Home Is Where Your Boots Are (2 page)

We were sitting down at the table when a car horn tooting the tune of Elvis’
,
“Little Sister
,
” sounded outside. Apparently my own had arrived for dinner. Moments later, the former supermodel herself breezed into the dining room and laid kisses on everyone’s cheeks and grabbed me from behind in a ferocious hug.

“Holy hell, sister. You’re too dang skinny. Didn’t that guy ever feed you?”

“Tally!” Mama and Daddy and Nonnie and Poppa Joe admonished collectively. She sighed and hung her head as she walked around the table to her seat.

“I’m sorry. You look pleasantly plump.” She giggled and winked at me. I laughed and winked right back.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with you,” Mama chastised.

“Just love me Mama,” Tally answered in faux-seriousness, “that’s what all the books say.”

“I think more beatings as a child would have been a good idea,” Daddy quipped back.

“No way, I’m too cute to beat.” Tally was all about getting the last word. Changing the subject, Daddy reached for the mashed potatoes and asked Tally why she was late.

“I was buying a piece of property.”

“Excuse me?” Daddy drawled suspiciously. I know it’s the twenty-first century and all, but in small towns like Brooks a woman generally doesn’t go out and buy a piece of property without discussing it with her daddy or her husband, if she has one.

“Well, Daddy, y’all said I needed to find something meaningful to do with my life and my money, so I am,” she started out in an affirmative tone which melded into the whine she’d perfected since she discovered what it meant to be the baby, and our Daddy’s baby to boot.

“Define ‘meaningful’,” Daddy responded sarcastically, holding onto his suspicions.

“Now Rex, let’s don’t go jumping to conclusions before the girl gets a chance to explain herself,” Mama interjected smoothly, soothing Daddy’s ruffled feathers and ego. “So explain, sweetheart,” she directed at Tally, who’s bluff she’d called a long time ago. While Daddy was always good to manipulate, Mama’d be damned before anyone pulled one over on her.

“Well…,” Tally started hesitantly, knowing her bluff had been called once again, “you know how this town only has one of everything and people are always having to drive to see a movie, or g
et anything decent to eat, or
buy any fashionable clothes? I mean, really, Mama, you have to drive more than an hour just to buy makeup, right?”

“Right. So what’s your point?” Mama asked sweetly. Tally shot Mama a look.

“I’m gonna build a strip mall,” she started and rushed on to finish, “with a movie theater, and a few good restaurants and some higher end clothing stores. I mean, if I know anything, it’s how to look good and what to do it in,” she finished with her trademark smile and infamous eyelash flutter. To relieve you of any confusion, my darling baby sister, Tallulah Belle Atkins was a model. A supermodel. Like runway model in New York, Italy, France, you name it. She was
the
muse for all the major lingerie designers; the ultimate “it” girl, living in New York, making tons of money
,
when about a year ago
,
she decided to give it all up and move back to Brooks and the house our great-grandmother had lived in, which happened to be located across from Nonnie and Poppa Joe.

Since I’d selfishly been involved in my own life disaster, I hadn’t poked Tally. And my mother had told me not to worry too much. Lately, according to phone calls, she’d been helping Nonnie weed the garden and distracting everyone. She’d managed to dodge all the questions about her decision to quit
,
and since we had all breathed a sigh of relief when she started eating again and gained the ten pounds that happened to make her even more beautiful than before, we’d all agreed to let the story come out when Tally wanted it to. Tally was excellent at not talking about something she didn’t want to, unlike me who couldn’t keep a secret if my life depended on it. One look or long pause from Mama and I would crack.

Tally happened to be cursed with being not only beautiful, but also funny and friendly, of the brick-wall conversation variety. That meant that men tripped over themselves to get a glimpse
, and if they could get
close enough
,
they just fell all over themselves in love. Tally also happened to be an attention-whore, so this worked out pretty well for all parties involved. Consequently, she’d been systematically going through the eligible dating po
ol of Brooks and citing the not-so-
eligible to riot, much to the chagrin of their wives. Daddy had finally gotten fed up and told her she better put her money to good use. So she had bought the old department store downtown and converted it into a restaurant.

As much as she liked to lead people down the path that led them to believe she was a ditz, she actually had a really good head for business. In fact, she’d managed to put herself through business school while modeling, and Mama and Daddy were amused over the fact that they hadn’t had to pay for her higher education. Apparently, she had decided she was going to use her business degree, with an emphasis in finance, after all.

“Pass the gravy,” Poppa Joe leaned over toward me. I handed him the bowl of artery-clogging, down-home goodness.

“Pass the salad,” Daddy said from my left, and I reached on my right to grab the bowl from Nonnie.

“You two let the girl get herself something to eat. She looks like she could use a cookie or two. Go ahead and eat what’s on your side of the table, or don’t eat at all.” Poppa Joe promptly reached across to her plate and took it from her. She regarded him sternly and he shrugged.

“It’s on my side.”

“You be nice to me or you’ll be lucky if you ever eat again.” He chuckled and relinquished the plate. We passed dishes and tidbits of town talk around the table, typical of our family dinners.

“What’s for dessert?” Tally asked, leaning back and patting her once emaciated belly.

“Homemade ice cream and strawberry shortcake,” Nonnie answered proudly. Tally sighed and faux-swooned dramatically.

“Nonnie, I love you.” Nonnie kissed her forehead as she stood to go to the kitchen.

After we’d all stuffed ourselves with meatballs and mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls and bacon-laced green beans, Tally and I helped Mama and Nonnie with the dishes while Daddy and Poppa Joe
turned on a baseball game. While we worked, they
caught me up on who was getting married and having babies and being cheated. After we finished, Tally and I drove our respective cars across the road
,
and she helped me unload my overnight bag, leaving the big stuff for tomorrow. I drank in the sultry night, blanketed by stars and scented with my great-grandmother’s honeysuckle vine and listened to the chirp of a whippoorwill. All the comforts of my childhood were here. So much better than the sound of cars on a big Texas access road. We walked in the house
,
and Tally set my bags in the biggest of the three bedrooms.

“You gave me the big room?” I asked, touched.

“Smallest closet,” she grinned and grabbed me in a big hug. “So glad you’re home, big sister. Now maybe the focus will shift to your life instead of mine,” she teased.

“Not me,” I protested, “you’ll have to handle the mall and your scandalous reputation on your own. I’m done with scandal. I’ve had about as much as I can take.”

xxx

I had pulled on my sage green spa pajamas and pulled out an old journal of my great-grandmother’s when Tally bounded into my newly claimed room.

“Let’s go,” she blurted as she threw herself across the bed. I grimaced as the sheets and quilt I’d just smoothed down scrunched up under the weight of her six feet. She pulled up her legs to hug and the disarray was complete. I sighed and crawled up next to her.

“Where?”

“To Sticks and Balls,” she replied, pulling me down so both our heads lay on one pillow and our knees banged against each other. I twisted to lie on my back and crossed my ankles.

“Why?” I asked. A loaded question,
I knew. For Tally, the typical
response was ‘why not’ and trouble was sure to follow.

“It’s ladies night,” she drawled out. “Free nachos until eleven.” My infidelity-induced heartbreak had forced me to quit my job, pack my bags, put them in a stinky trailer, and drive four hours to live with my sister. I had spent my entire Saturday both fighting the urge to hire someone to murder Van (I’m not proud. It’s wrong, but I needed something to think about on the way home) and running my tongue across the top of my mouth to keep from crying (yeah, it works). I had just put on my pajamas,
and
all I wanted to do was try to get my head straight and forget about the fact that I had
no job (or prospects), no man
, no home of my own, and one very useless wardrobe.

“I think I’ll just stay and read,” I told Tally. “Maybe next time.” A quick jerking movement by Tally sent the sheets into deeper chaos. She was killing me. She had jolted up to fix me with what was meant to be an intimidating stare, and I’m sure it worked on other people; but seeing as how she was my little sister, it was more comical than menacing. I laughed, but she refused to join. Her dark, thick brows furrowed together as she hopped off the bed to lecture me.

“Lilly Atkins, you will get your anorexic-looking, uptight, pity-party-having ass out of that bed right this minute. Not a lot of people know you’re in town, but those that we’ve mentioned it to will start to wonder if maybe you’re depressed. And then they’ll be sending over cake and casseroles. And I’ll be a monkey’s butt before I let anyone think you’re depressed. Plus, I’ve gained enough weight as it is. You are an Atkins. And we are WINNERS.” She was really picking up speed, her cowboy boots thumping as she paced in the narrow space between the bed and the dresser. “Now get your butt out of that BED!” she yelled, stomping out of the room. I stifled a laugh. Tally hated not to be taken seriously. It was just so darn hard. She was just so darned cute. All six foot, curly-haired, baby-blued of her.

I crossed the room to dig out a pair of jeans from my green and pink suede luggage and tugged on a Velvet t-shirt. I was looking for my Pliner loafers when Tally slinked back in wearing a crimson dress sporting a car wash skirt; the shredded ribbons slashed to just under the tops of her thighs and the deep vee of the halter neck just skimming under her top rib. She’d added gold sandals and pulled her hair up to top it off. I rolled my eyes.

“You cannot wear that to go bowling,” I told her, although it was pointless. She rolled her eyes right back.

“If you can look boring, I can look hot. Let’s go.” I followed her swishing hips out the door, grabbing my purse on the way.

We rode into town with the top down on Tally’s T-bird. I tried to get myself psyched to have a good time, but truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood to see everyone who had been so impressed when I left to go to SMU and even more impressed when I’d “landed” Van Ehlers. In Brooks
,
a big ole engagement ring was a sight more notable than a piece of paper from one of the best law schools in the country. And the ring I’d been wearing the last time I was here was pretty notable. The Ehlers heirloom ring was three carats, platinum set, pear-shaped cut, and plain. It screamed cash. And cash was king in a small town, or at least the appearance of it.

I sighed again and Tally shot me a look, switching on the radio to an old country music station. Pam Tillis sang about Memphis as we did a cute little gravel-skid into the parking lot, the neon lights of the building lighting up the lot so well that overhead fluorescent lights were unnecessary.

There were two places in Brooks to socialize after nine o’clock. The bar my great uncle owned was one. Sticks and Balls was the other. The combination pool hall and bowling lanes, combined with stale soda, plastic cheese and cardboard corn chips
,
made it a perfect spot to gather when you weren’t in the mood for cheap beer and karaoke. It was also host to the under twenty-one crowd too, because how much trouble could you get into at a bowling alley? I felt my back straighten and chin tilt up as I slid out of the convertible. I was still Lilly Atkins. Former rodeo queen, and cheerleading captain, and salutatorian. I squared my shoulders and started to march toward the muffled ruckus inside. I felt Tally beside me.

“Atta girl.”

We were blasted by jukeboxed Pearl Jam when we opened the doors. The smells of fried food, Lysoled gym equipment
,
and clinging stale smoke threatened to drown out the rolling bowling balls, plinging pinball machines, and smacking shots to the cue ball. I immediately tried to sift through the noise and the crowd to find either a friendly face or somewhere inconspicuous to hide. The former found me first.

“Lilly Kay!” I heard a raspy voice roar before being grabbed into a suffocating hug. I’d recognize that voice and praying mantis grip anywhere. I hugged back and then pulled back.

“Fae Lynn!”

“Honey, I thought you were coming in tomorrow?” my best friend asked me.

“I was, but, well, I was ready, so there wasn’t any point in staying any longer.” I shrugged. Fae Lynn smiled and squeezed my hand with her bejeweled ones. Fae Lynn Wiseman was stick-skinny with a huge butt. She wore her dark hair short and spiky. Her eye shadow was purple. Her jewelry was expensive and her outfits were cheap. Fae Lynn would spend an easy couple thousand on a bracelet, but liked to buy her clothes at Wal-Mart and Payless. She was anal-retentive about her house and car, and not so much about her actions. She ironed on Friday nights, cussed daily
,
and smoked a cigarette every night before she went to bed.