Reinventing Leona (9 page)

“That dog’s a pain in the—”

“Grandmother, you don’t have to watch me. I know how to make a bed. In fact, you might be surprised at all I can do.”

Her grandmother’s thin brows rose slightly, but she made no effort to move from her post blocking the entry, her arms crossed over her suspiciously perky chest. “I didn’t expect you to go to so much trouble for my hired help. My chauffeur can get a motel room.”

“Momma says the Double D is full.” Maddie avoided looking at her grandmother’s breasts. The motel was not the only thing bursting at the seams.

“Well, my driver can sleep sitting up, so I’m certain he can make his own bed.”

“Not in this house. Momma would have my hide.”

“Here’s a clean towel and washcloth for Melvin.” Maddie’s mother edged past Grandmother and laid the fresh linens on the bed. “I just heard the weather. The roads won’t be clear before morning; besides, tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. . . . Oh no.” Defeat dulled Momma’s brave-fronted face. She sank onto the corner of the thin mattress as if someone had just let the air out of her tires.

Maddie dropped a blanket on Melvin’s bed. “What is it, Momma?”

“Thanksgiving.”

Her mind racing, Maddie searched for the hidden meaning behind Momma’s one-word explanation. “Thanksgiving?”

“I forgot to thaw a turkey.” Momma hands came up to support her drooping head.

“For Pete’s sake, Leona.” Grandmother leaned against the doorframe, examining her manicured nails. “You’ve got enough leftovers crammed into your fridge to have three Thanksgiving meals. Why do you need to roast a turkey?”

Momma lifted her head, her bewildered expression melting into a torrent of tears. “Because I always roast a turkey.” Her head returned to its dejected position, sobs growing in volume.

This was not good. Maddie had not seen her mother melt down since David shouted out in church, “Daddy, please don’t let Momma beat me again.”

“Settle down, Leona.” Grandmother crossed the room and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Her voice held a trace of unfamiliar softness. “Why don’t you and the children pile into my limo, and we’ll have Thanksgiving in the city? We haven’t done it in years. We can go to the club, have an elegant meal, maybe even catch a movie afterward.”

Tater growled.

Maddie squatted and smoothed the spiky hairs along the ridge of her dog’s neck. Although the offer may have sounded good up front, she guessed she wasn’t the only one who remembered the last time they spent the holidays with Roberta Worthington. Tater ended up sequestered in the old woman’s laundry room while the discount-store Harpers ate with haute couture stuffier than the dressing in the giant bird crisping under the country club heat lamp. When they got home, Momma promised her little family they’d never have to go
clubbing
again. In turn, Maddie swore the same on a stack of Bibles to Tater, and she never went back on her word.

But while going to the country club was out of the question, somehow holing up didn’t feel normal either. As much as Maddie hated to admit it, having the house filled with people they knew and some they didn’t—that was home.

“What about our tradition?” Maddie clasped her mother’s knee, hoping Momma would pick up on her silent pleading to put an end to Grandmother’s evil plan. “Does everything have to change?” She waited, hoping for eye contact despite the blur her own tears had caused.

Momma sniffed, then slowly raised her head. The hint of an understanding smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She used her thumbs to brush away the streams wetting Maddie’s cheeks, dried her own eyes, then lifted her chin to her mother.

“The kids help me wrestle the bird into a roasting bag the night before. Then early Thanksgiving morning, J.D. pops the heavy thing in the oven so that I wake up to the smell of roasting turkey.” Momma blinked away the moisture rimming her lower lids, excitement mounting in her voice. “About noon folks without much family start showing up. We set up card tables everywhere. The women talk while the men watch football.”

Feeling the need to get into the game and run interference for Momma, Maddie joined in with all the enthusiasm she could muster. “And then we eat until we think we’re going to pop. Late in the afternoon, Daddy announces it’s time for the parade.”

“All of us file down to the corner of Church and Main.” Momma’s eyes glistened.

“For Mt. Hope’s Thanksgiving extravaganza.” Grandmother’s sarcastic tone burst the hot air balloon Maddie and Momma’s reminiscing had filled. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re forgetting that you’ve dragged me to that blasted parade for years.”

Maddie hoped her cutting stare would slash the ungrateful woman wide open. She’d pack the incision full of the comeuppances forming on the edge of her tongue.

Momma placed a restraining hand on Maddie’s leg. “Face it, Mother. You love seeing which half of the trailer house Spinner Mobile will have behind their semitruck this year.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Seizing the opportunity to rub salt in the wound, Maddie added, “And don’t forget the Story sisters riding double and popping wheelies on their lawn and garden tractor.”

Bursting into laughter, Maddie’s mother clutched her side, then fell back on the opened couch. Tater and Maddie jumped onto the bed and joined in the raucous howling, the fold-out’s springs squeaking agreement.

“You two laugh while you can, but whether you want them to or not, things are going to change.” Irritation radiated from Grandmother’s lacquered face.

Reality ripped across Maddie’s chest and silenced her laughter. The words
never, never, never
charged up her throat, but no sound issued from her lips. All she could do was turn to her mother.

Momma sat up slowly. The laughter had vanished from her face, her sobered mouth a thin straight line. “I’m sure they will. But not today.” Rising, she swiped the tears gliding down her cheeks, then squared her shoulders for business. She turned to Maddie. “Young lady, get both card tables from the garage. We’ll send David to the church for more chairs in the morning. I’m going to dig that smaller turkey out of the freezer. If we soak it in cold water overnight, we can get up early and get the bird in the oven in time for a late lunch.”

Admiration swelled Maddie’s heart. Her momma did walk on water, and tonight’s impressive effort was not just some cheap sandbar trick. Grinning ear to ear, she jumped up and kissed her mother’s cheek. As she and Tater Tot pranced past Grandmother, Maddie fought the childish urge to stick out her tongue.

The family car may have careened over a bridge, but it should come as no surprise to anyone, including Roberta Worthington, that Momma was holding her own against the current.

* * * * *

Leona forced open her heavy eyelids. She removed the pillow covering her head. What time was it and why did she smell turkey? The fuzzy red numbers on her clock said 11:30.

“Oh no. I’ve slept through Thanksgiving.” She threw back the covers, then crammed her arms into a faded terry robe. She hurried to the stairs as her mother tromped up. “Mother, why didn’t you wake me?”

“Your kitchen is not big enough for me and that Brewer woman.” Her mother stormed past.

“What’s going on?” Leona followed her mother down the hall. “Mother?”

Her mother stepped inside the guest room. “Call me when lunch is ready.” She slammed the door in Leona’s face.

Leona stared at the closed door. Amazing how the solid wood plank symbolized the barrier that had been between them for years. She could pound away, even try kicking it in, but the secret to what made her mother tick would never be revealed. But the years had taught Leona one thing: her mother was a time bomb with a very short fuse.
Lord, just don’t let her blow up here.
Not today.

Laughter filtered through the house and ascended the stairs to combine with the delicious smells escaping from the kitchen. Leona listened, trying to pick out J.D.’s hearty roar among the gathered. But his voice was noticeably absent. Suddenly the upstairs hall seemed crowded with reminders of holidays past, sucking the oxygen from the narrow space. All future family memories were now her lone responsibility. Long, leisurely breakfasts, tables filled with goodies, a house full of company, folding chairs borrowed from the church, eggnog and hymns around the piano, carving the turkey . . . the weight caved Leona’s chest and slumped her shoulders.

A round of giggles echoed from the kitchen. Resolve snapped Leona’s backbone into place. She swiped the tears from her eyes. Allowing the distance between her and her mother to alienate her from her own kids was not an option. Today she would be thankful. The Harpers had been given another opportunity to build relationships. How many folks would kill for a second chance like the one the Lord had graciously given her? David and Maddie were going to have a good Thanksgiving if she had to string her mother up by her ears on the backyard clothesline. Leona pinched her cheeks to add color, belted her robe, then descended the stairs.

Roxie looked up from dicing stalks of celery. “I guess Bertie woke you when she lit out for the hills.” She wielded the blade with the skill of a sushi chef. “Look at you all gussied up and nowhere to go.”

Leona ran a hand across the bump in her hair and pushed some wild strands behind her ears. “I guess the sleepless nights have taken their toll.”

Maddie turned from the sautéing onions at the stove. A pleased smile lit her face. “Aunt Roxie came early to help me get started.”

“I see that.” Leona grinned at the sight of her kitchen-shy daughter slaving over a gas flame. Maybe her daughter had absorbed some of her mother’s intensive hospitality training after all.

Roxie picked up the cutting board and scraped the pile of celery into the sizzling onions. “Baby, I’ll watch the skillet. You pour your momma some coffee. Let’s see if we can’t fortify her with a little holiday cheer.”

The onion-scented cloud rising from the pan made Leona’s mouth water. “Is that for the dressing?”

“Girlfriend, don’t think you can weasel Aunt Thelma’s secret stuffing recipe out of me. You know I had to wait years for her to die to inherit it.” Roxie tossed snatches of running conversation over her shoulder as she moved the enticing vegetables around in the skillet. “After you get some caffeine in you, why don’t you hit the shower, clean up a bit before everyone gets here?”

Leona felt a sudden wave of warmth wash over the cold place J.D.’s unexpected departure had left in her heart. Everything did not have to change. They could go on. Having the people she loved the most in the world helping her make this day happen was like a sign from God that he had not forsaken them.

“Roxanne Brewer, if your hair wasn’t the color of hellfire, I’d think you were an angel.” Leona devoured the smile of understanding lighting Roxie’s face.

“Here, Momma.”

Leona took the cup Maddie offered proudly and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart. The Lord does provide.” She started for the door, but the phone rang, stopping her in her tracks. She reached to answer it.

“I’ll get it, Momma.” Maddie reached around her, lifted the cordless phone off the cradle, and punched the Talk button. “Harper residence . . . Justin, why didn’t you call my cell? . . . You’re where?” Maddie’s face held the same fearful look Leona had seen the time J.D. discovered his little girl hiding inside his pulpit after her disappearance had delayed church for an hour. She scooted past her mother mumbling something terse into the mouthpiece.

“Who is
Justin
?” Leona could tell by the sheepish look on her best friend’s face that she’d asked the right person. “Roxie, what do you know that I don’t?”

“Maybe you better have two cups of coffee this morning.” Roxie flashed her foreign-parts-are-comparable-to-American smile.

Never a good sign.

Something rotten was stinking up the room, and if she were a betting woman, Leona would bet dollars to donuts the suspicious odor wasn’t coming from Aunt Thelma’s secret fried-onion concoction.

Chapter Nine

David hesitated before he knocked on the guest room door. Since Grandmother opted to do her stewing upstairs, the holiday festivities had been almost normal downstairs. He didn’t see the point of ruining a good thing, but Momma insisted he haul his grandmother to the table if he had to gag and hog-tie her. If his mother wasn’t a hairsbreadth away from a making-things-right meltdown, he would have pointed out that allowing the old bird to simmer in her own juices had probably failed to tenderize her. In fact, she might be even harder to manage after being cooped up for the past few hours.

He made a fist and lightly rapped on the door. “Lunch is ready, Grandmother.”

The chipped fluted-crystal knob turned slowly. Painted-over ancient hinges squeaked and a crack appeared between the door and the frame. Through the slit, David could see his grandmother’s eyes darting back and forth. “Is that Hayseed fellow down there?”

“Who?”

“Bay weed.”

David’s brow furrowed. “You mean Cotton?”

“Ragweed. Feed ’n Seed. Whatever his name is.”

Indignation charged through David’s veins. He pressed the door open, then stepped into the room that now reeked of Grandmother’s trademark
eau de
money. With a flick of his wrist, he closed the door behind him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I find it extremely difficult to be civil to that man.” Grandmother extracted a lace-edged hanky from the cuff of her silk blouse. Pinching the corner of the delicate linen between her thumb and forefinger, she snapped it open.

“Cotton’s the nicest guy I know. What’s he ever done to you?”

She raised the cloth and dabbed at her nose as if the mere mention of the janitor’s name had fouled the air of her excessively perfumed habitat. “It’s his eyes.”

“What’s wrong with his eyes?”

“The steely things drill right through me. They’re full of accusations.”

David felt the muscles tighten in his jaw. “What kind of accusations?” he managed to grind out.

“Like I caused J.D.’s heart attack.”

“That’s it.” Now that Dad wasn’t here to protect his pastor-parishioner privileged information, David intended to put an end to his grandmother’s ridiculous aversion once and for all. “When the local bank was bought out, the new holding company cleaned house, leaving their fifty-five-year-old bank president without a job.”