I got used to his presence.
When we finished taping, he looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You goin’ to paint in those clothes? Since you’re new to this, you’re bound to get paint on ‘em.”
I hadn’t considered that, along with most everything else in my life, it seemed. I went to my bedroom and dug through the drawers for an old t-shirt and pair of shorts, self-conscious about changing with Joe in the next room. I assured myself it was unlikely he had X-ray vision. If he had it in his head to attack me, he would have done it already.
When I returned, he had drop cloths spread all over the floor.
“I don’t remember buyin’ that many.” I said, puzzled.
“You didn’t. A couple are mine. You could have made do with the two you bought, but you would have to keep movin’ them around. It’ll be easier this way.”
My mouth dropped.
He saw my hesitation. “If I overstepped my….”
“No,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m marvelin’ at how nice you’re bein’ and tryin’ to figure out why.”
His eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about. People can be nice without an underlyin’ motive.”
“Not to me they don’t.”
“Why not?”
Our eyes locked and he studied me, trying to figure out what I meant. He obviously didn’t know me yet. This friendship won’t last. I warned myself. Don’t get used to him.
“Never mind,” I mumbled and went out into the kitchen. My heart stopped at the sight of the shopping bags. He had to have gone through them to get out the drop clothes. Did he see the nightie? But the Walmart sack looked undisturbed. Feeling lightheaded, I took out the curtains and set them on the table, wadded up the bag with the nightie still inside, and stuffed it into the dishtowel drawer. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and went back into the living room.
Before I knew it, we were both painting. I wanted to remind Joe that he claimed he wasn't going to help, but I knew better than push my luck. He was better and faster at it than me.
When Joe finished a wall, I stepped back and took a good look, clasping my hands to my chest. “I love it!” I exclaimed, giddy with happiness. “It looks like early mornin’ sunshine!”
He turned to me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I suppose it does.”
We were almost done with the first coat when Violet burst through the side door. “Oh, thank God you’re all right! I’ve been tryin’ to call you all day! Why won’t you answer the phone? I thought somethin’ happened to you! What on earth are you doin’?”
Her rapid-fire questions made me I feel like I’d just been pelted with a BB gun. “I’m paintin’ the livin’ room,” I glance over my shoulder. “Well, we’re paintin’ the room.”
Violet was livid. “Why would you be redecoratin’ when Momma’s not even buried in the ground? It’s bad enough that you’re accused of killin’ our mother, now you’re redecoratin’? What are people gonna say, Rose?”
If Violet had slapped me in the face, it couldn't have hurt worse.
Joe cleared his throat. “I know this is none of my business, but Rose isn’t redecoratin’. She’s coverin’ up the blood that was spread all over the wall. I offered to help her since she’d never painted before.”
Violet’s face told me that she never thought about the aftereffects of a violent crime on home furnishings.
“And her phone is out until Wednesday,” Joe added.
Violet wasn’t about to let her anger go so easily. “See? All the more reason not to stay here! You have no phone if you get into trouble or if somethin’ happens!”
Defiance riled up and I put a hand on my hip. “I got a cell phone this mornin’. I can use it if I need to.”
“You what?”
“It’s the twenty-first century. Everybody has a cell phone.”
“Rose, honey, why do you need a cell phone? Honestly, who are you gonna call?”
I bit my lip to keep the tears from falling and looking even more like a fool in front of Joe. “I’m not leavin’ with you. Violet. I’m stayin’ here.”
We glared at each other, both of us sure we were right and the other was wrong. I knew I’d thrown her for a loop. Right there in my half-painted living room, I realized the truth of it. I had always done what I was told, whether Momma, who did it out of spitefulness, or Violet, who loved me dearly and thought she knew what was best. No matter the reason, I’d always done what I was told. Standing up to Violet threw her world off its axis.
“Goodbye, Violet,” I said in an icy tone. I loved the stuffing out of her, but I was so angry I could spit.
“Rose…” Realizing that her bulldozing had backfired, she softened her outrage.
“Goodbye, Violet.” If I backed down on this, I’d never be able to stand up to her again.
Violet looked torn as she turned to the door.
Joe took a step toward her.“I’m right next door if Rose needs me.”
She let her anger loose on him. “You were right next door when our Momma was killed, too. A lot of good that did her.” And with that she whipped around and walked out the door.
My mouth dropped open in shock. I’d never seen Violet be so rude.
Joe shut the door behind her and paused.
“Joe, I apologize for my sister’s behavior.”
He turned around to face me. “She’s right, you know.”
“What?”
“I was next door when your mother was killed and I didn't hear a thing. You’d be safer if you went with Violet.”
It took me a moment to recover from my shock. “Go home, Joe.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Go. Home.” I enunciated each word slowly so there was no misinterpreting my meaning.
“Rose, wait a minute.”
I walked toward him and opened the door. “I appreciate everythin’ you’ve done to help me, but I’m done bein’ told what to do. Thanks for all your help paintin’ and thanks for installin’ the locks. Let me know how much I owe you.”
Joe stood in the doorway. “Rose, I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to boss you around.”
“I know, but you weren’t even supposed to help me paint anyway, remember? You were just goin’ to give me some pointers. You did, now you can go home.”
Joe went outside, looking over his shoulder as he climbed down the steps.
Ah, crap. I felt a vision coming. Go away, Joe. Go away. “The dog’s goin’ to get out the hole in your back fence.” That one confused me. Joe didn’t have dog.
“What?”
“See you around,” I said, shutting the door and locking it.
I started to paint again, feeling lonely. Part of me was sorry I sent him away, but I knew I’d done the right thing. Besides, he would have figured out soon enough that I was a freak.
Several hours later, I finished the last coat. The sun had set, making it difficult to see the true color. Still, I could see it was bright and cheerful, yet not overly yellow. It should have made me happy but the fight with Violet ate at me, stealing my joy. Violet and I never argued and it made me question everything.
Was I being selfish? Was I stupid staying in the house? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to kill me. I decided Violet had been right the night of the murder; Momma’s murder was just a random crime and it would have been me if I hadn’t fought with her earlier that day.
Nevertheless, I was still uneasy going to sleep that night.
The next morning I called Betty at the DMV and told her I wouldn't be into work until Thursday. She insisted I take off the entire week, and I could only imagine Suzanne’s reaction to that. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought I killed Momma just to get out of a four-day work week. S
eriously, I’m smarter than that. If I was going to go to that much trouble, surely I would have picked a five-day week instead.
Next, I called Deanna Crawfield’s office to make an appointment but her receptionist said she had a family emergency and couldn’t see me until Thursday afternoon.
The floral shop confounded what little decision-making skills I had left. I only hoped my choices would meet Violet’s approval. While I couldn’t care less what the town thought about Momma’s funeral, Violet did. My newfound independence may have disappointed her, but I hoped I could make it up with this.
On the way home, I stopped by a local dress shop. I walked through the door and a wave of disbelief washed over me. I was shopping for Momma’s funeral. I shook it off, determined not to let Violet down in this either since part of the funeral judgment included the attire of the surviving family members.
Normally, I would go in the store and hide behind the racks, hoping to go unnoticed. I didn’t really want to be noticed today, but I decided it was time to be more assertive.
“Excuse me,” I choked out to a saleswoman, ignoring my rising anxiety. “I need to buy a dress for a funeral.”
The middle-aged woman motioned me to the back. “Are you goin’ to the funeral of that poor woman who was murdered the other night?”
Her question didn’t surprise me. Murder and mayhem were big news in Henryetta. I nodded.
She leaned close, half-whispering. “They say her daughter did it. Just bashed her head right in.” She tsked after this.
My stomach churned. I suspected that was what the entire town was saying.
“Are you friend or family?”
I didn’t want to lie but it seemed the best course of action. “Friend.”
The saleswoman eyed me up and down, tilting her head and squinting her eyes.
My cheeks began to flush. She knows who I am.
“You look like you’re a size six, am I right?”
I suppressed a sigh of relief. “Yes.”
“I have several things that would work for a cute little thing like you.”
I looked around to see who she was talking to. I was the only one in the store.
Handing me several hangers, she led me to a dressing room. I tried on a simple black dress first.
The saleswoman knocked on the door. “How are you doing in there?”
Watching myself turn from side to side in the mirror, I was surprised how much older I looked. Surely, Violet would approve. “I think this dress will work. But, uh, do you have something that would be good for the visitation tonight?”
My request excited the clerk and she returned with several skirts and blouses. With her help, I settled on a pale green skirt and a white sleeveless blouse.
“Do you have shoes to match?” she asked.
I paused and that was all the encouragement she needed. She returned with several pair for me to try on. The first were black pumps with two-inch heels. I hoped I could figure out how to walk in them before the funeral the next day. The other was a pair of white sandals. As I slipped them on, I felt a vision coming.
“Your daughter is sneakin’ out of the house to see her boyfriend at night.”
The woman appeared startled. “What? How did you know I had a daughter?”
I shrugged. “Lucky guess.” Thank goodness I was done shopping because she gave me a wary look.
I paid for my things and drove home, overcome with exhaustion. I wasn’t used to shopping and wondered how people did it all day. I barely lasted a half an hour.
When I opened the kitchen door, the soft glow of the living room caught my eye. The warmth made me eager to put up the curtains and move the furniture back in. I briefly entertained the idea of asking Joe for help, but his car wasn’t in his driveway. It was for the best. I needed to learn to do things on my own.
It was early afternoon, and I didn’t have to meet Violet at the funeral home until six o’clock. I had plenty of time to work on the living room. I hung the new curtains and moved the chair and the television back in, trying to figure out how to arrange them. The lone chair looked ridiculous so I decided to bring out a slipper chair tucked in Momma’s room.
I pushed open the door, the smell of dust and Estee Lauder perfume wafting out. Tears stung my eyes. Momma would never be in her room again.
I took a deep breath and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The curtains were pulled shut, her bed made. I hadn’t been in Momma’s room in years and it felt like walking into a museum. I knew at some point I’d have to clean it out, but not now. I couldn't bear to think about it. Right now I only planned to take her chair. The upholstery of ivory with red flowers and green leaves would go perfect in the living room. I scooted it down the hall and placed it next to the other chair. It would work for now, but there was no denying I needed a new sofa.
I wondered how I could even be considering furniture when Momma lay in a box several miles away.
Since I stirred up a lot of dust, I took a bath before I dressed in my new clothes. A glimpse of myself in the mirror told me my scraggly hair wouldn’t work with my new outfit. After finding some bobby pins in a drawer, I put my hair in a French roll, something I’d seen Violet do. I wasn't used to working with my hair though and it took me multiple tries until I finally got it to where it looked passable. Surveying the results, I decided Violet would approve. I ate a quick sandwich and headed to the funeral home.
Violet and Mike were already there. Violet took one look at me as I walked in, clearly not expecting what she saw.
“Rose, you look…different.” She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Good different?”
She pulled away and studied me. “Good… I think. Older. Just different.”
Mike kissed me on the cheek. “You look beautiful, Rose. Violet just prefers that you look seventeen years old is all.”
That wasn't the reaction I hoped for, but I’d take it. Mike was probably right.
Daddy’s younger sister, Aunt Bessie, had already arrived along with her husband, Uncle Earl. They lived in Lafayette County, the next county over, but I’d only seen them a few times since Daddy’s funeral. Momma made it no secret she wasn’t partial to them. I always suspected it had something to do with Aunt Bessie being younger and more stylish. Uncle Earl rarely spoke but that made him guilty by association.
They both gave me warm hugs.
“Look at you, Rose, all grown up. You’re beautiful, child.” Aunt Bessie gushed.
“Thanks, Aunt Bessie.” I shrugged off her comment. “It’s good to see you.” I meant it. She was one of the few people in the world who understood me.
She put an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your momma.”
I thanked her, wondering why I didn’t feel more grief. Mostly I felt freedom.
A man in a suit told us it was time. The five of us walked down a hall and he opened a door to the Magnolia Room, revealing an open casket against the far wall flanked by sprays of flowers. They made me feel like we were hosting a garden party and Momma was the hostess everyone came to see.
Laid in her coffin, Momma looked different. Kind of like a new and improved Momma, only she was dead and couldn’t enjoy it. They had fixed her hair and put a small hat over the spot where her head had been smashed in. She actually had on makeup, though it was kind of pancakey. But even so, she looked good, better than I’d ever seen her.
I stood in front of the coffin unsure of what was expected of me. Daddy’s funeral was a hazy memory. Overcome with grief, I never wondered what to do. As I stared at Momma, I dug deep inside, finding my sorrow buried under all the pain she’d inflicted on me for so many years. Maybe Momma was right after all. Maybe I did have a demon.
Violet stood next to the casket and patted Momma’s hand, tears falling down her cheeks. I couldn’t help but wonder what she shed her tears for: the loss of the Momma we had or the loss of the Momma we always wanted.
Soon, the funeral home director returned.
“People are beginnin’ to arrive.”
I remembered from Daddy’s funeral that it was the family’s duty to stand at the casket and greet the guests. Momma and Violet had done it before. I knew I couldn't get out of it this time.
Momma didn't have very many real friends, but everybody and their brother showed up, hoping to get a glimpse of the hole in her head. An elderly member of the Henryetta Southern Baptist Church limped over and patted Violet’s hand. “Your mother was a dear woman who will be greatly missed.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Are you talkin’ about Agnes Gardner?” I had a sneaking suspicion she was at the wrong visitation.
Violet dug her elbow into my side. “Thank you, Mrs. Stringer. It helps so much to hear that.”
“She looks good, so good I almost didn’t recognize her.”
I almost laughed, but my side was already sore. I didn’t need any more bruises.
As the evening went on, I discovered that visitations are all about lying. Momma never looked so good, both physically and in personality, as she did dead. We heard how wonderful, kind, clever, and generous she was, adjectives no one in their right mind would have used a week ago. People patted our arms, our hands, and one old coot actually tried to pat my behind. We got hugs, advice and offers of food. I say we, but it was really Violet. Most people talked to Violet, either outright ignoring me or staring at me, fearful. I suspected a good number of them thought I hid a rolling pin in the folds of my skirt, ready to whip it out at any moment and start bashing heads in.
While Violet greeted our guests, playing the perfect hostess, I listened to the people who stood in front of the casket.
“They must have some amazin’ morticians here. I heard her whole face was smashed in, but you can’t even tell.”
“She got what was comin’ to her. She was a mean old witch.”
“That youngest girl of Agnes’ has never been right in the head. I ain’t surprised one bit. I just hope the police have the sense to lock her up before she starts murderin’ the whole town.”
In a room full of people, I never felt so alone. Tears burned my eyes and I wondered how much longer this would last but knew it was nowhere close to being over. Half of Henryetta showed up to see what they thought I’d done. Just when I was about to bolt, I saw Joe, standing two people back in line, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. While everyone else’s eyes were focused on the casket, his gaze was on me. His mouth lifted into a small smile.
Rose Gardner 01 - Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes Page 6