When Baby Lucy was asleep and JimDaddy had sung himself hoarse crooning old heartbreaker songs while we danced in an awkward group of five plus three (and sang along with JimDaddy, sounding pretty good at times, I must admit) and Pearl called her momma and argued with her to pleeease let her stay the night and her momma said no, not with you being gone for so long, so she had to go home, and everyone else had left, too, there came a knock at the door.
Aunt Odie.
“Hey,” Momma said, kissing at Aunt Odie’s face. “What are you doing here so late? Back for more cake?”
“I need Evie,” Aunt Odie said. Her voice was strained.
Ahhhh, here to tell me about her auntie Doris. I wasn’t sure I could handle it right now, though.
She walked into the living room (Aunt Odie, not Auntie Doris), limping like one leg was four inches shorter than the other.
Baby Lucy, who awoke for only a few seconds, reached plump hands toward Aunt Odie, who kissed at the air near her. “Can’t right now, honey,” she said, and then, “Your room, Evie. And bring a hacksaw.”
“What?”
Momma raised her eyebrows.
“I mean scissors.”
JimDaddy, who was going around the living room with a huge garbage bag, said, “Going after that mustache of yours, Odie?” He snickered, and his blue eyes twinkled.
Aunt Odie might not have heard him. At least she didn’t answer.
I followed her down the hall, remembering Tommie at the last minute. The girl had never come out to the party. Was she still in my room?
Aunt Odie threw the door open and collapsed on my bed. She let out a sigh that might have started a storm if we had been outside. There was no Tommie.
“Shut the door, honey,” she said.
I did.
“Lock it.” Aunt Odie wiped at her brow. “Bad news,” she said. “Bad news!”
My heart jumped like it was trying to climb out of my body. I swallowed twice to keep it down where it should be.
“Aunt Odie, does this have to do with my Gift?”
Aunt Odie pulled her dress up above her knees where I could see the girdle. Flesh poked out of every tiny hole. It looked like a million little balls of white bread, risen and ready to be thrown in the oven.
“I can’t get it off,” she said.
All the way up, like a pair of terrible living shorts.
The sight woke me right up.
“Why?” I said. “I mean, what? I mean, how did that happen?”
“Humidity, I am sure,” she said with a sniff.
It took me two hours to cut the thing off.