Dead Weight (22 page)

Berta found a large manila envelope and we put the pictures inside.

One of the boys wandered downstairs. I had no idea which one he was.

‘Hey, Mrs Pugh,’ he said. ‘How’s Megan?’

Ah ha, I thought. It was Keith. I don’t eavesdrop, but I do hear things.

‘She’s fine, Keith. She’s babysitting right now for Mrs McClure’s little girls,’ I said, and Trisha gave him a finger wave to indicate that she was, indeed, Mrs McClure. ‘How are you doing?’

He shook his head. ‘This really sucks,’ he said, coming in the room and flopping down on one of Kerry’s beautiful tuxedo sofas.

I moved into the room and sat down on the same sofa. The others milled around in the dining room, where the yearbooks and snapshots had been stored.

‘I’m so sorry you and Ken had to witness that. I’m so sorry it
happened
at all.’

‘I don’t know if I could have gotten through it without Megan,’ he said.

Ah oh, I thought. Megan thought he wasn’t manly enough. Was she going to break this poor boy’s heart?

‘I’m sorry my kids had to be there to see it, too, but I’m happy Megan could help you.’

‘Graham was awesome,’ he said.

‘I heard your grandparents were pretty upset,’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘My grandpa has problems. A bad temper and control issues. He’s the one who decided he was going to sue Dad for custody of us, but I think we’re too old. Wouldn’t any judge in his right mind let us decide where we wanted to go?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but we can certainly find out.’

All of a sudden he leaned over and hugged me. ‘I don’t know what Dad and us would have done without you, Mrs Pugh,’ he said, then got up and headed back upstairs.

Good Lord, I hadn’t been hugged this much since my last time at Weigh In!

With Keith upstairs, the others wandered back into the living room.

‘Should I fix everyone some lunch?’ Berta asked.

‘Why don’t I take everyone out for lunch?’ Ken suggested. ‘But first, Berta, can I see you in the kitchen for just a moment?’

They left and Trisha turned to me. ‘OK, dish.’

‘He’s going to tell her that she has to stay with me for a while.’

‘In your house?’ Trisha asked, aghast.

I laughed. ‘Yes. She spent the night last night, and it was OK.’

‘But I thought Willis was coming home.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ I sighed. ‘I haven’t got a clue what I’m going to do.’

A red-faced Ken and a sullen Berta came back into the room. ‘How about O’Brian’s?’ he suggested, naming a Black Cat watering hole that made terrific sandwiches and soups. We all agreed and headed there in the minivan.

Seeing Berta in my old jeans was good for me. I had the soup and salad combo, instead of the Monte Cristo sandwich I really wanted. Afterwards, I drove Ken back to his house.

‘I’m going to Codderville to meet that nurse at three today. Anybody want to go with me?’ I asked.

‘I need to check in with my office,’ Ken said. ‘I better not.’

‘And I need to get home before my girls start calling Megan mommy,’ Trisha said.

‘Can I go?’ Berta asked.

‘Of course,’ I said, not seeing a way around it.

Once we got to my street, I pulled into Trisha’s driveway, took the house key off my key chain and handed it to Berta.

‘Why don’t you go on in my house while I gather up my wayward daughter?’

‘OK,’ she said, still dejected, I suppose, from Ken’s talk with her. She got out and started across the street.

‘Send Megan out, please,’ I said to Trisha as she opened the door. But instead of getting out, Trisha shut the door and turned to me. ‘You’re having a problem with Berta, aren’t you?’

I leaned my head back against the headrest. ‘Oh, God, is it that obvious?’

‘To me,’ she said. ‘Not to Berta, though. It would take a Mac truck to get anything negative through to her.’

‘She’s just so needy!’ I said.

‘I know, I see that,’ Trisha said. ‘Do we really want to do this? All this bother, for what? Maybe she did kill her mother—’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, surprised by Trisha’s doubt. ‘I really don’t. That’s why I’m doing this, Trish. She gets on my nerves, but that’s no reason for her to go to prison for a crime she didn’t commit. If that were the case, every committee chairperson of every committee at both the church and the kids’ schools would be in prison.’

Trisha laughed. ‘You’re right. I guess I’m just getting tired of this. I don’t see your fascination with these kinds of puzzles.’

I turned off the engine. ‘I’ll come in with you,’ I said, and went in search of my darling daughter.

MEGAN

Jeez, I thought, I didn’t take these girls to raise! I came over here at nine this morning, and here it was after one o’clock in the afternoon! The little one, Tamara, finally went down for a nap, which only meant Tabitha wanted my entire attention. I mean, the entire time I was on the phone, all she did was pester me. And I had so much to tell Azalea and D’Wanda! Little brat.

Finally I heard a car in the driveway and it was Mom’s minivan. Thank God for small favors! I told Azalea and D’Wanda, ‘Finally, my mom’s home which means the mother of the year’ (which is what I call Mrs Mc now) ‘is also finally home. Y’all get Donzel and come get me! I absolutely
have
to get to the pool today or I will
die
!’

I hung up the phone before Mrs Mc and my mom came in the front door. ‘Mommy!’ Tabitha said and ran to Mrs Mc and threw her arms around Mrs Mc’s legs. I was glad she wasn’t into full sentences yet or she would rat me out for being on the phone.

‘Hi, sweetie,’ Mrs Mc said, hugging Tabitha to her. And I thought, don’t try to prove what a wonderful mother you are now, lady, while I’m standing here waiting for my cash!

Speaking of which she said, ‘Megan, I’m so sorry I don’t have enough cash to pay you right now. Will you take a check?’

I was ready to say a bad word. I really was. Then Mom did something actually mom-like and said, ‘Trisha, make it out to me and I’ll go cash it and give it to her.’

‘Great idea!’ Mrs Mc said and wrote a check, which she gave
to my mother
! I wouldn’t even know if it was the right amount until my mother either let me see it or gave me the cash! And then even my
own mother
could stiff me by not letting me see the check and just give me any old amount of cash and say that’s all the check was for! I’d have no way of proving her wrong! And Mrs Mc would totally take her side! Gawd, I hate being cheated and robbed! How are you supposed to ‘look up to’ and ‘respect’ these people when all they did was take your money and lie to you?

We got to the minivan and I got in, fuming. Then Mom handed me the check. It was for double the amount I should have gotten. And in the memo section it said, ‘For above and beyond.’ That was nice.

I drove Megan to the bank, got the cash, gave it to her and headed back to the house. On the way, I told my daughter, ‘Mrs McClure is not having an affair.’

She actually turned her head to look at me. ‘Then what is she doing? And please don’t tell me she’s going to the hairdresser!’

‘I’m going to tell you, but this is not something you tell your siblings, or discuss with Mrs McClure or really anyone, OK?’

‘I’ll tell Azalea and D’Wanda. They’re my best friends and they already know something fishy is going on!’

I sighed but tried to remember what it was like when I was fifteen going on thirty. ‘Just them, OK?’

‘Got it!’ she said. ‘Now dish!’

‘Megan, this is serious. Please don’t treat it lightly,’ I said.

She nodded.

I decided to condense the story. ‘Mrs McClure’s brother has had a hard time with alcohol and is now in a rehab facility not too far from here. That’s where she’s going when she says she’s going to the hairdresser. She didn’t tell you the truth because she was afraid you’d need some lengthy explanation. I told her you were mature enough to understand and not judge.’ Good one, E.J., I told myself.

My daughter fairly preened next to me. ‘I understand,’ she said, her voice serious. ‘And maybe it
is
something I should keep strictly to myself,’ she said.

I nodded my head. ‘I think that’s a wise choice, honey.’

When we got to the house, D’Wanda and Azalea’s brother’s car was parked in front. Megan said, ‘Oh! I forgot to tell you! I’m going swimming with Azalea and D’Wanda. Donzel is taking us. I’ll be home by dinner,’ she said, jumping out of the car before I’d fully parked.

She ran inside before me and, while I was still putting my stuff down and wondering where Berta was, Megan came running down stairs in her bathing suit.

‘Where’s your cover-up?’ I asked.

‘Couldn’t find it,’ she said, heading for the front door.

‘Get a towel!’

‘I’ll use one of theirs!’ she said, and was gone.

I found Berta in my bedroom, lying on the bed, her eyes open.

‘Trying to take a nap?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Just trying not to give up all hope.’

I sighed inwardly. I tried to sympathize. It had to be hard, not knowing who you were, not knowing anything of your past, wondering if it was possible you’d killed your own mother. And I guess, in her eyes, her one friend, Ken, had rejected her. But there was something about Berta that was beginning to chap my ass. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

‘You still want to go with me to see that nurse?’ I asked her.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Yes. It’ll keep my mind off everything, I hope.’

I patted her arm. ‘It should. Go wash your face and we’ll take off, OK?’

She nodded and I went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water for the trip.

We pulled into Vera’s driveway twenty minutes later.

‘Y’all come on in,’ Vera said, leaning her head out of her back door. ‘We’re a little early and I got coffee and some cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven.’

Berta got out and I sat behind the wheel for a moment, groaning. Vera makes cinnamon rolls that could make an angel weep. If I ate one I’d weep too because of the actual poundage that would immediately adhere to my hips. I slid out of the van and ran up Vera’s back steps, hoping the running motion would negate the cinnamon roll poundage.

Vera’s kitchen smelled like heaven. There was the delicious smell of her freshly brewed afternoon coffee, and the spice of cinnamon and nutmeg and the undeniable scent of baked bread and sugar.

I blame Vera for most of the weight I gained the first few years after we moved here from Houston. Since Vera and I rarely spoke to one another, when we were at her house, I spent most of the time eating her food, which ran to country, fried, and wonderful. Mashed potatoes with real butter and heavy cream, gravy, chicken fried steak, handmade macaroni and cheese and thick-cut pork chops rolled in cracker crumbs and deep fried, fried chicken and corn on the cob slathered in real butter, chicken and rice with whole chicken pieces still on the bone, and a gravy so thick your fork could stand up in it. And, oh my God, the desserts! Red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, fresh-picked blackberries in a cobbler with a crust so lovely it melted in your mouth, pecan pie with half pecans not pieces, and a filling that slid down your throat like a sweet song fills your ears.

I’d avoided eating at Vera’s house since I went on my diet. We’d shared meals together, but mostly at restaurants, ‘My treat, Vera!’ but here I was, in her kitchen, with cups of coffee set out on placemats, and a plate of still steaming cinnamon rolls, and to add insult to injury, a dish of dairy butter, in case there weren’t already enough fat and calories in the rolls. I sat down next to Berta and stared at the rolls. Tearing my eyes away, I watched while Vera poured herself a cup of coffee.

‘Vera, this is Berta Harris—’

‘She introduced herself, honey, while you were still in the minivan.’ Vera looked at Berta with her evil eye she usually reserved for my transgressions. ‘But she
said
her name was Rosalee.’

‘So she didn’t tell you what’s going on?’ I asked.

Vera sat down quickly. ‘No, she did not, and I can’t get a word out of Willis. So tell me!’

So I explained how I originally met Berta, how Trisha and I ended up at Berta’s ‘memorial,’ and how I’d visited Kerry the afternoon of her death.

I got that much out, talking fast and looking into Vera’s eyes to avoid looking at Berta next to me, who had gone for straight out gluttony and buttered her cinnamon roll, or Vera’s hands in front of me, picking small pieces of cinnamon roll off and putting them on the plate in front of her (Vera is five foot even and weighs maybe eighty pounds – she cooks, she doesn’t eat). I explained about finding Berta and finding out about her amnesia and finding out from Luna who Berta really was, which led us to the boys, which led us to why we were going to see Carolyn Gable, the former Bishop Byne High School nurse. Which I followed up with the explanation of the two names.

Vera smiled and patted Berta/Rosalee’s hand. ‘That’s OK, then,’ she said.

The Codderville Senior Center is located in a defunct church’s former fellowship hall. The entire church complex had been taken over by the city and included a thrift shop, classrooms for seniors and the unemployed where they taught everything from arts and crafts to computer and tech skills, secretarial skills, medical assistance training, etc. There was also an office to help people fill out the paperwork for unemployment, WIC, welfare, and food stamps, a gym for seniors, and a food bank. In this economy, the place was hopping.

Vera told me they were using the two senior center buses to pick up the elderly, both city and rural, who had no air conditioning, and bringing them to spend the worst hours of the day in the cool of the senior center. So far this summer we’d already had one death attributed to the heat, and several hospitalizations of elderly citizens of the county. The fan drive (people buying new fans and bringing them to the center for seniors without air conditioners) usually started running the beginning of August and lasted through mid-September. This year it started at the beginning of July.