A Peach of a Pair Page 17

  “That’s good, Nettie.”

  “I’m trying to steer her clear of salt, but you’re right; it’s difficult. We’ve stopped over in Montgomery for the night at a very nice hotel. I’m hoping their restaurant will have some healthier choices.” There. That sounded professional. Almost businesslike.

  “Good, and how are you holding up?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” I clipped.

  “You don’t sound fine. You don’t sound like you. Is Miss Emily being a pill?” he asked, but before I could answer, he added, “Or is it that you’re so close to home?”

  “No.” All right, so Remmy Wilkes was good at diagnosing things, at diagnosing me. “Yes. I just want to get out of here, but the sisters would be dead if I’d pushed us on to Mississippi.”

  “Well, if the trip didn’t kill either of them so far, you’ve had a very good day. Hope tomorrow is just as good.” There was a long silence. “I miss you, Nettie.”

  I missed him too, his easy way, his handsome face, the way he took time to untangle the jumbled mess I’d become since Sissy and Brooks’s betrayal, separate the strands and know me, the real me that didn’t live on a pedestal. At that moment, I felt as homesick for him as I had ever felt for anyone or anyplace. But it couldn’t be real, could it? Did I want to be in Remmy’s arms because I had feelings for him or because that would put me over five hundred miles from my troubles? Was I such a runner that I couldn’t pass through the offending state of Alabama without wrestling with the urge to bolt?

  “I have to go now, Remmy.” The words almost stuck in my throat. “Get ready for dinner.”

  “Call me again tomorrow?”

  “If I can.”

  “Far as I know, Bell Telephone didn’t stop putting out phone booths once they got west of Montgomery, so I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice was playful, and I found myself almost smiling, twirling the phone cord around my finger and then back again. “Anything changes, you call me,” he added.

  “If anything changes with Miss Lurleen, I definitely will,” I said.

  “If anything changes with you either, Nettie,” he said.

  I blushed hard and switched the subject. “I’m so terrible; I didn’t even ask how your day was.”

  “Better, now that I’ve heard your voice.”

  “I really do have to go, Remmy.” I hung up the phone and hurried to the elevator, pretending I was completely unaffected by Remmy Wilkes. The doors opened and swallowed me up; unfortunately they spit me out on the fourth floor just as the sisters were coming out of their room to go to dinner.

  In my room, the bellman had placed my suitcase on the luggage rack to the right of one of the twin beds. Though it was nowhere near the coast, the room had a loud tropical décor with turquoise accent chairs and floral draperies that matched the bedspreads. There was no time to change clothes, just run a brush through my hair and put on some lipstick. Hurrying out of the room, the sisters were still waiting in the hallway. Trammeled between Miss Emily and me, each of us with a hand cupped under Miss Lurleen’s elbow, we guided her down the hall and into the elevator.

  “When was the last time we went out to dinner, Sister? To a really nice place?” Miss Lurleen asked as we stepped into the grand hotel lobby. She was walking a little better, not completely out of breath and struggling like the next step would be her last. Maybe Remmy was wrong about this trip killing her.

  “We’ve never been anyplace quite like this. Not that I recall,” Emily said, pulling on her gloves that ended just below her elbows.

  A tall man with ebony skin, dressed in a black tie, a crisp white shirt, and white suit, approached and nodded. “Good evening, ladies, and welcome to the Urban, the finest restaurant in the great state of Alabama. May I seat you?”

  “Yes, please,” Miss Lurleen said. “A table for three.”

  “Very well,” he said. “This way.” He led us to a table in the center of the crowded dining room that wasn’t quite as fancy as the lobby, but the prints on the wall and the turquoise linens carried over the same tropical theme as was in my room upstairs. He held Miss Lurleen’s chair, and she sat down with a plop.

  Miss Emily waited until he pulled out her chair and then eased into it as he passed out the menus. She crossed her legs and fiddled with the long strand of pearls around her neck. While I was still in my traveling clothes, she had definitely dressed for dinner in a somewhat fitted floral dress that was mostly pink. Her lipstick matched the darker fuchsia shade in her dress; she’d put on a pair of teardrop pearl earrings and had a little silver clip in her hair.

  One table over, an extremely handsome man maybe in his midfifties sat nursing his cocktail, perhaps waiting for someone. Miss Emily had what could only be described as a sultry look on her face when she spied him. Our table was just a couple of feet away from his, and when Miss Emily accidentally dropped her napkin, he didn’t pick it up. One of the many waiters keeping watch over the crowded room rushed over and picked up the napkin. Miss Emily cleared her throat and dropped it again. The man either didn’t notice her or her napkin or he was born without manners, because he didn’t pick it up. Or fall madly in love with Miss Emily like the men of her day must have when she played that trick.

  The same waiter obviously had no idea he was watching a professional coquette; he rushed over, scooped the napkin off of the floor, and put it in her lap. “Ma’am,” he said, voice hushed, “ain’t no shame in tucking your napkin in the top of your dress like a bib.” Miss Emily gave him a look that would have put fear in God himself, and the waiter scurried back to his station.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Emily, are you playing dropsy?” Miss Lurleen scanned the dining room and immediately pegged Miss Emily’s target. “My Lord, that man is at least twenty years your junior, maybe more.”

  “Hush your mouth, Lurleen. I simply dropped my napkin, that’s all.” Red-faced, Miss Emily turned her attention to her menu. A different waiter than the one Miss Emily sent scurrying greeted our table, filled the water glasses, and asked for our orders.

  “I believe I’ll have the Virginia ham,” Miss Lurleen said. “And candied yams. I haven’t had those in ages.”

  “She absolutely will not,” Miss Emily snapped. She put her reading glasses on and perused the menu.

  “Emily, I’m quite capable of ordering for myself.”

  “Well, I’m not going to let you kill yourself just to spite me and cut this trip short.” She lowered her glasses and addressed the waiter. “What do you have without salt?”

  “No salt?” He scratched his head and looked over the menu in his hand. “None in the applesauce. Bread’s real good, and it don’t have much. Cole slaw’s got some sweet to it; don’t think it has much of any either. I believe the yams would be okay; they’re awful good. But that’s all sweet stuff. I’ll ask the cook, but I believe the meatloaf don’t have much salt.” He gave Miss Lurleen a sheepish look. “I sure wish you could have that ham, ma’am, it’s awful good.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Lurleen huffed. “Just give me a dab of all of that except the meatloaf, but I do want to see the dessert tray.”

  I ordered the special because it was cheap and I knew Miss Emily would fuss about having to pay for the meal, but Miss Lurleen would insist on it. Miss Emily ordered the Virginia ham as well as every side dish her sister probably adored. We ate our meals with little small talk, and Miss Emily kept her napkin to herself.

  After dinner, with the coffee poured, the waiter served the mile-high chocolate cake Miss Lurleen ordered, and she asked for two extra forks so that Miss Emily and I could have a taste. I savored a forkful of the gooey rich dessert and moaned.

  “Are we far from your home, Nettie?” Miss Lurleen asked.

  The next bite of cake went down the wrong way, and I choked on her words. Gulping down some water, I tried to regain my composure and produce a confederate smile.


  “Good Lord, child. Did you murder someone?” Miss Emily asked, patting me on the back hard enough to dislodge a major organ. “Is that why you’re so jittery?”

  Still coughing, I shook my head. “No, ma’am,” I croaked.

  “I’m sorry, Nettie. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Miss Lurleen said.

  I shook my head and gulped down some more water. “No, it’s fine,” I wheezed. “Satsuma’s about—a hundred miles from here—maybe a little more.”

  “Well, if you and Lurleen insist on making this a hen party, even your darkest tale will go down better with more chocolate.” Miss Emily forked another piece of cake. “Do tell, Nettie Gilbert, what is it that has you nearly asphyxiating?”

  “Yes, Nettie, tell us your story,” Miss Lurleen said, motioning to the waiter to bring another piece of chocolate cake.

  “It must be racy,” Miss Emily said, scraping the plate for the last of the frosting. “I love a good scintillating tale.”

  “That’s not what interests me, and it’s rather cruel of you, Emily, to relish in Nettie’s predicament, whatever that may be,” Miss Lurleen snipped before she turned her attention to me. “You wear your burden so well, dear, it’s almost invisible. But the closer we got to your home state today, the more I felt it too.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “And I didn’t mean to imply you were burdensome,” Miss Lurleen added. “I just hate to see you carrying your troubles alone. It’s not good for you.”

  The waiter put the second piece of cake in the center of the table. “Well, we know you’re not expecting. So, it can’t be that,” Emily said.

  “Emily,” Miss Lurleen barked.

  “Did you rob a bank? Join the Communist Party?”

  “Hush, Emily, you know she’s done nothing of the sort. Have some more cake, Nettie.” Miss Lurleen speared an especially large piece and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the rich flavor. I didn’t want any more, but I obeyed and learned that chocolate could loosen the tongue far better than any truth serum.

  “My sister betrayed me,” I began.

  Emily looked rather startled and motioned to the waiter. “Check please.”

  “Yes,” Miss Lurleen said firmly when the man arrived at our table. “You may bring the check, but I’d love a cup of coffee with this last bite of cake please.” I declined coffee because I knew I wouldn’t sleep, and even without it I probably wouldn’t anyway.

  “Of course, ma’am. ’Nother piece of cake for the table?” the waiter asked.

  “Oh, why not,” Miss Lurleen said.

  And then their eyes were on me. Miss Lurleen’s soft and blue and understanding. Miss Emily’s look was hard to peg, the jealousy that was always there seemed to be tinged with something else that looked a lot like guilt.

  “Dessert for the ladies,” the waiter said, taking the empty cake plate and replacing it with an even bigger slice than the one before.

  “I had a fiancé back home.” I stabbed a big chunk, closed my eyes and let the chocolate goodness loosen my tongue. “In Satsuma; his name was Brooks. A few weeks ago, my mother sent me an invitation to my baby sister’s wedding; she has to get married. Her and Brooks—” I shoved another piece into my mouth to keep the tears at bay, and surprisingly enough it worked. “Are expecting.”

  “Oh, Nettie.” Miss Lurleen placed her withered hand on mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

  Miss Emily said nothing, no verbal jabs, no disparaging remarks. Silence. She wouldn’t even look at me, and while her silence should have felt like some small victory, all it did was make me want to hear her story. What had she done that had made Miss Lurleen so angry, she’d lived under the same roof with Miss Emily for seven years and didn’t speak to her?

  I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “As you can imagine, it’s hard for me, being so close to home.”

  Miss Lurleen pushed the partially eaten third piece of cake away, signed the check, and drained her coffee cup like it was a good stiff drink. “I’m not sure what the best medicine is for your predicament, Nettie. Any ideas, Emily?” Miss Lurleen asked, her imperfectly arched eyebrows raised high.

  “Yes.” She nodded and raised her azure blue eyes to mine, her face expressionless. “I suggest we get the hell out of Alabama.” And, for once, I agreed wholeheartedly with Emily Eldridge.

  22

  EMILY

  What Nettie’s sister did to her was terrible, but it didn’t even come close to Emily’s transgression, and no amount of chocolate cake could make Emily share that story with the girl. As mean as she had been to Nettie, it would kill Emily to see the girl gloat over her sin. Even if Nettie didn’t seem to be the gloating kind.

  Emily lay awake all night, while Lurleen slept like the dead. The blameless. And all she could think about was Teddy. She hadn’t allowed herself that luxury, that torture, in a very long time. Oh, her brother came to mind often, but she’d always hand-picked the sweet memories until there was only the boneless truth; and she wasn’t strong enough to ruminate on that any longer.

  Her strength had always been her curse, something no one saw below her pretty exterior. It made her do things she didn’t want to do, persevere when she wanted to do nothing but throw her hands up, maybe even turn her toes up on the underside of the grass. Emily certainly looked like a delicate flower. She wanted to be delicate, but she was twice as sturdy as Lurleen. Her backbone endured, carrying her forward day by day, a perpetual punishment.

  Lurleen never said, but Emily knew she believed wholeheartedly Teddy was dead. Sometimes Emily wished he really were dead. At least she would know he was at peace. Those four years after the accident when he lost his mind were evidence enough that would be the only way he would ever know peace. But Emily suspected his guilt was like hers, propelling him forward whether he liked it or not. And what had happened wasn’t even his fault. He was just a child. Emily was the grownup, although barely, and, judging from her rash and immature decision, she hadn’t been much of one at all.

  A car backfired on the street. Emily’s body stiffened. Her heart beat out of her chest and she could barely breathe. “Sister,” she called out. But all she heard was the puff puff puff of Lurleen’s breath. The rapid-fire sound pierced the quiet three more times before the engine roared away. Long after it was gone, Emily’s heart was still racing, her body as rigid as a single, unbreakable bone. “Sister,” she whispered again. Still no answer. “Teddy,” she mouthed the word and touched her heart.

  The morning of the accident, Emily had gotten up extra early and primped for John’s arrival. While Lurleen looked like a man in her hunting clothes, Emily had on her best blue dress that made her eyes sparkle. The day before when Emily had met him at the garden gate, John didn’t even look at her, or at least not like she wanted him to.

  John Young was every bit as beautiful as Emily, the only man she’d deemed truly worthy of herself. Tall, well over six feet. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist. Rugged features that with those fathomless brown eyes ignited Emily’s body and her heart. Being just a year apart, there had always been a perpetual friendly competition between her and Lurleen, one that Emily always won. Although most of the time, she suspected that was the case because the competition was one-sided.

  In John’s case, it didn’t matter. He never looked twice at Emily and hadn’t even been in town a month when he’d fallen madly in love with Lurleen. And there they were going hunting together again. Of course Emily knew, even though they came back with a few quail or ducks there was some hunting going on, but there had to be something else to it for John to all but ignore Emily.

  And Teddy idolized John, especially after John gave Teddy one of his old guns and promised to teach him how to hunt deer, something Teddy had never had an interest in before. But Teddy couldn’t spend enough time with John, couldn’t get enough of the stories of John’
s travels, growing up out west, and if Papa had been alive, he would have loved John too.

  The last hunting story John had told around the supper table the night before had everyone except Emily enthralled; all she could think about was how she was going to get that man to notice her when he only had eyes for Sister. Well eyes for Lurleen and an elusive and most likely legendary twelve-point buck local hunters claimed to have seen and had dubbed Goliath. John held the record in his home state of Iowa, having slain a Goliath-sized deer, and Teddy wanted to be just like him. He’d told Emily so every time Lurleen went off hunting with John, and Teddy had been over the moon when John took him out to the rifle range to try out the hand-me-down gun.

  It was a Saturday morning; Mama had left for work at the DuPont plant like always, well before seven. She’d been on shift work since Daddy had died, because it paid more and because Emily was sure it pained her to be in their home with her three children with her sweet husband noticeably absent. It wasn’t that Mama didn’t love her children, but between work and the loss of her husband, Mama had been going through the motions for years. Which was where Emily and Lurleen came in.

  Now that Emily was fresh out of college with her first teaching job and Lurleen had been working at the Kershaw County Library in Camden for a little over a year, the girls were expected to keep house, work, and look after their brother when the need arose. As long as everyone could stay busy, their minds occupied, no one—especially Mama—could dwell on the huge hole Daddy had left when he passed away. And Brother, sweet Teddy, was the very best child in the whole world. Charming, always funny, always entertaining whether he was tearing up the piano or sitting at the dinner table regaling everyone with tall tales about whatever had happened at school that day.

  But Emily didn’t like living in a house where nobody acknowledged the hole that could never be filled; it made her feel inadequate, so much less than the rest of the world saw her. And she liked that view of herself, the ravishing young schoolteacher, on the list for every party, every important dinner, on display for only the handsomest, most promising eligible men in town to fawn over, fight over.