Queen Bee Goes Home Again (28 page)

Carla's expression lit with a sparkle of mischief. “Couldn't I just come anyway?”

Uh-oh. Tommy's expression looked like he'd just stepped on a rattlesnake.

Miss Mamie didn't miss a beat. “Oh, no, precious girl. I refuse to let my son's bride sell herself so cheaply. You need a ring on that finger before you cohabit with my son in this house.”

Carla looked to Tommy, her face asking what he thought.

He shrugged. “We could get the blood tests up there, I guess.” He looked into Carla's eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think it makes perfect sense,” she told him.

“But what about the big wedding?” he prodded.

Carla scanned the room, her expression clearing. “Obviously, your mother feels very strongly about this. So, as a gift to her, I have just decided that the most important thing is
being
married, not how we get there.”

Bald lust limned my brother's face. “Tomorrow it is.”

“Would y'all like to come?” Carla asked.

Perfect, perfect, perfect. “Yes!” Miss Mamie and I answered.

There's no such thing as perfect in this world,
my still, small voice reminded me.

Okay, okay. But it's great enough.

So the next day, Miss Mamie and I stood witness as my brother married his true love. Halleluiah, amen.

 

Thirty-eight

Tommy and Carla pulled a fast one to complete the final item on our immediate plan for the house: while Carla took Miss Mamie down to Atlanta to the museum, then to the Swan Coach House for lunch, Tommy supervised a highly recommended cleaning service that gave the whole house a thorough going-over, right down to the grout and the refrigerator. In five hours, the place looked and smelled as good as it had after our big clean.

When the Mame and Carla got back that evening, my mother inhaled one breath after stepping inside, shot me a knowing glance, shifted a candy dish in the foyer a half inch, back into its original place, then proceeded as if nothing had happened.

So the four of us went back to our regular routines, me with my studies (I CLEPed out of seven English, lit, and history courses, but still struggled with the algebra textbook). Carla and Mama cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms every Wednesday, she and Tommy went to their meetings, and he and I visited Uncle B and Daddy at the Home.

You'd think I'd feel displaced by Carla, but I didn't. I was grateful, grateful, grateful for how she studied cooking with Miss Mamie and made my mother feel she had a purpose again.

Tommy told me later that he hadn't said anything about the nest egg to Carla, in case Miss Mamie needed our shares. When I asked him if that was wise, he shrugged.

“Do you think she's a gold digger?” I challenged.

“Of course not,” he blustered. “She has more money than I'll earn in a lifetime. She retired at thirty-seven to come here. Showed me her entire portfolio and bank statements.”

My brows lifted. “And you've kept this from her? Not a good start, Tommy. I'm just saying.”

He nodded, clearly seeing how he'd messed up. “So what now?”

I couldn't believe he had to ask.

“Tell her the truth,” I advised. “All of it. If you don't, it means you don't trust her.”

He nodded. “You're right.” He threw his arm around my neck and gave me a noogie. “I hereby appoint you my consultant on women. If you see me making a mistake, or getting ready to, please pull me aside in private and help me out.”

Carte blanche? Surely he couldn't be serious.

But then again, he
was
a frog, not a prince. “You've got yourself a good woman,” I told him. “Don't screw it up.”

He sent me an ironic glance. “I could say the same to you.”

I sighed. “I can't be a minister's wife. End of story.”

Tommy grinned. “Talk to me about that in six months.”

Then he went upstairs to join his wife in assassinating the headboard for yet another night.

Miss Mamie said it made her giggle every time, because they just might be making a grandchild—a possibility, since Carla was so much younger than Tommy.

But Mama already had a grandchild! What was my David, chopped liver? And the Mame's two great-grands.

Grumpy, I left the house for the apartment.

Maybe I ought to get a dildo, after all.

 

Thirty-nine

My newfound wealth made me ineligible for the Pell Grant, so I prepaid my tuition, bought my books (talk about expensive, even for used!), and worked out my Tuesday–Thursday class schedule with Cathy at the disabilities office. Then I started studying algebra in earnest.

But even with that as a distraction—and quite a distraction it was—I still obsessed about Connor. Instead of rejoicing that an amazing man like him wanted me, I whined at God over and over:
Why did he have to be a Baptist minister?

The more I whined, the more I admitted to myself that I did
not
want to be a Baptist minister's wife, any more than Connor's deacons wanted me to.

Not funny, God.

Yet I still looked forward to Christmas—and to Connor.

Unless he'd found someone else.

Blast! Blast, blast, blast.

Maybe going back to school would help me concentrate on something besides him. I've always loved learning and done well in class, but I'd been away from it for so long, my anticipation was laced with fear. Did I have enough gray cells left to pass?

Forget IQ. Could I still memorize and study?

If algebra was any indication, the answer was no. But I refused to give up and slogged my way through, page by page, even though it gave me headaches.

Christmas and Connor were coming. I longed for the day, yet dreaded it with equal intensity.

The next Sunday afternoon, my phone rang at precisely three o'clock. David, right on schedule, after more than a month without explanation.

“Hello?” I resolved not to bring it up. Focus on the present.

“Hi, Mama.” He seemed chipper. “How about that, Uncle Tommy winning the election and getting married?”

“Things have been pretty exciting here, lately.”

“Isn't Aunt Carla great? We talked for a really long time when they called to tell us.”

Oh, great. He'd talked to Carla for a really long time. What about his mother?

“Mama? Are you there?”

“Yep. How are the kids?”

“Kids. You know. Runny noses, vaccinations, and plenty of energy. How are you?”

Tired. Conflicted about Connor. Feeling like a moron in algebra. Scared about school. But I knew better than to tell him the truth. He'd clam up emotionally and hang up.

“Mama?” This time, his voice was tinged with concern.

“Sorry. I'm just a little tired and down.”

“You're not supposed to be the one who's down,” he said. “You're the one who cheers everybody up.”

“Not today, sweetie.”

Now it was his turn to fall silent, but I let the silence be.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you for a while,” he finally said. “We've been taking the kids to fall soccer and football games on Sundays.”

So he
was
aware. “I figured no news was good news.”

Never mind that I was afraid something had happened to one of you. Or how forsaken I felt when you didn't call.
But I didn't give my self-pity a voice.

He was my son, my only child, and I loved him.
Expectations are premeditated resentments.

So I took responsibility for my own happiness. “That's okay, honey, but I really miss hearing your voice and finding out what y'all are doing. Is there a more convenient time for you to call?”

I heard surprise in his voice when he said, “Actually, yes. How about Monday at nine, after we get the kids to bed?”

“Sure.” I could do that. “I don't want to interfere with your life. I just want to be in the loop.”

“Fair enough.” He paused. “And Mama…”

No expectations, I reminded myself. “What, honey?”

“I'm proud of you.”

My smile returned in earnest. “Thank you, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you. Talk to you at nine tomorrow.”

“Great. Bye.” I was still smiling when we hung up. I'd been honest (well, partially), but he hadn't run screaming into the woods. It was a start.

Wondering what he'd think about me and Connor, I couldn't suppress a dry chuckle.

 

Forty

Sooner than I would have guessed, Halloween arrived. Instead of trick-or-treating, First Baptist and several of the other churches had fall festivals, where the children could dress up as nonoccult objects, animals, or characters and play games for candy. I'd always enjoyed helping, but this time I didn't. I couldn't bear seeing Connor without touching or speaking to him.

The week after that crawled by. Then the next.

I kept checking my e-mail for word from school, but found nothing. By the week before Thanksgiving, I called Cathy in the disabilities office and found out they'd been sending all the e-mails to my student account on the college network.

The
student
account.

Perfect. Talk about feeling stupid. I'd completely forgotten about that. Giant head smack.

With her help, I finally got onto the school Web site (writing each step and my password down for future reference) and found my schedule and a slew of messages. It took me half a day to get through them, and I'd already missed orientation.

Not a good start.

Maybe I shouldn't have done this. At my age, half my brain was full, and the other half was dead.

But I persevered. (I am, above all things, stubborn by nature.) So the days of getting to know Carla, going to the Home, studying, and checking my
student
e-mails slipped into comforting routine.

Before I knew it, Thanksgiving arrived. As usual, David and Barb were spending it with her family in Charlotte, saying it was too hard on the kids to bring them to us.

So I felt even emptier without Connor, especially since Tommy and Carla were there, totally smitten with each other.

I wasn't jealous of them. I was glad to see them both so happy.

It just made me feel more alone than ever. I missed Connor so much, I almost cried.

Sensing my sadness as we all cleaned up after we finished, Tommy proposed, “Why don't we invite Connor to see the latest Shrek installment at the Imax this afternoon? Carla and I have enjoyed that series.”

Was I that transparent?

Miss Mamie brightened. “I'd like to see that one, myself.”

Carla had the good sense to butt out, for which I loved her even more.

Tempted though I was, I shook my head no. “Y'all can go without me.”

“Okay. Martyr if you want to,” Tommy said. “I'm asking him.”

“Go right ahead,” I told him. “I'm going to bed.”

Mama scowled. “Suit yourself, Lin, but I'm going.”

“Great,” I said sincerely. “I hope y'all have a wonderful time.” Before they could pressure me further, I wrapped my loneliness around myself and headed for the apartment. “Fabulous feast, ladies,” I called back as I left the room. “It may take me two days to sleep it off.”

Then I went home and martyred myself nonstop for two hours, one on the phone with Tricia, but to no avail.

Then David topped the day off by calling to tell me his company had given them and the kids a two-week Christmas cruise as a bonus. Great for them, rotten for me.

 

Forty-one

One day at a time,
Tommy's words reminded me.
Be in the present. Stop projecting.

I tried, and every time I tried, it got a little easier. But I kept reverting to my old ways.

Still, I took my schedule to the campus near the end of fall quarter in December and found my way (with much help) to all my classes. The biggest trek would be from my morning classes in the Humanities Building to the Science Building all the way across campus for algebra.

For once, I was glad my bad knees merited a handicapped parking permit, because there was always a free spot right beside Humanities. But walking across campus twice a day would be good for me, even if it hurt.

And unlike the students, who wore as little as possible regardless of the weather, I planned to dress warmly and use an umbrella. And drag my textbooks in a stout rolling briefcase behind me. So call me a nerd. So what? At sixty, I didn't give a rip.

Actually, I was no longer afraid of school. I looked forward to it, because that gave me something to be excited about besides Connor.

 

Forty-two

Early Christmas morning, I got up at six and put on my face and did my hair, just in case Connor showed up. Then the family met at the giant Christmas tree in the family room at seven. Miss Mamie never let anybody sleep late on Christmas.

We'd long since given up trying to buy each other presents. Instead, each of us picked out something we wanted that cost less than a hundred dollars, wrapped it up and put it under the tree, and donated an equal amount to our favorite good cause. On Christmas morning, we showed each other what we'd bought before we went in to breakfast. Worked for me.

Tommy got a little chain saw on the end of a long fiberglass pole, which would make trimming our ancient bushes a lot easier. (He always bought himself tools.)

Carla had bought herself a bunch of old Southern cookbooks, which Miss Mamie asked to look over after we'd eaten.

Miss Mamie opened a large Kindle
and
a Nook electronic reader, beaming as she did. When she saw our surprise, she went coy. “A girl's got to keep up with the times. I've already loaded both of them with Deborah Smith, Patti Callahan Henry, and half a dozen more of my favorites.” She hugged them to her. “I can't wait to try them.”