Daddy and Momma were at the police station waiting for me. Daddy wasn’t any worse for the wear, but Momma looked like something the cat drug in, batted around for a few hours, chewed on, then spit out. When I saw her, knowing something was going on but not knowing what, I ran to her and hugged her for dear life. “I’m so sorry, Momma. I shouldn’t have taken this silly job.”
“Honey, what is wrong with you?” She pushed me outward, her hands on my shoulders, her arms straight and examined me with her stern Momma’s eyes. “Did that good for nothing criminal drug you or something?”
I laughed. “No, Momma. I’m fine. I’m worried about you. Your tests. What’s going on?”
She laughed. Really, laughed, like an honest to goodness, belly laugh. Momma rarely laughed like that. “Oh, that silly mess? I’m fine sugar, don’t worry about me, those tests all came back fine like I said they would. This old lady is sticking around for a long, long time. And besides, you just about got yourself killed solvin’ a murder. You’re going to be the talk of the town. There’s already a reporter wanting to interview you for cable TV.” She hugged me. “Can you believe it? My daughter on TV.”
My contract prohibited me from discussing my gig, but I didn’t bother explaining that to Momma. I was too happy to know she was all right.
Daddy interrupted. “The tests came back fine honey. I’ll tell you about it later. As for the reporter, she’s waiting for you in the conference room.” He group-hugged us. “My Princess, a killer-catcher.”
Christopher chimed in. “We’ve got some follow up to attend to with your killer-catcher, Mr. Buckley. After that, she’s all yours.”
My parents and Christopher Lacy chatted for a bit while I sat and watched the three of them engage. I’ll admit, I imagined them at our dining room table over Thanksgiving, Christmas and even Easter, and I might have imagined Daddy handing Christopher a cigar as Momma held our baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket with a pink ribbon tied in a bow on her cute little headful of blond curls. That one had me blushing all sorts of cherry red, so I shook it off before I got further carried away.
Three hours later I’d finished answering at least a quarter of a billion questions from Christopher and a handful of other law enforcement officials and was too exhausted to handle anything else, so I headed straight home.
“What about your interview?” Christopher asked. “The reporter’s been waiting this whole time.”
I’d had no plans to discuss anything with a reporter. Regardless of my contract, what had happened with the Mableton family was tragic, and more importantly, personal. They didn’t need any more of their dirty laundry on display, and I certainly wouldn’t be the one to display it. When I explained that to Christopher, he nodded and scooted me out the back entrance and provided me with a personal escort home.
“Our moral compasses do point in the same direction, Mayme. Not surprising, though, if you ask me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Atticus Mableton and I sat on a park bench near the pond inside Happy Trails Trailer Park. “So, you’re not really Buford’s fiancée?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry for being dishonest.”
He gave me a sad, half-hearted smile and shrugged. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have ever known the truth.”
“I guess. I would have liked things to have been different though.” Like maybe, if Buford’s fate was that he had to be murdered, couldn’t it have been Tucker or Billy John? I know that was horrible to think, and I shouldn’t wish ill on anyone, but they weren’t all that kind, and I felt terrible for poor Atticus. He didn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life without his mother, with his brother in prison, his cousin dead and knowing it all happened around him when he was only trying to do right by everyone. And there I was, deceiving him the whole time. And I had no idea why. I’d wanted to contact Grace Lester. I had her phone number, but I didn’t feel right about it. I’d signed a contract with Mourning Productions, and the contract said I had a particular job, to follow the dossier, to mourn the loss of Buford Lester, to act as his fiancée and when that job was finished, to return the file and move on. “Here.” I handed him a piece of paper with Grace’s number. “I think you should call her. I have a feeling it will do you and her some good.”
He took the number and put it in his pocket.
I’d done my job to the best of my abilities, only in the process, I’d unintentionally discovered the deceased didn’t die accidentally, and I’d practically been held hostage by his killer. That realization hit me hard. I lost my breath and pressed my chest, trying hard to suck down air. “I…I…breathe…”
Atticus jumped up and faced me “You okay? What’s…I…Ivy er, uh, Mayme?” He shook me, which didn’t help one bit. My entire body jiggled like a jellyfish flopping around in the sun, just waiting to dry up and die. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
An image of how crazy we must have looked, this monstrous hulk of a man shaking my loose-limbed, smaller—by comparison–body, my arms and legs flailing around like those two-story tall blow-up things you see blowing in the wind at car dealerships. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed so hard Atticus probably thought I was choking or something all over again.
I held my hand up. “I’m…I’m okay.” Barely able to cough the words out in more than a whisper, my voice harsh and low, I repeated myself twice before he figured out what I’d said.
Atticus stared at me, wide and crazy-eyed, his mouth dropped open in something halfway between shocked and angry. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”
I pressed my hand into my chest again and let out a sigh so long and breathless I must have lost ten pounds of stress with it. “I’m sorry. None of this is funny, I know that. I’m not laughing at any of it. Well, except for how silly we just looked. And I am so sorry for deceiving you and your mother and everyone that cared for your cousin, but my intentions weren’t dishonorable. I mean that. I needed an acting job, and none of the community theaters would hire me, so I had to take what I could get.” I glanced up at the pond and stared off into the distance, taking stock of the weight of what I’d done. “And a professional mourning was the best option I had.”
“Why’d you need an acting job?”
I explained my situation to Atticus.
He raised one eyebrow, and the left side of his mouth curled upward. “You really fell through the floor?”
“I did. And they didn’t even have a mattress or anything to soften my landing.”
“Well, I’ll be dang. The least they could do was spread out a bale of hay for you or something. Ease the fall. You could of broke your butt falling like that.”
“Exactly.”
“How far did you fall?”
I shrugged. “Couple feet, maybe four at the most. Didn’t have a basement. Just a crawl space.”
He pressed his lips together and raised both of his eyebrows.
I held my palms up. “It’s an old theater in New York City. Those buildings don’t really have basements. And besides, the floor had a lot of damage. That spot was obviously in need of repair.”
His entire mouth widened into a full-blown smile. He nodded. “Must have been, but if you ask, me, I’d say you went down in a blaze of glory.”
I smiled too. Actually, it was the first time I’d smiled at all about the incident. It was the first time I’d talked about it, and it didn’t matter. My stomach didn’t burn. I didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread, a desire to run and hide, to bury my head in the sand or to bawl my eyes out. I just flat out didn’t care. It was honest to goodness funny. I laughed. I genuinely laughed, a strong, solid laugh. When I snorted, I held my hand over my mouth and laughed even harder, tears streaming down my face.
Atticus laughed too. “You’re not doing that thing again are you?”
I shook my head but waited to speak until the giggled subsided. “I’m okay. No, actually I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, Atticus. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You just made me realize what happened to me doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it.”
He nodded. “Well, I guess we both helped each other, didn’t we?”
“I guess in a strange way, we kind of did.”
“You know what’s nice?”
“What?”
“Buford had a life insurance policy, and he made Momma the beneficiary. Now she can get the medicine she needs, and hospice can take care of her at my house instead of in the hospital. She can spend her last days with me instead of in a hospital room, and that’s because of you, Mayme, so don’t you feel bad about doing what you did.”
I couldn’t argue that.
“Momma, I am not wearing that.” I reverted right back to the girl I was before I’d moved to the city. A whiny, bratty teenager and it worked just fine for Momma and me.
My mother laughed. “But Meme, it’s perfect for you.” She held up a yellow and green tea-length skirt and a matching yellow sweater. It was uglier than Momma’s kitchen window curtain, the one Daddy accidentally on purpose lit on fire with a pan full of bacon grease he’d dumped in the sink one Christmas morning. The smoke alarms went off in a crazy beeping frenzy, and the fire trucks came hauling in. Daddy had already put out the fire, but the poor ugly curtains didn’t survive. We did have a lovely little brunch ready for the firemen, and they ate it up but good.
I’m pretty sure Daddy planned the whole thing. He never did like those curtains, and it had to be planned because who makes six pounds of bacon, two dozen scrambled eggs and twenty-four biscuits for a family of three?
“Christopher will love it. We got three of them at the thrift shop today, and two of them sold right quick. I had to sneak this one under the cash register for you.” She made a funny huff sound. “You’d think you’d be thankful for it.”
I grunted. “Thankful that you want me to dress like a Sunday supper tablecloth? Are you trying to make me become a nun? Because last I checked, we weren’t Catholic.”
“Might do you some good to go back to church. Learn to respect your elders some.” She tried to stop her lip from twitching up into a smile, but I caught it.
“I saw that.”
She laughed, and I did, too.
“Momma?” I sat on my bed, my head sulking and my shoulders slumped. My momma and I didn’t have the most fabulous relationship, and she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, that was for sure, but I knew she loved me, though maybe with a strict hand, but when I needed her, she was always there. Whatever was going on, it concerned me, and I didn’t want to lose her.
“Yes, Meme?” She sat next to me and patted my knee. “I know what you’re worried about, but don’t be. Everything is fine. Like I said, I got the all clear.”
I raised my head. “You sure?”
She nodded. “You ever hear me lie? ‘Course I’m sure. Doctor said I got to cut back on the caffeine. Did you know if you drink too much coffee it can cause lumps in your breasts? Lord works in mysterious ways, don’t he?” She poked me in the right boob. “You drink a lot of that fancy stuff at those expensive coffee shops, best you stop that now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Besides, it’ll save you a lot of money when you move back to the city.”
I’m not so sure I’m going back to the city, Momma.”
She blinked. “’Course you’re goin’ back to the city. It’s where all the acting jobs are.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure I want to continue acting. I’m not sure what I want to do anymore, Momma.” I hadn’t said that out loud before. Truth was, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I leaned my head onto her shoulder, and she leaned her head onto mine.
“It’s okay honey, you’ll figure it out. You’ve got time. And whatever you decide, you can do it right here. This is your home.” She raised her head and glanced around my room. “And you know what? I think it’s about time we gave your room an update. I’m thinking gray and yellow. What do you think?”
I sighed. “I’m thinking I need a job that pays me enough to get my own place.”
“Now, that’s just crazy talk. You just got home.”
Daddy walked in then and chuckled.
Christopher and I sat outside on the wood slat deck of the Grove Park Inn, sipping hot cocoa, and watching the orange sunset in the crisp autumn, October sky. The evening breeze calmed my nerves, but I still couldn’t help but feel excited. The high school Mayme beamed with pride to be sitting in a beautifully romantic spot with Christopher Lacy, the star of just-about-everything, whose eyes hadn’t even once glanced at the sun setting in the October sky because they were glued on her. Well, the adult her. Mayme Buckley, a fallen Off-Broadway, once rising star. Literally, dropped, through a floor, and she flat out didn’t care one bit.
“It’s just stunning, isn’t it? I’d forgotten how gorgeous fall is here in Asheville.”
He smiled. “You are.”
I blushed. “Christopher, I’m talking about that.” I pointed to the sunset. “Stop trying to win points. You saved me from certain death. You’ve already won all the points you need.”
He laughed. “I’m a guy. I’m sure I’ll screw something up sooner or later. I need back up points just in case.”
I leaned back in my wicker chair. “I don’t think so. I have a feeling you’ll do just fine.”
“So, what’s next for you? Another job with the mourning people?”
“I think I’m done with that for now.” I sipped my hot cocoa. “Actually, I think I’m done with acting for a while. Maybe even permanently.”
He pulled his right knee up and placed that foot under his left leg. “Really? I thought that was your life’s dream?”
“Yeah, so did I, but things change. You know, I spent most of my life wanting to get out of this place, wanting to make something of myself, and here I am again, right back where I started. Only now, it’s different.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not the same person I was a few weeks ago. I did something that made a difference, something that mattered, and that felt real, important. It meant something.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not sure yet, but whatever it is, I think I’m doing it here, in Asheville.”
“I like that idea.” He leaned over and put his hand on my knee. “I like that idea a lot.”
I did, too.
“Any jobs lined up?”
“No, but I can always work at Daddy’s shop or go back to the temp agency.”
“The department’s hiring recruits.”
I perked up at the idea. “You think I could be a police officer?”
“Why not? You have an eye for it, Mayme.”
I straightened my shoulders. “I kind of do, don’t I?”
“And with training, maybe you’d be an excellent traffic officer one day.”
He’d knocked the wind out of my sails with that blow. “Traffic officer?”
“Don’t want you getting too big of an ego. You might go crashing through the department floor if you do.”
“I see what you did there.”
“I figured you would.”
He leaned in then, and high school Mayme pushed almost mature adult Mayme off the seat and took control. She leaned in too, ready and willing for the kiss of her lifetime—she’d prepared with an extra dose of mouthwash in case another situation of circumstantial halitosis popped up, which it hadn’t—and let me tell you, the kiss of a lifetime was precisely what she got.
THE END
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