Small Town Girl (21 page)

Renee had, indeed, brewed a pot of coffee and she said that Judy and Ed were also on their way over. Judy showed up with a German chocolate cake and they all stayed to visit and snack. Ed's greeting for Tess was much less jovial than Jim's had been. He was a quiet man who repaired appliances and largely took orders from his wife, exerting his own form of retaliatory control by pinching pennies and making her account for every one she spent, even though she had a business of her own. The family characterized Ed by repeating the story of the time he had finally agreed to go to Hawaii, then refused to pay for a rental car and forever after claimed he didn't like Maui because there was nothing much there to do if you didn't know how to swim. Ed greeted Tess with a hug that was chary of body contact, and said, "How are you?" then sat down to tell Kenny how many pounds of scrap copper he'd managed to pick up on the job, and how much it was worth per pound.

Within twenty minutes all three of Judy and Ed's kids showed up, too, and around three o'clock, the bride-and groom-to-be, Rachel and Brent Hill, along with Renee and Jim's other kid, Packer. Packer had earned his nickname at age three when he had gotten mad at his mother and declared he was leaving home, to which Renee obligingly replied, "Okay, sweetheart, you want me to help you pack?" She had helped him fill a duffel bag and load it on his red Radio Flyer wagon, then watched him trudge off down the driveway till he got to the curb and turned uncertainly with big crocodile tears in his eyes. Forever after, the family had called him Packer.

Amid the pouring of coffee and the serving of cake, the story got told again, and laughed about again, along with a few others. The cousins exchanged small talk about what was going on in their lives, and the adults did the same. It was small town U.S.A. on a Sunday afternoon, the traditional family gathering at Grandma's house, and Tess could see how her mother reveled in it. When someone remarked that they'd pretty much taken over her house, and asked if they were wearing her out and should they leave, she said, "Don't you dare!"

So they stayed, and Kenny with them.

The kitchen was crowded. Not everyone fit around the table. Kenny stood with his backside against the kitchen sink, and Tess stood with an arm propped against the living room archway. Sometimes, above the heads of the others, their gazes met, but they were careful not to be seen fixing on one another overly long.

Conversations overlapped. The fourth pot of coffee got perked. The phone rang and Kenny was the closest so he reached over and answered it without asking permission.

"Mary," he said, "it's Enid Copley. Do you want to talk?"

"I don't think I can get over there," she said from the other side of the table. ' "What does she want?"

He asked Enid what she wanted and reported, "Just wants to see if you're home yet and how you're doing."

"Tell her I'm doing okay and I'll call her tomorrow. Tell her all you kids are here."

When he'd hung up he refilled his cup, crossed his ankles and resumed his pose. As he settled back against the cabinets, his eyes met Tess's and this time they stayed. She had been watching him answer her mother's phone and refill his cup just as any of the others might have done. It struck her full force how he dovetailed into her family—not just into Mary's life, but into that of her extended family—with the nonchalance of one who need not think about it because his acceptance there is taken for granted. He knew them all, had known them for years. He liked them all and they all liked him. "Tell her all you kids are here," Mary had said, as if he were actually one of her own.

A little while later, he set down his empty cup and maneuvered through the thicket of chairs on his way to the bathroom. Tess was still leaning against the archway, blocking the way.

" 'Scuse me," he said, as he edged by her. She stepped back to make room for him, and he went through. When he returned a minute later, he stopped right behind her and she had the distinct impression he'd gone to the bathroom to get himself near her as unobtrusively as possible.

She glanced back over her shoulder and inquired quietly, "Where's Casey this afternoon?"—the first words she'd spoken directly to him since he'd been in the house.

"Out riding her horse."

With everybody else continuing to chatter in the kitchen their conversation went unnoticed.

"Horses and music," Tess observed, "those are her two big things."

"You've got that right."

He told her about the conversation he'd had with Casey about keeping her horse after she graduated, and asked, "Do you still ride?"

"I don't have time anymore. Lots of people around Nashville own horses, but not me. I live in town."

"Maybe you'd like to ride with Casey sometime while you're here."

"I thought she just had one horse."

"She does, but she boards him out at Dexter Hickey's place, and Dexter's got enough of his own that they always need exercising. We can ride them whenever we want."

"Sounds tempting. Maybe when Momma gets more steady on her feet. Speaking of Momma…" She turned her back against the archway and crossed her arms, facing him. "I hear you went up to visit her again last night."

"Well…" His quick downward glance telegraphed modesty. "It was on our way to dinner." She had noticed before how he downplayed anything he did for Mary.

"Still, you stopped by." She paused before adding, "I guess I've never properly thanked you for all you've done for her."

"No thanks necessary. Mary's a great gal." He smiled at Mary through the archway, but she was busy enjoying her family.

"Faith's been awfully good to her, too."

"Yes… well… Faith is a good woman."

Of course Faith was a good woman. He wouldn't be tied up with her if she weren't. Tess knew that much by now. She couldn't stop herself from asking, "So where is Faith today?"

"At home. Sundays we save for ourselves."

So Kenny and Tess had cleared their consciences, hadn't they? Sunday was Kenny's day to do as he wished. It was his and Faith's agreement. They were still wrestling with the idea when the back screen door opened and Casey burst into the room, still in her riding clothes.

"Hey, ya'll!" she greeted. "What am I missing? Mary, you're home! Oh, cake! Yum! Judy, did you make this?"

"Pee-ew, girl do you stink!" Renee said. "Go take those boots off!"

Casey fit in as easily as Kenny did. She put her boots on the back step, helped herself to cake and stood stocking footed, eating it and visiting with the cousins. Stuffing the last bite into her mouth, she said, "Hey, Mac, can we do our song for these guys?"

"What song?" somebody said, and the next thing they knew they were all in the living room, Mary resting on the sofa with a pillow between her knees, the others sitting on the furniture and the floor. The only one who didn't come fully into the room was Judy, who lingered behind Kenny in the archway where it wouldn't be noticed if she failed to applaud.

Tess and Casey shared the piano bench with their backs to the group. But when they sang, everyone listened. And when they finished, everyone applauded. Except Judy. She had slipped away into the kitchen where she was cleaning up the cups and saucers. Kenny remained with his shoulder to the wall, arms crossed, but one forefinger lined his lower lip and the expression in his eyes was that of a man torn between celebration and suffocation as he watched and listened to Casey. He could hear, unquestionably, that his daughter had talent. But it would eventually take her down a road of which he disapproved, an eager disciple on the heels of her idol, of whom he was beginning to approve more and more.

When the song ended Tess sought his reaction first, glancing at him immediately, and in his frown she saw ahead to a time when all these undercurrents would become exposed and he would either blame or praise her for the part she'd played in Casey's future. There was more going on between them, too: there was this cat-and-mouse game they were playing with their unwanted attraction for each other, plus the words of the song itself, speaking about a woman reassessing her values and those of the people she loved.

Everyone started talking at once, the hubbub full of surprise and praise.

"Wow, that's good!" Packer said to Casey. "Are you gonna sing it with her?"

"I already did, on a demo tape."

"No, I mean like for real."

"No, she's got studio musicians who do that."

Kenny left the doorway and approached his daughter. He put a hand on her shoulder approvingly. "Is this what you've been working on behind your bedroom door when you were mad at me? Next thing I know I'll be hearing
you
on the radio." He hugged her. But he waited to say anything to Tess until he could do so away from other ears. All he said, quietly, was, "It's very good." Hardly effusive praise but it didn't need to be, for it erased the sting caused by Judy's flagrant jealousy.

When everyone left, the coffee cups and saucers were neatly washed and put away in the cupboards. The table was wiped off and the remaining wedge of German chocolate cake had been carried off by Judy when she went.

When everyone was gone, Mary lay down on her bed to rest. Tess spent the time screening her fan mail and answering requests for autographed copies of her CDs. Every week at least a dozen fund-raisers wanted donations for their causes—city libraries, battered-women's shelters, schools and every disease research facility known to man. Most of them ran annual auctions, and Tess sent a signed CD to every single one that sent her a plea. Kelly had forwarded last week's fan mail all in one batch, along with a stock of CDs for Tess to sign, and a typed letter to the representative of each group. When she'd finished, she packed them all into a postal express box to return to Kelly, who would, in turn, send them on.

She also spent time answering special fan mail. Though she had fan clubs in all the major cities of America, each headed by a president in that town, and she had a person in her Nashville office who did nothing but coordinate fan club activities, there were some of her fans who sent special gifts that needed personal answers. Others requested inspirational messages for relatives with cancer, or accident victims, or people whose tragic life stories were spilled out in heartbreaking detail, along with requests for something spe-cial from Tess because "she's your greatest fan, and a note from you would mean more than anything else in the world to her."

Such requests could not be denied, but the sheer volume of them became a drain on her time that she sometimes resented. She understood: she was luckier than most. She was rich and healthy and blessed in a thousand ways. But the requests never stopped. Nor did people seem to understand the protocol of sending a stamped, self-addressed return envelope when they wanted a reply. Some didn't even understand that it was ridiculous to expect her to fulfill their wishes, which were sometimes ludicrous.

Today's packet of letters included one from a woman who came right out and stated that she couldn't afford to buy CDs and would Tess send her her last two? Another woman invited her to come down to Coral Gables, Florida, to sing at a retirement home because all the ladies there just loved Tess's records, and they would just love to meet her; twelve letter writers wanted to know how she got started; two asked for the name of her agent; several wanted to know where they could buy Tess's past albums (had they never heard of asking in a record store?). One chewed her out for the lyrics on her new hit single, "Cattin'," because it condoned loose sex, which was immoral. An English teacher from Bloomer, Wisconsin, took her to task for all the double negatives in country lyrics in general.