by Lisa Patton
“You did such a great job today,” I say. “Your eulogy was beautiful.”
“I was just gonna say the same thing,” Ellie adds.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure I could get through it. Y’all would have loved her. She was sweet, funny … so loving.” Selma looks off, shakes her head slowly. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I felt so bad for Miss Pearl today,” I say. “I hated seeing her cry.”
Selma presses her lips together. “They were really close. So were the rest of the staff. They all loved Miss Ophelia.”
“That’s why we’re here,” I say.
Selma looks at me curiously, then sits back down on the edge of her bed. “What do you mean?”
I sit down next to her. “Ellie and I were thinking it would be a great idea to do something life-changing for the staff.”
As soon as the last words leave my lips Ellie’s up on her toes and her voice speeds up. “We want to make staff benefits our pledge-class philanthropy project.”
Selma looks at us, wide-eyed. “Okay. How so?”
“Since Miss Ophelia died from uterine cancer, and never went to the doctor because she had no health insurance, we want to honor her memory by making sure it never happens again.” When Ellie gets excited about something you know it. Her hands swing all over the place.
Selma’s gazing at us in disbelief, with her fingers splayed across her breastbone. “How do you know the staff doesn’t have health insurance?”
“Miss Pearl told me,” I say, feeling proud of the bond we had already made.
“I’ve never thought about that before.” Selma props her chin on her fist. “It’s not something the members get involved in. That falls under the auspices of the House Corp Board.”
“Lilith Whitmore?” Ellie asks.
Selma nods. “Lilith Whitmore is the president, yes.”
“So we’d have to ask her?” I ask.
She nods again. Without a smile or a frown, just a neutral face. “I’m sure you’re planning on bringing it up at the new member meeting tonight, right? To see what the rest of your pledge class thinks?”
“Totally.” We both say at the same time. We look at each other and grin—simpatico in so many ways.
“Wait till you hear how we’re planning on raising the money,” Ellie says.
Then we tell her our idea about Eli Manning and selling the tickets for twenty dollars apiece. Ellie tells her all about getting her dad to arrange it and about how he knows Eli personally.
“So you really think y’all can pull this off?” Selma asks. By the lift in her voice I can tell she’s all in.
“I mean, we’ve gotta try. Right?” Ellie says.
“Absolutely.” Selma presses her lips together, looks off to the side. “If every girl in our sorority bought one ticket, that would surely pay their health insurance for the first year. I don’t know anything about it, but it seems like that would cover it.”
“My dad would help with that, too. He knows about stuff like that.”
“If Lilith Whitmore doesn’t know how much it will cost, she can surely find out,” Selma says.
“Don’t you think the members will get behind it?” Ellie asks.
“I’m pretty sure no one has ever thought about our staff not having health insurance. But once they become aware, I have no doubt everyone will want to change things.”
*
That night at our new member meeting, when Ellie and I presented our plan, there wasn’t one person who opposed it. In fact, every single girl stood up and cheered. No one seemed to think selling five hundred tickets would be a problem at all, and there were a few who thought we might sell more. After all, Eli Manning is a sainted celebrity around here.
When someone asked who would make the final decision, Ellie got all excited. “We’re actually very lucky,” she told everyone, then glanced at Annie Laurie. “Annie Laurie’s mom is the House Corp President. She’s the one that can make it happen.”
Although everyone in our pledge class seemed relieved, that it was surely a no-brainer with Annie Laurie as a new member, I’m not so sure. Call it a sixth sense, but after the way Mrs. Whitmore treated my grandparents and me on Bid Day, something tells me there may be trouble looming. I, for one, do not trust the woman.
FIFTY-SIX
CALI
Right after our new member meeting, Ellie texted Mrs. Whitmore to set up our own face-to-face with her. She responded right back by saying she would be in Oxford the next afternoon and we could meet her at the House at four o’clock, an hour before dinner. All Ellie told her in the text was that we had an amazing idea and we couldn’t wait to share it with her.
Although Annie Laurie seemed to love our plan in last night’s pledge meeting, for some reason she didn’t want to be included in the one with her mother today. Who knows what that’s about? Personally, I think she’s making up an excuse. Something about a study date with an SAE. Yeah, right. No one has ever seen her study.
Mrs. Whitmore is waiting for us in the chapter room when we arrive. As usual, she looks like she’s stepped out of Vogue. She’s wearing a beautiful pants outfit with the same jewelry—the Yurman—that Annie Laurie always wears. And also her Alpha Delt pin. Every time I see her she’s wearing it.
She must have gotten here early because Ellie and I are right on time. When she hears our footsteps she looks up from her Mac laptop and waves. “I’ll be right with y’all.”
“Right with y’all” turns into fifteen minutes, so Ellie and I stroll around the chapter room looking at old composites, marveling over how small the pledge classes once were. It’s still hard to imagine my picture will be on next year’s composite in the foyer. Besides the thought of that, something else has lifted my spirits. Admitting the truth about my mother, and my father, to Ellie has made me feel as though I’ve been set free.
“Okay, girls,” Mrs. Whitmore finally says, closing her laptop. “I’m sorry to make you wait. I guess you’ve heard Carla Stratton is leaving Alpha Delt.”
“No, I hadn’t heard,” Ellie says, glancing at me. “Have you heard that?”
I shake my head. “Who’s taking her place?”
“I haven’t gotten that far. Greek House Resource, a wonderful company who pairs prospective House Directors with sororities, is helping me. I’ve just uploaded our job description.” She pats her Mac, leans forward. “So. What can I help you with? Your text said you had an amazing idea.” She shows her enthusiasm by rubbing her palms together.
Ellie and I give each other confident smiles. “We really do,” I say.
“Well, let’s hear it. I can hardly stand the suspense.”
“Miss Ophelia’s funeral had a big impact on us,” Ellie begins, scooting to the front of her chair.
Mrs. Whitmore’s posture stiffens. “How so? You girls didn’t even know her.”
“No, we didn’t,” I say. “But her funeral was so lovely, and with the hundreds of people there it made us realize how loved she was. She must have done a lot for Alpha Delt.”
“She worked here thirty-two years,” Mrs. Whitmore says.
Ellie and I turn to look at each other. “Wow,” Ellie says. “That’s insane.”
Mrs. Whitmore smiles. “We were lucky to have her. She was quite a cook.”
“I wish we’d been able to have at least one of her dinners,” I say.
Ellie doesn’t comment. She’s all business now. “After her funeral, Cali and I had this long conversation about the way she died. And how she didn’t know she had uterine cancer.”
Mrs. Whitmore rolls her eyes. “She should have gone to the doctor at the first sign. You don’t get to stage-four cancer without symptoms.”
“That’s why we’re here,” I say.
She looks at me curiously.
I sit up tall in my chair. “She couldn’t go to the doctor because she had no health insurance.”
“We think health insurance should be one of the staff benefits,” Ellie says with
her chin held high.
Mrs. Whitmore uncrosses then re-crosses her legs, clasps her hands on her lap. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why?” Ellie asks.
“That’s a costly proposition. We are a small business here. If a staff member desires health insurance, he or she should find a job elsewhere.”
“But we don’t want them leaving us, do we?” Ellie’s eyes are blinking rapidly.
Lilith Whitmore gives us a half-shrug. “If they must have health insurance, I suppose we don’t have a choice.”
“But they work so hard,” I say, “and they don’t get paid all that well.”
“They do so much for us,” Ellie adds. “It’s the least we could do for them.”
Now Mrs. Whitmore’s arms are folded across her chest. She’s tapping her foot ever so slightly. “You girls don’t need to be concerning yourselves with House matters. That’s what I’m for. You need to be enjoying your college days.”
“But we are concerned, Mrs. Whitmore,” Ellie says.
“What makes you think they aren’t paid well? How would you even know that?”
“Miss Pe—” As soon as the words leave my lips I know I have goofed.
“Miss Pearl told you?” Mrs. Whitmore asks with a clenched jaw. “She was out of line. She should have never shared her salary information with you.”
“She didn’t. I asked her.”
I can tell this has made her mad by the way her lips are mashed together, but she moves on and I’m grateful. “Here at Alpha Delt,” she says, like we’re children, “the staff gets perks you don’t know about. Aside from free meals, they get paid vacations at both Christmas and Thanksgiving. Spring break as well. And you should see the Christmas gifts they haul in. They are darn lucky to have this job.”
“And we’re lucky to have them,” I say.
Ellie leans forward. “It’s not like they don’t deserve it, Mrs. Whitmore. They are all hard workers.”
“It costs a fortune to operate this House every month. You girls are too young to understand.”
“That’s where our pledge class comes in,” Ellie remarks with an uncontainable smile.
“What do you mean, Ellie?”
Ellie looks at me and I smile along with her. “We are going to make staff benefits our philanthropy project this year.”
Mrs. Whitmore looks down her nose. “How on earth do you plan to do that?”
Ellie pushes her hair behind her ears, sits up straight. “Well, we are going to sell tickets for a chance at an evening out with Eli Manning.”
Mrs. Whitmore spreads her fingers into a fan against her breastbone. “An evening out with Eli Manning?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Ellie says. “We’re inviting him and his wife, Abby, to Oxford. To go to dinner at the City Grocery with the lucky couple who wins.”
Just when we think we’re getting somewhere, the lady laughs in this crazy, condescending way, like she thinks we’re ridiculous young juveniles who have no idea what we’re doing. “Eli Manning is a busy quarterback in the National Football League. What makes you think he has the time or the desire to come down here and help you raise money for our staff?” She tsks, looking off to the side like she’s talking to someone else. “Of all things.”
“You don’t understand, Mrs. Whitmore. My dad’s gonna ask him. He knows him,” Ellie says. Okay, she’s pushing the truth a little, but she truly is confident her dad will make the ask.
“Your dad knows Eli Manning? Personally?”
“Well, he’s met him before. They were both Sigma Nus.”
“Meeting Eli Manning once and asking him for a favor of this magnitude are two totally different things.” She presses a finger to her chin. “Ellie Woodcock. I’m surprised at you. And your dad, too, for that matter. Surely you know it’s bad manners to ask a favor of someone you don’t know. Especially a celebrity.” She lifts a shoulder and flips her hair back. “Annie Laurie is not in on this, is she?”
“We asked her,” Ellie says, the wind gushing from her sails. Her shoulders have drooped and her voice has lost its oomph. “But she said she doesn’t have much spare time this semester.”
“Well, thank God for that. My daughter knows she has to make good grades to be initiated in December.”
“Please, Mrs. Whitmore,” I say. “If Eli Manning happens to say yes, will you give us your blessing?”
“Even if he said yes, which will never happen, what happens next year? And the year after that?”
“Every pledge class can have their own fund-raiser,” Ellie explains.
She points at Ellie. “Would you want the former pledge class deciding on your philanthropy project? I can’t give you my blessing. It won’t work.”
“But—”
“Ah, ah ah,” she pushes a palm toward Ellie. “My decision is made. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Leaning in toward us, she adds, “Enjoy your college years, girls. These are not issues for you to be concerning your pretty little heads with. Find something more direful. Like cancer or heart disease. I’m sure there are millions of people who would appreciate your help.” She stands with her chin held high. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the business of finding our next House Director.”
Ellie and I both stand up slowly. Defeat is stabbing me in the chest. I’m sure she feels it, too. We get all the way to the chapter room door when we hear Mrs. Whitmore call my name. “Oh, Cali?”
I turn back around.
“What does your mother think of you joining Alpha Delt? A girl from Blue Mountain in the finest sorority on campus. Now that’s something to be proud of. Don’t you think?” There’s a distant smile about her, as she slowly squints one eye.
“My grandparents are overjoyed for me, Mrs. Whitmore.”
She sucks in a breath, covers her mouth. “Does your mother not know yet? California is a long way away.”
Ellie looks at me, then back at her. Digs her hands into her hips. “You know what, Mrs. Whitmore? No one cares about the stuff you care about. Everyone here is just happy to have Cali as a new member.”
“Cali is a very lucky girl. Snap bids are extremely rare. Especially for Alpha Delta Beta.”
After grabbing the handle, Ellie yanks the door open. “Come on, Cal. Let’s get out of here.”
I put one foot forward, then whip my head back around. I can feel the flood of adrenaline rushing through me like a roaring wind. Deep inside my gut a match has been struck and the flame has reached my tongue. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Whitmore. I am a very lucky girl. Lucky that I don’t have you for a mother.”
Ellie and I share a victory smirk as I shut the door behind us.
FIFTY-SEVEN
WILDA
The luscious smell of chargrilled filet fills the room when my husband opens the back patio door. He’s spent the last fifteen minutes standing over our outdoor grill with a beer in one hand and a pair of long tongs in the other. The baked potatoes are done, the asparagus is roasted, and the table is set. We’re celebrating our freedom. We have officially excommunicated Lilith and Gage Whitmore from our lives. Hallelujah!
“Potatoes ready?” he asks, swinging the small platter of meat over his head like he’s playing airplane with one of the kids. Then he places it down carefully on the kitchen island. Haynes has a new pep in his step.
And so do I. “Yes indeedy. I’m about to take them out now.” Things may actually be getting back to normal, I think, as I bounce over to the oven, sliding an oven mitt over my hand. I take that back. We are living a new normal. I am a new person.
Haynes reaches into the fridge, pulls out another beer. After popping the top he extends it my way. I reach back for my wineglass.
“Cheers,” we both say in unison, clinking our glasses. We lean in for a kiss. Haynes strolls over to our docking station, slips his phone into the dock. After pushing play, Mick and the boys fill the room. “Under My Thumb.”
I reach into the oven for the b
aked potatoes and plop one on each of our plates. After slitting them open and watching steam fill the air, I position several asparagus spears right next to the potatoes, singing along loudly with every word. “It’s down to me … she’s under my thumb.” Haynes plops the smoldering filets in the middle and pours the juice from the platter on top. We’re dancing over to the table when the door leading in from the garage flies open and bangs the wall. Ellie rushes inside with Cali right behind her.
“Heart! What in the world?”
Haynes whips around so fast he almost drops his dinner plate. “What’s up, El?”
“Y’all have to do something about Lilith Whitmore!”
I look at Haynes. He looks at me. “To be free or not to be free. That is the question,” he says theatrically.
Ellie sneers. “What are you talking about, Dad?”
Haynes puts his plate down on the table, moves over to her. “A little inside joke between your mother and me. Come here.” He hugs her to his chest, then does the same to Cali.
I put my plate down and stretch my arms around them both. “Something big must have happened for you two to drive all the way home on a Wednesday. How on earth did you get here?”
“Jasmine loaned us her car,” Ellie says. “Wait till you hear what Lilith Whitmore has done.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing that woman’s name so soon after our emancipation. “First, let me get y’all a plate.” I’m headed back to the cabinet when Cali stops me. “Thank you, Mrs. Woodcock, but we stopped for dinner along the way.”
“Oh Lord, I hope it was good for you,” I say with a sigh. “There’s nothing but pickled pig’s feet and fried pork rinds between here and Oxford.”
Haynes adjusts his glasses and peers at me from across the room. “Wilda, stop worrying. I’m sure the girls went through the Whole Foods drive-in in Holly Springs.”