Magnolia Wednesdays (25 page)

I can see that it’s not easy to pull back and even harder to cease and desist. But I highly recommend it. Because this hovering business is not good for anyone. It deprives the child of the opportunity to live their own life, learn from their mistakes, and realize their potential. And for those who are doing the hovering, well, I think we all know that flying in neutral doesn’t get anybody anywhere.

After signing and saving the column, Vivien sent it to John Harcourt with best wishes for a happy New Year. She still hadn’t heard back from Stone after her Christmas Day message and so she sent him a quick email saying that she’d try to reach him again tomorrow and that she was thinking of him. And then she shut down her computer.

She dozed. At midnight, the shouted countdown from the television woke her, and she turned bleary eyes on the television as the ball descended the last few inches and horns blew and shouts and confetti filled the air. She roused a little as they showed couple after couple kissing in the frigid night air, and the love on the couple’s faces made her want to cry.

But she must have fallen asleep instead because the next thing she heard was the slamming of the front door followed by a giggle and a very loud, though decidedly feminine belch. The clock on the cable box said one A.M.

“Hi, Vivi,” Shelby cooed as she tiptoed through the kitchen and into the family room to stand, or rather sway, in front of Vivien. “Happy Yew Near,” she over-enunciated, giggling when she registered her mistake. “I mean nappy Hew Year.”

This was apparently even funnier, because Shelby laughed hysterically when she heard what she’d said. “Oh, shit.” She dropped down onto the couch and giggled some more. “You mow what I nean.”

Vivien looked at her niece and didn’t feel at all good about what she saw. Her eye makeup had smeared, leaving her with a raccoonlike ring around her dark eyes, and her lipstick had been rubbed well beyond the scope of her lips in the way of a clown. The silver dress was in one piece but looked decidedly rumpled. One shoulder strap hung down over a bare arm, and there was a dark smudge just under the bust line. One of the biggest hickeys Vivien had ever seen colored the side of her slim neck.

She stood and moved closer to Shelby. “You’re late and you’re drunk,” she observed.

Shelby opened her mouth into a great big red O of shock and surprise. “How san cou yay that?” she asked, far too gone to sound indignant.

Vivien leaned over her and sniffed. “And it smells like rum and coke.” She shook her head. “I guess some things never change.”

“’S okay,” Shelby murmured. “The Coke was diet.” She was swaying in her seat, or at least the top half of her body was, and Vivien realized that if she let her pass out here, she might never get her upstairs. She really had no idea what to do in this situation, but she did know that she didn’t want Melanie to see her daughter like this. That was not the way Melanie needed to start her new year.

Vivien didn’t waste her breath berating Shelby for her behavior; there was no way anything she said right now was going to register anyway. She’d take this up with her niece in the morning; right now she had one simple goal: to get Shelby into bed before Melanie got home.

“Come on.” Vivien reached down and grasped Shelby’s hand, which had all the substance of a limp dish rag. The girl’s head lolled back against the sofa cushions as Vivien tugged firmly, barely managing to pull Shelby to her feet. The problem was how to keep her there.

She leaned into Shelby’s face, trying not to breathe in the fumes. “Come with me,” she said firmly as she tugged. “Come on!” she repeated the command and tugged again. Shelby’s eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed precariously. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Vivien said. “Come on, lean on me. Just one foot at a time.”

Somehow she got Shelby to the foot of the back stairs, but it was slow going, kind of like herding fish. There she wrapped an arm around Shelby’s waist for leverage and placed Shelby’s hand on the handrail. “Hold on to that. I’ll hold on to you.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Open your eyes, Shelby, and step up.” Taking as much of Shelby’s weight against herself as she could, Vivien got her niece up one step and then another. “Tomorrow you’re going to tell me how you got in this condition and who’s been manhandling you.”

“Rum and Coke,” she sighed. “Isss soooo good.”

It took an eternity, but finally they were all the way upstairs. Vivi had originally thought to take Shelby into the bathroom and let her use the toilet, maybe even put her under the shower, but she rejected all of those plans now as too difficult and too time-consuming.

“To bed with you,” she huffed as she wrangled the girl into her room, propped her against the wall while she swept the debris off the girl’s bed and skimmed the comforter back. Then she got her across the room, sat her down on her bed and pulled the dress up over her head, leaving her in her thong. Out of breath, Vivien plucked off the silver high heels, managed to slide a nightgown over her head then pushed Shelby back onto her pillows and pulled the covers up to Shelby’s chin. For the briefest of moments she considered getting some aspirin and shoving them down her throat, but thought better of it. She hoped this was the girl’s first brush with alcohol and she wanted the negatives, as in the hangover she was bound to have when she woke up, to be memorable. Shelby was already snoring lightly by the time Vivien had picked the dress up off the floor and laid it on the chair.

In the hallway, Vivi felt the garage door open beneath her, the loud noise and vibration impossible to miss. Unless one had had too many rum and Diet Cokes.

Because she didn’t want to look her sister in the eye and lie outright, and because she wanted to read Shelby the riot act herself before deciding what to say to Melanie, Vivien tiptoed to her own room, turned out the light, and gently closed the door.

25

R
UTH WOKE UP early on New Year’s Day. Beside her, Ira slept peacefully, his breathing regular and a half smile on his face. Like everything that her husband did lately, this really pissed her off.

They’d gone to the Kaminskis’ last night as they had pretty much every New Year’s Eve since they’d moved to Atlanta, and Ruth had enjoyed the excuse to get dressed up, put on a little jewelry, and spend the evening schmoozing with old friends. What she hadn’t enjoyed was pretending that she and Ira were fine when everything about their marriage was as not fine as it was possible to get.

The thing was that Ruth, who had always prided herself on making decisions and acting on them quickly, just couldn’t figure out what to do. She simply couldn’t accept his refusal to even entertain the offer for Bagel Baron that would have freed them financially. Nor could she believe he hadn’t so much as attended a single ballroom dance class. But neither could she bring herself to leave him as she’d threatened. Because no matter how brightly her anger burned, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Worst of all, she felt as if she’d lost her best friend, the person with whom she’d shared both good and bad, with whom she’d discussed everything from the lump their daughter had found in her breast to how often they really wanted the Chemlawn people to come.

In a way, though she was careful not to say this to anyone, she felt as if Ira had died. Or at least the Ira she had always known and loved and thought she understood. And she mourned what she now realized she’d taken for granted. Because whatever happened now, even if they somehow found a way to deal with everything and go on, their lives and their relationship would never again be the same. And neither, she was afraid, would her feelings for him.

Ruth got out of bed careful not to wake him, not so much out of courtesy but because she didn’t want to speak to him. After the first week she’d spent in the guest room she’d moved back into their bed because if she wasn’t leaving, what was the point? The most intelligent thing Ira had done since she’d moved back was to not touch her. She didn’t see how she could deal with that.

In the master bathroom, she showered and put on her favorite robe, one Ira and the kids had given her one long ago Mother’s Day. The colors had faded over the years and the fabric had pilled, but it was what her marriage had once been—warm and cozy and molded to her shape.

It was too early to dress, so she brushed out her hair and applied her makeup, then went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

An hour later she had read the paper and assembled a blintz soufflé to take to Melanie’s. The two dozen bagels she’d had delivered sat, still warm, in the large brown paper bags that carried the Bagel Baron logo.

She heard Ira get up and braced herself for his company; she had to work on schooling her reactions now, smooth down the anger, try not to snap. But instead of coming into the kitchen to share coffee and the newspaper as he once automatically would have, he went into his home office and closed the door.

“Hmmph!” The soufflé went into the oven with a little more force than necessary. As she set the timer and tidied the kitchen, she told herself it was just as well, that she didn’t really want to talk with the old fool anyway. Nonetheless, she couldn’t quite bring herself to ignore the insult completely. And so on her way back to the bedroom, she stopped in front of his office door and rapped loudly.

She saw the flare of irritation in his eyes when she stepped inside uninvited and imagined her gaze telegraphed the same. It took real effort to keep the affront she felt out of her voice. “We’re expected at the Jacksons’ at eleven o’clock. I’ll set out your khakis and blue blazer.”

He nodded and she knew he considered her “dismissed.” His gaze strayed to the iPhone he held in one hand. Unlike other men his age, Ira had embraced new technology, which now connected him to work like an electronic umbilical cord. She’d grown to hate the thing and had thought up all sorts of inventive ways to make it disappear.

Perversely, she walked all the way in and stopped directly in front of his desk, standing there until his thumb stopped scrolling and he raised his gaze from the screen. He, too, wore a robe and his face was unshaven. His reading glasses sat on top of a stack of papers.

“What?” he asked.

She folded her arms in front of her and said, “I’d like to leave by ten forty-five.”

He nodded and glanced back down at the iPhone screen.

“And I expect you to put forth some effort while we’re there. No going outside to make or take phone calls. No texting. No checking email while people are talking to you. No looking bored. Please at least pretend like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I do enjoy Melanie and the kids,” Ira said. “I’d never be rude to them.”

It was Ruth’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She had lost track of how often his gaze strayed to that blasted phone in any given five-minute period. She did not want Melanie insulted.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “Because if I catch you doing any of those things, I’m going to find a sledgehammer and smash that stupid phone to smithereens.”

MELANIE FLITTED AROUND the house adjusting furniture, fluffing pillows, and wiping down surfaces that were already clean. Normally, New Year’s Day brunch would have included the whole family as well as Evangeline, who would cook greens for health and black-eyed peas for luck, both of which were served with her justifiably famous cornbread. But her parents weren’t invited and therefore Evangeline wasn’t available. In an apparent effort to remain neutral, Ham and Judy and their kids had accepted an invitation from Judy’s parents in Macon.

Because they were a small group—just her and the kids, Vivi, Clay, and the Melnicks—she’d decided that they might as well sit together at the dining room table and had gladly accepted Ruth’s offer of bagels and a blintz soufflé. If ever a year demanded to be different, it was this one.

Checking her watch, Melanie got out pans for the cheese eggs she planned to make and preheated the oven for the sausage casserole she’d already prepared. Not exactly a kosher meal, she thought with a smile, but Ruth had assured her it didn’t matter.

Occasionally she glanced up the back stairs or paused to listen for sounds from above. Vivien had gone up to wake Shelby, who’d already been asleep when Melanie got home last night. But Vivi had been in Shelby’s room for some time now and there’d been no clanging of pots and pans. In fact it was weirdly quiet, and neither of them had come out.

Melanie pondered this as she put the coffee on, added fresh water to the teakettle, and took out a selection of tea bags. The front door opened and Trip appeared back from his sleepover; he was wearing the clothes he’d left in yesterday, there was stubble on his fifteen-year-old jaw and cheeks, and his eyes were only partially open.

“Happy New Year, sweetie,” Melanie said, having to reach up to give her baby a peck on the cheek, a fact that never ceased to surprise her. “Why don’t you jump in the shower and wake up the rest of the way? I put out khakis and a polo shirt for you. Clay and the Melnicks will be here in about twenty minutes.”

He yawned and nodded and went upstairs. A few moments later she heard his shower come on. But there was still that strange silence up in Shelby’s room.

Walking upstairs, she hesitated in front of Shelby’s closed bedroom door and pressed her ear against the wood. She could hear Vivien’s voice, quite emphatic, but not what was said. Curious and unsure whether there was cause for concern, she was taken by surprise when the door against which she was leaning opened inward.

“I was just getting ready to knock,” she stammered, stealing a look at her daughter, who was still huddled under her blankets though clearly awake. She turned to Vivi. “Is everything all right?”

Shelby gave a half moan and curled up on her side. “What’s wrong? Is she sick?” Melanie started to rush into the room and over to the bed, but Vivien stopped her.

“She’s just overtired from staying up so late last night. And I think she has a bit of a headache. I gave her a couple of aspirin. She’s fine.”

Melanie glanced at her daughter.

“I don’t feel good,” Shelby said, looking at a spot somewhere between Vivien and her mother. “I don’t think I can—”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Vivien interrupted, taking Melanie by the shoulders, turning her around, and pushing her gently out of the room. “I’m going to help Shelby get dressed. Really, I think a nice cold shower is all she needs.”

Shelby’s groan was louder this time.

Vivien smiled a Machiavellian smile that Melanie remembered from their childhood. Good things had not always come of it.

“Really, Mel, go ahead and take care of whatever you need to. Shelby and I will be down in fifteen minutes.”

Melanie looked at her sister and then at her daughter. It was clear something was up, but Vivien shook her head slightly and mouthed, “trust me.” And oddly enough, she did.

It hadn’t been easy, but fifteen minutes later Vivien did, in fact, guide Shelby down the stairs and into the kitchen where Ruth and Melanie were fussing with the food and Clay Alexander was mixing a pitcher of mimosas.

At Vivi’s nudge, Shelby smiled wanly and hugged Clay, Ruth, and Ira hello before slumping onto a barstool between Trip and Ira.

“Are you all right?” Both Ruth and Melanie asked in a motherly chorus. Melanie leaned across the counter to put the back of her hand to Shelby’s forehead. “You don’t feel like you’ve got a temperature.”

“Do you need to go back to bed, Shel?” Clay asked as he poured a mimosa into a champagne glass for Melanie.

Vivien bristled. She was rumpled and water stained from her tussle with Shelby while he was perfectly turned out in chinos and an open-collared shirt with a trim alligator belt at his waist. She took exception to how comfortable he looked in Melanie’s kitchen and how easily he assumed the father-figure role. She’d read Shelby the riot act and risked life and limb to get her down here; she was not about to allow Clay Alexander to let her off the hook.

“She’s fine,” Vivien said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Duly noted.” Clay’s smile was both amused and superior. As they carried their plates into the dining room, he claimed the head of the table and throughout the meal, he played genial host, pulling Ira and Trip into a debate about that day’s bowl games and praising Ruth’s blintz dish. “They’re delicious,” he said smoothly. “And unbelievably light.”

Ruth blushed with pleasure. And regardless of what Melanie said, her sister did not seem immune, either. Irritated, Vivi kept an eye on Shelby, ready to provide another “come to Jesus” meeting if necessary, but as the meal progressed Shelby’s eyes became less glassy and she began to join in the conversation. When Melanie stopped eyeing her daughter with concern, Vivi figured the aspirin and glasses of orange juice must have kicked in.

A cell phone rang and they all looked up from their plates. Ira pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this,” he said as he left the table.

“Aaach.” Ruth’s face flushed as she placed her fork on her plate. Vivien didn’t understand why Ira taking a call was such a big deal, but then what she didn’t know about Ira and Ruth Melnick could fill a couple of libraries.

“How was the party last night?” Melanie asked Shelby.

Shelby stopped chewing. With all eyes now on her she swallowed. “Good. It was, um, good.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

“You must have been pretty wiped out. You were already asleep when I got back from the studio.”

Shelby blinked rapidly and ran a finger underneath the rim of her turtleneck. “Yeah. I was . . . tired.”

Ruth looked between the two of them. So did Clay.

Vivien piped in. “You didn’t say how the party at Magnolia was, Mel. Did you have a good crowd?”

“Yes, thank goodness.” Successfully distracted, Melanie smiled. “We had one hundred fifty people, even more than had RSVP’d. I’d been so worried we wouldn’t break even, but it was a great way to end the year.”

“What did you and Josh do last night?” Clay asked Trip, who’d been plowing his way through the mounds of food on his plate.

“Ordered pizza. Played
Call of Duty
.” The question answered, Trip turned his attention back to his plate. Vivi had counted three trips to the buffet. Vivi was sure of this because she’d been right behind him.