Read Deep Dixie Online

Authors: Annie Jones

Deep Dixie (10 page)


Mmmm. Smells like its dinnertime.

He didn

t even sound convincing to himself.

Momma

s expression soured.

Smells like someone

s boiling flour and water to me. When are you going to spring me from this voodoo boardinghouse and get me home so I can whip up a real meal?

Just the thought of Momma

s cooking made Riley

s stomach grumble. He put his hand over the flat muscles of his belly and laughed.

You have no idea how much I

d love to do that. Wendy is so sick of my cooking she

s wrangled herself invites to dinner with friends every night this week. I

ll need to go pick her up pretty soon now.


Not without giving me more details, you won

t.

Her eyes twinkled, but the shadow of underlying pain gave her face a gray pallor. She angled her shoulders ever so slightly in his direction and exhaled loudly at the effort. All joking faded from her expression as she brushed her fingers over his.

So, it

s a done deal with you and Carol, then? You

ve broken things off for good?

The hint of hope in her tone told Riley she wanted to hear a retraction, to have him deny the rumor and reassure her that everything was going ahead without a hitch.


Look, Mom, I...

She seemed so small in that long, metal-framed bed in the stark, impersonal room. He

d never seen his mother look so small before, so fragile. She

d always been the fierce one, the go-getter, a woman of unfathomable faith in herself, her family, and her God. Now, lying there waiting for him to answer, she looked like some little old lady pleading with her eyes to hear that everything was going to work out right for her son and granddaughter.

Momma tipped her head forward just enough to urge him to go on and finish what he had begun to say.


I...I don

t know, Mom. It

s complicated.


Because you don

t return the feelings she has for you?


That and—

He shifted his boots. How did he explain Carol

s one and only strategy for arguing why he should be allowed to adopt Wendy without cutting Momma to the quick? How could he lay it out to her without making it seem as though she would have to choose between her loyalty to him and Wendy and her ever faithful love for his sister?

He couldn

t.

The thing is, I should never have let someone that I know is...that has feelings for me...represent me in personal or business affairs, Mom. It

s not a good mix.


And this new one,
that
will be a good mix?


New one?


Lawyer. The one that called you up on the phone. You know, I had no idea lawyers did that kind of thing, calling folks up out of the blue in hopes they might have a law case they need tending to.


Momma, he didn

t exactly call me out of the—

“‘
Course as much as everybody goes to suing everybody else over every little thing these days, it don

t surprise me none that some smart legal eagle didn

t turn to the telemarketing approach.


Who said anything about telemarket—


You know what I think maybe you ought to do instead, though?

She raised one finger both to keep him from interrupting and to wag at him as she spoke.

Maybe you ought to call up one of those 1-800-lawsuit lawyers that

s always advertising on the TV! Can

t be any worse picking a lawyer from a blind phone call, now can it?


This was not a blind anything, Mom.


Least with the TV fellows you can get a gander at what they look like, pick one out that looks successful but not flashy. Maybe the one with slick-backed hair and that gold and rhinestone tie tack.

She patted his hand a little too hard.

I

ll bet nary a one of them would let their personal feelings for you get in the way of things, no matter how much you turned on that ol

sawmill charm of yours.


Now you

re just being ornery.

He pushed his rolled-up sleeves past his elbows.


That don

t change the fact that the devil you know is usually better than the devil you don

t.

Riley didn

t want to ask but clearly Momma wanted him to ask.

By
devil
you mean...?


Lawyers.

Riley pulled away and stood straight beside the bed.

I

ll keep that in mind when I go over to Fulton

s Dominion tomorrow morning.


Fulton

s Dominion? I thought that fell through. I thought we

d heard the last of you getting mixed up with that... that...that Fulton family!


What? You got some good gossip on them, too?

Riley laughed.

What do you use to gather your information, Momma? Computers? Satellites? Secret frequency radio waves?


You are not too old to be taken to the woodshed for sass- talking me, son.


Dinnertime, Mrs. Walker.

A young woman in a brightly colored scrub suit and a hairnet came into the small room. She slid the large tray bearing a covered meal on the bed table while making small talk about the menu and the desert and how the patients might complain about the food but they seemed to eat it all every night then ask for more.

When she left, Momma leaned forward, peering at the steaming plate of portions in various shades of beige and brown. She wrinkled up her nose, then shook her head and stuck her hand out to him.

Well, it ain

t the way I make meat-loaf and gravy but it

s what I

ve got. Best say my thanks for it.

Riley gladly took his mother

s hand and bowed his head.


Thank you for this food, oh, Lord. And for my health, such as it is right now. Thank you for giving me two wonderful children and a beautiful grandchild, even if we can

t all be together right now. I trust we

ll all be a family again in time, even if it

s not

til we

re in heaven.

Riley started to murmur
amen
, but Momma wasn

t quite done.


And please guide my Riley as he considers this new business dealing. Don

t let him get drawn into a big, fat mess with those...with your good and faithful...and, um,
interesting
servants, the Fulton family.

She gave his hand a squeeze.

Amen.


Amen.

But before he would turn lose of his mother

s hand he caught her with a hard gaze.

I think maybe you

d better tell me just what it is you

ve heard about these folks, Momma, before I go getting myself involved in anything pertaining to them and their business.


I

ve never heard a bad word spoken against their business.

She unfurled her napkin and tucked it into the round collar of her hospital gown.

In fact, we owned a sofa made by that company for years and years. You remember that blue and gold one with the tiny floral pattern woven into—


What about the family?

She picked up her fork and plunged it into the glob of mashed potatoes.

I always liked that sofa.


Mom.

He crossed his arms and dipped his head.

What aren

t you telling me?


Son, the truth is, I don

t know for sure what it is about that family.

She put her fork down.

They

re just peculiar, that

s all. Wealthy, though, and active in the community. Whether the
community likes it or not.


I see. So it

s a rich, eccentric old Southern family that exerts its influence in the town its forebears founded. And you think that

s in some way unusual?


You

re right. You

re right. There

s probably nothing extraordinary about them at all. They are probably just your everyday, average, millionaire lunatics.

She took up her fork and scooped some meatloaf up with the potatoes and took a bite.


Don

t worry, Mom.

He grabbed up the plastic pitcher on her tray and filled her water glass, handing it to her just as she made a face to show her dislike of the food.

I think I can handle myself with them. Besides, Mr. Greenhow gave me the impression I wouldn

t be dealing with the family anyway. He seems to have the whole thing pretty much under control.

Momma gulped down one swallow, then another. Then she set the glass down with a decisive
thunk
and met his gaze with a shrewd, skeptical look.


That

s good, then, because if ever there truly was one, from what I hear that Fulton family is surely a first-class example of a complete and utter troublement.

 

* * *

 

“‘
There is a patina on everything in the South. An oily grittiness that settles itself like skin over the kitchen canisters and car hoods and antique milk glass lampshades. You cannot rub it off nor wash it off, and the longer you stay here, the more it becomes a part of you.
’“
Dixie pressed flat the brand-new, red velveteen journal until the binding cracked.

How

s that for a start, then?


That

s lovely, dear. Quite nice. Quite.

Miss Letticia Gautier patted her gnarled, mocha-colored hand in the air, as though keeping beat to some unheard song. She nodded her head to that same silent rhythm, swaying gently in her high-backed rocker.

What is it, lamb?


What is it?

Dixie let her shoulders slump just enough to get truly comfortable and toed her white-socked feet inward.

Don

t you recognize what I just read?

The delicate wisp of an old woman sitting beside Dixie blinked her crepe-lidded, owl-like brown eyes in incomprehension.

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