Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  “And you, Sela, how could you have gotten Mama Pearl liquored up like that? I know you’re no stranger to the sauce, but you had no right to do that to her. In closing,” Bode said in his best courtroom voice, “if anyone here is ruining Callie’s wedding, it’s you two. I know you probably meant well, but that just goes to show your immaturity. Grow up. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .

  “Drink lots of black coffee, Mama Pearl. You sashay into that party like the queen you are. I love you so much. Whatever I am, I am because of you—and don’t you ever forget it because I sure won’t. You look more beautiful than the first star at night. When I think about you, which I will do every single day, I’ll think of you in this dress.” He kissed her, hugged her, then held out his arms to Sela and Brie, who were both sniveling.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You meant well, but you have to learn to mind your own business. I could have taken you, Brie.” He chuckled.

  “Not on your best day, Bode.” She hiccupped. “I’ll drive you back to the airport.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll call a cab or hitchhike. I can’t handle your kind of help, well-meaning or not.”

  “Some small part of you has to be glad I did, though. If I hadn’t gone after you, we’d all be thinking you’re a first-class son of a bitch, and you aren’t that at all. I’m sorry, Bode. I really am. If it’s any consolation to you, I would have shot you in the foot, not where I said. I would have lied and made up some story.”

  “I know. Friends, okay?”

  “Yeah,” both girls said in unison. “Write, Bode.”

  “You bet.”

  “Liar,” they both said.

  Bode grinned.

  All three women watched him walk out to the main road. Pearl sobbed, the girls’ arms around her broad shoulders.

  “He’ll never come back. I know it in my heart,” she wept.

  Sela and Brie looked at one another. “Time takes care of everything, Pearl,” Brie said gently. “Eventually he’ll come back. We still come back from time to time. Bode will, too; but not for a while. Everyone wants that one place called home to be able to return to. Don’t lose faith, Pearl. Bode won’t let you down.”

  “And on that note I think we need to clean up again and sashay our way to the Judge’s house and partake of that scrumptious spread his wife will have surely put out. It’s probably all picked over, but we have to show our faces. Brie can drive since she’s sober,” Sela said.

  “Miz Callie is never going to forgive me,” Pearl cried.

  “She’s already forgiven you. She loves you, Pearl, more than life itself. I say we get up and head out for the party. That dress is too gorgeous, Pearl, not to be seen. Here, let me wipe your eyes.” Sela softly dabbed at Pearl’s eyes with one of the linen napkins from the kitchen drawer.

  “Brie and I love you just as much as Bode and Callie love you. You need to believe that, Pearl.”

  “I do, Miz Sela. I love all my children. Let us get fixed up so we can walk in with our heads held high. I don’t want anyone saying we look like low country trash.”

  “I’ll shoot them if they even look like they’re thinking such a thing.” Brie giggled.

  “There you go,” Sela said.

  Pearl smiled benignly—and that’s what it was all about: Pearl’s happiness, now, at this point in time.

  6

  The radio had been playing softly for the past ten minutes. Neither Wyn nor Callie had spoken a word to one another in that time. Callie sat close to the door, her back stiff, her eyes straight ahead. Everything was wrong; nothing was working out right. She was supposed to be happy. Instead she was more miserable than she’d ever been in her life. Right now she felt like calling the wedding off. All she wanted to do was run to Pearl and have her make the hurt go away. What kind of friends did she have anyway? The kind that couldn’t be bothered to show up at the wedding rehearsal when they were in the wedding party. It was those stupid dresses, she was sure of it. She should have said something to Wyn earlier, but it was too late now. She felt so alone, like she had when she was a child and Pearl dressed her up for her afternoon audience with her mother. She always wanted to cry when she stood outside the door, all alone, dreading walking into the dim bedroom. When she’d shared her feelings with Bode he’d told her to imagine something pleasant and hold on to the thought. She’d tried it and sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

  What she’d done was sort of skip into the room, wave her arms about, and transfer her thoughts to the pond where Bode had his jumpers: four frogs named Alexander, for Alexander the Great, Abraham, for Abraham Lincoln, Star, for the first star at night, and Rogerina, because Bode liked the way the name sounded.

  Think of something pleasant. Think about being married to Wyn. Think about how wonderful it’s going to be.

  He was angry and upset, not for himself, but for her. He wanted everything to be perfect, and her friends had spoiled it. She needed to say something, anything, to break the miserable silence between them.

  “Wyn, I feel like I should apologize to you, but part of me doesn’t want to. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t want us to be this way. We haven’t spoken since we left the church. Please, say something.”

  “I thought you were angry with me,” Wyn said, the words exploding from his mouth like bullets.

  “How could you think such a thing? You didn’t do anything. I was upset with Sela and Brie and yes, with Bode, too. It’s over, let’s put it behind us. They’ll be at the party, and things will be fine.”

  “Does that mean you’re feeling better about it all? Look, I don’t mind going back to the church for the rehearsal after the party. Things always go wrong at the last minute. Reverend Neville said he didn’t mind so why should we mind? I’m just glad you’re talking to me. I was beginning to think we were going to walk down the aisle not speaking to one another.” His tone was light, but there was no smile on his face that Callie could see. She did her best to match his tone when she replied.

  “And then leaving for our honeymoon still not talking to one another.” She giggled, in spite of herself, and Wyn allowed himself a small smile. “A few days from now we’ll laugh about all of this. It’s a memory, Wyn. We have to store it away.”

  “You’re absolutely right, darling.”

  The Cadillac slid over the bumpy road with hardly a jar, continuing down the road, past the azalea gardens and then turned right on Fifth Street.

  Judge Avery Summers and his wife Nela lived on Sumter Avenue. Like Wyn, he’d long ago sold his big house in Charleston and moved permanently to Summerville. He liked living in the Historical District. He’d restored the house to its original splendor and could be seen after hours working in his gardens or dabbing paint anywhere it was needed. The house gleamed now, its pristine whiteness shining in the late-afternoon light, like a beacon to welcome guests.

  Avery Summers was to give her away. It was his duty, he said, because he’d been Callie’s father’s closest friend and her guardian. It was his duty also to host the party since he and Nela were standing in for Callie’s parents. After all, the young .woman was going to work for him—a job Bode Jessup had insisted he create. It had taken Bode all of seven and a half minutes to explain the situation and to beg the Judge to hire Callie. He’d even promised to send half of whatever the Judge felt she deserved by way of salary, the details to be ironed out through the mail or via fax.

  He’d given Bode a stern lecture, and then Bode had given him a stern lecture in return. In the end they’d shaken hands, puffed on expensive cigars, sipped some excellent brandy, and finally said good-bye. Neither had spoken about what was to happen a year from now when the Judge retired.

  “We’re here,” Wyn said. “The Judge is doing it up regally. Valet parking. He does love to put on a show. Bet the food is something else. Nela loves a good party.”

  “I feel guilty letting them do all this. I wanted a little dinner in Charleston, just the wedding party, but the Judge ins
isted. I couldn’t say no.”

  “It makes him happy, Callie. After all, he is your guardian.”

  “I know, and I really am grateful, but now I’m going to feel obligated. I hate feeling obligated. I don’t see Sela’s or Brie’s car. I’m going to call as soon as I get inside.”

  “I can go get them if you want. It’s your decision, Callie.”

  “Let me see how things are going before you do that.”

  At first glance, and after the welcoming embraces by the Judge and Nela, Callie thought the entire town had turned out for what Judge Summers said was just a small get-together. With Wyn at her side, she smiled and spoke with people she’d known all her life.

  The Judge, a portly man with snow-white hair, a handlebar mustache, and a booming voice, hugged her to his ample chest. With his arm still around her, he allowed his wife, Miss Nela, a tiny woman, no bigger than a mouse, Avery constantly teased, to peck Callie on the cheek.

  “The child needs to circulate, Avery, so I’d be obliged if you’d let her go before you snap her ribs in two.” Nela shook her head, her pageboy bob swinging as she tugged at Callie’s arm.

  The rooms passed in a blur as Nela escorted Callie through the guests toward the sunroom, where a magnificent spread of food was being laid out. She barely had time to notice the hodgepodge of three-hundred-year-old antiques vying with Wal-Mart knickknacks. She knew some of the carpets were priceless Persians while others bore the Pier 1 Imports label. Pots, jugs, vases, as well as old milk cans held green plants mixed with silk branches, also from Pier 1, along with eucalyptus branches sticking out of the arrangements at crazy angles. The smell was overpowering.

  “Foods’s food,” Miss Nela said happily. “I just brought you out here to see if you’re really all right. Avery said you are, but I wanted to see for myself that Bowdey hasn’t spoiled the day for you. I do like Bowdey, I can’t get around that. Avery gave that boy a send-off luncheon a few days ago, and the whole town turned out. It was a good thing he took over Shoney’s; otherwise, people would have been turned away. Everyone came, ’cepting you and Wynfield and your friends. Why was that, Callie?”

  “I didn’t know about it. Pearl didn’t know either. She would have told me,” Callie said, her voice stunned.

  “I heard Avery calling Wynfield myself, Callie. Of course he didn’t have to go, I didn’t expect him to, but I surely thought you would have been there.” The pageboy bob was moving again, swishing against Nela’s high-necked lace collar. Her round, wire-rim glasses jiggled on her nose.

  Callie eyed the array of food on the table, felt the whirring of the paddle fan overhead tease at her hair. “Avery was a tad upset that you weren’t there. Just a tad,” Nela said, her round rosebud mouth. pursed in disbelief at what she considered to be Callie’s disrespect for an old friend.

  “I didn’t know,” Callie said again, her eyes miserable.

  “All the lawyers in town, Avery included, chipped in and bought Bode one of those fancy mountain bikes. I heard early this morning from Ester down at the courthouse that Bode pedaled that bicycle down to the police station and turned it over to the PBA to be raffled off for some youngster. Now, isn’t that just like Bode?”

  “Yes, that’s just like Bode,” Callie said quietly. “There’s so much food here, Miss Nela.”

  “I know. Men do love to eat, don’t they? We’re all going to miss Bode. Are you going to miss him, Callie?”

  “Very much, but not as much as Pearl. I don’t understand any of it. He never even . . . oh, it’s not important.”

  “We should be returning to our guests. The food does look pretty, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s very nice. I can feel the pounds going on just looking at it.”

  “I understand y’all have to go back to the church again because of some mix-up. Avery is going to fret over that. He likes to plant himself in that recliner I got him at Wal-Mart after supper and not move till it’s time to go to bed.”

  “I’m sorry about that, too, Miss Nela. You know what they say.”

  “No, what?” Nela said curiously.

  “That nothing ever works out right until the actual moment. Rehearsals and things like that always go awry. I think there’s some kind of old saying about show business—you know, if the rehearsal is a disaster, the opening night will go well.” Callie’s words trailed off lamely as Nela stared at her.

  “I’m not sure I ever heard that, but if you say so, I’ll take your word for it. What will you do when Avery retires?”

  “Why . . . I suppose I’ll get a job someplace else or maybe I’ll open my own office. I don’t intend to let my education go to waste.”

  “What if you have babies?”

  “I’ll get a nanny for them. Women don’t stay home anymore.”

  Nela clucked her tongue. “I imagine Wynfield will have something to say about that.”

  Callie drew in her breath. “Yes, Miss Nela, I imagine he will. We’ll work it out. Wyn is very open-minded.”

  “I’m real glad to hear that, Callie.”

  “I need to speak with the Judge, Miss Nela. Is there someplace we could speak in private?”

  “Avery’s study. You know where it is. You go along, and I’ll send Avery in.”

  “Wyn, too, please, Miss Nela.”

  Callie threaded her way to the rear of the house, to the Judge’s domain, where no one, not even Miss Nela, entered unless invited. He smoked his cigars there, ate his chocolate kisses, and drank his bourbon in peace and quiet, often in his bare feet, with his shirtsleeves rolled up.

  The Judge’s study was a nice room, a man’s room, a Judge’s room. The furniture was mahogany as were the bookshelves loaded with leather-bound books and stacks of periodicals heaped every which way. The plants were dusty, the ashtrays full. Dustballs were all over the floor. Once the Judge had said, rather proudly, that he cleaned his office every Saturday morning. If he felt like it. If he didn’t, he said, he waited until the following week.

  Callie gave the green recliner a hard thump. Dust spiraled upward. No wonder the Judge was always wheezing. Her index finger traced a line in the thick dust down the center of the television screen. She shrugged. Pearl would have this room, spick-and-span in an hour’s time.

  The door opened. Callie almost jumped out of her skin when Wyn said, “I sense a secret of some sort. I’ve been looking for you. Miss Nela said my presence was required immediately.”

  Callie’s eyes burned. This was supposed to be such a special moment, and now it felt flat. She wanted to run away, as far and as fast as her feet would take her. Instead she smiled and allowed the Judge to embrace her.

  Judge Avery Summers was a one-size-fits-all shape. He favored white suits even in the winter, and wore them well. He was a good man, a fair man. She’d only heard him raise his voice once in all the years that she’d known him. It happened when Bode brought in the deed of trust for him to look over. As Bode said later, the Judge went ballistic for all of ten minutes. In the end, with Bode’s logic and her persistence, the Judge had calmed, but it was obvious he didn’t approve of her deeding the manor house and property to Wyn. “The bottom line, Judge, is Callie wants this. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deed,” Bode said. Bode hadn’t approved either. Pearl had just pursed her lips and refused to comment.

  Tears burned Callie’s eyes. Was she making a mistake? No. Not at all. It was to be a surprise. She had to give something in return for the good life Wyn was going to be giving her. It was all she had. It was also fitting that she give it to Wyn. It would still be hers. At least, half of it would be hers. Marital property.

  The envelope was in the Judge’s hand. He opened the clasp and withdrew a sheaf of papers. He handed them to Callie who passed them to Wyn.

  “It’s a poem, right?” Wyn grinned, reaching for the papers with one hand as he set down his drink with the other. She heard his gasp, saw his eyes moisten. “Callie, I . . . this is yours. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, but I . .
. oh, my darling.”

  “It’s not worth much, Wyn, but it’s all I have to give,” she said, her voice choking up. “I want you to have it.”

  “Callie, I don’t know what to say. No one has ever given me anything like this. However, I don’t intend to let you outdo me. Wait here, I saw Kallum arrive, just as the Judge and I started back here. He has a few things, too. I’ll be right back.”

  “I think your plants need to be watered, Judge,” Callie said for something to say.

  “I’ll do it tomorrow morning. Did you happen to see Dora Witfield? If that fool wife of mine has allowed her to have two rum punches she’s going to be taking off her shoes and Lord knows what else,” the Judge said, his eyes everywhere but on Callie.

  “As long as she doesn’t get to her sweater it will be all right,” Callie said. “I’m doing the right thing, Judge. Please don’t be upset.”

  “I’m not upset, although it’s time enough, in my opinion, to be doing things like this after you give birth to a child. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Missed you at the luncheon.”

  “I didn’t know about it, or I would have contributed to the gift. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Told Wynfield. I asked him to tell you. I guess he forgot in the rush of things.”

  “I guess so,” Callie said quietly. That alone, she thought, might be reason enough to explain Bode’s attitude. “When I get back I’ll drop Bode a note and explain. You have his address, don’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t. Bode said he’d write after he got settled. I don’t believe for one minute that he’ll write or come back here. He’s rid himself of us. He’s going to be missed. Bode is a fine attorney. A fair man, a just man. He’s got more compassion in his little finger than half the people in that room out there.”