Waking Up in Dixie (26 page)

“What if he has come to his senses?” Elizabeth challenged. “What if this is the man he’s going to be?”

Augusta had no answer for that.

“I’ll admit,” Elizabeth went on, “he’s impulsive and lacks the filters the rest of us have. But he means so well, and he’s heartfelt in his convictions.”

“They’re not convictions,” Augusta minced out. “They’re delusions.”

Five minutes before, Elizabeth would have agreed with her assessment, but suddenly she realized she’d rather have this Howe, just the way he was, than the old one. “The last time I looked, we still had freedom of speech and religion. If what Howe did was insane, every evangelical in the country would be in an asylum.”

“Maybe they should be,” Augusta retorted. “And leave things to those of us with a proper sense of decorum.”

What arrogance!

This was getting nowhere. “Augusta, I won’t help you put Howe away. It’s wrong.”

“Then I’ll have to take care of it on my own,” she threatened. “And you know I have the means to do it.”

Augusta was more connected than Georgia Power, especially in medical and judicial circles, so when she said she could do something, she could. Her threats were never idle.

“Try,” Elizabeth threatened right back, “and I’ll go to the media. I’ll bet Dr. Phil or Oprah would love a story like this. Cruel banker wakes up born again and shakes up hidebound church. Maybe
The 700 Club
.”

“You wouldn’t,” Augusta said.

“Try me.”

Augusta’s only response was to hang up.

Elizabeth took it as a victory, but she knew better than to think the matter was over. Augusta was sneaky.

Elizabeth decided to call Howe’s lawyer and have him put things in place to counter any effort by Augusta to have Howe committed. Then she and Howe needed to talk. For all their sakes, he had to tone things down.

She’d just hung up from telling their lawyer what was going on when the doorbell rang, and she answered to find not one, but two, beaming Baptist ministers on her doorstep.

“Good day, Mrs. Whittington,” the senior pastor said. “I’m Pastor Lightman from First Baptist, and this is my associate, Pastor Graves. We called earlier.”

So he hadn’t been lying.

“Is Brother Howell available to speak with us?” the minister asked.

Only if she was present to make sure nothing else went wrong. “Come in. We’re
both
looking forward to your visit.”

She led the two men to the sitting room. “Please make yourselves comfortable.” At least somebody would be. “I’ll go get my husband.” Only if he promised to behave himself. And not become a Baptist. That day, anyway.

Three hours of spirited theology later, Patricia showed up at the sitting room door and said Howe needed to take her to the mall. With a pained smile for the ministers, she assured them it was an emergency.

Worn out from trying to make sure Howe didn’t go overboard and change churches without serious consideration, Elizabeth stood, signaling an end to the conversation. “Patti, your
father will be with you in a minute.” She turned to the ministers. “We’ll have to continue this fascinating discussion another time, but thank you so much for coming.”

Pastor Lightman pumped her hand with enthusiasm. “Indeed. I’ll look forward to it.”

Once they were gone, and Howe had ridden off with Patti behind the wheel of the family car, Elizabeth collapsed on the sofa in the family room and closed her eyes. What a day.

Any more like that one, and they’d have to commit
her.

She must have dozed, but woke to a metallic taste in her mouth and the sound of the front door chimes.

Damn. What now?

After a deep sigh, she rose to find Augusta on the doorstep. Patti’s emergency trip with her father suddenly made sense.

Damn, damn, damn. Elizabeth motioned her mother-in-law inside. “Come in, Augusta.”

Her mother-in-law stepped inside and gasped in horror. “You have ruined the wainscoting,” she accused. “And the windows are naked, for every burglar and common passerby to see in!”

Elizabeth smiled in satisfaction. “Yes. Howe insisted, and we love it.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “I was just about to have a drink in the family room. A large one. Would you care to join me?”

Augusta nodded curtly. “I’ll have a double sherry.”

Elizabeth made the drinks while Augusta perched in a wing-backed chair. She waited to speak till Elizabeth handed her the sherry, then sat facing her. After a hefty swig, Augusta said, “I’ve come to plead with you to reconsider your position on Howe’s
hospitalization. Please, Elizabeth. Before he does something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.”

Something
Augusta
would regret.

Elizabeth started to launch into a defense of Howe’s actions, but something in her mother-in-law’s haunted expression reminded her of the way Howe had looked when Elizabeth had taken him to task for not considering her feelings before he did anything, and it occurred to her that she’d never granted Augusta the same courtesy. She’d always been too intimidated. Too defensive. So she’d judged Augusta just as harshly as Augusta had ever judged her.

The realization pricked her conscience deeply, bringing the thin, elegant woman into a fresh perspective. For the first time in all those years, she put herself in Augusta’s place, and a sad place it was, indeed.

Seeing her sitting there, so rigid and fearful and angry, Elizabeth comprehended how isolated Howe’s mother had always been. How lonely it must be to inspire only fear instead of friendship or affection in those closest to her. How empty, to be more obsessed with what people thought than with enjoying the blessings she had.

Not that anyone was responsible for that but Augusta.

Still, for the first time, Elizabeth actually felt pity for Howe’s mother.

Not that being nice would get her anywhere with the woman. So Elizabeth decided to address the issue in terms Augusta could understand. “Augusta, I won’t go into why it’s wrong to try to commit Howe, which it is. I’ll simply point out that it won’t
work. You haven’t taken Howe into consideration in all this. I agree that his recent behavior is embarrassing, but he’s not insane, and he’s nobody’s fool. He may not have practiced law, but he was one of the best they ever had in Moot Court at Emory.”

Augusta’s eyes lost focus, moving from side to side as she saw the glaring fault in her plan of action.

“If you try to commit him,” Elizabeth concluded, “he’ll fight it, and he’ll win. Then the whole mess won’t just be all over town; it’ll be all over the news, even in Atlanta. So what would you have accomplished?”

Augusta drained her tiny goblet of sherry without flinching. “Much as I hate to admit it, Elizabeth, you have a point.” Her posture sagged as she gripped the edge of her seat and stared unseeing at her great-grandmother’s Oriental carpet. “This is all so . . . humiliating. I dare not show my face outside my door.”

“Then don’t,” Elizabeth told her. “Take a trip with one of your friends. A royal tour of Scotland. Or Ireland. Better yet, take a
cruise.
Around the world, if you want. You can afford it. And don’t come back till this blows over.” She smiled. “It will blow over, Augusta. Howe’s getting better every day,” she said, ignoring the possibility that he might not be. “He just needs time. There’s no reason for you to have to endure all the day-to-day ups and downs. Take a nice, long trip. He’ll be better when you get back.”

Augusta straightened, her eyes narrowing. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

Please. “No I’m not. I just want you to enjoy yourself for once. Be
happy
.”

“I might expect such talk from you.” Her mother-in-law set
the empty sherry goblet decisively on the table beside her chair. “We are not put on this earth to be happy. We are put here to be righteous. To suffer and to sacrifice.” She stood to glare down at Elizabeth.

“Oh, Augusta.” Elizabeth rose. “Howe may be screwed up at the moment, but at least he realizes now how important it is to feel things. To laugh, and cry, and experience joy. I wish you could feel that, too.”

“Rubbish.” Augusta’s thin lips pursed. “Now he’s got you spouting nonsense. I can see that this was a waste of my time. I’m leaving.”

Elizabeth had an idea as she followed her mother-in-law toward the front door. “I’ll bet Patti would love to travel with you, and it would be good for her to see more than her own little corner of the world. Maybe y’all could take a trip together.”

Augusta lifted a haughty shoulder. “How convenient that would be for you, to have both of us out of the way.” She looked Elizabeth up and down with disdain, but this time, her contempt had no power to sting. “Good-bye, Elizabeth.” She darted a scornful glance around the renovation. “Do your best to keep Howell under control, before he destroys his reputation completely . . . and this house.”

Elizabeth tempered her response with kindness, but spoke her mind. “I don’t want a man who can be controlled, Augusta,” she said. “Any more than I wanted to be controlled for all those years—by Howe and by you.” She lifted her brows. “It was my fault. I let you both do it. But I know better now.” She opened the front door. “I’m glad Howe’s the way he is.”

Saying it, she realized she meant it.

“Then you’re as unstable as he is,” Augusta snapped, sailing past her toward the car where poor Thomas was waiting behind the wheel.

“Good-bye, Augusta.” For the first time in more than a quarter of a century, Elizabeth closed the door on her mother-in-law without resentment. She actually didn’t give a flying flip what the woman thought of her. For that, if for nothing else, everything that had happened since breakfast was worth it.

Without Augusta hanging over her like a vulture anymore, maybe Elizabeth really could work things out with Howe. Assuming he did get better . . . and didn’t go off the deep end and become a televangelist, or anything.

But then what would she do about P.J.?

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she realized she had to end it, clean.

Oddly, she felt no regret about it.

But she knew better than to think that P.J. would let her go easily. P.J. didn’t let anything he cared about go easily.

Elizabeth decided to make herself another drink.

“Maybe we ought to skip church for a few weeks till things settle down,” Elizabeth suggested over breakfast the next morning.

Howe bristled. “I know things didn’t work out the way I’d planned at the vestry meeting, but I have no intention of hiding. I can work for change from within.” Oh, Lord. “St. Andrew’s is my church home and always has been. Regardless of how well the Baptist minister and I agree on theology, I have no intention of abandoning the Episcopal Church.”

That was a relief.

“Unless God tells me to.”

Oops. Spoke too soon.

Elizabeth focused on stirring her coffee, wondering if there was any connection between Howe’s theological “revelation” and those long hours he’d spent holed up in his study. “Is that what you’ve been doing in your study all this time? Talking to God?”

Howe colored, suddenly intent on putting homemade strawberry jam on his toast. “Some of the time.”

She waited to see if he’d go on, but he didn’t, so she asked outright. “What about the rest of the time?”

He frowned. “I’d rather not say. But I promise, it’s not anything wrong.”

Then why wouldn’t he tell her?

“You’re sure you’re not thinking of going to seminary or anything, are you?” she asked as casually as she could manage.

Howe let out an undignified laugh that was half chortle, half snort. “God, no. I already told you.”

Whew. The idea of being a minister’s wife made her blood run cold. She was under enough scrutiny, as it was.

Howe cocked his head, considering. “Of course, if the Lord could make a minister out of Matthew, I guess he could make one out of me. Might not be a bad idea.”

Oh, hell. She should never have brought it up.

He shot her a wicked grin. “Gotcha.”

“That is not funny,” she said mildly, relieved.

He gave her arm a brief, affectionate squeeze, sobering. “We were always dead serious about everything before, weren’t we?”

That was an understatement. “Yep.” She took a sip of her coffee.

“Damn. Sorry.” He shook his head, pondering, then looked at her with dawning comprehension. “We never had
any
fun, did we?”

“You played
golf,
” she blurted out. “Wasn’t that fun?” The sarcasm in her question made her feel like a shrew, but if they were
going to make something of their marriage, the hookers had to be addressed eventually.

Guilt and remorse aged him before her eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t fun. Ever.” Tears welled. “It was just . . . exercise. Release. No complications. No judgments. No connections.”

She focused past him to the perfect garden that surrounded their perfect house. The summer had been the coolest in decades, with plenty of rain, so everything still looked fresh and green. But inside, she felt parched dry. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”