by Joni Rodgers
“It was so silly of me. All the girls at the club said, ‘How could you have your entire kitchen redone twice in three months?’ but I forgot Daddy and his lactose intolerance, you know. He said, ‘Mother, it gives me indigestion just looking at all those spots and udders.’”
She pulled a paper towel from the duck-shaped dispenser, polished at the pristine refrigerator, then replaced the magnets, carefully setting them largest to smallest, along the top of the freezer door. Kiki wasn’t sure why they were there. Instead of holding up jumbles of grocery lists and phone messages and children’s drawings, they clung directly to the sterile white surface like unfertilized eggs laid out for scientific examination. Mother Daubert finished setting them in place, measured with her eye, straightened one or two, and then used the paper towel to open the freezer door, as though she were a jewel thief protecting her fingerprints.
She took out a blue gel Medipac and pressed it under Kiki’s jaw.
“Do you know my delphiniums are still blooming?” she said. “Seems like we didn’t know the word ‘winter’ this year.”
Kiki slipped a napkin between the pack and her skin, so the pack wouldn’t come away sticky from her heavy makeup that apparently was not heavy enough. She prepared to deliver an amusing anecdote about being dizzy from morning sickness, taking a spill, cat under her feet, new high heels, corner of the cupboard. She had practiced it in the shower mirror that morning and visualized it later, in the car on the way over. She was proud of her talent for making it sound funny, her special blend of Erma Bombeck exasperation and Grade Allen ditz.
“How is your mother doing?” Mother Daubert asked, boosting at her pouffy hair in the reflective door of the microwave.
“Just fine. Doing real well.” Kiki tried to answer without displacing the soothing cold pack. “Although— Well, I’m a little concerned. I haven’t been able to talk with her for a while.”
“Well, I suppose, what with the children and church and all your responsibilities,” Mother Daubert sympathized. “It’s a busy time. First your mother and then your sister being sick and needing you and all.”
Kiki nodded and studied the side of the sink where the grout was toothbrushed to a blinding white.
“Maybe you can make another little trip down there when she’s all finished with her treatment. Only this time, all four of you. A real family vacation. You could go to Disney World!”
“Yes,” Kiki said. “That would be fun.”
“I’m sure she’d love to see the children. Nothing to speed one’s recovery like having the children close by, filling up the house with sunshine. You know, when our Wayne was little, I had a dizzy spell, and as soon as I got home from the hospital, Lorenza—we still had our Lorenza then—she set me out in the yard with the flowers and a tall glass of ice tea, and I just sat there watching my little Whipper playing in the baby pool, building castles in his little sandbox. He’d find a cicada shell or a magnolia cone or whatever he’d come across, and he’d come running over, ‘Mama! Mama! See what I got for you!’ He called them ‘yard treasures.’ And he’d put his arms around me so gently, stroke my cheek—just like this—with his soft baby hands, and he’d say, ‘Poor Mama fall down and hurt herself.’ I never knew such a sensitive child. Perfect little angel. And smart! Lorenza was teaching us both to speak Spanish, and he could say, ‘Mucho gusto en verle!’ just like a little señor. And Lorenza ... You know, without her, I don’t think I could have ...”
Mother Daubert pulled another paper towel free and spritzed spray cleaner on it.
“Do you know, I’ve been diluting this 409 cleaner half-to-half and it works every bit as well as full strength? There’s a little money-saving tip for you,” she offered.
Mother Daubert was real big on little money-saving tips, especially for someone who’d never pumped her own gas once in her life. She diluted fruit juice and shuffled generic cereals into name-brand boxes, dealing coupons across the checkout stand like a Vegas high roller.
“I... I usually use Fantastik,” said Kiki.
“He’s still very sensitive.” Mother Daubert rubbed around the edge of a drip pan on the stove. “Always bringing flowers and calling me every day. And how many of the girls wish their grandbabies came over every Saturday evening for supper? I couldn’t ask for a sweeter son. ‘You could not ask for a sweeter son,’ the girls always say to me, ‘I wish I had a son who was as sensitive and sweet as all that!’ and I say, ‘It’s a blessing is what it is. It’s a gift from God.’”
Kiki shifted the cold pack to her cheekbone.
“When I was pregnant with him, I had some trouble, you know. I got dizzy and took a spill. Cracked three ribs. The doctor said, ‘If this child is born at all, if 11 be a miracle from God’ is what he said. He was born almost six weeks early. I bled so bad, they had to. take everything. Back in those days, they’d just take everything, you know, and I said, ‘Go ahead,’ is what I said. I said, ‘I’ve got my little miracle, I don’t need any more.’ And of course, Daddy was thrilled. He was so dearly wanting a son. He was so in hopes he’d have a son to follow in his path at the law firm someday. He had only girls with his first wife, you know. Just the three girls. That was a great disappointment to him. I’ll tell you this,” she added in hushed confidence, “I’m not so sure it didn’t have a little something to do with their divorce.”
Mother Daubert took the cold pack from Kiki and put it back in the freezer. She sat down at the table and straightened the mallard salt and pepper shakers on either side of the grass and cattail napkin dispenser.
“Well,” she said. “Isn’t this nice?”
Kiki smiled.
“Real nice,” Mother Daubert repeated, “real nice. Everything back to normal.”
“Mm-hmm,” Kiki nodded agreeably, though it hurt her jaw to smile.
“You know,” Mother Daubert said, folding her hands in her lap, “I missed our Saturday suppers while you were off visiting. At your mother’s, I mean. It’s so nice to see you two together. You make such a handsome family. And the children. Wayne was just lost without you, you know. He was just desperately lonesome.”
“Yes,” Kiki said. “Me too.”
“I ask myself what my life would be like if I didn’t have Daddy, and I just can’t imagine.”
“No.”
“I suppose you’re as busy as can be, now.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Catching up on things, laundry, garden. Always something to do.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“A woman’s work is never done, they say.”
“No, it’s true.”
The duck-shaped clock ticked its minute wing forward one notch.
“Well,” Mother Daubert said.
They sat quietly until it ticked again.
“Well.”
She layered Kiki’s hands between her own, which were powder soft, except for the cool metal of her spiny diamond anniversary ring.
“You know what we should do?” she whispered.
Kiki shook her head.
“We should sneak those last two pieces of cherry cheesecake.”
“Oh. I really shouldn’t.”
“Could you tell I experimented? I just got silly with it! Can you tell the difference? I made the crust with gingersnaps instead of Nilla Wafers. Can you imagine? Just dropped them into the food processor with some butter and—kerbingo! And Daddy said, ‘What on earth?’ he said, ‘What happened to the Nilla Wafers?’ and I told him, ‘I felt like gingersnaps!’ I said. I said, ‘I guess I can use gingersnaps if I feel like it!’ And didn’t it turn out yummy?”
“Yes,” Kiki nodded.
“The gingersnaps really give it that little extra zip.”
“Yes. It was really ... it was delicious, Mother Daubert, but I can’t.”
“You can afford a tiny sliver,” Mother Daubert coaxed, “you’re eating for two now. Me—I’m the one who shouldn’t. You know how I love my rich desserts, but at my age, those calories go straight to my
b-u-t-t!” she whispered naughtily, her hand cupped beside her mouth, still Southern Lady enough to blush and spell. She’d been bred with an invincible brand of careful cotillion charm, and that gentility stood impenetrable to the harsh blurting world. “Daddy says, ‘Better watch that girlish figure, Mother.’ And I know it plays ping-pong with my blood pressure, but still—I just can’t resist a sliver of something sweet in the evening.”
Kiki smiled and gazed longingly at the cheesecake.
“C’mon now, I know you want some.”
“No, thank you, Mother Daubert.”
“Oh, a little corner.” Mother Daubert was already unwrapping the glass pie plate from the refrigerator. “Just a little corner?”
“No, really. I can’t.”
“Just a sliver.” She dished a large portion onto a dessert plate and set it on Kiki’s yellow place mat.
“Mother Daubert, Wayne won’t like it.”
“Oh.” Her expression was torn, but not confused. “No, of course not, and here I am, tempting you with this awful junk food. I’m sorry, dear.”
She snatched the plate back and slid the cheesecake into the garbage disposal, flipping it on and rinsing the sink with the spray gun.
“It’s just— He’s concerned for my weight, what with the baby and all.”
“Of course! He’s concerned for your health. That’s just how he is. His father was always very solicitous of me that way. Very attentive and concerned. I suppose that’s where he gets his sensitive side.”
Mother Daubert sat down across from her at the breakfast table and placed her palms on the duck-and-duckling tablecloth. They sat that way as the dishwasher cycled through and stopped, and the clock duck’s wing dipped lower and then back up toward the hour. They both glanced up when they heard footsteps on the back porch, and Kiki flinched slightly when Wayne called out to the children, telling them it was time to go.
“Well,” Kiki bolted from her chair. “I guess it’s time to go.”
Wayne called again, telling them to climb down outa that plum tree and get in the car.
“I wish they wouldn’t dawdle,” Kiki fretted.
“Oh, I know how they are at that age,” Mother Daubert said. “But they have to learn, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t spare the rod.”
“No.”
“Poor babies. All this—this upset. It’s probably ... upsetting.”
Kiki peered into the dusky yard, willing Oscar to swing down from the plum branches, wishing she was hiding with him in the high, leafy silence.
“But everything’s back to normal now,” Mother Daubert said.
Kiki nodded.
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
She scrubbed at a spot on the spotless tablecloth.
Kiki nodded again, but she could feel her face turning bleak, the aching muscles in her face too tired to hold up the pleasant expression. Wayne and Daddy Daubert laughed out on the porch.
“It’ll be fine,” Mother Daubert whispered, and Kiki nodded.
“I know,” she said. “It will be. It is. Fine. Only ...” she searched Mother Daubert’s soft gray eyes. “How long—I mean, does it ever ...”
Kiki impulsively threw her arms around Mother Daubert. Her bouffant hair smelled faintly of perfume, and the embrace was like holding the kind of stuffed animal you might win at the fair: light as sawdust, brittle stitches, an unnatural brightness of color, and stiff instead of soft, like you’d expect it to be.
“There’s something I want you to have.”
Mother Daubert pulled away and dragged a little folding step ladder from the broom closet, using it to climb up and reach the camouflaged half-cupboard above the oven hood.
“This was part of my mother’s tea service,” she said, straining toward the back of the shelf. “Sterling silver. I want you to have it. I’ve been saving it ever since Wayne was a baby. First Lorenza and I... and then after she was deported— But I want you to have it now.”
Kiki looked at her curiously as she teetered and backed down the stepladder and set the silver sugar bowl on the table. It was large and tarnished, plainly made and not very pretty.
“Oh ...,” Kiki said. “Why, Mother Daubert, it’s just ... lovely.”
“I want you to have it,” Mother Daubert said deliberately.
“Well, thank you.”
“It’s for you,” Mother Daubert whispered, pushing it toward her.
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
Mother Daubert nodded and pushed it closer.
“Yes. Well. Thank you so much.”
Feeling some kind of big response was expected, Kiki took the silver bowl in her hands and held it up to admire it for a moment.
“It’s really, really ... lovely, Mother Daubert,” she said, lifting the lid. “Just love—”
She breathed in when she saw the thick cylinder of tightly rolled bills inside.
Turning her back toward Kiki, Mother Daubert busied herself, putting away the stepladder, rearranging the quilted duck-and-tulip pot holders on small silver hooks above the stove, straightening the flatware in the drawer.
“Well, I’m just going to throw caution to the breeze this evening,” she said, opening the refrigerator and pulling the Saran Wrap from the pie shell. “Are you sure you won’t have just a sliver?”
Butch and Marnie arrived after six with their four-year-old daughter, Trudy, and Butch’s son, Blake. It was a relief to have reinforcements, even though Butch had been drinking and Marnie looked like a gerbil in a cage and Kit was afraid of Blake’s influence on Cooper. He was fourteen and only in the sixth grade, the quintessential BB-gun-toting, freckle-sporting, small town Texas middle school bully. But Trudy provided some distraction for Mitzi, and Kit kept reminding herself of tomorrow morning and the blessed thundering quiet of the waves at Matagorda.
“Well, Marnie,” she said, moving a gritty ashtray off the arm of the couch, “we didn’t know you were expecting.”
“Oh, mm-hmm. We’re expecting, all right,” Marnie said, and she and Kit killed a little time with the standard so-you’re-expecting conversation.
“When are you due?”
“Next month.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, fine.”
“Did you get an ultrasound?”
“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.”
“I bet Butch is really hoping for a boy this time.”
“Yes, he sure is.”
“Do you have names picked out?”
“Probably nothing as poetic as ‘Millicent.’” Neeva came in and put the ashtray back on the arm of the couch. “Who wants cake?”
“Grandma,” Mitzi tugged on her sleeve. “I’m making you an anniversary card. How do you spell your name?”
“M-U-D.”
Mitzi painstakingly wrote it down.
“How do you spell Grampa’s name?”
“O-T-T-O! O-T-T-O!” Her voice dipped up and then down. “Same coming as it is going. ‘Toot’ turned inside out. Ot-to.” Her cigarette tipped downward from her mouth, making her look very sad all of the sudden. “That’s Otto.”
“What number do I put?”
“Zero, Miss Millicent. Put a big fat zero.”
“Nooooo,” Mitzi giggled. “How many years of anniversary?”
“Fifty-three.”
“Oh, no!” Kit cried. “When I ordered the cake, I—I thought you said fifty-four, Neeva. I told them fifty-four. I’m sorry.”
“I said fifty-four.” Neeva shrugged and lit a cigarette. “I subtract a year sometimes.”
“Why?” Marnie asked timidly.
“Because, Marnie dear, some years are better off forgotten.”
She stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray.
“Let’s have it,” she sighed and prodded Otto, who was dozing in the recliner. “OTTO! CAKE!”
Neeva sat at the head of the table, hacking away oddly shaped servings of marble cake, Kit stood at her
elbow slooping out scoops of swiftly melting ice cream, and Marnie focused fiercely on the production of another pot of coffee. Mitzi and Trudy tore around, under the influence of too much sugar. Kit worried about the whereabouts of Blake and Cooper. Neeva opened the tray from Kit and Mel. Otto drew his glasses down to the tip of his nose, examining the check from Butch and Marnie. Finally, there was a moment of silence that felt so void, Kit burst into a compulsive chorus of “Happy Anniversary to You” and then absolutely insisted that everyone have seconds on cake.
Mel and Butch took theirs out on the front porch and sat on the glider. Butch was five years older and it showed, but other than that, the two brothers were virtually identical. They were talking about (what else?) the Falcon, and Butch was giving Mel some pointers on how he might goose that transmission into action.
“Look at those two,” Neeva said. “Before and after.”
“After what?” Marnie asked, genuinely not getting it.
“I can see we’re breeding another generation of Prizer intellect. Jump into the gene pool, honey. Water’s fine.”
There was boisterous laughter from the front porch. Butch was telling Mel some crude joke, by the sound of it. Neeva stood at the window, smoking and watching them.
“It isn’t right,” she muttered and shook her head. “It shouldn’t be this way.”
Kit knew she was talking about Teddy. It usually started toward evening. She hoped Mel would stay out there with Butch. Just stay out there, honey, she willed him, stay out there, Mel.
“Hey,” Mel let the screen door bang behind him on his way in, and Neeva’s back went rigid. “What are you girls gabbing about in here?”
“Babies,” Butch said. “That’s all we’re allowed to talk about these days. Babies in pink, babies in blue, babies in strollers that cost more than your damn car.” He elbowed Mel in the side. “Babies eating lunch at your favorite restaurant.”
“Yeah, but you can still enjoy lookin’ at the menu, huh?” Mel elbowed him back, and they snickered like they were in the boys’ locker room.