“I wouldn’t expect you to give a eulogy,” Mary Bliss said, secretly relieved. “I’m not going to speak either. We’ll let Dr. Neely do the talking. Is that all right?”
“I guess,” Erin said. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at church. Eleven? Right?”
“Right,” Mary Bliss said. She had hoped Erin would go with her to pick Eula up from the nursing home, but again, compromise was the spirit of the day.
The scene at the nursing home had been another kind of nightmare. Eula was dressed and ready when Mary Bliss arrived. She wore a powder-blue dress, pearls that had yellowed with age, and a matching powder-blue turban fastened with a large rhinestone brooch.
“Meemaw,” Mary Bliss said politely. “How nice you look.”
“I see you staring at my hat,” Eula said. “That slanty-eyed girl in the beauty shop gave me a perm and burned the daylights out of my hair. It’s ruint. Just ruint. And don’t think I paid her, either. I want you to call up the immigration office and report her. Have her green card revoked.”
Yun Lee was the Korean-American woman who ran the one-chair beauty shop at Fair Oaks Assisted Living Facility. She was in her fifties and had been born and lived in Atlanta her whole life. She considered her clientele of elderly ladies as her personal responsibility in life, charging only twenty-five dollars for hair color, set, and comb-out, an unheard-of price in Atlanta. And Eula had been trying to have her deported since she’d first laid eyes on her.
“I’m sure your hair will be fine,” Mary Bliss said, patting her hand. “How are you feeling today?”
“Awful,” Eula said promptly. “My bowels are locked up tight. Haven’t had a good sit-down since you-know-when.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“Give me all kinda pills and nasty-tasting medicine. And none of it works. Look at this,” Eula said, thumping her belly. “I’m swelled up like a toad. Cramps and gas something awful. Every minute it feels like I might just explode.”
Mary Bliss stepped away from the wheelchair, in the off chance that Eula was right. “Maybe you should just stay in today,” she said uneasily. “Get some rest. Maybe eat some bran flakes.”
“And have everybody in town talking about me?” Eula’s eyes flashed. She’d lost so much weight, her dentures seemed to float loose in her jaws. “Forget it, sister,” she snapped. “I’m ready and I’m going. And don’t think I don’t intend to tell everybody I see that my son Parker McGowan is alive and breathing.”
“Oh, Meemaw,” Mary Bliss said. She felt helpless. Should she really just walk out and leave her mother-in-law here at the nursing home?
Just then the door to Eula’s room opened. Lillian King sailed in with a cart full of medications.
“Hello there, ladies,” she sang out. She seemed stunned to see Eula up and dressed.
“Well, what have we here?” she asked, feigning confusion. “Where have you fashionable ladies hidden my patient, Mrs. Eula McGowan? All I see are two beautiful women dressed up for a Beverly Hills movie premiere.”
“It’s me, Eula, you old fool,” Eula said, her dentures clicking. “I’ve got burnt hair and locked bowels and it’s all her fault.” She jerked a thumb in Mary Bliss’s general direction. “I’m all decked out like this because I’m going to a funeral for my son who ain’t even dead. This little missy here thinks she can pull the wool over my eyes, but she’s got another think coming, I can tell you.”
Lillian King exchanged a look with Mary Bliss. “Now, Eula,” she said, her voice soothing. “We know you miss your son something awful. But what you have to remember is that he’s in a better place right now. Don’t think of him as dead. Think of him as being in a better place.”
“He’s in a better place all right,” Eula said, wheeling her chair toward the open door. “And it’s not at the bottom of the sea in Mexico. He’s on some island somewhere, drinking mai-tais and whooping it up with girls who are lots younger and prettier than Miss Ice-Britches here.”
Lillian King tsk-tsked.
Mary Bliss just shrugged. “Can you give her anything for the constipation?”
“Maybe a dose of dynamite,” the nurse said. “It’s all in her head, of course. She has her little movement at eight A. M. every day, like clockwork. But she’s been real agitated since she got the news about her son. I was just coming in to give her a little something for the anxiety.”
“She’s being sedated and she’s still this hostile?”
“Oh yes,” the nurse said. “This is a good morning for her. Yesterday when I came in, she had managed to dial nine-one-one. She said she was calling the police to tell them her room had been ransacked and her son was being held hostage by slant-eyed terrorists.”
“Good Lord,” Mary Bliss said.
“She’s delusional,” Lillian King said. “We see it all the time.”
“Eula,” she called, stepping out into the hall.
Meemaw’s wheelchair was halfway down the hall, and she was wheeling toward the front lobby like a woman possessed. She stopped when she heard her name.
“Just one moment,” Lillian King said. “I need to give you your laxatives.”
She turned and gave Mary Bliss a broad wink. “Paxil,” she whispered. “We just tell her it’s her laxative.”
“Well, get up here and make it snappy,” Meemaw said. “The Women’s Circle is having lunch in the church parlor after the show, and I don’t want to miss dessert.”
Dr. Neely had promised a short but touching service. The church organist, William Isler, had asked Mary Bliss for suggestions, but she’d been so distracted, she’d asked him to pick the music.
Her shoulders relaxed as she heard the strains of a vaguely familiar Bach piece. “Sheep May Safely Graze,” she thought, nodding with approval. She glanced over at Erin, squeezed her hand. Erin met her eyes, then looked away.
Eula was busily counting the number of people in the church. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine,” she said, nodding as she ticked off the numbers. Mary Bliss turned to her and made a shushing noise, putting her fingers to her lips.
“That’s the president of the Griffin Bank and Trust,” she informed Mary Bliss, pointing to a white-haired gentleman entering the back of the church. “My son has lots of important friends, you know.”
“I know,” Mary Bliss whispered. “But we’re in church. I think we need to be respectful.”
“Who cares what you think?” Eula said. “That woman with him, she’s his second wife. Used to be his secretary, ’til the first wife caught ’em diddling in the bank vault.”
Mary Bliss heard titters of laughter in the row behind them, and discreet coughing.
Katharine leaned in close to Mary Bliss. “What time do you think those drugs are gonna kick in on her?”
“Pray for me,” Mary Bliss whispered back.
Mr. Isler segued easily into another piece Mary Bliss recognized, a choral piece from Handel. “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.”
“Isn’t this nice?” Mary Bliss asked, trying to get Erin to respond to something. Since her outburst the night Mary Bliss had found her on the soccer field, her daughter had been more distant than ever, leaving Mary Bliss to miss even their fights.
“Groovy,” Erin said. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I just want to get this over with.”
Dr. Neely drifted up to the lectern and cleared his throat, and the music gradually softened and then stopped.
“Parker McGowan is not gone,” he said, his voice booming through the sanctuary.
“See?” Eula said, digging an elbow into Mary Bliss’s side. “Even that pie-faced preacher man knows my son’s not dead.”
Another barely repressed laugh came from behind her. Mary Bliss wished fervently right then that either she or Eula were the one being eulogized.
She allowed herself a tiny, sideways glance to see who was getting such a laugh out of Eula, and when she saw the source, she thought she could feel her blood freeze.
Tha
t man again. Matt Hayslip. He was right here, at Parker’s funeral, wearing a navy-blue suit and a somber expression. Mary Bliss sat up straight, held her head high, to keep from throwing up.
“Parker McGowan is in the company of angels,” Dr. Neely continued. “So although we mourn his loss amongst us, today we gather to celebrate what his life has meant to all of us.”
The pastor’s voice was loud but soothing. He spoke of Parker’s dedication to family, his commitment to business and community. Eula’s head nodded repeatedly, then sank onto her chest. When she snored softly, Erin stared, then grinned for the first time in days.
“Thank God for the miracle of modern pharmaceuticals,” Katharine whispered.
37
Charlie Weidman came back to the house after Parker’s funeral service to deliver the bad news in person.
They’d sat in Parker’s den while Charlie gave her the news she already knew.
“I’m gonna just lay it on the line here,” Charlie said, his kind face serious. “Things are bad, Mary Bliss. Real bad. I don’t know what was going through Parker’s head, but he seems to have gotten into some big-time debt. I suppose you know about a lot of the bills that are past due.”
She nodded.
“There’s just nothin’ left,” he said, shaking his head again and again in disbelief. “The mutual funds, Erin’s college fund, all cashed in within the past year. He cashed in his life insurance, so we can’t make a claim on that. And we can’t borrow against the house either, because he pulled a fancy deal pulling all your equity out of the house and signing a gigantic balloon note that’s coming due by the end of the summer.”
“He refinanced the house? Without me knowing about it?” Mary Bliss felt indignant all over again.
Charlie ran his fingers through his graying hair. “He had a power of attorney from you.”
“I never signed any power of attorney,” Mary Bliss said.
“And I never notarized it,” Charlie said. He was starting to look angry. “I hate to speak ill of the dead. Lord knows, Parker was one of my closest friends. But I think he’s given you a raw deal. By my estimates, he liquidated your assets and pulled a cool million out before dying.”
Mary Bliss blinked back the tears. She had promised herself she was done with crying. But a million dollars? What could he have done with all that money? And why? What had they ever done to make him hate them this much?
“What’s going to happen?” Mary Bliss asked. She was opening and closing the drawers of Parker’s desk. His pens and paper clips and yellow Post-its were neatly laid out in the top drawer. She slammed it hard. “Will we lose the house?”
Charlie handed her a manila envelope. “This is all that’s left, as far as I can see. A life insurance policy from a company I never heard of in Alabama. It was with those papers you gave me. Do you know anything about it?”
Mary Bliss opened the envelope. “My aunt bought us this policy as a wedding gift. She was a spinster lady, and she sold insurance for a living. I’d completely forgotten about this. Do you think it’s any good?”
“It’s good,” Charlie said. “I called the company this morning, before the memorial service. They’re sending the paperwork overnight, and I’ll get started on it right away.”
Mary Bliss turned the pages of the policy. “It’s not very much money.”
“True,” Charlie said. “But it might be enough to tide you over. And there’s also the title insurance on the house.”
“What good will it do?” Mary Bliss asked. She felt bad for deceiving Charlie, who was being so kind to her, but she’d already made an uneasy peace with her conscience, telling herself the ends justified the means.
“The title insurance pays off the mortgage in the case of death,” Charlie said.
“I can keep the house.” Mary Bliss smiled and sank back into Parker’s desk chair.
“Looks like it to me,” Charlie said. “As for the balloon note, I’m gonna have to take a good long look at that. And the liens, too. You’re not in the clear, not by a long way. But I’m gonna have a talk with the loan officer who dealt with Parker, see if I can figure out how he pulled this thing off.”
“I never signed a power of attorney, Charlie,” Mary Bliss said, staring right at him. “And I had no idea he was refinancing the house.”
“Damn,” Charlie said. “Damn. What was he thinking? This just isn’t like Parker. Isn’t like him at all. Did he say anything recently, give you any hint about why he would liquidate everything?”
“Nothing,” Mary Bliss said. For the first time, she was telling the complete truth. It felt good. “He never said a thing.”
“A million bucks,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Wonder where it went? Why he needed the money?”
“I just don’t know,” Mary Bliss said. She folded her hands on top of the desk. “What about you, Charlie. He was your best friend. Did he say anything to you?”
“I’ve gone over it and over it,” Charlie said. “I’ve wracked my brain. We played golf a couple weeks ago. He seemed fine. Shot in the eighties. Best he’s ever played. We had a couple drinks in the clubhouse, and went on our way.”
Mary Bliss found a paper clip stuck in the corner of the desk blotter. She pulled it apart and started straightening out the bends. “What about women? Do you think he was seeing somebody else? A girlfriend, maybe?”
Charlie had the grace to blush. “I swear to God, Mary Bliss. He never said anything about another woman. He was crazy about you. Everybody knows that.”
“You were crazy about Katharine once,” Mary Bliss said calmly. “But that seems to have changed.”
Charlie stood up. “That’s different. Katharine and I are not you and Parker.”
“Could have fooled me,” Mary Bliss said.
“She’s a fine woman,” Charlie said. “And I intend to do right by her.”
“With money,” Mary Bliss said.
“She and Chip will never want for anything. She knows that.”
Charlie stood up and reached for his briefcase. “It’s getting late.”
She walked him to the front door and hugged him around the neck. “I’m sorry for making that crack about you and Katharine. It’s none of my business. You’re a good man, Charlie. And I know you’ll do the right thing.”
His shoulders slumped a little. “Sure I will.”
After he’d gone, Mary Bliss roamed the house, looking for things to put right. By the time she’d worked off her energy cleaning and straightening, it was nearly midnight. And still no sign of Erin, who’d disappeared immediately after the church service.
Mary Bliss looked over at the Bowdens’ house. The front porch light was still on. Maybe she was with Josh. The thought made her feel better. Josh seemed to be a steadying influence on her.
She went out on her own front porch and sat in the rocker, tucking her feet up under her. By shifting her weight slightly, she was able to set the chair in motion. The air had cooled a little, but it was undeniably June. Her gardenias were in bloom. Their white star-shape seemed to gleam in the darkness, and their perfume wrapped around her. Her mother had always planted a gardenia bush near the front door. The smell was better than any welcome mat, Nina always said.
Mary Bliss put her head back. Her eyes were dry and seemed to burn with a lack of sleep. She yawned widely. Maybe she would sleep tonight. The worst was over. She’d survived. Survived the trip to Mexico, the boat accident. Telling Erin her daddy was dead. She’d survived Eula and she’d survived the memorial service.
The worst is behind you, she whispered, rocking softly to and fro. It’s all behind you.
38
After the thank-you notes had been written, the wilted flower arrangements discarded, and the neighbors’ Tupperware scrubbed and returned, Mary Bliss allowed herself to go on autopilot.
She worked out a stock response to the polite inquiries. “We’re doing fine, thanks.” And, “Yes, he was a wonderful man. I guess we’ll have to put our
lives back together without him now.”
She worked at least forty hours a week at Bargain Bonanza, where her skills as a product demonstration hostess grew so highly developed that she was able to force even the most disgusting convenience food on the most disagreeable customer. Her personal best record for amounts of samples dispersed were for Cha-Cha’s Chileetos, a pseudo Tex-Mex appetizer that consisted of a spongy miniature corn tortilla wrapped around a mixture of ground beef, refried beans, hot sauce, and processed cheese.
On the Saturday morning she force-fed seventeen cases of Chileetos to unwary customers, the store manager presented her with a bouquet of blue-tinted carnations and a bottle of generic-label champagne. Her photograph was taken and she was named “Product Demonstration Hostess of the Month” for all of the metro Atlanta stores.
Work was good. It took her away to a place where the bills weren’t piled up, and her grass didn’t need mowing, and her daughter didn’t glower at her on the rare occasions they were together. Although—she was shocked at the number of customers who bore a striking resemblance to Dinky Davis.
On Wednesdays, she took dinner to Eula, who continued to tell everyone within hearing distance that her son was not dead. And every day, she hated Parker McGowan a little bit more.
The last week in June, she screwed up her courage and called Charlie Weidman to inquire about the status of her insurance claim.
He’d hemmed and hawed and beat around the bush, until finally she’d laid it on the line for him.
“Charlie, I’m desperate. Erin’s tuition was due weeks ago. The mortgage company is sending me registered letters threatening to take my house. What’s taking that darned insurance company so long?”
“Maybe we should have lunch,” Charlie said.
“I’ve had lunch,” she told him. “Just tell me the truth, please.”
“All right,” he’d said. “Their people notified me last week, they’ve assigned a case manager to you.”
Little Bitty Lies Page 19