“We won’t have enough. Right, Lucy?” Paulette looked alarmed and moved to place herself between Marcus and her sister.
Jem knew he should say there was plenty. With the pot of corn and dishes in the oven, there would be plenty for five people. He was ashamed of himself, but he didn’t want Lucy to stay, not now. He said nothing.
“We can split a plate,” Marcus said. “I had a late lunch at the club.”
Paulette nudged Lucy closer to the doorway.
Jem was suddenly reminded of how many times he had felt subtly shut out of the nice places. How much worse it was for Lucy to hear it said so plainly, in her own living room. Jem felt his cheeks go hot with shame. He had his own reasons for wishing that she would leave, but he couldn’t stand by and smile while she was so badly treated.
“There’s plenty. Lucy could feed a small army with what she managed to make in one hour,” Jem said.
Lucy looked up, surprise in her eyes.
“See? It’s all decided.” Marcus beamed.
A faint beeping sounded and Paulette sighed. “If you’re staying, you’d better go get the food out of the oven.”
“Let me help.” Marcus was already headed down the hallway before Lucy turned and followed.
Jem watched them until they were out of sight. His gaze fell on the cold martini in his hand. The garish teal color reminded him of the Popsicles he’d loved when he was a kid, but hardly ever got to have because even quarters added up fast for a poor family without a dad. The gas station on the corner sold them out of a little white case in the front of the store, and on the first Sunday of the month he would take the money he earned doing chores around the trailer park and buy a blue one. His mama asked him every month if he wanted to try another flavor, but he never did. He knew the blue was good, and he didn’t want to waste his quarter on something that he might not like.
Regan let out a huff of air and put a fist on her hip. “Well, that stinks.”
“Totally not surprised.” Paulette crossed the room. “She has zero social life. As soon as he mentioned Brice’s Crossroads, I knew she would never leave.”
“But they don’t have anything in common,” Regan said. “He’s a businessman and she works in that old museum.”
“She’s real good at making people like her when she wants to. She just doesn’t care enough to make an effort, usually. Maybe she’s decided to finally get a husband.” Paulette drained her glass.
Regan slipped her hand through the crook of Jem’s arm. “It’s just wrong that she stole your date. That’s not a very nice thing for a sister to do.”
If Jem hadn’t been completely sure before, he knew now that Regan was laying claim to him. This was a double date . . . except that now Lucy had disappeared with Paulette’s very eligible catch.
“I’m not going to pitch a fit. I’m a better person than that. The right guy will come along. My daddy says he can’t wait to see me happily married, and that day is going to be the best day of my life. ” Paulette smoothed her hair and lifted her chin. “Aren’t you going to try your drink?” she said to Jem, apparently realizing for the first time that he hadn’t even sipped his martini.
He glanced down and nodded. “Sure am.” He’d spent his childhood making perfect choices because there was no room for error, but he wasn’t eight years old anymore. It didn’t matter if he bought the orange Popsicle and hated it. He could always buy another.
Letting the liquid slide down his throat, he winced at the burn and the sickly sweet aftertaste. When he was a teenager, Jem had settled on the idea of Lucy and never looked elsewhere. But he was a man now and he should look around more, even date a few women who might not work out.
He smiled down at Regan. She was pretty, in an overly cosmetic sort of way. Being her date for this dinner wouldn’t be as bad as sitting here alone, watching Lucy “turn on the charm” for Marcus. He didn’t have to be careful with her, didn’t have to be on his guard at all. Falling for Regan would take a lot of work. Although it wasn’t quite what his mama had meant, Jem was sure that spending time with Regan was safer than anything else he could do.
He swallowed the rest of the martini in a gulp. No, he had spent too much of his life being cautious. He was almost thirty and was still playing it safe. Maybe Regan was right about working too hard. Maybe it was time to stop being so serious and have a little fun.
When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused . . . nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.
—ANNE ELLIOT
Chapter Twelve
“ Thank you for helping carry the food,” Lucy said. She tried to ignore the fact she was wearing a T-shirt that probably had a little bit of every dish on it and did her best to be gracious. Of all the people she thought she’d meet tonight, she hadn’t planned on the Southern version of the Old Spice guy. Figured.
“Not a problem.” He flashed that smile and she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “We’ll get these on the table and then you can go change.”
She appreciated his thoughtfulness. It was going to be a little awkward to sit at a dinner she hadn’t really been invited to, but it would be even worse to sit there in her grubby clothes. She shut off the oven timer and opened the door. Waves of cheesy-smelling goodness wafted into the kitchen. Using her mama’s red-checkered hot pads, she carefully pulled the casserole dish from the oven and set it on the stove. The top was browned and perfectly crusty. Lucy’s stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Taking a platter from the cupboard, she started to lay out the corncobs. Marcus held out one hand and she let him take over. She slid the cobbler into the oven and set the timer again.
“Is the fried-sage butter for the corn?” Marcus leaned over the little dish and inhaled. “My grandma makes it this way, too.”
“Really? I thought it was just a low-country-Louisiana dish.”
“She was from Cane River,” he said, grinning.
Lucy’s eyes went wide. “So was my mama.”
“There you go.” He leaned against the counter and regarded her. “I knew we’d have a lot in common.”
Lucy could have pointed out that Marcus would have had this in common with Paulette, too, but she didn’t. She mirrored his grin for a few seconds, then realized they weren’t getting much done in the kitchen. She turned back to the stove, still smiling.
“I think we’ll need to take a few trips,” he said. “Let me carry the platter.”
Paulette seemed to be working on a steady stream of martini concoctions and barely acknowledged them as they passed the living room. Within a few minutes they’d transferred all the dishes to serving bowls and set them on the long table in the formal dining space. The polished mahogany reflected the light from the chandelier and was decorated with enormous floral arrangements of tropical flowers. Lucy wasn’t sure if they were real or fake, but she knew that they would make it hard to see over to the person on the other side.
The airy room was stuffy and she wondered why Paulette didn’t have the dinner out on the covered porch. The fans there kept the air circulating, and the view of the garden was refreshing. Then again, the lush decor was more Paulette’s style.
“I’ll be right back,” Lucy said to no one in particular, but Marcus threw her a smile. Seconds later, as she ran up the stairs, she wondered how he had known she lived here, but then she shrugged it off. Paulette must have told him. She rooted through her drawers and closet, spilling clothes onto the bed. She didn’t have many clothes, but what she did have were firmly in one of two camps: vintage formal wear from the attic, and simple office clothes. She let out a sigh and forced herself to think. Was it better to wear what she had on? It wasn’t flashy, but then, she was never really fashionable.
Taking the dress into her bathroom, Lucy stripped off her clothes and did a five-second version of a bath, praying she didn’t smell like sweet onions and sage. Slipping the dress over her head, she buttoned it up and gazed at herself in the mirror. The sheer overlay on the top was carefully sewn with tiny pintucks and fit her perfectly. She couldn’t do anything for her hair. It had been ages since she’d been to the salon. She’d meant to go, but never seemed to get around to it. She wetted it down and ran her fingers through it, letting it curl naturally into small ringlets. Swiping on a bit of sheer lipstick and some mascara, she took a deep breath. It wasn’t fancy, but it would have to do.
When she arrived in the dining room, she tried not to notice how close Regan was sitting to Jem on the settee. He certainly didn’t seem to mind the way she rested her hand on his thigh. Lucy felt her jaw clench and hated herself for caring. She glanced away, but not before an expression crossed his face that seemed shuttered and angry.
Marcus glanced up and let out a low whistle. “That there is a mighty fine dress.”
She smiled at the compliment. “It was one of my mama’s. I think she sewed it herself.”
Paulette made a sound in her throat. “Lucy is concerned with recycling products. She feels the world is being crushed under a mountain of trash.”
“No,” Lucy said. “I just don’t think we should throw out anything that can still be used.”
“Even if it’s fifty years out-of-date.” Paulette smirked.
“They say all styles eventually come around again.” Marcus pulled out a chair and motioned Lucy to sit. “And some women can wear anything and look fabulous.”
“I already have everybody arranged,” Paulette said, rushing over. She pointed to the chair at the very end for Lucy.
Lucy slid into her place, half smiling at how she was separated from the group by an empty chair on each side, just like that darker brother sent to the kitchen in the poem. Poetry really did seem to fit every occasion, at least in her life.
Paulette settled Jem and Regan side by side near the windows, with Marcus at one end and herself to his right.
Paulette surveyed the dishes. “I guess this is the best we could do under the circumstances, but sometime soon I’ll have to have you all back for a real dinner.”
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this for months,” Marcus said. “My mother is on the Tupelo City Hospital board and she’s always at some meeting. Our cook is good, but she’s from somewhere in Mexico, and even though she says she follows the recipes, they’re not quite the same.”
Lucy took a sip of her iced tea and glanced at Jem. He was waiting for something and she scanned the table, watching the others scoop out green beans and pluck ears of corn from the platter. Then she realized he was waiting for grace.
“Should we pray?” she asked.
Paulette froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Marcus obediently folded his hands.
Regan moved her fingers back from her biscuit and nodded. “Well, of course. Jem, will you say grace?”
“Sure.” He made the sign of the cross and recited a short prayer about gifts about to be received from God’s bounty, made another sign of the cross, and it was over.
Lucy fought back a laugh. Apparently Regan wasn’t familiar with Jem’s religious background because her mouth was hanging open. Paulette pretended as if nothing strange had just happened, but the smile fixed to her face seemed a bit too wide. Lucy was very sure that no other Catholic had ever offered grace at the Crawford House table in her lifetime.
“So, you’re Catholic.” Marcus nodded as if he’d made an important discovery. “That must have been hard when you were growing up.”
“How so?” Jem asked.
“You probably felt sort of lonely, left out.” Marcus looked to Paulette for support. “I’m sure there aren’t many Catholics in Tupelo.”
“There are a few. In high school, my friend Lars went to the same church I did. He’s running river tours on the Sampit River and lives in Greenwood. He comes back here every now and then.” Jem took a bite of a biscuit and smiled. “These are perfect. Lucy, you did a great job. I haven’t had food this good since I came back to town.”
“You’re very welcome,” she answered, hearing the breathiness in her voice. She cleared her throat. She needed to remember that she was a professional woman. It seemed as if all it took was a compliment on her biscuits and a smile from Jem and she was thrilled to pieces. It was hard to fight almost thirty years of training to be a good Southern woman, but she was determined to be admired for more than being a good cook.
“I can make biscuits.” Regan tossed her hair over one shoulder and frowned in Lucy’s direction.
“Of course you can,” Paulette said. “It’s not hard. You just mix them up and stick them in the oven.”
Lucy almost rolled her eyes. This was the woman who was panicking at the idea of having to get the biscuits out of the oven when the timer went off.
“And I can fry up bacon, too.” Regan thought for a moment. “Bacon and biscuits. That’s a meal right there.”
Marcus reached for an ear of corn. “So, tell us about your clinic, Jem.”
He looked up. “You mean, the hours of operation and how many patients we treat a day?”
“Well, I was just thinking it must be hard to deal with all the teen moms on welfare. I’d be tempted to hand out job applications.” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t have a lot of patience for people like that. And they’ve learned these habits from their parents and grandparents. Have babies, live off the government, never get a job, everything is free. It must be frustrating.”
“My mother was on welfare most of my life,” Jem said.
There was a long silence where no one seemed to know what to say.
“She couldn’t make ends meet, even with her two part-time jobs,” Jem said. “The trailer we lived in had roaches and a plywood floor in the bathroom, but it took most of her income. So I understand where most of them are coming from and try to help without making assumptions.” He paused. His voice was soft. “I don’t always succeed.”
Lucy sat frozen, her fork in her hand. She wanted to say how much she admired him, how she was sure he was doing just fine, but she couldn’t seem to make the words leave her mouth.
Regan looked as lost as Lucy and scanned the table for some other topic. “These are lovely flowers, Paulette. Did you get these from Penny’s on Hanson Street? I just love their Hawaiian Sunrise. They have the tropical flowers overnighted as soon as you put in your order. You pay a lot more than anywhere else, but they’re so fresh.”
Paulette launched into a description of how the florist had sent the wrong arrangements and how she’d ordered these orchids to match the linen napkins she’d picked up on Tuesday, but the orchids had come a shade more orange than the fabric, even though she’d brought the napkins into the store to check. Lucy let the words wash over her and focused on her plate. Spearing a green bean, she brought it to her mouth. She’d been so hungry, but now her stomach felt unsettled and nervous. Shooting a glance at Jem, she noted the set of his mouth and the way his shoulders seemed too straight, as if he was forcing himself to stay at the table.
Had he mentioned his mother was on welfare that summer? She was almost sure
that he had mentioned it, and she hadn’t really thought much about it, except to feel sorry for him. She swallowed, feeling the tightness in her throat, the wave of self-disgust. He must have confided in her, but at the time it hadn’t been important. She’d been in love with everything about him. The way his hair stood up a bit, that slow way he smiled, his easy laugh, the way he could recite poetry so the words offered up a whole new meaning. She’d loved him, but she hadn’t understood him.
Lucy watched his face. He nodded, smiled and buttered a biscuit. He was playing along and not really part of the conversation at all. Is that how she’d seemed to him? Present, but wrapped up in her own world? Paulette’s story had inspired Regan to describe her own recent woes with a local salon owner who had promised that her highlights wouldn’t turn brassy, but after a week they had gotten a strange orange tint. She had demanded the owner come in on a Sunday morning and fix it because she could not live another day looking like that.
Jem glanced up and caught Lucy’s gaze. She forced a smile, and for a moment he looked as if he wanted to speak, but then he turned to Regan. Leaning close, he said, “Orange hair or not, you look beautiful.”
Lucy felt his words like a kick to the gut. And then hated herself for it. There was nothing wrong with his complimenting Regan, nothing wrong with his being a good date. She took a sip of sweet tea and tried to look as if she were enjoying the meal. But inside she knew that Jem was playing a part, and it took her breath away. Jem, who had always been fearless about his past and his present, was for some reason pretending that any of this mattered, that any of it would be in his future. He had never cared what the wealthy people of Tupelo thought before, but maybe he was different now. Maybe this is what he’d learned during medical school and during his years in Boston: how to smile when the conversation drifted from the inane to the absurd.
“You should see me on Halloween.” Regan leaned into him, pursing her lips. “Last year I wore a kitty costume that had cutouts here and here.” She ran her hands down each side from her ribs to her thighs. “I couldn’t wear any panties and it was cold.” She gave a little shiver.
Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin' Cornbread Page 16