Linny's Sweet Dream List (3 page)

“I did. Come on in.” With a wave, Dottie beckoned her to follow and bustled down the hallway. “How are you coming with the move?”

Linny's voice was flat as she stepped into the living room. “Your last tenants were drunks. I just got rid of seventy-six bottles of alcohol. I've got my stuff in, but have got some cleaning up to do.”

Her mother raised her eyes heavenward, and shook her head. “I know. Awful people. I was getting ready to evict them when they crept out in the middle of the night.”

Dottie kept the blinds drawn when the weather was hot. As Linny's eyes adjusted to the dim natural light, she took in the angel figurines, cut glass bowls, and
God's Blessings Inspirational Romance
novels stacked on tables and chairs. She gave an involuntary shudder. These days, Mama couldn't stop yard sale shopping. She was the clutter queen. When Linny was growing up, Dottie had been an a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place type of mom. The safe, comforting feeling she'd had about her childhood home had been replaced with an oppressive heaviness. Why did her mother live like this? She added to her mental to do list,
Talk to Kate about whether Mama is getting crazy.

“I have something for you.” As her mother dug through her bill-paying desk, Linny cleared away the Amy Grant CDs and perched on the edge of the couch. She recognized two new purchases—an elliptical machine that loomed in the center of the room, and a pink Barbie jeep big enough for a little girl to drive parked beside Dottie's recliner. Why would she want either?

“I see you went to more yard sales this weekend,” Linny said. Her mother glanced up, her glasses slipping down her nose, and shot her a look.

Unwisely, Linny persisted. “You need all this stuff, Mama?”

Dottie's chin jutted out. “I use every bit of what I buy, Lavinia.”

For once, Linny didn't cringe at hearing her given name because she was too busy picturing her fifty-nine-year-old mother galloping along on the elliptical machine like the pony-tailed pitchman on the commercials. Chagrinned, she remembered that Dottie was helping her out of a major jam. She was the screw-up, not her mother. She swallowed. “I want to thank you again, Mama, for letting me stay in the trailer.”

“I'm glad it was vacant.” She sniffed. “I know a mobile home is not as fancy a place as you're used to, but it'll be a handy spot for you to get back on your feet.”

Linny felt a flash of hot anger at the Shark Brothers. Her mother didn't know of her eviction and wouldn't if Linny could help it. “Buck's company owned that fancy house, Mama. It wasn't really ours, so I had to move.” Slipping her finger under the rubber band on her wrist, Linny snapped it to
Samba toward strength with the saber-toothed tiger.

“Ah. Buck.” Dottie looked like she'd taken a swallow of sour milk.

Linny flushed. She hadn't even told her mother she was dating Buck until after they were engaged. Linny had been too swept up in love, and afraid of her mother's judgment. Dottie refused to go to Bermuda for their wedding. Later, when she'd finally spent time with Buck, she'd said to Linny, “My, he's a charmer.” It wasn't a compliment. When Dottie heard about the unseemly circumstances of Buck's death, she'd muttered something about “lying down with the wrong horse” and “the pigs coming home to roost.” Although her mash-up of figures of speech usually made Linny smile, these hadn't. Linny already felt foolish enough without having to hear Dottie's I-told-you-sos.

But today, thankfully, Dottie said no more. “You're helping me too, Linny,” her mother reminded her as she rummaged. “The place is overdue for a spruce-up and I'm real grateful you said you'd take it on.” In a gentler tone, she added, “And I'm sorry you're walking into a place that needs tidying.”

“I can handle it.” Linny tried to sound confident, but in truth, she was daunted. The trailer was trashed. She glanced knowingly at her mother, who hummed “How Great Thou Art” as she rummaged. Dottie had that Southern way of soft pedaling unpleasantness. A “spruce up” and “tidying” sounded like she'd just need to do touch-up painting, but the trailer looked more like it was ready for the wrecking ball. Still, she and Andy had enjoyed tackling home improvement projects. They'd fixed up the small frame house they'd bought when they'd married, tearing out carpeting, getting flung around by a floor sander they'd rented, and refinishing the oak floors. She could still picture them sitting on the couch at the end of the project, exhausted. She'd draped her legs over his knees, and they'd sipped their beers, marveling at the glossy, rich sheen of the hardwoods. After that, Andy had sworn he was going to block her Houzz and Pinterest websites because Linny kept coming up with new fix-up projects she assured him would be simple.

Now Dottie was browsing through the items crowded on the mantel—a box of moth balls, bottles of Mountain Dew, Princess Diana commemorative figurines. “Ah-hah,” she said triumphantly as she picked up a can of Barbasol and handed it to Linny. “I want you to take this.”

Linny blinked. “Mama, I've got shaving cream.” Her mother was getting nutty, no doubt about it. Suddenly aware of just how tired she was, she said, “I need to run. I've got a lot of cleaning up and unpacking to do.”

Her mother held up a finger. “Wait one minute.” Dottie pushed a spot on the side of the can, and a compartment sprang open, revealing a roll of cash. “Here's two thousand for fix up money. You'll need it for paint, carpet, and the like.”

She stared at the bills her mother pressed into her palm. Where did she get this kind of money? Dottie had been on a fixed income ever since Linny's father passed away.

Her mother must have noticed her expression, and gave her a proud little smile. “That trailer rented for five-fifty. Sometimes the renters gave me cash, and I don't get to the bank much.”

Whoa. Five-fifty a month
. “Way to go, Mama.” Linny nodded, impressed. The rental trailer had been on the farm for years, but she'd never thought about the income it generated.

“It was my idea to buy the trailer and use it as a rental, you know. Your daddy didn't want to mess with it. He said it was too much trouble.” Her mother's voice was tight. “But beside this last batch of bad apples, the tenants have mostly been good, and the rent tides me over each month.”

Cocking her head, Linny smiled at her mother. She didn't know Dottie had so much business sense. She looked more closely at her. Why did her mouth look like a taut clothesline just because Daddy didn't want to manage rentals? Linny knew all about her own grief after Andy died and knew no two people made the same journey through that underworld. But after being widowed for five years, why would Dottie still be angry at him over something so inconsequential? She rubbed the back of her neck and thought about it as she watched her mother put the Barbasol can back and ineffectually tidy the junk on the mantle. For the past few days, she'd been having memories of her parents fighting, and she was starting to wonder if her picture of her parents' long and happy marriage was accurate. In the aftermath of her own marital mayhem, getting clarity on that piece of family history was now very important to her. One more item for her mental to do list,
Ask Kate if she thinks Mama and Daddy were happy together.

All business now, Dottie led her back through the clutter to the door. “Tell me when you need more money, and keep the receipts. I can write it off on my taxes.”

Her mother was crazy like a fox. Linny hugged her and headed out.

Dottie called to her from the doorway, “If you want to get supper later on, they do a real nice buffet at the K & W. You get a discount if you come before five-thirty.”

Linny stepped into the car. “Maybe another time, Mama. I've got a lot to do.” As soon as her mother went back inside, Linny banged her head softly on the steering wheel. Not that long ago, she'd had a happy life and high hopes for the future. Now she was living a life she didn't recognize, a life she thought only happened to other, less careful people—people who were content to drive around on bald tires, eat most meals at fast food restaurants, and shoplift T-bones at the grocery store. Now she'd be living in a dumpy trailer a quarter mile down the road from where she grew up. The highlight of her week would be going with her Mama to the early bird special at the cafeteria. Shakily, she put the car in reverse.

When she reached the leaning red mailbox, she turned the car down the rutted driveway. She gripped the wheel with both hands as the Volvo bushwhacked through overgrown weeds. At the end of a field of tasseled corn, she saw her new home, the old trailer with faded aqua siding. Linny saw a navy blue Ford crossover and grinned. Her lifelong best friend lounged on the floor of the sagging, makeshift front porch. Letting down the car windows, Linny stuck her hand out to wave, and cruised to a stop.

Mary Catherine waved hello with the grape Popsicle she was finishing. The jacket of her pantsuit was draped over the porch railing, and she'd kicked off her pumps. “Did you know about this?” she called, holding up a tabloid with headlines that blared, S
HOCKING
L
ESBIAN
L
OVE
N
EST
P
HOTOS
! I
S
H
OLLYWOOD'S
H
APPIEST
M
ARRIAGE A
S
HAM
?

Linny stepped from the car, and felt a flood of relief at the normalcy of this exchange. Well, normal for Mary Catherine. “You'll have to fill me in.”

“Oh, I will,” she promised.

Linny shook her head as she stepped up the iffy looking stairs. “Do all you attorneys read those magazines?”

“Professional development.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at Linny with her Popsicle stick. “I like your
Too Sexy
shirt. Subtle.”

“Thanks.” She leaned down and gave her friend a hug. “What you doing here?”

Mary Catherine tucked the tabloid into her oversized purse and rose. “Going to help you clean.”

Linny started to protest and her friend just held up a hand. “Not listening.” She pointed to a ratty looking gym bag on the floor behind her. “Tell me where I can change, and let's get at it.”

Linny wavered, wanting to refuse the help. Her friends and family had done so much already. But the trailer was beyond gross inside, and she needed a dose of Mary Catherine's bracing company. Fitting the key in the lock, she pushed open the door, and made the hand gesture she'd seen Jackie Kennedy use in a documentary about her White House tour. “Welcome to my home.”

Mary Catherine glanced around and lifted her nose in the air. “It's not nearly as nice as where I grew up.” She grinned. “At Mobile Meadows, we had a doublewide, with a tractor tire flower bed.”

And she had. Linny felt relief wash over her. Her best friend, at least, wouldn't judge her.

Mary Catherine stepped into the bedroom with her gym bag, emerging a moment later wearing shorts and a T-shirt that read,
Be Sweet.
She pulled a portable sound dock from the gym bag, set it on the counter, and plugged her iPod. “This mix is country and pop. It starts out with women down on men, but then it mellows out.”

Linny smiled as she turned on the hot water and waited for the bucket to fill up. Only Mary Catherine would be so thoughtful as to make a clean-up-a-trailer playlist.

Back in the kitchen, Mary Catherine looked nonchalant as she pulled on zebra-striped rubber gloves with pink marabou feathers on the cuffs and a giant fake diamond on the ring finger.

Linny grinned, but hurriedly pushed open a window as she watched her friend pour straight Clorox on the yellowed linoleum floor. “Shouldn't you dilute that?” she asked, trying not to inhale.

Mary Catherine waved away the suggestion. “We want power, baby.”

Worried about the extra strength Ajax she'd already tried on the floor, Linny edged away but there was no chemical explosion. After she vacuumed, she took a hard-bristle brush to the floor, licking into high gear as Kacey Musgraves sang “Pageant Material” and Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, and Katy Perry sang about lying men. As she dipped her rag into a bucket of steamy water and wiped down the outside of the refrigerator, she listened to every word and had a deeply satisfied sense of being understood. She would come back stronger, as they had.

She glanced over at Mary Catherine, who was using a paint scraper to remove splotches of unknown gunk from the counter. Her friend sang along and Lord help her, she danced. For a graceful woman who'd been a talented gymnast and the number one singles player on the tennis team in high school, she just could
not
dance. Linny's lips twitched.

Mary Catherine's law colleagues saw her as serious, dedicated, and by the book. What would they think of her awkward lassoing pony move, her oddly executed Beyoncé bounce, the off-beat shimmy and dramatic gestures—like the wrist on the forehead and the pointing finger when the song said “you.” Although most of the herky-jerky motions were pure Mary Catherine, Linny knew she was amping up the foolishness to lighten the mood. She smiled. It was working.

“You've got some moves,” Linny said admiringly, as she held her breath and opened the fridge. She exhaled, relieved. Surprisingly, the inside wasn't the biohazard she'd expected.

Mary Catherine gathered up the Hoover to move to the next room but paused in the doorway to demonstrate a cringe-worthy rear end popping motion. “This is a hip-hop move called twizzle-dazzle. I saw it on YouTube.”

Linny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

By the time they finished vacuuming and clearing out junk the old tenants had thoughtfully left behind—a garbage bag full of beer cans Linny had missed on her first trash run, a broken baby carriage, a black-and-white TV with a broken screen, a box full of rotary telephones—male singers were getting airtime. Jason Aldean, Pitbull, and Sam Smith had serious problems in their love lives. Linny sighed. Good men get wronged, too. The bluesy, soulful voice of John Newman helped the two women pick up the pace for the home stretch as they mopped the floors for a third time with Pine Sol. When they wiped down the dust-encrusted mini-blinds, a singer Mary Catherine identified as Kip Moore just wanted to take the pretty girl home and marry her. Linny felt wistful as she listened to the words. That Kip sounded like such a nice man.