Her Sister's Shoes (3 page)

Sam drove in the driveway and parked in front of the garage. She shifted in her seat to face him. “I had a nice chat with Moses today. He’s convinced you will walk again.”

“What does Moses know?” Jamie stared out the window. “All he does is work my worthless
muscles.”

“I have never known you to shy away from a challenge. You are a strong, gifted athlete.” She grabbed his chin and turned his head toward her. “You just need to work a little harder, push yourself a little more. You’ve always been a fighter. You set your goals high and go after them with gusto. That’s who you
are.”

“This isn’t a baseball game, Mom. I’m not trying to lift more weight or reach a certain speed. In case you haven’t noticed, I am paralyzed. Translated, I can’t
walk.”

“There’s a difference between can’t and won’t.”

He opened the door to escape, then realized he couldn’t get far without his wheelchair. He closed the door again. “I’m the one who got screwed here. I get to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair while Corey gets to fish for eternity in the great big ocean up in
heaven.”

“What happened to Corey is not your
fault.”

“How can you say that? I was driving the
Gator.”

“On Corey’s family’s property. His parents were responsible for making sure the trail was cleared. If anyone is to blame, they are. Look,”—she tilted his chin toward her—“I understand you are still coping with a lot emotionally. I think talking to someone might help. Moses gave me the name of a
doctor—”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need a damn shrink?” He drew his fist back and punched the dashboard. He winced in pain and his eyes filled with tears. “Will you please just get my
chair?”

Her son reminded Sam so much of his father with hair and eyes as black as coal. Until now, he’d never exhibited any signs of Allen’s dark moods. He’d always been a happy boy, but lately, she’d sensed a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Sam glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We will table the discussion for now. But only because we’ve got to get ready for the party.”

Sam helped Jamie into his chair and pushed him up the wheelchair ramp, through the back door and into the kitchen. “Aunt Jackie is expecting us to be on time. Can I help you get cleaned
up?”

“I’m not going to her stupid party.”

“Of course you’re going. It’s her fiftieth
birthday.”

“Seriously, Mom. I’m not in the mood to have everyone staring at me, the poor pitiful cripple. Please, will you just go without me?”

Sam squatted down beside his chair. “We are family, honey. We have to go and support Aunt Jackie.” She ran her hand down his unshaven cheek. “Besides, Cooper and Sean are counting on you to come. After you make polite conversation for a few minutes with the adults, the three of you can go off and do your own
thing.”

“You make me sound like a little kid. My legs are paralyzed, not my brain. I’m capable of having an intelligent conversation.” He rolled off toward his room.

“Can I help you with anything?” she
called.

He slammed his bedroom door in
response.

She tapped lightly on his door. “Don’t forget to shave. And wear a collared shirt.”

Sam headed down the hall to the smaller bedroom on the front of the
house.

After the accident, she gave up her master bedroom so Jamie would have easy access to the en suite bath. Even with the special sink and shower her handyman had installed, it took Jamie a long time to carry out his routine. He’d begun to let his hygiene slip. His hair hung in greasy strands to his shoulders. Angry pimples covered his forehead, the result of not using his cleanser. He hardly ever shaved. His facial hair grew in patches, giving him a bedraggled appearance rather than the outdoorsy scruffy look popular amongst his friends. A sour odor emanated from his body, a combination of dirty hair and sweat.

Sam showered, towel-dried her short hair, and rummaged through her closet
, wishing she hadn’t loaned Faith her favorite black dress. She settled on a pair of white jeans and a pale-blue sleeveless silk top. Grabbing her straw clutch, she went to the kitchen and dumped the contents of her everyday bag onto the counter. She retrieved Dr. Baker’s business card from the pile and created a contact with the doctor’s numbers in her cell phone, then tore the business card into little pieces, depositing them in the trash
can.

Time was running out, and Sam was desperate for help. She would drag her son to see Patrice Baker if she had to. If Jamie didn’t walk again soon, she would have to make some hard decisions about his future.

Last spring, during Jamie’s junior year in high school, the University of South Carolina offered him a partial scholarship to play baseball. When the head coach learned of his accident, he consented to hold the spot open for several months in light of the speedy recovery the doctors had promised. But when spring arrived and Jamie showed no signs of improvement, the coach withdrew his offer, claiming he had a long list of healthy recruits to choose from. Sam remained optimistic the coach would consider Jamie for the team when he recovered. She
was thrilled when the university offered him the same amount of money based on his academic merit.

After several knock-down-drag-outs, the subject of college had become the elephant in the room that neither mother nor son dared to mention. Sam viewed the academic scholarship as an opportunity for Jamie to get an education she could not afford otherwise, while Jamie viewed the money as a consolation prize. He refused to consider leaving home for reasons he would not
discuss.

Moses was right. Jamie had hit a wall. He had given up.

Three

Faith

C
urtis whistled when
he saw Faith wearing her sister’s simply cut, form-fitting black dress. “Why are you so dolled up?”

He lay, sprawled out in his boxers and undershirt, with one leg thrown across the back of the couch, while their six-year-old daughter, Bitsy, sat on the floor next to him, busily coloring at the coffee table.

Faith had told her husband countless times about the party. She’d even affixed the invitation to the refrigerator so as to remind him every time he got a beer.

“Stop messing around, Curtis
.” She
nudged him with the toe of her worn-out ballet flat. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t get dressed.”

He took a sip from the full beer in his left hand, then spit tobacco juice into an empty can in his right. “Late to what?”

“Aunt Jackie’s birthday party is tonight, Daddy,” Bitsy said, without looking up from her coloring. “Do you think they’ll put fifty candles on her cake?”

“I ain’t going to no party with no stuck-up rich people.” He wiped his stringy brown hair out of his face. “Besides, I already made plans.”

“Then unmake them. Jackie has been planning this party for months.” Faith pulled Bitsy to her feet. “Don’t sit on the floor like that, honey. You’ll wrinkle your dress.” She smoothed her hand along the bottom of her daughter’s dress, hoping no one would notice the crease in the fabric where she’d let out several inches of hem. “Go get your hairbrush out of the bathroom,” she said, patting her daughter’s bottom.

“Come on, Curtis.” Faith picked his foot up off the couch and let it drop to the floor. “We’re supposed to pick Mama up in ten minutes.”

“Aw, hell, nah.” He drained the rest of his beer and crumbled the can. “I’m not going anywhere with that crazy old bitch. I’m supposed to meet the gang later.”

Faith placed her hands on her hips. “It won’t kill you to come to the party, at least for a little while.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you ever asking me if I wanted to go.”

“I shouldn’t have to ask you to go to my sister’s fiftieth birthday party. Sometimes you have to do things for your family, whether you want to or not.”

He struggled to sit up. “I guess I could stop by for some grub on the way to meet the fellas. But she better have some real meat, like barbecue ribs. Those fancy little bite-size things you pop in your mouth ain’t food.”

Bitsy returned with her hairbrush and a ribbon, handing them both to her mother.

“Oh … I almost forgot. Sam needs you to help stock the showroom tomorrow and Friday.”

“Fine, as long as she pays me.”

Faith secured Bitsy’s ponytail with a hairband, then tied the pink ribbon in a big bow. She set the hairbrush down on the coffee table. “Haven’t you already been paid enough?”

“My going rate is twenty an hour. Take it or leave it.” Curtis hauled himself up off the couch. He picked Bitsy up by her shoulders, planted a big kiss on her cheek, then set her back down and turned to Faith. “Damn, woman, you’re looking downright hot tonight. Where’d you get the money to buy the new dress?” His face was so close to hers she could smell the stale tobacco juice on his breath.

“I didn’t buy it. I borrowed it from Sam.”

He lifted a lock of Faith’s hair and sniffed it. Fingering the pearls around her neck, he said, “I haven’t seen you wear these in a while. They’d fetch a pretty penny down at Hank’s.”

Faith swatted his hand away. “Daddy gave me these pearls, Curtis. They belong to me. And one day I will give them to our daughter.” She opened the door and escorted her daughter out before her husband got any more ideas about pawning her pearls.

She stood for a moment on the front steps. The refreshing evening air offered a welcome relief from the stuffy trailer and the heated exchange with her husband.

“Why is Daddy mad at you, Mama?” Bitsy skipped along beside Faith as they walked across the driveway to her rusty old pickup truck.

Once white, the paint on the truck had yellowed with age. The tires were bald and the starter was shot, but Faith loved the truck just the same. Her father had given her the pearls on her sixteenth birthday, and the truck when she graduated from high school—the only two items of value she owned.

“He’s not mad, honey. He’s just in a bad mood.” Faith scooped her daughter up and gave her a big hug before sliding her into her car seat in the back.

“But he’s always in a bad mood,” Bitsy insisted as Faith was fastening her in.

“Not always, baby. It just seems like it lately. That happens sometimes when grown-ups have a lot on their mind.” Faith kissed the tip of Bitsy’s nose. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about.”

For the past two years, Curtis had been in and out of numerous jobs. He’d been fired from the job at the brick plant after only three days. The longer Curtis went without a job, the meaner he got and the more he drank. Most nights he came in drunk. She only wished he spent as much time looking for a job as he did hanging out with his biker friends.

Faith, saying a silent prayer that the truck would start, turned the key several times before the engine finally caught. “We’re not gonna let Daddy’s bad mood spoil our fun, now are we?” she asked, looking at Bitsy in the rearview mirror.

“No, we’re not!” Bitsy said, bouncing in her seat. “Mommy, will they have a cake for you and Aunt Sam tonight, too?”

“No, sweetie. We decided to let Aunt Jackie have the spotlight this year since she’s turning fifty.” Bitsy’s disappointed face prompted her to add, “But I’ll tell you what. After the grand reopening on Saturday, I’ll let you buy me an ice cream sundae at Sandy’s to celebrate my birthday.”

She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “But I don’t have any money to buy ice cream.”

Faith smiled. “How about if I loan you the money and you can pay me back in kisses and hugs?”

Bitsy beamed as she bobbed her head up and down.

Faith turned the truck around and headed down the long dirt driveway toward the highway. Moving their double-wide to the woods in the middle of nowhere had been Curtis’s idea. He loved to kill squirrels with his shotgun, and scratch his privates on the front steps without anyone around to see. Faith dreamed of having neighbors, a friend to drink coffee with in the mornings, children for Bitsy to play with in the afternoons. She envied her sisters their proximity to town, especially Jackie whose expansive property fronted on the water.

Faith wasn’t smart like Sam or creative like Jackie. Instead of going off to college like her sisters, she’d chosen to stay home and attend classes at the regional community college. All she’d ever really wanted was to be a mom. But one child was all she and Curtis were destined to have. After several miscarriages and a difficult pregnancy, she was lucky to carry Bitsy until the thirtieth week. She’d never forget the chaos in the delivery room that day—the emergency cesarean section, her baby’s blue face as the nurses rushed her off to the neonatal nursery, her husband’s pale face when the doctors told him the baby was a girl and there’d be no more. For one whole month, Faith never left the side of the incubator. The baby had problems eating and breathing, and a little problem with her heart that eventually worked itself out. Faith named the baby Elizabeth after Curtis’s great aunt, but Lovie called her Bitsy from the start. “Such an itsy-bitsy thing, fighting for her life.”

Mother and daughter sang along together, very loud and very off-key, to Brad Paisley all the way to town. Faith turned left onto Creekside Drive, drove four blocks, then turned right into the complex where her mom lived in the last townhouse in a row of ten. The corner unit afforded her two hundred more square feet than the others, plus a first-floor master suite and large deck out back.

Faith pulled up in front of the townhouse and blew the horn, a honking noise that sounded like a wounded goose flying in for a landing.

Her mama appeared at the door. Lovie was not a fancy dresser. Shorts in the summer, jeans in the winter, and the same red knit dress on Sundays to church. She’d shrunk two inches in the past few years, now measuring in at exactly five feet. Today’s outfit—a pale-blue silk nightgown cinched with a zebra-skinned belt and topped with a furry vest—made her look like a little girl playing dress-up.

Bitsy giggled from the backseat. “What is Lovie wearing, Mama?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, but we’d better go find out.”

Once freed from her car seat, Bitsy ran over and wrapped her arms around her grandmother. Faith could hardly believe her mom was only six months shy of her eighty-third birthday. She’d always been the youngest-acting of all her friends’ moms. She’d insisted her grandchildren call her Lovie, claiming it made her sound like a hip grandmother instead of some old lady granny.

Jackie had mentioned their mother’s memory slipping, but she hadn’t said anything about strange behavior.

Faith ran her hand down the back of Lovie’s vest. “Is this real?”

Lovie beamed. “Jacqueline gave it to me two Christmases ago. Mink isn’t exactly my taste, but I thought I’d wear it in honor of her birthday.”

“It’s kinda cool tonight, but I think you might get hot,” Faith said.

Lovie reached for the door handle on the truck. “We don’t have time for me to change now.”

“At least put on a slip. I can see right through your nightgown.”

“My nightgown?” Lovie looked down, apparently realizing for the first time what she was wearing. She rubbed the silky fabric between her fingers. “I guess you’re right. This is kind of a strange outfit. I never could figure out how to wear this silly old vest.” She rummaged through her pocketbook for her house keys. “It won’t take me but a minute to change.”

Faith glanced at her watch. “Take your time. We don’t have to be there until seven.” Faith knew Jackie would prefer for them to skip the party than arrive with their mom in her nightgown. She took the key from Lovie and unlocked the front door. “Come on, we’ll help you find something to wear.”

Once inside, Faith glimpsed the mess in the living room as they passed by, but the chaos in Lovie’s bedroom caught her by surprise. Clothes lay strewn across the floor and every piece of furniture as though a tornado had ripped through her closet and dresser. Her mama had always insisted they keep their rooms tidy when they were young. They had shared two tiny rooms between the three of them, but always kept their underwear folded in their drawers, and their dresses hung in neat rows in the closets.

“What happened in here?” Faith asked. “Hurricane season is still weeks away.”

“There’s a method to this madness.” Lovie dug through the pile of clothes on her bed until she found her navy slacks. “All my pants are here. And my blouses over there.” She found a white silky blouse from the mountain of clothes heaped on top of the rocking chair.

While Lovie changed into her new outfit, Faith began to straighten the room. When she went to hang her mom’s robe on the back of the bathroom door, she found cosmetics scattered across the counter and clumps of dried toothpaste in the sink. Wet towels were piled up in the corner and the wastebasket overflowed with lipstick-blotted tissues.

“What time are we supposed to be at Jackie’s?” Lovie
asked.

“Seven o’clock, Mama.” She’d told her mom that not ten minutes ago.

Lovie glanced nervously at her bedside table where three different alarm clocks were set to the same time. “Oh Lordy. It’s already six thirty.”

“Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. What’s with all the clocks, Mom?”

“They help me keep my appointments straight. Each night before I go to bed, I write my appointments for the next day on those little sticky notes next to the clocks. Then, I set a different alarm for each appointment, fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to be there.”

Faith glanced over at Bitsy who was listening attentively, as though her grandmama’s system was the most brilliant idea ever. One of the alarms sounded, a loud beeping noise, and the three of them jumped. Lovie removed the sticky note attached to the clock and held it up for Faith to read. “See, Jacqueline’s party. You told me a fib. We’re supposed to be there at six forty-five, not seven o’clock. Which means we better get going.” She stuffed a wad of tissues in her bag and started toward the door.

“Shouldn’t you put on shoes first?”

Lovie looked down. “Oops.” She slid her feet into gold sandals and then motioned to Faith and Bitsy to follow. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

As she passed down the hallway, Faith studied the disarray in the other rooms. Stacks of newspapers and catalogs cluttered the floor and furniture in the living room, and dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink.

“Why don’t I come over on Sunday and help you clean up?” Faith said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can do it myself. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t had time.”

Busy? Doing what?
The market had been closed for remodeling for more than six weeks. Lovie didn’t belong to a bridge club or a book club or any groups at church. Other than taking meals to sick friends and looking after her family, her mom’s life had always revolved around the seafood market.

Lovie asked Faith five more times during the ten-minute drive what time the party started. When they passed their old driveway, next door to Jackie’s, Lovie smacked her hand on the dashboard and shouted, “Where on earth are you going, Faith? You missed the turn.”