Rush

by Lisa Patton

  “No, sir. We didn’t see that,” Cali says with a concerned face.

  Ellie rolls her eyes, then looks at Cali. “He’s just kidding you.”

  “No, I’m having a little fun at your mother’s expense.” Haynes pulls a chair out and motions for me to sit. He does the same for Cali and Ellie. “Would you girls like something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a beer, please,” Ellie says. “Make it a tallboy.”

  Haynes points a playful finger her way. “How about two Cokes?”

  Daisy, who had been on her hind legs pawing at Ellie’s shins from the minute she walked in, jumps in Ellie’s lap and kisses her face.

  “Aw, she’s so cute,” Cali says, reaching over to pet Daisy.

  “She should be,” Haynes says from the fridge. “My wife feeds her homemade organic dog food.”

  Ellie, who is scratching up and down Daisy’s back, kisses the top of her head. “You deserve homemade organic dog food. Don’t you, girl?” After a few more scratches Ellie puts her down. Daisy sits back on her haunches, then innocently cocks her head at Haynes when he returns to the table with the Cokes. She’s preparing her next move.

  “Daisy, here,” he says, peering down at her, “landed in a bucket of cream when she flashed those big browns at my wife.”

  Cali laughs. “I love dogs. My grandmother … not so much. I’m getting one as soon as I move into an apartment, though. I’ve already decided.”

  Haynes shoots her an exaggerated wink, points at Daisy. “You can have this one.”

  “She’ll have to kill me first.” I reach down to stroke my baby’s head.

  After handing the girls their drinks, Haynes shakes out his napkin and places it in his lap. “Okay. Lay it on us. What has that shameless silver spoon done now?”

  Ellie giggles. “I don’t even know where to begin.” I notice her eyes shift over to Cali, who is shaking her head lightly. “Aside from insulting Cali in a way she’d rather I not get into, Lilith Whitmore shot us down on something before we ever got started.”

  Haynes lifts his hands over his head, the way he always does when he wants to make a point. “Never underestimate the evil power grab of a sorority alum with no other life.” Then he cuts a small slit into his steak. “Hang on, El.” He looks at me. “Is your steak okay?”

  I slice into mine. “Perfect.”

  “Okay, keep going.”

  “After Miss Ophelia’s funeral, Cali and I came up with this great idea for our pledge-class philanthropy project.” She glances at Cali. “We wanted to raise enough money to give the Alpha Delt staff benefits, and Lilith Whitmore wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Haynes leans in toward her with his fork in one hand and a knife in the other. “The staff doesn’t have benefits?” He shifts his gaze to me.

  I have no idea. So I simply shrug.

  “No, Dad. They don’t. None of them do. Miss Ophelia died from stage-four uterine cancer because she didn’t have health insurance and never went to the doctor.”

  “I understand she had no health insurance, and I do think that’s … absurd,” Haynes says, slicing into his steak. “But she could have gone to a doctor, honey. There are free health clinics around Oxford.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s still wrong,” Ellie says, somewhat defeated. “And so sad.”

  “It sure is.” This is news to me. I’d never thought about whether or not the staff had benefits.

  Cali hasn’t said much, but she finally opens her mouth. “Miss Pearl said Miss Ophelia was, like, super stubborn about going to the doctor.”

  “And she never wanted to spend any money,” Ellie adds.

  “Let’s get back to the reason you drove all the way home,” Haynes says, after swallowing his first bite of baked potato. “You two went to Lilith Whitmore with an idea and then what happened?” He slices off another bite of steak, then puts his knife down.

  “She told us Alpha Delt is a small business and we can’t afford to give the staff health insurance,” Ellie says.

  Haynes turns to me. “How many people on staff?”

  I hurry to swallow before answering. “Six besides the housemother.”

  “Alpha Delt gives Mama Carla health insurance,” Cali adds.

  With one hand twirling her hair and the other holding her Coke can, Ellie’s focus is on her father. “Dad, don’t you know Eli Manning?”

  “I wouldn’t say I know him, but I’ve met him. At an Ole Miss athletic banquet. Why?”

  “Do you think you could talk him into letting us sell tickets for a chance at an evening out with him and his wife, Abby?” Ellie has raised up in her seat. I can hear the excitement in her voice.

  “Whoa!” Haynes puts down his fork, leans back in his chair. “I said I’ve met him once. I’m not sure I could pull off something like that.”

  Ellie’s body deflates. She looks down, slumps her shoulders, like she used to do when she was little.

  “That’s a big ask, honey.” I reach out to stroke her arm. “Your dad doesn’t even know Eli Manning.”

  “But surely you know someone who does.” There is pleading in her eyes when she looks at her daddy.

  “I love that you girls are thinking like this,” I say. “You’re right to want to change things. Why don’t we throw out some other ideas?”

  “Hang on,” Haynes says. “You girls might be onto something. Eli Manning was just nominated for the Walter Payton humanitarian award, the best award in the NFL, in my opinion.”

  Ellie and Cali look at each other with their mouths hanging open. Then Cali’s cute little face lights up. “We were thinking if we could sell a ticket to each girl in the sorority, at twenty dollars apiece, that’s right at nine thousand dollars. Surely that would pay for the staff’s health insurance.”

  “It would pay for a lot more than that,” Haynes says. “I’ll have to run some numbers, but if each girl was assessed, I don’t know, say, two hundred dollars a year, it would not only give the staff health insurance … I’d be willing to bet it could start a retirement fund, too.”

  “But we want to raise the money. We don’t want to ask our parents for it,” Ellie says.

  Haynes and I look at each other. We’re both thinking the same thing. Our daughter’s head is screwed on the right way. “That’s awesome, Heart. I’m so proud right now.” These are the moments we parents live for.

  Haynes puts his knife and fork down on his plate. “I’m proud of you both. The amount of money it would take to give everyone on the staff yearly benefits would be the equivalent of a discarded pair of Jimmy Choos at a frat house.” Glancing at me, he winks, proud of his quip.

  Ellie gives a mocking glance at Cali, then back to her father. “Dad. Since when did you become an authority on Jimmy Choos?”

  “Another inside joke,” he says, then sips his beer.

  Turning toward him, I place my hand on his arm. “Actually, it would be more like a discarded pair of Nine Wests. Jimmys go for at least eight hundred dollars a pair.”

  Haynes chokes. For a minute I’m not sure he’ll be able to catch his breath. His face turns beet red. “I did not need to know that,” he says, coughing out his words.

  “Okay, whatever.” Ellie waves a hand in front of her. “So. Dad. Can you call Eli’s manager or his agent?”

  “I can do better than that. A buddy of mine knows Eli well. I’ll get in touch with him and we’ll see where it goes. You never know. Maybe Eli and Abby will feel the same way we do.”

  “Daddy. This is freaking awesome!” Ellie gets up, throws her arms around her father.

  Haynes pats her on the back. “Don’t get too excited yet. We’re a long way from a ‘yes.’ Besides, anything could happen.”

  Cali winces. “Like Lilith Whitmore? Can she stop us?”

  “Not unless she wants mutiny in the House,” I say. “By the way, what does Annie Laurie have to say about all—?”

  “Not interested,” Ellie blurts before I can finish my sentence. Then she sits back down a
nd twirls her hair again.

  Haynes and I glance at each other.

  “Why is that?” he asks.

  “Because she’s a clone of her mother,” Ellie says. “She does everything her mom tells her to do.”

  “What about all the other Alpha Delts? Were they in favor of it?” he asks.

  “Yes. Every single person,” Cali says. “The rest of our pledge class is all over it. And so are the active members.”

  “Then I’d like to see Lilith Whitmore try.” A puckish smile crosses Haynes’s lips.

  “Everyone agrees the staff works so hard taking care of all of us, the least we can do is reciprocate by taking care of them,” Ellie says.

  “Absolutely.” I secretly slip Daisy a bite of steak. “It’s a beautiful thing to think that you young girls will be the ones to bring about change.”

  “We need to be doing this for the Sigma Nu staff,” Haynes says. “All the sororities and fraternities do if they haven’t done so already. Not only at Ole Miss, but Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia, LSU. Every university, really.”

  Cali picks up her glass and lifts it high in the air. “Here’s to making a difference.” All four of us touch our glasses together with a loud clink, then we each take sips—slow, delicious, hopeful sips—of making a difference in the name of Sisterhood.

  Once the girls have left to drive back to Oxford—I mean as soon as the door shuts behind them—Haynes turns to me with a look I’ve seen him give jurors in the courtroom. “This all boils down to one thing. Greed. But you mark my word. Lilith Whitmore’s rapacious thirst for wealth and power will be the very thing that brings her to her knees.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  MISS PEARL

  The cards and letters have been pouring in since Fee died. I must have gotten two hundred already. Selma James called to tell me she was ordering custom sympathy acknowledgments from Crane and that she and some of the other sisters would help me address every one of them. I have the sweetest, most loving girls in the world. The Lord has truly blessed me. And then some.

  As a condolence, my dear friend Shirley volunteered to freshen up my weave. Then she treated me to dinner. But the whole way home from the restaurant, all I could think about was returning to work tomorrow. Everything in that House reminds me of Aunt Fee.

  With her gone I feel as lost as a stray puppy. For the first time in a long time I am low. And, if I’m honest with myself, I’m angry, too. Angry at that stubborn woman for neglecting to see a doctor and for leaving me sooner than she should have. Didn’t she think about what it would do to me? To lose a mother all over again?

  When I get home, after hurling my pocketbook onto the couch, I don’t take time to remove my coat or turn up the temperature. I walk right over to my silver service and carry the whole heavy thing to the kitchen. The tray must weigh twenty pounds on its own. I open the cabinet underneath the sink, pull out my rubber gloves, polish, three clean rags, and the old toothbrush I keep handy to work inside the nooks and crevices. I need a way to release this anger.

  First, I pick up the coffeepot—the biggest piece—and get to work. Starting on the inside, I then move around to the front, lathering it up good with the pink paste. Smells like rotten eggs, I think while rubbing the handle, then the feet. Rotten like the way you never told me you were sick, Aunt Fee. After placing it back on the tray, I pick up the tea pitcher. Do the same thing all over again, then start on the creamer. There’s a waste bowl and a sugar jar with a lid. And also a small kettle on a stand with a burner underneath.

  Once I spread cream on all six pieces in the service, I pick up the toothbrush and go at the roses on that sugar jar like I’m scrubbing away blood. I maneuver the brush around each bud, working hard to get inside the petals and leaves.

  While I’m brushing I’m seventeen again. And so is William McKinney.

  I usually took the bus home every day from school. On this particular day, in mid-December, the temperature had dropped. All I had on was a light jacket. When William saw me shivering, standing at the end of the line waiting to board the bus, he rolled down the window of his shiny red Jeep. “Want a ride?”

  I looked over, saw him smiling, and took a run for his car. We left the school parking lot a little too fast, as I recall.

  “Up for helping me on the trig exam?” he asked first thing. We were both seniors in the same trigonometry class.

  “I can do that.”

  “My dad will kill me if I get less than a B.”

  “Why’s he so hard on you? He knows math’s not your thing.” I already knew the answer to this. William’s father was harsh, “a mean good ol’ boy,” as William often called him.

  “He doesn’t care. All he cares about is A’s. Even though he never made them. Bastard.”

  William had a gift for the creative arts. He could turn a blank canvas into a field of French lilacs in no time, and if there was a song you wanted to hear—any song—he could pick it out on his guitar and sing like he was getting paid to do it.

  “Why don’t you talk to him about it?” I said. “Let him know you’re doing your best.”

  “There’s no use. He doesn’t care.” Even from his profile, I could see all the varied emotions on William’s face: Pain, disgust, anger.

  Since I was Mama’s only child, there had been times when Mrs. McKinney would allow the bus to drop me off at their house after school. I’d sit at the kitchen counter finishing my homework while Mama stood in front of the stove cooking their supper. Once Mrs. McKinney learned of my aptitude for math, she often invited me to their house to help William.

  I remember the proud look on Mama’s face whenever William and I would sit at the kitchen table working our math problems together. It was rare for me to bring home a report card without A’s. But William, bless his heart, was a C student at best.

  On the way home that day, William carried me by the Cream Cup. He knew I loved their chocolate shakes. Only about a mile from Oxford High, it was a popular after-school hangout, known for burgers, banana splits, and shakes. But on that cold December day, we were the only ones there. Once upon a time the Cream Cup had two walk-up windows. Blacks and whites couldn’t order from the same one.

  When we got our shakes we dashed back to his Jeep to stay warm. We were sitting with the engine running, sucking on our straws, when he said, “You’re lucky, Pearl.”

  I thought to myself, Me, lucky? You’re the one who’s lucky. Let’s start with this car you’re driving, why don’t we? Besides the Jeep, he was nice looking, wore nice clothes, lived in a big fancy house—his mama even drove a Cadillac car. I looked right at him and laughed. “Why am I lucky?”

  “Because Ruby’s your mom.” Mama had been working for his family ever since William was born. He was the oldest of four.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked him.

  “For one thing,” he said with a shrug, “she’s the best cook in Oxford.”

  He was sure right about that. Mama was at their house fixing their supper at that very moment … like she did five nights a week, including every holiday. I wanted to say, “And you’re the one eating it.” But I didn’t say it. I might think something, but generally I try to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “And she’s … nice,” he said, slurping the last bit of shake through his straw. “Much nicer than my mom.”

  “That’s not true.” I disagreed with him, but I knew darn well he was right.

  “Yes it is. Ruby’s much nicer to me than my own mother.” A tear welled up in his pretty blue eye. He rested his head back so I wouldn’t see it. Once a few seconds had passed he said, “I love your mother more than I do mine.”

  I sat straight up, turned to face him. “William. That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  He turned his head slightly, cut his eyes my way. “She cares about me, Pearl. She actually takes the time to ask me questions—about stuff I’m interested in. Girls … my music. She even loves i
t when I sing for her.”

  “My mama is kind like that.”

  “So are you,” he said.

  I smiled.

  “You’re both kind. The other day, when I told Ruby I failed my math quiz, she didn’t get mad. She just said, ‘You’ll do better next time, baby.’ My dad grounded me for a week. Fucking asshole.”

  I flinched at his language, but I felt bad for him at the same time. He was always worried about what he had to do to please his parents. He only played football because his dad made him. Truth is, he hated it. Hated every minute he had to be on that field, which was hardly ever. There was a permanent spot on the bench with his name on it. Yet every day he still had to show up for practice.

  I reached out and touched him on the arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “See, you are lucky.”

  “I suppose I am.”

  He put his empty cup into the holder between our seats. “Your mother feels like my real mother. I can’t remember a day when she wasn’t around. I’ve spent more time with her than my own mom.”

  Hearing him say those words out loud caused a stinging in my chest, like a bee was trapped inside. My chin dipped. I couldn’t help it.

  “What did I say?” I heard him ask with genuine concern.

  I shook my head.

  He reached over and gripped my hand, because William was the sensitive type. “Tell me. What did I say?”

  I looked over at him. “You didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I … I know I didn’t. Please tell me what I said.”

  I clutched the hem of my shirt, balled it up in the palm of my hand. “It’s just … I can remember lots of days when Mama wasn’t around.”

  He threw his head back, banged it on the headrest several times. “I’m such an asshole. I never thought about it that way.”

  “I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long while. Then he started his car and we left the Cream Cup heading down University Avenue for his house. When we reached the intersection he stopped for the light. “Can we study at your house today?”