Her Sister's Shoes (11 page)

Faith turned around to face him, her courage fueled by her anger. “You wouldn’t.”

“Hell yes I would.”

“But you forced me …”

“Do you seriously think Sam will care whether or not I forced you? What you did was illegal.”

Faith knew she was trapped. She dropped the load of clothes in the middle of the floor and went back to bed in Bitsy’s room. She was still staring at the ceiling, the hopelessness of her situation sinking in, when the sun peeked through the blinds the following morning.

Thirteen

Samantha

L
ate Tuesday afternoon,
Lovie announced as the market was closing that it was time for her to go home. “Tomorrow is my day off, and I’d like to use my free time getting settled, doing chores and running errands. I miss having my own car.”

Sam switched off the overhead lights, then locked the door behind them and headed to the parking lot. “Are you sure you should be driving?”

“I’m tired of all the fuss, Sammie. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Sam couldn’t argue. She’d been watching her mother closely for the past few days, and Lovie seemed like her old
self in e
very way, aside from being a little forgetful. But what eighty-two-year-old woman didn’t have trouble remembering things at times? She’d even noticed her own short-term memory wasn’t as sharp as it once was.

Sam jumped in the driver’s seat beside Lovie and started the engine. “Then let’s go get your things from my house. I’m sure Jamie could use some fresh air. We’ll make him ride with us to take you home.”

It took longer for Sam to rouse Jamie from his resting place on the sofa than it took for Lovie to pack up her belongings.

“I don’t understand why I have to go with you,” Jamie said.

Sam parked the wheelchair beside the sofa and waited while Jamie climbed in. “Because you haven’t been out of the house all day. You need some fresh air.”

She thought her son needed a bath too, but she wasn’t going to push her luck.

They stopped by the Harris Teeter for milk and juice and a few items for their respective dinners. Jamie stayed in the car while they went inside. When they returned, the air in the car smelled sour from his body odor.

“Let’s help Lovie with her bags,” Sam said to Jamie as they pulled up in front of her mother’s townhouse.

“Seriously, Mom, like how do you expect me to carry her bags?”

“You can at least come inside while I help your grandmother get unpacked.”

“No thanks. It’s not worth the effort of getting up those stairs.” He aimed his thumb at the three steps leading to Lovie’s front door.

Lovie winked at Sam. “I can manage myself, sweetheart. You’ve already done enough.”

The pleading look in her mother’s eyes made Sam acquiesce. “I can at least help you get your bags inside.”

Lovie shifted in her seat to face her grandson. “You be nice to your mama now, you hear? She loves you very much.”

The corners of Jamie’s mouth lifted a fraction. “I’ll try, Lovie. Are you sure you’re going to be okay alone?”

“Don’t you worry about me, sweet boy. You just concentrate on getting yourself better.”

Sam carried her mother’s overnight bags to her bedroom and returned to the kitchen where Lovie was unloading her groceries. When Sam began stowing the perishable items in the refrigerator, Lovie said, “Go home, Sam. Your son needs you more than I do.”

Much to Sam’s surprise, tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

“Oh, honey.” Lovie drew Sam in for a warm embrace. “You don’t have to handle this by yourself. Jamie is a very angry boy right now. And understandably so. He needs someone to talk to, someone other than you or me. I’ve never had much use for them myself, but now might be a good time to consult with a psychiatrist.”

Sam pulled away to tear a sheet from the paper towels by the sink and wipe her eyes. “He has an appointment to see one on Thursday. I have no idea how I’m going to get Jamie to agree to meet with her.”

“You’ll find a way.” Lovie placed her hand at the small of Sam’s back and nudged her toward the front door. “But for now, take him home and feed him, and for goodness’ sake, make him take a bath.”

As hard as she tried, Sam couldn’t get a word out of Jamie on the drive home. She longed for those days when he shared so much with her—gossip about a friend or the results from a test, who chose whom for kickball during recess.

He refused Sam’s help getting out of the Wrangler when they arrived and somehow wormed his way into his wheelchair. She grabbed her grocery bags and walked alongside him. “We’re having brats for dinner,” she said, fumbling with her keys. “Do you want to cook them on the grill?”

Jamie loved to cook. They used to spend their Sunday afternoons trying out new recipes, from Mexican to Thai to Italian. Jamie was no longer interested in eating, let alone cooking, but that didn’t stop Sam from trying.

“Can’t you cook them on the stove? It’s hot out here.”

She held the door open while Jamie wheeled his chair inside. “I can do that, but only if you make your secret-recipe cornbread to go with them.” She ignored him when he grumbled he wasn’t in the mood to cook. “Why don’t you go shower while I start the oven.” When he wheeled off, she called after him, “And bring your dirty laundry when you come back.”

Jamie returned thirty minutes later balancing his laundry basket on his lap. He set the basket on top of the washing machine and went to the refrigerator for eggs, milk, and butter, setting them one at a time on the island. He wheeled his chair onto the platform Sam had built to allow him easy access to the island and the sink counter. He placed a stick of butter in a small baking dish and set it in the microwave.

“Good news!” Sam said, forcing a happy tone. “I was able to get an appointment for you to see Dr. Baker on Thursday at four o’clock, after your physical therapy session.”

Jamie cracked an egg and dumped its contents into a glass bowl. “Then cancel it because I’m not going.”

Sam turned to him. “Jamie you need to talk to someone about the accident. I’m worried about you. You seem so angry.”

“I’m not angry.” He cracked another egg on the side of the bowl, the force of the blow crushing the egg in his hand. “Well maybe I am a little angry. But I’m dealing with it.” He pitched the mutilated egg in the sink.

“That’s the thing, honey. I don’t think you are dealing with it.”

“I’d like to see you walk in my shoes, Mom. Oh wait, I forgot. I can’t walk anymore.” He hurled the whole bowl in the sink, splattering egg goo everywhere, and wheeled off toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sam leaned back against the counter. She’d failed to reach him once again. Her eyes homed in on the case of wine her distributor had given her, abandoned beside the backdoor where she’d left it last week when she brought it home from work. She’d never been much of a drinker and knew very little about wine, but she wanted to develop her tastes in order to make qualified recommendations to her customers. She flipped open the lid and inspected the labels before deciding on a Shiraz, one with a screw cap since she didn’t own a corkscrew. She located a dusty wine glass in the back of a cabinet, which she rinsed. Pouring a small amount, she sniffed and sipped the wine like she’d seen people do in restaurants. She had no idea what she was supposed to smell, but she liked the rich, warm taste. She kicked back the rest and poured herself a full glass.

Glass in hand, she walked down the hall to Jamie’s bedroom and tapped lightly on the door. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m trying, but obviously I’m not doing a very good job of it. This thing is bigger than either of us can handle. That’s why I think we need some help.”

By way of response, he cranked his music to a near deafening level.

Back in the kitchen, she sipped on her wine while she cleaned up the egg mess, popped a frozen container of macaroni and cheese in the microwave, and threw together a Caesar salad.

This time, when she knocked on Jamie’s door to inform him that dinner was ready, he shouted, “Go away. I’m not hungry.”

Sam poured another glass of wine and settled in at the island to eat. She nibbled at her food, but mostly she drank. Another glass, and then another, until the bottle was nearly empty.

She covered Jamie’s plate in foil and left it on the kitchen counter, like she’d done more nights than not during the past months. She felt certain she’d find it untouched in the morning.

Using the walls in the hall for support, she made her way to the front of the house to her bedroom. Fully clothed, without washing her face or brushing her teeth, she lay down on her queen-size bed, letting the fluffy duvet and mound of pillows swallow her up. When the room began to spin, she rolled over on her side and passed out.

Fourteen

Jacqueline

J
ackie’s plan was
spur of the moment. At least the part of the plan that involved her mother. Jackie had been plotting and scheming about buying a new car since Bill returned the Suburban to her and drove off in his sleek convertible. She’d become attached to the modern conveniences of a newer model car—Sirius radio, backup camera, and navigation, for starters. She liked the idea of connecting her phone to the music system and listening to her audiobooks on her frequent trips to Charleston.

She drove to Lovie’s, expecting to find her baking a cake or tending her potted herb garden on the back deck—not decorating her pre-lit artificial Christmas tree.

“What on earth are you doing, Mom? Please tell me you’re n
ot planning
to celebrate Christmas in July.”

“Of course not. It’s only June.” Lovie cast a quick glance at her daughter, then went back to hanging ornaments. “I was searching for something in the storage room this morning and I came across the tree. I decided to get an early start this year.”

“‘Early’ is definitely the operative word.” Jackie removed a glass ball from the box and inspected the hand-painted seagulls. “Where’d you get this one?”

Lovie placed her hand over her heart. “Your father bought that for me the Christmas Faith was born. His three gulls, he always called you girls. That ornament was his favorite. Hang it right there.” Lovie pointed to an empty branch on the tree.

Jackie hung the ornament and the two of them stepped back to admire it. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Looking for where, honey?” Lovie asked, still marveling at the ornament.

“In your storage room. You said you were searching for something. Did you find it?”

Lovie considered the question. “You know, I can’t even remember what I was looking for now. Must not have been too important.”

Jackie catalogued this strange behavior in the mental file she was keeping on her mother’s health.

“I’m heading into Charleston to pick up a new car,” Jackie said. “I thought you might like to go along with me. I’ll treat you to lunch at Sermet’s, then we can do a little shopping.”

“That sounds nice, honey, but I really want to finish this today.”

“You have plenty of time to decorate the tree before Christmas, Mom. Come with me, please. It’s been a while since we’ve spent any time together, just the two of us.”

“Oh, all right.” Lovie closed the lid on the box of ornaments and unplugged the tree lights. “How can I say no to Sermet’s?”

Lovie brushed her teeth, fussed with her hair, painted a strange color of orange lipstick on her lips, and grabbed her bag. Twenty minutes later they were on their way.

“What’s this about a new car?” her mother asked once they were on the highway heading toward Charleston. “I don’t see anything wrong with this one.” She ran her hand across the dashboard.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been busing boys around in this truck for eleven years, since Cooper and Sean were in kindergarten.”

Lovie sniffed. “Where did that fishy smell come from?”

“Lovely, isn’t it? I have twins to thank for the horrendous odor.”

“Do tell,” her mother said.

“Well … one day a couple of summers ago, I picked the boys up at the marina after a day out in the Gulf Stream with Captain Mack. Mack had given them a bucket full of fish to take home and clean for dinner. When I swerved to miss a turtle crawling across the road, the bucket spilled over and all the fish juice leaked onto the carpet on the floorboard. Naturally, the boys never told me about the spill.”

“Did they even try to clean it up?”

“Nope, the little rascals. They eventually confessed, several days later, when the fish juice started to smell really bad. But it was too late by then.”

“Did you try steam cleaning the carpet?”

“Carlotta and I tried everything.”

“I’m surprised Bill let you drive it, smelling like this.”

Jackie smiled. “He’s buying a new car for me today. That’s all that matters.”

“What kind of car are you getting?”

“A Cadillac Escalade.”

Earl McAdams, the Cadillac dealer she’d spoken to a dozen times on the phone the previous day, was waiting for Jackie in the showroom. She guessed him to be about her age, although his beer gut and ruddy complexion made him look ten years older.

“I have your car all cleaned up and ready for you. If you give me your keys, we can take your new ride for a spin while my boys work up an estimate on your Suburban.”

Jackie handed him her keys. “I don’t need a test drive.”

Earl looked wounded. “Seriously?”

“Anything is an improvement over what I’ve been driving. But I would like for you to show me how everything works.”

“That would be my pleasure.” He held the door open for Jackie and her mother.

They walked together to the side lot where a silver Escalade glistened in the sun.

“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” Earl said.

Jackie ran her hand across the hood. “Yes, she is.”

“This one’s fully loaded, like you said you wanted. But if you don’t like the color, I have several others in my inventory.” He pointed to a row of Escalades in a variety of colors.

“I like the silver.”

Earl’s blue eyes twinkled when he smiled. He was pleasant enough to look at. If she weren’t so intimidated by his beer belly, Jackie might have asked him for a date. She was done with handsome men. She wanted a real man, someone who respected her, someone who treated her like she was the center of his universe.

Jackie realized the
someone
she’d just described fit the old Bill, the man he was when they got married.

She slid in the driver’s seat and Earl climbed in beside her with Lovie in the back. He began with the air-conditioning system, then worked his way over every inch of the car. Jackie listened intently, but understood only half of what he said. She planned to spend the next few nights curled up in bed with the manual.

Jackie was all set to drive away in her gleaming new SUV when the sales manager approached her with an itemized sales receipt. Their offer to buy her Suburban was considerably less than what Earl had approximated over the phone, while the price of the new Escalade was way more than she’d anticipated from her online research.

“I was hoping to get more from my Suburban,” Jackie said.

“Well … there’s the matter of the odor,” the sales manager said.

Jackie shrugged. “There is that.”

She did a quick mental assessment of her financial situation. Bill had made no changes in the way they managed their money since he moved out. Yesterday, in anticipation of her purchase, Jackie had transferred all but a thousand dollars from their joint savings account into her private checking account, but that amount would not cover the cost of the car at these numbers.

She’d never been much of a negotiator, but she’d watched Bill haggle with salespeople many times.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, for wasting your time.” She handed the sales form back to the sales manager. “But this amount is way more than I anticipated.”

She took her mother by the elbow and led her over to where the Suburban was parked outside of the service department. It took all the guts she could muster not to look back to see if the salesmen were following. They caught up with her as she was helping Lovie into the passenger side.

“Why don’t you ladies come inside where’s it’s nice and cool,” Earl said. “If you can give us a moment, we’d like to revisit our numbers, to see if there is any wiggle room.”

Jackie tucked her mother in before closing the passenger door. “I don’t know,” she said as she walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. “You’re asking an awful lot of money.”

“Listen, Mrs. Hart.” Earl leaned on the driver’s door, preventing her from opening it. “If you’ll give us a chance, we’d like to make the sale. I promise you, we will give you our rock-bottom price. If that doesn’t work for you, we can both walk away satisfied that we at least tried.”

Jackie imagined herself driving out of the lot in her new shiny silver Escalade, then she pictured the look on Bill’s face when he realized their savings account was empty.

“I guess it won’t hurt to give you a few more minutes, since our lunch reservations aren’t for another hour.”

Forty-five minutes later, they were driving out of the lot in her new Escalade. Jackie felt exhilarated. Not only because of the plush interior of the SUV, or for leaving the nasty Suburban behind, but also for the pride she’d experienced at having closed the deal. She’d played hardball. And she’d won.

Lovie sniffed. “I love the smell of leather. You’re a lucky girl, Jacqueline. Be sure to thank your husband properly when he comes home tonight.”

The pang of guilt she suffered lasted only a few seconds—the time it took to summon the image of Bill driving around in his convertible with his mistress.

She gripped the wooden steering wheel. “I feel like I’m driving on top of a cloud.”

They arrived at the restaurant right on time for their reservation. The hostess escorted them to their table and the waitress appeared immediately with two glasses of water. With her dark auburn hair and hourglass figure, the woman exuded sex appeal.

Good thing Bill isn’t around to meet her
, Jackie thought.

“Do you wanna hear the specials?” the waitress asked, smacking gum.

Both Lovie and Jackie ordered the same thing they always order, the grilled salmon salad. After the waitress brought their iced tea, Lovie excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Jackie kept an eye on her mother as she walked through the restaurant. She was watching for her return when Bill called.

“That was a low blow, Jack, way below the belt.”

“Bill, it’s so nice to hear from you.”

“This is not a social call. What the hell were you thinking, stroking a check for the full price of an automobile without asking me?”

“News certainly travels fast.”

“Yeah, well, I went to the ATM to make a withdrawal and discovered our balance is less than a thousand dollars.”

“Since when is a thousand dollars nothing?”

“That’s peanuts compared to what we used to have in that account.”

“Gosh, Bill. I’m sorry. Were you planning to use the money to buy your mistress an expensive trinket?”

“We’re talking about a Cadillac, Jacqueline, an automobile. You can’t just go off and buy something like that without talking to me first.”

“You moved out, remember? When was I supposed to talk to you?” Jackie stood up, glanced around the restaurant for her mom, then sat back down when she didn’t see her. “Anyway, this is all your fault. If you hadn’t given me your fancy little convertible to drive while you were in the mountains. Did you realize there were close to two hundred fifty thousand miles on the Suburban? I’ve been driving your sons around in that truck for more than eleven years.”

“There is nothing wrong with that truck. I just drove it to the mountains and back without any problems.”

“I guess you get used to the fish smell after awhile. Except, of course, when it’s a hundred degrees outside and the Suburban has been parked for hours in the full sun in an asphalt parking lot.”

“All right.” Bill sighed. “So maybe you do need a new car, but an Escalade is way more than I can afford right now. Please tell me you didn’t trade the Suburban in. It’s a perfect car for the boys to drive when they get their license.”

“I wouldn’t give that car to my dog to drive.”

“I take that as a yes, you traded the car.”

“Yes, I traded the Suburban. There wouldn’t have been enough money in the account if I hadn’t.”

“Damn it, Jack. Keep the car if it means that much to you. But we need to come up with an agreement regarding our finances during the separation. I’ve just contacted my lawyer. I suggest you do the same.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. I called her last week.”

“Her? I don’t know of any female divorce attorneys in Prospect.”

“She’s not from Prospect. She lives in Charleston. I’ve hired Barbara Rutledge to represent me.”

“You mean Barbara the Barracuda?”

Jackie pictured Bill pushing his leather chair back from his desk, his face beaming red—a fat, juicy summer tomato perched atop his favorite blue-striped, button-down shirt and white doctor’s coat.

“One and the same,” she said. “We’ve already spoken several times on the phone. We are meeting for the first time in person next week.”

“Shit, Jack. Why’d you go and hire her? You know I’ll be generous with you. I just bought you a new car, for crying out loud?”

“A woman has to protect her interests.” Jackie suddenly remembered her mother, who had not returned from the ladies’ room. “Listen, Bill. I’ve gotta run. I’m having lunch with Mom at Sermet’s. Thanks again for the car.” She blew a loud kiss into the phone and hung up.

When she went to check on Lovie, Jackie discovered the ladies’ room was empty. The restaurant was only so big. Lovie couldn’t have left the building without Jackie seeing her. She sought out their waitress, who was delivering an order to another table. “Have you seen my mother? She went to the restroom and never came back.”