A Life of Bright Ideas (45 page)

Uncle Rudy gave Freeda and Winnalee a hug, and jostled Evalee’s foot. “You girls drive safely now, and remember that you’re always welcome here.” Then he headed for home.

And that was it.

Freeda climbed into her car.

Winnalee tucked Evalee and her diaper bag into the van, then scooted behind the wheel.

We waved, and called
I love you
and
I’ll miss you
through their opened windows.

Throughout the day, my insides had felt like a rain barrel under a monsoon, and the second the dust settled behind them, and Aunt Verdella headed home to check on Boohoo before they left to fish, I hurried into the house and fell facedown on the couch that smelled like baby powder. That rain barrel I was holding inside tipped over as I did, and my grief over the Malones, Ma, Jesse, the dress shop, everything came spilling out. And while I cried, Tommy came inside and sat down and began unwrapping a stick of gum.

Winnalee always said that you’ve gotta believe in something, or what’s the point. I cried for a good hour, then decided I had no choice but to believe that Winnalee was coming back, and that the winds of change would carry us all into a future where we’d find some happiness.

And it did.

The Malones only got as far as Milwaukee before they decided they were done running and that they would be coming back. Winnalee, right then, and Freeda after she sold her salon in Michigan.

A week after Winnalee returned, Linda announced that she would stay in Dauber until we finished the fall orders, then she was putting the store up for sale and joining Al in Green
Bay. Before that could happen, though, Dad showed up with a check for five thousand dollars—my share of the life insurance money he’d been keeping for Boohoo and me since Ma’s death. “It’s enough for a down payment on Ma’s shop, if you want it. I’ll cosign the loan for you.”

But Dad didn’t need to cosign the loan, because by the time Freeda returned two months later, profit in hand, I had already talked to Ma and felt I had her blessing to pitch the Malones my brightest idea to date: turning Jewel’s Bridal Boutique into the Magic Tree. A place for women—sixteen to ninety-six, darning-needle-skinny to fatter than Fred—to get a makeover for their hair, their clothes, and their attitudes about themselves.

Dad helped us remodel the shop, and Winnalee painted a bright, playful mural of ladies of every shape and size dancing naked around a tree. We took out the tables and some of the fabric cubbyholes, and put in a workstation for each of us: a sink and vanity where Freeda now gives the women the best hairdo for the shape of their face and personality, a desk and easel where Winnalee sketches out their body type and shows them how the art of distraction works. And a sewing corner for me, where I sew the outfits Winnalee designs on Ma’s Singer, in fabrics and colors and patterns that will look best with their coloring and size and shape.

We took out the file cabinet where the patterns were kept in the front room, and added the clothing racks where our newest designs and the reworked clothes Aunt Verdella picks up for us at the Community Sale hang. We also sell makeup, hair products, homemade jewelry, cloth purses, candles, wind chimes, and whatever other gift items we decide to make at the time.

I thought Winnalee was going to croak when I stopped her from tossing out the bridal gown from the old window display while we were remodeling, and told her I was planning on
wearing it at my wedding. “I knew it!” she shouted. “I just knew you’d do this, the minute I came downstairs and saw him going at your neck like a … a vacuum cleaner. Just friends … just friends my ass! But man, Button. Marriage? Are you nuts? Cripes, just get on the Pill and have at it.”

Winnalee reacted just as I knew she would. And so did the rest of them. Freeda fretted about me making such a big decision at my age, and so fast. Uncle Rudy and Dad smiled and gave me quick pats to my back, and Aunt Verdella busted into happy tears and hugged me so hard I nearly lost my breath.

But Winnalee came around, and when we took the gown to the cleaners in Porter, she looked peacock proud when she plunked the dress box on the counter and said, “This is my best friend here, and she’s a virgin, so you’d better get this dress white as snow. And hurry about it, too, because I’ve gotta update this butt-ass-ugly thing, and that’s gonna take some time.”

Needless to say, Winnalee didn’t make the same comment about the need for a snow-white gown for Freeda, when she and Dad announced that they were getting married a year and a half later. In fact, she suggested a dress in the color of my cheeks when she made her comment to the dry cleaner. If I remember correctly, Freeda called her a “little shit,” and tossed a hair comb at her.

Winnalee and I are going to meet at Aunt Verdella’s a half an hour earlier than usual. I pull into Dad’s yard on my way and honk to let Freeda know I’m here. I often pick her up on the way, because she says it does her good to start her day with Aunt Verdella’s ha-has.

Wood smoke is curling from the chimney in Dad’s garage, telling me that he and Boohoo are inside, working on the 1934 Ford that Dad started restoring years ago, but never finished. I zip up my jacket and Boohoo’s dog, Knucklehop, tags me to the garage.

Dad turns down the radio when I come in. He makes a bit of small talk, and I smile. Not over anything he says, but because
when I look in his eyes, I see happiness there. And because he doesn’t turn away.

Freeda barges into the garage. She’s in her forties now, and her hair sits just below her shoulders. Because, like she says, if she’s going to have hair down to her ass when she’s old, she’s got to get a good start now. She kisses on Dad like he’s Uncle Rudy and she’s Aunt Verdella, and reminds Boohoo to make his bed or there will be hell to pay. “Okay, gotta go,” she says.

Freeda and I surround Boohoo. “Love sandwich!” I shout. Boohoo winces and says, “Come on, are you guys gonna still be doing that when I’m thirty?”

Aunt Verdella is at the stove dropping bunny pancakes on the griddle when we get there, and the kitchen is toasty warm and swaddled in breakfast smells. Winnalee is lifting browned sausage links from the fry pan onto a paper-towel-lined plate.

“I wonder how many of those things you’ve made over the years?” I say, as I prop my chin on Aunt Verdella’s shoulder and watch her drop in the raisin eyes. Her hair—a light reddish brown, because that’s what Freeda gave her—tickles my cheek. She laughs. “Oh Lord, I don’t know. Lots of them!

“You two have time for coffee?” she asks, as she gives Freeda her morning hug. I glance up at the clock, decide we have time for a half a cup, and tell her I’ll get it.

“Oh, you’ll never guess who Rudy and I ran into in Eagle River over the weekend,” she tells us. “Marls Bishop. Well, she’s not Marls Bishop anymore. She married a nice guy named Allen, and they’ve got three more little ones. She said her boy’s doing real good. Brody gave up custody so Allen could adopt him. Did you know that?”

Aunt Verdella takes the platter of pancakes to the table and reaches for a sausage link. Before she gets it to her mouth, Freeda taps her hand. Aunt Verdella groans. “Look at that. I was gonna stuff that thing in my mouth without giving it an
ounce of thought. I’m never gonna get below a hundred and eighty again if I keep pickin’ like this. I didn’t even know I was doin’ it.” Her eyes get huge then and she turns to me. “Speakin’ of not knowing what you’re doing, did Ada tell you what happened with Fanny on Monday?”

“I haven’t seen Ada in a couple of days,” I tell her.

“Well,” she says. “Ada had to call Fanny’s son in Indiana and tell him something has to be done with her, because she ain’t in her right mind.”

“Was she ever?” Winnalee asks, and I stifle a giggle.

Aunt Verdella continues, like she didn’t hear the comment. “Ada said Fanny came into The Corner Store, and she was shuffling in these tiny baby steps, like her feet were having trouble moving. Ada was afraid she’d go crashing into the bread rack, so she hurried around the counter to help steady her. And then she saw the problem. Fanny’s bloomers had slipped right down from under her dress, and were all tangled around her ankles!”

“Maybe she finally got too warm,” I say. And Winnalee adds, “And decided to do the naked lady dance to cool off.” Freeda laughs. But then, because Aunt Verdella looks serious, I say, “She didn’t even notice?”

“No. Not even when Ada told her. Ada didn’t have any choice then but to coax her to step out of them before she fell.”

“I bet she was wearing long, wool underwear,” Winnalee says.

Aunt Verdella’s eyes are round. “Well, that’s the strange part. I came in right after it happened, and there was Ada, holding this pair of these red, silky underpanties! I thought she was pulling my leg when she said they’d just dropped off of Fanny.”

As Winnalee and I roar, Freeda shouts, “Fanny Tilman. Wool on the outside, silk underneath! Who would have guessed?”

“Her son is coming up today and putting her in the nursing home. I’ll have to go see her tomorrow.”

I smile, because that’s Aunt Verdella for you.

Upstairs, there is a scurry of footsteps, followed by an “Ouch!”

“Oh lordy, what are those kids up to now. Rudy?” Aunt Verdella calls. She turns to us. “You wouldn’t think he could still be sleeping with all that racket,” she says. Then she belts out, “Breakfast!”

The same fluttery footsteps join the heavy, slow ones descending the stairs.

“Lookie what came jumping on my bed to wake me up this morning,” Uncle Rudy says as he comes into the kitchen. “Two pretty little dancing fairies.”

Winnalee and I squeal with delight. “Our old tu-tus!” we yell in unison, and we barrage Aunt Verdella with questions.

“Well, I don’t really know how they ended up here. But you know me, I’m a pack rat. I found them last night and laid them out for the girls to find this morning. Oh, don’t those two look darling!”

The girls giggle as Uncle Rudy lifts their hands and twirls them in circles, one at each side. Eight-year-old Evalee, pudgy-bellied and beautiful with her sugar-cookie skin, silky straight blond hair, and angelic face, holds out the pink mesh skirt delicately as she slowly spins, while Jewelee—a year and a half younger, but already nearly as tall—dances, her skinny free arm whipping in circles like she’s winding up to throw a lasso. She’s wearing an impish grin, and her long hair—lighter than mine, but every bit as curly as Tommy’s—bounces.

Uncle Rudy lets go of their hands, and while Freeda asks them if they had fun at their pajama party with Aunt Verdella, Jewelee twirls in high-speed spins around the table, her arms above her head, her hands clasped. She bumps into Aunt
Verdella’s belly and Aunt Verdella ha-has as she catches her with a hug, then warns her to be careful because Uncle Rudy’s got hot coffee.

Evalee comes to me, her head half bowed, her mouth pouty. I grab her and she melts against me. “Auntie Button,” she says. “Jewelee pulled my hair when we were putting on our dancing dresses. All because she wanted to wear this one. But that one was littler, like her.”

I can feel my lips pull tight like Ma’s used to, even if I don’t want them to, and I call Jewelee to me. “What did we tell you about being naughty?”

Jewelee juts out her chin. Her neck is every bit as wrist-skinny as Boohoo’s used to be. “That if I don’t stop it, Aunt Freeda is gonna sit on me.”

“Don’t think I won’t, either,” Freeda says, and Winnalee adds, “Ask your uncle Boohoo.”

“I swear,” Aunt Verdella says, looking first at me, then at Winnalee. “If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d say your daughters were switched at birth.” We’ve all said this a thousand times already.

I pull a ponytail holder out of my purse and pat my lap. Jewelee hops up and caps her knobby knees with her hands. “Speaking of your uncle Boohoo,” I say, as I gather handfuls of her wild curls, “he’s stopping over here with Grandpa today.” The girls cheer, and Aunt Verdella smiles.

“Soon?” Evalee asks, and I tell her no. “He and Grandpa are going to help Uncle Tommy put up snow fence as soon as he gets back from the hardware store.”

“Andy’s gonna help do snow fence, too,” Jewelee says, and Aunt Verdella marvels out loud over how attached my five-year-old son is to his daddy. I tell her how Andy had his little tool set strapped around him when I left home, even though I told him that the hardware store wouldn’t be opening for another two hours.

“Hey,” Evalee says, her voice soft with thoughtfulness. “Where is Uncle Boohoo’s home, anyway?”

“At Grandpa and Freeda’s,” Jewelee pipes up. “ ’Cause that’s where his toys are.” She’s talking about the model airplanes that hang from the ceiling with twine in my old room.

“But he’s got a room at my house. And your house, too,” Evalee reminds her. “Even one upstairs here. And there’s old toys up there, too.”

Aunt Verdella and I exchange smiles because even at fourteen, Boohoo remains tied to us all.

The straps of Jewelee’s costume slip down her shoulders and while Aunt Verdella comments that she’ll have to take them both in, I lift the straps above Jewelee’s head and crisscross them. A strap catches on her perfect little ear, and she yelps. I give her a kiss, ask her if she apologized to Evalee, and she hops down and scoots onto the same chair as Evalee. Jewelee puts her arm around her and kisses her cheek. She says she’s sorry, and just like that, they’re best friends again.

“I’m glad you don’t have to go to school today, Cupcake,” Jewelee says. “We can play in our house now.” Their “house” is Winnalee’s old, broken-down hippie van that’s parked alongside Grandma Mae’s house, where Winnalee and Bradley, her fiancé, live. Bradley—the guy she loves to kiss, who came after her five-year live-in relationship with Craig, a miscarriage, then a quick romance with a guy named Darrin, followed by one with a guy named Kevin—installed a little heater in the van for the girls, and now it’s filled with dress-up clothes, a pink plastic kitchen, Community Sale toys, and memories to last them a lifetime.