Like Sweet Potato Pie (6 page)

I played with the phone cord, a bad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Ashley wanted
something.
Three times she’d used the word
expenses
or
expensive.
But if she wanted money, she was definitely barking up the wrong tree.

“Look, I have plenty of expenses,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. After all, I’d become a Christian, and Christians are supposed to be … uh … nicer or something. Right? “I work all the time at … well, I work.”

I couldn’t bear to let Ashley know that her once-headed-for-stardom half sister, who’d won awards and a promotion to the politics beat at the Associated Press, got herself fired for plagiarism—and now shelved books and took dinner orders.

Ashley’s breath caught slightly. “Wait—did you say you’re working there?”

“Well, how else do you expect me to pay the bills?”

I froze, realizing what I’d just blurted. Nobody in my family knew I’d burned my bridges with the Associated Press. My dad, off in Mexico City with his über-young, belly-dancing wife, couldn’t care less anyway.

“You live in Japan! Why would you be working stateside?”

“Well, for a while I am.” I swallowed my tea nervously, not liking this conversation.

“For how long? Aren’t you selling the house?”

I set my teacup down, its little blue painted brush strokes glinting a warning like Shane’s police lights. “It’s on the market.”

“How long will it take to sell?”

“How am I supposed to know? And what’s with all the questions?”

“Me? Oh, I’m just curious, as always, about my wild, wandering sister!” She laughed, sounding too exuberant.

Sister? Has Ashley ever, in her entire life, called me
sister? Something niggled in my brain, and a wave of uneasiness quivered inside. I’d felt this way when Tokyo earthquakes hit, floor shifting under my feet.

“What is it you want, Ashley?” I put my dried fish down, suddenly not hungry. “Just tell me.”

“Me? Nothing,” she said, her laugh chilling me. “Nothing at all.”

L
isten,” I said, dragging my fingers through my scraggly bangs. “Let’s talk another time. It’s late.”

“So how much do you think the house is worth?” Ashley steamrolled right over me. “I mean, just out of curiosity?”

That came out of nowhere. And now with that pristine IRS envelope glaring at me, I might never know. I’d simply find myself and my belongings stuffed in Mom’s Honda.

If
I got to keep the car.

“Worth? It’s a prefab! A kitschy country starter home surrounded by satellite dishes and pink flamingos. Don’t get your hopes up.” I chuckled.

“My hopes?”

“I’m joking. I meant, if you guys visit, it won’t be the Hilton. I can barely fit in the bathroom myself, and I’m just one person.”

Ashley didn’t laugh. An icy silence fell over the line, so I politely tried to fill it. “It’s not a bad place though, for the short time I’m planning to stay. A lot of families nearby. Good yard. All the other houses are—”

“Well, it should net at least a hundred grand, right? The other prices in the area seem relatively …” Ashley seemed to realize she’d blundered. “I mean, I guess so, knowing Mom.” She laughed nervously.

I twisted the cord around my hand, earthquake tremor increasing. “Ellen,” I corrected. “She’s not your mom!”

“Of course she is! You and I both cared for her dearly, despite her difficult but … uh … charming personality. She certainly doted over Carson.”

Ashley made no sense. I’d lived with Mom for years after Ashley left with Dad. I, not Ashley, put up with Mom’s psychological problems, depression, cults, and occasional beatings. She’d left me alone with drunk neighbors whose creepy boyfriends hit on me, and I slept at the homeless shelter after Mom got evicted. I wouldn’t call any of it “charming.”

Ashley Jacobs (now Sweetwater, although I found little sweet about her) sprang from one of Dad’s “wild oats” before he married Mom. After Dad left, I got Mom’s coldwater flat, while Ashley spent her childhood skipping across Dad’s marble floors.

Ashley’s voice slipped into a condescending tone. “Shiloh, you two didn’t really have a close relationship, right? To be quite honest, I see us—you, me, and Carson—as equals in our relationship with her.”

“Ashley, Carson isn’t even born yet.”

She gasped, tone sharp and accusing. “Like his due date makes any difference! At least we stood by her, unlike you!”

“Now wait a minute!” I smacked my teacup down, shaking Ashley’s ludicrous postulations out of my head like cold seawater. “Don’t you start on my relationship with my mom! You know nothing about it, and frankly, it’s none of your business!”

“Who took care of her while you ran off to Japan and did who-knows-what at Cornell?”

“Did ‘who-knows-what’? Dad paid for your tuition, but I earned my academic scholarship fair and square. I worked to pay my own bills!” The blood rushed angrily to my face. “You? Taking care of Mom? You didn’t even invite her to your wedding!”

“Well … well … sure I did! She came for the ceremony and then … uh … left right after. That’s why she’s not in any pictures.”

What a big, fat lie! An
amateur
lie! Dad himself told me Ashley had banned Mom.

“Where did she live?”

“What?”

“At the time of the wedding. You did mail her an invitation, right?”

“I have no idea, Shiloh! We got married years ago.”

“Five. Just name the state.”

Silence. “Texas.”

“Wrong, Ashley! Try Staunton, Virginia! She lived here for the past
six
years.”

“No she didn’t!” Ashley gasped, spluttering again. “She just … lived there part of the time. You know. Like migrant workers.”

I choked. Fish particles spewed everywhere.

“Forget where she lived, okay? Maybe you just went off and left her, Shiloh, but we didn’t!”

“Oh, right! Chicago is just down the street from Texas!”

Our voices rose and met like two angry
sumo
wrestlers.

“Don’t pretend you thought so differently, Ashley! You didn’t want to live near her any more than I did, and it was her fault.”

An odd stillness fell over the kitchen, and the night breeze ruffled a corner of Mom’s frilly, country-style curtains. Blue-and-white-checked gingham with tiebacks. I walked over and shut the window tight. Locked it, hand lingering on the sill.

“Although, toward the end Mom did change.” My words fell out unintentionally, like a shrimp from an overstuffed sushi plate. As I recalled letters and packages she’d sent me after she “got Jesus.” The offers to visit. My throat swelled, wishing I’d answered. Cared. But no.

I sat back down and squeezed the phone cord until my knuckles showed. “What do you want, Ashley?”

Expensive. Expenses.
Her words rolled in my head.

She can’t possibly think Mom’s house … no. Not even Ashley would stoop that low.

“Want? It’s not about me, but what Mom had in mind for Carson. Too bad she didn’t have time to write it in her will.”

“Carson. In Mom’s will.”

“That’s right. My son. Her grandson. If you need any proof of her affection or intentions, I’ve got it in black and white. A letter.”

“Mom writes in blue ink.” My hands trembled on a silver fish.

“Okay, then blue.”

“I don’t believe you! Mom never planned to put Carson in her will.”

“Oh no? Let me make it plain for you, Shiloh. Half of a hundred thousand, if that’s what her little matchbox is worth, still makes fifty grand. Which belongs to Carson and me. After all, she was my mother, too.”

The cup wavered and tipped, scattering fish all over the linoleum. I slid to the floor.

“
Stepmother!
”

“
Mother!
”

“Dad did DNA tests to see which secretary told the truth before marrying your mom,” I hissed. “Before he divorced her and married
mine.
You’re Susan’s daughter! Not a cell in your body belongs to Ellen Amelia Jacobs.”

My sumo wrestler grunted, nearly shoving Ashley out of the ring. But she roared and righted herself, slapping her thighs.

“No more playing nice!” Ashley screamed. “I gave you a chance to fix things yourself, but since you’re such a selfish monster, I’ve hired a lawyer!”

Ashley’s shrill words hit me like a redneck frying pan slathered in bacon grease.

“You … what?” I wobbled, plopping back down on the floor. Breath gone out.

“I’ve got a lawyer, and I’m contesting the will. Since you’re obviously not going to do the right thing and share with family.” She sniffed in triumph. “It’s your fault. You’re forcing me to do things the hard way.”

I couldn’t speak. Just opened and closed my mouth, feeling all sense bleed out of my head.

“You’re the one who probably drove her to death anyway, Shiloh, with all your fighting. You know she never had high blood pressure until you two started going at it.” Ashley’s voice pierced into my stunned ear. “Well maybe it’s time you face the truth and stop ham-fisting all her assets to yourself. Since you’re the one who least deserves them.”

Ashley had to be kidding. I laughed, but she didn’t laugh back.

“You have no grounds to contest the will!” I finally spat, finding my voice. “Mom named me the only beneficiary.”

She raised beefy sumo arms, grimacing. “Think what you want, but Mom had a different opinion—especially about Carson. Her letter proves it.”

“What letter? And what does Carson have to do with anything?”

“Mom claimed Carson as her grandson. In the letter.”

My sumo wrestler stumbled. Crashed. Rolled out of the ring and into the exploding stands. I sprawled on the kitchen floor, cord bonging over my head. “She didn’t! You’re lying!”

“Oh no. I’m not. My lawyer will be happy to provide you with a copy.” Ashley’s sumo wrestler raised her fists, turning in brilliant flashbulbs. “Do what Mom truly wanted. Fifty-fifty. Or I’ll go for the whole thing. And I’m sure it’s worth more than a hundred thousand. Quite sure.”

No sooner had I slammed the screen door behind me than my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

“Look, Ashley, don’t call me here again—ever!” I shouted, voice echoing off Mom’s siding. And started to shut it, when the name F
AYE
C
LATTERBAUGH
glowed on the screen.

“Shiloh, darlin’, what’s goin’ on? Everything all right?”

“Faye?” I blubbered, pulling my shawl tighter in the chill. “No, everything’s wrong. Ashley called here, and …” I let my words die. Cold wind rustled my hair in brown chunks, and I buried my nose in Christie’s soft, warm-scented fur. She licked my cheek, and I hugged her. Becky won, doggone it. No way on earth I’d part with Christie now.

“Oh, sugar. I’m so sorry. Ashley called last night and asked for your phone number. I had no idea ya didn’t want me to give it.”

My head jerked up. “What? Ashley called you?”

“She said she missed ya and worried about ya ‘cause ya hadn’t called… .”

“She said that?” I sputtered. A bat swooped lightning fast, dark against the sky full of stars. “Then Ashley’s lying. She didn’t call here all the time to talk to Mom.”

“Well,” said Faye, attempting diplomacy, “maybe she lost the number?”

“Maybe she’s a liar! And she’s got her snake eyes on my inheritance.” My voice caught. “She has a lawyer.”

Faye gasped. “No. Ya can’t mean … I mean, Ellen’s house ain’t worth … forgive me, Shiloh! But ya musta misunderstood her!”

A puff of wind rattled the dry rose canes, and I hugged my knees. “Don’t I wish. But I think I understood her perfectly.”

I started to mumble a lame good-bye then paused. “Faye?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“Why did you call me?”

“Oh, that.” She laughed, sounding nervous. Or maybe embarrassed. “Oh, doll, how can I say this?”

Great. Just what I need. More bad news. “Say what?” A sinking sensation swirled in my chest.

“Shiloh, I dunno, but it seemed kinda like maybe we’d been—”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me an’ that Earl fella. I kinda wondered if ya’d … ya know. Set us up or somethin’. Am I readin’ things right?”

I flopped my head in my hands in surrender. Or humiliation. Whichever. All that beautiful dinner for nothing.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess things up for ya. Ya worked so hard, and you’re precious. Ya know that?” Faye’s voice came softly as my tears dripped on the knees of my jeans. “Shiloh, sugar, I love ya ta pieces. Don’t get me wrong. But that Earl fella? He’s nice, but …”

“But what?” I tried to sniffle without Faye hearing me.

“It ain’t gonna work, Shiloh. I’m sorry. He … well, I don’t wanna get married again.”

“It’s okay, Faye. You don’t have to. I just wanted to try.” I scuffed my shoe on the step.
Just one more thing in my rotten life that doesn’t work.

Phones made me sick. Everything bad happened over the phone: News of Mom’s death. Shouts from Dave Driscoll telling me not to come back to Tokyo. Ashley. Hang-ups. Even collection agents.

I said good-bye to Faye and huddled there under the stars, cold gusts crackling tree branches overhead, rustling mournful leaves. The wind stung, but not as much as my heart.