Relatively Crazy Page 4

  Sam looked pleased, and a little flustered, as they shook hands. I knew he couldn’t have met many teenagers with manners like my Olivia’s.

  Yes, I’m a very proud mama.

  “Actually, I still live in the same house,” I heard Sam answer. I was bustling off to find a vase.

  “Third shelf,” Mama said with a jerk of her head as she set glasses of tea on the table.

  Right where it had always been, I thought as I opened the pantry door and retrieved the cut-glass vase.

  Sam had practically grown up in this house with me. His daddy had been a long-distance driver for Backhill’s and hadn’t been home much. Roan Branson, always the concerned father, had made arrangements with Mama to look after Sam while he was on the road. Unfortunately for Sam, Roan was gone so much that he became one of our family. But it had been fortunate for me.

  We’d been close, much closer than Jamie Sue and I ever could have been. At least until high school. He’d been a year ahead of me and also in Vo-Tech. Only while I’d been busy with cosmetology and cheerleading, he’d been part of the Backhill’s crowd. We’d just drifted apart.

  After giving the vase a quick rinse to dislodge the dust, I filled it with water and quickly arranged the flowers. Sam’s thoughtful gesture did quite a bit to take the sting out of my return.

  I placed the vase on the table and took my seat between Sam and Olivia. “There,” I announced. “Really Sam, they’re beautiful. Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure, Wanda Jo.”

  “Where did that come from?” Aunt Nettie asked.

  “Sam. Brought. Them.” I said each word slowly. Nettie must be having one of those days.

  “Well, I know that. Honestly, Wanda Jo, I was right here when he came through the door,” Nettie huffed, adding a roll of her eyes behind the tulle net. “I meant the vase.”

  “The pantry.”

  “Oh. That’s why it’s familiar. Ain’t seen that thing in years.” Nettie leaned behind Jamie Sue and cupped a hand around her mouth. “Poor Jamie Sue don’t get flowers from gentlemen,” she stage-whispered loud enough to be heard across the state in Charleston.

  “Maybe I don’t need such silly gender-biased gestures. I’m not as shallow as some people,” Jamie Sue retaliated.

  Ah, Sibling Rivalry—Part Two. The fact that we were indeed cousins and not sisters had never mattered to Jamie Sue.

  “Girls,” Mama warned, although she looked only toward me.

  I shifted in my seat, grateful for the tall flowers blocking my cousin’s glare.

  “Thanks again, Sam,” I couldn’t resist adding.

  I caught the shift of Jamie Sue’s glare from me to Sam through the stems. Sam looked at his empty plate as though Blue Willow was the most fascinating pattern he’d ever seen. The force of Jamie Sue’s anger surprised me. This clearly went much deeper than simple flower jealousy.

  Growing up, it had been no secret that Jamie Sue had the crush to end all crushes on Sam. I always figured one day they’d get together. Jamie Sue would take over the Dew Drop, Sam would take over his daddy’s route, and the two of them would unite our clans, and adjoining property, in wedded bliss.

  Apparently that hadn’t been the case.

  Starting with Uncle Jimmy and moving clockwise around the table, Mama slapped a hearty serving of potpie on everyone’s plate. Simultaneously, Uncle Claude picked up the serving bowl and began passing counterclockwise. And so began the Official Dinner Ritual.

  The food was also the same, I noticed, as Sam passed me the serving bowl filled to its brim with pinto beans. I took a small serving and passed them on to Olivia.

  Pintos, greens, and cornbread. The Holy Food Trinity of my family and the greater population of Buckston County. No matter the entrée, no matter the occasion, no matter the time of year—these three items graced the center of every dining table in the county.

  And, I was proud to say, I’d never once let so much as a stray dried pinto creep across my kitchen threshold.

  Olivia’s brows rose higher with each bowl, but I was pleased she followed my lead and took a small portion of each. Impeccable manners, my girl.

  Mama hastily slapped a wedge of chicken pie on Olivia’s plate and then mine and Sam’s in succession before taking her seat next to Jamie Sue.

  “What shift do you have today, hon?” Mama asked, reaching for the greens.

  “Late,” Jamie Sue replied.

  I looked up. For the first time I noticed the embroidered turkey, complete with pilgrim-style hat, gracing the pocket of my cousin’s shirt.

  “What are you doing at Backhill’s?”

  She glared. “I believe it’s called working for a living.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “But what about the Dew Drop?”

  “I do both. Some of us actually have to earn our own living.” She shot me a nasty look through the flower stems.

  I figured silence was the best option. I forced in a bite of potpie and took a glance at Mama.

  The years had been neither kind nor unkind to her. It was more like they’d simply passed her by. Now that the initial joy of her having had the last word after twenty-two years of waiting had worn off, she looked as sullen as ever.

  “How’s that crow tasting?” Mama’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  I smiled sweetly. “Just like chicken, Mama.”

  “Chicken?” Nettie chirped. “It’s supposed to be crow.”

  “Gark,” Olivia choked to my left. I swatted her between the shoulder blades.

  Nettie turned toward Mama. “Now, Ruby, I remember. You said you were going to serve Wanda Jo a big helping of crow when she came home.”

  Mama sucked in an exasperated breath. Olivia coughed, and I passed her a glass of tea.

  Nettie charged ahead. “I said if we’re going to be fancy, it ought to be ’possum—”

  “Gurp,” Olivia gagged. I smacked her between the shoulder blades again. “Opossum pie?” she croaked, looking between me and her plate, an expression of sheer horror on her face.

  “Now, that’s a good thought,” Uncle Claude boomed from the end of the table. “Ain’t had a good ’possum pie in a coon’s age.”

  Olivia’s normally rosy complexion had turned a sickly yellow-green. “You’ve eaten small woodland creatures?” She looked at me accusingly.

  “We’re not discussing that now,” I replied, much as I had when she’d been four years old.

  “Tastes just like chicken,” Mama offered.

  Olivia started to weave in her chair.

  “Enough,” I barked. “You’re being spiteful.”

  I may have come crawling home with my tail firmly tucked between my Anne Klein-clad legs, but I was still a mother.

  Mama had the good grace to look away.

  I turned to Olivia. “They’re just joking. It’s chicken, honey.” I took a bite. “Just chicken,” I confirmed after swallowing.

  “Darned fine chicken pie.” Sam jumped in and changed the subject. “So what’s up next for you, Wanda Jo?”

  Uncle Jimmy took a turn. “She’ll come back to work with us.”

  “No, she ain’t,” Jamie Sue huffed.

  “Is too. She’s family.”

  “So?”

  “Now, Jamie Sue, what would you do if it was you, and your husband dumped you for some loaded old hag?”

  “Gark.” It was my turn to choke. Sam patted my back and then passed the tea.

  “Just because she got herself dumped”—Jamie Sue paused to shoot me an evil look through the stems—“on national television”—she paused for a smirk—“is no reason for us to have to pay another waitress.”

  I concentrated on slowly sipping sweet tea. So much for my belief that no one out here would have seen the show.

  “But we need somebody anyway.” Uncle Jimmy leaned closer. “Madge had to retire. Fee-Male troubles,” he whispered ominously.

  Jamie Sue crossed her arms and glared like an eight-year-old in a snit.

  “Actually,” I s
tarted, once the room fell silent. “This business between Reed and me is just a misunderstanding. I don’t need to find a permanent job, just something temporary until we get things sorted out.”

  “And who do you think is going to support you until you get things”—Jamie Sue paused to make air quotes with her fingers—“sorted out?”

  “I can support myself and my daughter just fine,” I lied. “In fact, I’ve got an interview in town tomorrow morning,” I lied a second time.

  “Doing what?” Jamie Sue’s angry face popped over the daisies.

  “Office work.”

  Mama snorted. “Now, what do you want to do something like that for? You’re a licensed cosmetologist.”

  Olivia’s fork clattered to her plate. I patted her leg beneath the table.

  “That was a long time ago, Mama.”

  “So you’ll take a refresher course.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?” I swear I saw a puff of smoke exit her left nostril. Mama’s eyes grew large. “You let your license expire, didn’t you?”

  “It’s not exactly like I’ve ever needed it.”

  “Of all the lame-brained, stupid things to do.” Mama shook her head. “Wanda Jo,” she heaved her long-ago-patented I’ve-Got-An-Idiot-For-A-Child sigh.

  “I’m not going back to cosmetology—”

  “Of course not,” Jamie Sue sneered. “Wanda Jo couldn’t possibly do something so low.”

  “You can still take a refresher course. It’ll only take a few weeks, and then you can reapply to the State Board,” Mama proclaimed.

  “I’ll be your dummy,” Nettie volunteered helpfully.

  I gave up trying to argue; it was pointless when the whole clan got going. But facts were facts. Reed and I were still very much married, and he was going to come after us. He just needed some time, that’s all. And in the meantime I’d sign on with an agency in town and get a temporary office job.

  “But I’m perfect for the job!” Nettie’s voice rose above the din. “I’m a wonderful dummy!”

  I closed my eyes. Reed, hurry up.

  Chapter Three

  A few hours later I realized I’d put it off as long as I possibly could. I had to face Olivia. Now. I paused, hand resting on the brass doorknob of my old room, and tried to gather my courage.

  My daughter was sure to be outraged. I couldn’t blame her. After all, what kind of person moves across the country from her family and doesn’t come back or mention them, except for an annual Christmas card, for twenty-two years?

  I opened the door expecting to see my daughter engrossed in a book, but instead I was faced with a sheer wall of packing cartons. After shoving several out of the way, I unearthed Olivia.

  “Not much room, huh?” she asked, slipping a bookmark between the pages of her book.

  I nodded. I guess Reed had been right about the size of my closet back home. The only boxes to be shuffled up here were clothes and shoes. And the only remaining space not covered from floor to ceiling was the double bed, on which Olivia was currently lounging.

  “Honey, we have to talk,” I started.

  “Absolutely.” Olivia nodded sagely. “I have one question before we start, though.”

  “Sure.”

  “Were you adopted?”

  “No.” Unfortunately.

  “Oh. So Alzheimer’s runs in our family?”

  I shook my head.

  “Other mental illness?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Oh, God.” Olivia looked stricken.

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay, then what’s the deal with the Super Commando thing?” She crossed her arms in front. “And why is he running around with a loaded gun? I hate to break it to you, Mom, but that’s so totally not normal.”

  “He’s looking for deer.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Super Commando thing.”

  “You mean he’s hunting?”

  “No.”

  Olivia looked as confused as I felt. “He’s obsessed with the possibility of deer getting into his garden. He’s been this way since he came back from Vietnam.” I crossed my fingers behind my back.

  “He was in the war?”

  I nodded. Hopefully she wouldn’t inquire about his pre-war years. Truthfully, there hadn’t really been much of a change.

  “Oh, God. How awful.”

  “Don’t worry about the gun, it’s not loaded. In fact, Uncle Jimmy got rid of all the bullets back in 1972.”

  “What about Nettie, then?”

  “That one is a little bit tougher to explain.”

  Olivia’s brows rose almost to her hairline.

  “There’s nothing really wrong with her.” Or at least not anything that’s been official diagnosed, I amended mentally.

  “Hoo-Kay,” Olivia continued to gape in disbelief.

  “She’s just what people out here call a Bird.”

  “A what?”

  “Calling somebody a Bird is a country way of saying they’re eccentric. Nettie’s just…” I trailed off. Lord, there was just no way to explain Aunt Nettie.

  “So, you mean she’s just sort of odd?”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  Olivia nodded.

  “And now I suppose you want to know why I didn’t tell you all this before?” I paused, brushing a chestnut lock from Olivia’s forehead. “Maybe you’re wondering why I never brought you to visit?” I asked, hoping the subject of the one time we’d visited when Olivia had been an infant wouldn’t come up.

  Olivia paled. “No. The only thing I’m a little fuzzy on is how you lasted for eighteen years with your mind intact.”

  I laughed. That was my Olivia, full of surprises.

  “But there is one thing I’m pretty upset about.”

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a cosmetologist? That is so cool.”

  “Not when you’re the one behind the chair it isn’t.”

  I felt an almost forgotten ache in my instep reminding me of the days I worked in salons. Tired feet, aching calves, and not much more than minimum wage to show for it—and that was on a good day. My entire ill-fated career behind the chair could be abbreviated as E and E—exhaustion and an empty wallet.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing important.”

  “It’s just so awesome,” Olivia continued with animation. “Why don’t you want to get a job doing that now?”

  “I’m not licensed anymore,” I replied, taking the logical route.

  “But you still know how to do hair and nails and stuff, right?”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “And it’s loads cheaper than going to a salon, right?”

  I shrug.

  “Cool!” Olivia exclaimed. “I’d like tips with an acrylic overlay.” She waggled all ten fingers, before adding, “French.”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t refuse; Olivia had asked for nothing since this whole mess started. “Okay,” I gave in.

  “Awesome!”

  “So are you okay with all this now?” I waved an arm, indicating the house in general.

  “Mostly. But…” She trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Well, why is your mom so angry with you?”

  “Mama didn’t want me to leave West Virginia. She thought California was the absolute end of the world. I suppose she’s still holding a grudge against me for leaving.”

  “Hasn’t it been sort of a long time?”

  “Mama’s grudges have a longer half-life than plutonium.”

  “Is that what the eating-crow stuff was about?”

  “Oh, yeah. She swore that one day I’d come crawling back home and she’d make me eat crow before letting me into her house again. It was a pretty nasty time.”

  I hoped Olivia would accept the explanation. I was in no mood to explain that on one level or another Mama had always been angry with me.

  Olivia nodded,
taking it all in.

  “So you don’t blame me for keeping you in the dark about them?”

  “If I’d been in your position, I wouldn’t admit to even knowing them except under extreme torture.”

  I gave a short laugh. “Well, they’re different. No argument there. But they are family, and to Mama’s credit, when I called she didn’t say anything but, ‘Come home.’ ”

  “So they love you after all?”

  “In their way, they love both of us.” I re-crossed my fingers, hoping I didn’t burn in hell for the lie.

  Olivia paused, mulling over this new information.

  A rap of knuckles on the doorframe broke our short silence. I crawled to the foot of the bed and peeked through the passageway of boxes.

  “Come in,” I called. “Carefully.”

  “Hey.” I heard Sam’s voice. “Wanda Jo, are you in here?”

  “Over here.” I waved a hand over the boxes and started making my way to the door.

  “Oh. I got your luggage from the car.” Sam set both suitcases on the floor outside the door. “Any idea where you’re going to put them?”

  Looking at the expression of utter bafflement on Sam’s face, I broke out in laughter.

  Sam ignored my fit of giggles. “Ruby said you only had you all’s clothes up here. She didn’t tell me you shipped out your entire house.”

  Right back to those basic differences between the male and female of our species regarding both clothing and the space it requires. I opened my mouth to explain but closed it quickly. It had been a long day, and I was just too tired.

  “Thanks, Sam. You can just leave them there,” I said instead.

  He looked puzzled, but nodded. “I was thinking about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Remember the cottage? The one out back that your daddy built?”

  I nodded.

  “Structure’s solid. He did a fine job building it. Wouldn’t take much to fix it up. Just cosmetic work.”

  “Are you thinking of selling out?”

  “No. I meant for you and Olivia.”

  I shook my head. “We won’t be here long enough to worry about that.”

  Sam glanced around the packing-carton-filled room. “I think you’ll be needing the space. Why don’t you think about it a bit?”

  “Well…”