Waking Up in Dixie (14 page)

He granted her a smug smile. “Unless we both eat ’em. Then we can both fart under the sheets.”

“I do not fart,” she lied with impunity, then left to start calling architects. Elizabeth knew exactly how she wanted to redo everything, and she wanted to make sure the renovations were well under way before Howe could change his mind.

That night, Howe kept to his side of the king-sized bed when she slipped in on the opposite edge wearing an opaque black-and-white print cotton sleep shirt that didn’t give anything away. She had no intention of changing her routines at this point in life. If Howe didn’t like it, he could go back to his room.

Still, she felt skittish as a girl, and couldn’t help remembering some of the good times they’d shared in that same bed.

Best not to think of that. She had months before the second AIDS test made sex with Howe even conceivable. She’d taken a mild sleeping pill just to make sure she didn’t give him any ideas, or get any herself.

After putting night cream on her lips, face, hands, and elbows, she lay on her back, pulled up the covers, put on her black
satin sleep mask, then inserted the plastic bite guard she’d worn for ten years to keep from gritting her molars into bone dust.

“What’s that?” Howe’s voice perked with interest. “Lizzie, do you have
false teeth
?”

Exasperated, she pushed up one corner of the mask to glare at him. “No. Iss a bite guard,” she snapped, then lowered the mask and turned her back to him.

He barked a laugh. “Makes you look like an alien when you talk.”

“Thass strike one,” she said over her shoulder.

“Sorry. Sorree,” he muttered.

Glad she’d taken a sleeping pill, she didn’t hear another word out of him till she woke to the smell of coffee.

“Lizzie,” he cooed, his weight shifting the mattress close beside her. “Time to get uuup.”

A pillow tucked under one knee and another close against her stomach, she shoved the mask off one eye to be greeted by glaring daylight and the jingly hum of the two air conditioners in her windows. “Wha time iss it?” she asked, releasing a cloud of dragon-mouth through the bite guard. Hungover from the sleeping pill, she remembered that she had a witness and pulled off the mask, palming the dental apparatus.

“Nine-thirty,” Howe informed her, “and three architects and the cabinetmaker have already called back.”

Noting his now-slender torso was minus the T-shirt he’d worn to bed, and the waistband of the navy silk pajamas Patricia had given him for Christmas, Elizabeth blushed like she’d woken up with a total stranger, which only annoyed her further.

“It ought to be against the law to be so chirpy before noon,” she grumbled as she sat up. Yawning, she stretched to cover tucking the bite guard into the bedside table drawer. She’d sterilize it later.

Howe handed her a cup of coffee. “Welcome to the world.”

“Do you have to talk?” she muttered. “New rule. No talking till after coffee. No noise of any kind.”

Undaunted, he watched her sip her coffee as if she were a vision of freshness instead of a Susan Boyle impersonator. “At least you’re awake,” he teased. “You made plenty of noise last night. Your snoring woke me up several times.”

Elizabeth glared at him in outrage. “I do
not
snore.”

“Oh, yes you do,” he countered with a smug smile. “Like a chain saw.”

Was that why her mouth was always so dry when she woke up?

Mortified, she stammered. “Well, I . . . maybe the sleeping pill. But I do
not
snore.”

“You always have. Even when we were newlyweds.” He set her coffee on the bedside table, then tried to cuddle up beside her, but she resisted. “It’s okay, Lizzie,” he said. “It lets me know I’m not alone. And I can always get earplugs.”

“I thought you were just making up an excuse when you said that was why you moved out,” she blurted out.

She saw that he wished he could tell her it was, but this new Howe couldn’t lie, even when he wanted to. “That was . . . Moving out didn’t have anything to do with you, Lizzie. That was me. I couldn’t . . .” Seeing the hurt and skepticism in her
eyes, he stopped himself before he got in any deeper. “It wasn’t you.”

“Well, it sure felt like it.” And suddenly, the pain felt all too fresh, resurrecting that bitter rejection. Elizabeth got out of bed and headed for refuge in the bathroom. “I don’t think this is going to work out,” she said from the doorway.

Crestfallen, Howe froze, making her wonder if he thought she meant
they
weren’t going to work out. “You’re kicking me out because I said you snore?”

“No,” she said. “Yes. I don’t know.”

“Lizzie—”

“Don’t call me ‘Lizzie,’ ” she said, unconsciously investing all her fears and frustration into the obnoxious nickname. “I
hate
that name.” Somehow, it had become an emblem of his selfishness, then and now. “I am
not
Lizzie, and I never will be. My name is Elizabeth!” She slammed the bathroom door, then sank to the toilet seat, angry that he’d told her about the snoring, and even angrier that the memory of his rejection had made her feel so small and impotent again.

The shadow of his feet blocked the east sun shining under the door. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice carrying through the solid walnut panels. “I know you may not believe this, but I love you. I loved you deeply when we married, but after Dad died, coming back here and taking over the bank did something to me. There were some pretty dirty dealings. I tried to fix things, but ended up getting dragged in deeper. It . . . put my soul to sleep. But I’m not that man anymore, and I never will be.” He may have meant it, but Elizabeth knew he might not be able to keep such a promise.
“Don’t push me away,” he said. “I’m your husband. If you love me even a little, we can make this work.”

Elizabeth could have lied to him and said she did, but she told the truth instead, hard as it was. “I don’t know you, Howe. The man I fell in love with never cursed or took the Lord’s name in vain.” Tears sheeted down her cheeks. “The man I fell in love with slowly disappeared, leaving me alone in my bed to wonder who he was with, and what I’d done wrong, and whether our children would find out. I stopped loving that man a long time ago.”

Elizabeth was willing to give Howe a chance, but she couldn’t risk having her heart broken again. She wouldn’t, so she wielded the truth like a weapon, to keep a safe distance between them. “Now you’re like a toddler, all extremes. Exhausting. Dangerous, with complete disregard for the consequences of what you’re saying.” She couldn’t trust a man like that. “I don’t even know you.”

“But I know you,” he said quietly. “At least let me try to be a real husband to you. A good husband to you. We had something good before we came back here, didn’t we?”

When she didn’t answer, he added, “For the kids, if nothing else, Lillibet.” At last, the name she loved. “Just let me try.”

This was too hard, too dangerous. “Go away, Howe,” she told him.

They couldn’t share a bed, not yet. Not till she knew who he turned out to be.

At least the way things had been before, she’d had some peace, some stability. They might even have grown old together and become allies in the end. Except for P.J.

Now she didn’t know what to do.

She just knew she was tired. Tired of being the perfect wife for public consumption. Tired of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. Tired of catering to all of Howe’s whims and needs, seven days a week from dawn to dusk.

Tired of pretending she wasn’t attracted to another man, a man who loved her enough to wait for her.

“I’m going downstairs,” Howe told her, “but I love you, and I’m not going away. I’ll do what it takes to be the husband you deserve, Elizabeth.”

He might say that, but neither of them knew whether he could follow through.

Howe’s voice tightened. “I’m still your husband.”

“No you’re not,” she whispered as his footsteps retreated. “I don’t know who you
are,
but you’re not my husband.”

Elizabeth seriously debated staying home from Sewing Circle—or “Whine and Cheese,” as their husbands had dubbed it—but being cooped up with Howe was wearing on her, despite the welcome distraction of redecorating. So she went anyway, glad that it was at Mary’s.

“Hey!” Mary greeted her with a glass of Portuguese white port and a warm smile. “I’m so glad you could make it. How’s Howe?” She chuckled. “That sounds funny: How’s Howe.”

“Making progress,” Elizabeth responded on reflex. It was the safe answer, what she always said. “Slowly.” She took a drink of wine and felt its sweetness glow all the way down to her empty stomach.

Shoot. She’d meant to eat some crackers before she came.

Mary’s warm smile reflected none of the skepticism Elizabeth’s knee-jerk response had gotten from others. “Good. Come on back. Everybody else is here.” She led Elizabeth toward her cozy den. “We were all so glad to hear that he was doing so
well. Mrs. Whittington let us know that he’s getting back to normal.”

Whatever normal was anymore. Elizabeth just smiled.

In the den, Anne Kelly, Holly James, Carolyn Foreman, Elaine Mason, and Faith Harris were waiting. Holly jumped up to greet her with a wine-wary hug. “Hey there, girl! Is it true? Are you finally doing over that mausoleum you live in?”

Hallelujah. A safe topic. Elizabeth took another drink, then answered, “I always thought of it more as a funeral home.” The frank comment brought everybody to attention. “And yes. I am finally, finally doing it over, with Howe’s blessing. Actually, it was his idea.”

Anne and Faith exchanged trenchant glances. “No guessing what your mother-in-law thinks about that,” Anne observed.

Elizabeth took another slug of wine, warming to the company of these women she’d known for so many years. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the isolation of the past few months, but she found herself wanting to trust them, at least a little, the way they’d trusted her. “Augusta is incensed, but for once, Howe put his foot down.”

“God knows,” Faith said, “it’s about time.”

“I heard Howe was . . .
different
now,” Holly ventured.

How much of the truth did she dare reveal? “Nothing like almost dying to change your perspective,” Elizabeth admitted. She chose her words carefully. “He’s much more laid-back now. Much more demonstrative. It’s . . . good.”

“Couldn’t tell from your expression,” Carolyn challenged, “or your tone. What’s the real scoop?”

Carolyn always had to push things. Enough was never enough with her.

“There are still some . . . issues,” Elizabeth granted. “He tires easily, and he’s . . . Well, for Howe, he’s pretty emotional.”

“Any emotion’s emotional for Howe,” Holly commented, then retracted. “No offense intended.”

Elizabeth finished her wine. “None taken.”

“So,” Mary intercepted, “tell us about the renovations.”

Grateful, Elizabeth said, “You can’t believe the difference. So far, I’ve just taken down all the heavy drapes in the parlor and dining room and foyer, and had the wallpaper removed and all that dark molding primed to paint, but it’s already transformed the whole place. Brought in so much light.”

“What colors are you using?” Mary asked.

“A soft green for the walls, between a celadon and pale jade, and white for all the trim and wainscoting.”

“Oh,” Faith said. “That’ll go so well with those marble fireplaces.”

“Which is why she did it,” Holly told her.

“What about the kitchen?” Elaine asked. “I don’t know how you’ve managed all these years with it the way it was. Personally, I’d have gone stark ravin’ crazy.”

Elizabeth cocked a wry frown at her friend’s frankness. “I’m working on a design. There’s so much to fix, it takes time to get things done right.” And it takes ten times more time if your husband insists on participating, but can’t make up his mind.

Mary replaced her wine with a fresh goblet, something she didn’t
usually do. “Here you go, sweetie. After what you’ve been through, you deserve it, and then some.”

She had a point. Elizabeth helped herself to some cheese and crackers first, but the pleasant buzz remained.

Holly leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what did Mrs. Whittington say about the changes?” She shot the others a wry smile. “Boy, would I have liked to be a fly on the wall to hear
that
.”

Elizabeth couldn’t suppress a satisfied chortle. “She said it was a travesty. Threatened to disown Howe if we did it.” Once she’d started confiding, it didn’t seem so hard. “Not that it would make any difference. Except for the bank, he’s had their holdings separated for years.”

Her candor prompted a brief exchange of surprised, but eager, expressions in the others. Elizabeth took another sip and went on. “Augusta badgered Howe for more than a week, but God bless ’im, he didn’t budge. Told her she could do
her
house like a funeral parlor if she wanted to, but he wanted some light and life in his house, and that was that.” She punctuated the last three words with a point of her finger. A giggle startled her by escaping, but she was on a roll. “So the next morning, she turns up, loaded for bear. Doesn’t knock. Just lets herself in, like she always does, with the key that’s supposed to be for emergencies.”