Twisting my lips and frowning, I tried to look sad and hoped Reverend Atherton was convinced. I didn’t want him to think I was anything like my father.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Awake early, I’m glad to put yesterday behind me. For the last few days, it seemed I left a piece of me, if not my hard-earned money, everywhere I went: Big Jack’s office, the hospital, the art gallery, Mike’s office, Angelique’s house, the emergency clinic, the bakery. Tuesday’s people and events carved up a large chunk of my spirit, and I feel relieved Colton didn’t call out during the night, for both our sakes.
While brushing my hair, I gaze out the dressing room window overlooking the back yard. Beyond the garage, the far edge of my greenhouse glows more than it should at dawn, and for a flashing moment, I worry Angelique’s first cigarette of the day ended up on the window ledge, still burning. When I realize I failed to turn off the lights last night, I giggle in relief. How unlike me to be so careless.
Downstairs, I fill the coffee pot and leave it to perk while I tend to my greenhouse. The floor needs sweeping where the pine bark mulch spilled, and I move three more terra cotta pots to line up with the others. I inhale the warm humid air, satisfied the new sprinklers had dependably performed their overnight duties. Most of the geraniums and begonias will find a fresh, sunny home in the gardens of those office buildings I envision, and payment for such a big landscaping job will ease my financial burdens. With a smile, I turn off the lights.
In the kitchen, I set out two cups and saucers, remembering how much Angelique appreciates Grandmother Mason’s china. Before I can decide between eggs or oatmeal, the phone rings.
“I figured you’d be up early, after what happened at the bakery last night,” says Judith. “How many stitches did he get this time?”
“Not too many.” I grimace as I realize the whole town buzzes with the news. “So glad you called. Can you watch Colton for me this morning?”
She can’t come stay with Colton at our house, but she is willing to pick him up and take him home.
“Angelique and I are leaving here at a quarter ‘til to be at the doctor’s office by eleven. We can’t exactly drag him with us. He’s needs rest, and he’s still too groggy from the meds.”
“Hmm, busy day ahead. I’ve got orthodontist and gymnastics on my list, plus hair cuts for all three kids. Hold on.” She drops the receiver and calls her children to breakfast. Picking up again, she says, “Meredith gets her learner’s permit at the DPS by ten-thirty at the latest. Maybe sooner, unless we’re in line behind every other fifteen-year-old in the county. I’ll swing by and get him after that.”
“I’m tired already, just listening.” I try to sound impressed, or at least sympathetic. “Once Colton wakes up, I’ll explain to him that he’s to wait here. You won’t be much later than eleven?”
“Yeah. Or so. I’ll take them all back to our house for a good hot lunch.”
“I’ll guess he’ll be okay for a few minutes by himself.”
After we hang up, I ask Saint Trixie to keep an eye on her grandson.
You didn’t do such a good job with Jack. Here’s your chance to redeem yourself.
ANGELIQUE CRAVES COFFEE, no cream or sugar, followed by dry wheat toast smothered in peach preserves. When she finishes eating, she steps outside in the driveway to smoke and pick up the morning newspaper. I hope the neighbors don’t object to seeing her in nothing but her flimsy silk caftan.
“I like to work the crossword first thing,” she says when she returns to the kitchen. “It’s one way I make sure my brain still functions.” She hands me the front-page section with its headline about the new Alaska pipeline. “Wonder how all our Texas oil men will react to such a big development.” She dabs the tip of her pencil on her tongue and settles in her chair. “What’s a four-letter word for uh-oh?”
“I’m sure some of them are in for a shock.”
“Hmmm. Not enough blanks, but I do think it starts with the same two letters.”
Where others think nothing of a potty mouth reply, Angelique has never let a curse word or obscenity foul her ladylike lips. She gives me a crooked smile. “You-know-who will make another fortune on the deal before it’s completed.”
I sigh.
She rattles her paper. “When it comes to opportunity, Nate certainly has cornered the market.”
I want to argue that his public success means nothing to his family, that he was a complete failure at understanding the needs of his wife and his daughter, that there is no way to corner the market on forgiveness. Instead I slice a Gala apple and hand her a juicy section. “I have to give Mike a call.”
“Don’t you want to wait until after you talk to Colton?”
“I want to share my new theory with him about Jack’s note. Besides, Colton’s still asleep.”
“Just now I saw him from the driveway, standing at his window. He waved at me.”
“Then he should be downstairs soon.”
“Shouldn’t we see if he needs anything?”
“He’ll let us know.” I pick up the receiver.
“Maybe you should check. What if he can’t get his shirt on?”
I replace the receiver in its cradle, but pick it up again immediately and begin dialing. “You go.” After three digits, I hang up. “Sorry, I should remember not to over exert you. I’ll help him.”
“While I start the pancakes.” She shoos me through the doorway. “Where are those mixing bowls? Oh, baby, how I wish my precious Raúl were here.”
She remembers Colton loves pancakes, but does she also realize someone will have to cut them for him? It pains me that I already know Colton’s choice. I clench my teeth and head for the stairs.
As I enter his room, he looks anywhere but at me. I explain the nurse’s instructions. He has to bathe with his right hand in a plastic bag, sealed with a rubber band, held aloft away from the spray. While he showers, I sift through his drawer for tee shirts and pull out four of them. He shakes his head until I find the black one with the Rolling Stones logo. I leave the other three on the floor where he discarded them with the rest of his jumbled mess. During the hour it takes to get Colton cleaned up and dressed, he never utters a single word.
In the kitchen, Angelique chats and gossips enough for two people. When she reads Ann Landers aloud, she tilts her head toward Colton and snickers as if they share the secret handshake. He shoots daggers back at me every time I glance at him, and I feel neglected and left out. She would never cause such feelings on purpose, but he’s an ace at it.
“Holy smokes, the hour!” Angelique says. “Please say you don’t recognize me when next I appear. Glamour shall have transformed me.” She stands up and calls over her shoulder as she drifts toward the doorway, “Colton, remember to take your pills.”
I clap my hand to my temple. How could I forget? “Do you need something for pain now?”
He gives his right wrist a light shake, winces, and nods.
I hold out two tablets, a painkiller and the antibiotic, and wait for him to stretch out his left hand.
He doesn’t move.
I set them on the counter. “Milk is in the fridge.” I could add, “asshole,” but don’t want Angelique to overhear me on her way out of the room.
After I clear the dishes and turn off the griddle, I call Mike. We agree to wait to see how Colton feels by afternoon. I save my new theory until I see him in person, and I don’t tell him Colton thus far has refused to speak. It sounds too crazy.
I wish I could understand my son’s behavior better. What keeps me on track is the hope that everything will change once we settle Jack’s death as unintentional. Besides, I remember acting sullen at his age, especially after my mother died.
By ten-forty, Angelique hasn’t reappeared, so I go upstairs and knock on her door.
“Come in, darling girl. I’m almost ready,” she calls.
I open the door. Angelique sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, panting. “What’s wrong?” I as
k.
“Nothing. I can’t find my other earring. It dropped out of my hand.”
“Did you search under the bed?”
“Well, no. I . . . I’m afraid–”
“That’s where it probably landed.” I kneel down near her feet and pat the floor. “Slide over a little, will you?”
She raises her feet, and I spy the gold bauble on the other side of the bed, just beyond the white eyelet dust ruffle. “There it is!”
“Thank you. I’m vastly relieved. I thought maybe if I crawled under there, I wouldn’t be able to get back out. Then you’d find me weeks later, all skin and bones and very thirsty. And craving a cigarette.”
I retrieve the earring and hand it to her. “They’ll make you take them off for the doctor’s exam.”
She sticks out her tongue at me, and I laugh. It’s nice to find what you’re looking for, especially when you can’t locate it on your own.
My mother couldn’t find her diamond brooch. She was certain she had it yesterday afternoon at tea. The problem was, nowhere in her room at the hospital could it have gotten lost. All the furniture was plain and beige, and there wasn’t much of it. Her clothes hung in the closet, but it wasn’t crowded in there. I knew because I looked in the corners and, now that I was twelve, I’d grown tall enough to see on top of the shelf. The diamond brooch was nowhere to be found.
Daddy said not to worry about it. He would bring her another one next time we visit.
I asked her where she went for tea, but her answer confused me. I didn’t know they let her out of the hospital to go for tea at the Dorchester Hotel. Daddy shook his head.
This trip, I brought my sketchpad again to show Mother my drawings. She said she remembered Angelique, but when I passed on Angelique’s greeting to her, Mother looked like she didn’t know who I was talking about.
Daddy suggested we go outside and sit on the terrace. There were big wicker chairs with cushions and large woven backs shaped like fans. Mother explained they’re called ‘peacock style.’ She grinned when I stood behind the chair and peeked through what were supposed to represent feathers.
Mother turned her chair away from the sun, and the light that poked through it like little crystals gave me an idea. “Why don’t I draw your picture sitting in the chair?”
She patted my cheek and I sat on the stone steps with my sketchpad in my lap. After I chose my first colored pencil, I could almost hear Angelique’s voice telling me about negative space and light source. Mother made a good model, because she hardly moved at all. Her blue dress was a soft contrast to the white wicker, and her wrists were draped gently over the armrests. She took off her shoes and tucked one leg under her.
When an attendant brought two cups of coffee, Daddy disappeared behind his newspaper, probably because Mother had fallen asleep in her chair. They never talked much anyway. I decided to draw her face with her eyes open. I had gotten better at faces lately, using simple strokes for the nose and the chin. Since the front porch at home would make a better background than the hospital, I could save those details for later.
After about twenty minutes, I stopped to inspect my progress. I thought the dimensions and perspective were just about right. With a little more contrast, the filtered sunlight behind her would sparkle more. The last touch was to add a diamond brooch to her shoulder. She wouldn’t mind that it wasn’t exactly like the one she couldn’t find.
This could have been my best drawing ever. I captured my mother’s figure and expression perfectly. She looked beautiful and peaceful and happy. Maybe Daddy would want to frame it for his office wall.
“Okay, I’m finished!” I announced.
Daddy looked sideways from behind his newspaper. With a groan, Mother startled and sat up straight.
I stood up and turned my sketchbook around to show her. “What do you think?” I stepped next to her chair and held it out for her to look closer.
She smiled and praised my choice of colors. I felt really proud when she said how talented I was. As her smile faded, she frowned up at me. Her finger pecked the page like a nervous bird. Finally she asked me who the woman was.
“Can’t you tell?” I struggled to keep my voice from cracking. “It’s you.”
She shook her head violently and said no.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” I didn’t want her to see me cry. “I guess I didn’t–”
My father jumped up and called the nurse. “Put your stuff away now, Sally,” he ordered.
Sobbing, Mother wrung her hands and asked for her diamond brooch. Daddy knelt in front of her, almost knocking me out of the way. “Weesie, don’t do this,” he said in a quiet tone, as he took her wrists and held them. “Not in front of Sally.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I didn’t mean to upset her.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
Daddy didn’t pay attention to me. He talked to Mother in a voice so low I couldn’t hear what he was saying. She twisted to escape from his grasp, but he was too strong for her.
“Stop! You’re hurting her!” I tried to pry his hands away and free her wrists, even after Daddy warned me not to interfere. She moaned as if she was in pain, but I was the one who winced.
Breathless, I pulled on Daddy’s arm as Mother screamed. Without looking at me, he shook me off, all but shoving me against the other peacock chair. My sketchpad landed on the ground, and in the chaos, Daddy’s cup tumbled from the little table and spilled coffee on my drawing. The colors ran in a puddle. It was ruined. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but no one could hear my sobs.
The nurse came and I looked away as she gave Mother an injection. Daddy finally stood up while the nurse studied her wristwatch as she took Mother’s pulse.
After wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I ran back to Mother’s room and yanked open her closet door. I lifted all the hangers from the rod and threw her clothes on the bed. One by one I shook them to be sure the brooch wasn’t stuck in a pocket. Then I pulled her shoes off the shelf and turned them upside down, dropping them to the floor. I had worked halfway through emptying Mother’s dresser drawers when my father appeared in the doorway.
Frowning, he surveyed the mess. “Sally, what are you doing?” Maybe he was worried I was going to turn out like her.
“Looking for Mother’s brooch. It’s got to be among her things somewhere.”
He came to stand next to me, so close I detected the faint odor of cigars and carnation-scented soap. “It isn’t here.”
“How do you know?” I slammed the bottom drawer. “Did someone steal it?”
He sighed and picked up Mother’s hairbrush. “There is no brooch. She’s making it up.”
“You hid it from her.”
“She can’t . . . the doctor says she isn’t allowed to have any sharp objects.”
I glared at him. “You’re lying.”
It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have drawn her portrait with the brooch, so it wouldn’t remind her of what she lost. If only I could find that stupid piece of jewelry.
Angelique and I stop at the door to Colton’s room and I knock. He wears a headset as he lies sideways across his bed, long legs dangling to the floor. I tap him on the shoulder and say, “Judith will be here to pick you up in a few minutes. Try to get some rest until then.”
When he sees Angelique over my shoulder, he peels himself from the mattress and ambles toward her. She stretches out both arms and hugs him. “Be brave,” she says. “We’ll both be fine.” Her eyes glisten.
On the way to the garage, Angelique and I enter the kitchen, where the sweet toasty aroma of pancakes and maple syrup lingers. Colton has left the two pills on the counter. I stop and glance at the clock. Ten forty-nine. Shouldering my purse, I jangle my keys and press the button to raise the garage door.
“I remember driving you to the doctor’s office once, a long time ago,” Angelique says in the car.
“We found out I was pregnant.” I smile at her.
“Beyond the realm of my experience or imaginat
ion, but utterly thrilling anyway.”
We reminisce about that mysterious and joyful time all the way to the medical building and slip inside the door of the doctor’s office at two minutes after eleven. In the lobby, I sit and pretend to read recipes from Southern Living magazine while Angelique fills out paperwork for new patients.
Another fifteen minutes passes while we wait. I wonder if Judith has arrived at my house yet. No point in calling there. Colton won’t answer or speak to me if he did. Maybe I can phone Mike and ask him to find out.
As if by magic, a nurse in a white uniform appears at my elbow. “The doctor will see you now.”
We both stand up, but Angelique steps forward ahead of me. “I’m the customer,” she says to me. “You wait here.”
“Make her answer lots of personal questions,” I whisper to the nurse, loud enough for Angelique to hear. “Be sure she tells you everything,”
Once they vanish behind the doors to the inner sanctum, I ask the receptionist where the pay phone is located.
“Down the hall by the water fountain.”
As I walk, I feel the bottom of my purse for a quarter but recognize only two nickels instead. Waving a dollar bill, I return to the receptionist to ask for change. She acts like I ordered one of her kidneys on shaved ice, but she gives me four quarters from her purse.
“I only need one,” I say, nudging the other three toward her. To punish her huffiness, I leave my dollar on the counter. Good thing I don’t require change for a hundred.
There is no answer at Mike’s office. I hang up, retrieve my solitary quarter, and dial again. Still no Mike. I turn around, but return to the phone when I remember my neighbor across the street usually stays at home with her twin toddlers. She answers after five rings.
“Sally, you better get home right now. There are fire trucks in front of your house.”
“Oh, my God! Can you see what’s happening? Is anything burning?”
“There’s smoke coming from the back of your garage, and I heard some explosions a while ago.”
“Do you see Colton anywhere?”
Mason's Daughter Page 15