A Peach of a Pair (17 page)

S
atisfied Miss Lurleen was belted to her seat, I gave in to the rocking of the bus, hoping to high heaven that I could sleep straight through Alabama. Of course that wasn’t possible when we stopped so often. And it didn’t help that I could feel ’Bama’s sultry pull, drawing me home like a siren’s song.

A few short weeks ago, I was sure, after Sue’s wedding, my next trip from South Carolina to my home state would be my last. I would claim Satsuma as both my heart and my home, marry Brooks and live there forever. Now, the closer the bus got to the Chattahoochee River that separated Alabama and Georgia, the more I felt like my skin was three sizes too small for my body.

Given the time constraints and the fact that Miss Lurleen was on death’s door, it wasn’t possible to bypass the Yellowhammer State. I gripped the edge of the seat and braced myself. As the bus neared
the Chattahoochee, my heart kicked hard against my chest as if Alabama herself had wronged me.

Was it a siren singing me home? Or was it the song of my sister, a duet that had bound us together since birth? For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the ache I felt for Sissy. When her own pain echoed back, my eyes flew open, and somehow, I just knew. She needed me.

The calculations were automatic, instinctual. Almost frantic. I could leave the Eldridges to fend for themselves in Montgomery, catch the next bus bound for Mobile. It would stop in Satsuma, just long enough for me to get off. I wouldn’t be home in time for supper, but would arrive during the most perfect part of the day, when the people I loved best sat on four small porches hunched together in the clearing between the groves.

Everyone would be elated to see me, and Sissy would throw her arms around my neck. We’d all settle in and laugh and tell the same stories I never tired of hearing. Then, when it was bedtime, Sissy and I would go to the room we shared, lie across her twin bed or mine, and she would tell me what was so terribly wrong that I could feel it in my bones.

Was intuition the true siren, tricking me into feeling fiercely protective of Sissy like I always did? Feel sorry for her? It had to be because Sissy had everything. Mama and Daddy. Brooks and his baby. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.

The sign for the great Chattahoochee was a blur. Seconds later, I was in the bosom of my home state, and I thought I would die if I didn’t get out.

Unfortunately, ’Bama is about as wide as she is long. We’d gone over four hundred miles since Camden, and it was wearing on the
sisters. So when the bus stopped in Montgomery, we took a taxi to the Jefferson Davis Hotel. Outside of taking the bus to and from Columbia, I’d never traveled much at all. The hotel was the first I’d ever stayed in and was as marvelous as anything I’d ever seen.

•   •   •

T
he bellman took our bags from the cab and ushered us to the front desk.

Miss Emily propped her huge pocketbook on the counter, fluffed her silver curls, and made sure she had the attendant’s full attention. “We’d like one room, please.”

“Two rooms,” Miss Lurleen corrected.

“We don’t need two rooms, Sister,” Miss Emily snapped.

“I’m tired, Emily. We all are. I want a bed to myself, and I won’t have Nettie sleeping on some pallet on the floor. It’s bad enough you’re dragging us across all creation like this; the least you can do is give us a good night’s sleep.” The irritation in Miss Lurleen’s voice was thicker than apple butter as she slid three tens across the counter. “Two rooms. Please,” she said to the attendant. Pushing the register forward for her to sign, he made change and produced two keys.

“And will you be dining with us tonight?” he asked.

“Not if you have salt on the menu, because it will kill this one if she doesn’t die of meanness first.” Miss Emily snatched one of the keys off of the counter and headed toward the elevator.

Miss Lurleen handed the other key to me and took off after her at a surprisingly good clip. We all made it to the elevator with a bewildered-looking bellman, who most likely didn’t cotton to confrontation. He pushed the call button and kept his head down.

“I’m giving Nettie the room to herself,” Miss Lurleen said.

“Really?” Miss Emily interrupted. “I thought you all would want to have dinner together, order the same foods, and then have a rollicking good hen party until it’s time to get back on the
g.d
. bus with me to save your life.”

“Ladies,” I said. “We’re all tired. Let’s just be nice, and—”

“I would if Emily would stop being so touchy about everything. And bossy,” Miss Lurleen fussed.

“I’m not the bossy one,” Miss Emily huffed. “You claimed that prize the day you were born.”

“Well, I’m the eldest in this family, and until I’m not, I’ll act like it. Now take that bow out of your back this instant.”

The elevator doors opened and the sisters entered. Neither the bellman nor I wanted to step into the catfight box. He was the braver one, or, more likely, he wasn’t worn to a frazzle because he’d traveled over four hundred miles in one day on a Greyhound bus with the Eldridge sisters.

“Are you coming?” Miss Emily snapped.

I pointed to the phone booth in the lobby. “I’ll be right up; I have to make a call.”

“I’ll put your things in your room, ma’am,” the bellman said with a nod. I offered my key, but he shook his head. “Keep it. I have a passkey.”

It was well after six when I opened the door to the booth and sat down on the bench. I knew Remmy’s office number by heart and dialed zero, praying Katie wasn’t still at her post. The operator put the collect call through and Remmy picked up on the first ring and accepted the charges.

“Hey,” he breathed into the phone, sending shivers down my
thighs and scattering my mind into a million pieces. “I’m glad you called. How’s it going?”

“Surprisingly well,” I said, struggling to regain my composure. I was calling Remmy because he was Miss Lurleen’s doctor, not because I missed him, missed hearing his voice. “For the majority of the trip, the bus wasn’t very crowded and Miss Lurleen was able to prop her feet up; that helped with the swelling. When she was awake, I had her up and walking every half hour or so.”

“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?”