Small Town Girl (29 page)

In spite of her tearfulness Tess chuckled and pulled back, drying her face with her hands. "Oh, damn it. And damn you for dragging me back here."

Renee said with humor, "Well, I never thought you'd get the hots for Kenny Kronek." She went and got a tissue from the vanity and handed it to Tess, who blew her nose.

"I don't have the hots for Kenny Kronek." Renee gave her a scolding look. "Well, all right, maybe I do, but if Faith's got first dibs on him, I'll be a good girl and keep my distance, and if he comes to Nashville to visit Casey I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what?"

Tess crumpled. "Hell, I don't know what I'll do."

"You know, Tess, there's one thing we're overlooking."

"What's that?"

"Kenny himself. If he's the kind of man I think he is, he'd never two-time Faith. You said yourself he refused to kiss you."

Tess thought for a moment, then said, "You're right. And you know what? That's one of the reasons I think so much of him."

Tess accepted Renee's admonition and took it to heart. She decided she'd been wrong trying to provoke Kenny into kissing her, and made a resolution that she would do everything in her power to avoid him from now on.

On Monday, in spite of aching everywhere, she mowed the lawn in the midday heat to avoid doing it when he was home. That evening Casey called, and said, "So how'd it go with Dad?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I did, but he's in one of his wounded-boar moods and all he did was snap at me."

Wounded boar? Tess figured Kenny had probably come up with the same conclusion as she; that it was better if they avoid each other.

"Well, nothing happened," Tess lied.

"Oh, shoot. Well, I'll keep hoping."

She saw him, naturally, coming and going from his house, but she stayed inside whenever he appeared in the backyard. Sometimes he'd glance at Mary's house as if hoping Tess would appear in the doorway, but she stayed hidden from sight.

On Tuesday evening, by mere chance, four of Mary's friends came visiting, one right after the other, and Tess was kept busy brewing coffee and visiting. But her mind kept veering to choir practice where she'd been a week ago. She had seen Kenny leave at seven-fifteen and pause beside his garage and look this way, but in the end he had gone without coming to ask if she was going along.

On Wednesday evening Mary said she needed some fresh air and insisted on taking her evening walk outside. She managed to make her arduous way down the front steps on her crutches, then, with Tess at her side, headed down the block. It was a pretty evening. The mourning doves were calling softly from the telephone wires on the street, and Mary's neighbors came out to wish her well when they saw her passing. She and Tess were a block away from home when Kenny came driving by, swerved over to the curb and stopped. He leaned across the empty passenger seat and called out the open window, "Walking pretty good there, Mary!"

"Practicing for walking down that aisle at Rachel's wedding. You can roll me
out
of that church in my wheelchair. but I'm
walking
in, by gum."

A beat passed while Kenny and Tess exchanged glances, then he said, belatedly, "Hello, Tess. Missed you at choir practice last night."

"Sorry. I was busy."

"I take that to mean you're only singing the one Sunday."

"I think so."

"Well… that's disappointing. People were asking."

He paused another moment, then said, "Well… Faith's got a dead shrub that needs replacing so I'd better get over there. See you around." Without another glance at Tess he slid over, put the car in gear and drove away.

She felt just awful watching him go—the lump in the chest, the emptiness in the heart, the longing to follow him and say, Let's talk about this. But what was there to talk about? Their situation was hopeless and they both knew it.

On Sunday she went to the earlier church service in order to avoid singing in the choir. Shortly before noon Casey called and said, "Hey, where
were
you?"

"I went to the earlier service with Rachel's family."

"But we thought you'd come and sing with the choir again!"

"No, I missed practice."

"'But Dad wouldn't have benched you for missing practice! My gosh, you're Tess McPhail!"

"Listen, Casey…" Tess's voice held a plea for understanding. "It… it just worked out best this way, okay?"

"Oh." And after a pause, meekly, "Okay… I guess. Hey, did something go wrong between you and Dad last Sunday?"

"No, nothing."

"Oh, good. Well, listen, you want to go riding again today?"

"No, I don't think so, Casey. I've got things to do here."

"Oh. Well… okay. But when will I see you again?"

"Stop in anytime. Otherwise, next Saturday at the wedding, for sure."

"Okay. Well, hey, take it easy, and say hi to Mary."

Casey popped in a couple times that week, reporting that Kenny had been difficult to live with. Casey said she thought he must've had a fight with Faith, although to the best of her knowledge, they
never
fought.

For six days Tess glimpsed him only through windows, but every time she thought about Saturday, when she would see him at the wedding, a queer tightness caught her just beneath the heart and she'd find her hands idle.

It had been over three weeks since Mary's surgery. She got stronger. She felt increasingly better. Feeling better, she seemed to argue less. By Thursday Tess thought it was time to broach the subject that had been on her mind since the night she arrived.

Mary had wanted to eat supper in the living room in front of the evening news, so Tess had set them up on a Duncan Phyfe occasional table that she hauled over in front of Mary's chair, bringing in a kitchen chair for herself. They'd finally had a meal with no clashes. Tess had found something that pleased them both, a taco salad in which she'd cut down the fatty ingredients in her own and added more of them to Mary's. The news was over and they were fin-ishing up their meal when Tess said, "Mom, I've arranged a surprise for you."

"For me?" Mary said, surprised already.

"On Saturday morning at eight o'clock a hairdresser named Niki is coming to fix your hair for the wedding and she'll do anything you want. Color it, perm it, cut it—anything."

Mary looked amazed. "Right here at home?"

"That's right."

"Why, I never heard of such a thing."

"It can be done. I thought you'd like to get it fixed for the wedding."

"This Niki—she's not from Judy's shop?"

"No, she's not. Judy and her girls are doing all the bridal party that morning so they'll be busy. But she said Niki will do a good job for you."

"Well… my goodness." Mary continued to look amazed.

"That's all right with you then?"

"Well, sure!" she said enthusiastically.

"And, Momma, there's one other thing I wanted to ask you about." This issue was perhaps even more delicate than the hair, but if she didn't bring it up, who would? "You know that pretty green silk trouser suit I sent you last year from Seattle? Have you worn it yet?"

"I tried it on."

"But you haven't worn it."

"Well, it's… it's awfully expensive—I could see that."

"Why don't you wear it for the wedding? It would be perfect, since your legs have to be wrapped in those ugly stockings all the time. What do you say, Momma?"

"I was going to wear this other pants suit that I got last spring. It's perfectly good and I've only worn it a few times."

Tess's first reaction was anger, and she got up and started stacking their dirty dishes, trying to swallow a little lump of hurt that had grown into a stone in her throat. She had a pyramid of dirty dishes in her hands before she changed her mind, set them back down and dropped to one knee beside Mary's chair. "Mom, I need to tell you something that I'm not sure you'll understand, but…" Taking Mary's hand in both of her own she looked up into her mother's aging brown eyes. "Listen, Momma, I don't know how else to say this. I'm rich. May I say it without sounding like I'm blowing my own horn? It's a fact of life now. I'm very, very rich, and it gives me great pleasure to send you things. Nice things from stores you never get to see because you don't get the chance to travel like I do. But it hurts my feelings when you won't even try to use them."

"Oh, dear… well, I… I guess I never thought of that. I just always think those things are too grand for Winter-green, Missouri."

"I'm not sending them for Wintergreen, I'm sending them for you."

Mary sat awhile, looking somber and somewhat stricken. Finally she glanced away, then back at her daughter.

"Well, since you're being honest, let me be honest, too. Sometimes when you send things I think it's because you know you should come to see me yourself, but you're too busy to take the time. Maybe that's why I sometimes don't use them. Because if the truth be told, I'd rather have you than all the fancy presents in the world."

Mary's words stung sharply for they were true, and Tess at last admitted it. How many times had she been charging through some store in a far-off city and spied something for Mary, but while she was waiting for her credit card to be processed a guilty thought would come niggling:
You should go see her instead
. But it was so much easier to send gifts. It infringed so much less on her busy work schedule.

There were people in this world who had no mothers, who would count themselves blessed to have a loving one like this, yet Tess not only saw Mary less often than she should, she found fault with her vagaries and took issue with petty aggravations that love should overlook. Now here she was, looking up into Mary's face, which appeared decidedly older at this moment. The impression of age was amplified by the limitations put upon her by the new hip, for she sat on the stiff chair with her knees spread and her ankles uncrossed. Her crutches waited at arms' reach and her face was swagged with sadness. Tess could see in the line of Mary's jowls and in the pattern of creases around her eyes and mouth the stamp her own aging would leave upon her face. An unwanted image came, of the day when Tess would be Mary's age, and Mary would be gone. Who knew how many more years they had?

"I'm sorry, Mom," Tess said softly. "I'll try to do better."

Mary reached out and put a hand on Tess's hair. "You know how proud I am of you, don't you, dear?"

Tess nodded with tears in her eyes.

"And I know what it took for you to get where you are. But, Tess, we're your family, and you only get one of those."

"I know," Tess whispered, choked.

They remained in that tableau, each accepting what the other had said, Mary on the stiff, high chair, Tess kneeling to her, the dinner remains spread on the old-fashioned parlor table while the low sun streamed in from the west. Outside, a dog began barking and somebody whistled, silencing him. The details of that moment would come back to both women in the days to come, for they had not felt closer since Tess graduated from high school and loaded up her car to head for Nashville.

"Now I'll tell you what you do," Mary said, forcing brightness into her voice. "You go in my closet and you find that pretty slacks suit that you sent me, and get it ironed up for Saturday, and when this Niki finishes my hair, I'll put it on and do you girls proud at that wedding. How's that?"

Tess stretched up and kissed her mother's cheek. "Thanks, Mom," she said, and smiled.

Tess called Renee later that night after Mary was in bed sound asleep.

"I got Momma to agree to leave her old polyester pants suit in the closet."

"Oh, Tess, did you really? You're a miracle worker!"

"She's wearing the one I sent her from Seattle last year."

"Super! It's so beautiful and Rachel will really be happy to hear this. Tess, I owe you one."

"That's not all."

"Don't tell me she's having her hair done!"

"That's what I'm telling you. Right here at home. I hired someone to come in and do it."

Without a wisp of jealousy, Renee remarked, "It must be fun to have enough money to be able to do things like that."

"It is." There were few people Tess could talk to about money. She loved Renee even more for accepting this difference between them.

Renee said, "I have to say, on Judy's behalf, that she tried. I can't tell you how many times she's told Momma to come into the shop whenever she wants, but Momma's so proud. She's afraid she'll go and have her hair fixed, then Judy won't charge her. Well, whatever you said to change her mind, thanks."

"Sure. Listen… about the wedding, when do you want her at the church for pictures?"

"The wedding starts at five, so, four o'clock, I think. The photographer wants the rest of us there by three, but I told him to plan on taking all the ones with the grandparents last, so she doesn't have to be there any earlier than necessary. Do you think she'll be okay till we get through dinner?"

"She'll be fine. She insists on walking in with her crutches, but we're taking her wheelchair, too, and whenever she wants to come home I'll bring her. She's really done a remarkable job with her physical therapy. Never a complaint, no matter how it hurts. She's so determined."

"Well… this is a different Tess from the one who said the first day that Momma was going to drive her nuts."

"I guess I just expected too much of her. And you're right. She is getting old. I believe I'm finally accepting that."

"So tell me… do you still resent the fact that Judy and I railroaded you into coming home to take care of her?"

"No, not anymore. At this point I think my record producer resents it more than I do."

"Well, listen, kid, it's late and tomorrow's going to be crazy."

"Sorry I kept you so long."

"One more thing. Have you been staying away from Kenny like I advised?"

"Absolutely away."

"Good. See you at the wedding. I'll be glad when it's over and my life gets back to normal."

The weather on Saturday couldn't have been more ideal. Eighty-three degrees and sunny when Tess was getting dressed. She'd bought a new outfit at Barney's in New York, a midnight blue sheath, utterly simple, and matching sling-back faille pumps with a faint peppering of miniature blue rhinestones on the toes. At her neck she hung a platinum chain with a diamond-covered orb the size of a marble. On her ears were small sickle moons, also covered with real diamonds. Though she had carefully refrained from wearing anything that smacked of wealth or glamour since she'd been home, the wedding, she decided, was an occasion when a little glitz was permitted.