Southern Hearts (11 page)

Chapter Nine

I came away from my talk with Marney on edge and more uncertain than I already was. I had been looking for a telltale sign, something—anything, an unequivocal answer, but instead I came away with more confusion than confirmation. At the very least, what I had discovered was that there seemed to be a real need for concern where my mother was involved. The changing of her will, her fainting spell, they were warnings I couldn’t overlook. Marney hadn’t said much, and maybe that was what concerned me the most—her indirectness. I wanted to talk to Tami, involve her and let her know that I was worried, but she was high strung and intense, and the last thing I wanted was to carry her emotional weight on my shoulders.

As I rounded the house from the rear, I caught a glimpse of my mother cooling herself with her Oriental fan while she skimmed the dog-eared pages of a book. She had read her many books from cover to cover so many times the covers had torn, the pages discolored, and the bindings cracked, revealing the cardboard of their spines.

As I watched her, my mother looked so unassuming and breakable, like a house model constructed of matchsticks. She was less vibrant than the woman who ran the house with her stern hand. Her wicker chair was positioned close to the massive trunk of the aging oak that sat beyond the drive at the center of the makeshift island just to the north of the property. Her cotton print dress was tied neatly by its strap around her thin thighs to keep it in place, the yarn of her knitted shawl sat squarely over her collarbone, and the fringe of her bonnet was turned low over her eyes, to keep the glare from reflecting. Her iced beverage sat on a round plastic table near her elbow, and her feet were minus their slippers and were crossed on the top of a matching footstool.

When my stillness had finally caught her eye, her head lifted ever so gently and she smiled and gave a quick feather wave of her hand before returning her attention back to her book. She looked peaceful, content in her space away from the house and the chaos of the last-minute flurry of preparation, and as much as I wanted to approach her about the many things that were on my mind, something inside held me back. I took a step in her direction, then turned back toward the house.

I was in a confused state of mind as I headed across the lawn. There were so many feelings churning inside of me. I felt more conflicted and unsettled than I ever remembered being at one time. This summer hadn’t been easy for me. Nothing about my return to the hearth had been reassuring. So far nothing had floated to the surface, or been forcibly thrust there, but I could see it just below, transparent and about to emerge.

“The tables and chairs are on their way. They ran out of the matching sets we picked out and they had to send a truck to Baton Rouge for the others. The guy said he’d be here about noon. Will you be around?” Tami said as I neared.

“What?” I asked.

“The tables. The chairs. Noon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” I looked back at Mother as I spoke.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, just thinking about the party and the things that are left to be done.”

“I taped the layout to the back of the clipboard. That way, when they arrive. it will make directing them much easier.”

“I don’t know what I would do without your efficiency,” I said.

“Hello, girls. Bright and brisk morning to all.” AnnLou’s strong voice echoed off the tall pillars supporting the back porch. “Your mother suggested I bring over Lani to help with the last-minute rush before party time.”

I hadn’t spoken to Lani in over six weeks, unsure what to say to her. Our hike had gone from cheerful and friendly to sullen and depressing, and whether it had been the heat or the intense mood of the moment, I had unrevealed far too much. I had never been much for telling those things that were deep within me, personal things. I didn’t like tearing back my skin and allowing others to see what was inside—those were things for me, private things.

“Hi.” Lani said softly, stepping out from behind her mother as she spoke.

“Well, girls, use her how ever you wish,” AnnLou boomed, looking down at her watch. “I’m off to my salon appointment. Toodles!” She blew a kiss toward Lani before going back inside.

“This is Lani,” I said halfheartedly.

“Hi, Lani.” Tami waved, quickly eyeing her and then looking back down at the pages of notes on the clipboard in her hands.

“I hope...that day...well, you seemed—”

“I think we’re probably in the worst shape with the decorations. Wouldn’t you say, sis?” I said nervously, staring at Tami.

“The decorations.” She thought for a moment. “Right, that would be most helpful. Everything is laid out in the den. I have the drawings of how the crepe paper and the rest of it is to be arranged.”

“You’ll have to excuse Tami, she’s suffering from a severe case of militancy,” I teased.

“Well, if it was left up to you, we’d be sitting on towels, eating bologna sandwiches off paper plates, and listening to a boom box blaring Stevie Nicks,” Tami teased back.

“Peanut butter, not bologna,” I said sharply. “Decorations it is.” I looked at Lani as I stepped past her. “I hope you’re crafty. Tami and I always leave this part till last. Neither one of us is gifted with the talent of creativity.”

“Well then, you have the right person in your corner. I was an art major at one time. That is, until I realized living in an infested loft in the garment district and rolling pennies to buy food seemed more draining than anything else.”

“I have always admired people who can create something unique from virtually nothing.”

“It has a certain rustic glamour to it, I suppose,” Lani acknowledged. “I can’t wheedle an armoire from a stick, though, so I hope you’re not expecting miracles.”

“Believe me, a stick taped and wrapped in tissue paper is about the extent of my ability.” I laughed.

Lani lit up with an unfeigned grin and then bent down, positioning herself so that one leg crossed over the other before the layers of paper, glue, and balsa wood scattered across the rug.

“Oh.” I dropped to the floor with a thud. “I’m feeling overwhelmed already,” I said, putting the back of my hand to my forehead in a dramatic swoon.

“I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing earlier. I sensed it made you uncomfortable. Maybe just forgetting about our hike would be best.” She avoided my eyes, picking up the paper that lay beside her ankles.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” I had been, but I wasn’t quite sure why. Was it that I hadn’t wanted Tami to think we were out
together
, or was it that I didn’t want Lani to say too much about our discussion?

As I thought about it, I realized it was a combination of both of those things. Lani was a nice girl. Woman, I corrected myself. She was firmly over eighteen, which by most standards propelled her beyond being a girl and planted her solidly into the classification of woman. She was intriguing, and being around her was pleasant. Our conversations were entertaining as well as humorous, and for me there was no more alluring quality in someone than humor. And now that I really looked at her, there was something about her eyes, something I had never noticed before. She had immense eyes that seemed to invite me into them. I had never met anyone quite like her—she had a fascinating quality to her, an aura that made me want to be near her.

I liked her, but friendship was the only thing that was possible between us. She was feminine, and if she lost a bit of weight, I thought she would be attractive. But she was plus-size, and her legs and arms were strong and wide, like a durable tree trunk. Her stomach rolled with layers of fat and her face, though pretty, was plump and rounded. She was hefty. From the list that had run through my mind, that seemed like the most polite—perhaps not politically correct, but polite nonetheless—description.

I thought back to our hike, how she had taken my hand and held it as we walked, how we had laughed like giddy preteens about nothing in particular.

Lani looked at me as if sensing my mood. “This shouldn’t take too long. The lanterns for the table. We can fold these pieces over the wire frame, glue it into place.” She demonstrated quickly as she gave the instructions. “And voilà, you have a completed light source.” She held it above her head like an elaborate lampshade. “Now you make the rest of them and I’ll watch. I think my contribution for the day has been fulfilled.” Lani stretched her arms up over her head and leaned back against the sofa.

“Oh, great,” I grumbled.

“Do you mind?” Lani asked, noticing the many photo albums that were stacked beneath the end tables that flanked the couch.

I shrugged, fumbling with the tissue until the paste caked my hands as I attempted to unfold the sheer wrapping. I circled it harshly around the rectangular box until it tore. “Dammit!”

Lani chuckled as I stood up, then flopped out onto the sofa and behind her. “I think I need a break too. This crap is not only discouraging, but exhausting.”

“Aw, look how cute you were.” Lani carefully turned the black scrapbook pages that were clustered with photos of my childhood.

“If you’re gonna make those kinds of noises, maybe I should take that from you,” I said, making as if to pull the book from her hands.

“Your mother was a beautiful young woman. How old is she in this picture?”

“I don’t know.” I slid it from its plastic sleeve and turned it over. “Nineteen fifty-five, she would have been twenty-one. That’s a picture of her at the riding academy. She was quite the horse fanatic, or so I’ve heard.”

I pointed to another photograph. “That’s my dad reeling in Kipper, his name for the swordfish mounted above the mantle in his study.” I turned to stare at the ceiling, “That stupid thing! My dad spent every summer out on the ocean trying to catch him, and when he finally did, he never went fishing again. I’d go into his study at night and he’d have the fire roaring and be standing there in front of the hearth in his smoking jacket, lighting a stogie and staring at that fish. It always made me feel sad seeing him like that. It was like once he caught it, he was sorry he had, as if he had taken a piece of himself off that fishhook along with Kipper.”

My eyes teared and I didn’t move, shocked that I had just told that story. “You know how men are about fishing.” I chuckled, hoping to deflect my sensitivity.

“Look at that.” I pointed to a photo of my mother in yet another attempt to change the mood.