High Cotton Read online

  Amanda freezes and appears awkward momentarily, which also surprises me since she’s always so confident and self-assured. Then she reaches over behind the counter, picks up a bracelet, and holds it out toward Puddin’. “Don’t forget this bracelet that you bought from the clearance case.”

  She puts so much emphasis on where the bracelet came from, the situation goes from awkward to suspicious. Puddin’ stops in her tracks and accepts the bracelet. “Gotta run or I’ll be late.” She lifts a hand and smiles at Amanda. “See you—” She stops mid-sentence and runs out the door.

  I turn to Amanda, who makes a show of moving something from one side of the case to the other. It appears she’s trying to avoid looking at me.

  “What’s going on?”

  She shrugs. “Not much here. How about with you?” She says it so quickly she sounds even more suspicious, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s trying to hide something.

  “I didn’t expect to see my sister-in-law here.”

  Amanda glances away. “I have a lot of customers.” She slowly turns her gaze back to me as she swings her arms forward, clasps her hands, and smiles. “We just got a new line of casual wear that I think will look great on you.”

  I spend the next hour pulling things from the rack and trying them on. To my delight, all of the things in her new line are so reasonable I’m able to buy more than I expected.

  As I pay, I think about Puddin’ again. “Did my sister-in-law see this new line? I can totally see her in that green outfit.”

  “I’m not sure.” She pulls some tissue out from beneath the counter and starts wrapping my purchases. “How about this necklace to go with the tone-on-tone crop pants and top? The gold will really jazz it up.”

  It looks perfect for the family reunion, so I nod. “Yes, I’ll take that, too.”

  Amanda is clearly not going to say anything about Puddin’, so I decide to do a little investigating on my own. After I leave the shop, I drive toward her and Digger’s house that they just bought on the edge of town. It’s in a brand-new, sweet, quiet, unpretentious little tree-lined neighborhood with sidewalks and matching mailboxes. I can’t help but smile when the image of her joy over the house pops into my mind. She is so stinkin’ proud of her new place, even though it’s just a normal house. Too bad everyone isn’t that easy to please.

  When I pull into the driveway, I see the curtains part in the front window. Next thing I know, little Jeremy has opened the front door. According to the chatter, the rest of the family is worried about the fact that he only uses single words, but I think he’s a smart little dude. Some of the smartest people I know are the quiet types, so I’m not worried about him in the least.

  “Jeremy, what on earth are you doing? Get back inside.” Puddin’s voice is screechy until she spots me standing on the front porch.

  A slow smile creeps across her face. “Oh, hi, Shay. Come on in. Want some tea?”

  “Sure.”

  “What brings you here?” She glances up at the wall clock on the living room wall. “I thought maybe you were taking a late lunch when I saw you earlier. Is everything okay at work?”

  “Rough week, so I knocked off early.”

  Her gaze darts off to something behind me. “Jeremy! Get back in here. How many times do I have to tell you not to bring your squeezy box into the living room?” She gives me an apologetic look. “Those squeezy juice boxes are as messy as an open cup. It doesn’t take much pressure for all that liquid to squirt out the straw.”

  “I understand.” I glance over at the kitchen table that still has open boxes of cereal lined up from breakfast. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Oh, sorry, I should have offered. Let me clear off a spot for your tea.” She frantically starts clearing a place for me, letting me know she’s more nervous than she wants me to know.

  I want to help her, but last time I did that, she fussed at me, so I just sit and watch her scurry around her kitchen as though her child’s life depends on getting everything put away in record time. After she has all the cereal put away, she opens the cabinet and pulls out a glass. “This one okay?”

  I nod. It’s a jelly jar, but that’s fine as long as it’s clean.

  She pours both of us some tea then joins me at the table. Before I have a chance to ask her what she was doing at La Chic, she starts rattling off questions. “What’s going on with you? Did something terrible happen at the office?” Her eyes widen as though something just dawned on her. “Did you get fired?”

  I hold up my hands and let out a chuckle. “No, but that might not be a bad thing if I did.”

  “I thought you loved your job.”

  “I used to, but now I find myself caught up in the same whirlwind every single day. I can almost always predict what’s going to happen based on the day of the week. I probably shouldn’t admit this, and I know I sound ungrateful, but I’m bored.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. So what do you think about the family reunion?”

  “What’s there to think?” I pause. “We have them so often, it’s almost like they don’t mean anything anymore.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” she says.

  This is a first. The last couple of reunions had Puddin’ nearly in tears. “‘Sweet’ isn’t how I would describe some of our relatives.”

  Puddin’ crinkles her nose. “I hear ya, but I’m sure they mean well.”

  “So what were you doing at La Chic?”

  “Um . . .” Puddin’s face scrunches, then her eyes light up. “I like to stop by every now and then to see what they have on clearance.”

  She’s a terrible liar. “You don’t have to explain anything, Puddin’. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with buying yourself something nice every now and then.”

  “I know. It’s just that—” She cuts herself off and glances at something behind me before letting out a sigh and looking me squarely in the eyes. “Can you keep a secret, Shay?”

  “Of course I can. You know that.”

  “I mean a deep, dark secret that you can’t tell a single, solitary soul.” She grimaces. “Especially Digger. He’ll be so hurt if he finds out.”

  I swallow hard. I don’t mind keeping secrets, but this sounds like a doozy, and I certainly don’t want to upset any of my blood relatives, especially my brother. As much as I want to know the secret, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea to hear it now.

  Before I tell her to stop, she blurts, “I work at La Chic. I have for more than a year.”

  “You what?” I think back to all the times I’ve been there over the past year, and I can’t think of a time when I saw her there. “Why is that a secret? Why don’t you want my brother to know?”

  “Digger doesn’t want me to work. He says a woman’s place is in the home.” She takes a swig of her tea and places it on the soggy napkin in front of her. “That sounds good and all, but it’s just not practical.”

  It doesn’t sound good at all to me, but I don’t want to make Puddin’ feel even worse than she already does. “Can’t you at least talk to him about it?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve tried, but every time I bring up the very notion of me getting a job, he puts his foot down. And I mean literally lifts his foot and puts it down. Hard.”

  “But—”

  “He tells me no wife of his will ever have to have a job.”

  “When was the last time y’all talked about it?”

  Puddin’ taps her chin for a moment as she looks away to think before meeting my gaze again. “It’s been a while, but I’m sure he still feels the same way.”

  “But don’t you enjoy it?” I can’t imagine not loving a job at La Chic, working for Amanda. I’d do it if I didn’t need to maintain a level of income to support myself. Besides, sometimes I think it’s better to be bored on my job than to disappoint Mama. One of the few things she seems proud of me for is what she calls my “important job.”

  “I love it.” Her eyes get all dreamy. Puddin’ has never be
en one who could hide how she feels about anything. “I even dream about it.”

  “Then why don’t you tell Digger that it’s something you want to do, even if you don’t have to?”

  “I don’t think that’ll make a difference with Digger.”

  “Did someone say my name?” My brother appears in the doorway, a wide smile on his face. “I got my route done, so I was able to knock off early. I stopped by Jackie’s. Those ridin’ lawn mowers are nice, but I can’t bring myself to—” He stops talking when he sees me. “What are you doin’ here, Shay?”

  I’m loading the dishwasher when I hear Foster’s truck pull into the driveway. I send up a silent prayer that his fishing trip was a success so he’ll be in a good mood. I don’t feel like dealing with a sulky husband.

  “Hey, how was fishing?”

  He walks over to the stove then turns back to me with a half-smile. “What’s for supper?”

  I narrow my eyes and glare at him, wishing he wouldn’t keep on ignoring me. He’s been doing it for a while. “We can either have a frozen lasagna, or you can take me out to dinner to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” He tilts his head. “Did one of the other wives call you?”

  “No, but I won the competition.”

  “You what?”

  I purse my lips to bite back what comes to mind. I speak slowly as he stares directly at me. “I won the competition,” I repeat.

  “What competition?” He moves over to the pantry and pulls out a bag of pretzels that he rips open. He sticks his hand inside and pulls out a mess of them, sending crumbs flying all over the place.

  I grab the broom and hand it to him. “The chili contest. I won for my chicken chili.”

  “That’s nice. Where do you want to go?” He holds the broom handle and leans on it without making a move to sweep.

  We’ve been married long enough that I don’t expect much more from my husband. Anyone else would be proud of his wife, but Foster isn’t fazed by this kind of thing, and he’s never been effusive with praise. “How about the Rib Shack?”

  He rubs his belly. “I’m thinkin’ a burger sounds pretty good. It’s been a while since I’ve had a burger with all the fixin’s.”

  I want to scream. Why does he even bother to ask me what I want? But again, I realize that yelling my head off won’t do a bit of good. So I sigh and nod. “That’s fine.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about my fishing trip?” He rests the broom against the wall, grabs another handful of pretzels, rolls up the bag, snaps a clip on it, and tosses it onto the counter.

  “But I—” I grab the broom and do what he should be doing, fuming as I go. I’ve argued with him in the past, but it got me nowhere really fast. “Okay. How was your trip?”

  “You don’t sound interested.”

  I close my eyes for a few seconds as I count to ten. “Just tell me, Foster. Did you catch any fish?”

  He squints and gives me one of his clueless looks. “What?”

  I raise my voice a little, knowing that my annoyance is coming through loud and clear. “Did you catch a fish?”

  Without hesitation, he holds his hands out about a foot apart. “Not only did I catch the most fish, I got the biggest. I swear, Missy, you shoulda seen the looks on the other guys’ faces when I reeled it in.”

  “Where’s the fish?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, where’s the fish?”

  “Oh.” He gives me an incredulous look. “We ate all of it.”

  I tighten my jaw to keep from saying the first thing that comes to mind. It’s hard to believe that the passionate beginning to our marriage has fizzled to this. He’s never been all that attentive, but now he doesn’t even pretend to listen to me.

  “It was good, too. Larry did a great job with the batter.”

  Is he trying to drive the nail in the coffin so hard it pierces my heart again? I feel like turning around and giving him the what-for, but last time I did that, it took weeks to heal the hurt from what we both said to each other. He even thought I said some things I didn’t say. So I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut until the queasy feeling in my stomach subsides.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asks as he approaches with extended arms.

  I look directly at him then blink as I turn away. “Not exactly mad. It’s just that—” The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spewed, but I know I need to exercise caution.

  Before I can decide whether or not to tell him how I feel, he glances at the wall clock and blurts, “We’d better get going. Last time we ate late, neither one of us could go to sleep.”

  That was because we had huge pieces of chocolate cake for dessert. I’m not sure if it was the sugar or the chocolate, but whatever the case, it doesn’t matter. Not now. Maybe never. This is my life, and unless I can gather the courage to do something about it, it’s my life until I die. What a depressing thought. I grew up believing marriage is forever, but sometimes I’m not so sure it always has to be that way.

  Throughout our meal, Foster ignores everything I say. He goes on and on about the antics of his buddies in the boat, in the cabin, and on the way home. Every time I open my mouth, he talks over me. “You’d think they’d never gone fishin’ before.” He lets out a snort then grows silent while he shoves his burger into his mouth and chomps down.

  I take advantage of his full mouth to talk about my time while he was gone. “The chili cook-off had quite a few more entries this year.” I pause and wait for a reaction, but I don’t get one. “There was this guy who stuck around. I think he wanted to talk to me, if you know what I mean.”

  Foster swallows and nods. “Yeah, it’s always fun to talk to folks.”

  He still doesn’t get it, so I decide to make it clearer. I raise my voice as I continue. “He wasn’t a bad-looking guy either.”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy I talked to at the chili competition.”

  “You didn’t say . . .” His voice drifts off as he looks confused. “Did you taste his chili?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. What’s the use of taking this conversation any further? Nothing happened between that guy and me, and nothing ever will. Even though my marriage isn’t in a good place at the moment, I took a vow twenty years ago, and I fully plan to keep it. It’s just that sometimes—

  “What’s the matter, Missy? Are you feelin’ sick?”

  I open my eyes and force a half-smile. “Not exactly sick . . .”

  “That’s good. I hear there’s something going around, and it’s pretty miserable.”

  Yeah, there’s something going around. It’s called an inattentive husband.

  He finally finishes his food and stands up. “I’m done. Ready to go home?”

  Half of my burger and most of my fries are still on the plate. I look up at him and nod. “Sure.”

  He reaches over, picks up my burger, and takes a huge bite. With his mouth still full, he says, “I hate seein’ all that good food go to waste.”

  After we get home, Foster heads straight for our bedroom. I follow behind. As soon as I get to the door, he turns around and smiles at me.

  “Missy, I want you to know how much I appreciate you. The other guys told me how much grief their wives gave them about going on the trip.” He pauses, and his smile grows wider as he opens his arms. “I told them I have the best wife in Pinewood because you not only let me go without fuss, you actually want me to have a good time.”

  My heart goes out to Puddin’. Although my brother is one of the sweetest guys I know, he also has more pride than any man I’ve ever seen. We were both raised by the same old-fashioned parents, and I’m the one who rebelled by going to college and becoming what Mama calls a “career woman.” Sometimes she brags about my job, like when she’s trying to impress friends, but other times, like when she needs to make a point, she says that as if it’s a bad thing. Digger might have been more influenced by our parents than I was, but he’s sti
ll a sweet guy who wants his wife to be happy.

  I sure hope Puddin’ can figure out a way to tell Digger about her job so she doesn’t have to continue with the secret that no doubt is eating away at her. It’s been almost a week since I last saw her, so I think it might be time to pay her a visit . . . but not at home.

  After a busy morning, I tell the receptionist that I’m taking a long lunch. Naturally, she assumes that I’m meeting clients or prospects, as I rarely go out to lunch just for fun. I don’t do anything to quell that.

  I practically run out of the office toward my car. There have been way too many times when someone has called, and the receptionist has run out to catch me before I leave.

  Amanda glances up when I walk into La Chic. Her eyes widen, and she swallows hard like she’s nervous about something.

  “Is Puddin’ here?” I ask as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “Um . . .” She glances over her shoulder and grimaces as she turns back to face me. “I don’t—”

  “That’s okay, Amanda,” Puddin’ says from behind her. “She knows.”

  Amanda’s shoulders drop as she blows out a breath. “I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

  I look back and forth between them before my gaze settles on Puddin’. “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

  She turns to Amanda, who nods, then she smiles at me. “Only for a few minutes, though, because I have to finish up here and pick Jeremy up from preschool.” She gestures toward the back room. “Why don’t you come on back to my office?”

  I’m not sure what to expect, but it isn’t what I see. Although Puddin’s “office” is the size of a closet, it is neat and orderly to a fault. There are colorful file boxes on the shelves toward the back of the space. The tiny desk has a full-size blotter and a laptop computer that takes up most of the top surface. A file cabinet that appears to have been covered in contact paper sits beside the clerical chair on wheels. She smiles with pride as she looks at me, but she doesn’t say anything right away.