Of course, she didn’t think her actions were at all questionable. She’d drag home the hunky bartender from the corner dive once in a while. The bartender might be thirty years her junior but nobody said a word. They’d just shake their heads and say, “That’s Kitty.” That young bartender might be there all night—no, he would be there all night. Nobody ever raised an eyebrow. It was Kitty, carefree and crazy. With all this stress piling up, I decided a big dose of Mother Kitty was just what I needed. Like all good Southern girls, when something awful has happened, we burst into tears and call our mothers, and I guess I’m no different from the rest of them.
14
It was just after ten when I heard the back door slam for the second time that night. I had high hopes that this second visitation might result in a little less guilt than the first.
“Mother, I’m in here,” I called. I could hear her heels pad across the tapestry carpet in the living room and turn to head into the kitchen where I was waiting.
“Mama’s here, baby. What the heck is going on? You sounded awful on the phone. What in the world is this hissy fit all about?”
Let me make something very clear. In the Deep South, sometimes women cry and get very upset. These moments are known around here as hissy fits and sometimes they’re called conniption fits. Now, don’t get these confused. The hissy is short and loud and abrasive, often ending as quickly as it came on. The conniption fit, on the other hand, is an unfortunate day-long event. It’s chronic. There is clearly a difference and we don’t have them, we pitch them. That night I was having what we can consider a major hissy fit. Kitty grabbed me as I stood up and she held me tight against her ample bosom. Her rotund rear end looked bigger than ever in her lime-green suit. I was so glad to see her—which was actually quite a surprise. I needed to take that in for a minute. The sight of Kitty making me happy was not an everyday occurrence.
Kitty and I had always been close, but had not always gotten along. She was…hmm, how do I put it? Different.
Kitty had been married a few times, and after she divorced Dallas’s father several years ago she went back to telling everyone she was “between husbands.” She was still in the real estate business and selling houses and she was great at it, too. She had a very driven spirit and an outgoing personality—maybe just a little too outgoing. Growing up, I hated the endless parade of husbands. I knew my mother had a big heart and a lot of love to go around, and I learned to accept that she had never found the right man to settle down with. But she had a tendency to keep her relationships secret until she was ready for her big announcement. It always began like this.
“Oh, Blakey, guess what?” And I knew, Here comes another fool. She would sweep out her left hand from behind her back to reveal the sparkling diamond on her ring finger. I think it was her way of trying to protect me—an attempt to keep the bad apples away from me completely. But even the ones she finally conceded to marry would never replace my daddy. To Kitty’s credit, she never tried to push any of those men on me. They were her husbands, not my fathers, and she never tried to force me to accept them as if they were.
My dad had been a self-made man, a local politician, even though he had been raised on the poor folk side of the tracks. He represented those people well; he was the head of the local service clubs and had a personal line to the governor’s office. He’d accomplished so much—all before he died in a boating accident down on the Gulf Coast when I was six. I always thought Kitty kept marrying because she was busy looking for him. Nobody would ever replace my daddy. No one. I knew that, but Kitty kept right on trying.
Dr. Sandoval was husband number two. I liked him, but Kitty was so loud and her real estate business drove him nuts. That marriage lasted about six years. She would answer her phone seven days a week and never said no to a client. Her career came first. I was as frustrated as he was with her lack of attention, but when he finally had his nurse take his temperature one too many times, Kitty had enough and sent him packing.
Kitty and I were so different. I wanted predictability and she thrived on adventure. She was loud and ruthless and I was emotional and…well, okay, I was loud, too. But at least I try to think before I speak! Not Kitty. She was such an unpredictable mother, but she loved to love me and show me off.
She carried a massive purse at all times and was quite round herself, so she took up a lot of personal space. That purse. My God. It was like Mary Poppins’s bag. I will never forget, as long as I live, the one day I was late to school and I was eating buttery toast in the front seat of the car as we drove. I was in seventh grade and it was an early morning and the skies were overcast.
I said, “I’m getting crumbs all over me! I wish I had a plate.” And my mother actually pulled a plate right out of her purse and said, “Here you go, baby,” and just kept right on driving as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a plate in your purse. I sat there with my toast and my mouth dropped open. But that was just Kitty.
Though Kitty and I will never be the same, and she drove me nuts most of the time with her sheer presence, this was one time I was thrilled to feel the heavy weight of her purse on my back as she squeezed me tight. She was quite obviously reveling in the fact that I needed her, something I’d never admitted. As she held me tightly, I became limp in her arms and began to cry.
“Baby, what is it? What did he do?” I loved her for that. For just knowing what it was before I even said a word. And she immediately blamed Harry—she was always on my side. “I know,” she soothed as I continued to cry. “I always thought that stuffed shirt would eventually push you away.” Before she could say another word, I pulled away.
“No, Mother, it’s not Harry. It’s me.”
“Well, baby, let’s go sit a minute and get this outta you, okay? No time like the present to vent. I’m a big believer in venting.” We walked back up the hall to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Spill it, sweetie. Mama’s listenin’.”
I told her everything. Not that I meant to, but the venting thing was working. It felt so good to get it all out. I told her about Lewis, the body parts, the DNA tests, the hot-pink-stained cigarettes in his condo. I told her about seeing Dallas, and how she got a phone call after Lewis disappeared. I was still tearing as I spilled. My soul kept shouting, “Watch yourself, you’re with Kitty!” But, God, if I couldn’t trust my own mother then things really were bad. She’d always been there for me before, and I had no doubt she would be here for me now.
Kitty was a fixer, not a commiserator, though. She was another Sassy Belle for sure; a strong Southern woman you can count on in a crisis, smart as a whip and full of attitude. I had to remember that. Maybe deep down I knew that. Once I spilled the dirty details, I wasn’t going to get, “Oh, poor Blake. Mama’s here for you.” Instead, I’d get, “Oh, quit your whining, honey, it’s not that bad. Don’t be a pain in your own ass. Let’s fix this.” And she’d get to work fixing whatever it was at the moment. In other words, she was good medicine for both a hissy fit and a conniption fit.
I hesitated for about two seconds before I decided to tell her about the letters. And then about Sonny.
“Oh, my word! I knew that cop still loved you. You know, I ran into him about a year or so ago at Ruby Tuesdays? He had his significant other with him, that milk-toast cardboard wifey, if you ask me. He asked about you, and when he spoke of you, those big brown eyes of his just twinkled like the night sky. He’s always gonna love you, Blake.”
“Mother, I’m married.” I chose not to tell her he had since gotten a divorce. That would have opened up a huge can of Kitty worms!
“Well, for goodness’ sake, it was only a kiss. Any tongue?”
“Mother!” I winced.
“Well, no tongue, no sex, no harm…and no fun.” She burst out laughing at herself. “I really don’t see the problem here. What else you got?”
I shook my head and tears fell onto the table. “Please,” I said. “I’m guilty.”
“Do you love him?”
“I did. I do. I just…I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe it was just the rain and the darkness and all of this emotion. It’s understandable. Let’s just pretend it didn’t mean anything and enjoy it for what it was. It did feel good, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Too good.”
“Maybe you are more like me than you wanna be. One’s just not enough.” She smiled, only half joking. “Now, about those letters.”
I looked at my cell phone. Three missed calls. “I’d better call Harry first. They were expecting me an hour ago for Chinese takeout at the station.”
On the first ring, Harry picked up. “Blake! Thank God! Where the hell…”
Before he could finish I told him Kitty had stopped by and I had lost track of time. “No, everything’s fine,” I said. “Just catching up. Any results yet?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve been calling. The body parts do not belong to Lewis. The rest is inconclusive.”
“Well, that’s good news! At least we don’t have a murder,” I said. “Go home and get some sleep and I’ll be home in about an hour.”
“I assume you ate something with her, then?”
“No, honey.”
“Lost your appetite when Kitty arrived?”
“Yeah,” I said, knowing full well I lost it the minute Sonny laid his lips on me and started making out with me in my grandmother’s moonlit kitchen. “I’ll be home soon.”
As I was putting the cell phone in the pocket of my sweatpants, I looked up to see the lime-green suit rummaging through the linen closet in the hall.
“Mother!” I shouted.
“Blake, where are the letters? I’ve got to see them.” She kept dragging things out and towels and sheets were falling to the floor in a heap.
“Mother! Have you been in the sauce tonight or what?”
“Blake. This is family money we’re talking about. Oh, here they are!” she announced. And she began walking back to the kitchen table with the stack of letters from Lewis.
She got through all of them in about twenty minutes, then put them all down on the table. She offered nothing but a “humph” as she chewed on the stem of her bedazzled reading glasses.
“Well, it looks like the old woman gave away the farm. The question is did she get it back?”
She began processing everything out loud about Lewis, Vivi, even Dallas and the phone call. Finally, “There’s got to be more. More to this that we don’t know. The only way to get the answers we need is to go straight to the source.”
“Mother, Lewis is missing, possibly dead,” I reminded her. “Are you planning a séance or something? You know I’m not a fan of those Ouija boards.”
“Not Lewis, honey. We need to talk to Meridee.”
She stood up and put her glasses in her purse. “Now go home, Blakey, and kiss your husband, and see how he makes you feel. If you really feel guilty, you’re an ass, and that means you still care about being with Harry. But if you feel the least bit justified or satisfied with Sonny, you better find out why.” Well, that was Kitty—always ready with a game plan.
Kitty scooted her chair back under the kitchen table, pulled and straightened her skirt, leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Mama loves you, Blake. I’ll handle Meridee. Don’t you worry, she’ll never know you found those letters. I’ll tell her I was looking for pictures to make a gift for her and I stumbled upon them. Okay?”
“Mother, please be careful, and for once, use some tact. I can get you a definition of that if you need it.”
Kitty giggled. “Good thing you’ve got my little sense of humor. Your mama will be fine, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Go home now and rest it on the pillow next to your man and leave the rest for me.” She turned back to me just before she stepped out the door. “I know y’all weren’t really plannin’ my birthday party the other day since all this mess was goin’ on. But, there’s still a month before the big day, so baby, y’all have plenty of time.”
She winked, grabbing her keys and her giant bag, and with a jingle of her bangles, she was off.
15
The morning sun streamed across my face as I turned over in bed. Harry was standing to my left, in front of the large mahogany antique armoire. He was putting his cuff links into his starched, white European cotton oxford, staring into the mirror as usual. God, he did know how to dress. He looked absolutely perfect—straight out of a magazine. He strived for that and expected it from me, too. I knew that as he got closer to that Senate run later this year, he would need even more “perfect” out of me. But I wasn’t sure I could play the part of Senate wife. All the nodding and smiling and keeping quiet. I couldn’t begin to imagine how un-opinionated I would have to be. I started squirming in my own bed at the thought. I didn’t even remember crawling into bed with him the night before. I must have been exhausted after all of my encounters at Meridee’s. I stretched and moved in bed, getting his attention.
“Mornin’,” he said without taking his eyes off the mirror. He kept fussing with his cuffs. “What time did you get home last night?”
“I don’t remember. You know Kitty. Talk your ear off all night long if you let her.”
“Well, I’m glad you had a chance to see her. I know how much you’ve missed her,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
I kept watching him and trying to gauge my feelings toward him. Am I feeling guilty, or do I want more with Sonny? What am I doing? I turned completely over and buried my head in my down pillow.
“That bad?” Harry asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I assured him sheepishly. “You know Kitty. She just wears you out.”
“I know,” he said. “You know, last night Sonny smelled just like rose petals and it reminded me of that French milled soap you use all the time. I told him he smelled a little prissy and he just laughed.”
Harry was tying his tie and just kept talking. I was dropping off a building with the shock of that statement ringing in my morning-groggy head. I was so ashamed. I turned over and faced the window so he couldn’t see my face. “Well, I guess some people can be full of surprises.” I was not used to being a bad girl. Did Harry know something? I wondered. I worried.
He turned and went into the bathroom to finish his hair in the larger lighted mirror.
“Are you seeing Vivi today?” He changed the subject, thank God.
“Yes,” I said.
“Okay, well, you need to let her know about the DNA results.”
“Wanna see her later?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” he answered. “You can bring her up to speed. Call you later. I’ll be at the office. Wanda Jo called last night and she needs me to drop by and sign some papers this morning. She has a delivery to make to the courthouse on the Spiller case later today. Then I’ve got lunch with Sonny. Join us?”
“Uhh…” How would I face Sonny? Sitting there between
these two men, it would be written all over my face. “I’ll see if my schedule works out. Hopefully, I can catch y’all.”
But by then he was already halfway out the bedroom door, answering his phone as he left. I sat up in bed as I heard the door slam, reaching for the phone and pushing speed dial 1. I needed Vivi this second.
“Hey, Blake, any word?” She answered on the first ring. She was clearly anxious for any news.
“Yes, actually. There was no match on the body parts, which means you were right! That was definitely not Lewis! Tests came back inconclusive on everything else—the clothes and the lipstick. But, Vivi, you need to get over here now!” I was talking at the speed of light. “Honey, so much has happened since I last saw you that I cannot even talk about it on the phone.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
* * *
We were on our third cup of coffee by the time I told the whole sordid tale of my moments with Sonny, both at Meridee’s and the one just hours previous at the police station during the storm. I also spilled the dirt on Meridee’s letters, Kitty’s jet-fueled arrival and departure, and my unimaginable guilt.
“Good God,” Vivi kept saying, shaking her head, sipping from her cup, her eyes wider and rounder with each new revelation. There was silence between us after I finished, and she stared into her coffee mug deep in thought. I waited, not exactly sure what would come next.
“Do you love Harry?”
My mouth opened wide for a quick answer, but no words came. I was shocked, but not at the question. I couldn’t believe my lack of an answer and how confused the question had made me feel. I wanted to say, Of course I do, but all I managed was a weak nod of my head. Another “Good God,” from Vivi, and I knew I was all too transparent.
“What? I mean, yeah…yes. Of course I do!” I said. “I do!” But I was a little too defensive. “Oh, Vivi, I don’t know what happened with Sonny. I just… It felt…familiar…safe, you know?”
The Sassy Belles Page 17