“Just as I thought,” she said.
Aunt Odie looked from me to Buddy to me again. She had a bit of tobacco on her lip. Must have gotten a smoke on her ride down. I glanced out the window. Yup. There was the Cadillac. “I knew something had changed. Saw it when you come in this morning.”
“You’re”—Aunt Odie pointed at Buddy—“as shifty-eyed as a Bible salesman.”
“I don’t even read the Bible,” Buddy said. He looked a little green around the gills.
“Not the right thing to say,” Aunt Odie said. She came into the living room and sat in a wingback chair.
“Ummm,” Buddy said. He sort of stood.
“Sit,” Aunt Odie said.
Oh. No.
Down Buddy went.
“There aren’t Bible salesmen anymore, Aunt Odie,” I said with a sigh.
Buddy stared at me. Then nodded. Then shook his head no. At last he shrugged.
“Your momma,” Aunt Odie said, “won’t stand for any of this nonsense.” She pointed between the two of us.
“Aunt Odie,” I said, “there hasn’t been time for nonsense. And what do you mean by that anyway?” I raised my eyebrows. Tilted my head in the direction of the door.
She’d brought the smell of home cooking with her, and my mouth watered. Not sure if that was because of a yummy dinner (though I was still full from our work together) or because of a yummy Buddy.
Aunt Odie said, “Messengers are”—she paused—“sensitive women.”
“I believe that,” Buddy said. He sat forward in his chair, hands clasped before him.
“Do you?” Aunt Odie asked.
“Yes, I do.” His smile was so sincere my breath caught in my throat.
Things were getting serious. I needed her to leave. I signaled with my eyes for her to go. Gestured with my head toward the door. Aunt Odie folded her arms across her stomach. Dang it! She wasn’t going anywhere. No! She was settling in.
“We’re newish to the neighborhood,” Aunt Odie said to Buddy.
He nodded.
“I been here less than a year.”
“What about you?”
Buddy cleared his throat. “All my life. I was born at Fish Memorial.”
Now Aunt Odie nodded.
“What more can you tell me about you, Buddy?”
This was Aunt Odie gearing up for a holdout. I sighed.
She turned to me. “Now, Evie,” she said. “Don’t be rude. You got something to offer our guest?”
Sheesh.
“I do,” I said. “Buddy, you want some homemade Bundt cake? It’s still warm.”
Buddy perked up. “Thought it smelled sweet in here.” He gave me a meaningful look.
I blushed.
He said, “If you don’t mind.”
I didn’t.
“Me too, Evie,” Aunt Odie said. “If’n you don’t mind.”
I minded.
“All righty then,” I said, and hotfooted it into the kitchen. I kept one ear aimed in their direction, but they were too far away. Their voices echoed on the marble floor, making the sounds blurry. I hurried to slice the cake, drizzle a bit more icing on top, pull out a sliced strawberry for decoration, pour a glass of OJ for them both (what they didn’t know about me drinking from the container wouldn’t hurt them), put everything on a tray, and walk it on back to the front room.
“I, um, I want to be lawyer,” Buddy was saying. He looked more relaxed. “Like my dad. Maybe open a practice of my own. Or join up with him.”
I handed Buddy a plate and drink, then walked Aunt Odie her dessert over. I wasn’t sure how she could eat another bite, seeing how we had baked and cooked and mixed and tasted for hours that morning. But that’s the thing about Aunt Carolina’s recipes (made with love). There’s a dash of something heavenly in them that makes you want to keep eating. Even if you are the creator. Or her niece.
Get. On. Outta. Here. Get. On. Out.
I sat on the sofa just down from Buddy, not quite close enough to touch him unless Aunt Odie looked away. Which she didn’t. Every time she glanced at me, I sent her silent Morse code.
She ignored me.
“And? What kind of grades you earn?”
That didn’t seem fair, seeing as Aunt Odie didn’t have any degree at all. Not even one from high school.
“All A’s, ma’am,” Buddy said, and he smiled when he said it. His teeth were as white as Betty Crocker vanilla icing.
Outside a car screamed past, and a neighbor yelled for the driver to slow down. The sun headed toward bed. The air conditioner kicked on.
“You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
Aunt Odie looked at me. “Go get me another drink, honey. Get another for Buddy, too. Make us a mint julep this time. There should be a mix in your refrigerator. Brought it over for your momma last week.”
“With bourbon or without?”
She paused. Like she was thinking. “Without.”
I stood. “If this isn’t some kinda ploy to get me outta here,” I said. I gave Aunt Odie the evil eye.
“Yes, it is,” Aunt Odie said.
“I can help you,” Buddy said, standing, his plate and glass in both hands.
“No, you won’t. This here interview isn’t done.”
That interview went on for another thirty-eight minutes, until Momma and Baby Lucy pulled in the drive and Buddy excused himself with a “See ya, Evie” and ran out the back door, the same way Tommie (who I did forget about) went.