"After he’s finished signing the final papers for the sale of his house. Frank had better have all that equipment out of the barn today."
"That’s what he’s doing now. Gordon, Josh, and Neil are helping Frank move everything into the new building."
"The new building my money paid for." She walked to the front of the hothouse. "Frank said he’d send me a check in two weeks, three at the most. It’s been over a month and I still don’t have my money. That liar."
"Frank didn’t lie, Momma. The insurance company won’t pay up until Sheriff Hays completes his arson investigation."
"Just my luck to have a new sheriff elected and mess up my plans. I can’t believe the people of Cascade County were so stupid as to vote for someone other than Roy Tate. He’s served this county for twenty years."
"Sheriff Tate ran the county for twenty years. There’s a difference between serving the people and running things to suit yourself."
"Well, Miss High and Mighty, consider this. If Roy Tate was still sheriff, I’d have my money and I’d be on my way to Palm Beach tomorrow with Henry. But if I don’t get my money, I’m not moving anywhere except right back into that house and right back into you and your lover man’s cozy little life."
The slam of a car door saved me from having to respond.
"That better be Frank with my money." Helen stormed out the side door.
It was Josh Zagat who’d interrupted us. Through the greenhouse window, I saw him talking with Momma. I grabbed the broom and a garbage pail and started cleaning up the mess I’d made. Josh burst in with Momma following close on his heels.
"You’re early, Josh. I’m not finished repotting the mums yet."
"I’m not here for the mums, Becky." His eyes were wide and wild. "I came to tell you . . . to tell you . . ."
"To tell me what?"
Helen pushed Josh out of the way. "I need to tell you something, Becky."
"Tell me what?" I asked again. Sweat popped out under my arms, along my hairline, across the top my lip.
"It’s Frank," Josh said.
"Frank? What about him?" The queasiness I’d been feeling for the past week returned.
Josh took off his hat, wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "He’s was loading a small tractor onto a flatbed truck when he fell off."
"Oh, God! Did the tractor run over him? Did it fall on him?" My back muscles tightened.
"No," Josh said. "He . . . he . . ."
"He had a heart attack," Helen said. "Frank had a heart attack and fell off the tractor."
I shook my head. "That’s a lie. Frank is too young to have a heart attack." Wrapping my arms around my waist, I leaned back against a table laden with sacks of potting soil and began to rock.
"There’s no time for that rocking nonsense, Becky." She turned to Josh. "Where’s Frank now?"
"Daddy and Neil rushed him to the hospital in Kirbyville. I thought I should come get y’all."
She patted his shoulder. "You did the right thing. Come on, Becky. We need to get to the hospital. You drive, Josh."
"Yes, ma’am."
Josh and Momma headed for the greenhouse door, but I didn’t move. I stood frozen in disbelief.
Helen grabbed my forearm. "Get her other arm, Josh."
Josh did as he was told and they dragged me to the car.
*****
The waiting room at Kirbyville Memorial Hospital was half-full. Bright August sunlight streamed in through the picture window that offered an unremarkable view of the visitor’s parking lot. Paintings of various flowers in gold plastic frames hung above the armless black vinyl sofas that hugged two walls. An array of coffee, soda, and snack machines lined a third. Beneath the window, a low bookcase stored crayons and coloring books for use by any child who had the misfortune of being trapped with adults waiting for information that seemed to take forever to get. In the middle of the room, two sets of eight chairs upholstered in a nubby gray fabric sat facing each other, separated by a lacquered, black coffee table cluttered with dog-eared magazines.
A nurse passed by. I blocked her path. "Frank Wooten. Can you tell me how he is? We’ve been here for an hour."
"The doctor will talk to you as soon as he can, Miss," she said and stepped around me.
"Sit down, Becky," Helen said. "You’re driving us crazy."
I looked around the room for support. Gordon, Josh, Neil, and a couple of employees from our Kirbyville store stared at me. Did they agree with Momma? When I was a kid, I often wished God had given me the ability to become invisible. If nobody could see me now, I could float into Frank’s room and find out for myself how he was. Maybe if people couldn’t see me, I wouldn’t be able to see them either. Then I wouldn’t have to look into their worried faces or watch their anxious hands fidget around trying to find something to calm the feeling of dread that permeated the room.
A man wearing a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck came down the hall. Everyone stood.
"Is Mrs. Frank Wooten here?" he asked.
"Yes," Momma and I replied in unison.
She glared at me, right eyebrow raised, lips pulled thin. "I’m Mrs. Wooten. This is my daughter, Becky Cooper."
Her introduction reminded me that as far as anyone in Sugardale knew, she was still Frank’s wife, while I was the dutiful stepdaughter. Her look served as a warning for me to keep my mouth shut.
The man in the white coat extended his hand to her. "I’m Doctor Gibson."
She shook his hand. "How’s Frank, Doctor?"
The physician studied the clipboard he carried. "Stable for the moment."
"That’s good, isn’t it?" I asked.
"Yes, but I won’t kid you. Mr. Wooten has suffered a massive heart attack."
I grabbed the sleeve of the doctor’s lab coat. "What do you mean by massive?"
"Give the man a minute, Becky," Momma said as she pried my hand loose.
"There’s been extensive damage to Mr. Wooten’s heart," he explained. "Has your husband experienced any chest pains recently? Pains radiating down the arm?"
Helen shook her head. "He never mentioned anything. He looked fine."
"Indigestion," I said. "Frank has been having a lot of indigestion lately. I told him he should see Doctor Condray, but he never did."
Doctor Gibson lowered the clipboard. "Unfortunately, I see this all the time. The early warning signs of a heart attack can mimic indigestion."
I could feel the panic rising inside of me. "He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? He has to be. Frank has to get well."
Helen put her arm around my shoulders. "Stay calm, Sugar. Frank’s a tough old bird. Can we see him, Doctor?"
"I think you should, Mrs. Wooten. But I want to warn you, he’s not conscious at the moment. Come with me, please."
We started down the hall. The doctor stopped, turned to me. "You’ll have to wait, Miss. Mr. Wooten is in ICU. I’m only allowing one visitor at this time."
"But Frank would want me there." Panic escalated into desperation. "He’d want to see me!"
"He’s unconscious, Becky," Momma said. "He won’t know if you’re there or not."
I blinked back tears and tried to think of a reason—short of blurting out the truth about our relationship—that would justify my visiting Frank instead of Momma. But logic and speech failed me.
"Come sit with me, Becky," Gordon Zagat said, taking my hand.
Helen handed me a tissue. "That’s a good idea. You stay with Gordon. I’ll be back as soon as I check on Frank."
Doctor Gibson pointed down the hall. "This way, Mrs. Wooten."
Gordon tried to pull me toward the sofa, but I jerked my hand away. I watched as Momma and the doctor headed for the double doors at the end of the hall. They were halfway there when Momma’s knees buckled beneath her. The doctor caught her. She whispered something to him and he led her back to the waiting room.
"Could I have a drink of water, please?" Helen asked as she sat.
"I�
�ll get you some," Gordon said.
She placed the back of her hand to her forehead. "And a cool cloth for my head?"
Gordon nodded.
"Are you okay, Mrs. Wooten?" the doctor asked.
"I will be, but I’m not up to seeing Frank right now." Helen reached for my hand. "You go, Becky. Go check on Frank for me. Okay?"
Mild relief washed over me. "Okay, I’ll go."
"Good," she said. "Doctor Gibson, could I get some little something to help steady my nerves? I’ll never sleep tonight otherwise."
"Certainly. I’ll leave a prescription for you at the desk."
"You’re a kind man, sir." Helen gave him one of her tilted-head grins.
He blushed, then cleared his throat. "Follow me, Miss Cooper."
As I trailed after the physician, I glanced back. Momma cast me a quick wink. There was nothing wrong. She’d orchestrated her feigned attack of nerves for my benefit, a ruse to allow me to see Frank. Even here, even now, Momma had to be in control. It was the nicest thing she ever did for me.
CHAPTER 27
Frank died the next morning. So did I. But they only buried Frank. So many people turned out for his funeral, the service had to be moved from Levin’s mortuary to the Central Baptist Church. Dozens of friends, neighbors, and business acquaintances stopped by the house after the service to pay their respects. Gordon and Josh borrowed folding chairs and tables from the fire hall and set them up on the side lawn in an effort to accommodate the crowd. Mountains of casseroles, fried chicken, and desserts were brought by both the sympathetic and the curious.
Since no one but Eva, Henry, and I knew about the divorce, Helen decided to play the grieving widow. "Everyone is upset by Frank’s death," she said. "No need to add to their pain or stir up their curiosity by telling them about the divorce now."
Donald and his family came, along with Charlotte’s parents. I stayed in the kitchen and in my room as much as possible trying to avoid everyone, especially that despicable arsonist. I fought the urge to confront him. An intense desire to expose the so-called grieving son for the hypocrite he was threatened to overwhelm me. Sensing my impending explosion, Henry spirited me away.
In all honesty, I think Henry needed to get away from the crowd as much as I did. Helen could’ve won an Oscar for her performance as the grief-stricken widow. The most secure man in the world would’ve had his confidence shaken watching his fiancée carry on so over another man’s death, even if it was a lie.
Henry and I didn’t return until after dark. A furious Momma met us at the door. "Where the hell have you two been?"
I ignored her and headed for the stairs.
She grabbed my arm. "I asked you a question."
"Let go of me or I’ll—"
Henry intervened. "We just drove around for awhile, Helen." He pried her hand from around my arm.
"Well, you could’ve told someone." She pushed back her bangs. "We’ve got a meeting in the morning with Ralph Palmer to go over Frank’s will."
"When did Palmer become the attorney for the store?" Henry asked.
"Frank hired him after Mr. Oates died last month."
"Why do we have to do this so soon?" I asked. "We just buried Frank today."
"Mr. Palmer talked to Donald and me while you and Henry were out touring the countryside. We all agreed there was no use in putting it off."
"Donald has no say in the matter," I said.
Helen shrugged. "I guess Frank left him some little something."
"I’m not going. I can’t. It’s too soon."
"Now you listen to me, Becky Leigh," Momma said. "You’re going to be the primary owner of the stores. The employees will look to you for leadership."
I glared at her, hating the truth of her words. "Gordon and Neil are good managers. They can run things for a while."
"Gordon and Neil don’t own the stores, you do. Or at least you will when Frank’s new will is probated." Helen took a deep drag of her cigarette, blew the smoke out through her nose. "It’s time you thought about someone else for a change."
Henry frowned. "That’s uncalled for, Helen. Becky needs time to grieve."
She turned to her fiancée. "So you’re taking her side against me?"
"Stop it, Momma." I wasn’t going to let poor Henry get sucked into a tug-of-war between Momma and me, the way Frank had been. "What time are we supposed to be there?"
"Ten sharp."
"I’ll be ready." I started up the stairs.
"Just a minute," she called. "There are dirty dishes in the kitchen. Who is going to clean them up?"
I ignored her.
"Did you hear me, Becky?"
"For God’s sake, Helen. Give the girl a break," Henry said. "Come on. I’ll wash and you can dry. That way you won’t get your nails messed up."
She was still fussing when I closed my bedroom door.
*****
Helen slammed the front door. The etched glass in its oval window rattled.
"You almost broke the glass," Henry said.
She cocked her head to the left, crossed her arms, and in her low, slow-down voice asked, "Are you Donald’s property manager now?"
"I’m going to make some coffee." Henry headed for the kitchen.
Helen spun around, tucked her chin in, and squinted her eyes until they were mere slits in a face primed for battle. I was glad Henry had refused to pick up her gauntlet, even though it meant she’d turn on me.
"Where are they, Rebecca Leigh Cooper?" she asked through clenched teeth. "Frank’s new will and my goddamn settlement papers? Don’t you dare tell me again you don’t know."
Our meeting with Lawyer Palmer hadn’t gone well. According to the attorney, the only papers he’d found in Frank’s office were the divorce papers, Frank’s original will, and a $3,000 insurance policy designed to pay burial expenses. The latter two documents had been prepared shortly after Frank’s first wife died and years before he and Momma married. In his original will, Frank left everything to Donald, except for a box of old family photographs. Those he left to his sister in Alabama.
Helen explained to Mr. Palmer that at the time Frank made out his first will, he didn’t own the stores or the house. She said, "The fact that I deeded the house and business to Frank is just a technicality. Eli Cooper built the house, started the business, and passed it on to my first husband, Paul. When Paul died the property came to me. Becky is the third generation of Coopers. The property rightly belongs to her and to me. After all, I am both Paul’s and Frank’s widow."
Although he agreed in principle that the property should be ours, Mr. Palmer pointed out that legally—unless we found a copy of the new will—Donald stood to inherit everything. Palmer also informed us we’d face an uphill battle should we decide to contest the will. I wasn’t a blood relative of Frank’s and since she’d divorced him, Momma wasn’t legally Frank’s widow.
I told Mr. Palmer that Frank had made a new will and had prepared a settlement agreement for Momma. But when questioned, I admitted I’d never seen the documents.
Over and over, I declared, "Frank would never lie to me."
During the meeting, Donald sat in a corner chair grinning, occasionally laughing. Helen went after him, threatening to knock the smirk off his face. She would’ve done it if Mr. Palmer and Henry hadn’t stopped her.
"I asked you a question, Becky," Momma said. "Where the hell are those papers?"
"They have to be either here or at the Kirbyville store."
On the way home, we’d stopped at the Sugardale store and ransacked Frank’s office. We found nothing.
"You’re out of coffee," Henry said. "I’m going to get some."
"Hang on a minute," Helen said. "You stay here, Becky, and look for those papers. You rip this house apart. Henry and I are going to Kirbyville to check Frank’s office and the apartment."
"You’ll need keys." I opened the drawer in the hall table and pulled out Frank’s keys. Touching his keys—objects he held every day—cause
d a flood of memories to wash over me. I cradled them in the palms of my hands.
"Give me the damn keys," Helen said, snatching them out of my hands. "Let’s go, Henry." She yanked the front door open. "You’d better pray that Frank didn’t lie to you. If Donald ends up owning everything I’ve spent a lifetime working for, I’ll dig Frank up and kill him again. And I’ll throw you in the grave with him."
*****
I felt sick. All weekend, Momma and I hunted for the documents that would give us the right to live in our own home. All weekend, I’d listened to Momma call Frank every low-down name she could think of. She tended to favor words starting with the letter B. Terms such as bastard, bamboozler, backstabbing, broken-down, blood sucking, and boldface liar were repeated with regular frequency. When it came to describing me, any letter would suffice. According to my mother, I was a stupid, foolish, brainless, dim-witted, gullible idiot who could barely find the bathroom by herself.
"Why in the world did I trust the likes of you, Becky, to make sure that bastard Frank lived up to our agreement?" she asked over and over.
I defended Frank. Although I might be stupid, there were some facts I was certain of. The sun rose in the East and set in the West; the ocean’s tides rolled in and rolled out; Frank would never lie to me. On that fact alone, I’d staked my heart and my future.
*****
Early Monday morning, Henry left for Palm Beach. He needed to sign the lease for his new hair salon on Tuesday or risk losing the location. He begged Helen to go with him, and assured her that she didn’t need her own money. He’d take care of her. But she valued her independence too much to be obliged to any man, even one she professed to love. Sweet Henry even offered me a home and a job as his bookkeeper.
He urged us to, "Think of this as a new beginning, a fresh start. Leave Sugardale and come to Palm Beach with me. We’ll all start over together."
Momma’s anger wouldn’t let her think about leaving until she had what was rightfully hers. She vowed either to get back the house and business or to see Donald dead. Henry didn’t take her threat seriously, but I did.
Breaking TWIG Page 22