Shoot. She’d meant to eat some crackers before she came.
Mary’s warm smile reflected none of the skepticism Elizabeth’s knee-jerk response had gotten from others. “Good. Come on back. Everybody else is here.” She led Elizabeth toward her cozy den. “We were all so glad to hear that he was doing so well. Mrs. Whittington let us know that he’s getting back to normal.”
Whatever normal was anymore. Elizabeth just smiled.
In the den, Anne Kelly, Holly James, Carolyn Foreman, Elaine Mason, and Faith Harris were waiting. Holly jumped up to greet her with a wine-wary hug. “Hey there, girl! Is it true? Are you finally doing over that mausoleum you live in?”
Hallelujah. A safe topic. Elizabeth took another drink, then answered, “I always thought of it more as a funeral home.” The frank comment brought everybody to attention. “And yes. I am finally, finally doing it over, with Howe’s blessing. Actually, it was his idea.”
Anne and Faith exchanged trenchant glances. “No guessing what your mother-in-law thinks about that,” Anne observed.
Elizabeth took another slug of wine, warming to the company of these women she’d known for so many years. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the isolation of the past few months, but she found herself wanting to trust them, at least a little, the way they’d trusted her. “Augusta is incensed, but for once, Howe put his foot down.”
“God knows,” Faith said, “it’s about time.”
“I heard Howe was . . . different now,” Holly ventured.
How much of the truth did she dare reveal? “Nothing like almost dying to change your perspective,” Elizabeth admitted. She chose her words carefully. “He’s much more laid-back now. Much more demonstrative. It’s . . . good.”
“Couldn’t tell from your expression,” Carolyn challenged, “or your tone. What’s the real scoop?”
Carolyn always had to push things. Enough was never enough with her.
“There are still some . . . issues,” Elizabeth granted. “He tires easily, and he’s . . . Well, for Howe, he’s pretty emotional.”
“Any emotion’s emotional for Howe,” Holly commented, then retracted. “No offense intended.”
Elizabeth finished her wine. “None taken.”
“So,” Mary intercepted, “tell us about the renovations.”
Grateful, Elizabeth said, “You can’t believe the difference. So far, I’ve just taken down all the heavy drapes in the parlor and dining room and foyer, and had the wallpaper removed and all that dark molding primed to paint, but it’s already transformed the whole place. Brought in so much light.”
“What colors are you using?” Mary asked.
“A soft green for the walls, between a celadon and pale jade, and white for all the trim and wainscoting.”
“Oh,” Faith said. “That’ll go so well with those marble fireplaces.”
“Which is why she did it,” Holly told her.
“What about the kitchen?” Elaine asked. “I don’t know how you’ve managed all these years with it the way it was. Personally, I’d have gone stark ravin’ crazy.”
Elizabeth cocked a wry frown at her friend’s frankness. “I’m working on a design. There’s so much to fix, it takes time to get things done right.” And it takes ten times more time if your husband insists on participating, but can’t make up his mind.
Mary replaced her wine with a fresh goblet, something she didn’t usually do. “Here you go, sweetie. After what you’ve been through, you deserve it, and then some.”
She had a point. Elizabeth helped herself to some cheese and crackers first, but the pleasant buzz remained.
Holly leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what did Mrs. Whittington say about the changes?” She shot the others a wry smile. “Boy, would I have liked to be a fly on the wall to hear that.”
Elizabeth couldn’t suppress a satisfied chortle. “She said it was a travesty. Threatened to disown Howe if we did it.” Once she’d started confiding, it didn’t seem so hard. “Not that it would make any difference. Except for the bank, he’s had their holdings separated for years.”
Her candor prompted a brief exchange of surprised, but eager, expressions in the others. Elizabeth took another sip and went on. “Augusta badgered Howe for more than a week, but God bless ’im, he didn’t budge. Told her she could do her house like a funeral parlor if she wanted to, but he wanted some light and life in his house, and that was that.” She punctuated the last three words with a point of her finger. A giggle startled her by escaping, but she was on a roll. “So the next morning, she turns up, loaded for bear. Doesn’t knock. Just lets herself in, like she always does, with the key that’s supposed to be for emergencies.”
Another sip. Boy, did she like this port.
The others sat mesmerized, waiting for her to go on.
“She’s always sneakin’ up on me,” Elizabeth let slip. Ooo. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.
“So she let herself in . . .” Elaine prodded.
Elizabeth blinked and took a deep breath to chase the fuzzies from her head. But when she spoke, she sounded slightly swacked, even to herself. “Whoo, did she ever flip when she saw that woodwork painted. I thought she’d stroke out, on the spot.”
Mary’s lips folded inward, eyes widening, and Elizabeth realized what she’d said. “Oops. Bad choice of words. Strike that.”
“What happened then?” Holly asked.
“Well, she tried to blame me, as usual,” Elizabeth confided. “Said she knew it was all my idea, which it wasn’t.” Not that she hadn’t wanted to from the moment she’d walked into the place, but it was her husband’s boyhood home, and he’d lost his father and had had to give up his career, so she hadn’t wanted to make waves. “But Howe heard her fussin’ me out, so he came and took up for me.” Wonder of wonders. Satisfaction bled through to her expression. “He even told her to give him back the key and start calling before she came over.”
The others hooted and hollered with glee, and Carolyn slapped her a high five. “Whoo! Yea, Howe. It’s about time.”
Elizabeth warmed to their approval. “They had a real knock-down, drag-out. She asked where the drapes were, and when Howe told her we had taken them down and weren’t going to replace them, she said it was indecent, that perfect strangers could look in and see our private business. So Howe said they had no business looking, in the first place. Then she said she wanted the drapes so she could put them back up if he came to his senses.” Elizabeth took another swig of sweet wine. “We hear that a lot these days, about when he comes back to his senses.”
Man, Mary’s sofa was comfortable. “And then he says he’s putting them in a garage sale, along with the rest of the stuff we’re getting rid of—what the kids don’t want, though I doubt they’ll want any of it. The both have decent taste.” She shook her head from side to side, remembering Augusta’s reaction to that. “And then Augusta says she doesn’t care if Howe is her son, there’s no way she’s letting him put the family’s heirlooms out in the yard like some sharecropper, for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to ‘paw through.’ ”
The girls all hissed and booed.
“So Howe says he can damn well have a garage sale if he wants to,” Elizabeth went on with more alacrity, thanks to their encouragement, “because it’s his stuff, not hers, and she gave it to us when she gave us the house.” Us, he had said, for the first time ever.
Cheers erupted. “Yea, Howe!” “Woo-hoo!” “It’s about time!”
Elizabeth realized abruptly that she’d said too much. But by then, she didn’t really care. Tight as a tick, she stared unfocused into the middle distance.
All those years, her sewing circle had trusted her with their life crises. It certainly hadn’t been very gracious of her not to trust them back. What harm could it do to tell them the truth about how Augusta had acted about the redecorating, anyway? Elizabeth had grinned and borne her mother-in-law’s abuses in silence, and what good had it done her? Augusta had turned Patricia a
gainst Elizabeth, with no reason to do so.
It wasn’t as if Elizabeth could be in any worse trouble with the woman. She’d already crossed the Rubicon by painting the woodwork.
“So what happened after Howe said you were having the garage sale anyway?” Anne prodded. “And I want first dibs, by the way.”
“Y’all will get a special preview,” Elizabeth promised.
“So what happened then?” Holly asked.
Elizabeth decided she might as well trust her friends with some more of the truth. “Well, after Howe said he’d have it anyway, the same thing happened that’s been happening since he woke up. He started cussin’ a blue streak, and Augusta got all huffy, and—”
“Howe, cussing?” Mary asked in disbelief. “Kyle said he never cussed, not even in the locker room.”
Uh-oh. “I really didn’t mean to tell that part.” Too late. No sense trying to retract it. “Y’all please, don’t tell anybody,” she pleaded, praying that a miracle would happen and they wouldn’t. “It’s not his fault. Half the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. It’s from the stroke. That, or the medication they gave him to wake up. Or the surgery. Not that it matters which, really.”
“Howe cusses?” Faith marveled.
“What does he say?” Holly prodded. She always pushed just one step too far.
“You name it,” Elizabeth admitted. “But he’s getting better—well, a little better. He apologizes. He’s still just pretty . . .”
Faith laid a comforting hand on her leg. “Pretty what, sweetie?”
Oh, hell, why not tell them? Unlike Howe’s past sins, his current condition wasn’t a crime against God or mankind. Elizabeth wouldn’t say anything about the crying. That would hurt his dignity, and a man had to have his dignity. Before the stroke, it was all Howe did have. “He’s really emotional,” she went on. “His moods can shift on a word. It all just . . . pops out.” She gestured to emphasize the explosive nature of his new personality, and sloshed port onto the sofa. “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s microfiber,” Mary dismissed. “Don’t even give it a thought. And don’t stop.”
Faith’s expression had congealed. “He hasn’t hit you, has he? I don’t care if he did have a stroke. You shouldn’t be alone with him if he’s—”
“No. Lord, no,” Elizabeth hurried to correct. “No anger. He’s just impulsive. Really, really impulsive. Not angry.”
She saw the skepticism in their reaction. “Okay, well, he gets mad at his mother, but he certainly hasn’t gotten violent or anything.”
Elizabeth realized she’d said way too much. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this anymore. Please. Can we change the subject?”
Holly wasn’t having any of that. “Oh, no you don’t.” Mary shot her a warning glance, but Holly ignored it. “For the past twenty years, you’ve come to these meetings and listened to all our problems, but never once confided anything more important than the trials of teething or the frustrations of having two kids with chicken pox. Tonight, you finally opened up. That’s a good thing, Elizabeth, not a bad one.”
“It’s not like you’re criticizing your husband,” Carolyn put in, “though God knows we’ve criticized ours plenty. And God knows, you’ve had cause enough to criticize Howe over the years, but didn’t.”
“And we admired that kind of loyalty,” Elaine volunteered. “But please don’t shut us out again.”
Holly grew bolder with reinforcements. “She’s right. Come on, Elizabeth. Do you think you’re the only person in town who can keep a confidence? Don’t you trust—”
“Holly.” Mary tried to intervene. “Criticizing Elizabeth certainly won’t make things—”
“Baloney.” Holly dismissed the objection with a wave of her French-manicured hand. “I’m not criticizing Elizabeth. I’m just telling the truth.” She turned back to Elizabeth, her manner softening. “Doesn’t it get lonely in there with everything all bottled up inside you? Let us be your friends. Let us in.”
Elizabeth killed her second (!) glass of port, then closed her eyes and did something she hadn’t done since she and Howe were in college: She confided her own feelings. “Oh, y’all, it’s like living with a two-hundred-pound toddler. Happy one minute, depressed the next. Wanting me to help him, then wanting to do things himself. It wears me out. I mean, sometimes it’s wonderful. He can be really sweet. But he’s always there, right underfoot, and so demanding, without meaning to be. Wanting to know what I’m doing and why and how, every single second.”
“I hear that,” Elaine said. “Harry was the same way when he first retired. Wouldn’t leave me alone. Tried to tell me how to cook, for heaven’s sake. Rearranged my whole pantry while I was at the grocery store, without asking. I still haven’t found the capers.” She shook her head. “Like to drove me nuts.”
Elizabeth remembered. Elaine had threatened a divorce if he didn’t find something constructive to do, so Harry had joined the Stephen ministry at church and stayed busy ever since. But Howe wasn’t safe enough to let loose on the world. Not yet.
“These moods of Howe’s,” Mary asked. “The impulsiveness. Is it permanent?”
A heavy sigh escaped Elizabeth. “Who knows? Not the doctors. All they’ll say is that he’s making progress. When I pressed them for a prognosis, they said med school handed out diplomas, not crystal balls.”
“Whoa,” Faith said. “That’s cold.”
“Not really,” Elizabeth allowed. “They were kind, but even doctors don’t have all the answers.”
“It’s all so unfair,” Carolyn told her. “You’re the best person I know. Nobody in this whole, wide world deserves trouble less than you do. All those years with Howe’s mama looking down her nose at you, when it should have been the other way around, and now this.”
A huge lump formed in Elizabeth’s chest. “Thanks.” Oh, dear. She couldn’t cry. Howe was the one who did the crying now, enough for both of them.
“Damn,” Elaine piped up, “it would have been simpler if he’d just died, wouldn’t it?”
Faith gasped in dismay at the same time Carolyn and Holly let out a stifled bark of laughter.
“Open mouth, insert foot,” Anne scolded.
Elaine had the good grace to color up. “I’m not saying you, or anybody else, wants him to die or anything,” she told Elizabeth, “but living in limbo like that . . .” She shook her head. “I’m just so sorry for you, sweetie.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Really,” Elizabeth said, wishing she believed it. “Even impulsive, he’s really a lot nicer than he was before. Just . . . so unpredictable. I never know what he’s going to say. That’s why we haven’t gone out yet. It can be pretty embarrassing.”
“Howe Whittington, old poker face himself?” Holly said. “A blabbermouth?” Elizabeth winced to hear his predicament reduced to such a word. “I can’t imagine.”
“It’s harder on him than it is on me,” Elizabeth defended, wishing they could talk about something else. “Y’all,” she pleaded, “please. I mean it. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I came here to get away from it.”
“Oh.” A light went on in Carolyn’s expression. “I know what we can talk about that will cheer you up.” A broad smile crossed her freckled face.
The others looked a bit confused, then their expressions cleared. “Oh, yeah.” Faith nodded toward Holly. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”
“You,” Holly said, then pivoted to face Elizabeth across the coffee table. “Guess who’s on the nominating committee for the Garden Club? And the Altar Guild.”
“Who?” Elizabeth obliged.
“Me. And Faith. And Cassie Zellman.” A nice girl who’d only been in for five years, making her fresh blood. “And Martha Dill.” One of Augusta’s old cronies.
The others peered at Elizabeth in expectation. She waited for the other shoe to drop, but when it didn’t, she asked, “And?”
“And,” Holly clarified, “that mea
ns that for the first time in eons, the committee consists of three of your friends and only one of your mother-in-law’s.”
Maybe it was the wine, but Elizabeth remained slow on the uptake. “And?”
They all grinned. “Guess who’s been officially nominated for president—Garden Club and Altar Guild—by popular demand, and who hasn’t?”
Uh-oh. “And who would that be?” Elizabeth asked, knowing the answer and not at all sure she liked it.
“You!” they announced, then produced confetti and toy horns from their seats, showering her to a tinny, dollar store fanfare. “Not your mother-in-law, at long, long last. The queen is dead, long live the queen!”
“Oh, y’all,” Elizabeth said. “Really, I’m touched, and honored, but I . . . my plate is really full with Howe. And the renovations . . . I couldn’t—”
Holly wagged a cautionary finger. “Oh, yes you could, and you should.” The finger aimed at her. “You know perfectly well that the committee chairs do all the real work, and yours was the hardest.” Flower show, one she’d chaired for over a decade. “Missy Bryan has agreed to take that over. All you have to do now is preside at meetings and go to district.”
“Please. You have to take it,” Elaine argued. “If you don’t, there’ll be mutiny. We haven’t done anything new in ages. People are tired of the same old projects, the same old programs.” The others nodded. “And you know better than anybody how many toes Howe’s mama has stepped on in the last few years. Half the members have threatened to resign unless somebody else is elected. And you’re the only one with guts enough to replace the woman.”
“Please,” Mary pleaded with exaggerated desperation. “Save us.”
“Ooooh. I don’t knoooow.” They should at least have asked her. Elizabeth didn’t like being set up. Still, they had a point. Everybody else in town was afraid of Augusta, and Elizabeth had already declared war by renovating the house. How much worse could things be?
Waking Up in Dixie Page 11