Excerpt From Jo Grant’s Journal:
…Toss is a great guy, and we can talk horses and how to run the farm but not a whole lot more. Nothing about books or art or architecture or the kind of music that matters to me.
Anyway, Maggie’s due to foal soon, and Toss keeps saying he’s going to sleep in the foaling barn. Except this time he’s in a wheelchair. Not that that would be different. Two mares birthed this week, and he was there both nights. Buddy woke him and hauled him out there and kept him from climbing out of his chair. One little guy we euthanized. He was born with such a bad club foot we didn’t have a choice…
When Alan was in Cincinnati, Buddy was on the Winchester Road heading south from Paris toward Claiborne Farm.
He drove between the square gray-stone gateposts down a wandering drive lined with trees to the farm office in a big white house, where he told the woman who scheduled the breedings that he was there to see Charlie Smalls, who was supposed to be on his lunch hour.
She told him Charlie was expecting him and was down behind the stallion barns eating lunch under the trees.
Buddy thanked her and left, before he swallowed and spit and started feeling queasy, as he walked down and around a soft hill between green lawns and spreading trees, nodding to one groom and explaining to another why he was there.
Claiborne didn’t want folks wandering in and walking around. There was too much to lose sticking their heads over stall doors and cropping grass in paddocks. But being a friend of Charlie’s was different, and being the brother of an exercise rider might’ve helped too.
He saw Charlie before Charlie saw him – a short, strong, gentle-faced man, who knew more about caring for horses than anyone else Buddy’d met. It was like he had some sixth sense. Like he could read a horse’s mind, and the horse knew it in his bones too and trusted Charlie to care for him and do what was best.
Charlie’s broad black face broke into a huge grin, all strong white teeth and smiling eyes, as soon as he saw Buddy. He waved him over and moved his lunchbox to one side so Buddy could sit across from him at the old wooden picnic table and have a place to put his arms.
Charlie said, “You sure are a sight for sore eyes! How you been doin’? I hear your wife’s gonna have twins.”
They caught up on family matters and the big news in the Thoroughbred business, and then they both fell silent.
Charlie poured iced tea from a thermos while he watched Buddy, waiting for him to get to it. “I got a paper cup and the top of the thermos too, if you’d like you a drink of sweet tea.”
“Thanks all the same. I had some in the truck.”
Another silence, and more staring off into space by Buddy before Charlie tried again. “So is I way off base, figurin’ you was comin’ to see me for some kinda reason? Not just to say hey?”
“Nope. You’re right. I want to ask your opinion.”
“Fine. I hope I can help.”
“Y’see, I got this friend, and he’s working for a real good barn with great bloodstock on the farm, and he’s got himself a pretty good mare, and one of the stallion handlers offered him a deal. Said he’d fix it for him to breed his mare to one of them stallions for a couple hundred bucks. This guy’ll never have the money to pay the stud fees any other way, and he asked me what he should do since—”
“Buddy. Look at the gray in my hair. You can see I weren’t born yesterday, so why don’t ya just tell me straight out this happened to you at Mr. Tate’s?”
Buddy sat silent, staring at the wall of the white wooden barn behind Charlie Smalls. “Yes-sir. You figured right. That’s just what happened.”
“So what d’ya want from me?”
“Help deciding what to do.”
“You expectin’ me to tell you to do somethin’ you know ain’t right?” Charlie Smalls was watching closely, his face smooth and neutral, his eyes sharp and insistent.
“No. But—”
“I didn’t think so. I don’t reckon you’re that kind.”
They were both quiet for a moment, while Charlie ate the last bite of peanut butter sandwich and Buddy lit a smoke.
“If you ain’t had lunch, I got me a slice a carrot cake Mary put in, and I’d be glad for you to have it.”
“I appreciate that, but I ate on the way. My wife packed me a lunch before I dropped her at work. She won’t be workin’ much longer. It’s harder goin’ with twins.”
“Yep. Same way with mares.” Charlie slid a wax paper parcel out of a small paper sack and unwrapped it before he spoke. “Ya know, I been watching this business a good long time. I seen rich folks come and go. I seen poor folks rise and fall. I known horses that made me glad to be alive just to watch ’em do what they love. I seen horses treated like meat on the hoof by folks that oughtta be horsewhipped. And I decided somethin’ a good long time ago.”
“What?”
“The only thing a man’s got in this life that means a hill of beans – aside from family, if he’s blessed with one that don’t tax him sorely – is what he done he can look back on the day he shuts his eyes for good.” Charlie gazed at Buddy for half a minute, then picked the slice of cake up in his fingers and bit off a corner. “That make sense to you?” He locked onto Buddy’s eyes and wiped his lips with a paper napkin.
“I guess. Yeah.”
“You ain’t never safe. Life ain’t never secure. Nobody gets that, ever. It’s all up and down. The one break that looks like it’s taking you somewhere you been yearnin’ to go all your life can blow up in your face and ruin every little thing you care for. We think sometimes that if we control somethin’, that that can make us safe. But how much of that do you reckon there is?”
“Stuff we control? I don’t know. Not much, pro’bly.” Buddy was wiping his sunglasses on his shirt, looking away from Charlie.
“All you got is what you do on your own. Do you do your best when nobody’s lookin’? Are you good to the horses that’re in your hands? Do you tell the truth? And pay good for good? And good for evil too? I’m not sayin’ that’s easy. Lord, I know better! But that’s what matters. That you do right yourself and don’t expect nobody else to. Then you can hold your head up and you don’t get real disappointed. And one day when you meet your Maker, you won’t be ashamed of havin’ worse on your hands.”
Buddy didn’t say anything.
Charlie waited and watched him till Buddy had put out that cigarette and lit another.
“You disgusted with me? You thinkin’ here’s this guy who’s still workin’ real hard, as old as he is now, with not much to show for it? Maybe he’s thrown his life away and wants to keep me down like him?”
“No! I mean I know you’re the best at what you do, and the Hancocks think the world of you.”
“They trust me. They give me their best horses and let me work beside ’em, Mr. Hancock and his folks. I travel with the horses I work with. I take ’em to the track, and the mares to get bred and all, and the Hancocks and me we talk and laugh and get along. That’s trust, and I b’lieve there’s respect. But I cain’t say they think the world of me. I’m a Negro man, and I work for ’em, and they like me just fine, with both of us knowing what that means.”
That lay between them for a minute, both of them examining it, before Buddy spoke again. “You know darn well I’ll never have the money to breed my mare to anything good.”
“Pro’bly not. ’Course, you never know for sure.”
“You know Mr. Mercer Tate?”
“I do. He’s a fine man. Like his daddy before him.”
“He’s treated me good.” Buddy crushed his cigarette out on the ground, then sat back up and looked at Charlie. “I reckon I oughtta get going. We’re about to start putting the horses out at night and bringing ’em in the morning, ’cause of the flies and the heat startin’ up and all, and I gotta get ’em in early this afternoon and check ’em all over before they go out again.”
“At Toss’s?”
“Yep.”
“You say ‘hey’ to Toss and Josie, ya hear? I don’t know her real well, but I knew her daddy and I admired him.”
“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate you takin’ the time and what you said too.”
“One last word?”
“Sure.”
“When you do right, you make enemies. For all kinds a reasons. Not every time, no, but some. Just get yourself ready, and don’t worry none. It’ll come out right in the end.”
“I’ll try.”
“Your little brother’s doin’ good. He’s turning into a real fair exercise rider.”
“That’s what Laverne always says, but hearin’ it from you means more.”
They both laughed. And stood up. And shook each other’s hands.
Sunday, April 29, 1962
Alan was up on Sam, riding in Tom’s secondhand dressage saddle which made him sit up straight and let his long legs hang down low, almost like a western saddle.
Jo was riding Toss’s mare, Flicker, an amiable trail horse with uncertain parentage who did not have the best gaits in the world but was tireless and pleasant and needed to get out and get worked.
They were on a trail in the woods on the north side of Jo’s house, a strip of woods two hundred feet wide that went for a quarter of a mile maybe, before the path crossed her neighbor’s land, then snaked around and back.
The footing was good just in front of them, with very few tree roots across the path.
Jo asked Alan if he felt okay or if riding bothered his leg.
“The insides of my thighs are up in arms, but the injured parts seem fine.”
“Good. That was not a figure of speech I expected.”
“No?”
“You feel like trying a short trot? There’s a good spot up ahead.”
“Sure.”
She let Sam lead so she could keep an eye on Alan, and he did well at the trot, relaxing more than most beginners do and posting the way she’d taught him. Not perfectly. No one would. He came down on Sam’s back out of rhythm twice, but better than most starting out. She could see Alan was naturally athletic. And the grin on his face when they slowed to a walk and he looked back at Jo made her laugh out loud.
He asked if she thought they ought to start back, since Spence was coming at three.
“I do. And I was thinking too that we should talk to Spence by the cabin. If we try to talk at the house, Toss’ll want to be with us, and Spence should have some privacy.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Could we ride again later in the week? It’s more fun than I expected.”
“Sure.”
“We haven’t talked about this in awhile, but I was wondering if you were still listening to the tape Tom left for you.”
“Not every day. But I think I’m almost done.”
“Does it still hurt to hear his voice?” Alan wasn’t looking at her, even though they were riding next to each other. He patted Sam on the withers, then worked at shortening his reins.
“It doesn’t hurt like it did. Sometimes more than others. But I really want to hear what he wanted to tell me.” Jo crushed a huge horsefly on Flicker’s shoulder and threw it on the ground, then looked over at Alan. “He talks about you quite a bit.”
“Really. I wouldn’t have expected that.”
“There’s actually something I’d like to ask about, when we’ve got more time to talk.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“No. Not really. Nothing so dramatic.” It looked as though something had closed up in Alan, like a fence went up or a shield clicked in place. Jo wanted to kick herself for choosing the wrong time to ask.
Spence was holding the paper bag in his lap, on the stone steps in front of the cabin, looking at Jo and then Alan, as though he were holding himself in pretty tight, trying not to explode.
Jo waited and watched him for a minute, while she rolled up her sleeves. “I know it seems outrageous. That I’d start digging into her past, but with what I saw with my own eyes in high school, I couldn’t just let it go, once I knew you were engaged. I’ve put notes of my talk with her aunt in there and—”
“Jo, you know what families are like. There could be all kinds of reasons for why she and her aunt don’t get along, and for you to—”
“I know that. But it’s not just her aunt. There’re notes in there too from a conversation I had with a minister’s wife in Louisville who Tara lived with after she had the illegitimate kid, and—”
“Her boyfriend went off and left her penniless and kidnapped her daughter!”
“Not exactly. There’s a lot more to it than that. I’ve put the woman’s phone number and the—”
“And what about the husband that beat the crap out of her? I s’ppose—”
Alan said, “I’ve actually talked to him. And I’ve put a tape in the bag there of my conversation with him, so you can hear him yourself and get a sense of what he’s like. Part of what he said was corroborated by the minister’s wife too, and I think you’ll want to hear it.”
Alan watched a rush of irritation spread across Spencer’s face, while he himself took a deep breath and thought about what to say next. “Jo and I both know we’re meddling more than either of us ever imagined we would in anybody’s life. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“But because of what we kept uncovering, we felt we had to go on. Neither of us could’ve lived with ourselves if we hadn’t told you what we’ve found.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Spence stood and laid the bag on the ground and looked across at Jo and Alan, where they sat on an old stone mounting block ten feet from the porch steps. “To think that you two would go behind my back and dig up dirt from Tara’s past – persecution some of it, from what she’s said, that she’s put up with all her life. From parents who were crazy and an aunt who never—”
Alan raised a hand and stopped him there. “You’re a born scientific type. Wouldn’t you say?
“Maybe.”
“You use data everyday in the business in ways I respect. You’re rational, and a realist, and you make logical decisions. Please, just read the notes and listen to the tape and make up your own mind. If you think it doesn’t matter and what these other people say isn’t true, Jo and I will never say another word to you or anyone else about this, and we’ll wish you well with the marriage.”
“We will, Spence. I know how it must seem, but we did it to try to help.”
Nobody said anything else for a minute. Spence stared off to the south across waves of rolling hills with his hands stuffed in the back pockets of his Levis while he tapped a boot in the dirt.
“Okay. I’ll go through it all. I don’t doubt that you were trying to help but if I see your evidence differently, this is where it ends. You both understand that? You’ll drop the subject once and for all.”
They both said, “Yes.”
And Spence picked up the bag. “I need to get over to the hospital and spend some time with Mom and Martha, and let Dad go out and get dinner.”
Jo said, “Say ‘hey’ to Martha. I haven’t seen her since they moved to Charleston.”
Buddy walked into Stallion Barn 2 at Mercer Tate’s and found Frankie in the tack room. He was sitting on a folding chair reading a racing paper, his feet up on an overturned bucket, a new red baseball cap pushed back on his head.
“It’s about time you showed up. I waited on ya an hour.”
“I wasn’t workin’ here today. I had to make a special trip.” Buddy stood still with his hands by his sides and his eyes on Frankie. “I’m not gonna take you up on the offer.”
Frankie shot up and threw the paper on the floor. “You don’t know what you’re doing! You ain’t never gonna get a chance like this again!”
“Yeah, I reckon that’s true.”
“Then that makes you even dumber than I figured. I’ll tell you this, boy—” He lunged toward Buddy, not touching him, but arms tensed, weaving like a rooster who’s picking a fight. “You say a word about this to anybody, you hear me? Anybody, anywhere, and you’ll wish you was dead! You want yourself an enemy for life? You just open your fat mouth, and you got one who knows how to make your life a livin’ hell!”
Buddy had eight or ten inches on Frankie, and he knew exactly how strong he was, and who he’d licked in the past – and he looked down on Frankie D’Amato without moving an inch, without looking as though he thought Frankie was even worth considering. He stared at him the way he had the bully in fifth grade he’d beaten to a pulp for hurting his best friend – till Frankie stepped away.
Then Buddy walked out the door, heading toward his truck.
Monday, April 30, 1962
An hour after the Franklins’ daughter, Martha, took a cab to the airport from the hospital, a blood clot was discovered in Alice’s right lower leg, which all of them knew was life-threatening. More than one doctor came in on it, trying to keep the clot from breaking loose and hitting a lung.
They started her on Warfarin, a blood thinner to help it dissolve, and kept her in bed with her legs up.
She wasn’t looking forward to taking rat poison, but they’d given Warfarin to President Eisenhower after his heart attack when he was in office, so there probably wasn’t anything better.
She handled it the way she handled most things. She got as much information as she could and weighed the options presented, then prayed about it, and told herself not to worry, and worked at keeping her mind busy.
Booker was there all morning, some of the time with Richard. The pain in her leg was some better than it had been, and Alice slept and read books. And told Booker to go to the office for a couple of hours that afternoon, when she knew he had an appointment she thought he ought to keep. Spence was coming in to be with her, and he’d call Booker if he needed to. There were supposed to be strict visiting hours in that hospital then, but the nurses and doctors who ran the place bent rules when they could, and Spence got to stay.
When his mom dozed off about two, he pulled Jo’s notes out of his briefcase and read them from first to last. He’d listened to Dwayne’s tape the night before, and the more he heard and the more he read, the sicker he felt.
That’s what he saw too. Sickness and deceit. And it made him want to pack his bags and leave for parts unknown.
“Hey.” Alice was watching him over her raised legs as though she were reading his mind. “You want to tell me what’s the matter?”
“You’re the one in the hospital. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Something’s wrong. It’s written all over you. And I’d rather know, than not know.”
Spencer pushed the papers in his briefcase, then tried to make himself smile. “It’s nothing I ever expected to have happen, that’s for sure.”
“Why? In what way?” She settled herself deeper in her pillows, her face gray and sunken, her eyes puffy and tired, the skin around them looking bruised and thin.
“Josie Grant and Alan Munro… well… Josie knew Tara in high school and thought Tara treated a boy she knew very peculiarly and very badly. She knew Tara’s aunt – who works here, actually – and last week Jo asked her what Tara had been up to since she left high school. What she said led Jo to talk to someone else, and she wrote notes about what she learned and gave them to me yesterday.”
“And?” Alice looked as though she was holding her breath, while her fingers smoothed her sheet.
“Because of what Jo found out, Alan located other people from Tara’s past, and he’s passed on to me what he learned. So there are things that have come to light that I need to check out for myself.”
“I see.”
Spencer watched Alice carefully. He saw her try to look absolutely neutral and not pull it off. He saw the relief and the half-hidden excitement, and thought about what he ought to say. “Once I’ve corroborated their versions, if it’s true what they’ve found, I’ll let you read Jo’s notes. Tara works for you. You’ve got a right to know what she’s like. And yes, as you’ve said many times, that’s why it’s not smart to date someone you work with, in case it falls apart.”
“So if it’s true—”
“I’ll have to distance myself right away. If it’s true. And I’m beginning to suspect it is.”
“Better to find out now rather than after you’re married.”
“I know.” Spence stood up and looked out the window with his back turned to the room. “If it is true, you know what’s really scary?”
“That you didn’t see signs of whatever it is yourself?”
“Yep. That would be it. That I interpreted the handful of moments when she said things that didn’t quite ring true, or did things that gave me pause, differently with her than I would’ve with someone else.”
“What kind of things has she done?”
“Well. Last week, we went to see the university’s production of ‘Private Lives’. She brought it up. She wanted to go. After we got to our seats, I started reading the program about the cast and Noel Coward and the play, and she got really irritated because I was reading instead of talking to her.
“I told her I didn’t think she was being fair, and she was quiet for a minute or two. But then she started in on it again, and she was obviously hot under the collar. I told her reading the program would give us something to talk about and a better context for seeing the play. So why didn’t she read it too, and then we could talk? She did. But she didn’t like it. If we’d been married, from what Jo and Alan have found, I think her reaction would’ve been worse.”
“And the way she did act made you wonder how reasonable a person she is.”
“It did. But not enough. Maybe.”
“Remember Giselle, though, when you analyze your attraction to Tara. Because don’t you think you cared about Gigi from the first? And part of your involvement comes from wanting to give her a really good dad?”
“I do. The way I wanted to help Tara. To kind of make up for how badly she’d been treated before. But if all that stuff she told me wasn’t true, then what does that make me?”
“A kind man. One who needs an ethical, faithful, self-motivated, highly intelligent wife with a life of her own, but an interest in the business, with a sense of humor as well, who sees the universe the way he does, and actually deserves him.”
“Anything else?”
They both laughed before Spence said, “And would this ‘kind man’ recognize such a woman as you describe for what she actually is?”
“Yes. Because you’ll learn from this.” Alice pulled the long thick braid that was caught behind her back in front of her left shoulder.
“I hope. But there’s pride involved too. I’ve patted myself on the back for being rational and observant, and a generally good judge of character so—”
“I think you are all those things.”
“Yeah, but you’re my mom. And how do you explain Tara? If what they say is true.”
“It’s not like the rest of us haven’t made mistakes like this. You were off fighting a war at the age when most of us make them. The issue is to learn from them. To see what it is in you that made you susceptible.”
“I’ve been smug too. I’ve watched people make irrational decisions based solely on feeling, romantic and otherwise, and secretly mocked them for being too emotional. Well, now I’ve done the same thing. If what I’ve been told is true.”
“So you’re human. And you’ll be more sympathetic in the future when other people make mistakes.”
“I hope. But this isn’t as important right now as your leg. Do you think the doctors know what they’re doing?”
“I think so. We’ll see. I was doing well from the surgery, and I’m in good shape in general. I eat well and exercise all the time, and they seem to think my chances are good.”
“Has Richard been here?”
“This morning.”
“How was he?”
“He was good. Except he’s using this as another reason why your dad and I should retire.”
“Nuts.”
“I know. He didn’t say anything when Booker was here though.”
“He wouldn’t.” Spencer had been pacing the room, and he swung back toward Alice, his blue eyes fierce, his eyebrows indignant, his mouth tight with disgust. Then he exhaled, shook his head, and said, “How much of that is Lily beating up on him in the background?”
“Some, I’m sure.”
“And just to add to the pressure, there’s what I’ve almost done to you.”
“What?”
“Foisted a second lunatic daughter-in-law on you when you’ve got enough troubles of your own.” Spencer smiled and squeezed Alice’s toes through the sheet and the blanket.
Buddy Jones, dressed in his Sunday clothes, walked up to the white-columned portico of Mercer Tate’s home, and knocked on the broad front door.
The housekeeper let him into the long formal foyer, with a wide white staircase curving way up, and told him to go into the library, right there on his right.
It was a square room, completely lined with books, except for two jib windows and a white marble mantelpiece in the middle of the outside wall. Two large antique globes were set in opposite corners on a wine and indigo Persian carpet that almost covered the heart pine floor. A walnut English partner desk stood perpendicular to the fireplace, close up on its right, and Mercer Tate sat there, a lamp lit on the desk, a floor lamp lit behind him, reading a sheaf of papers when Buddy walked in.
“Come on in and take a seat.” He waved a hand toward the black leather armchair pulled up in front of the desk.
“Thank you for seeing me. I know you’re a busy man.”
“What can I do for you, Buddy?” Mercer Tate had laid the papers down and was twirling a pen on the desk, slowly spinning it counterclockwise. He didn’t try to hurry him by asking anything more. He just waited while Buddy sat there stiffly as though will power alone were keeping him in the chair.
“Well, sir.” Buddy swallowed and locked his hands together in his lap. “I don’t rightly know how to say this. But one of your stallion grooms, Frankie D’Amato? He made me an offer I reckon you oughtta know about. I hate to be one carrying tales, but I give it a lotta thought, and if I was you, I’d wantta know, and you’ve treated me real well from the start, and I feel like I gotta say.”
“What has Frankie done?” Mercer Tate’s face didn’t change at all but he brushed a hand through his grey hair and sat up straighter in his chair as though something hurt somewhere, as though sitting one way for a long time made the arthritis worse.
“He told me he’d breed my mare to one of your stallions when no one was around to see if I paid him two hunnerd bucks.”
Mercer Tate smiled and looked almost relieved as he dropped the pen on the desk. “I knew that. I did. D’Amato was overheard when he was talking to you, and I’ve been waiting to see how you’d handle it.”
“How could he of been overheard? We was alone when—”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with the details, Buddy.”
“But—”
“You’ve done the right thing, and I give you a great deal of credit. D’Amato will be gone before the end of the day.”
“He’ll figure I got him fired.”
“I don’t expect so. I’ll tell him he was overheard, which is nothing but the truth, and that I’ve been waiting to decide what I ought to do.”
“Thank you, sir. That oughtta help. Maybe if you could tell him how he was overheard that’d make a difference.”
Mercer Tate watched Buddy for a second, before he chose to speak. “There was someone in the tack room.”
“Oh. I can see that. Yeah. I didn’t go in there that whole afternoon.”
“I want you to know I’ve been very pleased with the work you’ve been doing for me. And if you’d like, when Toss Watkins is back on his feet and doesn’t need the extra hand, I’d be willing to take you on. You can still work here part-time, now that you’ve paid off the vet bill, if you’d like to, and then come on full-time when Toss doesn’t need you. There’s a tenant house too, where we used to have the sheep farm, if that would be of interest.”
Buddy’s face turned bright red, and he swallowed hard before he spoke. “Thank you, sir. I’d be real proud to work for you whatever way you want.”
It was a shotgun house in downtown Lexington, long and narrow from front to back, and Tara and Gigi were in the living room just inside the front porch.
They’d eaten dinner on the sofa in front of the TV. Cereal, like the night before – Cheerios and milk with sliced bananas, and Coke to chase it down.
Giselle was on the floor rolling back and forth on her stomach on the round gray plastic-covered ottoman she’d turned on its side, watching the end of Gunsmoke. Tara was putting polish on her toenails, bright pink to match her fingernails and the lipstick she’d just bought. There were dishes on the coffee table, cereal bowls from both nights, and at least three breakfasts. And when Gunsmoke was over, Tara told Giselle to take them to the kitchen and put them in the sink.
“Do I have to do it now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna help me?”
“My polish isn’t dry yet.”
“Will we live on Spencer’s farm when you get married?” Gigi was looking at her mom, while still lying on the ottoman, her head hanging almost to the floor, a stillness about her then that made it feel like a serious question that needed a serious answer.
“Yep. You’ll have a big bedroom, and he’ll cook you hamburgers on the grill and make waffles in the morning sometimes.”
“Great! Like Daddy does when I visit him.”
Tara stretched her legs out along the couch and opened a new movie magazine with Steve McQueen on the cover.
Giselle slid off the ottoman, then jumped up and twirled around. She was dressed all in pink – leotard, tights and a tutu – and she sang “Alvin The Chipmunk” louder and louder as she swirled around in a circle. “Will you take me to my dance class tomorrow?”
“It’s the day after tomorrow.”
“I knew that. I was being silly.” Giselle had her arms over her head and her brown eyes were laughing as she bent forward, and then back, and leapt straight up in the air.
“Don’t hit the dishes!”
“I wantta get a bath.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tired.”
“I just turned six. I can take it myself. My hair’s all icky.” It did look sticky and dirty, hanging long and tangled.
“Spencer’ll be over tomorrow after dinner, so we have to clean up the house.”
“I want to get a bath and wash my hair!”
“We’ll see.”
“Please!”
“We’ll see. Maybe. In a while.”
“I bet you’ll give me a bath because Spencer’s coming over.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because that’s the only time we clean the house, and you tell me what to wear.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is so.”
“Don’t you say that to him. I’ll give you a bath if you clean up the dishes.”
“Will it be fun when we live with him?”
“Sure. You’ll go to a nicer school, and we’ll buy new clothes, and you can have a swing set. And maybe he’ll make you a playhouse.”
“Could I have a pony? And a dog?”
“He won’t have horses. Not after awhile.”
“Why?”
Tara didn’t say anything. She looked at the clothes they’d both thrown on the floor. And drank the last of her Coke.
“Why?”
“Stop asking questions! Put the dishes in the sink! Then come pick up your clothes!”
It was late. Giselle was asleep, her wet hair spread across a towel on a pillowcase covered with flying Tinkerbells.
Tara was in her room on her old double bed, clothes and magazines shoved away from her so they lined the empty half.
She was lying on her side turning the pages of a bridal magazine, her head propped on one hand, looking at wedding dresses she couldn’t afford but might ask Spence to buy.
She pushed it away and rolled over on her back, the short pink-flowered nightgown rooched up around her hips, one hand behind her head, the other playing with her hair, pulling thick wavey ropes of it out above her chest, letting them fall on bare skin as though she liked the feel.
The only light was her bedside lamp, a small ruffled pink-shaded lamp, and she stared beyond the globe of light at the shadows in the corners of the ceiling.
She’d taken two sleeping pills, but they hadn’t done anything yet. She’d probably have to take more. Not so many she couldn’t get to work in the morning. But enough to fight the tightness in her chest and the hard hot center just below it.
The writhing beast was awake again. The cat, was how she pictured it. The one that woke up restless, gnawing her insides. It’d been alright for awhile, once Spencer fell in love with her. There’d been calmer nights and easier days when she didn’t have that hungry feeling she couldn’t make go away.
When the cat lay quiet, she could plan for the future and not feel frantic. She could work for what she wanted then. Wanted and deserved too, because no matter what her mama said, she did it for Gigi as much as herself. It came smooth and calm and peaceful then, knowing how to talk. Being the way she needed to. She could act steadier and take her time and not push when she shouldn’t.
The cat curled up and went to sleep when Spence acted like he loved her. When he listened to her and appreciated her. Then she could breathe and not worry. And when the day came that Spence said the words she’d been working toward since she met him, they’d make the cat purr. With this body I thee worship. She wanted to be worshipped with his body and his blood till the day Spencer died.
But tonight on the phone something sharp stuck out in Spencer’s voice. Something wary and hard that scared her when he said he had to see her, and he’d be there tomorrow after dinner. Something was coming she had to be ready to turn the way it should go.
It could’ve started at “Private Lives.” She’d seen a shadow in him then. A pulling back when she’d asked him to stop reading and talk to her instead. Usually he was kind and considerate. He’d do what was right and not seem to mind. But that night he was selfish and cold and she’d let him know she didn’t like it.
Before when he hadn’t agreed to something, when they were first together, she’d been careful not to argue or try to get him to change his mind. But now Spencer belonged to her, and she had rights he had to honor. It was time he learned to put her first and be more attentive.
I want the wedding to be elegant too. Something special folks’ll talk about. Since God knows his dad can afford it and oughtta want to help out.
’Course, that could be an awful lotta risk. It pro’bly makes sense to get married quick, with a justice of the peace like with Dwayne.
’Course, Spencer’s nothin’ like Dwayne. Nothing like Rusty either. Whose one good point was showing up and getting me away from Mama.
I never would’ve gone with Dwayne if he hadn’t gotten me to Europe. And none of the ones since have mattered even a lick.
But Spencer Franklin’s the kind you stay with. He’s good lookin’ and smart as can be, and he practically runs the business. The minute I laid eyes on him, I knew he’d take better care of me than any other man I’d ever seen. And him being a believer and all, he’ll never want a divorce, especially once we’ve had a kid.
He works hard around the house. And he reads to Gigi and plays with her too, so I won’t have to kiss Mama’s butt to get her to help out. I’ll be free to live the way I want, once I’m Mrs. Spencer Franklin whose husband owns his own business.
Or he will own it, when his folks are dead. Him and his boring brother. And it sounds like his mom may go a whole lot sooner than we thought.
But getting Spencer to marry quick, with his mother sick and his trip coming up, might not be so simple. He might insist on a minister too. So I’ll have to be careful bringing it up and working my way into it. And I expect I’ll have to keep going to church and acting like I like it. But only till we’re married. When a lotta things can change.
What was wrong with him tonight? Something. I could hear it as soon as I answered.
Maybe his mother’s gotten to him. I gotta believe she’s trying. She can’t stand me anywhere near him. Even Spence can see that, the knives right there in her eyes.
’Course, Josie Grant could be playing a part. With her talking to Betsy and all. Betts must’ve trashed me to her. Giving her her prejudiced slant on every paltry thing I ever did. Betts watched Dad and Uncle Joe being as mean as can be, and Mama lashing out like she did, every chance she got, but Betts just watched and turned away, and never gave me a thought.
’Course, Spence being the way he is, if he brings up something from the past, I better be quick to explain it.
That’s nothing new. It’s been this way forever. Women lying, and criticizing me ’cause men have liked me since I was little, ’cause I know how to make ’em feel good, and want to help me out.
I expect I oughtta keep Gigi with us the whole time tomorrow. Then I can see what Spence is thinking without us getting to talk. Give me a chance to figure it out, without me gettin’ rushed.