The Right Thing (25 page)

“ ‘I was going to give you these later.' He tugged at his collar, looking nervous. ‘But Too-Tai said I should give them to you now. I hope you like them.'

“I opened the box and found a strand of luminous pearls, heavy and cool as river stones in my hand. ‘Oh, Wade,' I said softly. ‘They're beautiful.'

“ ‘So are you. They remind me of your skin.' He blushed. ‘Look, I know this is going to be an ordeal. This kind of thing always is for me. When mother has these dos, I used to go out and not come back. She'd get mad as a poked snake, but I'd rather that than get dressed up and have to make polite conversation with these folks. Don't get me wrong—they're all perfectly nice, but there's just too damned many of them.' ”

My mother smiles a radiant smile then. “You know, Annie, I think that was when I finally fell in love. Your father was then, as always, the most thoughtful and generous person I'd ever met. Wade fastened the pearls around my neck, and I felt them settle into the hollow of my throat like they'd always been there, a totally different feeling compared to my imitation strand. In that moment I felt as though I could take on anything, as long as Wade was with me.”

I put my arm around her thin shoulders. “We'll always miss him,” I say softly.

 

Later, we're back in the kitchen, looking for something to eat, which for once is a productive search since it's Thanksgiving and Myrtistine has cooked up enough food for an army. We sit at the kitchen table with a plate of everything except turkey. I'm probably going to have to get around to cooking it sooner or later, but I urge my mother to keep talking.

“The guests began arriving promptly at three,” she says, “the street in front of the Banks mansion filling up with cars so that people had to park and walk from blocks away. By three fifteen, there was a stream of curious guests waiting on the front steps to come into the house to meet me.

“In the entryway, I stood in the receiving line with Mother Banks on one side and Wade on the other, shaking hands and trying to remember to smile while my feet hurt: my new shoes were pinching my toes. Mrs. Banks must have had a sore neck later that night from looking up at all the guests from her wheelchair, but you'd have never known she was anything but delighted to see everyone.

“ ‘Colleen, I want you to meet one of my oldest friends,' she'd say. I was introduced to all of two hundred people that afternoon, and they were every one of them her oldest friend. Some of the guests brought wedding presents, too, and I had to open them then and there, handing the wrapping paper to Easter Mae to throw away. Wade and I would say how thrilled we were to receive these sumptuous presents, and then Wash would take them to a long table in the parlor so the other guests could inspect our gifts.

“I'd been standing in the receiving line for what seemed like a century when an older couple came in the door with a girl who looked about my age.

“ ‘Why, how nice of you to come!' Old Mrs. Banks took the other woman's hand. ‘And you brought Squeaky, too. Colleen, this is Lydia, but everyone calls her Squeaky. You're sure to be friends—Squeaky's going to be a senior, too. Forgive me, dear, I'm old.' She turned her beaming face up to the girl. ‘I forget where you're attending college.'

“ ‘The W,' Squeaky simpered. ‘Where else?' The chubby girl was referring to the exclusive all-girls school, Mississippi State College for Women, where everybody who was anybody went in those days while they were looking for husbands. She was squeezed into a yellow eyelet afternoon dress that clashed horribly with her pink foundation. Her handshake was as limp and clammy as a wet dishrag.

“ ‘Do you play bridge?' she asked me peremptorily. It was easy to see how she'd gotten her nickname: her voice was a dead ringer for a needle accidentally dragged across a record. ‘
Everybody
plays bridge and we're starting a club.' Her mother was handing a white paper-wrapped box to Wade, but Mrs. Banks's glittering gaze was fixed on me, waiting for my answer.

“ ‘I, I've always wanted to learn,' I stammered. In college, I'd never had the time or the inclination. Bridge was for sorority girls, like Tess.

“ ‘Oh,' Squeaky shrilled, unimpressed.

“Meanwhile, Wade was unwrapping the gift. Thankful for the distraction from my nonexistent bridge skills, I turned to look at the heavy silver object in his hand, a hinged tong-like implement that I'd never seen before. It looked quite a bit like a smaller version of a tool that Wade kept in his alligator doctor bag, so I thoughtlessly exclaimed, ‘How wonderful! It's a forceps, isn't it?' Wade looked at the gift in bemusement, while I gushed on about how useful it would be when he had a difficult delivery. ‘Wade always says you need the right tool for the job!'

“I felt a sharp poke in my side and looked down to see Mrs. Banks's eyes locked on mine in a terrifying glare of mingled fury and satisfaction. ‘It's a
sandwich scissors,
Colleen darling. '

“ ‘Oh.' I was so shocked and humiliated I couldn't think of any reply other than that. ‘Oh.' What in the world was a sandwich scissors?

“Wade came to my rescue. ‘Good thing,' he chuckled. ‘I already have a brand-new forceps, but no way to pick up my sandwich.' Everybody laughed, but inside I was devastated. Easter Mae appeared to take the paper and ribbon back to the kitchen, and Wash took the damned sandwich scissors to the display table, where a hundred gifts were lined up in shining rows of silver. I tried to turn my attention to meeting the remaining guests in the receiving line, to making polite conversation, but inside I relived that awful moment over and over. After the last people had arrived and been greeted, I knew I had to get away. I told Wade I was going to find the powder room.

“ ‘Hurry back, darling,' he said. ‘I'm going to grab a bite to eat.' Then he disappeared into the crowd of people who were loading up their plates with chicken salad, ambrosia, and pimento cheese sandwiches from the dining table.

“A disorganized gaggle of ladies was waiting to go into the powder room, so I leaned against the wall to take some of the pressure off my aching feet. One by one, they all went inside while I waited my turn. I don't think they even saw me, obscured by another one of those outrageous flower arrangements on the hall table. Finally, the bathroom door opened and Squeaky emerged.

“ ‘All yours!' she squealed as I came out from behind the flowers. I tried to smile, went inside, and shut the door. It was good to sit down and a relief to be away from the party. I had just finished washing my hands when I heard them outside in the hall.

“ ‘She didn't know it was a sandwich scissors. She called it a forceps!' It was Squeaky's unmistakable voice. She giggled, a high-pitched, squealing series of snorts. I'd never heard anything like it.

“ ‘Well, she
is
from some little hick town in Georgia,' some other girl replied. ‘I guess I can tell what Wade sees in her, though. She's certainly pretty enough.'

“ ‘She doesn't know how to play bridge either,' Squeaky grumped. ‘Do you think we'll have to ask her to join anyway?' And then their voices faded into the background.

“I stared at my reflection in the mirror and wasn't surprised to find that I was crying, big hopeless tears running down my cheeks in a slow-moving stream. I was always going to be the mill girl from Lannette, never really from Jackson. No one here would ever accept me, no matter what I was wearing. I should go upstairs quietly, pack my bag, and take a cab to the bus station. I should go back to New Orleans.

“I must have stood there in front of the mirror for a long time because finally the tears stopped. Looking at my desperate face, I wiped off their traces but was still unable to open the door. I had to have been in there a while when there was a discreet tapping from the other side.

“ ‘Collie?' It was Too-Tai. ‘You've got to let me in, girl. I need the bathroom right this minute.' I wanted to act like I hadn't heard her, but she kept tapping.

“ ‘Collie? I'm afraid to try to go upstairs, I need the bathroom that bad. You've
got
to let me in.'

“What could I do then? I opened the door, and Too-Tai pushed her way inside. There was barely room for the two of us in the low-ceilinged powder room. ‘Honestly, girl,' she said, sounding exasperated. ‘Why are you holed up in here? People are starting to talk.'

“At that, I broke down again. Bless Too-Tai, she dampened one of the linen guest towels and handed it to me. ‘Wipe your face,' she said kindly. ‘Here.' Handing me a wad of toilet tissue, she said, ‘Blow your nose, dear.' I took the tissue and squeezed it into a ball, unwilling to meet her sharp eyes.

“ ‘You mustn't let yourself be this way, Collie. If you love Wade, and I know you do, then you're going to have to hold your head up in this town. You're going to have to act as though you're good enough for these folks, even if in your heart you're sure you're not. It's all make-believe, anyway. What's real is what's between you and Wade. Now come on out of here and have a chicken salad sandwich, or some cheese straws. Wade's wondering where you are.'

“ ‘But his mother,' I said tightly, holding back the tears. ‘She . . .

“Too-Tai snorted in contempt. ‘Don't you ever forget this, girl. Isabelle Gooch grew up barefoot in a dirt yard on a truck farm that was out from Chunky. Before she married Wade's father, her claim to fame was that she could kill two chickens at the same time, wringing their necks like a field hand. She comes from the same place you come from—not here.' She kissed my cheek and walked out of the powder room.

“Wondering, I touched the pearls at my throat, cool and smooth, sweet to me as Wade's smile. Then I straightened my shoulders, blew my nose, reapplied my lipstick, and went back into that party. I have never cried in a powder room again. That day I learned what make-believe was, but as time passed I also learned how to play bridge, how to entertain, how to pretend that I was as good as anybody, until one day, I realized I wasn't pretending anymore. I'd found a real life, one even better than a seventeen-year-old girl's dream. I'd found your father.”

I get up from the table, take our plates to the sink, and run some water over them. “I had no idea,” I say. I'm at a loss for words, really. What a valiant bravery she had, how hard she fought for her dream.

My mother gets up and comes to the sink, turns the water off, and turns my shoulders so that I'm looking her square in the eye. She gazes at me searchingly before she says, “And then you, my own child, my only, beautiful child, wanted no part of this life I'd worked so hard for. You wanted . . . oh, I don't know what you want, but this obviously isn't it. You've never wanted this life, you've rebelled against it, fought it to a draw. You're terrible at pretending, dear heart. Find your own dream, no matter where it takes you, Annie. You need to be at peace with who and what you are.”

She folds me into her arms and we hold each other tight.

I
'm pregnant.

Du came back after a couple of days, ready to be magnanimous and forgive me, but it wasn't any good between us. He wanted me to say I was sorry, but I wasn't, so I couldn't, and as you might expect, this Christmas was a nightmare of unspoken recriminations. (My present from Du was a Bible with the parts about women honoring and obeying their husbands underlined in red.) We lived under one roof for another week until the new year came, sleeping in separate bedrooms, staying out of public life, and making polite noises when we ran into each other in this monstrous house, but as the days wore on, I began throwing up in the mornings. I didn't need an EPT test to tell me I was pregnant at last, and I didn't need a calendar to know it was Ted's baby.

Well, today's New Year's Day, a cold morning possessed of an uncompromising, cut-crystal brilliance. After another night of bourbon-fueled argument, Du's packed and gone for good this time. I'd like to say I've never considered making up with him, letting Du think the baby's his. God knows that was my first thought. I mean, for one thing, I don't know if Ted would even care, and for another, I'm not sure I can raise a child on my own. Finally, though, after a day or two of some serious soul-searching, I know I can't live with myself if I'm not truthful, not even if lying would let me hang onto the old, self-indulgent life of Annie. No, not after that night with Starr last year, not after I've begun to realize that it's way past time I begin to live my life the only way I know how, and not by Jackson's canon.

So since I haven't even a notion as to what Ted's last name might be, much less how I'm supposed to get in touch with him, early this morning after I finish throwing up, I buckle on my big-girl shoes and drive down to the Fair Grounds in New Orleans.

I'm not more than six weeks along, but Bette knows the instant she slams open the Airstream's door in answer to my knock.

“You're pregnant!” she crows, her little brown eyes alight with ursine delight for me.

“You're the first one who knows,” I say. “I haven't even told my mother yet.”

“Dang.” Bette shakes her head and one of her hot rollers falls off onto the Airstream's steps. “But you can't miss it, honey. You're lit up like Grandmaw's birthday cake.” I pick up her roller and hand it to her, and she motions me inside her trailer. “C'mon in. What brings you here? I don't see you for years, and this is the second time in a couple of months.”

Inside, I look around and notice she's added a swan clock, its wings telling the hour and minute, and a new swan-bracketed paper towel holder. There's a racing saddle propped on the sofa arm and a pair of miniscule, brown-topped boots by the door next to the cement swan, so I gather that her boyfriend Jesús's broken leg has mended and he's come back to the Airstream at last.

“I'm here on a mission,” I tell her. “I need to find Ted.”

“Ted Clancy?” Bette asks, sounding puzzled. “Honey, he's packing up and headed to Hot Springs this morning. Why d'you want Ted?”

I pause a moment, wondering if I should tell her why I'm looking for him, but then I remember there's not going to be any more hiding from the truth. I say, “He's the father. I thought he should know.”

With a gasp, Bette sits on the dinette seat, which responds with a loud creak of distressed plywood. “Oh, Annie.” Her eyes go round as one of her snickerdoodles. “Oh, Annie.” She gulps. “Does your husband think it's his?”

“I haven't told him yet,” I admit. “I wanted to let Ted know before I told anyone else. That way if Du shoots me, at least Ted will have heard it from the horse's mouth.”

A silence falls after that. Finally, Bette asks, “Are you going to tell Starr? Are y'all speaking again?”

I make a disgusted noise. “I haven't heard word one from her, not since that night I drove her down here and she repaid me by stealing my car and going back to Jackson the instant ‘Mr. Right' called. So as you can imagine, I haven't exactly been keeping up with that particular story, being a little distracted by current events. It's like I've been living underground, so I guess Starr's happy, as happy as anybody could be with that world-class shit head Bobby Shapley.”

Bette laughs. “Well, I hope you two get back together one day,” she said. “A girl needs her friends. You want some coffee? I just baked a batch of brownies.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Brownies, Bette, are one of the reasons I'm in the situation I'm in. Besides, I've given up coffee, wine, and cigarettes—at least until after the baby's born.”

Bette laughs again, her big shoulders shaking. “Not
those
kind of brownies, sugar. These are plain fudge brownies.”

“You got any of those snickerdoodles?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

 

Later, I screw up my courage again and walk down the backstretch to find Ted. I find him supervising the grooms in Barn Nine, making sure that the horses' traveling clothes—leg wraps, bell boots, poll caps, tail bandages, antisweat rugs, and light woolen blankets—are all in place. His wide-shouldered back to me, Ted seems to be explaining something to a young man holding onto the same big chestnut horse that's still giving everyone the stink-eye.

“Make sure you load him first, in the front of the van,” Ted says. “He's a bad shipper.” My heart leaps in my chest in apprehension when he turns away from the groom and notices my silhouette in the barn's entrance. He shades his eyes against the afternoon's bright, cold January sun and begins walking in my direction, his hand outstretched. A step more and then he stops, recognizing me. Ted drops his hand to his side.

“Annie.” His voice is flat, without emotion.

So much for that, I think sadly. Still, “Hey,” I say. “I'm glad I caught you before you left. Have you got a minute to take a walk with me?”

He seems to think this over, and then he nods, his expression wary. “Okay, I guess so.”

We walk in silence beside the barns for a bit before I find the nerve to open my mouth. “So, um, how've you been?” I ask, sounding inane.

Ted keeps walking, long strides I can barely keep up with. “Fine.” His voice is short.

“And how're the horses doing?” I pant, practically trotting beside him. Ted is so remote, seems so indifferent, that I can't think of how to bring the baby up. I know I have to tell him before he decides to quit this idiotic conversation and get back to loading the horse van. Instead of getting to the point, though, I babble on. “Has the weather been as cold down here as it's been at home?”

Ted's jaw tightens. He stops suddenly in the middle of the road, turning to look down at me. I've dressed carefully for this meeting, leaving my wedding ring and diamond studs in my jewelry box and the fur parka in the closet. I'd hoped that the old pair of jeans and a brand-new barn jacket would help me appear less Jackson and more backstretch, but the look in Ted's eyes tells me I haven't succeeded. The four-inch suede stilettos, already ruined from the mud and manure on the road between Bette's trailer and Barn Nine, probably weren't the most practical choice, but feeling at a disadvantage, I'd wanted to be as tall as possible for this meeting.

“What are you doing here?” Ted sounds impatient. “Why are you asking me questions about shit you don't care about? The
weather,
Annie? For Christ's sake.” He folds his arms across his chest and his gaze goes over my head, looking at nothing.

It's time.

“I'm pregnant.”

Now that I've gone on and said it, I feel as though I've flung myself off the roof of the house and haven't hit the ground yet. And Ted, he seems stunned as a lightening-blasted pine, his face pale.

“It's mine,” he says softly after a long moment. He's still not looking at me. “It's mine. You wouldn't have driven down here to see me unless I'm the father.” Ted runs his fingers through his dark hair and turns away.

“Damn,” I hear him whisper. “Damn and damn.”

“I brought you your jacket,” I say to his back, hopelessly. “I can go to the car and get it.” Please, please. Let him turn around. Let him look at me, at least. Please, let him turn around.

And then Ted turns around. He meets my eyes, smiles an uncertain smile, and that smile grows. Thank you, Lord, Ted smiles that great smile down at me and picks me up, my absurd stilettos leaving the dirt and dangling two feet off the ground. Face to face, he holds me, his eyes searching mine before he folds me close to him. “So, Annie not-from-here—what do we do next?” he says into my hair.

My arms around his neck, I rest my forehead on his shoulder and sigh in pure relief. “I have no earthly idea. I just wanted you to know. By the way, my last name is Banks.”