Lily of the Springs (43 page)

Casting a glance over at me, she blew her bangs out of her eyes, ala Sally Field in “Gidget” and made a bee-line for the refrigerator. I hid a smile and kept typing. Although Debby Ann’s new heroine was Peggy Lipton from “The Mod Squad,” she couldn’t quite shake the mannerisms she’d picked up from Sally Field.

Grabbing the Tupperware container of iced tea, Debby said, “How’s the book coming along, Mommy?”

“Almost done,” I muttered, my eyes fixed on the tiny keys splatting onto the paper. “Be sure and put that top back on the pitcher the right way. Last time, I spilled it all over the cabinet because it was loose.”

“I didn’t do it,” was Debby Ann’s automatic reply, accompanied by a
Geez-aren’t-you-an-idiot
roll of her eyes. “When’s your friend coming?” From the decorative bunny rabbit cookie jar on the counter, she grabbed one of Great-Aunt Arrah Wanna’s sugar cookies and began munching.

“Soon.”

Debby Ann took a long draw of iced tea from a pale pink Tupperware tumbler and ran her fingers through her long, stick-straight brown hair. “I can’t wait to meet Davy. I just hope he’s not a drag. Did I like him when we were babies?”

I suppressed a sigh, stopped typing and looked up. “You got along fine with Davy when you were babies. Maybe it was because you were both brats.”

She rolled her eyes again and tried to hide a grin. “Well,
God
! Tell it like it
is
,
Mother
!”

“That’s what I just did.”

She put the top back on the pitcher and shoved it back in the refrigerator. “Well, I’ll be in the back. Call me when they get here.”

I eyed her curvy little bottom as she sash-shayed toward the back door. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to put some clothes on before they get here?”

She glanced back, her eyes big and brown under her thick, long bangs and gave me a saucy smile. “Are you
kidding
, man?”

“I’m
not
a man!” I shouted, wincing as the screen door slammed behind her. If Jake were here, he’d jerk a knot in her pretty little behind and make her change clothes. But I didn’t have the time or the energy to argue with my eldest. I had to get this book finished.

I began to type again, but before I could finish one sentence, the front door opened, and a shrill scream erupted from the living room, followed by the sound of thumping footsteps. It was as if a herd of elephants were being driven through the house.

Blond-headed Paul John burst into the room, his grinning face grimy with dirt. “Miss Lily, tell her to stop! She’s got a lizard!”

Twelve-year-old Kathy Kay appeared behind him, her face just as filthy and her eyes sparkling with glee. In one hand, she held a wriggling lizard. “Ooooh,
oooooh
,” she taunted. “Mr. Big Shot is afraid of a itty-bitty little lizard!”

“Get that thing away from me!” Paul John screamed, running out the back door.

Kathy Kay followed behind, laughing uproariously. Nothing had changed between those two, still best friends despite their gender difference. Probably because Kathy Kay was such a tomboy. Or maybe it was because Paul John was such a sissy.

I typed faster.

…
Oh, but there is another lovely lady here who is waiting for her kiss. Sven’s wife, Laura."

The phone rang. I ignored it.

"
Sven Johannsen
is also joined in the winner's circle by his young adopted son, Stephen, and of course, it was announced here last week that there is going to be a new addition to the Johannsen family in mid-December. Won't that be a nice Christmas gift? Word has it that Sven is hoping for a girl who'll look just like her mother..."

It kept ringing. Finally, my fingers stilled on the typewriter keys. “
Damn
!”

If it’s a salesman, I’m going to have a conniption fit
! I got up from the kitchen table to answer it.

“Hello!” I barked. “Oh.” The sound of Mother’s voice on the line brought immediate regret, and my tone gentled. “Hi, Mother. Is everything okay?”

“Well, now, I thought you’d like to hear the bit of news I heard at the Key Market this mornin’, Lily Rae,” Mother said. “Bit of sad news, though, I reckon.”

“What is it?” I longingly eyed the sheet of paper in the typewriter. So close…one more paragraph and I could type “the end.” But if Mother had bad news, and needed to share it, listening was the least I could do. No doubt, one of the old folks on the ridge had died in their sleep.

“Remember that boy you used to go with in high school? That Nickerson feller?”

My heart froze and my throat went dry. “Ch…Chad?” I croaked.

“That’s the one,” Mother said. “Poor feller. Geraldine Coffey told me that his wife, a Huddleston girl, I recall, died yesterday, and they’re bringing her back home to be buried in Russell Springs.”

Relief surged through me, followed immediately on its heels by remorse. Pat-Peaches,
dead
? I remembered the couple at the high school reunion—mutual adoration shining on their faces.

“Oh, that’s awful,” I managed to say. “What happened? Do you know?”

Mother’s voice lowered as if she were sharing a shameful secret, “Breast cancer, I reckon. It took her fast. Geraldine said they opened her up, and it had already spread all over her insides. There wasn’t nary a thing they could do for her.”

I shook my head, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Oh, those poor kids. And Chad! Lord, he must be torn apart.”

“I reckon so,” Mother said. “Well, there’s apt to be a notice in the
Times Journal
. Once we find out where they’re laying her out, we can send flowers, I reckon. Lily Rae?”

“Hmmmm?” I thought I’d heard a car pull up out front. I walked around the table, pulling on the phone cord so I could see out through the picture window. Sure enough, a red Dodge Charger had parked in front of the house.

Mother cleared her throat and then said briskly, “I reckon there’s something to them exams…the ones you do yourself. I don’t truck with folks using their bodies like it’s a playground, but I reckon you oughta start doing that exam, Lily Rae.” She lowered of her voice. “They say the best time is after your monthly friend is done with its visit.”

I smiled. “Yes, Mother. I’ve been doing a self-exam for a couple of years now.” I watched as a tall, flaming redhead unpeeled herself from the driver’s seat. Could that be Betty with that lop-sided short haircut? Why, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a Carnaby Street fashion magazine.

The passenger door opened, and a gangly teenage boy dressed in blue jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt crawled out of the car. His dark brown hair fell in luxurious waves to his shoulders. David. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been in diapers.

“Well, alright then,” Mother said. “I’ll let you go now.”

“Thanks for calling, Mother,” I said, and then added quickly, “I love you.”

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, and then Mother said, “I love you, too, Lily Rae. Bye, bye, now.”

Torn between sadness for Chad and his family, a welling of love for Mother, and excitement at seeing Betty after all these years, I hung up the phone and rushed into the living room.

By the time I opened the front door, Betty was halfway up the sidewalk, looking young and beautiful, dressed in a Mod hot-pink paisley top, white hip-hugger shorts and strappy vinyl sandals--just as full of spit-fire as she’d ever been, I could see, even more now that she was a fiery redhead instead of a strawberry blonde.

“Come here, you!” I called out with a delighted grin.

And we were in each other’s arms, shrieking and squealing like teenagers.

***

The sun had just come up when I tip-toed out of the bedroom on my way to the kitchen to make coffee. I’d had a horrible night’s sleep. Well, make that simply a horrible night. There had been very little sleep involved.

I walked as quietly as I could through the living room to the front door, mindful of the three lumps of teenage bodies on the floor in sleeping bags…well, two teenage bodies and one 12-year-old body. With such a tiny house, there hadn’t been any other way to figure out the sleeping arrangements. I’d given the girls’ room to Betty and made two separate beds on the living room floor—Debby Ann and Kathy Kay in one, and Davy…David, he now insisted on being called…in the other. Of course, the kids had spent half the night talking, and with the thin walls, I’d heard every topic of conversation ranging from how cool the movie “Easy Rider” was to whether or not Twiggy was beautiful. It was just a good thing Jake was working nights this week or he would’ve surely raised the roof.

But it wasn’t only the kids who’d kept me awake. It was anxiety. Just before turning in last night, I’d hauled the Smith-Corona out of its hiding place and finished that last paragraph, typing “the end” with a feeling of satisfaction that must’ve rivaled what Hillary felt when he planted that British flag on the top of Mt. Everest.

Betty’s light was still on, so I’d picked up the stack of manuscript pages―all 250 of them—and tapped on her door. “Well, here it is. I don’t know if it’s any good or not, but you know what? At this point, I just don’t care. I love it. I love the characters and I love the story. But if you don’t, I want you to tell me, Betty. Tell me what’s wrong with it, and I’ll fix it.” I paused, and looked Betty in the eye. “I aim to make writing my career, come hell or high water. And I trust you to tell me whether it’s worth sending out or not.”

For once, Betty hadn’t made a joke. She’d taken the manuscript, a serious look on her face. “I’m honored to be the first to read your book, Lily. And I
will
be honest with you. Even if what I have to say isn’t something you’ll want to hear. Okay?”

I nodded and left the room. And that’s why I hadn’t slept the night before. Because I kept picturing Betty reading my book, and I couldn’t help but stress over what she was thinking of it.

I grabbed the newspaper from the sidewalk and opened it to the front page, only to see the glaring headlines about more casualties in Vietnam. So senseless! All those American boys dying over there.
Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today
? Maybe those anti-war marchers had the right idea. If I were 15 years younger, I’d join them, by golly.

I quietly made my way back through the living room and stepped into the kitchen, then froze at the sight of my manuscript on the table. Heart thumping, I walked over to it, and placed the newspaper down beside the stack of paper. A sheet of notebook paper lay on top of the title page, and I immediately recognized Betty’s scrawl. I sank down into a chair and grabbed the note with trembling fingers.

Lily
!!!!! Or should I just call you the next Jacqueline Susann? I knew you’d be up before me, and I also knew you’d be about to shit your pants, waiting to hear my verdict on “Swede’s Passion.” Well, honey, you can stop worrying. THIS BOOK IS FANTASTIC!!!! I swear to God, Lily, I couldn’t put it down. It was three AM when I read the last page.
Where
did you learn to tell a story like this? Honey, how do you know so much about
Swedes
? My God, that man just jumped off the page! And Laura! She wasn’t your typical beautiful but stupid heroine. She was an ordinary woman with spunk! Oh, Lily, I don’t know what more I can say to convince you that you’ve got to send this book to New York. As soon as possible. If you don’t, I swear to God, I’m going to have one of your famous conniption fits. Now, I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me until at least ten. And remember, Goddess of Excellent Romance, I like my coffee strong and black.

Love, Betty

By the time I’d finished reading, I had tears running down my face. But I was grinning like an idiot.

Lily’s Meat & Cheese Loaf

2 lbs. ground beef

1 ½ cup diced Velveeta cheese

2 eggs, beaten

1 large onion, chopped

1 large green pepper, chopped

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon pepper

1 teaspoon celery salt

½ teaspoon paprika

3 cups milk

1 cup dry bread crumbs

Combine ingredients in order given. Mix well. Press into 2 greased loaf pans and bake at 350 degrees for 1 ½ hours.

“
S
o, you’ve barely said a word about Jake,” Betty said, lighting a Virginia Slim and inhaling a deep lungful. “Is everything okay between you two?”

On the asphalt between our lounge chairs, a transistor radio played Three Dog Night’s “One.” It was a cloudless day with temperatures in the nineties. The sounds of summer were all around us at the public swimming pool—Top 40 music, kids shrieking, the thumping spring of the diving board, splashing water—and always, somewhere, the sound of childish voices calling out “Marco” followed immediately by “Polo!”

I took a sip of my Fresca before answering Betty’s question. “Oh, it’s been fine. Jake is a different person than the one you knew back in Texas.”

I glanced over at Debby Ann and David just to make sure the two horny teenagers hadn’t slipped off somewhere to be alone. I figured if Betty and I kept the two teenagers where we could keep an eye on them, we’d save ourselves some grief later. Betty and David had been here less than 48 hours, and already, there were signs of a romance budding between him and Debby Ann.

I frowned.
Just look at that little flirt
! Debby sauntered over to the snack bar in her skimpy bikini, flipping her long brown hair and laughing back at David who followed her like an eager puppy, his long, wet hair pulled back into a sleek pony-tail.

Down on the other end of the pool, Kathy Kay and Paul John engaged in horse-play rough enough to frequently catch the attention of the teenage lifeguard, forcing him to give a harsh blow on his whistle and cast a dark scowl their way.