In Front of God and Everybody (12 page)

I walked away. “Poor you,” I said over my shoulder as I went.

“Hush. My stories are on.” She turned up the volume, and I heard a deep voice intone the familiar words: “Like sands through the hourglass . . .” Ho-hum.

I went outside. Now, to tell you the truth, I'd rather be sitting under a tree or on the porch, reading
Jane Eyre
, but I had my orders. Jane and Mr. Rochester would just have to wait. I think I liked that story even better than
Oliver Twist
, which I really, really liked.

I'd only knelt by the marigolds—all alone—for about thirty seconds when Mama and Daddy drove back up the driveway.

“April Grace,” Mama called. “You come with us.”

Well, now, I have to tell you, I'd rather dig in the dirt until I reached burning hot magma than go to the St. Jameses', but I had no choice. I got to my feet real slow, trying to think of an excuse to stay home, but Mama said, “Go wash your face, hands, and arms, and put on some clean clothes. Be quick about it.”

You better believe I was as quick as a snail riding shotgun on a turtle, while Myra Sue sprawled on the floor in front of the television, watching her stories. I looked at her dopey face resting against her hands and thought about just letting her get caught, but sometimes you have to be the bigger person.

“Mama and Daddy came back,” I said. “They're outside in the truck, waiting for me.”

“Liar.” She didn't even take her eyes off that show.

So be it. She had her chance.

“Slow as Christmas, Miss April,” Mama said when I got into the pickup cab.

“Sorry. My poison ivy slows me down.”

Temple's poison ivy goop had dried my rash right up, just like she said it would, so Mama just looked at me as if she could read my mind and saw I was trying to pull a fast one.

“Sorry, Mama,” I said.

Daddy said, “Why isn't your sister weeding the flower beds?”

“She will after
Days
is over.”

Instead of slamming on his brakes and marching into the house to drag that girl out by the scruff of the neck the way she deserved, he said, “Well, she better get on the weeds before we get back, or her
Days
will be numbered.”

Mama laughed. “That's funny, Mike,” she said, smiling at him. Then she rested her head on his shoulder for a second or two.

“I'll weed the flowers,” I offered. “Myra Sue can go with you guys.”

“There's that little matter of an apology that you forgot to deliver in all the excitement the other day,” Mama said. “From the first time you met the St. Jameses, when you were less than polite. Remember?”

“But you forgot to remind me!” Again she just looked at me. I pulled down the corners of my mouth, knowing I was defeated. I brooded about it all the way to our destination. Boy, oh boy, this whole thing seemed unfair. I mean, that whole business was almost a week ago. Isabel St. James probably already forgot about it, but trust Mama to do the Right Thing.

“What about ole Myra Sue?” I demanded.

“What about her?” Mama said.

“She started the whole fight the other night. Why don't she have to go apologize for that?”

“If you recall, you both apologized as you were leaving the room. You were sorry, April Grace, and so was Myra Sue,” Mama said.

Oh, brother! As if. The only thing Myra Sue was sorry for was being a knothead in front of her idol, but far be it from me to correct Mama.

“Anyway, this isn't about that,” Mama continued. “This is about that first day, when they got into town, and you were not very kind to our new neighbors.”

I stared out the window as we drove down that old road. Boy, oh boy. I sighed deeply, but I don't think anyone cared.

When we got to their house, I saw what needed to be weeded: the St. Jameses's rotten old driveway, that's what. Everything there was growing like weeds, hardy, har, har. But when we got to the house, you could have knocked me over with a dry Q-tip. There was Ian, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a fancy, pale yellow polo shirt, and he was pushing a red lawn mower. His face was so scarlet, the pale blue of his eyes seemed glassy. Through his thin blond hair, his scalp looked ready to catch fire.

“He's going to have a heat stroke,” Mama said in alarm.

“Maybe we should have brought water,” Daddy said. “Now that I think about it, I'm not sure the pump in that old well even works.”

“Where's ole Isabel?” I asked.

“Call her Mrs. St. James, or Isabel,” Mama corrected. She glanced around. “She's there. Standing in the doorway.”

Daddy looked at the woman. “Well, maybe the house isn't as bad as we thought. Last I heard she was refusing to go inside.”

There was sudden silence when Ian turned off the roaring lawn mower. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.

“Hello,” Daddy called as we all piled out. “You look a mite overheated.”

Ian wiped the back of his neck with the kerchief and blotted his face again. He actually gave my dad a little smile.

“Yeah. You could say that,” Ian said. “I've not mowed the grass since I was fifteen—and it was nothing like this! In California everyone either uses a riding mower or hires it done.”

Oh brother. I'm so sure.

“We brought some iced tea,” Mama said, carrying the cold jug. She held up a Walmart bag. “Hope you don't mind Solo cups. They aren't exactly fine crystal.”

“That tea looks good, and those cups will be fine. Come on inside,” Ian said. He actually sounded like a real person instead of an uptight twit. Maybe Mama's good cooking the other night shook loose his human-being-ness.

I tagged along behind everyone, dodging the weak, rotted places on the steps and the porch floor. The inside of the house was hot, and it smelled like mildew, cigarette smoke, and old mice nests. A few boxes and two or three sacks from Walmart were strewn about. A yellow-handled broom stood in the corner where the old pink-and-yellow wallpaper had peeled loose. That broom looked like it had never been used. Two webbed lawn chairs seemed to be the only furniture in the place.

Isabel, all hunched into herself, stood back from everyone, puffing a cigarette like she was an old steam engine. Her crutches were nowhere to be seen. She wore her preferred garb, all black. This time she was wearing shorty-shorts and a halter top. She was a sight, I tell you. You could see her ribs, and all her knobby ole bones were sticking out in plain view. Apparently, she hadn't combed her dark hair for days, and now it stuck out every which way in short, pointy wisps. I might've screamed at the frightful sight if I'd come up on her unexpected in the woods or in the middle of the night in a cemetery.

“How's your foot?” I asked, looking at the ankle that didn't seem any bigger than the other one. In fact, they both were so thin and sharp, they looked like razor blades beneath her pasty skin.

“Fine,” she muttered, puffing her cigarette.

“I'm so glad you're feeling better,” Mama said, smiling, to which Isabel did not respond. She could have been a mountain in the Blue Ridge, the way clouds of smoke hovered around her head.

“Look, darling,” Ian said. “Our neighbors brought some iced tea.” The way he said
darling
wasn't exactly endearing, and from the way she looked at him, Isabel knew it. She glanced at us as she puffed and blew and said nothing.

“Where's your furniture?” I asked.

Ian and Isabel glanced at each other, so did Mama and Daddy, then Mama hissed at me to hush.

“Let me pour you some tea,” she said, setting the glass jug on a nearby box. She handed me the sack of cups. “April Grace, honey, open these for us.”

“And while you're doing that, I'll bring in the baskets,” Daddy told us all cheerfully.

“Baskets?” Ian echoed.

“Of food,” I said. “I thought it was gonna be our supper, but . . .”

I caught sight of Mama's expression and let my voice fade.

“Food?” Isabel finally had something to say. “Really, Lucy—”

“Her name is Lily!” I hollered for probably the five millionth time.

“April,” Mama said, and I hushed. She looked from me to Isabel. “Isabel,
Lucy
is a very lovely name, and many women are blessed to have it. But it does not belong to me. My name is
Lily
. Please be kind enough to call me
Lily
.” She met Isabel's eyes and didn't even crack a smile. I wanted to do cartwheels all over that old house.

Isabel blinked about three dozen times. “Pardon me for making a mistake,” she said, all prissy. “And I have to tell you that we do not want your food. After that meal the other night, Ian could not get to sleep until after two thirty in the morning.”

“My inability to sleep had nothing to do with that meal!” Ian snarled. “It had everything to do with your whining—”

“We figured you're tired of eating in restaurants, so everything we brought is fresh from the garden,” Mama said a little loudly, putting a halt to their exchange. “Except the baked chicken and the bread. We just thought you'd probably not feel like cooking when you're so busy getting your house fixed up.”

Ian gave Mama a smile. “That's kind of you. And it will be a help. We—”

“This house does not have a refrigerator or dishwasher or even a microwave. And besides that, I do not cook.” Isabel lit another cigarette from the one she'd just smoked down to its filter, then added the butt to an oversized, overflowing ashtray. She might not cook, but she sure was barbecuing her lungs fit to be tied.

“Maybe Lily will teach you,” Ian said.

You should have seen the look Isabel threw at him. I figured fists were gonna fly next. In fact, I wondered if the fists hadn't been flying for a while. They acted like they'd like to lay into each other the way me and Myra Sue had done.

Mama cleared her throat. She put both hands on my shoulders and propelled me to where I faced the couple, who continued to glare at each other. She cleared her throat again.

With her fingers right firm against my shoulder muscles, she said, “My daughter has something she wants to say to you both.”

Boy, oh boy, I wished I'd written a speech and practiced it, because I felt real dumb. I shifted around a bit, but Mama kept her hands on me. “I'm real sorry for being rude when you were at our house needing directions to Sam White's old place, where you now live,” I finally blurted.

Ian looked at me, and for a minute I don't think he even saw me, but then his face kinda cleared and a little smile came to his lips.

“Thank you. We accept.” He shot a glance at the missus. “Don't we, darling?”

Isabel crimped her mouth. I wasn't sure if it were a smile or gas caught crossways. She didn't say anything, but she puffed on her cigarette like it was the last one before execution sunrise.

Daddy came in with the baskets. As he settled them on the floor, he said, “Ian, that chicory and buckbrush and all the rest of it is too dense and too tough for you to cut with a lawn mower. Why don't I bring over my tractor and Bush Hog and take care of it for you? Won't take hardly any time—”

“Don't you bring any pigs to us!” Isabel screeched. “It's bad enough around here without smelly, disease-infested swine running loose.”

“A Bush Hog is a piece of machinery,” I told that ignorant woman.

“It's a big cutting machine,” Daddy explained. “I'll have all these weeds and small brush cut in no time. Then your yard will be manageable. But you'll have to keep it mowed; otherwise, it'll look like this again in another week or two.”

Ian nodded. “I can do that. I bought that mower yesterday at Walmart.”

Isabel snorted. “Sure. You can spend money on lawn mowers but none on furniture.”

“Fifty dollars won't buy furniture,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “It barely bought a cheap lawn mower!”

Mama gave a Solo cup full of iced tea to Ian, then handed one to Isabel. I hoped it would cool them down and shut them up. Their loud fussing made my head hurt all over again.

“Not a bit of sugar in it,” she assured them.

I don't see how anyone can drink iced tea without sugar, but then I don't pretend to know everything.

Ian drained his cup in practically one swallow. Isabel just looked into hers as if she'd rather drink that Mexican booze with the worm in it. Mama refilled Ian's cup, and you probably won't believe this, but he actually thanked her and smiled real big.

“I want to go home!” Isabel shrieked so suddenly that I jumped and grabbed hold of Daddy. “Look, Lucy—I mean, Lily!” She rushed to Mama, caught her hand, and pulled her across the room. She didn't even limp. She pointed through a door. “That's where I've slept the last three nights. Right there on that air mattress, on the floor. And I'm telling you, I hear wild animals skittering and scratching and eating all night long. I can't live like this. I'm not a hillbilly!”

The hillbilly remark gave me a severe pain, but Mama overlooked it. “Why, I had no idea you were living in the house. We thought you were staying at the Starshine Motel in Cedar Ridge.”

“We were! For three days. Then Ian put a stop to all semblance of comfort and civility.” Isabel pointed to her mister and screeched, “He says we can't afford to stay there anymore. He's a beast! An insensitive lout who thinks of no one but himself!”

Then Isabel burst into tears, crying so hard, I thought she'd break all her skinny bones. Mama gaped at her with her mouth open; then she gently pulled Isabel into her arms and let the woman cry all over her.

“I can't live this way,” Isabel kept saying every little bit, which only made her wail even louder. “I miss my home and my friends and my dancing!”

“I know, I know,” Mama soothed, patting her bony ole back.

Well, I'll tell you something you might not believe, but I felt sorry for ole Isabel. If I'd been hauled away from everything familiar and everything I loved, I'd squall my eyes out too. And I wouldn't have wanted to stay in that falling-down house, either.