High Cotton Read online

  “So I guess the cover stick isn’t working.”

  He gives me a curious look. “Huh?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. Have a seat. Want some coffee?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take some.”

  I get up and walk around from behind my desk. “I’ll be right back.” I’ll do anything I can to prolong having the lame conversation and semi-lying to my brother.

  When I come back, he’s on his phone, texting someone. I sit down behind the desk and stare at the numbers on my computer screen.

  He glances up and notices the coffee. “Oh, thanks, Shay. I don’t know why Puddin’ isn’t answering my text messages.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t have her phone on her.”

  “I hope that’s the case. She seemed mighty disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to stick around the house this morning. I hope she’s not mad at me about that.”

  “Mad?” I think about how overjoyed Puddin’ sounded. “No, I don’t think she’ll be mad. This is Puddin’ we’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It takes a lot to make her mad. I do have me a sweet wife, don’t I?” He shoves his phone in his shirt pocket, takes a sip of his coffee, and sets it on the edge of my desk. “So why did you need to see me?”

  I swallow hard and wait for the tension in my gut to subside before looking my brother in the eyes. “Remember Elliot Stevens?”

  Digger nods. “How can I forget him? He was the football player who led Pinewood High School to the state championship, and you were googly-

  eyed over him. Why?”

  “I saw him at the Winn-Dixie. He wants to get together for dinner.”

  Digger’s eyes widen. “He’s married, Shay. You know how I feel about that.”

  “No, he’s divorced.”

  “I didn’t know that.” He scrunches his forehead. “Then what’s the problem?”

  I chew on my bottom lip for a few seconds. “Do you remember the crush I used to have on him?”

  Digger laughs but quickly regains his composure. “You know I do.”

  “He was way out of my league back then, and now I’m afraid . . .” I let my voice trail off as I try to think of something powerful to say. Something that will justify calling him to come here.

  Without hesitation, Digger gets up out of his chair and comes around to my side of the desk. He puts his hand beneath my chin and lifts my face to his. “I don’t want you to worry about how things were in high school. You’ve made something of yourself, and he’s a fortunate guy if you have it in you to give him the time of day.”

  “That’s so sweet of you, Digger.” Tears form in my eyes as I realize how comforting my brother can be.

  “I’m trying to make it up to you for how mean I was when we were kids.” He offers a half-smile. “I shoulda been whupped for how I behaved.”

  “No, you were just being a normal kid, I’m sure.”

  He shakes his head and gives me a sympathetic smile that digs even deeper into my heart, compounding my guilt. “I never realized how difficult a time you had back then, or I woulda tried to be a better brother. I always thought everything was hunky-dory for you, but now I realize you studied so hard because you never went out much.” He winces. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean to say is you’re the best sister a guy could possibly have.”

  “Thank you.” I glance down at my desk. “I try to be.” Lord, please forgive me for this.

  “I mean it, Shay.”

  My chin quivers as I open my mouth to thank him. But the guilt is so powerful, nothing will come out.

  “If Elliot Stevens asks you out, and you want to go, you have my blessing. I’m not crazy about the fact that he’s divorced, because you know how Mama and the rest of our family can be, but I see how much this means to you.”

  I nod. “It means a lot to me.”

  He lets go of my chin and widens his smile. “If he does anything to hurt my sweet sister . . .” Digger shoves a fist into his other palm. “He’ll have to answer to me.”

  Could the guilt get any worse? I look up at my brother who is acting all . . . well, brotherly.

  Granny Marge has always been one of my favorite people. Even in her eighties, she’s active and fun, and I don’t dare call her spry on account of that’s what you say about old people, and she will never be old. Another thing that makes her extra special is that she has never cared what people think of her. She says she follows where the Lord leads, and as long as He is happy with her, she figures she’ll be just fine.

  Throughout my childhood, she made sure she was there for the important moments of all of her grandkids. And when I needed someone to talk to, she listened.

  And is she ever funny! She is one of the funniest people on the planet, especially when she’s not trying to be.

  Those are some of the reasons I don’t want to miss any of the family get-togethers. As long as she’s alive, I want to be there for her. And to be honest, I want to see her reaction to other family members and some of their shenanigans.

  Now I have to find a way to convince Foster to go with me. He missed the last one, so I went alone, leaving everyone speculating on the state of our marriage and placing bets on when we’d be announcing our divorce. I can’t honestly say I haven’t thought about it, but truth be told, I love my husband, and I know he hasn’t done anything that the Lord would see as a good reason for me to call it quits. Besides, I think there might still be something special between us, and I keep praying that it’ll eventually spring back up.

  I think about the fact that I still have a hundred-dollar bill Foster gave me a few days after his fishing trip. He said he wants me to spend it any way I see fit, but he sure does like it when I wear red. Yeah, that’s a hint that he wants me to go buy a new red dress, since my old one is beyond snug on my halfway-between-forty-and-fifty-year-old body. Dieting doesn’t work for me since Foster’s favorite part of any meal is dessert. I’ve tried eating low-fat, sugar-free pudding while he has cake, but that only lasted about a week.

  I have a few days off from my job as assistant activities director at the senior center, so I decide it might be fun to go look around at La Chic. The owner, Amanda, always has cute things, and she’s the best at helping me pull together outfits I wouldn’t even think of. I’m just not sure a hundred dollars will go very far. Not in that place, anyway.

  As soon as I walk into the boutique, Amanda’s eyes start darting around like a cornered alley cat. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m just fine and dandy.” She lifts a finger. “I need to run to the back for a sec. Take a look around and see if there’s anything you like. I just got some really cute accessories in last week.”

  Okay, so she probably has to use the ladies’ room. I’m always a little jumpy, too, when I wait until the last minute.

  I walk around the shop and feel the fabric of dresses I’ll never be able to afford. When I’m close to the door leading to the back room, I can hear Amanda whispering. I’m curious about who’s back there with her, but it’s really none of my business, so I move away from the door and toward the jewelry display case by the cash register.

  “Did you see the cocktail rings?”

  I glance up at the sound of Amanda’s voice and point to the right-hand side of the case. “Is that what those are?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We have them in simulated diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.” She gazes at them with admiration. “They look real, don’t they?”

  “They sure do.”

  “Why don’t you try some on? I’m sure we can find one you like.”

  “They’re pretty, but I don’t think I can afford one right now. I just need a new red dress, and I can’t spend more than a hundred dollars.”

  Amanda is good at what she does, so I know she’s sizing up the situation as she slowly turns and looks around her shop. “We’ll find you something. I was just getting ready to put some of last season’s dresses on clearance. Maybe if you find one you lik
e, you’ll have enough left for one of the smaller rings. One that I’m about to put on clearance.”

  I cast a dubious look at her. “I don’t know . . .”

  She quickly glances over her shoulder and then at me. “I have an idea. Why don’t I pull a few dresses and start a room for you? I’ll keep bringing you stuff until you tell me to stop.”

  “How much are you putting on clearance?” I ask.

  “A lot. We have to make room for new things, so it’s a never-ending cycle.”

  Something doesn’t ring true, but who am I to argue about getting a good deal? So when she grabs a dress and heads for the fitting room area, I follow right behind her.

  Over the next hour or so, I try on just about every single red dress in my size in the shop. I can tell she’s eager for me to make a decision, but it’s hard since several of them have won my heart. I wish I knew how much she’s marking them down to.

  “Well, what do you think?” She stands back and gives me a once-over after I slip into the last dress. “It looks great on you. How does it feel?”

  “I like it, but then I like the ones over there, too.” I point toward the hook where I’ve hung my favorites. “It might be tacky for me to ask this, but how much are they?” I looked at the price tags, and the retail prices are all way over what I have in my pocketbook, some by as much as double.

  “You said you have a hundred dollars?” She looks through the dresses and pulls a couple of them out. “You can buy either of these or the one you have on and the small simulated ruby ring.” She gestures toward the remaining dresses. “Or you can get one of these without the ring.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t remember any of these dresses from last time I came in here. It seems too early to put them on clearance.”

  “Positive,” she says way too quickly. “I have to admit, though, that I’m partial to the one you’re wearing.”

  “Me, too.” I turn and look in the mirror again. “Okay, I’ll take this one and the ring, if you have it in a size seven.”

  I change back into my slacks and top and head for the cash register. To my surprise, she has already rung up the sale and has the bag waiting for the dress.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” I hand her the money, and she gives me back a couple dollars change.

  “I know you have a lot to do on your day off, so I don’t want you to have to stand around while I ring up your sale.” She takes the dress, puts it on a hanger, carefully places a plastic bag over it, and hands it to me. Then she drops the ring box into a bag. “Have a very nice day and enjoy the dress.” And then she walks me to the door, something I don’t remember her ever doing before.

  Once I’m in my car, I hold up the dress and stare at the price tag. It’s hard to believe this dress was on clearance for less than half the original price. And the ring! It is absolutely stunning, with two large simulated rubies in a nest of smaller simulated diamonds. The price on the ring box is as much as I paid for both items. I can’t get over how great my timing is. If she’d already put the dress on clearance, it would surely have been snapped up by one of her more regular customers. But then again, most of her customers can afford to go in and purchase whatever they want, regardless of whether or not it’s on clearance, so they don’t even bother looking at the price tags.

  I go straight home and try the dress on again, this time with some body-shaping underwear, the shoes my daughter Wendy gave me when she decided to stop trying to shove her size-eight feet into size-seven-and-a-half shoes, and the ring. I turn this way and that, looking at my reflection, feeling like I can conquer the world in this outfit. I look that good.

  A strong urge to go out tonight washes over me, so I pick up my phone and call Foster. “Hey, honey,” he says. “I’m glad you called. I told some of the guys we’d meet them and their wives at the bowling alley after supper tonight.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I figured you’d like getting out.” He continues talking over me, as though I haven’t said a thing. “I’m dying for a rematch. That Elmore Barker and his wife, Miranda, they’re not as good as they bowled last time. You’re much better than she is.” He pauses. “In fact, you’re actually a pretty good bowler for a girl.”

  I turn back to see my reflection once more before I sigh. “Okay. I’ll have supper waiting for you when you get home.”

  I have to remind myself that I truly love my husband. But this is one of those times when I’d like to . . .

  I squeeze my eyes shut and send up a prayer for patience and understanding. Being married to Foster has never been easy, and it might never be. But I still hold out hope that one of these days he’ll understand how I feel.

  Families are such interesting and complex institutions. Not only do they show you how you can you love and hate the same person at the same time, but they have the ability to make you feel as though you’re the only sane person in the world. At least that’s the way it is in my family, and I assume we’re not the only ones.

  Then again, I’m dealing with a lot of craziness in my life right now. My brother’s charming pig-headedness and his wife’s determination to keep a secret from him. My younger twin cousins coming to me as the voice of reason even though their little craft business is shockingly successful. My high school crush who is socially light years ahead of me finally asking me out after all these years. To say nothing of the crazy number of family reunions the Bucklin family has, even though I don’t know a single cousin who wants to go but we all show up anyway.

  I feel as though all of my sanity has been sucked out of me. And maybe it has. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

  The only thing that remains on an even keel is work. As crazy busy as it is, nothing much changes there. We sell a wide variety of processed food to grocery stores, vet people who want us to represent their companies, and try to maintain the perfect balance of inventory. Every day I go into work, I know I’ll be dealing with one or more of those issues, with the only differences being in the ratio and number of fires that need to be put out. We’re not talking forest fires. It’s more like the fire on the end of a match when you first strike it. In other words, that’s all a piece of cake compared to the personal stuff happening in my family.

  I still find it hard to believe that Puddin’ has been able to keep her job a secret from my brother for as long as she has. I can’t get past the niggling feeling that there’s something not quite right about why she’s doing it, though. Yes, I realize he has a very old-fashioned notion about providing for the family, but I’ve known Digger all my life. He’ll kick up a fuss for a little while, but when he realizes how much she enjoys having her own thing, he’ll eventually come around, and he’ll do it joyfully. In fact, he might actually like it when he realizes that not only will she be a happier wife, but she’ll be able to take some of the financial pressure off him. I know he’s proud of his job, and it’s a good job. But I also know his income is limited, and he only gets a small raise once a year.

  I turn back to my work. Everything I need to sign is in a nice, neat stack on the corner of my desk. All of my appointments send me little reminder dings a few minutes before they begin, so I’m never late. Occasionally, I have to get creative when an issue arises, but it’s not the norm.

  Fortunately, most of my schedule for the day is filled with routine tasks, so I don’t have to do much thinking outside the box. After quitting time, I call Mama to check on her.

  “I’m worried about your brother,” she says. “Can you come over now, or do you have plans?”

  “I’ll be there in a little while. Let me go home and change into something comfortable first.”

  I have one leg in my jeans when my cell phone rings. It’s Elliot, so as I answer, I sit down on the edge of my bed to keep from falling.

  “Hey, Shay. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  My heart hammers nearly out of control. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, but if that doesn’t work for
you, I’m open. That is, unless I misread the situation and you’re not interested.”

  “Tomorrow night is fine. What time?”

  We decide on a time, and I jot it down to put on my phone calendar later. Then after I tell him my address, I finish getting dressed. I’m excited, but I don’t want to be, so I take a few deep breaths and turn my thoughts back to Digger and Puddin’.

  A half hour later, I pull into Mama’s driveway. Daddy passed away when I was in college, so she lives alone in the house where Digger and I were raised. The lawn is huge, and the trees shed more leaves than any one woman can rake. The house itself needs work. Digger does as much as he has time for, and I send plumbers and electricians over when she needs them. I’ve tried to talk her into moving into a condo, but she insists that she’s comfortable here.

  “I’ve been here so long,” she says, “I can find my way around the kitchen with my eyes closed.”

  By the time I close my car door and turn around, I see her standing at the front door, waiting for me. She offers a shaky smile, letting me know she’s deeply disturbed about something.

  “I made meatloaf,” she says. “It’s already on the table.”

  I follow her through the living room, down the long, narrow hall toward the back of the house, and into the kitchen. When we stop, I take a deep breath and inhale the aroma of fresh-baked meatloaf, one of my favorite foods Mama makes.

  My eyes pop wide open when I see the spread on the kitchen table. “That’s a lot of food for two people. Is anyone else coming?”

  “No.” She shrugs. “At least I’ll have leftovers. Sit down and say the blessing.”

  I do as she says. After I say, “Amen,” I start filling my plate with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas, and tomato slices. Then I look directly at Mama. “What did you want to tell me about Digger?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not really about Digger. Something isn’t right with Puddin’.”

  I hold my breath. “What happened?”

  “Well, you know I’ve never been all that happy about them putting Jeremy in preschool at such a young age, but they insisted it would help him socially since he’s the youngest one in the family.”