A Peach of a Pair (15 page)

And that was all it took; his crooked smile sealed the deal and Lurleen fell over the edge before she spent one moment with him
and listened to his hearty laugh, to his voice that rumbled low and did things to her body she didn’t quite understand and would never have believed were possible. She was shocked to learn how wonderful he thought it was that she loved guns and hunting. A direct departure from the rest of the world, who thought she was an odd duck to begin with because she surrounded herself with books. Add the fact she was a crack shot, and, well, it just didn’t make any sense that this Adonis was asking her for anything, much less a date. But she said yes that day to John Young, and she never stopped saying yes.

“I’m sorry,” Nettie said softly. “I couldn’t survive being hurt again, not like Brooks hurt me.”

“That’s understandable.” Lurleen never had the time or the inclination to fall for anyone in her twenty-two years prior to meeting John. Besides, even when the sisters were in college, most of Lurleen’s potential suitors were Emily’s throwaways, which right off the bat was three strikes. No, Lurleen had read enough romance novels to know that one day her prince would come. And he did.

When Nettie took the tray away and closed the door, Lurleen glanced at the small suitcase Emily had drug out of the carriage house. She sat up with her legs dangling over the side of the bed, taking care to let her head settle before she stood and inched her way over to her chifforobe. She’d wanted to lose some weight for some time. In her old age her body had become quite boxy. Not that Lurleen ever thought she’d look willowy and beautiful like Emily always had; she still did.

She tried on her best housedress, knowing if she put on anything less tomorrow, Emily would fuss a blue streak. It hung on her like a
sack, making her feel even sicker. Older. Well, she wasn’t going to walk all the way to Karesh’s Fashion Shop for a new dress; she couldn’t, and Emily would never mention the ill-fitting garment. It would be a confirmation that Lurleen was too sick to make this blasted trip in the first place; a confirmation that she really was dying, and Emily herself would die before she admitted that.

Lurleen packed some undergarments and two more housedresses, a nightgown. She hated to haul her good gray linen suit hither thither and yon. It would be a wrinkled mess when the time came to wear it, but it couldn’t be helped. Of course, Kornegay’s here in Camden would handle the arrangements when she passed, but Lurleen wasn’t sure if they would be able to change her into her funeral suit after her body was shipped home. As much as she didn’t care about so many of the frivolous things Emily cared about, she really didn’t want to ride across the country underdressed. Even if it was in the back of a hearse, Emily would never let her hear the end of it.

A
lmost four weeks ago, I was standing in a receiving line in the dining room at Columbia College for the alumnae dinner celebrating 119 years of sisterhood. All of the senior sisters were side by side their sophomore little sisters. Several girls, including me, were stag as there was a rash of girls who received diamonds over the Christmas holiday who didn’t bother to finish out the school year.

While I’d taken offense to Remmy’s insinuation that dear old C-Square was a glorified finishing school for girls who wanted an engagement ring more than they wanted their degree, there was a fair amount of that. Even without a ring, I was relieved when Brooks had officially proposed at Christmastime and excited about the prospects of being chosen, validated. Married. After I returned to school, I went through the motions, not fully appreciating those last moments of being Nettie Gilbert, completely focused on being little more than Brooks Carver’s wife.

That night at the reception, I was glowing in my sapphire blue gown, shaking hands, greeting fellow sisters and faculty. Inwardly, I was a mess, tangled up in worry, sure someone I knew and loved back home was dead, most likely Brooks. As horrible as receiving Mother’s note complete with an invitation to Brooks and Sissy’s wedding was, at least I didn’t have to wrestle with the unknown anymore. Pretend I was fine when I definitely wasn’t.

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.”

I
f 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.

•   •   •

L
urleen 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.

Lurleen 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?”

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.”