Bombshells (22 page)

Soon, the voices on the television are just noise in the distance. I drift in and out of sleep, feeling trapped by the weight of the girls asleep on my lap and my shoulder, then by my own heavy tiredness.

I open my eyes when Clay takes the glass from my hand, focusing on the TV for a few minutes before my eyes drift shut again.

The doorbell sounds like an alarm. I jerk at the sound, and Melanie tenses, then opens her eyes. Birdie sits up, rubbing her fists across her face.

When Clay opens the door, Lola blows into our house like a tornado.

“Hey! Y’all weren’t sleeping, were you?”

Clumsily, I struggle up from the couch, the darn stitches pulling uncomfortably. “We just dozed off for a bit.”

Lola’s arms wrap around me. She’s cool from the night air and raindrops glisten in her blonde, lacquered beehive. Smelling like too many cigarettes and too much coffee, she’s all laughter and bright, swirling colors as she sweeps through the living room in her narrow orange pants and her yellow, green, and orange cropped sweater. Her creamy, flat tummy flickers at me with every sweeping motion of her arms.

Was my belly ever that flat? I don’t think so. Certainly, it isn’t now, and probably never will be like that again.

“Lola, you look beautiful, like always,” I say, studying her face. “How was the drive?”

“Good as can be expected. You know they’re still working on the stretch of highway north of Folkston. That took forever, so I tried to make up some time after that.”

Standing by the television, Clay rattles the change in his pants pocket. “Uh-oh. What does that mean?”

Lola looks sheepish for a second, then tosses her head back and laughs. “That means, dear somber Clayton, the cracker sheriff in itty-bitty Folkston had that damned speed trap set up again. This time I had to hand over twenty-five dollars and have a cup of coffee with him. He offered me a get-out-of-jai-free-card, but he was just too damn ugly.”

“Lola…” I scold.

“You were playing Monopoly?” Birdie asks.

Everyone laughs, even Mellie, and Birdie looks at us, trying to figure out why that was funny.

“But you still made good time from Atlanta,” Clay points out.

I frown. Lola should know better that to drive so fast in bad weather. And she should be ashamed of herself for flirting her way out of a ticket. “Lola, you are bad.”

Grinning at me, she says, “Only in the best way. Clay, I swear I pegged the speedometer at about ninety miles an hour. You’ve got to take my Bel Air for spin before I go.”

“I’d love to, Lola. I haven’t driven a fast car in the longest time.”

“Yep, you’ve been stuck driving the family buggy too long. You need to break away and have a little fun.” Lola winks at him and kicks off her striped flats.

I look between her and Clay. It never occurred to me that Clay would like to drive fast. Had he been lying to me on Labor Day, when he said he never wanted to run away? Is he feeling as much pressure as I am? Of course, he must be. I need to be more sensitive to that.

I’ll try, I really will.

I just need to find something extra inside me to give him. Feeling a chill, I rub my arms. Finally, the heater to turns on.

Lola spreads her arms wide. “Now, don’t I have some other hugs coming my way?” She grabs the nearest person for a hug. That happens to be Birdie, because she flies from the couch. Lola practically catches her in mid-air.

“Did you bring me a present?” Birdie giggles as Lola spins her around and around.

“Birdie. I told you to mind your manners.”

“But, Mama,” she whines.

Lola winks at me and gives Birdie a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Now, why would I bring you a present? You aren’t the new baby, are you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t give birth to the new baby, did you?”

Birdie looks surprised then she giggles. “You know that’s not right.”

“So why should you have a present?”

“Because you love me?”

“Of course, I love you, Li’l Bird. And I did bring you a present. You have to wait until it stops raining, so your Daddy can help me bring in my suitcase. Okay?” Lola puts Birdie down.

Birdie jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “I can’t wait. It’s been so long since I’ve had a present.”

“Mellie, are you awake now and ready to give me a hug?”

“Hey, Aunt Lola.”

She dances Mellie in a circle in the center of the living room. I wish I had just a tiny bit of Lola’s energy.

“Now, where’s that baby boy? He needs to see his Aunt Lola.”

All the commotion has DC stirring in his bassinet. I try not to be irritated as I pick him up and hand him to her.

After the flash and noise of her greetings for everyone else, Lola’s quiet as a church mouse as she holds David Clayton. Her expression is soft, and I swear there are tears welling in her eyes. Her voice sounds almost like a prayer. “He’s beautiful, Norah. Just beautiful.” She sits on the edge of the sofa and stares at the baby’s face, taking his little fingers from the beneath the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Birdie interrupts the quiet. “What about my present?”

Lola convinces Clay to dash outside in the rain to bring in her huge, red suitcase. Even after he comes back inside, she’s still holding DC, refusing to put him down so she can fish through her suitcase for presents. She has Birdie and Mellie open her suitcase instead.

“I had to sit on the damned thing to get it to close.”

“Lola, I wish you’d watch your language,” I say. “We need to set a good example for the girls. And besides, if Mama could hear you, she’d be rolling over in her grave.”

“I’ll watch my mouth for the girls. But I told Mama a long time ago that I was going to be myself, no matter what she expected.” Lola turns her cheek to rub it against DC’s head, like he’s a lucky rabbit’s foot. “We came to a truce, Mama and me, so I expect she’s not paying much more attention to me now than she did back then.”

I stare at my sister. What on earth is she talking about? Lola was the light of our mother’s life, her very heart and soul. Before I can contradict her, Birdie releases the snapping closures on the suitcase and it pops open with a whooshing sound.

A gigantic stuffed ostrich seems to draw breath and unfold out of the suitcase. Birdie snatches it. The bird cranes its neck and stretches its legs until it stands almost as tall as Birdie. She’s so excited she jumps around the big gray and white monster, but its legs start to sprawl wide apart on the tile floor. The fuzzy gray head droops like the bird is ashamed of its behavior, but helpless to change it in any way. The poor ostrich simply accepts its lot in life and allows its legs spread until it slumps to the floor.

Its resignation is about the saddest thing I’ve seen in a while.

Lola nudges Mellie with her elbow. “Hey, what’s that long face about, Sweetie? Did you think I forgot you?”

Mellie shakes her head. “C’mon, I’m too old for presents now.”

“Baby doll, you never, ever get too old for presents. And don’t let anybody convince you otherwise.” Lola glances at me. “Especially a man. Never let a man get away with not giving you presents.”

Tucking DC closer to her chest, Lola leans over her suitcase and withdraws a small package wrapped in shiny pink paper. She hands it to Mellie with a sly grin. “Go ahead. Open it.”

MELANIE

Carefully peeling away the shiny paper, I hold my breath, wondering what the glossy white box contains. Maybe it’s a diary. Or jewelry. Aunt Lola finds really great necklaces or bracelets.

I lift the lid and tenderly separate the tissue paper to reveal—

The breath rushes out of me like I’ve been hit in the stomach.

Birdie dances around her giant bird. “What is it?”

I can’t take it out of the box. I’m too embarrassed, too mortified. And a little bit thrilled, but I can’t let that show. Especially not to Mama.

“Come on, Mellie, let us see.” Mama leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Pinching my fingers together, I lift out the satiny red panties with a black cat embroidered in the front.

“Oooh! Pretty,” Birdie exclaims. “I love pussy cats. Did you bring a pair for me, Aunt Lola?”

My face heats until I know it’s the exact shade of the scarlet panties. I want to drop them in the box and shut it up tight, but I look up and see the look on Lola’s face. Then I see Mama.

She puts her hand over her mouth. Her brows draw together in a ferocious frown and she glares at her sister. “What were you thinking? Melanie is only twelve years old.”

I stuff the panties back in the box and close the top.

Birdie crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes, What were you thinking? You didn’t bring me any kitty panties.”

“Hush, Birdie,” Mama says.

Lola’s expression is hard, like a grown-up version of Birdie’s face when she gets in trouble but doesn’t really believe she did anything wrong. “Yes, she’s twelve and old enough for matching underwear. Mellie, show your Mama the matching bra.”

My stomach clenches. I don’t want to take the bra out of the box. It’s both awful and beautiful at the same time. The tiny padded cups looked like a bad science project on volcanoes: pointed little mountains oozing red satin.

“Don’t you just love it, Mellie?” Aunt Lola’s voice is determined, like she wants to convince us all that this is the best present ever. “That red will look so pretty with your hair and skin.”

“Lola, no one will ever, ever see these things.” Mama stands up and takes the box away from me, shoving the top back on.

Now I’m afraid Mama and Aunt Lola are going to fight, and the whole weekend will be ruined.

“Come on, Norah.” Lola heaves a sigh. “Loosen up a little. I thought these would be fun for her. Let me have them. I’ll send her something else.”

I’m not sure if Lola’s really surprised at how we all reacted, or if she actually expected Mama to get upset. Maybe Lola wanted to get a rise out of Mama.

Daddy clears his throat. “Girls, I think we’d better turn in. Believe it or not, I have to go to work in the morning.”

Relief rushes through me. This is over. Daddy’s said we all have to go to bed.

Mama reaches to take the baby out of Lola’s arms.

“Let me tuck him in, please.” Lola pleads, rising from her chair with DC held against her chest. “I might not know how to pick out underwear for a twelve-year-old, but I do know how to put a baby to bed.”

Mama pushes the bassinet toward the hall and Aunt Lola follows. I can tell by the way Mama’s holding her lips together that she’s still mad. “Birdie,” she snaps, “time for you to go to bed.”

Daddy and I are left alone in the living room. I look at him. He shrugs and shakes his head, without ever making eye contact with me. “I don’t understand your Aunt Lola sometimes.”

Suddenly, I think of Brooke and Robert on the beach and I wonder if Brooke has red satin underwear.

LOLA

In the dark, small middle bedroom that will be David Clayton’s very soon, I stub out my last cigarette and fold back the covers. Rain is still dripping outside the slightly open window. The air is chilly, but not as cold as the weather in Atlanta. Night sounds different here: not much traffic, a distant train whistle, a solo bird call.

In Atlanta, I’m close to the highway and cars whiz by all day and night. Strange how I never think about it when I’m there, but here, the quiet seems as heavy as the damp atmosphere, more oppressive than the traffic at home.

I lie on the bed and pull the blanket up to my chest. The foldout sofa is smaller than my bed, but I feel so alone it might as well be a giant bed in the isolated tower room of a castle.

Oh, God. I’ve already screwed up this visit. I didn’t expect Norah to react so strongly to Mellie’s gift. It’s not like I expected the girl to wear them to school or anything. I just thought they’d be fun for her, give her a little taste of the exciting things to come in her life. I thought they’d teach her to enjoy being a girl.

But no. Norah completely lost her cool, blowing everything out of proportion. Just like she did when Claude and I came to visit and we had to get a hotel room because she wanted him to sleep on the couch. I guess I forgot exactly how straight-laced my sister is.

But I’m still glad I’m here. Norah and I’ll make up. I’ll do something special for her, and make sure the next present I buy for Melanie is completely sweet and
appropriate.

I’m certainly not leaving because of this
faux pas
. I’d do just about anything to hold that sweet baby in my arms. I didn’t want to leave him in his bassinet in Norah’s room. She refused to let him sleep in his crib in the room with me. Even my argument that she needed her sleep and I could get him started on formula by giving him his two o’clock bottle didn’t budge her.

Here in the dark, my arms ache to hold him. Tugging the pillow to my chest, I try to fill the emptiness, but there’s no warm, sweet breath against my cheek. No soft, new hair under my fingers.