Waking Up in Dixie

by Haywood Smith

  But then what would she do about P.J.?

  She didn’t want to hurt him, but she realized she had to end it, clean.

  Oddly, she felt no regret about it.

  But she knew better than to think that P.J. would let her go easily. P.J. didn’t let anything he cared about go easily.

  Elizabeth decided to make herself another drink.

  Chapter 17

  “Maybe we ought to skip church for a few weeks till things settle down,” Elizabeth suggested over breakfast the next morning.

  Howe bristled. “I know things didn’t work out the way I’d planned at the vestry meeting, but I have no intention of hiding. I can work for change from within.” Oh, Lord. “St. Andrew’s is my church home and always has been. Regardless of how well the Baptist minister and I agree on theology, I have no intention of abandoning the Episcopal Church.”

  That was a relief.

  “Unless God tells me to.”

  Oops. Spoke too soon.

  Elizabeth focused on stirring her coffee, wondering if there was any connection between Howe’s theological “revelation” and those long hours he’d spent holed up in his study. “Is that what you’ve been doing in your study all this time? Talking to God?”

  Howe colored, suddenly intent on putting homemade strawberry jam on his toast. “Some of the time.”

  She waited to see if he’d go on, but he didn’t, so she asked outright. “What about the rest of the time?”

  He frowned. “I’d rather not say. But I promise, it’s not anything wrong.”

  Then why wouldn’t he tell her?

  “You’re sure you’re not thinking of going to seminary or anything, are you?” she asked as casually as she could manage.

  Howe let out an undignified laugh that was half chortle, half snort. “God, no. I already told you.”

  Whew. The idea of being a minister’s wife made her blood run cold. She was under enough scrutiny, as it was.

  Howe cocked his head, considering. “Of course, if the Lord could make a minister out of Matthew, I guess he could make one out of me. Might not be a bad idea.”

  Oh, hell. She should never have brought it up.

  He shot her a wicked grin. “Gotcha.”

  “That is not funny,” she said mildly, relieved.

  He gave her arm a brief, affectionate squeeze, sobering. “We were always dead serious about everything before, weren’t we?”

  That was an understatement. “Yep.” She took a sip of her coffee.

  “Damn. Sorry.” He shook his head, pondering, then looked at her with dawning comprehension. “We never had any fun, did we?”

  “You played golf,” she blurted out. “Wasn’t that fun?” The sarcasm in her question made her feel like a shrew, but if they were going to make something of their marriage, the hookers had to be addressed eventually.

  Guilt and remorse aged him before her eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t fun. Ever.” Tears welled. “It was just . . . exercise. Release. No complications. No judgments. No connections.”

  She focused past him to the perfect garden that surrounded their perfect house. The summer had been the coolest in decades, with plenty of rain, so everything still looked fresh and green. But inside, she felt parched dry. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No.” He covered her left hand with his. “There’s no excuse for what I did. You never deserved it.”

  Elizabeth looked at his simple gold wedding band and wondered if he’d even bothered to take it off on those trips to Atlanta. Probably not.

  “God, Lizzie, I’m so sorry,” he told her. “I know that doesn’t make up for what I did to you, but I mean it.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, yet she couldn’t count on that as a measure of his sincerity. He cried over everything from Puppy Chow commercials to the national anthem.

  Howe tightened his grip on her hand. “Can we get past what I did?” he asked. “Can you get past it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly, wishing she hadn’t brought it up. But she’d participated, by remaining silent. “Somehow, talking about it makes it all so real, so . . . sordid.”

  She pulled her hand into her lap to clasp the other. “I managed just fine pretending nothing was wrong. I did it for so long, I almost convinced myself.” Odd, how easily she spoke the unspeakable. “The truth is, I knew I’d lost you long before that. Somehow, what we’d had together just . . . disappeared by degrees when we moved here.”

  “It was me,” he said, “not you.” He got up and walked to the bay window to stare outside, his voice reflecting off the glass. “When I took over for Dad, there were some seriously shady things going on at the bank. At first, I tried to fix things, but it was so complicated . . . I couldn’t tell you about it without exposing you to the risk.” He sighed. “Mama was adamant that we not make any major changes, and she was the principal shareholder. I tried to tell her we were past the gray area, but she wouldn’t listen. The next thing I knew, I was in as deep as Dad had ever been. Little by little, I traded away my soul.”

  “I figured as much,” Elizabeth said.

  He turned, anguished. “Why didn’t you leave me?”

  “Where would I have gone if I did?” she shot back. “Everything I am, everything I had, was tied to you, to being your wife.” What would she have done? “I couldn’t have managed on my own, not with the children. And I knew you or Augusta would take them from me. I had nothing to fight that with.”

  The brief, self-critical flash on Howe’s face was becoming familiar.

  She went on. “But the main reason was, I refused to let what you did deprive our children of a whole family.”

  Howe swiped his palm over his forehead. “That’s very noble, Elizabeth, but I don’t want you to stay for them. They’ll be okay. Thanks to you, they’re both good kids, despite Patti’s temper tantrums.” Resolute, he bent to brace his hands on the table. “I’ve thought about this a lot. Prayed about it. I only want you to stay if you want me for your husband. If you can’t commit to that, I’ll give you your freedom.” His voice roughened. “I’ll explain it to the kids. Tell everybody it was my fault.”

  He bowed his head, as if the weight of what he was offering was too heavy. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. You could go anywhere you want. Be anything you want. No one would blame you, including me.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t ever seriously considered taking off on her own. What would it be like, not having her familiar roles to fill? Who would she be, if not wife and mother?

  The question scared her. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea of being alone and free. But she wasn’t ready to commit to staying, not without knowing who Howe would end up being . . .

  P.J. popped into her mind, and she thought seriously about what life with him might be like. And when she did, she realized he was really another version of the old Howe—powerful, demanding, and insistent—just more attentive on the surface. She’d have a role with him, either as wife or lover, but she realized that would just be exchanging her old cage for another.

  Howe was the one who’d offered her freedom.

  He read the reservation in her eyes. “You don’t have to make a decision now. I know neither of us can tell exactly how things are going to shake out with me, but one thing is certain: I’m not the selfish jackass I was before the stroke.” Keith McDonald might take issue with that, along with most of the vestry. “I want you to be happy, even if that means I have to give you up.”

  Howe aimed a pained smile at her. “I love you, Elizabeth, more than I ever have. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making you happy. Making it up to everybody for the things I did. I will; I swear it on my life.”

  She knew he meant it, but so did a child who wanted to please its parent. Elizabeth didn’t want to be Howe’s mother anymore. “You’ll have to prove that, Howe. This time around, you’ll have to win me.”

  “I did the first time,” he protested.

  “N
o you didn’t. I just let you think you did,” she said archly. “I decided to marry you the first day I saw you, when I was fourteen.”

  Howe smiled, his male pride inflated. “So that’s how it was.” He cocked his head at her. “How come I didn’t notice you till we got to Emory?”

  She chuckled, her mood lifting. “Because you were surrounded by every other girl in Whittington. And I was too busy being a paragon of virtue and intelligence, so I could win that scholarship and be the one you settled down with.”

  He straightened. “Wow. I am flattered.”

  “You should be.”

  “So now it’s my turn.” He switched on the radio, and the strains of “Sixteen Candles” filled the kitchen. “Okay, then.” He drew her to her feet. “Hi. My name’s Howe. May I have this dance?”

  It was silly, but suddenly, Elizabeth felt almost shy. “Just this one.”

  He led her smoothly to the music, and their bodies remembered the long-ago time when they’d danced every day. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re the most beautiful, smartest girl in this town?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “All the time.”

  He executed a graceful dip. “May I take you to lunch?”

  “I’ll check my calendar.” So this was what happy felt like. She’d almost forgotten.

  “How about Houston’s on Peachtree?” he suggested blithely.

  She almost lost her balance. Dear Lord, did he know about P.J.?

  Before, it hadn’t mattered if Howe found out. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. But now, for some reason, she cared very much that her halo remain untarnished.

  To her relief, he seemed oblivious to her reaction, and the new Howe was no good at hiding anything.

  “Not Houston’s,” she managed. “I ate there so much when you were in the hospital, I got sick of it.”

  “Okay, then,” he said easily, twirling her. “How about the Ritz?”

  “Every girl loves lunch at the Ritz.”

  “Then it’s a date.” He pulled her close, his face near hers as their bodies shaped to each familiar curve and plane. For a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her. Hoped he was going to kiss her. Then the music ended, and he drew back with a grin, bowing. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.” He eyed her hungrily. “Wear something green. You look great in green.”

  Elizabeth actually blushed. She grabbed his shirt and pulled his face to hers to whisper, “Don’t tell me what to wear.” Then she went upstairs to find something green.

  ______

  After a lovely lunch and a funny movie, Elizabeth was feeling so magnanimous, she talked Howe into calling the kids, then his mother, and inviting them for Sunday supper—something they’d never done. Howe had resisted at first, but when Elizabeth pointed out how lonely his mother must be, he relented.

  She decided it was something they should do often.

  When the doorbell rang that Sunday afternoon, she opened it to find Charles, looking trim and handsome in his Sunday suit, and bearing a hearty bunch of red alstroemerias.

  Elizabeth chuckled as she accepted them. “Honey, you didn’t have to do that.”

  He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I know I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

  “Well, thank you. You know these are my favorites.” She circled his waist. “But you’re not company. You’re family.”

  “ ‘Treat your family like company, and your company like family,’ ” he quoted. “I want y’all to come to my house for supper,” he told her with pride, “but not till I finish with the yard. I’m hoping to be done by the end of the month.”

  Alerted by the doorbell, Patricia left the self-imposed exile of her room to come down and greet her brother. “I’m still mad at you for not letting me move in,” she said evenly.

  Charles gave her a bear hug, then started making fart noises by blowing on her neck.

  “Aaagh! Charles, stop it!” Patti laughed in spite of herself, egged on by tickling from her brother. “Stop! Really, you are such a child.” She escaped his clutches and straightened her peasant blouse. “I swear, Mother, no matter how old they get, men are still bratty little boys.”

  It was the first decent thing she’d said to Elizabeth since she’d come home, and it felt awfully good, even if Patti had called her “Mother” instead of “Mama.” “You may be right.”

  Patti glanced at the empty table in the dining room. “I thought you said we were eating at four.”

  “We are,” Elizabeth responded. “I thought it would be cozier in the kitchen.”

  “But Gamma always likes to eat in the dining room,” Patricia argued.

  “Gamma hates what we’ve done to the dining room,” Elizabeth said evenly. “So I think she’ll be more comfortable in the kitchen.” Though Augusta probably hated what they’d done in the kitchen, too. But at least there was no painted wainscoting in that part of the house.

  “Since when do you care whether Gamma’s comfortable or not?” Patricia asked.

  “Patti!” Charles scolded. “Now who’s being a brat?”

  “It’s okay,” Elizabeth said. “Patti, I’m not proud of the way I’ve treated your grandmother. I knew she disapproved of me, so I kept my distance. But I’ve realized how lonely she must be, and I want to try, at least, to make her feel more welcome.”

  Patricia looked at Elizabeth as if she’d just said she was Elvis Presley’s love child.

  Charles put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “That’s mighty big of you, Mama.”

  “No it’s not. It’s only right.” She headed for the kitchen. “Your daddy’s not the only one around here who can change.”

  Speak of the devil, just as they entered the kitchen, Howe came in from the door to the back hall. His face lit up at seeing his son. “Charles! You look great.” He hugged him, then tapped a fist at Charles’s newly trim stomach. “Join a gym?”

  “Nope,” Charles said with pride. “I’ve given up beer to save money for my house. And started digging holes every day. Huge holes. Then I’ve been filling them with topsoil and peat moss and manure. And planting bushes.” He showed off his biceps. “Lots and lots of bushes: azaleas, gardenias, hydrangeas.”

  Elizabeth smiled as she placed the flowers into a vase, remembering the way he’d followed her around the garden when he was little, asking endless questions about what she was doing and why.

  “But you’re a lawyer, now,” Patricia said. “And you work all those hours. Why don’t you just hire somebody to do all that?”

  Charles chuckled. “Because nobody would do it the way I want. At least, not the ones I could afford. And anyway, it helps me work off my frustrations from the office. And it gives me a sense of immediate gratification.” He gave his sister’s arm a friendly punch. “Not to mention getting me into shape.”

  The doorbell rang. Augusta.

  Elizabeth braced herself. Kindness, no matter what.

  “I’ll get it,” Howe offered.

  Patti gave him a side-on hug. “I’ll go with you.”

  When Elizabeth and Charles were alone in the kitchen, her son turned to her for a quiet, “How’s it going, Mama? Really?”

  “You mean, aside from the infamous vestry meeting?”

  He laughed. “Boy, would I have liked to be a fly on the wall for that one.” He looked at her askance. “Did Dad really punch Keith McDonald out?”

  “Of course not,” she said.

  “That’s a shame,” Charles said. “The old blowhard sure could use it.”

  “Shhh. They’re coming,” she cautioned. “I don’t want to upset your grandmother.”

  “Good luck with that one,” Charles told her as the others approached. “Gamma!” He greeted her, taking her arthritic hands and leaning in for a brief peck. “You have to get Thomas to bring you up to see what I’ve done with the house.”

  Augusta warmed to his attention. “Did you get the bulbs I sent you?” She lifted a bejeweled finger. “They’re my prized iris. You mustn’t plant
them till the fall.”

  “They came yesterday,” Charles said warmly. “Thanks. And thanks for the planting instructions, and your special fertilizer.” He risked a hug.

  “The secret to beautiful bulbs is proper soil preparation,” Augusta told him, tamping her cane on the last three words for emphasis. “And chicken wire just underneath the mulch, so the critters can’t dig them up.”

  Charles grinned. “I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

  Augusta acknowledged Elizabeth with a curt nod.

  Before, Augusta’s visits made Elizabeth feel like a declawed house cat facing down a wild raccoon, but this time she welcomed her mother-in-law with genuine sincerity. “I’m so glad you could come.” She motioned to the table. “Charles, please help your grandmother to her seat.” Elizabeth crossed to the new warming drawer. “Howe, would you pour the wine?” She turned to her daughter. “Patti, please help me bring over the food.”

  “That’s sexist, you know,” Patti said as she grudgingly complied. “You never ask Charles to help serve.”

  To Elizabeth’s surprise, Augusta zeroed in on Patti with a terse, “Patricia, remember yourself. Help your mother.”

  “But Gamma—”

  “Gamma, nothing.” Augusta eased into the chair Charles held for her. “Polite young ladies do not speak that way to their elders.” She eyed her granddaughter as Patti placed bowls of mashed potatoes and butter peas on the table. “I’ve been considering asking you to accompany me on a grand tour of Europe, but if this is the way you plan to act, I—”

  “Europe?” Patti shrieked with joy.

  You could have knocked Elizabeth over with a feather.

  “Oh, Gamma,” Patti said, “I’m dying to go to Europe. I’d love to go to Europe with you. I’ll be a perfect lady, I swear.”

  “Perfect ladies don’t swear,” Augusta said with an actual hint of humor.

  Howe stared at his mother in disbelief. Augusta hadn’t even been west of the Mississippi, much less overseas. “Europe?”

  Mistaking his reaction for disapproval, Patti sagged, crestfallen, into her chair. “My parents probably won’t let me. I have to work at the bank and go to Grade Thirteen.”