by Debby Mayne
“Okay, well, see ya.” I get out of the office as quickly as I can.
Rosemary is busy with a customer when I walk into the salon. “Have a seat, Tim. Let me finish putting on the color, and I’ll be right with you.”
I take a seat by the window and try to get comfortable. Good thing Rosemary’s fast, so I don’t have to wait too long. After she gets all the color painted on her client’s hair, she goes to the break room and comes out with two cans of soda.
“I was just fixin’ to take a break,” she says as she strides toward me and hands me a Coke. “So what can I help you with?”
“What’s going on with Priscilla?” I ask as I pop the top on the Coke can. “Mandy said she already left for Piney Point.”
“That’s right.” I wait for her to say more, but she just stands there looking uncomfortable.
“Well? Did she say anything about me?”
Rosemary gives me a pitying look and shakes her head. “Sorry, Sweetie, not a thing.”
“I’m thinking she should at least tell me what’s going on, considering I’m her date for the reunion and all.”
Rosemary gives me one of her crooked half-grins. “Her date?”
I start to nod then realize Priscilla might not have told Sheila about us. “Well sort of.”
She pats me on the arm and says, “Good luck with that. Why don’t you try calling her parents’ house? Her mobile phone might have run out of juice.”
“I, uh . . . I don’t have her parents’ phone number.”
“Let me get it for you then,” she says as she scurries over to the counter and opens a book. She jots the number on a piece of pink paper and hands it to me. “I’m sure she won’t mind my giving you this since you’re her date for the reunion.”
“Thanks, Rosemary,” I say as I back out of the salon.
I go to my car and stare at the number, pondering whether or not I should call. It’s not an easy decision to make since there’s really no reason for me to expect her to tell me her whereabouts. After all, her reunion isn’t for several weeks.
Finally, I give in to my urge and punch her parents’ number into my cell phone. Some lady answers after a couple of rings, and I know it’s not Priscilla. I wish I could hang up, but I don’t want her to think I’m rude.
“This is Tim Puckett. Is Priscilla available?” I ask.
“She’s here, but she’s busy at the moment. Would you like me to have her call you back?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Does she have your number?”
“Yes, she knows how to get in touch with me.”
“Okay, Mr. Puckett. Have a nice afternoon, now.”
“You too, ma’am.”
Now I’m feeling stupider than ever. I haven’t been like this since high school, acting all crazy over a girl and not knowing what to say to her mama.
9
Priscilla
Tim Pucket just called,” Mother says as she joins me in the kitchen. She stares at my teeth and shakes her head. “I still don’t see why you wanted braces. You don’t look that different.”
I refuse to get into a discussion about my braces. “Did he leave a message?”
“He wants you to call him back. He sounded rather uncomfortable.” Mother tilts her head and gives me one of those looks that makes me feel like I’m back in junior high.
I resume chopping vegetables for the salad. “Remind me to call him back.”
“Priscilla! I’m not one of your minions.”
“I’m so sorry. Please remind me to call him back.”
“That’s more like it.” Mother picks up a dishrag and starts wiping the cabinet. “Is there something going on with this young man that I need to know about?”
I shake my head. “With Tim? No. He’s just a very good friend I do business with.”
“I wonder why he’d call you here.”
Since she’ll find out soon anyway, I go ahead and tell her. “He’s going to the reunion with me.”
“Oh, so you’re dating him? Where did he go to school?”
“Somewhere in Jackson.”
Mother looks interested. “Millsaps?”
“No, I don’t think he went to college. He works for his uncle in the beauty supply business.”
Her interest turns to disappointment. “I hardly think that’s a good field for a man.”
“Oh, it can be quite lucrative.”
“Sort of like being a hairdresser?”
I want to ignore the sarcasm in her voice, but it’s impossible. “Mother . . .”
She lifts her hands and takes a step back. “I know, I know, but one of these days I keep thinking you’ll grow up and see my side of this. Without an education, it’s hard to do much of anything these days . . . at least anything worthwhile.”
I lift my chin and square my shoulders. “I make an excellent living working at my own business. I bought my own townhouse with a 20 percent down payment, and I bought my own car. All my bills are paid on time, and I have a nice savings account.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Priscilla . . . or do you prefer to be called Prissy now?”
This conversation is going nowhere very fast, so I figure it’s best to change the subject before one of us blows a cork. “I need to call Tim back and see what he wants.” I scoop all the vegetables off the cutting board and toss them into a bowl. “Salad’s ready. I’ll come back and help you finish cooking supper after I get off the phone.”
I pull out my cell phone and discover it’s dead. “Mother,” I holler, “do you mind if I call long distance?”
“You can call anywhere in the U.S., and it doesn’t cost extra, Honey. I got that plan after you moved to Jackson.”
Good. I pick up the phone and punch in Tim’s number by heart. Funny, I never realized I’d committed it to memory until just now.
He answers right away. “I have been so worried about you.”
“Why?” I smile as I sink down into the chair beside the phone table. “What did you think happened?”
“I don’t know. You could have been kidnapped or something.”
This makes me laugh. “Why would anyone want to kidnap me?”
He pauses a few seconds before talking. “So do you need me to come to Piney Point yet?”
“No, the reunion’s not for another four and a half weeks, remember? Besides, don’t you have work to do?”
“I haven’t used any vacation time this year.”
It’s obvious he’s chompin’ at the bit to come to Piney Point, and I think it’s sweet, but I don’t want him underfoot that long. “You really don’t need to take time off.”
“I know I don’t need to, but I want to.”
“In that case, why don’t you come a few days or a week early so I can show you around town?”
“Sounds great!” His voice suddenly comes alive. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
I laugh. “Of course I don’t mind. People will be impressed that I’m able to get such a cute date.”
I think I can actually hear him blush. “I’ll call you when I have some plans in place,” he says.
After we hang up, I lean my head back and close my eyes. Tim has got to be one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, but I don’t feel the same chemistry he seems to feel. I wonder if I made a mistake—maybe I should have come to the reunion alone. Besides, what if I have a chance to talk to Maurice? My heart hammers as I imagine the scenario playing out. I know I need to talk to Tim . . . to warn him, just in case. Since he’s my friend, I hope he understands.
Dad comes home after his late-afternoon class, and the three of us sit down to supper. Mother folds her hands in her lap the same way she taught me when I was little, and Dad says the same blessing he always says before a meal. Some people think they should change things up and say something different, depending on what’s going on, but I find the same blessing rather comforting. It’s soothing, and I know when it’s time to say amen.
; Mother starts out by asking Dad how his class went. He politely answers her then asks about her day. This is all fine and good, but I’m picking up on something that makes me uneasy. No two people who have been together as long as they have are this polite. The tension is so thick in all this politeness I want to scream. They don’t even look at each other when they talk.
I force myself to focus on my meal, but the appetite I had when I first sat down is totally gone.
Mother is the first to finish. Instead of waiting for Dad and me, she stands, grabs her plate, and takes off for the kitchen. “I have a meeting with the Classy Lassies, so don’t wait up for me.”
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Dad. “Classy Lassies?”
He frowns. “That’s her latest pet group.”
“Is she still a big shot with the Chi O alums?”
He starts to roll his eyes but stops and swallows hard. “She lost her last run for alumni chapter president.”
“You’re kidding. She’s been president of that group for . . . ” I think back and can’t remember a time when she wasn’t the leader of her college sorority. “Mother’s always been president of the Chi Os.”
“Yes, I know, and they ticked her off, so she joined that Red Hat group.”
Now I get it. “The Classy Lassies. So what do they do?”
“Besides run around like a bunch of silly women who don’t want to act their age?” he says.
Okay, so I don’t have to ask him what he thinks of Mother’s latest interest. “I hope she’s having fun.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says as he slides his chair away from the table. “Because I’m not.”
My stomach clenches. I had no idea there was trouble at home. Guilt that I haven’t been around enough to already know this is followed by determination to put things right between them. They’re all I’ve got.
10
Laura
Little Jack,” I scream. “Get your hands out of the toilet!” I rush into the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack with one hand as I reach for my youngest with the other. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
His lip puckers as he looks at me with tears in his eyes. “Mama, I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Do what?” I look down into the toilet bowl in time to see Sadie swim into the flushing hole. “What are you doing with your sister’s goldfish?”
“Her water was dirty, and I wanted to get her some clean water.” He sniffles as I try to figure out what to do next. “So I put her in there so she could swim around while I got her some new water. But . . .” He buries his face in his hands then slowly parts his fingers so he can see me. “I can’t catch her.”
I’m sure his explanation makes sense to him, but I can’t let him get away with this—not after he lost the turtle she brought home from her class field trip. He claims he was racing the turtle with a frog he found in the backyard, and the turtle took off after the frog when he hopped into the woods.
“We have to get Sadie out of there. Where’s the fishbowl?”
This time he bursts into a full-blown sob. He points to the trash can.
I pick up the can and see the fishbowl in chunks and shards. “You broke it?”
“I didn’t mean to.” He shakes with more sniffles. “I cleaned it all up.”
“Go get me a bowl,” I order. “And not a glass one. Get one of the plastic ones out of the bottom cupboard.”
As he runs to the kitchen, I bend over the toilet and try to scoop Sadie with my bare hands. Gross. It’s bad enough having to clean the bathroom floor after little boys have used the toilet.
Little Jack runs back into the bathroom with a bowl. Sadie is such a tricky swimmer, it takes several attempts to get her out of the toilet, but we finally do it. And now I need to shower again because there’s no way I’m going anywhere—particularly where there are other adults—with toilet water on my hands and down the front of my clothes. They might not know about it, but I will, and that’ll just make me feel even worse than I already do.
The phone rings. “Jack, get the phone, will you? Tell whoever it is I’m not home.”
He frowns before he runs into my bedroom and picks up the receiver. I’m about to get ready for a shower when I hear Jack tell the caller, “Mama says to tell you she’s not home.”
I slip my arm back into my sleeve and rush over to grab the phone out of his grimy little hand. “Hello,” I say.
“Are you okay?” I’m not sure who I’m talking to.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Who is this?”
“Oh, sorry, this is Priscilla Slater. I should have identified myself. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, of course not.” Couldn’t be a worse time, I think, but I’m not about to let on to Ms. Perfect.
“I’m sitting here at Olson’s Cafe with Jimmy and Celeste. Are you still planning on coming?”
I glance at the clock. “We’re not meetin’ until three.”
“The e-mail said two.”
How would she know? I didn’t send her an e-mail. Or did I? Half the time these days I don’t know if I’m comin’ or goin’. “What’re you doing in Piney Point?”
“My townhouse flooded, and I . . .” Her voice trails off, and I hear someone whisper something in the background. “Jimmy says he has to leave in an hour, so if you can’t come, we’ll just settle everything without you.”
“No, don’t do that,” I say. “I’ll be there in . . .” I look at the clock again. “Fifteen minutes.”
“See you then.”
I hang up the phone and try to straighten my shirt. I don’t have time for a shower, so I squirt some smell-good soap on my hands, rub them together, and rinse them in the hottest water I can stand. Then I dry my bright-red hands and go looking for my youngest. Jack is nowhere to be seen, so I holler for him.
“What do you want, Mama?” he says as he rounds the corner. “You don’t have to yell so loud. I can hear real good.”
“Go put your shoes on. We have to go to Olson’s Cafe.”
His little face scrunches up, with his bottom lip poked out. “I don’t wanna go there. It smells bad.”
“It smells like coffee.”
“I hate coffee,” he says. “I don’t wanna go.”
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I pick up the phone and call Tracy, the teenage girl next door. My kids hate having her babysit, but I’m at the end of my rope. I hold my breath until she answers the phone. I’m glad I told Bonnie Sue she could go home with one of her little friends ’cause she can’t stand Tracy.
“Hey, Tracy. Can you come over and babysit little Jack for about an hour?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Moss. I have a lot of homework.”
“I’ll pay you double,” I offer.
“I’ll be right over.”
Pete will kill me. He says I’m spending too much of our money on this class reunion, but I can’t help it. The budget doesn’t cover half of what I need, and since I’m in charge, I don’t want everyone thinking I’m a cheapskate. Add that to being married to the class alchy, and it looks pretty bad for me.
Back in the day, Pete used to say we went together like a truck and a mud flap. I thought that was cute and funny, but now I wonder which of us is the truck and which is the mud flap.
I buckle my seat belt and ponder the grossness of where my hands have been and what’s been splashed on the front of my shirt. With a quick shudder, I back out of the driveway and pray that I don’t smell to high heaven. I don’t think I do, but no telling what other people—particularly those without young’uns—will notice.
It might be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure Priscilla is looking me up and down. Jimmy and Celeste seem oblivious to anything besides the fact that I’m late. “You used to be so punctual,” Jimmy says. “I have to be at the factory by six.” Jimmy works as the night watchman at the resin plant in Hattiesburg.
“You have plenty of time,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re in such a ru
sh. It’s not easy balancing all my reunion duties with four young’uns and a husband who expects a lot from me.”
Celeste lifts her bushy eyebrows. “I took off early from my private duty nursin’ job, so I don’t wanna hear excuses.”
There’s a touch of bad blood between Celeste and me. I got the man she wanted, so I can’t fault her, although there are days I’d gladly trade my life for hers. Maybe she was right when she said if he’d married a stronger woman he’d have sobered up by now, but that’s beside the point. She might be lonely, but she doesn’t have to worry about bailing her husband out of jail for a D.U.I. and then have to go back to face her church small group. I’ve attended that group alone for years.
Priscilla gets our attention by tapping her spoon on the table. “Since it’s been established we can’t be here all afternoon, let’s get this done.”
I glare at her. How dare she try to take over my job! This is my deal. If things go bad, it’ll be blamed on me, so I might as well take charge and make sure that doesn’t happen. I clear my throat and tell everyone what I want them to do. Decorations, programs, errands on the day, arrangements for the bonfire. I’m still waiting on the band. Then I stop. I think I’m leaving something out, but I have to at least act like I’m together.
I look around at everyone’s faces. Celeste’s eyebrows have joined in the middle as she glares at me with her perpetual frowny face, and Jimmy is fiddlin’ with his watch. The only one who seems into what I’m saying is Priscilla, and I can’t help thinking she’s wondering if I have a clue what I’m talking about. No doubt she thinks she could do this better, and she’s probably right. Everything that girl touches turns to gold, while I seem to wallow in hog fat most of the time. But I can’t very well look a gift horse in the mouth. These three are all I got, and I don’t intend to lose them.
“Y’all got any questions?” I ask as I wrap up my part.
Jimmy shakes his head no. “Looks like you have everything covered.”
“I thought you said you’d have handouts,” Celeste says. “I like everything in writing.”
“So get out your pencil and write,” Jimmy says. “No one’s stopping you.”