“I’m glad you had a happy ending.”
“I did, babe, but it was hard. And it required a blend of the old and the new. If I do this new, old routine, it’s revisiting the old shame, the bad memories, as well as the good ones.”
“But it’s gonna be worth it, right?”
Her smile is every bit the Vegas vixen. “You tell me.”
“The answer is so simple—when it’s not my own life we’re talking about.”
“And what about your life?”
“Tate said I was letting the past make my decisions.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve created a new life here and become a new person. I don’t want to remind everyone what I was and how bad things with my mom could be.”
“Are we talking about the memorial service?”
“It won’t leave me alone.”
“Because it’s unsettled business. It’s one of those pivot points we’re offered. I could’ve become the most pristine In Between wife, denying every bit of the old me, or I could boldly acknowledge who I’d been and how it shaped who I’d become. Either decision would’ve given me a different result.”
My finger traces over a swirl in the rug beneath me. “When my mom got locked up, I was able to pack up so much embarrassment and shame. I didn’t have to look at it every day.”
“But it’s still there, until you deal with it and accept it for the trauma that it was. Shame is a nasty foe, and it wants nothing more for you to shove it in the back of your closet. Show it who’s boss, girl. Invite it to the best memorial service it’s ever seen.” She sniffs and pats her hair. “Did I mention I’ll be glad to provide a vocal performance? How do you feel about an operatic interpretation of a Dolly Parton song?”
I bite back a smile, knowing this is what Maxine does. She makes me bare my soul but throws me smiles and snacks along the way. “I think I’ve been holding out on the memorial because it would dredge up old stuff. But also because I’m mad at my mom. Like withholding the funeral is her punishment.”
“But instead, it’s punishing you.”
“It is,” I admit. “I’m kind of miserable.”
Maxine returns her gaze to the TV, watching the frozen past version of herself. “How about we hold hands and face our pasts together? We meet those old traumas, give them a little time to come out again, then show them the door?”
A memorial service. Am I seriously going to do this? What was it Betty of the Mushroom Chapel had said? “One day I’ll love my mom—and myself—with all our flaws and failures.”
Maybe that didn’t happen in an instant. But instead happened one step—or high kick—at a time.
Pushing play on the video, Maxine gives it life again. “Katie, you can walk away from the old life and still value it, recognize it for the ways it shaped you, and will always be with you. It’s your choice whether it’s with you in a destructive way or a whether you use it to propel yourself to a new level with bigger, better days.”
“There’s so much uncertainty in my life right now.”
“Then, thank God you’ve got me to be there with you every bit of the way.”
“You’re not singing at the memorial.”
Her face falls, but she holds her head up like her husband once told her to do. “And to model my point, I’ll try not to let that slight destroy the rest of my life.”
Laughing, I pick up my water and hold it for a toast. “Okay, let’s have a memorial.”
“Wonderful!” Maxine clinks her glass with mine. “I can smell the casseroles already!” She hugs me to her, her arms full of strength I’d like to borrow. “You know, sweet pea, if I’d have accepted defeat in those hard days, I wouldn’t have made wonderful friends and lived to see this town finally uphold me as the queen that I am. You’re not a quitter either, Katie Parker Scott.”
I give a teary smile. “Because I get that from you?”
“No.” She gives me a smacking kiss on my forehead. “Because you get that from you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The next morning, I open my bleary eyes, remove the wad of hair in my face, and check the time on my phone.
12:45 pm.
Okay, so I clearly bypassed morning, church, and any hopes of pancakes from the Scott kitchen. But after rehearsing with Maxine all night, I didn’t get to bed until after five a.m. We watched every one of her Vegas videos at least twenty times, some of them even more. By the time I left her house, Maxine had a routine, a plan for a costume, and despite her fatigue, a renewed twinkle in her eye. Her dance for the talent portion of the pageant is going to knock the judges’ socks off.
At least someone’s got her problems all ironed out.
Meanwhile, Tate’s still not my boyfriend, and I’m failing college. I’m also awaiting a response to the email I sent Dr. Maddox in which I apologized for quitting the play, swore my umbrella-offering allegiance, and begged to have my part back.
Ten minutes later, with my teeth brushed and my hair pulled into a ponytail, I sit on my bed and watch the urn on my bedside table while my laptop plays an episode of Friends. My mom loved that show. We’d watch it together many nights. And even though in the early years, I was too young to understand some of the saucier jokes that would reduce my mother to boisterous giggles, I got that it made my mom happy. I’d laugh along, because in that moment, I belonged, was a part of her world, and everything was right.
A knock at the door pulls my attention from Phoebe’s awkward plane ride, a scene that Mom could quote from memory. “Come in.”
James sticks his head in and looks about, assessing the battlefield before he enters, just like he always has. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” I incline my chin toward the urn. “Bobbie Ann and I are just watching some Netflix.”
“Got your text that you wanted to see us.” He steps inside, followed by Millie, both in their Sunday attire. They sit on the edge of my bed as Rocky trots in. He circles the space near Millie’s feet twice, then plops down on the floor, his tail thumping.
“Looks like we’re all here.” James scratches the dog’s head. “I guess you had a late night.”
I love that my preacher dad doesn’t say one condemning word about my missing church. “I helped Maxine create her new dance routine. Oh, and we designed a totally different costume.”
“Are there feathers involved?” James asks.
“So many.”
He shudders. “Lord, we pray the chickens have not been sacrificed in vain. Amen.”
Millie smiles and kicks off her leopard print flats. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“I have something I want to discuss with you guys.” Dancing and soul-baring must’ve been good for me. This afternoon I woke up nauseous at my new decision, but convicted that it was the right thing to do. “I want to have a memorial service for my mom.”
James slips off his glasses and hangs them on the collar of his shirt. “Are you certain? I know you probably felt some pressure from us, but you don’t have to do this.”
“I think I do have to. And that’s okay. Or will be.” One day. “My mom deserves to have her life honored, and it would be closure for me.” Darn Tate for being right. “I want it to be simple. Some music, a quick message that uplifts, but doesn’t bore.”
“I only do boring messages,” James says.
I laugh. “That’s not true. There’s no better pastor than you to handle this service.”
He roughly clears his throat. “I’d be honored.”
The urn on my bedside looks especially fine today in the sunlight streaming in through my blinds. “I also think it’s time to respect Mom’s wishes and scatter her ashes.”
Millie puts a hand on Rocky to stop a bout of manic scratching. “Did you think of a place?”
“I didn’t.” That still bothers me, but I’ve got to let her go. Keeping her ashes isn’t keeping her with me. “At this point I’m leaning towards the waterfall at Berry Creek. She’s never been there, but of all th
e places I’ve seen, it’s the prettiest.”
James and Millie share a look.
“Berry Creek is a lovely spot,” Millie says. “But we wondered if you’d like to hear another idea.”
“Okay.” Apparently, I’m all about taking input this weekend.
“This might sound a little morbid,” she continues, “but James and I own a handful of plots at the In Between Cemetery. My dad’s buried there, as well as my grandparents. Mom wants to be buried with my dad on one side and Sam on the other.” Millie punctuates her eye roll with a smile. “She says they can fight over her in the hereafter.”
“We’ll, of course, be laid to rest there when the time comes,” James says.
“Some way far out day in the next millennium,” I feel the need to add.
He nods. “Eons away. But we have quite a few extra plots should any near or distant family need them.”
Millie rubs a gentle hand back and forth across my back. “We will always be grateful to your mom for giving us another daughter. She changed our lives in the best of ways.”
James’s expression turns full-on dad. “Katie, from the moment you entered our life, your mom became part of our family. It’s not just your job to care for her memory, but also ours. Because your people will always be our people. So, in light of that, we wondered if you would consider burying your mother’s ashes with our family. She can have a headstone right next to where Millie and I will be.”
Tears fill my eyes. “Where you’ll be in a hundred years.”
Millie smiles. “Like two hundred.”
“We’ll pay for the headstone and make all the arrangements,” James says. “If that’s what you want. You can say no, and we’ll understand. It’s not as poetic as spreading her ashes over the sea or—”
“Big Wanda’s Gasserup and Go?” These parents of mine. Sometimes I don’t know how I got so lucky, so blessed. I could dig and dig, and I’d never get to the bottom of their love and generosity. “I love you guys.” I capture them both in a giant hug, humbled by their kindness and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of peace. Not much has felt right in the last few months, but this definitely does. “Are you sure?”
“Everyone needs family,” Millie says. “We hope you’ll let Bobbie Ann join ours.”
“Thank you.” My lips quiver, and once again, the waterworks begin. “I love you. You know that, right? I mean, I really love you.”
James kisses my cheek. “We love you more.”
There’s so much I’m not sure of. If college life is for me. Whether I’ll ever get a bigger part in a play beyond umbrella girl. Or how I’ll possibly get through a memorial service. But I know my mom has finally come home.
She’ll be an honorary Scott.
It instantly gives her belonging. And name recognition. Because membership in this family has its privileges. Mom asked for somewhere beautiful, and surrounded by family is as beautiful as it gets.
The thought hits me that I’ve been denying my mom some of those privileges. And maybe that’s part of the guilt that’s shackled me all these days and weeks.
“You let us handle everything,” James says. “Millie and I will make the arrangements, and you focus on taking care of yourself and this Friday’s play.”
Overcome with love and relief, I squeeze him fiercely.
Millie joins in, and we’re this knot of family bliss. You can’t sever us. You can’t untangle our connection.
It shouldn’t surprise me that James and Millie had the answer. They were my answer over three years ago when a caseworker rang their doorbell and deposited me and my suitcase into a spare bedroom of their home. They were the answer every time I got trouble. When I was hurt. When I had nowhere else to turn.
My parents are a wonder I’ll never get over.
God sure knew what he was doing when he placed me with the Scotts.
And maybe, just maybe, I could trust Him to handle the rest of my life as well.
Millie and Rocky eventually migrate back downstairs, but James lingers in my doorway. “I’m proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks.”
“The church is free next Saturday.” The day after my play. “How about having the memorial then?”
“I guess tomorrow’s out of the question?” Let’s rip it off like a Band-Aid.
“Next weekend will give us time to get the word out. People will want to be there for you.”
Though I don’t totally agree, I nod. “Sure.”
“There’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me—and yourself.”
Small chills chase along my skin as James’s next words shove out all my new found peace and pull the dread back in.
“I’d like you to speak at your mom’s funeral.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nearly a week later and one hour ’til showtime, I stand with Jeremy backstage at the Burnett Theater and allow the butterflies in my stomach to flap and fly as they wish. While it took me longer than it should have to get over the fact I was assigned a minuscule part, I’m rather enjoying not having the pressure of a larger role tonight. I’m still nervous, but nothing compared to what some of these other guys are experiencing tonight.
“I’m so glad you came to your senses.” Jeremy adjusts the mustache barely glued beneath his nose. “I didn’t want to do this play without you.”
“Thanks, friend.” I hold a red umbrella beneath my arm and watch Dr. Maddox talk to George with nonstop hand gestures and a face pulled into a severe frown. “I had to do some begging.” I also had to promise to help the crew strike the stage when the show wrapped up and schedule a future meeting with Maddox for extra help with Intro to Theater. He might not remember my name the majority of the time, but at the heart of it, Dr. Maddox is a nice person. He created two extra study guides for me to take quizzes I need to make up, as well as offered suggestions for how I could better prepare for his tests.
“You got your nose cast off.” Jeremy points toward my newly liberated face.
“This morning.” Finally, a happy goodbye.
“Hopefully, that will be the last injury in one of your escapades with Maxine.”
I highly doubt it.
“How are you holding up?” Jeremy asks. “Are you ready for your mom’s memorial?”
“No. I can’t talk about it.” My stomach does a full rotation. “I’m definitely not ready.”
“I’ll be there,” he says. “I’m praying for you.”
I need it. So far, all I’ve composed about my mom are a few general facts and niceties that fill a notecard. She was born in April. She liked Dr. Pepper and pizza. In fourth grade, she won a limbo contest at Marion Brightwater Elementary.
“Where is Kira?” Dr. Maddox shouts, yanking my attention back to my most impending source of stress. “Don’t just stand there, someone go find her!” Then, with that fire in his eyes, he points to me like Zeus from atop Mt. Olympus. “You, uh…”
Oh, for the love of dementia and mental wormholes! “It’s Katie! My name is Katie!”
“I know that! You go get her. If she’s not out here in one minute, you’re up.”
“I’m up?”
He looks at me like I’m addled. “Yeah, as in you’ll take her place. Now go find her.”
“Yes, sir.” I race backstage and zip around like the building’s on fire, and I’m the only one who can save Kira. But she’s nowhere to be found. “Kira!” I call her name over and over. As the seconds tick by, the likelihood of my going on stage in her role becomes more reality than dream. Do I even remember her part? Am I ready for this? I do believe I am!
“Kira!” I open the back door and step into the evening air.
And there she sits, on a concrete ramp beside two dumpsters, knees drawn to her chest, and tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Hey.” I cautiously approach, not wanting to spook her, like she’s a wild rabbit that might scamper off. “Are you okay?”
She reaches into her pocket and extracts a tissue, dabbing
it beneath her eyes. “Does it look like I’m okay?”
“It looks like you’re sitting next to two dumpsters, and you’re a foot away from an old burrito.” I shrug. “But what do I know. I’m just an extra.”
She gives an inelegant sniff. “I’m sorry I said that. It was mean.”
“Yep.” I lower myself onto a cleaner part of the ground beside her. “But that doesn’t matter now. We need you in there.”
Kira shakes her head. “No.” Then shakes it again. “The part’s all yours. You’re ready. I’m not.”
“Come on, get in there.”
“You don’t understand—I’m not going on tonight.”
Omigosh.
Is this seriously it? Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for?
It’s as if God’s been preparing me all along. I knew I was right to invest all those hours learning Kira’s part. This week I even balanced running lines with writing something for my mom’s memorial. Like a champ. Lead role, here I come! This is like the final plot twist in some wholesome Disney TV movie where the poor girl gets her chance, and everything turns out perfect—with lots of singing.
Then…
Hold up.
What is this feeling?
Oh, no. I think it might be my conscience.
Go away, conscience! Go find another dumpster!
But it’s no use.
A feeling of resistance so strong reaches into my chest cavity and wraps its steely fingers around my heart. Corina Hernandez’s words from the Upsilon Sigma banquet come back to me. “You gotta do your time and appreciate where you’re at. There’s value at every level. Respect the fact that this isn’t your season to be the star. It’s someone else’s.”
Ugh! Why did I have to go out on the terrace that night? I tell Corina Hernandez’s voice in my head to shush, but it’s no use.
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