The Wedding Machine (25 page)
Sis and Kitty B. take Ray lightly by the arms and lead her out of the garden and through the iron gate. As they walk back toward the church, Sis says, “Why don't we call her tonight? She did answer the phone when she went into hiding before. And we can take turns dropping by over the next few days. I think she'll let us in eventually.”
“All right,” Kitty B. says. “I'll drop by tomorrow on my way to the cookbook meeting. I can drop off something for her to eat too. We can take turns with that. Maybe bring her a little of whatever we're having for supper for the next few days.”
Ray doesn't say a word, but she faintly nods in agreement. Hilda is the most selfish, stubborn woman she has ever known, and she can't believe she didn't come down and let them in. They are her best friends.
As they round the corner into the church parking lot, she takes a deep breath and says, “I guess I'll call Little Hilda and tell her what's going on. The Princess of Jasper has locked herself up in her house again, and this time she's not even talking from behind her door.”
As Sis and Kitty B. walk to their cars, Ray puts her fist on her hip and says, “Sis?”
“Yes?”
“What did you write on that note to Hilda?”
Sis stops just before she opens the door of her little Toyota and says, “I just wrote, âWe understand.'”
Ray raises her eyebrows as Sis nods and hops into her car.
“Well,” she hollers as Sis starts her engine. “Well, I
don't
understand!”
It's been ten days since Hilda locked herself in the house, and no one has heard a peep from her since. Little Hilda and the gals have tried to call her every day, but she has yet to respond. The only note she has written is to Little Hilda and all it said was:
Please understand, sweetheart. I need some time alone. Love, Mama
The day after Hilda went into hiding, Kitty B. made up a schedule and for the next several days, the gals took turns every evening knocking on the door and dropping off a little portion of whatever they were having for dinner. She has yet to answer the door, but she does clean the casserole dishes from the dropped-off meals. They are always waiting in a shopping bag on the bench on the piazza at the crack of dawn the next morningâthe only evidence that she's still alive in there.
Today Ray happens to have a doctor's appointment scheduled with Angus.
It's her first time back to see him since her two-year detour to Dr. Arhundati's. His office looks a little different than she remembers. He has new wallpaperâkind of a bright and gaudy tropical print, and there are faux tropical flower arrangements on every table in the waiting room. The worst part is the smell. Some kind of sweet pineapple air fresheners are plugged in a few of the electric sockets, and the stench is thick and nearly unbearable. Ray's got a headache by the time she's finished the first sentence in an old
Time
magazine she unearthed from a pile of
People
and
Us
stacked on the waiting room coffee tables. Where are the
Southern Living
s anyway? Must be Trudi's influence. Hilda would just die if she saw this.
When the nurse shows Ray to the examining room, she is relieved. It's just as she remembersâa simple white and green striped wallpaper, an old burgundy pleather examining table, and a counter lined with various medical instruments as well as jars of tongue depressors, bandages, and lollipops.
Ray remembers taking William here when he jumped off the second-story piazza and broke his arm. That was one awful break. Oh, and then there was the time she accidentally put the ringworm medicine on Priscilla's eczema, and she feared her beautiful daughter might be scarred for life. The small dark splotches didn't leave her arms for months.
There is a quiet tap on the door, and in walks Angus with a large bandage above his eyebrow.
“Hi there, Ray,” he says.
Ray sucks her teeth and motions toward his eye. “She got you good, didn't she?”
Angus nods and rubs his forehead. “Yep,” he says. “Real good.” He leans his elbow on the counter. “Have you heard from her?”
“No. Not a peep. She's gone into hiding again, and I don't know when she'll come out. Won't even answer the phone this time.”
He takes out a handkerchief from his back pocket and pats at his forehead.
“I feel for her, Ray,” he says. “I tried for years to get through to her, you know?” Ray nods sympathetically as he continues, “But she never made one move toward getting help. And now I've got to get on with my life.”
“I know,” Ray says. “I understand. She's the most difficult woman I've ever known.”
Angus nods and taps his chin with the back of his pen. He stares at some place on the wall behind Ray.
She studies the bandage on his forehead and continues. “I'm trying my best to come up with some way to get her back out of that house. I worry about what will happen to her if she stays in there.”
“I do too, Ray,” he says, furrowing his brow. “But keep trying. You gals might be the only ones who can force some sense into her. I certainly never could.”
He scans the jars neatly arranged on his counter and turns back to her.
“What can I do for you?”
“You can prescribe me some of those heavenly hormones,” Ray says. “So I won't lose my mind or melt away with these hot flashes. And yes, I've read about the risks and I don't think they are significant enough to bother me. The benefit outweighs them, my friend.”
“All right.” He chuckles. “I hear you. And how about those fibroid tumors, are you still suffering?”
“From time to time,” she says. “Oh, and my hair is falling out too. Isn't that lovely?” Then she points to the scar on her cheekbone. “And this awful thing doesn't seem like it's going away. Do you think I should see a plastic surgeon about it?”
Angus looks at her scar in the light. “Let's give it another six months, and then we'll see.”
He steps back, folds his arms, and smiles at her. “As for the hair, I'll give you the name of the dermatologist in Charleston who can help you. It's not that uncommon. However, if you continue to suffer from the tumors after you're on the HRT for a few months, you may want to consider a hysterectomy.”
Ray nods and says, “I will consider it. Maybe after we get through the next wedding season.”
Angus shakes his head in agreement, then gives her a quick exam and the little white slip of paper with his signature and sends her on her way.
“Oh, yes!” she murmurs as she drives over to Myrtle's Pharmacy. “Sanity, here I come!”
As Ray exits the pharmacy, Vangie comes scooting up on her golf cart with a client in tow. She's got a picture of Little Bit in an ornate silver frame superglued to her dashboard, and at the bottom of the frame is an inscription:
Little Bit Dreggs
April 20, 1999âOctober 8, 2005
All creatures great and small. The Lord God made them all.
“Ray,” she says, waving her hands. “I've got to fill you in on the meeting. We've got another one this Sunday too.”
“Meeting?” Ray thinks. She is surprised Mrs. Graydon and Gus didn't nip that whole revival day in the bud.
“Okay,” she says. “I'll try and make it.”
As she opens her car door, Vangie speeds up next to her. “How's Hilda?” she says.
Ray looks at the stranger sitting next to Vangie. It's a woman about her age dressed in a white tennis skirt and an orange knit shirt. She's wearing a visor and two diamond stud earrings the size of the raspberries Ray bought at the farmer's market on Edisto last weekend.
Vangie turns to the woman and says, “Just a little small-town drama.” She nods toward Ray. “Nothing this gal can't handle.”
“I'm Ray Montgomery.” She gently extends her hand toward the stranger.
“Well, I'm sorry,” Vangie says. “This is Donna Zimmerman. A client from New Jersey.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ray says.
“In fact,” Vangie says, “our next stop is the Allston house across the street from you. A developer has bought that property, and he's going to subdivide the main house into several condominiums and add a second set in the backyard.”
Ray feels her jaw drop open. “Condominiums?” she says. “Across the street from me?”
“The demand is high,” Vangie says as she inches toward the road. She turns back and calls, “Let me know what happens with Hilda, okay?”
And why is it any of your business?
Ray wants to call back, but she wouldn't dare. Not in front of a stranger anyway.
“All right,” she says, clutching her brown bag. Then she starts her engine and zooms off before Vangie can say another word.
When she gets home, she pops the little green pills of estrogen and progesterone, and Willy comes bobbing into the kitchen.
“You look good,” she says, noting the spring in his step. Just as she is about to tell him the dreadful news about the Allston house across the street, he says, “I'm not as good as you're going to be.”
“What happened?” she asks. “Did Hilda come out?”
“Nah,” he says. He pulls a can of Co-Cola from the fridge and pops it open before leaning toward her and whispering, “But Priscilla's beau called me at my office today.”
Ray's eyes grow wide and she runs over and grabs Willy's shoulders. “He did?”
“Yes ma'am,” he says. “Donovan's flying down here next Thursday to meet with me. Wants to
talk
to me about something.”
“You don't thinkâ”
“I do,” he says. “He also wanted to know if you might be able to do a little shopping with him that afternoon.”
“Ring shopping?” she says as she bounces on the balls of her feet.
“We won't know until he gets here,” Cousin Willy says. “But I can't imagine another reason he might be calling.”
The gals say it's only proper for the groom's family to contact the bride's family after the engagement, but when three weeks go by without so much as a peep from the Benningtons, Kitty B. asks Ray for advice.
“Just pick up the phone and call,” Ray says.
Two days later Kitty B. and the gals, minus Hilda, are traveling up Highway 17 to meet Pastor and Mrs. Roscoe Bennington at Christ on the Coast on Sam Rittenburg Boulevard. They're all tastefully dressed in their favorite pantsuits and pearls. Of course Kitty B.'s bow is still taped to her left Ferragamo, and she checks on it every few minutes to make sure it's still intact.
Ray drives, as usual. She can't stand to have anyone else at the wheel. She doesn't even offer the front seat to either of them. She bought a gorgeous yellow orchid for Kitty B. to give to the Benningtons, and she thinks the front passenger seat is the safest place for it.
Kitty B. is irritated to no end. LeMar ought to be with them making this visitâhe is the father of the bride, after allâbut he claims to have woken up with a rash all over his chest, though he won't even let her see it.
“Of all days, LeMar,” she said to him. “I suppose you just want to stay home then?”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.” Then he closed his bedroom door in her face.
Kitty B. was so mad she didn't even make him his breakfast or a fresh pot of coffee. Instead she dropped three dog bones outside of his bedroom, waddled down the steps, and opened the front door wide to let the dogs in.
“There,” she said as she drove down the dirt road and over to Ray's. “Those rascals will keep him busy.”
“Do you think this church is in a strip mall?” Ray asks ever so tentatively, as they squint through the window and across the parking lots trying to make out the addresses on the glass doors of the flat-topped shopping complexes.
“Well, I don't see how it can't be.” Sis looks back and forth down the four lane road as they pass Skatell's and TJ Maxx.