She lit a fresh cigarette, inhaled deeply, and blew smoke rings at the actors on the screen. "What makes you think I’m moving to Palm Beach?"
It was the way she asked her question—in her low, slow-down voice—that indicated I’d played my hand too soon.
She turned off the TV, sat down on the blue velvet davenport, and crossed her long legs. The popping of sandal against heel began again. "I didn’t hear your answer. Why would I leave such a loving family?"
I slipped down onto the edge of Papa’s old recliner. "I thought you loved Henry."
"I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to run after him." She plucked a piece of tobacco off her bottom lip and flicked it into the air.
"Henry loves you, Momma. If you really love him, you’ll go."
Helen rose and walked to the middle of the living room. She twirled in a slow circle, pointing her finger at various objects. "I’ve spent twenty-three years in this house, in this town. I arrived here with nothing and married into one of the most important families in the county. I’ve built me a solid place in Sugardale society." She came and stood over me. "Do you really think I’d give everything I’ve worked for to you and Frank and run off with Henry with nothing to show for it? Are you that stupid, Becky Leigh?"
"How much?" a male voice asked.
Helen turned to find Frank standing behind her. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough." Frank pulled off his tie, hung it and his jacket on the coat rack in the hall and walked into the living room. "How much, Helen? How much money will it take to get you out of our lives?"
"You think you can buy me off like that?" she asked.
Frank undid the top two buttons of his shirt. "$50,000 cash."
"That money is to finance our wholesale expansion," I said. "You can’t give it to her."
"Hush, Becky. This is between me and Helen."
She laughed. "We see how much your opinion counts, Becky. I thought you two were partners."
Frank glanced at me. I didn’t try to hide my disappointment.
"Becky and I are partners. It’s our future together I’m thinking about."
"And my future? I guess that doesn’t matter to either one of you. The fact that the business and house was left to me by Becky’s daddy makes no difference, does it?" She fisted her hands on her hips. "If it wasn’t for me, neither one of you would have a roof over your head or a pot to pee in."
"There’s no need to get vulgar, Helen."
She blew a cloud of smoke toward Frank. "I’m just getting warmed up."
"The hell you are." He pointed to the sofa. "Sit down."
"You can’t tell me what to do, Frank Wooten. This isn’t scared little Becky you’re talking to."
Frank’s nostrils flared as his breathing quickened; his fingers balled into fists.
"I’ve never believed in hitting a woman, Helen. Don’t make me change my mind."
She spun around, stomped across the room, and plopped down on the sofa.
I wrapped my arms around my waist and began to rock.
Frank pushed the ottoman toward the coffee table until it was halfway between Momma and myself. "I saw Henry at the post office. He said he’d stopped by today."
"So what?" Helen asked. "I’m allowed to have company, aren’t I?"
Frank leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. "He said he was moving to Florida and wants you to go with him. He wants to marry you."
She slid an ashtray across the coffee table and rubbed out her cigarette into the amber glass. "That must have been an interesting conversation. Hi, Frank. How are you?" Momma spoke in a voice meant to mimic Henry’s. "By the way, I stopped by your house to ask your wife to marry me. You don’t mind, do you?"
Frank straightened. "Henry knows we haven’t lived as man and wife for years. He knows Becky and I are together."
"He knows you and my daughter started an affair behind my back in my own house."
I stood. "That’s not the way it happened, Momma."
"Becky, please sit down and let me handle this," Frank said.
Helen nodded. "That’s right, Becky. You shut up and let the grownups talk."
Fire burned in my cheeks. I started toward her, but Frank waved me back.
"Pay your mother no mind. She’s just trying to cause trouble." He turned to Helen. "Our relationship started long after you began your trysts with Henry, Roy Tate, and who knows how many others."
Helen grinned. "Looks like we’re all sinners in the same boat bound for Hell."
"Does Henry know you were raising your skirt for Tate at the same time you were bedding him?" Frank asked.
She jumped up. "Shut your mouth, Franklin Wayne Wooten. I haven’t been with Roy for years." Momma marched over to the credenza, yanked open the second drawer, took out a new carton of Camels. She unwrapped the cellophane, removed a cigarette, and pulled out her lighter. "Don’t you worry about Henry. He knows everything."
"I’m glad to hear that," Frank said.
She placed the cigarette between her lips, lit it, and then slipped the lighter back into her skirt pocket. "Henry knows everything about me and he stills love me. He’s not like you and Becky’s daddy. When Henry loves a woman, he loves her unconditionally." Momma pulled hard on her smoke, then blew it out. "He doesn’t try to mold her into something she’s not or hold back his love as a means of punishing her or trying to control her."
"Papa didn’t do that," I said. "Papa loved unconditionally."
"Sure he did, if you were a Cooper by blood. But if you weren’t, you’d better stay in your place if you wanted any crumbs of affection from Paul Cooper."
"That’s a lie." My hands began to tremble.
Helen shook her smoke at Frank. "You weren’t any better."
"You’re a liar, Momma. A lying whore, that’s what you are." I started toward her, but Frank stepped between us.
She tapped her ashes into the ashtray. "That may be true, Sugar, but then what are you?"
Frank grabbed her arm. "I won’t allow you to talk to Becky that way."
Helen pulled away, fled toward the dining end of the room, and slipped between the china cabinet and the formal dining table. "Did you hear that, Becky? Frank won’t allow me. Wait until you do something he doesn’t like, and then see how fast he turns on you."
He slipped his arm around my shoulder. "I doubt Becky will be beating any children. Besides, we love each other."
Helen grabbed the back of a dining chair with both hands. "Frank loves Becky. Isn’t that sweet. Shall we open a bottle of champagne and celebrate?"
Frank’s grip on my shoulder tightened. I couldn’t tell if the trembling I felt was emanating from him or myself. Maybe both.
"Sit down, Becky," he whispered. "I’ll take care of this."
I did as I was told.
Frank returned to his seat on the ottoman. "Sit down, Helen."
"I don’t feel like sitting."
Momma’s legs could’ve been ready to break off and she wouldn’t have sat down. That’s her nature—ornery, bull-headed, and just plain disagreeable. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why a nice man like Henry Nash wanted to be saddled with her. Maybe he was a secret masochist, preferring pain above pleasure, lunacy to common sense, and humiliation in lieu of loving support.
If he wanted a dominating crazy woman who knew how to cut a person to the bone, then my mother was the right gal for him. Perhaps the years he spent breathing embalming fluid had mummified his brain cells.
Who knew what the real truth was? No one. That’s who. In the sweet sounding world of Sugardale nothing was ever what it seemed, and no one was ever who they pretended to be, including me. Life in Sugardale reminded me of the house of mirrors I visited whenever the fair came to town. There was a different mirror for each kind of person you wanted to be. If you wanted to be skinny or fat, short or tall, round-faced or long-chinned, all you had do was look in the right mirror.
That’s w
hat we did everyday of our lives—Frank, Momma, and me. Across the threshold of our front door stood an invisible mirror. Every morning, we lined up in front of it and decided who we needed to be that day—dutiful wife, loving stepdaughter, family man, hard working, church going, pillars of the community. Once we determined what our role for the day should be, we stepped through the mirror and voila! We became that person. At the end of the day, we simply stepped back through the mirror of make-believe and reverted into our real selves.
But the mirror demanded all who used its life-transforming magic pay a fee. Every day, when we stepped back through the mirror, we were required to leave behind a small piece of ourselves, a token of integrity or sliver of truth that we no longer had a right to claim. How long could such payments continue before spiritual bankruptcy occurred? Who knew? Not me. But I feared Frank might have the answer.
Since our return from vacation, I’d observed slight changes in him. Little things, like going to bed without me or not asking me to fix a favorite desert or turning down my offers to wash his back. Our physical relationship had always been very active. We seldom skipped more than two nights making love until now. Frank hadn’t touched me in five nights. I told myself he was tired from work, but that was a lie. Our most amazing nights of passion had followed some of our most taxing days at the stores.
Lately, Frank hadn’t seemed to need or want me. Something had changed, and I’d decided it was Momma’s fault. Without Henry to keep her occupied, she’d interjected her ornery self into our lives again. Her complaining, bickering, and bad temper tainted Frank’s and my relationship. She wouldn’t stop until I was as alone and miserable as she was. One way or another, Momma had to go. Surely, Frank felt the same way. He had to know our current problems were her fault, not mine.
Helen and Frank stared at each other, neither one willing to blink first.
I sighed. "What do you want, Momma?" Might as well ask. Everything would turn on her desires anyway.
"Well, now that you’ve asked." She sat down, rested her elbows on the table, and folded her hands neatly under her chin. "Henry has made me a very attractive proposal."
"Are you accepting his offer of marriage?" Frank asked.
Helen grinned. "That would please you and Becky to no end, wouldn’t it?"
"We just want you to be happy, Momma. That’s all."
She laughed. "You two would ship me to the moon if you could. Wouldn’t you?"
"Let’s cut the bullshit, Helen," Frank said.
"Is that any way to talk in front of the child, Sugar?"
I stood. "I’m not a child, goddamn you."
Helen shook her head. "Such language. You must have learned that from Frank."
I’d had enough. I headed straight for her.
Frank grabbed my arm. "Calm down, Becky. Can’t you see Helen’s trying to rile you? She’s just playing you."
I jerked my arm free, grabbed two silver candlesticks off the credenza, and flung candles across the floor. Holding up the silver, I said, "And I’m going to play her too. I’m going play the drums using her head."
"Give me those." Frank tried to wrestle the candlesticks from me.
"No. I tired of her smart-alecky mouth." I tightened my grip on the silver.
Frank pulled harder. "Let go, Becky."
I turned loose of the candlesticks. Frank fell back into the edge of the china cabinet. Antique dishes rattled. Cups and saucers crashed against the glass cabinet doors, followed by a gravy boat and several plates.
Helen swiveled around to survey the damage. "That was your Grandma Cooper’s best china. It survived the Civil War."
How many times had Grandpa Eli told me the story of how his grandmother had buried the family valuables, including the silver and good china, in the woods until the war was over. Not one piece got broke. He considered that a tribute to Cooper ingenuity and perseverance. "Even the damn Yankees couldn’t get the best of the Coopers," Grandpa often bragged. In an instant, I’d accomplished what Sherman and a regiment of union troops had failed to do—destroy a piece of the Cooper legacy. I wanted to vomit.
Frank got his feet under him, set the candlesticks on the table, rubbed his spine.
"Are you hurt, Frank?" I started to apologize, but he turned his back to me.
"Why do you make Becky crazy like that, Helen?"
She shrugged. "Because she lets me, I guess."
I glared at her.
"Don’t look at me that way," she said. "I’m not the one who called you crazy."
"Enough!" Frank shouted. "I’ve had enough of both of you." His eyes bulged, his cheeks puffed out. Quick breaths forced through barred teeth created a wheezing, the tempo of which matched my escalating pulse. He pointed toward the hall. "Since the day I walked through that door eight years ago, you two have put me in the middle. Well, no more. Do you hear me, Helen?"
"The whole neighborhood can hear you, Frank."
"Do you hear me, Becky?" he asked in a softer voice.
"Yes, Darling."
Helen snickered. My term of endearment obviously amused her.
Frank picked up the candlesticks, tossed one to me, and thrust the other into Momma’s hand. "If you two ladies are so determined to destroy each other, go ahead."
Neither one of us moved.
"How about it, Becky? You’ve said you wished your mother was dead." He turned to Momma. "And what about you, Helen? You’ve come close to killing Becky on a number of occasions. Doctor Condray has the x-rays to prove it." Frank slicked back his hair with both hands. "Who wants to strike the first blow?"
At first, neither of us made a move. Then, I placed my candlestick back on the credenza. Momma handed hers to Frank. He set it next to its mate and returned to the ottoman.
"I’ve done a lot of thinking these past two weeks," he said.
"About what?" Helen asked.
"Let me finish. After I have my say, you and Becky can do whatever you like."
"Sounds good to me. Sound okay to you, Becky?"
My neck muscles tightened. Goosebumps decorated my arms. "I guess."
"I can’t go on living this way." Frank ran his hand over his face. "I’m tired of the bickering, fed up with the sarcasm, and worn out by the hate. Most of all, I’m sick to death of the lies." He stood, slipped his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. "I must be getting old because I can’t keep up with all the lies anymore. Don’t even want to try. And as far as the sneaking around goes, I’m tired of that too." He walked over and took my hand. "Becky, I love you, and I’m through trying to hide that fact from the world. Do you know what I dream about?"
I shook my head.
"I dream about summer evenings like this. A day’s work finished, the distant hills lit by a setting Georgia sun, the anticipation of the coming night’s breeze." He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. "And you and me sitting in the swing on the front porch, my arm around your shoulders and us waving at all who pass by." Frank patted my arm. "Did you hear what I said, Becky? I said the front porch, in the daylight. Not the glider hidden in the back garden at two o’clock in the morning."
I nodded and blinked back tears.
"I never knew you were such a romantic, Frank," Helen said.
"Reckon it sounds corny to you, but then you never could understand honest emotions."
"Don’t get all uppity with me. I went along with our game of charades because it worked best for all of us. You two are the ones who claimed a scandal would hurt business."
"You and Henry believed that too," I said.
"Yes, and we were right. This may be 1971, but Sugardale is still a narrow-minded, stuck-in-the past, old-fashioned community." Helen stopped, pushed her hair behind her ears. "Don’t think just because a colored man got elected sheriff, folks here are more accepting of things now days. They’re not. No one in this valley will ever accept you two as a couple."
"You’re right," Frank said. "They’ll never accept us as a couple as long as we’
re all here together."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means one of us is leaving Sugardale. Either you or me."
The room went silent. I gathered my courage and asked, "What about me, Frank? If you leave, what am I supposed to do?"
"You’ll come with me. Wherever I go, I’ll want you with me."
"I can’t leave Papa’s house. You know I promised to take care of it for him."
Frank cocked an eyebrow. "Do you intend to plan the rest of your life around a promise to a dead man?"
"He’s not a dead man. He’s Papa, and you’re the one who convinced me I had to keep my promise."
"That’s when you were at Havenwood and had given up on everything, including living." He grabbed my shoulders. "I would’ve told you anything to save you. Don’t you understand?"
I sunk down into Papa’s recliner. The goal for the evening was to get Momma to marry Henry and leave Sugardale. But now, Frank was talking about leaving instead and asking me to choose between him and my promise to Papa. How did things get so twisted so fast?
"Do you have some sort of plan?" Helen asked. "Or should we break out the Monopoly game? Winner takes all."
"Don’t do it, Frank. Momma cheats."
She snickered. "Everybody cheats. I need a cigarette."
"I have two plans, Helen. Take your pick." He tossed her a pack of Camels. "As I said before, if you’ll marry Henry and move to Florida, I’ll give you $50,000 cash."
She flipped back the top of her lighter. "That’s not enough."
"It’s all the cash I have."
"Cash runs out. I want a percentage of the business, something for my old age."
"You’re never going to get old, Helen."
She smiled. "Don’t try to sweet talk me, Frank. I want my share. Won’t leave without it."
He nodded. "What do you figure your share to be?"
"Since you’d get to keep the house, I think I should get at least half of the profits from the businesses."
"No way," I yelled. "Frank and I built up the stores and did all the work."
"Becky’s right. Besides, we can’t afford to take that much cash out each month and still keep the stores viable, much less growing."
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