by Mae Wood
I claimed a drawer in the bathroom for my hairdryer. As I was unpacking my make up on the bathroom counter, the doorbell rang.
Okay, so my options are hide or go answer it. Breathe. Be bold.
I walked downstairs and opened the door to a woman in her sixties dressed in a long neat black skirt and a nurse’s scrub top. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled into a tight and low bun.
“Hello.” I said.
“You must be Marisa. I’m Ophelia Winters. I’m sorry to disturb you. Trip said it was okay to stop by.”
“Oh!” I stepped to the side. “Come on in. You didn’t disturb me.”
Not like Bitsy did. Thank God.
“I’ve got the laundry.”
“Oh!”
Can I say anything other than ‘oh’? Come on, get it together.
“Let me help.”
“No, ma’am, you don’t need to do that. I just saw the car in the garage and didn’t want to startle you. I understand from Mrs. Brannon that I’m supposed to call Trip before I come over.”
Now I feel a little silly about that memo. I don’t want his family to think I don’t like them or that they are no longer welcome in his home.
“Oh!”
Stop saying that!
“No, you come on in. Let me help. And yes, I’m sorry. I’m Marisa Tanner. It’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and we shook across Trip’s threshold.
“Nice to finally meet you, too.”
I nodded in agreement. “Okay, so let’s go get the laundry.” I followed her out to an older model blue minivan. She opened the sliding door to reveal two hanging bags of freshly laundered and starched dress shirts and suits and other clean clothes, stacked in a hamper. “Here, I’ll get some if you can take the others,” I offered.
“You really don’t have to help, ma’am.”
“Ms. Winters, please don’t call me ma’am. Please call me Marisa.”
She smiled. “Okay. If you’ll call me Ophelia.”
“Done. So, Ophelia,” I said, draping a bag of shirts over my forearm. “I understand you’ve been taking care of Trip since he was little.”
“Yes. And I understand you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.” I blushed and she smiled.
Well, that’s forward. Likely accurate, but forward.
I walked through the front door. “Good. It’s about time that boy of mine found someone.”
I need to change the topic. Now.
“I’m quite fond of him as well. How long have you worked for the Brannons?”
“Well before Trip was born. I started helping.” She quickly shut her mouth. “Years.”
“So you took care of Caroline, too?”
She tilted her head at me. “Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name spoken without heartache attached. Where are you from, Marisa?”
“Here. Actually Collierville.”
“And you’re one of the company’s attorneys?” She started up the stairs.
She’s taking them to his closet. Where I’ve just parked my things.
“Yes, well, I don’t work at Branco. I work for myself. Branco hires my law firm.”
“Smart girl, then. Have I been buying the kind of yogurt you like?”
I paused.
Halfway up the staircase. Crap.
“Yes, really, thank you, but you don’t have to do that. I can do my own grocery shopping. And I’ll put away his clean things.”
“Honey, this is my job.” She smiled to herself. “You know what? Why don’t you fix us some iced tea and I’ll put away the clothes and then we can visit for a little.” She kept walking up the stairs.
I need to cut her off. She can’t go up there and find all of my things. What will she think? This could be really bad.
“Oh, I don’t want to keep you. I can do this. Plus, Trip will probably be home soon.”
“It’s Tuesday. He’s with his momma and daddy for dinner.”
Fuck. She’s right. They eat dinner together on Tuesdays. He didn’t say anything about it over lunch though.
I slung the clothes over one shoulder and pulled my iPhone out of the back pocket of my jeans. Sure enough, I had two missed calls from Trip and a few text messages inviting me to join them for dinner at six-thirty at Pig and Barley.
“You’re right. Dinner at six-thirty with his parents.”
“So, we’ve got a few minutes, then. I’ll get to it.” She continued her ascent.
“Um, I’d really be more comfortable just taking his things up myself. Truly, please let me.”
Please, please, please. Don’t go into his bedroom. I don’t know if he wants his parents to know about this.
“Marisa, growing up did you have anyone help in your house?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Well, this is my job, taking care of the Brannon family. I’ve been doing it for almost forty years. Since my son started Kindergarten. A friend at church had been keeping house for a nice young lady who needed someone to help watch her baby because her husband worked so much and she was working, too. They’d had a string of young girls helping, but they needed someone who knew about babies. So, that’s how I started working for Mrs. Brannon.” I followed Ophelia down the hall to the master bedroom, my anxiety increasing with our proximity.
“She worked?”
“Honey, she’s a CPA,” she replied, stepping into the master bedroom and heading directly to the closet. “An accountant. Worked here in Memphis for International Paper. You didn’t know this?”
“No.”
Bitsy is a CPA?
“I had no clue. That’s really impressive.”
“She is a very impressive lady. She stopped working when Trip was born. Then all of that with Caroline.” Ophelia shrugged and hung the shirts in the closet, balling the plastic overwrap in her hands. “Plus, Mr. Brannon travelled quite a bit with the company.”
“So, you were their nanny?”
“Yes. Trip, he’s one of my own. May not be my blood, but he’s one of my children. Can I trust you with him?”
Wow. She doesn’t pull punches.
I took a deep breath. “I will do my best.”
“Good. Now, back to where I was. Mrs. Brannon wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me at first. She’s a coal miner’s daughter.”
My head snapped up from the suits I was pulling out from under the plastic. “Literally? Like Trip’s grandpa worked underground?”
“Yes. Mrs. Brannon is from West Virginia. Some small town. You should ask her about it sometime.”
“That’s probably very different than her life now.”
“It is. And judging by this closet, your life is different now.”
I blushed again and looked at my feet.
Well the cat is out of the bag.
“So please let me do my job. Don’t fret over it. Don’t worry about it. Just let me do what I do.”
“You’re being so kind, but there is really no need.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it, and while you might think you don’t need my help, you just don’t know it yet. But as soon as you start popping out babies, you’ll be glad.” Ophelia’s off-hand comment lingered in the air, which became heavy with silence.
“Yup, yeah, so I’ve got to get ready if I’m going to meet them for dinner on time.” I quickly hooked the hangers of the items I was holding on the rack and walked out of the closet. I knew I was being rude and I didn’t care.
If one more person presumes to know what’s going on with me and Trip, I’m going to start crying.
“I’m sorry for saying that, Marisa. I don’t know your situation and I shouldn’t have said that,” she said softly, stepping out of the closet. “If you want, I’ll leave the hamper and you can put away the rest.”
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you and thank you for not saying anything to Bitsy. I don’t know,” I began, wondering how to convey to Ophelia that I didn’t know what Trip was telling his mom, if anything.
>
She waved me to be quiet with her hands, indicating that I didn’t need to say more and she didn’t want to hear it. “Anything I can pick up special for you at the grocery?”
“Some decaf coffee would be nice. I’m not picky about the kind.”
“Wonderful. I’ll do that. Oh, and one of your dresses was in with his suits, so it went to the cleaners, too. It’s in there somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Marisa. I’m glad you’re here.”
***
I handed my keys to the valet at Pig and Barley and pushed through its roughhewn wooden front doors. I looked to the bar and my eyes immediately landed on Trip’s ass. He was standing at the bar, leaning on his elbow with his back to me.
I know that ass.
I walked up and gave it a playful smack. His head swiveled towards me in surprise and his face lit up. “Marisa, Mom.”
Mom. Fuck me. Again. It’s not like I didn’t know she was going to be here. Why did I do that?
“Just fucking with you.” He leaned in and placed a quick hello kiss on my cheek. “Not that I wasn’t just fucking you a few hours ago, too. I love fucking with you,” he whispered in my ear before pulling back.
And I’m a goner. And his parents will be here in a minute. I’ve got to get a grip.
“I met your other mother today.”
“Is that some sort of riddle that I’m not getting?”
“No, I was over at your house and Ophelia came by with your laundry.”
“And were you fully clothed this time?”
“Yup.”
“Disappointing.” I punched his bicep. “She instigate the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” I retorted automatically. He cocked his head. “Sorry. That probably made no sense. Just a line from a movie. Anyway, no inquisition. She was nice.”
“Our chief weapons are surprise, no fear, no our special red outfits. Come on, how does it go? I haven’t seen Monty Python in years.”
“Something like that. I really don’t remember.”
“Oh, we’re Netflixing that when we get home.”
“As long as you don’t try to torture me by putting me in the comfy chair.”
We laughed and our eyes danced together. “You are a fascinating woman, Miss Tanner. So, you survived the dreaded Ophelia?”
“It was good.”
“I hope she didn’t give away all of my secrets.”
“Not a one. Although I didn’t know she was your nanny.”
“Yeah, so my mom worked when Caroline was little and needed some help so she hired Ophelia and she’s been with our family ever since. They’re here.”
I turned toward the door as Jimmy and Bitsy arrived. After pleasantries, we were guided to our table by the hostess. Blessedly we weren’t seated near the intimate corner booth where Trip and I had shared two of our more memorable meals.
“So I understand y’all eat together most Tuesday nights. It is always at Pig and Barley?” I asked, taking a sip of my pale ale.
“No,” answered Bitsy. “We usually eat at the club and then the boys go out for some men-only time. We might have to find something for us girls to do after Tuesday dinners.”
Before I could even come up with a graceful way to decline even more one-on-one time with Bitsy, Trip answered. “Actually, Marisa goes to Cal’s, too.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
Interesting that we go to the same bar or interesting that I go to a bar? Okay, the best way to get a conversation directed away from you is to get someone talking about themselves. That’s the plan.
I took a big breath. “So, Bitsy, how did you and Jimmy meet?”
“Oh, that was so long ago I’m not sure I remember it all,” said Bitsy coyly, looking at Jimmy and silently urging him to tell.
“Oh, I remember everything about meeting her. I was at my accountant’s office and this pretty young thing in a purple dress walked through the reception area. I asked my CPA about the new receptionist. He said they didn’t have a new receptionist. I said something about the blonde with the killer legs. He introduced me to Bitsy Blenheim on my way out and I was done.”
“You worked for Jimmy’s accounting firm?”
“Not really. I was getting my masters at Memphis State, as it was called then, and it was tax season so I was picking up some work doing tax returns.”
“Yes, so ‘tax season’ was excruciatingly long that year. I kept calling the office and trying to take her to lunch, take her to dinner, take her to the movies, anything, really. And all she would say is ‘Jimmy, this is very nice of you, but I don’t have time to think about it until after tax season.’ ” Bitsy smiled and took a sip from her wine glass. “The morning of April sixteenth I showed up at my accountant’s office with a bouquet of flowers and took her to lunch. Best decision of my life.” He kissed his wife lovingly on her cheek.
“Where’d y’all go?” Trip asked.
“Paulette’s,” Bitsy answered. “It had just opened. Very fancy for Memphis at the time.”
That is weird. Like spooky weird.
“I didn’t know that,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “That’s where Marisa and I had our first lunch.”
“Good omen,” nodded Jimmy.
“So, Bitsy, you mentioned you were getting your masters?”
“Yes, in accounting. I’m actually a CPA, but I don’t keep my license active.”
“And you’re from Memphis?”
I don’t have to tell her what Ophelia told me. I’ll just use it to guide the conversation to safe topics.
“No. I’m from West Virginia. I went to WVU for my undergraduate. I moved to Memphis to take a part time job at International Paper while I worked on my master’s degree. I got laid off from that job, which is why I was working tax season when I met Jimmy. Starving graduate student and all that. That really was a lifetime ago.”
“Wow. That’s really impressive.”
“And here, you thought I just shopped all day.”
“Oh no.”
Yup, before Ophelia told me that is exactly what I thought.
“I’m teasing you. I only worked as a CPA for two years. I got a job back at International Paper and I worked there when Jimmy and I were first married. By the time Trip was born, I decided to stay home with him. And I’ve never gone back.”
And we’re just all going to ignore the Caroline-shaped hole in the family.
“Mom, Dad, we can talk about Caroline. It’s okay with me. And Marisa knows.”
Okay with him? I thought Bitsy was the one who was fragile about losing a child. But, yeah, Jimmy did tell me that he didn’t think Trip would tell me about Caroline. Maybe I just read that wrong. Maybe they are both fragile.
“Back to us,” said Jimmy, taking control of the conversation. “Married her less than a year after laying eyes on her and haven’t looked back. Caroline came along right around our first anniversary and then Trip and by then something had to give and it was Bitsy’s career.”
“I wouldn’t have changed it for the world,” she said solemnly, taking my face in with her eyes.
Is this a message to me? That I can choose a family with Trip or I can choose my job? Fuck me. Really.
Before my mind could truly spin out of control with worry, our entrees arrived. I had gone with my standby of shrimp and grits. Jimmy had a petit filet with Hoppin’ John and greens. Bitsy had flounder and Trip ordered three different appetizers for his dinner, including sautéed frog legs.
Frog. Ick. And I’m supposed to kiss that mouth later?
As he picked up a frog leg, he spoke. “Marisa got to meet Ophelia earlier.”
“And you lived to tell the tale?” asked Jimmy, taking a sip of his Syrah. “She eats Trip’s girlfriends for sport.”
“Really? We just chatted while we put away laundry. No big deal.”
Jimmy lifted an eyebrow and looked at his son. “That was my tho
ught exactly,” Trip noted.
“Be nice, boys. Ophelia loves Trip as much as I do. It’s not her fault that Trip’s not always made as lovely a choice as Marisa.”
Trip paused slightly and dropped a hand on my knee, attempting to wash away any worry that accompanied references to past girlfriends. “So, I picked up my Rover for this weekend. I thought we’d be more comfortable in it rather than packed in like sardines in Dad’s car.”
“Yeah, I saw the dune buggy, Jimmy. That’s cool. How long have you had that?”
Bitsy giggled. “You still have that?” she asked her husband in disbelief. “Does it even work?”
“I got it when I was about fifteen. Kept it at the beach for years. I don’t know if it works. I’d nearly forgotten about it.”
“I hadn’t. You scared me to pieces the first time you took me down to St. George for a weekend and you gave me a tour around the island in that thing.”
“Was worth it, right?”
Bitsy’s smile grew even brighter and she turned to me. “I was insisting on walking back to the cabin rather than getting in the dune buggy with this mad man behind the wheel and that’s when he asked me to marry him.”
Trip squeezed my thigh. The table settled into silence once more. “So, what’s the plan for Saturday?” he asked, turning to his next small dish of mock turtle soup.
I’m so glad that’s not real turtle, or after the frog legs, there is no way I’d kiss him. What is mock turtle soup made from, anyway? Do I even want to know?
“Well, Gabe, my hairstylist, will be over around four o’clock. Marisa, can you get Trip to drop you off around then? Boys, you need to be back at the house no later than five-thirty, so you can get cleaned up, eat something, and we can leave by six-thirty. The event starts at seven. And I will not be late.”
Trip pushed his empty soup dish to the side and dove into a miniature rabbit and mushroom pot pie.
So, if it’s a character from a Beatrix Potter story, he eats it? I’ll stick with my shrimp and grits. Thank you very much.
“Oh, Bitsy, that reminds me. I hate to ask, but Trip said since you offered it was okay to accept the help. I haven’t picked up my dress yet.”
“I’ll pick it up for you and have it at the house.”
“Really? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Yes, really. It’s my job to take care of this family.”