Текст книги "Mama Gets Hitched"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Oh, my Gawd! That cake is absolutely GORGEOUS!” C’ndee’s big voice blasted from the dining room. “I have to visit the little girl’s room, but be sure to save me a slice.”

“Cake,” Maddie and I chorused.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Marty called out, in a voice brimming with artificial cheer. “Mama, why don’t we go into the other room and cut the cake?”

A murmur of assent went around the room. Mama cast one more withering glance at Sal, who seemed to shrink a little under the glare.

“Poor guy,” I whispered to Maddie. “He better man up if he wants to go mano a mano with Mama.”

“You know it. She likes a challenge. If she can walk all over him, he won’t last long enough to board the Maid of the Mist on their honeymoon.”

“They’re not going to Vegas?”

“Nope, Niagara,” Maddie said. “She has bad associations to Vegas, what with Husband No. 2. Then again she’s been to Niagara Falls, too. Was that with No. 3 or 4?”

Marty hissed under her breath, “Hush, the both of you! You’ll jinx the wedding.”

The party relocated to the dining room, where all of us attempted to stay on our best behavior. Mama’s snit was quickly forgotten, and she was already laughing and kidding again with Sal. She dabbed her finger in a bit of stray icing, and got on her tiptoes to put a dollop on his lips. Then she kissed it off.

Sal beamed as the two of them shared the process of cutting, plating, and passing pieces of cake. The thick white frosting was decorated with dark purple roses, no surprise. Best Wishes, Sal and Rosalee, was written in cursive, in a lighter shade of purple.

I was working on an exit strategy that would allow me to eat cake, and still get out the door before that shower game where guests squeeze a nickel between their knees and try to walk. Whoever drops her nickel first is definitely not a virgin. Considering the afternoon I’d spent, I doubted if I could squeeze my legs around a basketball, let alone a nickel.

Our plates full, my sisters and I returned to our positions in the living room. As Maddie savored a jumbo-sized icing rose, Marty said, “Are you going to talk to C’ndee, Mace?”

“You bet I am. If she ever makes it out of the ‘little girls’ room.’ What in the world is taking her so long in there, I wonder?”

Maddie shuddered. “Maybe she got some bad seafood over there on the coast.”

My older sister had once eaten some bad raw clams in Vero Beach. She’d been convinced ever since that the only good seafood was frozen, deep-fried, and served with a side of hush puppies.

Knowing Maddie’s taste for retelling the Revenge of the Clam story, in detail, Marty changed the subject. “I called the park today, Mace. Rhonda said you’d left with Carlos.” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

I ignored Maddie’s tongue clucking. “He asked me to go with him to question that lowlife, Darryl. We took a boat from the fish camp, but we never made it to Osprey Bay Island.”

“That’s because they took a little detour.” Maddie was wearing her know-it-all look.

“Well, we started taking on water. Carlos went overboard, and nearly drowned. And we barely escaped being eaten by a giant gator. So, I guess you could say we were detoured.”

“What!??” My sisters gasped.

Mama walked up with Sal, hands entwined like teenagers. “Did I miss something?” she asked.

As they sat, I launched into the tale of the Missing Drain Plug and How I Saved the Day. I was savoring the contrite look on Maddie’s face, when a hubbub arose and interrupted me.

“Get your hands off me, you hick!” The voice was loud, angry, and pure Joisey.

“Don’t call me a hick, you hussy!” That one was rural and shrill. Alice.

The voices were coming from the hallway, near the powder room. We all looked at one another. Then we leaped off the purple couch, plates of cake forgotten. We heard a loud thump, like a body getting shoved into the wall. Then slap, the sound of an open hand hitting skin. Just as we rounded the corner into the dining room, Alice and C’ndee came staggering out of the hallway. Each had a handful of the other’s hair.

“Let go!” Alice screeched.

“You first!” C’ndee countered.

Betty started clearing her souvenir shot glasses and Princess Diana plates off an accent table. Sal roared, “C’ndee! Stop it right now.” The two women circled, round and round.

“She started it.” C’ndee landed a kick with her red stiletto on Alice’s shin. “Bitch!”

Alice hopped on one foot. “Whore!” she yelled, connecting with a solid punch to C’ndee’s left breast.

“Ouch!” C’ndee cried, as everyone but Sal cringed.

He bulled his way through the moving mass of shower guests turned fight fans. He almost made it to the battering duo, even had one beefy arm stretched out to separate them, when C’ndee gave Alice a mighty shove. Alice grabbed at her opponent’s left shoulder and held on as she fell backward.

The two of them toppled together onto the dining room table. The punch bowl tipped, spilling a juice mixture of cranberry and pineapple, with lemon-lime soda. A fruity smell rose in the room. Globs of lime sherbet dotted Betty’s carpet, like green islands in a lilac sea. Then the cake slid from the table, splat onto the wet carpet. The two women went next, coming off the table only to lose their footing in frosting, sherbet, and bridal shower punch.

Mama clutched her hand to her throat. “Make them stop, Sal!” she wailed. “They’re ruining my shower.”

As I watched Alice and C’ndee tumbling across the floor in white frosting and pink punch, I had to disagree with Mama. This was the best bridal fete ever.

Mama aimed a disposable camera at me and clicked. Little red dots from the flash danced in front of my eyes.

“My stars and garters, Mace. You look like the governor just signed your death warrant. Would it kill you to crack a smile? You’re supposed to be playing a beaming bride.”

I hadn’t been able to escape the shower games. I slapped down my “bouquet,” a paper plate adorned with ribbons from the shower gifts, on Betty’s coffee table.

“I’m wearing a veil made out of toilet paper, and y’all have me wrapped like a mummy with at least three rolls. I look more like an explosion in an outhouse than I do a bride, Mama.”

The excitement had died down. Betty brought out store-bought cookies to replace the ruined cake. My cousin Henry had arrived. And with Mama and him fixing the votes, guess who got roped into portraying Himmarshee’s next bride?

Sal had finally managed to pull apart C’ndee and Alice. D’Vora took the widow Hodges into Betty’s bedroom to help her clean up. C’ndee, cursing, stormed out the front door with Sal right behind her. I started to make my exit right behind them, but Marty and Mama stopped me.

“We’ve got to stay and help Betty,” Marty said.

“My shower is a disaster.” Mama’s lower lip quivered.

Maddie clapped her hands like the teacher she’d once been. “Why don’t all of us pitch in to help Betty pick up, and then we’ll all play the wedding gown game?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Marty immediately chimed in.

I wasn’t the only one to roll my eyes and start for the door. But Maddie shot the dissenters her principal glare, and we all fell into line.

Now, I was the make-believe bride, and Mama was snapping pictures, probably figuring a TP wedding dress might be the only kind I’d ever get. Meanwhile, Henry was taking advantage of the fact I’d been toilet-papered into paralysis to steal a cookie off my plate.

“I saw that! It’s not my problem you got here late and missed both the catfight and the cake, Henry.”

“Mace, please,” Mama said. “A bride is supposed to be gracious and giving, not surly and snide.”

“You must not have ever watched that Bridezilla show on TV,” I told her.

Henry gulped down the stolen cookie and then reached for the last one on my plate. “Aunt Rosalee, you can’t expect Mace to play along. She’s extremely literal. She was never blessed with a good imagination. Mace sees only toilet tissue where we might see a lovely white gown.”

“That must be the problem. It’s a white gown!” Dab’s stage whisper was followed by a burst of laughter.

Henry popped my cookie into his mouth.

“Thanks for the analysis, you overeducated weasel. I forgot about your legendary imagination: Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and Henry Bauer, Himmarshee’s Courtroom King of the Slip-and-Fall.”

Henry and I might have gone a round if Betty’s doorbell hadn’t rung just then. Our exhausted hostess yelled from her reclining chair, “It’s open.”

A few moments later, Sal trudged into the living room. Head hanging, shoulders slumped, C’ndee limped in his wake.

“C’ndee has something she wants to say.” He nudged her to center stage.

The room was so quiet, I could hear the remainder of my punch gliding down Henry’s gullet.

“Start tawking,” Sal said.

“I’m sorry, Rosalee, to have acted the way I did at what should have been a happy day for you.” C’ndee looked down as she twisted her hands. “And, Betty, I’ll pay for the cake, and whatever we broke. I’ll also take care of getting your carpet cleaned.”

She lifted her eyes, scanned the crowd, and then stepped backward as if to leave.

“You’re not done yet, George Foreman.” Sal gripped C’ndee’s wrist. “Where’s Alice?”

“Let her through,” came a muffled voice from the back.

Arm around Alice’s shoulders, D’Vora led her into the living room. She wore a loaner running suit from Betty, purple of course. She’d had a shower, but I noticed punch-colored pink splotches on her white canvas shoes.

C’ndee looked worse than Alice, though. She’d repaired her makeup, but her mass of curls was flat and sticky in the back. A clump of purple-and-white frosting showed clearly. A rip gaped at the left shoulder of her leopard-print blouse, and the spike heel of her right shoe had snapped off. That explained the limp.

Sal elbowed her in the ribs. “Well?” he prodded.

“I’m sorry, Alice.”

C’ndee’s voice was more like a breath than a whisper. Her dark lashes were wet against her cheeks.

For a long moment, Alice said nothing. Then, letting loose a sigh that shook her whole body, she began to cry.

C’ndee’s eyes flickered up for an instant to Alice’s contorted face. Looking horrified, she quickly returned her gaze to the floor.

I felt awful. The fight had been entertaining, like a white trash pileup on Jerry Springer. But this raw emotion wasn’t funny. Marty and Mama moved quickly to comfort Alice. She waved them away.

“I’m okay,” she stuttered between sobs. “It’s … it’s not C’ndee’s … fault. I hit her first. I’m not crying over the fight.”

At that, C’ndee lifted her face. She dug in her pocket, pulled out a pack of tissues, and peeled off a couple for Alice.

“Thanks.” Alice blew her nose. “It’s Ronnie … it’s everything, you know?” she looked at several of us in turn.

“We know.” Mama patted her shoulder.

“Of course,” another guest echoed.

“I knew he was cheating.” She dabbed her eyes, took a step toward C’ndee.

“You weren’t the first,” the widow told the mistress. “You wouldn’t have been the last.”

As a dozen pairs of eyes focused on C’ndee, her face turned as pink as the spilled punch. I was surprised. I wouldn’t have imagined she was capable of feeling shame.

“Ronnie told me your marriage was all but over.” She raised her face to Alice’s. “He said you were getting a divorce. I’ve been cheated on myself. I know how it feels. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Surprisingly, Alice smiled. “You mean with Ronnie, or with that hard kick you landed on my shin?”

A chorus of giggles rounded the room. Relief flashed across C’ndee’s face.

“If it makes you feel any better, these were three-hundred-dollar shoes.” C’ndee raised a foot to display the broken designer creation. “And I can’t find the heel anywhere. I even searched Betty’s front yard on hands and knees.”

Alice said, “Yes, I think that does make me feel a little better.” She lifted her shoe with its pink stains. “At least these were just from the markdown bin at the Sebring dollar store.”

Everybody laughed, including C’ndee. Then the levity quickly left her face. “I mean it, Alice. I really am sorry. About everything.”

She reached out a hand. The widow took it. They shook, and kept their fingers entwined.

“Ronnie wasn’t completely lying, you know? He and I had stopped living as man and wife. I took my marriage vows seriously, but I was so angry after he strayed.”

She looked out Betty’s front windows to the dark street outside. I thought of that wedding picture at Alice’s house, with the groom razored out.

“But now that he’s gone, I realize I still loved him.” She gave a sad shrug. “Too late.”

Alice’s words and a sense of loss hung in the air. Maddie whispered, “It’s a good time to question C’ndee, Mace. Everybody’s being so honest.”

At my other shoulder, Marty warned, “Don’t you dare! Mama can’t take another title bout.”

Heeding Marty’s advice, I held my tongue. Maddie plowed into the silence, voice carrying like she was yelling at kids in a cafeteria food fight.

“There’s something we’ve been wondering, C’ndee.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you heard you’re a suspect in Ronnie’s murder?”

The color drained from C’ndee’s face. Alice dropped her hand like she’d been scorched. Sal, who’d been edging away during the emotional apologies, stopped dead.

“No, Maddie, I hadn’t heard that.” C’ndee’s voice was icy. “Where’d you get your information?”

“Yeah, who told you dat?” Sal’s accent got stronger under stress.

Maddie gestured vaguely. “People gossip.”

I was grateful she didn’t give me up. But when I looked at Sal, his penetrating gaze was burning me two new eyeholes. I immediately felt guilty.

C’ndee recovered her confidence, brushing off Maddie’s question. “Gossip? That’s all? That’s something I’m used to.”

She turned and put both her hands on Alice’s shoulders. I noticed the two of them were about the same size, but C’ndee had muscles in the places where Alice had flab. She was at least fifteen years younger than the widow, and in much better shape.

“I swear to you, Alice, I had nothing to do with your husband’s death.”

Alice returned her gaze, seeming to seek—and find—something in C’ndee’s eyes. “I know they’re going to find the person who really did kill Ronnie,” she finally said. “I don’t believe it was you.”

C’ndee exhaled. “Thank you. And if anybody tries to prove otherwise, I have access to some very sharp lawyers.”

It wasn’t long after the two women’s heart-to-heart that Betty got up from her easy chair and announced she was tuckered out. “Anybody who wants to stay, feel free to lock up.”

Seeing the hostess don her bathrobe is a sure-fire party ender.

After Mama made the three of us promise to clean up for Betty, she left with Sal. C’ndee and Alice had caused the entire ruckus, so it seemed fair that they pitch in. But, given Alice’s loss, and the fact none of us were crazy about C’ndee, my sisters and I didn’t press when they both wanted to leave with the rest of the guests. Henry, of course, couldn’t be bothered to help with what he considered women’s work.

We were standing at the sink, doing as Mama told us to do.

“Henry never did have to lift a finger!” Marty washed a plate, and then handed it to me to dry.

“Aunt Ida ruined that boy, if you ask me.” Maddie took the plate from my hand and stacked it on the clean kitchen table.

“Then again, he did grow up having to eat Ida’s cooking.” Marty handed me another plate.

“Speaking of Ida, remember when Uncle Teddy got drunk and tossed his wife’s brother into that vat of Ida’s potato salad at one of Mama’s receptions?” I dried, passing off to Maddie.

“How about when Ida took a barbecued rib and smacked that woman Henry was dating?” Marty giggled.

“Yep, that was Wedding No. 2. Beef rib. It was a big one.” Maddie squirted more soap into the sink.

“She deserved it,” I said. “Ida walked in on her in the bathroom with the groom. He claimed he drank too much. Mama should have known right then that No. 2 was a scoundrel.”

We worked in silence for a while: Wash, dry, stack. Wash, dry, stack.

Finally, I said, “Speaking of scoundrels, I never got C’ndee alone to ask her about that snake, Darryl. He wasn’t much of a husband to his wife, but if C’ndee was messing around with him, that means she was doing it with two married men. I’m not sure I buy her Little Miss Innocent act from today.”

“You’re so suspicious! If Alice can find trust in her heart for C’ndee, so should we.”

“Mace has a point, Marty. Think about it: Two wives she was doing dirty,” Maddie said.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Go awaaaaay,” Betty groaned from her bedroom.

“We’ve got it, Betty.” I hurried to answer the door.

Dab Holt waved at me through the living room window. When I opened up, she said, “Sorry, hon. I left my wrap behind.”

She found it behind the dining room buffet, probably misplaced during the excitement over the fight. I’m surprised no one heard it drop. The shawl was silver, and looked like the heavy chain mail knights used to wear.

“So, you and my mama go way back?”

“Ages, hon. Your mama’s a few years older than me, though.”

I ducked my chin to hide my smile. I could have beat around the bush some more, made polite conversation. But it was late, and I was nosy. Besides, Dab didn’t strike me as being too concerned with niceties.

“Mama said you shot a man in Reno. Is that the truth?”

“It was Carson City, hon.” She adjusted the wrap around her shoulders. “And I didn’t shoot him; I stabbed the son of a bitch. I’d do it again, too. I’d just make sure my aim was better.”

As I passed the turnoff to the Pork Pit, my stomach grumbled. Talk about your conditioned response. I was as predictable as Pavlov’s dogs. I made a U-turn, and circled back to the side road to the barbecue spot.

The food was tasty at Mama’s bridal shower, but those few ham-and-cheese cigars hardly filled me up. After all, I had saved a drowning man and then ravished him all afternoon. How many of my fellow shower-goers had burned those kinds of calories before the event?

I pulled into the gravel parking lot, no doubt grinning as a few choice moments with Carlos replayed in my mind. I was probably blushing, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that immediately snapped me back to the present time and place.

“Meat is Murder!” The shout came from a large pig, enormous costume head bobbing in time to the words.

“Love Animals, Don’t Eat Them!” chanted a second, smaller pig.

They looked like characters at Disney, if Disney had a farm animal theme park.

As I parked, I noticed a couple of customers hurrying past the pigs into the Pork Pit. The man held the woman close, as if one of the porcine pair might pounce.

“Murderer!” the first pig yelled at me as I got out of the Jeep. Deep voice. Masculine.

“Boycott Barbecue!” the smaller added. That voice was familiar, and it sounded like she was running out of steam.

I walked closer to the shoulder of the road where they stood, and peered at the little pig. A smooth cheek and a blond dreadlock showed through the face hole.

“Linda-Ann, is that you?”

The big head nodded. “Hey, Mace, how you doin’?”

“Well, I’m fine, but what’s all this with the pig suits? How long have you been out here?”

“We’re protesting,” the big pig said.

“Eight hours today,” Linda-Ann added. “And it’s our second day. This is the boy I told you about.” She pointed a plush pink arm at her companion. “Trevor, this is Mace.”

“How do you do?” He extended a soft cloven hoof.

I shook it. With greater maneuverability than I’d have thought, he tightened his grip on my hand.

“Please don’t go in there, Mace,” he pleaded. “Have you ever seen a video of an animal slaughterhouse? We can show you things you wouldn’t believe.”

“Uhm, no. But thank you anyway.” I tried to extricate my hand. “You know, Trevor, my sister’s a vegetarian. I realize there are good arguments against eating meat. But I don’t see how dressing up like Halloween and screaming at people gets your point across.”

He clutched my hand more tightly. “Exactly! We have to do more to reach people, don’t we Linda-Ann? We have to try harder to get our message across.”

I thought I detected a lack of enthusiasm in her nod. But it was hard to tell. Maybe the giant head was just getting heavy.

“We’re passing out fliers next week at the rodeo,” she said.

“Didn’t you used to barrel race with that Quarter horse of yours?”

“Trevor says rodeo events are cruel to the animals.”

My hand was still in its plush prison. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Trevor.” I pulled hard. He pulled back.

“Please, Mace.” His voice rose. “You can’t go in there to eat. It’s immoral.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion. It’s a free country. But we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this issue.”

He finally let go, and I immediately stuck my hands in my pockets so he couldn’t trap me again. Raising his arms to either side of the giant head, he lifted it off. His dark eyes burned with passion and idealism and maybe some desperation. Had I ever felt that strongly about anything?

“You should love animals, not eat them.” His voice quaked with emotion. “When you do, it’s like you’re the animal’s executioner.”

Were those tears filling his eyes? It may just have been a reflection from the restaurant’s neon pink Pork Pit sign.

I was about to step away, when his words triggered a memory.

“Speaking of executions, did y’all hear about the wild hog’s head that was left at Alice Hodges’ front door?”

Linda-Ann’s head wobbled from side to side. Shock registered on Trevor’s face.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Alice is the one whose husband got killed at the VFW this week.” When Linda-Ann turned her head to explain to Trevor, her voice missed the mouth hole and came out muffled.

“Alice’s murdered husband ran a barbecue business,” I said. “The day he died, somebody cut off a wild pig’s head, and left it on the widow’s porch.”

“That’s so cruel!” the pig’s foot flew to cover Trevor’s mouth.

“Well, it was already dead,” I said.

“But the disrespect that shows!”

“To Alice or the hog?” I asked him.

He considered. “Well, both.”

“When you said y’all have to do more to get your message across, I was just wondering how far you’d go to do that?”

Trevor’s brows knit together in confusion. For a guy in graduate school, he didn’t seem that brainy. Maybe he was too tall for his available blood supply.

“Mace is accusing us of having something to do with that hog’s head,” Linda-Ann explained.

I put up a hand. “Not accusing. Just wondering.”

Revulsion raced across Trevor’s face. Then he got angry. “How could you say something like that? I’d sooner cut off my own head than hurt a pig, wild or not. I’d never, ever, ever hurt an animal!”

A stray drop of spittle flew my way. I stepped back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

A big-bellied trucker got out of his rig on the road’s shoulder and headed for the Pork Pit. Without another word to me, Trevor slipped his pig head on again. “Boycott Barbecue!” he shouted at the trucker. “Meat is Murder!”

The big man didn’t even break stride. He just flicked a cigarette butt at Trevor’s pig head and kept walking.

“That was rude!” Linda-Ann called after him.

The cigarette bounced off the plastic head and fell to the gravel. Crushing it under my boot, I headed for the door.

Inside, almost every table was taken. The protest didn’t seem to be making much of a dent in business. It wasn’t until I’d gotten my take-out order of ribs, pulled pork, and all the fixin’s, that I thought about what Trevor had said.

I’d never, ever, ever hurt an animal!

If they’d still been outside, I would have asked Trevor how he felt about hurting a human.