Bed & Breakfast

by Lois Battle

  “Don’t get up, dear lady,” Jasper told Josie, though she’d made no attempt to move. He walked with drunken deliberation toward the drinks cart.

  “Here, Mother.” Susan handed a large box to Lila. “This is for you, from Daddy.”

  “Go on, open it,” Orrie encouraged. His face was still full of questions, but he didn’t voice them.

  “Open it,” Josie seconded.

  “You can pour me one,” Lila called as she slipped the ribbon from the box. She was home free. Off the hook. Dizzy with relief. Nothing more need be mentioned. Nothing at all. And, given today’s standards, had she really done anything so terrible? A little heavy petting after more than twenty years of marriage. It wasn’t as though she’d actually had sex with him. “A light bourbon.”

  Jasper raised his eyebrows at this unusual request, then laughed and said, “All right, girl, you’re starting to loosen up and get into the spirit. Merry Christmas.”

  “I’ll have one too,” Ricky said.

  Lila, slipping her fingernail under the Scotch tape and pulling the wrapping from her present, gave him a warning look but Jasper, fumbling in the ice bucket, pronounced, “Hell, Lila, he’s old enough to drink. At his age . . .”

  “Oh, yeah. A pint of white lightnin’ a day never hurt a country boy,” Orrie said so softly that Cam was sure she was the only one who’d heard him. His boyish features were crumpled with uneasy acceptance. You poor SOB, she thought: Jasper for a father, Ricky for a son, and now it looks like Lila, of all people, is getting it on the side, and you’ll never have the guts either to see the truth or to call her on it.

  Lila, smiling even before she lifted the lid from the box, drew out a black silk Natori nightdress and peignoir with appliques of gold butterflies. “Now that’s an eyeful,” Jasper said approvingly, handing her a huge tumbler of bourbon with just a few ice cubes floating in it. “That’s enough to make Orrie forget he’s been a married man for twenty years.”

  “Twenty-three, but who’s counting?” Orrie smiled as Lila planted a kiss on his cheek. “She’s still my number-one girl.”

  “Oh, gross,” Susan groaned, reaching for another gift. “This one’s to Grandma from Daddy. Not Mother and Daddy, just Daddy.”

  “Why, Orrie, thank you.” Josie slipped the ribbon from the box, rolled it up and put it into her lap, then carefully eased off the wrapping paper and began to fold it. Cam winked at Evie, who smiled knowingly at Lila. Lila looked at Cam and they all started to giggle as though they were kids playing Pass It On and whispering at a birthday party.

  “What?” Josie asked innocently.

  Cam said, “Depression mentality,” and all three sisters broke up laughing.

  “There’s nothing wrong with saving ribbons,” Josie said with dignity.

  “Or old wrappings,” Cam added, covering her mouth.

  “Or rubber bands,” Lila chimed in, ducking her head.

  Evie, overcome with laughter, squirmed and pulled her skirt down over her thighs. “Remember when Mawmaw used to tell us not to throw out old nylons because we could use them to dust the furniture?”

  “Well, girls, it’s a sin to waste things,” Josie began as though they were still children. “If you’d—”

  “ ‘—lived through the Depression,’ ” her daughters said in unison. They fell about in another paroxysm of laughter, kids again, united in gleeful scorn at their mother’s crazy obsessions.

  “I know this is for me.” Ricky grabbed one of the gold-and-white packages. The way he tore at the ribbons and ripped off the paper was such a boorish contrast to Josie’s gentle thrift that Cam stopped laughing and stared at him, unable to mask her distaste. Where could such a sense of greedy privilege ever hope to find a foothold in the world outside his parents’ indulgence?

  Josie lifted a china figurine from its bed of tissue paper. “Oh, thank you so much, son,” she said, holding up the figurine for general approval. Cam expected that even her mother’s tastes were too sophisticated for a bluebird sitting on a cherry branch, but Josie’s face was soft with gratitude.

  “I picked it out myself,” Orrie told her as Ricky yanked a navy blue crew sweater from his box, smiled, and shook his head. “I knew you’d get me something that looked preppie, Mom.”

  Lila shrugged and took another swallow of her drink. “If you don’t like it, I can take it back. Or maybe I’ll keep it for myself. Unisex is in.”

  Cam thought about the navy cashmere sweater she’d bought Sam for Christmas. Months before, when they’d been taking one of their long Saturday afternoon walks, they’d seen one in a shop window and Sam had mentioned he’d never owned a cashmere sweater. He’d been a scholarship student, always living on the cheap, never having more than a couple of pairs of chinos and Orlon sweaters, and by the time he’d left the service and was going to graduate school, he’d had a wife and baby to support. Even though he now made good money, he had two kids approaching college age. He bought expensive suits because that was essential, but he’d never indulged himself with fancy casual clothes. She hadn’t wrapped up the sweater because she’d planned to give it to him as he’d come out of the shower. She’d wanted to towel him off, tell him to close his eyes, then slip it over his head, easing it over his shoulders—he still had wonderful shoulders—kissing him before she told him to open his eyes. She decided she wouldn’t return the sweater. Even if her job was on the line, she wanted him to have it. She’d find out his address in Atlanta and send it. Damn, but she wanted a drink! Damn, but she wanted to be out of her mother’s house. And maybe Reba was right. Maybe she had an obligation to tell Sam she was pregnant. She felt an overwhelming desire not just to talk to him but to see him, in the flesh.

  Perry Como was singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” for the second time. Lost in her own thoughts, Cam realized that the exchange of gifts had progressed: Susan had a pile around her—the Billie Jean King book, a tennis racket, a set of aromatic candles, a vegetarian cookbook, two sweaters, several T-shirts, CDs, running shoes, perfume, a telephone in the shape of a 1950s car, a museum reproduction of a pre-Columbian bowl with tiny feet as supports, a stuffed dinosaur that she held in her lap. Evie, Jasper, Orrie, Josie, and Ricky had all amassed their own loot. She dimly recalled that there’d been some shift in the wind—Lila surprised, Josie silently disapproving—when Jasper had given Evie an inappropriately expensive watch. And now Lila was taking a gold charm in the shape of the statehouse from a jewelry box and reading the attached note: “ ‘To my sweet wife: A replica of our new house. All my love and thanks for helping me get there.’ ”

  “Shit, I hope we never have to go through another campaign,” Ricky complained. “That was really the pits.”

  “Get used to it, boy,” Jasper told him, beaming. “This is only the beginning.”

  Lila leaned into Orrie, draping an arm around his neck, whispering, “Thank you.” Cam’s quick look at Josie confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that Lila’s words were slurred. What a little hypocrite Lila is, Cam thought; she’s got affection beaming from one eye, calculation shining out of the other. And yet Cam felt sorry for her. Hypocrisy was a full-time job.

  “Susie. Susie, darlin’, hand over that green envelope to your daddy,” Jasper ordered. Susan did as she was told, Orrie tore open the envelope and read: “Caribbean vacation—you pick the dates. Five days and four nights on St. Kitts. You both deserve it after the campaign. Congratulations, Dad.” More whoops of surprise, kisses and hugs.

  “Cam and Reba are being neglected here,” Josie said. “Susan, give our guest that red box—the one underneath that big silver package.” Susan handed it over and Reba opened it, finding a copy of Josie’s Lowcountry Cooking, ajar of homemade pepper jelly, and another of peach jam. “Had I known you were coming,” Josie began, but Reba got up and went to her, putting her arms around her and saying, “Hey, you took me in. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “Now for Cam,” Josie said.
“Susan, please give your aunt Camilla that little package with the sprig of holly on it. Now Cam, be careful,” she warned as Cam peeled off the wrapping paper. “It’s real old.” It was a small leather-bound, hand-sewn volume. “The Pharmaceutic Practical Recipe Book,” Cam read aloud. “There’s no copyright date but the inscription says, ‘To Wallice Houseman, Esq.’ and it’s dated 1800. Oh, Mama, wherever did you get this?”

  “I found it with Mawmaw’s things. Don’t have the vaguest clue as to who Wallice Houseman, Esq., was, though I did hear Mawmaw tell that we had a distant uncle who was a pharmacist, or apothecary, I think they called them back then.”

  “It says here: ‘For The Use of Druggists, Apothecaries, Perfumers, Confectioners, Patent Medicine Factors and Dealers in Fancy Articles for the Toilet, Compiled with Great Care from Recipes Now In Use by the Most Popular Houses in France.’ Oh, Mama, this is wonderful.” Reba leaned over her shoulder as Cam gingerly turned the age-spotted pages. “Oh, listen to this. This is under ‘Preparations For The Hair’: To Make Pomade Divine: Take Mutton Suet, 2 ounces; White Wax, half an ounce. Perfume with Oil of Lavender.’ ”

  Reba laughed. “If we can get our hands on some mutton suet, we could try it.”

  “Oh, it’s marvelous, Mama. And look at this: ‘Paints for the Face, Which May be Used Without Danger’ and ‘Pimple Wash’ and ‘Eye Waters’, ‘Almost Paste for the Hands’ and ‘Portuguese Rouge.’ I love it. I’d never sell it, but I think it’s probably worth something.”

  “I have a cousin in the rare-book business,” Reba told her. “We could get him to look at it.”

  Cam sucked in her cheeks. “Reba, you have a cousin in everything from heart transplants to auto repair.”

  Reba hunched her shoulders, raised her eyebrows, turned her hands palms upward. “What can I tell you? They were fertile a couple of generations ago.”

  Cam laughed and hugged her, then asked, “Isn’t this great?” turning and offering the book to Lila.

  Lila, fumbling unsuccessfully to attach the new charm to her bracelet, pretended not to see the book and offered her wrist up to Orrie. Anger rose in her throat like undigested grease. She and Josie had come across the apothecary book while going through Mawmaw’s trunks just before Mawmaw had been taken to the rest home. She’d asked Josie if she could have it, but Josie had said she wouldn’t feel right giving away Mawmaw’s possessions until Mawmaw had died. But then, Josie had assured her, Lila could have anything she wanted. And she’d specifically said she wanted the book. She could only suppose that Josie, scrounging around for a gift in the face of Cam’s sudden appearance, had forgotten her promise.

  “That little package,” Lila said, pointing impatiently, “Yes, that one, gold and white, like all my presents. That’s for Ricky. Give it to him, Susan. It’s not just from me and Daddy, it’s from Grandaddy too.”

  Susan grudgingly obliged, holding out, then pulling back the package, teasing Ricky as he lunged and grabbed it.

  “Okay! Okay!” Ricky yelped, shaking out a set of keys. “I didn’t think you’d do it but you did. Damn! Keys. Keys to a new car, right?” Jasper, Orrie, and Lila all nodded. “Damn! I’ve been driving this clunker used to belong to Mom for two years,” Ricky explained in an aside to Reba. “So what is it? Where is it?”

  “It’s a new red Saturn,” Orrie said.

  Jasper, helping himself to another refill at the drinks cart, raised the bottle and said, “Buy American!”

  “It’s back at the house, sitting in our driveway,” Lila, flushed with satisfaction at Ricky’s pleasure, said. “That is, if the dealer put it there this afternoon, like he was s’posed to.”

  “He did,” Orrie confirmed. “I called him to check.”

  “Way to go!” Ricky yelped again, pounding his chest as though congratulating himself.

  “As Ivan Boesky says,” Reba whispered to Cam, “ ‘Greed is all right. Greed is healthy.’ ”

  Susan pouted. “You’re always saying how he drives like a maniac.”

  “You’ll get one too, blossom,” Jasper assured her. “Like all good things, it’s just a matter of time.”

  “When I graduate?” Susan pressed.

  Ricky leapt around, punching Orrie’s shoulder, slapping palms with Jasper. “Can I take your car and go get it now, Dad?”

  “Most certainly not,” Lila said. “You just sit tight and wait for everyone else to open their presents, then we’re all going to Cuba’s church.”

  “Grandma said she didn’t want me to go dressed like this, so why can’t I just—”

  “Now you’ve got some new clothes, you can just trot upstairs and put them on,” Orrie told him.

  “Aw, come on, Dad. Why can’t I—”

  “Sit down, Ricky,” Jasper ordered, short and sharp, as though training a dog. “Just sit down.” Ricky skulked back to the floor, jiggling the car keys in Susan’s face. “I can’t go to the church service and neither can Miss Evie,” Jasper went on, “so later, when I carry Miss Evie back to Savannah, we’ll drop you off.”

  Josie looked up in surprise. “I was expecting you all to stay overnight.”

  “Thought I’d better go check my boat ’cause of this storm,” Jasper said. “And since Evie said she had to get back to Savannah to work, thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Evie?” Josie said, half questioning, half warning.

  “Oh, Mama, you know I’d love to come to church with you,” Evie started in her little girl voice, “but I’ve been so stressed out I haven’t finished working on my column.”

  Reba and Cam exchanged a quick glance.

  “And you’re going home to work on your column on Christmas Eve?” Josie asked with quiet incredulity. She wanted Evie to know she wasn’t getting away with this paltry excuse. No, not excuse. Lie. She felt both exploited and defeated. How could it be that she, who’d only lied in petty, altruistic ways—telling an overweight friend that she looked slim, putting off the phone company by saying she hadn’t received a bill—had raised children who were liars? Lila had just lied—and she’d helped her to do it, thinking that a little inaccuracy could save a ton of painful explanation—and now Evie was lying, stupidly, clumsily. “Evie,” she said again, her voice a dying fall, wondering when Evie and Jasper had planned their getaway.

  “We’ll be coming back for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Evie said brightly.

  “Evie,” Josie said again. But what could she do? The older her children had gotten, the more inhibited she’d become about stating the obvious. Even if she took Evie aside, could she bring her into line by demanding, “How dare you?” Could she make Evie’s conscience smart by asking, “Don’t you know it’s wrong to go off with your sister’s father-in-law, a man who’s old enough to be ...” She didn’t think so. If her lecture that “petting won’t make you popular” had fallen on deaf ears when Evie was sixteen, how could she hope to stop her from going off with a man when she was forty plus?

  “Mama, how come you look so sad?” Lila asked. She was on that dangerous cusp of drunkenness, acutely aware of the feelings of others because she was about to plunge into her own universe of self-pity. “Mama, don’t be sad. Wait’ll you see what I’ve got you.” She went down on all fours, crawled toward the tree, picked up one of the few remaining presents, and crawled to Josie, already easing off the gold ribbon as she handed it to her. “Mama, I really think you’re going to like it.” She leaned back on her haunches as Josie undid the package, rolling up the ribbon and folding the wrapping paper in slow motion.

  “See, she’s still doing it,” Ricky pointed out. “Depression mentality.” But this time only Evie laughed.

  Josie lifted out the woolen plaid robe. “Why, Lila, this is lovely. It’s so nice and warm and—”

  Susan laughed. “It looks like the blanket my friend Melissa puts over her horse.”

  “You said it.” Ricky guffawed, tossing his head and neighing.

  “It’s bright and cheery,” Evie said, seeing
Lila’s face crushed with disappointment.

  “Just the thing to wear when you’re sitting in front of the fire,” Reba said, sensing the sudden squall.

  “Warm and comfortable,” Jasper muttered, so far gone that he tapped Evie’s knee before he leaned back, closing his eyes.

  “I bought it at a specialty import shop in Atlanta. It’s made in Scotland,” Lila announced.

  “Yes, it’s bright and cheery,” Josie agreed, smiling, refolding it. “Just the thing I need.”

  “It’s got pockets,” Lila persisted. “You’re always saying you like pockets because they’re practical. It’s a Stewart tartan, imported from Scotland. See the label?” She stopped herself from mentioning the price.

  “Yeah, Grandma, you’ll look like a happy old mare in that,” Ricky neighed again, then leaned toward his grandfather, asking, “Are we going to be leaving soon?”

  Lila said, “Shut up, Ricky,” and cuffed him, none too playfully, as she crawled back to the tree. “And this is for you, Cam.” She picked up one of the last packages and tossed it into Cam’s lap. “I hope you like Chanel. I’d bought you some Joy but . . .” She pulled back her hair, shook her head as if to clear it, and groaned, “Whoa!”

  “Of course I like Chanel. Thank you,” Cam said, sniffing one of the bars of soap. “Did you get the Mary Cassatt book I sent you yet, Lila? And, Evie, I sent you another museum book, Fashion Through the Ages, and one to Mama about Victorian gardens. You see, I didn’t realize I was going to come home so—”

  “Why should you?” Lila muttered. “You haven’t come home in ten years.”

  “You don’t have to give us anything, Aunt Cam.” Susan snuggled her stuffed dinosaur. “Your presence is present enough.”

  Reba gave her a thumbs-up for the pun and dove in. “Once I get back to New York, I’m going to send you all a big old package from Zabar’s or Balducci’s. Coffee from Jamaica, frogs’ legs from France, triple virgin olive oil from Italy, newts’ eyes and turtles’ eggs—something really special.”