A Peach of a Pair Page 15

  Our bus rumbled into the terminal, interrupting my thoughts, its destination in huge white letters on a black sign. Mobile. Thirty-seven miles from Satsuma. I glanced down at the schedule. We’d change buses in Montgomery. Stay overnight, then get up early the next morning and get on bus number seven, bound for Dallas. I was reasonably sure we’d have to stop somewhere along the way between Montgomery and Palestine, but there were no concrete plans other than to just go as far as we could each day.

  When I’d helped Miss Lurleen dress this morning, she seemed better than she had lately, and I thought maybe the trip would be good for her; maybe it would be good for both of us. Although the idea of being so close to home was disconcerting, I felt oddly excited, almost naughty, like I was getting away with something, which made no sense. Was the trip a dare I was taking to show I was unaffected by Alabama, by my family’s betrayal, that I could go home, or in the general vicinity of home, unscathed? Or was Remmy right and I was running from him?

  My introspection evaporated with the early morning fog when the driver called that it was time to board the bus. Miss Emily eased up the steps of the bus, pocketbook in the crook of her arm, white gloves on; she looked back over her shoulder for her sister. I was behind Miss Lurleen, my hand on the small of her back as she barely pulled herself up the stairs, holding on to both rails while I prayed hard that she didn’t lose her balance and fall on top of me.

  The longest half dozen or so steps of my life, and probably Miss Lurleen’s too, finally ended and we looked up to see Miss Emily waving to us about five rows from the back of the crowded bus. By now Miss Lurleen was breathing really hard.

  “She sick?” the driver asked warily.

  “No,” I lied, although I had no idea why.

  “I’m just old,” Miss Lurleen snapped, then straightened and moved as well as I’d seen her walk in the short time I’d known her. She was nearly out of breath by the time she plopped down beside her sister. I put the knapsack we’d brought under the seat and sat down beside Miss Lurleen.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Miss Emily said. “And did you see the bus is going to Mobile?”

  “If,” Miss Lurleen said, “by some miracle I live through this, Emily, you should know this is the last time I’m giving in to your whining.”

  LURLEEN

  If Lurleen made it over the Alabama line, it would be the second miracle of the day; the first being when she’d hoisted herself up the bus steps. Even before Pastor Gray had picked them up to take the three of them and their baggage to the bus station, her heart was beating twice as fast as a hummingbird’s. Climbing those blame steps, it had screamed at her, and if she hadn’t been afraid of squashing poor Nettie, she would have saved herself the effort and fallen dead away before she reached the top step.

  But here she was, sandwiched between Emily in all her optimistic folly and poor Nettie, who was noticeably troubled every time Lurleen blew out an exhausted breath, which she did often. If she didn’t hate the sympathetic looks she got from Emily or the worried ones from Nettie, she would gulp air like a fish out of water. Which is exactly what she felt like on this bus headed toward certain death.

  “Tell me about your family,” Emily said out of the clear blue sky, and Nettie’s eyes went wide.

  Lurleen crossed her arms; even she knew home was a sore subject for Nettie.

  “Emily, it’s going to be a very long trip, and it will be even longer if you’re gong to yammer all the way to Palestine.”

  “Nonsense,” Emily said. “The trip will fly by in no time if we tell our stories.”

  “You don’t even like Nettie, and, right now, I’m barely tolerating you, so no amount of story is going to salve that truth.”

  “Of course I don’t like her,” Emily huffed.

  “I’m right here.” Nettie leaned across Lurleen and gave Emily a look.

  “And do you want to spill the beans?” Lurleen asked.

  “Not particularly. No,” Nettie said.

  “Oh, you two are just being ridiculous. Of course we’re all better off when we tell our stories. I’ll go first.”

  “Dear, God,” Lurleen huffed, but Emily wasn’t deterred.

  • • •

  Lurleen and Nettie were quiet and certainly were not better off after listing to Emily blather nonstop. Almost to Augusta, the bus mercifully stopped in a no-name place, which amounted to a gas station with a reprehensible bathroom and a Co-Cola machine. Three more people, suitcases in hand, waited to get on. It had taken so much effort for Lurleen to hoist herself into the bus, she didn’t want to get off when they’d stopped in Columbia, but she’d had no idea when the next stop would be.

  There were only ten women on the bus, a couple of unruly kids, the rest men, maybe three dozen or so. Of course being old and sickly looking landed Lurleen near the front of the line for the bathroom. Emily was ahead of her, anxious to check her look in the mirror because the small compact she pulled out of her purse every five minutes just wasn’t big enough. But then even the full-length cheval mirror back home wasn’t big enough to capture Emily in all her glory.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Emily asked, as a woman came out of the bathroom and the next person in line towed her little boy inside. She snapped open her compact again and fluffed up her silver curls. “We haven’t taken a trip in a long time, Lurleen. This is good for the soul.”

  This was good for nothing and Lurleen was about to wet her pants.

  “Miss Emily?” Nettie was beside Lurleen, her hand cupping Lurleen’s elbow. “Would it be okay if your sister went ahead of you?”

  Emily gave Nettie a hard look and shut her compact. “I was just going to suggest that,” she snapped as the woman and her son came out.

  Nettie walked Lurleen to the bathroom door. Lurleen braced herself on the doorframe that was beyond filthy. “Do you need some help?” Nettie whispered.

  “No thank you, dear.” She took a step inside and closed the door. The windowless room was barely big enough to turn around in; the smell was abysmal. But Lurleen would kiss the toilet seat before she succumbed to death in a wayside gas station. The water pills Remmy prescribed made her pee all the time; the digitalis made her sleepy and weak. He’d said it might kill her appetite, but no such luck.

  Lately, her ankles had looked like overstuffed sausages in her compression stockings, but today they looked good. Better than Lurleen felt, which much to her surprise was fair to middling. After she did her business, she got to her feet, readjusted her clothing, and bathed her hands in the sink that had a giant palmetto bug legs up in it. Hard to believe that four women had been in ahead of her and had left the corpse for the next person. Lurleen got a wad of toilet paper and tossed the thing into the trash out of courtesy for the rest of the travelers and because Emily hated bugs of any sort and would have the vapors.

  Nettie looked relieved when she finally opened the door. “I’ll get us a Co-Cola,” Lurleen said, “while you and Emily use the facility.” She nodded toward the rusted, junky-looking machine.

  “Orange Nehi for me,” Emily sang until she opened the bathroom door. She made a gagging noise and closed the door behind her.

  “And for you, Nettie?”

  “I’ll get a Coke when I get out of the restroom,” she said, smiling at Emily’s running commentary of horrors that could easily be heard all the way back in Camden. Good thing Lurleen tossed that bug.

  Soda pop. It was the first thing Lurleen had bought in weeks; she hadn’t even been to the grocery store for pity’s sake. The women in line, with the exception of Nettie, started fussing after a while because Emily was taking so long, but she’d never met a mirror she didn’t fall in love with, even in a smelly old bathroom. Finally the door opened and Nettie went in just after Emily strutted out to the laughter of the others in line. She gave them a hard look, chin held high, continuing on to the drink machine.

  Lurle
en handed her an orange drink and couldn’t help but notice the two heavy-set women at the back of the line cutting their eye around at Emily. Lurleen craned her neck around to see Emily’s backside. “Good Lord, Emily, I can’t believe you wore a girdle.”

  Emily took a swig of the orange drink with a cocky smile, “Why, thank you, Sister. I’ll take that as a compliment because I’m not wearing one.”

  “Yes, you are. I can see it plain as day,” Lurleen snapped. “And the back of your dress is tucked into it.” Emily blushed hard and righted her dress. “Why would you do that? The last time you wore that thing, you passed out at the church supper and ended up in the hospital.”

  “Shhh.” She fluffed her hair and looked about to see if anyone was watching her. While Lurleen was fully aware that she was old, Emily was under the delusion that she was still the queen of Sheba, even if today her kingdom was a Greyhound bus. “Here I am trying to keep you out of the hospital and this is the thanks I get. You, browbeating me for dressing like a lady.”

  “Emily, if God had intended women to wear sausage casings, he would have poured us into them at birth. Besides, there is nothing ladylike about a girdle.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Emily hissed, smoothing her hand over the back of her dress to make sure she was indeed fully covered. “And here I thought this would be a lovely trip. I believe I’m going to take my orange drink and sit at the picnic table until we leave.”

  Nettie walked up just as Emily stalked off. “Here’s a dime, honey,” Lurleen said.

  “That’s okay,” Nettie said, fishing in her change purse. She pulled out two nickels, put them into the slot, and selected a Co-Cola. She popped off the top and turned it up like she was indeed thirsty. “Miss Emily all right?” Nettie nodded toward the picnic tables where the men were smoking and Emily was sitting, hoping to catch their eye.

  “As all right as she’s ever going to be,” Lurleen said. “How are you doing? Regretting coming on this jaunt with two old ladies yet?”

  NETTIE

  I turned up the last of my Coke, pulled a banana out of the knapsack, peeled it, and offered Miss Lurleen half. “I’m fine and with no regrets,” I said, folding the peel back around the fruit and putting it back in the sack. Poor Miss Lurleen looked at me like I was offering her a dead skunk. “Remmy said you need the potassium, so eat.”

  Begrudgingly, she obeyed, washing the last of it down with her Coke. I took the empty bottle and put it in the rack beside the machine. “Thank you for not asking me how I’m doing,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No. Really, thank you. I get so sick of folks asking the same question when they already know the answer.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at Miss Lurleen’s candor. Across the way, Miss Emily attempted to flirt; she had crossed and recrossed her legs at least a dozen times, trying to catch the attention of the men sitting on the other picnic table. “She’s always been that way?” I nodded toward the men.

  “Flirting? Acting younger than her years? Emily has never been one to go gentle into the good night. She’ll go to the grave kicking and screaming like an innocent headed for the electric chair.”

  “She was always beautiful. Wasn’t she?” I asked absently, still looking at Miss Emily. When Miss Lurleen didn’t answer, I turned my attention to her. Her face was expressionless. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to imply that you—”

  “I wasn’t,” Miss Lurleen said simply. “Ever. And that’s perfectly fine.”

  “But I’ve seen the pictures that prove you wrong.”

  “Do you have a sister, Nettie?” I nodded. “Is she as beautiful as you?”

  I was four when Sissy was born. One of my first memories was marveling over the abundance of blond fuzz, and being brokenhearted she wasn’t a ginger like me. Those blue eyes that never changed color like Mother promised they would because everyone in our family had green eyes, except Daddy; his were brown. Sissy grew into a gorgeous young woman, petite, with skin that never freckled or burned like mine. That fuzz grew into a radiant blond cape that went all the way down to her tiny waist. She looked nothing like me. She was absolutely stunning.

  “Much more so.” I almost choked on the words.

  Miss Lurleen cocked her head to the side and then nodded. “You and your sister have a falling out?” I nodded. “Over a man?” Her crystal blue eyes peered at me for an answer, but she already saw inside me. I nodded again. “Emily and I had the same. No matter how big the tiff is, and ours was horrific, it won’t last.”

  “You’re wrong.” I sounded bitter when I really meant to laugh and play off her questions with more of my own about her health, or the weather or the bus ride, anything but this.

  “Trust me, it won’t.”

  It had been over three weeks since I received the invitation to Sissy’s wedding, almost two months since I’d received a letter or a phone call from her. For as long as I lived, I never wanted to see her bright, shiny face again. Yet, as much as I hated to admit it, I missed her. “And how long did your tiff last?” I asked.

  “Seven years,” Miss Lurleen said. Both of us watched Miss Emily sashay back toward the bus, her long shawl flowing, doing her best to move like Ginger Rogers across the broken red clay. “To the day, I stopped speaking to her.”

  Seven years? I hadn’t even gone seven months without seeing Sissy’s loopy scrawl over pages and pages of heartfelt letters or hearing her voice, and it already felt like an eternity. The wiry little bus driver, with the great big western belt buckle and cowboy hat instead of the baseball type the other drivers wore, came out of the men’s room and nodded toward us. “Ladies. Time to load up,” he drawled. “Leaving in five minutes.”

  19

  NETTIE

  Sandwiched between Miss Emily and me, Miss Lurleen was soon asleep, her head bouncing from my shoulder to Miss Emily’s as she sporadically made the gentle puff puff puff sound that must run in the Eldridge family.

  I dug around in the knapsack, pulled out a bag of penny candy I bought at Zemp’s Drug Store yesterday, and tilted the bag toward Miss Emily. While she always fussed about Miss Lurleen’s sweet tooth, she was the real sugar addict out of the two. She fished around in the sack and pulled out three pieces, the only Hershey’s Kisses in the bag, and handed it back to me.

  “Thank you,” she said, popping one in her mouth. “Next time we stop, I hope there’s a diner so we can get some sweet tea in Lurleen.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? She drank a Coke just now, and I know she hates having to go to the bathroom all the time.”

  Before Miss Emily could answer, the little boy a few seats ahead of us spilled an entire cigar box full of crayons and began to wail. But Miss Lurleen didn’t stir. His mother chased the colors down the aisle as they rolled everywhere. I waited until Miss Lurleen’s head shifted back to Miss Emily’s shoulder, picked up the handful that landed at my feet, but couldn’t reach the ones by Miss Emily. I handed them to the woman, who was apologizing all over the place to everyone.

  Miss Emily didn’t budge and gave the woman a cross look that sent her scurrying back to her seat. “All this sitting is going to set off Lurleen’s leg cramps,” she fussed. “The tea and the bananas should help with that.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Remmy didn’t mention tea. Just bananas.” Although he probably figured there was no need since there’d be enough sweet tea between Camden and Palestine to float a boat, especially with the sisters’ penchant for the stuff.

  “That’s because he’s a nitwit. My beautician, Shari Bartholomew, knows everything about everything. I told her Lurleen was suffering with leg cramps and she said, ‘Why, give her her fill of sweet tea and bananas.’ Works like a charm.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “You and Sister have become awfully cozy,” Miss Emily said. As if on cue, Miss Lurleen shifted to my shoulder,
head reared back, mouth gaped open.

  “We hit it off if that’s what you mean. She likes for me to read to her, and, for the most part, I like her taste in books.”

  “She was a librarian, you know. Retired the year before me.”

  “I should have guessed.” I smiled at the idea of Miss Lurleen in the stacks, lost in some great classic; although she did love a good romance every now and then. But who doesn’t?

  “Oh, she wasn’t just any librarian with her nose always stuck in a book; she was a crack shot too. Loved to hunt as much as she loved to read; I grant you there wasn’t another gun-toting librarian in the state back then. Probably hasn’t been one since.”

  “My father’s a great marksman; he’s won a lot of contests, even a couple of statewide competitions. I think he was so disappointed he ended up with girls instead of a son to pass on his love for firearms; not sure it ever occurred to him to teach my sister or me. But I doubt that either of us would have been interested,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t see any guns around your house, though; back home, they hang in cases like fine portraits all over the place.”

  Miss Emily had the same red-faced expression that she wore when she looked everywhere for her reading glasses. I’d kindly pointed they were on top of her head, but only once because she blessed me out and accused me of insinuating that she was old and doddering. She drew her lips into a thin line; her chin trembled. “Yes, well. She got rid of the guns after the accident.”

  “Accident?” Miss Lurleen woke with a start.

  “It’s all right, Sister. Go back to sleep,” Miss Emily said.

  Miss Lurleen looked around like she was confused and then recognition settled in. She winced hard and shifted her feet about. “Are your legs bothering you?” I asked.

  She nodded, worry on her face. “We’re so hemmed in. I know I need to get up and walk the cramps out, but—” She didn’t have to finish the sentence; with the bus pitching from side to side without warning, there was a very good possibility she would fall. “Maybe I should just stand a bit.”