Wife-in-Law

by Haywood Smith

  The metal roof overhead radiated heat like an oven as I walked to the driver’s door and opened it to a blast of stale heat.

  I cranked up the car and set the air to high on recirculate. Mama always insisted I should roll down the windows as soon as I got in, to let out the worst of the heat, but on days like this, that was like opening the door of a blast furnace, so I didn’t. Till I had to give the cashier my ticket at the gate.

  “That’ll be a hundred and forty dollars, please,” she said cheerfully. “Would you like a cold drink?” As if it would make up for the outrageous rates they all charged.

  May as well. I handed her my Visa. “Diet Coke, please.” I usually avoided canned drinks but one drink wouldn’t kill me, and I was still parched from the long flight.

  She handed me the cold can and the receipt to sign. “Thank you for using Park N Pad.”

  I scribbled my name and handed back the receipt, anxious to get the window back up, then drove away.

  Once I’d navigated the maze to the connector, I settled back for the slow, congested ride up to the I-75 cutoff and the Howell Mill exit to see Mama, consoling myself that at least I wasn’t coming home to Rhomboid Avenue. I loved my house, even if it was across the street from my ex and my future wife-in-law.

  I remembered the delicious idea that had occurred to me when I heard about the wedding, and brightened. Might as well have a little fun with the situation.

  Buoyed, I called Mama with my cell to see if she’d eaten. “Hey, Mama. I’m back. Amelia and Sonny and the girls send their love.”

  “I’ve practically starved to death since you went off and left me,” she complained. “That Meals-On-Wheels crap is inedible. All I can stomach is the milk. Who eats plain baloney on trash bread?” she said for the hundredth time. “Who in their right mind eats baloney, period?”

  I overlooked the irony of the “right mind” comment, and reminded myself that this was her way of saying she’d missed me. “I missed you too, Mama,” I said. “How about I bring you Varsity for supper?”

  She cheered right up. “Oh, now, that would be wonderful. I’ll have two regular burgers, a chili dog, and fries and rings,” she rattled off, as if I didn’t know the drill. “And a brownie. And a Big Orange. Not an orange frosty, a plain Big Orange.” The same thing she’d always ordered for as long as I could remember.

  “Comin’ up.” I was feeling so mellow, I didn’t even ask her to pick something out for me to take home. She wouldn’t do it, anyway. “See you in thirty or so. Bye.”

  I flipped the phone closed, then got off the freeway just before the North Avenue overpass, then drove to Atlanta’s favorite melting pot and went in to pick up the food. Watching the red-capped servers put two orders of rings into the box, I remembered what Kat had told me about onions that long-ago time they’d spent the night, and chuckled. One nice thing about going back to my empty house: I could eat all the onions I wanted, then “pass wind” at will, and nobody would ever know.

  The past. Sandy Springs. July 1, 1974

  The cooking lessons turned out to be a disaster. I couldn’t tell if Kat just wasn’t interested in learning, or she had some kind of disconnect when it came to the whole process.

  She laughed a lot when her efforts went awry, but she was clearly embarrassed.

  Two weeks into our sessions at my house—after a particularly frustrating morning of trying to make biscuits—I took her tray and mine out of the oven. They didn’t even look like the same food group.

  Kat braced her dough-stuck hands on the island and sighed. “This is hopeless. Yours come out floatin’ and melt-in-yer-mouth, and mine come out like hockey pucks. With freckles.” She sighed heavily, then ventured, “I swear, Betsy, I ’preciate you tryin’, more than I can say. But this ain’t gonna work. Maybe it’s my aura or somethin’.” She leveled a frank gaze at me. “Truth is, I got school comin’ up, so maybe this idn’t the exact right time fer me to start cookin’, anyhow. Way I see it, cookin’s kinda like sewin’. Once people find out you know how, they ’spect you to do it, don’t you know?”

  So she didn’t really want to learn. “Oh. I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to press.”

  Kat reacted to my disappointment. “Now, don’t go gittin’ yer feelins hurt,” she cautioned. “You’ve been a real good friend, doin’ this fer me, and I’ll never fergit it. I’m lucky to have a friend like you, right across the street ’n’ all. I just think we need to find somethin’ else to do together, maybe.”

  Well, if she really didn’t want to cook … Different strokes for different folks. I looked at Kat’s biscuits and laughed out loud. “Maybe you ought to stick to vegetable soup, after all.”

  She sagged with relief. “Thanks. Yer the best. I knew you’d understand.” Happy, she went to scrub the last of the overworked dough from her hands.

  “C’mon, then.” I put some of my hot, fluffy biscuits on a plate and headed for the butter and jam on the table. “Bring our tea. We can figure out what you’d like to do while we eat.”

  Kat brought over our iced teas and sat, her expression intense. “Whut I’d really like is fer you to take me to museums and teach me about culture. Most of the other students at Oglethorpe probly know about all that stuff, but we didn’t have any museums where I come from back in Kentucky, so I never learned any of that stuff.”

  “I learned all that from books,” I confessed. Georgia State wasn’t big on the fine arts when I was there. “But it would be fun to see the museum collections.” I could find out everything about the local museums from the reference department at the library. “Which one would you like to go to first?”

  “That High Museum, downtown,” she said. “Way I figure it, best to start with the biggest, then work our way down.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I told her. “Maybe they have guides who can tell us about the paintings.”

  “Perfect.” Kat glowed.

  Regardless of the differences between our politics and lifestyle choices, Kat and I both came from humble backgrounds, and we both wanted more out of life. It was as good a basis as any for a friendship.

  Five

  Three years ago. Eden Lake Court, Sandy Springs, Georgia

  Worn out from the long flight from L.A., I left Mama’s in time to get home before dark.

  I always hate coming home to a stale, stuffy house after a trip, especially to find my ex-husband’s car parked across the street in my widowed best friend’s driveway. Especially when he’s cheerfully cutting the grass in the ninety-degree heat, something he never did at my house, regardless of the temperature.

  He actually had the nerve to wave at me as I turned into my driveway.

  What a hypocrite.

  I just ignored him and kept right on going.

  If Greg was willing to go to those lengths to impress Kat, she must not be sleeping with him yet. Not that I cared if she did, except for the fact that she might catch something from him.

  Perversely, I wondered if my presence would be there with them when they finally did get down and dirty.

  An evil smile overtook me as I wondered if Kat liked it quick, with no foreplay. I had, because Greg was the only man I’d ever slept with, but that didn’t apply to Kat.

  I wondered if Zach’s presence would be in bed with them too.

  Served Greg right, if it was.

  I pulled into the garage, then closed the door behind me and got out to the smell of hot, oily metal from the car. Lugging my suitcases out of the trunk, it occurred to me that it might be fun to ask Greg to come do it for me. But I decided it would be even more fun to ask him to cut my grass—in front of Kat. See how long this Mr. Fixit façade lasted when I asked him to do something nice for me, for a change.

  Entering my house, I was greeted by two weeks’ worth of hot, stale air.

  “Whoa.” My personal thermostat shot to boiling, so I made straight for the AC control and adjusted it from eighty to sixtyeight. While I waited for things to cool down,
I gulped two bottles of cold spring water, then went to freshen up. After much blotting, I renewed my undereye concealer, lipstick, and mascara. No need for blush in this weather. I was red as the beefsteak tomatoes in my vegetable patch.

  Looking human again, I gulped down another cold water, then headed across the street in the sweltering dusk.

  I hadn’t reached the sidewalk at Kat’s before she came out to see what was up. I waved to her and called over the lawn mower, “Congratulations!”

  Seeing Kat, Greg pulled out the earplugs to his iPod and followed her line of sight to me. Immediately, his features congealed.

  Good. He ought to be wary. I knew the sordid truth about his desertion, things I hadn’t even told Kat because they were too humiliating. Clearly, Greg hadn’t shared them with her either. He always had been able to erase unpleasant realities from his mind, especially when they got between him and what he wanted.

  Not that it was my business to tell Kat the gruesome details. She knew what he’d done to me, but still wanted him anyway. Maybe Greg’s flexible memory was contagious.

  I passed him with a friendly wave and greeted Kat with a cheery, “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She watched with suspicion as I climbed the stairs.

  Boy, had he brainwashed her. I smiled. “Amelia tells me you two are going to get married.”

  Defensive, Kat started up with, “Now, Betsy. We’ve been through all this already. Greg’s gotten right with God. He’s not the same man he was.”

  “And glory hallelujah, thank God for it,” I said as sincerely as I could manage. I waved again to Greg, who abandoned the lawn mower in concern and headed our way. “I think I’ll wait till Greg gets here to tell y’all both what I came over to tell you.”

  Kat’s suspicion deepened. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  It hurt to see she didn’t trust me anymore. She’d find out the hard way about the man he really was. But that was her problem, not mine. I was just glad he had somebody to look after him, so the girls wouldn’t have to worry about him.

  Panting from the heat, Greg wiped his face with a spotless linen handkerchief as he approached. In spite of his sweat-soaked T-shirt, he draped a possessive arm across Kat’s shoulders. “So. What brings you here, Betsy?”

  I looked at them both, amazed at how peaceful I felt. “I’ve just come to congratulate Greg and wish you both the best.”

  Their mouths almost dropped open.

  “I mean it.” I turned to Kat. “Kat, honey, I hope you have every good and gracious thing together.” Not that I believed they would, but I could hope. “You deserve it.”

  Greg tightened his arm around Kat, unconvinced, but she pulled free of him and hugged me gingerly. “Thanks, Betsy. That means a lot to me.”

  God bless her. She’d need it.

  Heck, maybe Greg really had changed. That would be even better. Kat would be happy, and Greg might cut my grass sometimes. Lord knows, Kat was welcome to him. After what he’d done to me, I certainly didn’t want him anymore.

  Now for the fun part.

  I leaned toward Kat in earnest. “Would you like for me to walk him down the aisle and give him away with my blessing?” I asked. “Because I’d be delighted to, really.”

  The look on their faces was worth a million.

  “It would make things so much easier on the kids,” I said, “don’t you think?”

  Greg frowned in disapproving confusion. Kat pursed her lips, nostrils flaring, and bit out, “I don’t think so.”

  Boy, was it good to be over my ex. “Okay. Whatever you want.” I started for home, leaving them frozen in consternation. “But if you change your mind, just let me know.” I stopped at the edge of the porch. “Oh, and Greg, while you’ve got the lawn mower out, would you mind doing my yard too? My lawn mower’s on the fritz.” True.

  He scowled. “Sorry, but Kat’s is about all I can handle.”

  I pretended to be disappointed. “Oh. The thing is, I can’t find anybody to come fix mine. They all want me to bring it to them, and there’s no way I can get it into my trunk.” I used my best poor-pitiful-me face. “But if you can’t, you can’t. I was just thinking about the neighbors. Don’t want my yard to be the sore spot on the block.”

  Kat elbowed him. “Greg, do it,” she whispered sharply. “She needs help.”

  Greg did what Greg did best: he balked. “Sorry. No can do.” He grabbed Kat by the elbow and dragged her into the house, leaving the lawn mower sputtering in the yard.

  Suppressing a smile, I turned and went home without looking back.

  Once there, I went straight for the snacks and the white zinfandel, then sat eating chips and salsa, sipping my wine and thanking God that I didn’t have to take care of anybody but myself for the moment.

  After I unpacked and went to bed, I said my prayers for the girls and my grandchildren, then added, “And God, please help Greg be the man Kat deserves. She’s already so hurt from losing Zach.” My spoiling had helped make Greg the selfish jerk he was, but Kat didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of. Greg’s lingering hostility to me kept me from believing his sudden conversion. He was simply doing whatever it took to get Kat to take care of him. “Please, God, protect her.”

  Leaving it on God’s doorstep, I rolled over and went to sleep, then ruined everything by having an erotic dream about my ex at four in the morning. I was so mad when I woke up, I wanted to call his cell phone and cuss him out. Only good sense kept me from doing it.

  After all, it wouldn’t do to tell him. He’d gloat forever.

  Why had I let him into my dreams? Was just seeing him enough to trigger it? Lord, I hoped not.

  Lying there in the dark, I wondered how I was going to manage, day in and day out, with Greg across the street.

  How can you move on with your ex married to your best friend across the cul-de-sac? But Greg was a creature of habit who hated change, so I knew better than to hope he’d move away once they were married. The flat real estate market aside, Kat’s home would be way too convenient and familiar for him, doggone it.

  Speaking of dogs, he’d have some adjusting to do with her feckless menagerie. I let out an evil chuckle.

  And Kat’s horrendous housekeeping. That wasn’t going to sit well with my marine.

  I smiled in the darkness. Maybe if Kat was lucky, Greg would get tired of the mess and clean it up himself. Now, there was a picture.

  One thing was sure: things were about to change at Kat’s. I just hoped it would be for the better.

  On that happy thought, I rolled over and went back to sleep.

  In spite of my continued efforts to be friendly, Kat still froze me out. By the time her kids started decorating her house for the wedding, Amelia—who’d refused to have any part of her father’s remarriage—was begging me to come see her in California, so I wouldn’t be there when it happened. On the other hand, Emma, who’d been flown down for the wedding, argued that it was fine if I stayed home during the ceremony—as long as I didn’t peek out the windows while the wedding was taking place on Kat’s front porch.

  Personally, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. I’d meant it when I said I hoped my ex and my wife-in-law would be happy. I just wished they’d do it somewhere else.

  Six

  April 1, 1957. Rhomboid Avenue, Atlanta

  Daddy was packing, but I didn’t believe he was really leaving. Mama had said he was, but it was April Fools’ Day. So I didn’t cry when she’d told me over breakfast that he was leaving us for another family, and I couldn’t talk to him about it, not one word, or he’d get mad and never come see me again. Or even call. But it had to be a joke.

  I knew my father loved me, and he would never leave me with crazy Mama. Even if he did find another family without a crazy mother like mine, he’d take me with him. So I sat on the big bed and swung my feet back and forth while he packed, waiting for him to say “April Fools!”

  Mama was in her chair in the living room, watching her soap op
eras, as usual, another reason not to believe Daddy was really leaving. If he really, truly was going, Mama would be hysterical. I mean, how would she live? She never went out anymore, not even to take care of the roses she used to love when I was little.

  Where would she get money for food, and who would bring the groceries without Daddy? Who would take me to the bus stop and pick me up on rainy days?

  No, he couldn’t really be leaving.

  But when he scanned the room with tears in his eyes, then latched the big, beat-up suitcase he’d found in all the stuff Mama piled into our little house, I stopped swinging my legs.

  His tears came faster, flooding his cheeks as he looked at me as if his heart would break. Then he hugged me, drawing me into his lap on the bed. “If there was any other way to do this,” he whispered, his words shaking, “my darling girl, I would find it. I tried, spent everything I had to try to keep you, but the judge was a throwback to the Middle Ages.”

  Throwback? What was that?

  Daddy sure wasn’t acting like this was a joke. My blood congealed inside me, prickling everywhere there was life. “Keep me?”

  Daddy’s body quaked, holding me tight. “I thought sure they’d let me take you when they saw how sick Mama is, but they didn’t. So now it’s too late. Your mother signed the divorce papers, and the judge said you have to live with her.”

  I loved my mama, but her sickness had made me dream of escape with my father ever since I was old enough to realize that other people didn’t live like we did.

  “Now, the only way I can make the payments is to take the job in Saudi Arabia.” He broke down and sobbed.

  I didn’t know exactly where Saudi Arabia was, but I knew it was very far away.

  Divorce.

  This couldn’t be real. Daddy couldn’t go off and leave me with Mama.

  Cold. My hands and feet were so cold.

  I grabbed on to Daddy with all my might. “You can’t leave!” My voice came out high and shrill as a two-year-old having a tantrum. “Take me with you! I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me here with her! Please, God, no!”