Seeing Things (37 page)

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Authors: Patti Hill

BOOK: Seeing Things
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My cell phone rang. By the time I upended my purse to find the phone, it had stopped ringing. Without turning on the light, I pressed the redial button. Emory greeted me.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, breathless.
“We had dinner at Suzanne's parents' tonight.”
“I'd rather eat glass.”
“I tried to stay home, but Andy insisted I go. It was mostly confusing and very upsetting.” I fumbled for the button to raise the head of the bed. “But you sound excited. Bee hasn't dug a hole through your foundations has she?”
“Bee? No, she's been great. I hardly know she's around until she's ready to chase a ball.”
“Tell her to lie down, and be stern or she'll pester you all night.”
“Birdie, Bee's a joy to have around. You don't have to worry.”
“You're breathless. What have you been up to?”
“Yes, well, I wish it had been with you, but I couldn't wait to get home to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“You know what night this is.”
“I do?”
“The tango competition! Don't tell me you've forgotten.”
I had. “Of course not. You went?”
“We took first place—Josie and me.”
“Josie? Josie doesn't dance.”
“She's a fast learner, that's for sure.”
“You taught her?”
“We've been practicing four or five nights a week.”
If men only knew what the effect of being guided around a dance floor with a firm yet tender hand does for a woman, there would be a dance studio on every corner instead of a Starbucks. It had been the confidence of Emory's steps and the touch of his hand at the small of my back that first woke my sleeping heart. I hadn't recognized the attraction at first, hadn't considered what it meant that my heart beat faster when his Bronco crunched the gravel of the driveway. Now he danced with Josie.
“Aren't you happy for us?” he asked, crestfallen.
Was I? “Congratulations.”
“That's it?”
“I'm just surprised, is all. I thought I was your dance partner.”
“You are. Josie knew how disappointed I was when you couldn't compete with me.”
“She
offered
to dance with you?”
“Is there a problem?”
My throat tightened and tears welled. I was a sixteen-year-old girl again, and Garfield Strutgardt stammered over his words, trying but failing to explain why he'd invited Edith Anne Ganter to the prom instead of me.
“No, no problem,” I said as matter-of-factly as my trembling lower lip allowed.
“Would you like to hear about the competition?”
“Not particularly.” For the first time in my life, not one word, sarcastic or otherwise, came to mind. A prickly silence filled the broad distance between us.
“I better let you go to sleep then,” he finally said.
“It's been a long day.”
“You'll call when you're ready to come home?”
“Yes.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
Chapter 38
Lupe blocked me from the kitchen with upheld hands. “I can't let you bake nothing.”
“What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
“It's my job to clean up after the construction guys. You would think their mamas never showed them how to use a broom. Besides taking care of someone else's mess that someone else got paid big bucks to make, I get to run around the house to find things for the decorator lady.” She set a cup of coffee in front of me. “Drink this quick. You don't look so good. Maybe you should call your boyfriend. You always smile after you talk to him.”
My heart thumped at the thought of him. “I'll call Emory when I'm ready to go home, and I'm not ready yet. It's Bee I miss. There's nothing like a wagging tail to make the heart glad.” Did I believe that?
“You better keep that piece of news to yourself. My sister, the one with the apricot poodle who poops in the house, she told her husband she loved the dog more than him because the dog at least listened to her. That very day he packed his bags and left. And he took the only car that runs. I never liked him anyway. He gave me the evil eye every time I came around. You know, like this.”
Of course, I missed Lupe's demonstration of the evil eye, but I laughed anyway. It was that or cry. I'd spent half the night picturing Emory and Josie moving with liquid steps around the dance floor, chins tilted up, backs straight, the
slow, slow, quick, quick
steps of the tango. Thighs touched. Knees bumped. Her skirt flipped. His breath warmed her cheek. Teasing. Twirling. Tangled legs. A slow dip as the music faded. My eyes felt like cotton balls.
“My sister's husband? My skin crawls to think about him, and he thought he was so much better than me. He managed a Carl's Jr., bragged all the time that his store sold more Star Burgers than any other Carl's Jr. in the whole wide world, like this is brain surgery or something. Who knows? Maybe all that grease clogged his pores. I never knew a man who sweated so much. And he smelled like a pig. I hear he got fired for pulling cash out of the register. Now he drives a truck for a—what do you call it?—the place where they take dead animals. Anyway, my sister has a new boyfriend who brings her gifts all the time and keeps her car running. That's more than I can say for
mi esposo
.”
“Lupe . . . ?”
“Don't look at me like that. You want to pray again, don't you?” She threw up her hands. “Okay, but first you have to tell me about Miz Doctor Lady's parents' house.”
“It was nice.”
She leaned across the island. “More.”
“They have black-and-white marble floors, like a giant checkerboard, in the entry, which, by the way, is bigger than my whole cabin. And they had two staircases, one curving to the left and one to the right, the kind Cinderella walked down. Lots of mirrors. Furniture polish. We walked a city block from the front door to the dining room. It was all rather cold, if you want my honest opinion, although the garden was lovely. The lilacs are blooming.”
“Did you see the doctor and his miz's bedroom?”
“I didn't even see the kitchen. The wait staff came in and out of a swinging door.”
Lupe slammed her hand on the counter. “I knew it! Mrs. Bower, she always has something to say about how this dining room is too small and how Miz Doctor Lady can't have a real dinner party with the kitchen in the middle of the house like it is, not that Miz Doctor Lady ever gives a party or anything, but she tries to explain to her mama that tastes have changed, that entertaining is more casual, but the mama, she says her daughter shouldn't read so many magazines. There's a proper way to do everything. After the mama leaves, Miz Doctor Lady stomps up to her room and slams the door, just like my Veronica when I made her change her clothes into something more decent before she went out. I never knew nobody more eager to show off their belly button. Now it's sticking out so far, people have to turn sideways to move past her. She's fat. She doesn't do—”
“Lupe!”
“What's the rush? Does God have somewhere he needs to be?”
“Dr. Bower had brochures for boarding schools all up and down the east coast. He's talked to friends, some of them senators, for goodness' sake, who promised to pull strings to get Fletcher into their alma maters. Gloria—Mrs. Bower—tried to intervene, but Dr. Bower isn't a man who takes suggestions well. It's only a matter of Andy and Suzanne making the choice.” I swallowed hard, hoping to tame my emotions. “Lupe, Fletcher isn't a boarding school kind of boy. They'll eat him alive. They teach the boys how to shoot rifles at those schools and go out on bivouacs. Dr. Bower says it's all about making a man out of a boy. I tried to tell him about Fletcher, how he has ambitions to do great things, but Dr. Bower isn't big on listening either. And poor Fletcher, he didn't say a word.”
“You got a better plan?”
“He wants to live with me.”
“The boy?” Lupe let out a long whistle. “And what do you think?”
“Of course I want him. He's my grandson.”
“Maybe you should have brought this up before you burned the kitchen down and took the boy driving.”
I buried my face in my arms. “I know.”
She pulled on my sleeve. “Let's go. I know you. You'll feel better after we pray.”
I followed Lupe into the bedroom. She knelt beside the bed and bowed her head. “Hurry up. It's almost time for Jerry Springer.”
I knelt beside her.
“You know, my husband's brother's wife who had all those miscarriages? Well, she had a baby girl last night.”
“A baby girl?”
“They named her Rosalita Guadalupe, after me. I told them we prayed for the baby. You don't suppose God had anything to do with that, do you?”
“‘Wherever two or more are gathered . . .'”
Lupe fished a rosary out of her pocket. The beads rattled in her hands. “There he is in your midst.”
ANDY, DRESSED IN TAILS and white tie, bowed low after opening the door for Fletcher and Mi Sun. “How was the ball, Master Fletcher? Miss?”
Mi Sun entered. Fletcher stayed beyond the threshold. “Dad? What's this all about?”
“May I take your wrap, miss?” Andy helped Mi Sun out of a hoodie and laid it over his arm. “Your hostess this evening is Mrs. Margaret Tobin Brown, noted philanthropist and reformer. You may know her as Molly Brown, the tenacious survivor of the
Titanic
disaster. This way,” he said, extending a gracious arm into the house. “The mistress of the house awaits you in the drawing room.”
Fletcher mumbled, “Is she wearing a life vest?”
“Master?”
“Never mind.”
I waited for the couple in the great room. A fire and burning candles provided the only light, which diminished my vision considerably. I did, however, catch the sheen of Mi Sun's gown though not the color. Andy introduced us. “Madam, your guests have arrived, Master Fletcher and Miss Mi Sun. May I present your hostess, Mrs. Margaret Brown?”
“Grandma, is that you?”
I didn't expect him to recognize me, wigged as a red-haired Gibson girl and wearing enough rhinestones to blind Zsa Zsa Gabor. I fluttered myself with a fan. “So good to see you again, Master Fletcher. Welcome to my home, Mi Sun.”
Mi Sun extended her hand. “Mrs. Brown, I've always wanted to meet you. You're so much more than the
Titanic.
I most admire the work you did to improve working conditions for miners.” She bent toward me to whisper. “I wrote a paper about you in the eighth grade.”
Fletcher sat on the couch, face in hands. “I can't believe this is happening.”
“This is great.” Mi Sun sat beside him. “My parents would never think to do anything like this.”
“That's because they're normal.”
“Of all people, Master Fletcher, I would expect you to understand that normal is highly overrated,” I said.
Suzanne entered with a silver tray, wearing a long black dress with a lacy apron and cap. “May I pour you a spot of tea, mum, before dessert is served?”
“Only if my honored guests will join me.”
Mi Sun clasped her hands over her heart. “I would love tea.”
When Suzanne withdrew, Mi Sun lifted her skirt to reveal high-topped sneakers. “My mom nearly croaked, but no way was I going to wear spikes.”
“Tell me about the ball,” I said. “How did Fletcher do with the waltz?”
“It's hard to waltz to rap, Grandma.”

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