Waking Up in Dixie (18 page)

“Good decision,” Howe told him. “I’ll be checking in later to see how you are. And praying for you.”

“Goddamned hypocrite,” Mark spat out under his breath, then pivoted and stalked out.

Howe inhaled, smiling as he turned back to Elizabeth. “That went well, don’t you think?” He handed her the plate.

“I have no idea what to think,” Elizabeth confessed. “I assume you came up with that one on your own.”

“Nope.” Howe pointed briefly upward. “That one was all His.”

Now she
knew
he was crazy. “The last time I looked, God does not engage in blackmail,” she clipped out.

Howe just laughed. “Oh, yeah? Try reading the prophets sometime.”

He shepherded her back toward the buffet line. “Oh, look. Our spot has finally gotten to the deviled eggs, and there are still plenty left. And corn.” He got them plates, then loaded up on fake crabmeat salad. Apparently, blackmail stimulated his appetite.

Then again, everything stimulated his appetite.

Elizabeth was afraid to ask, but couldn’t help herself. “Anybody else you have to talk to?”

Howe shook his head, taking four deviled eggs. “Nope. All done.”

She heaved a sigh of relief.

“For today, anyway,” he told her. “Senator Robinson won’t be here till next week.” He served himself a fried chicken leg. “Now,
there’s
a man who could use some encouragement to do the right thing.”

Oh, Lord. What next?

Fortunately, the rest of the meeting was fairly uneventful, though Howe cried silently through the Pledge of Allegiance, said “Amen,” three times during the Whittington Clean and Beautiful presentation, and escaped her to bear-hug several startled acquaintances on their way out. But all in all, it certainly could have been worse.

Elizabeth waited till he was safely ensconced in his study to take her cell phone up to the back balcony and call the psychiatrist, insisting on speaking to him as soon as possible.

When he called her back half an hour later, the psychiatrist wasn’t amused to hear why she’d contacted him so urgently. Apparently, religious delusions didn’t qualify as an emergency. He said it was great that Howe was getting in touch with his faith and feeling confident enough to get out and see people again. When she told the doctor about Frank and the eye surgeon, the man had actually laughed and said Howe was making real progress, which made her think the psychiatrist might be a fanatic, himself.

Next she called Patricia, who’d been staying with her grandmother since the sorority trip, and exchanged the usual platitudes. Then she called Charles at work, something she seldom did, but even though she couldn’t tell him what had happened, she always felt better after hearing his voice. But all she got this time was his voice mail.

She’d just hung up, sitting there on the chaise in frustration, when her phone rang. Good. Charles had gotten her message. She said hello with anticipation.

“Hi,” P.J. said. “How’s it going, my friend?”

“Not so hot,” she said without stopping to censor herself. She needed to talk to somebody, but she didn’t dare trust P.J. with the truth. Maybe just a little of the truth. “It’s hard. Howe is . . . he’s really trying. I have to give him credit for that. But he’s so different.”

“Different good, or different bad?” he asked.

“Both,” she answered honestly. “I have no idea how this is going to shake out. He means well—God knows, he means well.”

“I’d say that’s a change for the better,” P.J. said with a definite edge.

What could she safely say? “He’s taken up cooking. Pretty good at it.”

“Howe, cooking?” She could just imagine the look on P.J.’s face. “Howe, cooking.”

“I know. And he’s been very hands-on with the renovations.” And he thinks God talks to him, and he’s blackmailing Rotarians, but the psychiatrist says that’s a sign of progress.

“You sound discouraged,” P.J. said.

“I’m just tired. This has gone on so long . . .”

“Why don’t you make Patricia come help you?” he asked for the twentieth time. “She’s old enough to take some of the burden—”

“It’s not that. She’d come if I asked her, but Howe’s . . .” She couldn’t tell him that everything Howe thought came out, including the skeletons in their closet. Elizabeth had worked too hard to make sure those skeletons stayed dead-bolted in. “It’s just not . . . prudent for him to be around the kids yet.”

“God, Elizabeth,” P.J. said sharply. “Has he done something to you? Are you afraid he’d hurt them? ’Cause if you are, you shouldn’t be—”

“No, no. No,” she corrected. “He’s not the slightest bit violent.” Why was everyone she confided in so quick to rush to that conclusion? Even at his worst, Howe had never lifted a finger against anybody.

Well, he had kicked the dresser in frustration a few times, but the only danger he posed was to the furniture. “It’s complicated,” she said. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not?” he prodded. “You can trust me. You said we could be friends. That’s what friends are for. Elizabeth, you need to be able to talk to somebody.”

“I’ve managed to get by so far without that,” she said frankly. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine, really. I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t stand thinking of you cooped up in that house,” he said, “waiting on him hand and foot without any help. Let me send you a housekeeper, at least. Somebody good, and discreet.”

She exhaled. “I appreciate your concern, really I do,” she said,
“but I’d rather handle things myself for now.” As tempting as it would be to have more help, the last thing she needed was another stranger underfoot to worry about. “I have the cleaning service when I need them,” she said. “But there’s not much point till the renovations are done. There’s dust and sawdust everywhere.”

“I thought they hung plastic,” P.J. said.

“They did, but the dust gets out anyway, and there are boxes and displaced furniture all over the place.”

“So what harm would it do to have somebody come in and at least keep up with things?”

It was nice having somebody care how hard this had been on her. Howe meant well, but it was still all about him. “You sure are pushy,” she chided good-naturedly.

“And you’re martyring,” P.J. chided good-naturedly right back.

He didn’t know the half of it. But it shocked her to realize that martyring was all she knew how to do.

She heard the door to Howe’s study open downstairs. “I have to go.”

“I’m sending you a present,” P.J. told her.

“No. Please—”

“Don’t worry,” he said, cheerful. “It’ll come in a plain brown wrapper, none the wiser. Use it, Elizabeth. For yourself. You deserve it, and a lot more.”

“No, really, I—”

“ ’Bye.” He hung up.

“Yo, Lillibet!” Howe hollered from the back stairway, clearly excited. “Guess what? We’re all going to Disney World!”

Oh, Lord. “I’m coming!”

______

Three weeks later, despite Elizabeth’s best efforts to get Howe to change his mind, he and Elizabeth rang the bell at his mother’s to pick up Patricia for the flight to Orlando.

Elizabeth had argued for gradually acclimating the children to their father’s new persona, but Howe had decided a boot-camp approach—albeit a
fun
boot camp—would be a more effective way to start over with their kids, so the trip was on.

Pearl opened the door with a huge grin. “Mr. Howe, it’s so good to see you at long last. And lookin’ so well!”

Howe enveloped her in a huge hug, lifting her off her swollen ankles. “How’s my favorite treasure?”

“Here, now, you put me down,” she fretted, flustered. “ ’Fore you hurt yoself. Or me.”

Howe eased her back onto her sensible shoes. “Don’t worry about me. I’m better than I have been for the past twenty years.” He waggled his eyebrows, leaning in close. “Don’t you want to know why?”

Pearl straightened her always immaculate white apron. “Why is that, then?”

His eyes sparkled as he confided, “ ’Cause I finally got born again.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as Pearl burst into tears of joy.

“Have mercy, Jesus. My prayers have been answered!” Pearl grabbed Howe and started whacking his back. “Thank You, Jesus, for savin’ this precious boy at last. Thank You, Jesus.”

Augusta’s voice cut across the foyer with an icy, “That’s quite enough, Pearl. Don’t encourage him.” She approached from the
family room. “You know as well as I do that Howell was baptized and brought up in the church.” Augusta stopped beside the huge fresh flower arrangement in the vase on the circular table, her hands clasped before her. “Elizabeth,” she acknowledged tersely. “Pearl, please tell Miss Patricia her—”

“Daddy?” Patricia erupted from the landing. “Daddy!” Laden with shoulder bags, her hair haphazardly caught up in a bright pink scrunchie, she ran down the stairs so fast Elizabeth was afraid she’d trip over her forty-dollar flip-flops. Though she was a woman full-grown, Patricia launched herself into her father’s arms. “At last! I’ve missed you so much!”

“There’s my girl,” Howe managed through a fresh spate of tears. “There’s my Patti-pie.”

Elizabeth might as well not have existed, but she was accustomed to being ignored by her daughter.

“I can’t believe I’m nineteen and going to Disney World for the first time,” Patricia told Howe.

He swung her back and forth. “How do you think I feel? I’m fifty-nine.” His voice broke. “Better late than never.” He set her down. “First class, all the way. The works. We are gonna have us some good old-fashioned
fun
.”

Patricia reared back. “But I thought you were so sick,” she said, grasping his arms to study him. “Too sick for me to come home.” Her beautiful features set in a pout. “You don’t look sick to me. You look great. Why didn’t you want me at home?”

“Patricia, remember yourself,” Augusta chided. “Your father almost died and was in a coma for six months. His injuries aren’t visible. It’s rude to question his decisions.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Patricia told him.

He kissed her forehead, regret in his expression. “That’s okay, sweetie. I had a lot of adjustments to make, but I’m okay now, and we’re all going to be together at last.”

She giggled. “I can’t wait to ride the teacups with you.” Pulling her father, Patricia started for the door, oblivious to the two large suitcases they passed. “What made you decide on Disney World?”

“Patricia, honey,” Elizabeth said. “Please take one of your suitcases. I’ll get the other.”

Howe extracted himself from their daughter’s grasp. “No way,” he said. “I’ll get them both.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Howell?” his mother asked, her tone leaving no doubt that she thought it wasn’t. “I can call Thomas.”

“Mama, Thomas is eighty-three,” Howe retorted. “I can handle these.”

Augusta let out a disapproving sigh. “If you insist.”

“No, Daddy, let me. Really.” Patricia extended the handle on the larger one and pulled it toward the threshold. “It’s on wheels.” With a flash and a rumble, she was out the door and bumping down the brick stairway.

Howe picked up the smaller one up by its regular handle. “Well, I guess we’re off.” He walked over to give his mother a peck on the cheek. “Sorry we couldn’t talk you into coming with us, Mama. You never know. You might have liked it.”

Not a chance in hell, Elizabeth thought.

“Amusement parks are for children, Howell,” his mother said
as they exited onto the brick front porch. “And simpleminded ones, at that.”

Howe looked at her with a sad smile. “So you said, Mama. See you in a week.” He took Elizabeth’s arm with his free hand. “Come on, Lillibet. Let’s make up for lost time with the kids.”

Augusta lifted her eyes heavenward with a sharp exhale. “Try to act your age, Howell.”

His smile broadened. “Are you kidding? I’ve been old since I came back to this town. I’m ready to be young. Why do you think we’re going to Disney World?”

Augusta shot Elizabeth a look of sympathy. “Do the best you can with him.” Then she closed the door.

“Come on, Daddy,” Patricia called from the front seat of their eco-pig Infiniti SUV. “Charles is already packed and sitting on his front porch downtown, waiting for us.”

“On our way,” Howe said with forced joviality.

Elizabeth had warned Howe that he couldn’t undo a lifetime of distance with a trip to Disney World, but he hadn’t listened. He’d just started crying and said he had to start somewhere with their children.

He opened the front passenger door. “Okay, Tinkerbell,” he told a surprised Patricia. “Climb in back. I’d like to ride with your mama.”

That
was new. Usually, Patricia rode up front with her father, and Elizabeth rode in back with Charles. Elizabeth regarded Howe in mild amazement, and was rewarded with a sidelong hug.

“C’mon, Patti-pie,” he urged their daughter.

“But Daddy,” Patricia wheedled. “Mama’s had you to herself
for months and months.” She frowned up at Elizabeth in challenge. “I always get to sit with Daddy. You don’t mind, do you?”