In Front of God and Everybody (13 page)

When it seemed the woman had cried herself dry, she let go of Mama and pulled back.

“I'm sorry,” she said, prissier than ever. “I'm not given to displays of emotion.”

Now, while I sympathized with her homesickness, I nearly hooted out loud at that remark. Practically every time I'd seen her, she was either in the throes of some kind of fit or on a crying jag. However, my own personal self, I wouldn't have wanted to live in that falling-down house and sleep on the floor, either, so I completely understood what ole Isabel was saying.

“It's perfectly reasonable,” Mama said. “You shouldn't have to live without the things you need. When will they be arriving?”

Isabel looked at her. “They won't.”

Mama blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Our stuff—our lovely furniture, custom built in Europe last year—will not be arriving, ever. Neither will any appliances, lamps, pillows, nor anything else that makes life worth living. Most of our clothes are gone, as well!” So that's why she was dressed in that dumb outfit. But her next words ruled out that notion. “What I'm wearing and the few things in those boxes are the clothes I simply could not part with. But my furs. My jewelry. Most of my shoes . . . oh,
my shoes
!” Here came another nonemotional display of sobbing and whimpering.

“What's the deal?” my daddy asked Ian in his quiet voice. Isabel's face was buried in her hands, and I doubt she heard a word over her own wailing. “Did you folks have a burnout?”

Ian shook his head. He stared up at the ceiling, took in a deep breath, and blew it out.

“We lost it all.”

Lost it? My mind clicked. They had been living in San Francisco, where earthquakes happen. But I hadn't heard of one in the last few months.

“Was there an earthquake like the one back in 1908?”

Ian looked at me in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Well, if you go to school and pay attention in history and social studies, you learn about things.”

“No earthquake,” Ian said. “Bad business investment, actually.”

I wasn't sure what that meant, but Daddy seemed to get it. “Well, I'm sure sorry,” he said.

Ian looked out the window, but you could tell he didn't actually see anything. He went on, “I worked for twenty-five years trying to build our fortune and support Isabel's career— which, by the way, never has taken off to any degree.” She growled at him, but he ignored her. “Almost overnight, we lost it all, every bit of it.”

“Yes,” Isabel said, coming up for air. Her bloodshot eyes stared meanly at him. “We had to sell what was left for legal fees to keep Ian out of prison.”

There was dead silence in that rickety old house for what seemed years.

“Oh my,” Mama said at last, faintly.

“It wasn't my fault,” Ian said. “Isabel, you
know
it wasn't my fault, and that was proven in a court of law, so I wish you'd just get over it.” To Mama and Daddy, he said, “We all thought the guy was on the up-and-up. Instead, he misled me and my partners with false information and phony documents. That was proven in court.”

Isabel wasn't about to let it go. “Well, it was your fault when you sold my Mercedes and my jewelry and my clothes—”

“I sold my stuff too,” he snapped.

“—then took that money to Las Vegas and proceeded to lose it there playing blackjack and poker and who knows what else—”

“You know I was trying to win back our money!” Ian shouted. “You know that!”

“Ha! You still have your ring, Ian St. James! I notice you didn't sell that thing.” He curled that hand—the one with the diamond pinky ring—right into a fist just about then.

“My mother gave me this ring,” he snarled, “and I'm not selling it. Ever!”

She hissed like a snake. “You and your mother!”

“Don't you say a word about my mother. She's in her grave.”

“And let me tell you something else, you mama's boy. It's your fault we can't go home again. It's your fault no bank will ever hire you—”

“Isabel!” he shouted.

“Oh! You miserable . . .” Then she said names that I'd get into trouble for mentioning, so just use your imagination.

They glared and glowered and snorted and stomped and shouted for a long time. It was a regular rodeo in their house. Mama and Daddy looked at each other like they didn't know what to say or do. After a bit, when Ian and Isabel had wound down a little, Mama drew in a deep breath.

“Mike, take those baskets back to the pickup. April Grace, you get the iced tea and the cups and go with your daddy.”

Each and every one of us stared at her. I would never in a million years have thought Mama would've turned her back on anyone, but boy, oh boy, it sure seemed to be happening.

“Isabel, Ian,” Mama said. “Pack your clothes and gather anything you want to bring. You two are going to come and stay with us so you can get some rest and relax a little. You've been under too much pressure.”

Good grief. I thought I'd die right there on that dirty floor.

Ian just stared at Mama for a minute while he appeared to search his brain for some wits. Finally he spoke.

“It's kind of you to offer, but we cannot—”

Isabel let out a strangled sound. “Oh, yes, we can, Ian St. James! I refuse to spend another night on that hideous air mattress, and you refuse to let me stay at a decent hotel—”

“We are broke,
darling
.” The way he said
darling
indicated he was thinking she was anything but darling. “How many times . . .”

He stopped speaking all of a sudden, glanced our way, and gave us a sorry excuse for a smile. He took a deep breath and turned his back on the little woman. Maybe not such a good idea, given that she was sending him murderous looks.

“As you can see, Mr. Reilly—” Ian started.

“I'm Mike,” Daddy said. “Mr. Reilly was my dad. And my granddad.”

“Yes. Well. Mike, then. As you can see, it is going to take time and money to get this place to a level that suits our standards. We can't intrude on your hospitality for that long.”

Amen to that, I agreed silently. In my worst nightmares, I couldn't dream of living under the same roof with Isabel St. James. Unfortunately, my mama must never have had any such nightmares.

“Of course you can,” Mama said. “Your wife needs a comfortable bed so she can rest. And so do you. You've both been under far too much pressure in the last few weeks.”

“Lu—Lily is right,” Isabel said. “You listen to her.”

I felt downright queasy.

Daddy looked around and seemed lost in thought for a bit.

“Wait a minute,” he said.

He walked through the house. As we watched, he knocked on the walls and looked real close at the doors and windows and ceilings. He kinda heaved his weight up and down in a few spots. At one point, he took out his pocketknife, hunkered down, and stabbed the scarred old floor. With the rest of us trailing him outside like a pack of dogs, he went and eyed the roof from one end to the other. For a while, he disappeared into the crawl space beneath the house.

Ian sipped his iced tea, and Isabel smoked. Mama just stood there and smiled faintly. No one spoke.

Daddy finally wriggled out from under the house and stood up. He dusted off his good jeans and nice blue shirt. “Lily, honey, can I talk to you?” he asked.

They walked as far as the pickup's tailgate and stood there whispering for a while. Mama nodded, and knowing how my folks treat people in need, I kept getting queasier and queasier. Ian and Isabel ignored me while I found the shade beneath the nearest oak tree and sat down to cool off.

Mama hadn't given me any of the iced tea she'd made for the St. Jameses. If I'd asked for it, she would have told me Ian and Isabel didn't have any at all while we had plenty at the house. Sometimes, I'm not so sure it's a blessing to have such kindhearted parents.

When Mama and Daddy walked toward Ian and Isabel again, I got up and sauntered over to them.

Daddy stood with his hands in his hip pockets and leaned back against his thumbs, the way he usually did when having casual conversation with friends.

“I'm not trying to pry, Ian,” Daddy said, “but I've got an idea how to get you out of this fix you're in.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian seemed skeptical, but interested.

“You plan to fix up this house and live in it, right?” Daddy asked.

Isabel drew her scrawny self up straight and tall and opened her mouth, but Ian shook his head at her. She snapped her mouth closed with a splat. She blinked a dozen or so times, but she kept her yap shut.

“That's right,” Ian said to Daddy “Do you have any resources at all?” Daddy asked.

Ian made a face like someone had stomped on his foot. “Not a one,” he said. “As I said, we sold everything except for a few clothes and our car. This place seemed about as affordable as we could find. Of course, I've wanted to move out here for a while, so I didn't mind the transition. But I didn't know the house—”

“Of course he didn't
see
this place before he bought it. Once again, he took someone else's word for something.” Isabel spat this out for the edification of us all, then closed her lips real tight again.

Daddy looked at that shiny black car, which actually wasn't so shiny with all the dust on it. That car would never be shiny again except when it came fresh out of the car wash.

“What d'you reckon is the market value for that Caddy?” Daddy asked quietly.

“What?!
” Isabel sounded like an old laying-hen.

Ian eyeballed the car. “Mike, we need a car, even out here in the sticks.”

“It doesn't have to be that particular car, does it?”

Ian winced again.

“No, I guess not.” You could tell it was like pulling his toenails up through his gizzard just to say it. “But it's not even a year old.”

“Why don't we take 'er into Larry's Auto Sales in town and see what fair market value is? Then let's visit the lumber yard and see what you can get for the same money.”

“But how are we supposed to get around if we sell our car?” Ian said. “How am I going to look for work?”

I took a gander at ole Isabel and wondered if she ever worked a day in her life without wearing a tutu and funnylooking shoes. Given the shape, length, and design of her fingernails, not to mention her general attitude, how could she have? Oh brother.

“Well, that's what I want to talk to you about,” Daddy said.

Ian looked at him without blinking for a long minute. Then he stuck his hands in his back pockets and leaned against his thumbs, just like Daddy. Maybe getting back to his roots as a farmer wouldn't be so hard for him.

“I'm listening,” Ian said.

I glanced at Mama, who was smiling. Then I looked at Isabel, who just stood there and said not one blessed word. But she listened so hard her ears practically stuck out.

“I'm willing to make you a trade,” Daddy said. “I'll give you this old truck right here straightaway, plus my muscle and hard work fixing up this house, traded for your muscle and hard work on our farm this summer and fall. Not only that, but I'll talk to the other farmers around here, and if you're willing to help them some, I'm sure they'll lend a hand to work on the house too. It's a good old house, structurally sound, and there's no termite damage. I don't believe it'll take as much money to fix up as you might think.”

Ian's mouth wagged between open and half-shut like the loose door on our mailbox during a windy day.

“Now, you have to understand that none of us can do anything on your house until summer work is done,” Daddy continued. “My wife can always use extra help in the house this time of year. Our garden is producing more than we can eat, so your wife's help to put up the harvest would be a blessing. Then come winter, when the work on your place is all done, you'll have yourselves a cozy little house, just as snug and tight as all of us can make it.”

“Oh, and you'll be staying with us until this house is ready for you to move into,” Mama added. “What do you say?”

Nobody asked me, but I'd say, “Run! Run, Reilly family! Run for your lives!”

Neither of the St. Jameses said a word. Instead, they looked like someone had either given them an early Christmas present or had pulled down their drawers in front of the preacher. With them two, it's hard to tell.

Sometimes I wished Mama and Daddy didn't have such bighearted ideas.