“We don’t know he’s dead,” Katharine whispered. “And anyway, Dinky knew what he was getting himself into. He’s the one who got himself drunk. He’s the one who didn’t bother to wear a life jacket. And he’s the one who drove that boat like a maniac and nearly got you killed in the process. If something bad happened to him, it’s his own fault as far as I’m concerned.”
“You are awful,” Mary Bliss said. “You of all people. I mean, you slept with the man just the night before. Doesn’t that mean anything at all to you?”
Katharine opened Vanity Fair with a flourish. “Not that it’s any of your business, because it isn’t. But I do feel I should tell you that nothing happened between Dinky and me. Absolutely nothing.”
“But,” Mary Bliss sputtered. “You said…you knew why people called him Dinky. And I saw him too. He really was dinky.”
Katharine rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Look. I let him stay in the room with me because I thought, maybe, I should branch out a little, in the romance department, you know? I mean, Charlie and I are almost divorced. And he certainly hasn’t been faithful to me. So what was to stop me from having a little fun?”
“Your conscience?”
“Please,” Katharine said, guffawing. “Don’t confuse me with you. No. What stopped me was a matter of taste. You saw the man. He doesn’t even own a car. Dinky just wasn’t my type. Not to mention I have no intention of coming down with some nasty sexually transmitted disease. No. Not Katharine Weidman. Now, can we drop this subject?”
“No,” Mary Bliss said. “I think you’re a big liar. I think you didn’t sleep with Dinky because you’re still in love with Charlie.”
Katharine reached into the seat-back pocket in front of her and brought out a set of earphones, which she placed over her hair with a flourish. “We are not having this conversation.”
When the pilot made the announcement that they were entering their approach to Atlanta, Mary Bliss said a heartfelt prayer of thanks. She looked out the window at the city stretched out below. Tiny matchbox-sized cars sped down streets whose straightness and precision looked like a marvel from up above. Pincushion-sized trees dotted the landscape. It reminded her of her wealthy boy cousin’s model railroad layout that she had coveted as a child. Looking down now, Mary Bliss coveted Atlanta. Or, to be more precise, she coveted home.
“What’s this?” she asked, when the flight attendant arrived at her side with a shiny chrome contraption.
“It’s a wheelchair,” Katharine said before the young woman could answer. “And it’s the doctor’s orders, so don’t go giving her any sass about it.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Mary Bliss protested, but people were standing, and she was blocking the aisle, so she gave in out of politeness.
When they were off the plane, there was a courtesy golf cart waiting for them too. “Not a word!” Katharine warned. “Doctor’s orders. Besides, I’m whipped. You might not need to ride, but I do.”
There was one more surprise: Randy Bowden waited for them in the baggage pickup area. He carried a huge bouquet of yellow roses, and a look of profound grief.
“Mary Bliss,” he said, his face lighting up when he saw the cart approach. “You’re all right!”
She shot Katharine a look. “I’m fine,” she said wearily. “It’s just a little bitty concussion. I don’t know why everybody has to make such a fuss over me. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“But Katharine said,” he started to say.
“Never mind,” Mary Bliss said, patting his hand. “I’m so sorry to inconvenience you this way.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Josh is outside with the car. I’ll just grab your bags and we’ll go out and go home. I know you’ve had a bad time of it.”
“Thank you,” Mary Bliss said.
“You’re welcome,” Katharine said, mouthing the words.
33
“Holy crap!” Katharine said, opening the kitchen door.
“Oh my.” Mary Bliss covered her mouth with her hands and started to cry.
Every surface in the kitchen was crowded with food. Foil-wrapped casseroles were stacked three high on top of the oven. The counters were lined with trays of cookies and sandwiches, and plastic cake-carriers offered coconut, pound, and chocolate layer cakes.
“There’s a lot of stuff in the refrigerator too,” Randy Bowden said, setting Mary Bliss’s suitcase down. “I hope you don’t mind. People kept calling and asking if they could do something. And I had the key, so I kind of let them bring in the food. It wouldn’t all fit in your fridge, so there’s a bunch of stuff in mine too.”
“How nice,” Mary Bliss said, her voice faint. “But they shouldn’t have. They really shouldn’t have.”
“Uh, well,” Randy said. “You and Parker are special people, Mary Bliss. And with your loss and all, well, people wanted to do something to help out.”
“Wonder if Carolyn Meeks brought anything over?” Katharine said, looking around the kitchen. She walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and stuck her head in. “She makes those deviled eggs with the little capers on top.” Her voice was muffled as she shuffled dishes around the packed refrigerator. “I had some last winter, at the women’s Christmas tea. And I would kill for one of Carolyn’s deviled eggs right now.”
She held out a clear glass dish of eggs, each nicely capped with a sprig of parsley and a sprinkling of capers. “Ta-da!” she said triumphantly. “Deviled eggs to die for!”
“Katharine!” Mary Bliss said, blushing. She felt ill. Her head was throbbing again and the sight of all that food made her queasy, and now Randy and Josh Bowden were looking at her expectantly.
“Oops, sorry,” Katharine said. She finished off the egg with one bite and wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “But you know what I meant.”
“Where’s Erin?” Mary Bliss asked, wanting to change the subject.
Josh and Randy exchanged a guilty look.
“She’s at work,” Josh said finally. “That’s why she didn’t come to the airport to pick you up. She said she’d try to get off early tonight, if she could.”
“Good,” Mary Bliss said. It was all she could think of to say.
There was more polite conversation after that. Josh carried her suitcase upstairs, and Randy told her where he’d put the list of phone messages and mail, and finally, after what seemed like hours and hours, they were gone.
Mary Bliss sat down at the kitchen table. There were at least a dozen condolence cards, and a potted dish garden with a yellow bow and a card from her minister, Dr. Neely.
“You know what’s crazy?” she asked Katharine.
“All of it,” Katharine said promptly.
“I keep forgetting Parker isn’t dead,” Mary Bliss said. “I keep reliving the boat accident, and waking up in the hospital and talking to the police, and I keep hearing the doctor telling me my husband hasn’t been found. And the rational, sane me knows it wasn’t Parker. It was Dinky. But I keep thinking, Parker’s dead. I feel like a widow. I feel like I need to dry my eyes and put on a black suit and plan a funeral.”
“Then do it,” Katharine said. “That’s the general idea, remember?”
“What about Erin?”
Katharine started opening the envelopes. “Look, here’s one from the Steadmans. They want you to know you’re in their prayers.”
“My child thinks her father is dead,” Mary Bliss said. “We’ve told her Parker died in a boating accident. So she goes to work? She just drives over to the mall and puts on her Gap name tag and she starts selling summer shorts and tankinis like nothing happened? Two days after her daddy’s death?”
“She’s a kid,” Katharine said. “She’s probably still in shock. Kids don’t know how to grieve, Mary Bliss. They don’t know anything about death, or funerals or any of that. Probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to Erin before was not having her socks match.”
“She didn’t get named to the all-county team her freshman y
ear,” Mary Bliss said suddenly. “She was absolutely devastated. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t answer the phone, or leave the house. She lives and breathes soccer. That experience nearly killed her.”
“But it didn’t,” Katharine said. “She got over it. And she’ll get over this.”
“I wish I believed you,” Mary Bliss said. She was tearing open envelopes now, reading the cards, the warm sentiments from neighbors and friends.
“Look,” she said, holding one up. “It’s from Nancye Bowden. She says she’ll never forget Parker, or what a wonderful marriage we had.”
Katharine’s fingers were hovering over a platter of fried chicken. She decided on a drumstick, picked it up, and started chewing on the fat end.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully. “Guess that shows you how much of an authority on marriage Nancye Bowden is.”
“I’m thinking about driving over to the mall,” Mary Bliss said, pushing the stack of cards away. “I’ve got to talk to Erin. This isn’t normal, her going to work like this. I’ll talk to her manager, make him give her the night off. We can have a quiet dinner.”
“Don’t,” Katharine said.
Mary Bliss raised one eyebrow.
“Leave her be,” Katharine said.
“I can’t.”
The phone rang. Mary Bliss stared at it. Katharine picked it up.
“McGowan residence,” she said, her voice the model of crisp efficiency.
“No.” Mary Bliss was mouthing the words, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“It’s the supervisor over at the nursing home,” Katharine said, covering the receiver with her hand. “Eula’s having some kind of fit or something.”
“Eula!” Mary Bliss grabbed the phone. “This is Mrs. McGowan,” she said. “What’s happening?”
“Mrs. McGowan? This is Lillian King. I’m the care supervisor for your mother-in-law. I hate to trouble you with this, so soon after the accident, but the doctor feels I should notify you that Eula is experiencing some difficulties, dealing with all this.”
“Difficulties?” Mary Bliss rubbed the back of her neck. Her skin felt gritty and damp. She wanted a bath.
“Losing her son,” Lillian King said.
“She knows?” Mary Bliss nearly dropped the phone. “Who told her about Parker?”
“I, uh, I don’t know,” Lillian King stammered. “I assume somebody in the family told her. She’s been very upset ever since Sunday. Violent, in fact. We’re afraid she might harm herself, or someone else. The doctor has sedated her now, but he wanted me to let you know what’s going on with her.”
“All right,” Mary Bliss said slowly. “I’ll be right over.”
“Meemaw.” Katharine put down the drumstick. “That didn’t sound like good news.”
“It’s not,” Mary Bliss agreed. “It sounds like she’s pretty worked up about Parker. Who would have told her? I was going to tell her myself, as soon as I got up the courage. But somebody else did it for me.”
“Erin?”
“Maybe,” Mary Bliss said. “She hates going over to that nursing home. Says it smells like pee and steamed broccoli. But she and Meemaw were close. Maybe she took it upon herself to tell her.”
“What kind of fit is the old girl throwing?” Katharine asked.
“Violent. They’re afraid she’ll hurt herself.”
“Cheer up. Maybe she’ll take an overdose of sleeping pills or something,” Katharine said. “You could have a double funeral.”
“Not funny,” Mary Bliss said, not bothering to pretend to be shocked. “But I have an idea if she’s violent, it’s probably toward others. I seriously doubt she’s really suicidal. Eula McGowan is a survivor.”
“You don’t have to go, you know,” Katharine pointed out. “She’s not your mother. Let the nursing home deal with her.”
“I have to go,” Mary Bliss said.
“I know,” Katharine said, getting up. “This chicken’s pretty good, you know? I think it must be from Carolyn Meeks too. I understand she uses buttermilk and real lard.”
“Take it,” Mary Bliss said, gesturing around the room. “Take all of it.”
34
Lillian King was explaining that they had moved Eula out of her own room and into something called the intermediate care facility. She gave Mary Bliss a lot of numbers, her blood pressure reading, her EKG readings, even the dosage of the medicine with which she’d been sedated.
Mary Bliss heard the words as they bounced off the narrow hall walls at the Fair Oaks Assisted Living Facility. Lillian King’s rubber-soled nursing shoes squeaked as they walked down the corridor. Erin was right, Mary Bliss thought. The place really did smell like pee and broccoli.
The intermediate care facility turned out to be a small three-bed mini-hospital. The only occupied bed in the room held Eula McGowan.
Mary Bliss tiptoed over and looked down at her mother-in-law. She had last seen her only a week ago. But the change was profound. Her skin was slack and sallow. Flesh seemed to have melted off her once-plump arms. A stand next to her bed held a bag of intravenous fluids and a clear tube ran into a needle taped to her forearm.
“Meemaw?”
Eula’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Mary Bliss, then turned her head away.
“Mrs. McGowan? You’ve got yourself a visitor here,” Lillian King said in a loud voice, patting Eula’s hand.
“I don’t want her,” Eula said, her voice faint but stony. “Make her go away.” She slapped hard at the nurse’s hand.
“See?” Lillian King whispered.
“Now, that’s not very nice,” she said, chiding the old lady as she would a toddler. “Your daughter-in-law came all the way over here just to see how you’re doing.”
“Meemaw?” Mary Bliss leaned over. “Erin told you about Parker, didn’t she?”
Eula sprang upright. “He’s not dead!” she screamed. She struck out at Mary Bliss, arms flailing, landing a slap to the side of her face that left her ear ringing. “Tell them he’s not dead. Tell them.”
“Meemaw,” Mary Bliss cried. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Now that’s enough of that,” Lillian King said firmly. She stepped in and pushed Eula back onto the bed, pinning her arms to her side. The old woman squirmed, tried to push the nurse away, but Lillian King was thirty years younger and fifty pounds heavier.
“Let me go,” Eula demanded. She thrashed around the bed, kicking her legs out from under the covers. “I need to go find my son.”
“All right, Mrs. McGowan,” Lillian King said, her face reddening. “Do we need to put you in restraints again? Is that what we need to do with you tonight?”
“Restraints?” Mary Bliss said, horrified. “Oh no. Don’t do anything like that.”
“I’ll be good,” Eula whimpered, the fight drained out of her. She stopped thrashing and crossed her bony arms across her chest. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“No more hitting?” Lillian King hovered over the bed.
“No more hitting,” Eula repeated.
Mary Bliss rubbed her bruised cheek. “I’m sorry, Meemaw,” she repeated. “I know you loved him. I know he loved you.”
Lillian King took her by the arm and steered her toward the door. “She needs to rest now. This has all been very upsetting for her. As it has for you too, I’m sure.”
“Good night, Meemaw,” Mary Bliss said dutifully. The door was swinging shut behind them.
“He’s not dead, dammit,” Eula called out.
After she left the nursing home, Mary Bliss drove home. But instead of pulling into the driveway, she stopped the car at the curb. The timer had turned on the lights in the house. It looked warm and inviting like this, from the street. She looked over at Randy Bowden’s house. Somebody had picked up all the old newspapers. A mound of grass clippings were piled at the curb. From the back of the house she heard the drone of a lawn mower. Life was getting back to normal.
She drove on, to the ma
ll. She had to see Erin, had to talk to her.
It was nearly nine o’clock. The mall was empty except for knots of people waiting to get into the movieplex.
A girl she didn’t recognize was counting change out of the cash register at the Gap.
“Erin?” The girl had two tiny diamond studs on the left side of her nose. “She didn’t come in tonight. There’s been, like, a death in the family.”
Mary Bliss nodded and left. She drove past the house, but there was no sign of Erin. Where could her daughter be?
She cruised up and down every street in the neighborhood, looking for Erin’s little Honda. It was a quiet summer night. She could see flickering blue lights in the windows of some of the houses. Strains of heavy metal music poured from the Bowdens’ house. Only a few cars were still parked in the lot at the country club. She recognized Charlie Weidman’s black Lincoln there, and a white Sebring convertible she’d been told was Charlie’s girlfriend’s car. Katharine would throw a conniption if she found out Charlie had brought his girlfriend over here, to the club.
She kept driving. Past Fair Oaks Academy, darkened now that school was out for the summer, past the Winn-Dixie parking lot, past the McDonald’s she knew was Erin’s favorite late-night stop-in.
On the way home, she happened to glance over at the municipal park where Erin had played Little Kicker soccer as a four-year-old. A blue Honda was the only car in the lot. Mary Bliss slowed and turned in.
The Honda’s high beams were on, pointed at the field nearest the street. She could see a lone figure silhouetted in the light, kicking a ball against the net backstop. Mary Bliss held her breath. Erin.
She parked the car at the far end of the lot and walked quietly toward her daughter. Erin had a plastic laundry basket full of soccer balls. One after another, she scooped the balls from the basket and kicked them into the net. Scoop, kick. Scoop, kick.
Little Bitty Lies Page 17