The Way Back to Happiness (26 page)

“No,” she said quickly.

“I can give you a ride home this afternoon,” Bev said. “I don’t have any afterschool goings-on today.” Under her breath, she added, “Thank heavens.”

A group of sophomores passed them, and someone called out, “What’s up, Miss Putterman!”

Bev followed the kids with her eyes, as if trying to ferret out the guilty party. But what could she do? The school couldn’t expunge the words
What’s up?
from everyone’s vocabulary.

She returned her gaze to Alabama, who noted that her aunt’s eyes were bloodshot. She remembered Stuart saying that Bev had seemed shaken. Yeah, that’s how she looked.

“Actually, I thought we could go shopping,” Bev said. “You’ll need some nice new clothes for Thanksgiving if you’re going to meet your Jackson relations. You want to make a good impression.”

Bev was offering to buy her clothes? Actually
buy
them, at a department store? Suspicious, Alabama opened her mouth to question her. Unfortunately, the only words that came to mind were
What’s up?

“I’ve got clothes,” she finally managed.

Bev shook her head. “Not River Oaks clothes. Believe me, you’ll thank me later.”

Alabama shifted her books. “Sounds like you want my trip to be successful. Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Let’s just say, with my reputation as a notorious mascot murderer, my job security has fallen a few notches. There’s never been a better time to cultivate your rich relations.”

That sounded terrible. “You’re going to lose your job, just because of Bugs?”

Bev laughed humorlessly. “Well, not today. I hope. It might help if people could forget . . .”

Alabama remembered the principal getting heckled in assembly. And then, from farther back, she recalled Bev saying Mr. Kirby had it in for her. Today’s incident probably made him hate her more.

Strange how a few nights ago—just this morning, even—this would have seemed like a triumph. Now all the trouble just made her stomach queasy. What if her and Kevin’s posters ended up getting Bev fired? “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.” Bev reached out and squeezed her upper arm. “Meet me out front after the last bell.” She turned and walked away.

Alabama marveled as she shuffled toward her next class. Bev was eager for her to make a good impression at Thanksgiving. As if she wanted the Jacksons to take her in.

If Bev wanted to get rid of her, she should be happy. That was what she wanted.

But what if Stuart’s Bette Davis theory was correct? If Bev really was her biological mother and still wanted to pawn her off on the Jacksons, what did that say about Alabama? She’d be losing two mothers in the space of six months.

Behind her, she heard someone calling out, “What’s up, Miss Putterman!”

The phrase worked on her conscience like a rebuke. Stuart saying the word
vicious
echoed in her mind.

I’m not vicious.
It was a joke. She hadn’t known people would get so carried away, or that Bev would take it so hard.

Except a memory of Bev looking so depressed as she made those lemon bars the other night pushed its way into her mind. If Alabama had given the matter serious consideration, she would have known Bev would feel mortified and hurt when she saw the signs.

But that was the problem. She hadn’t given serious consideration to anything. She’d just drifted along with the joke. In fact, she’d relished zinging Bev.

She scooted into history class a hair before the bell. As she plopped her books down on the desk, a kid sitting next to her asked, “Hey—what’s up?”

She sank into her seat without a word. The joke had seemed so funny last night, so clever, with Kevin. Now, it just . . . wasn’t.

“M
aybe the next time we have a long drive somewhere, I’ll be able to help more,” Alabama said when they were halfway to Houston. She leaned against the passenger window. “I’ll get to take driver’s ed soon.”

“Not too soon.”

“I’ll be fifteen in February.”

“But by . . .”

Bev stopped herself from saying
By then there won’t be any more road trips.

“Soon I’ll be able to get a real job and help pay my own way,” Alabama said. “To help you out.”

It was nerves causing Alabama to start babbling about helping, about the future. Maybe she also was afraid that the Jacksons wouldn’t like her—that she would be sent back to New Sparta unwanted and have to make the best of things.

Bev was glad now that she hadn’t told Alabama more about this long-lost family she was so eager to know. If she had, Alabama might have been even more nervous.

God knows her own nerves felt rattled. If she knew one thing about the Jacksons, it was that they didn’t welcome newcomers with open arms. Her feelings were so conflicted. She didn’t want to lose Alabama, but she didn’t want to stand between her and her birthright, and she certainly didn’t want to see her rejected.

The Jacksons seemed to have the knack of throwing her emotions into disarray. The last time she’d made this trip, with her mother in the summer of 1970, she’d been just as upset, although for completely different reasons. And her visit had had a very different motive behind it.

It had started with the phone ringing. Bev had been in the bathtub, or she would have picked up. Ever since Tom and Diana had disappeared, she’d never been more than a few feet away from the telephone if she could help it. During the first days, she’d kept a nearly sleepless vigil, awaiting what she feared would be horrible news. Then, the postman had delivered a postcard from New Orleans scribbled in haste by Diana.
Everything’s fine! Sorry if we worried you. Hope y’all are having fun, too!!

Having
fun?

“At least we know she’s okay,” Gladys had said after reading it.

Bev was incensed. “Yes, we know that Diana’s back to normal, having fun and not giving a fig about anybody else—probably not even about Tom. What is he doing in New Orleans? He’s supposed to be going to Officer Candidate School.”

“That’s his business,” her mother said. “Maybe you’re well out of it.”

She didn’t feel out of it. Her heart was still involved, not to mention her stinging pride. She’d recovered from the mumps—and worse—and now she had the summer off. A whole summer to stew over Tom and Diana’s betrayal.

Tom never called to explain or apologize. She hadn’t received so much as a postcard from him. This stung her more than Diana’s behavior. Tom had been more than a would-be fiancé. He’d been her friend. With his defection, the world as she’d known it evaporated.

Every day, she expected to hear that the relationship between those two had hit the skids. The bust up had to be coming. Had to be. Diana never held onto boyfriends for longer than six dates. And she and Tom had nothing in common. Bev gave them two months.

And then two months went by.

Diana’s absence wore on Gladys, too. Bev could tell her mother was worried about Diana’s well being, in addition to the fact that Diana was living in sin with a man. Not that Gladys concerned herself with what the neighbors would say. It was Diana she feared for. “Without marriage, he could just abandon her,” her mother said.

“No kidding,” Bev shot back.

Later, Gladys received another picture postcard, this time from Oklahoma, with prairie dogs on it.
I’m here till Tom’s done at Fort Sill. It’s so boring! I don’t know what I’ll do when they send him overseas.

“If only they would send Diana instead,” Bev grumbled. “She’s the perfect toxic weapon. More potent than Agent Orange.”

When the phone call came, Bev heard her mother pick up in the next room. She sat still in the bathtub, straining to listen, but all she caught were her mother’s murmurs in answer to whatever was being said. Moments later, Gladys barged right through the bathroom door, so upset that she was speechless as she sank down on the closed toilet seat next to the tub.

Even submerged in hot water, Bev’s body went cold.

“That was Dorothy Jackson,” Gladys informed her. “I have . . . news.”

“Oh God.” Something terrible had happened to Tom. Horrors paraded through her mind.
Killed in a training exercise . . . helicopter crash during maneuvers . . . jeep overturned . . . food poisoning . . .

“We’ve been invited to a wedding,” Gladys said. “Diana and Tom’s wedding.”

Bev sat up so abruptly, sudsy water sloshed over the side of the tub. “Diana doesn’t believe in marriage—she says it’s barbaric. How can they get married?”

Why
would they? She’d gone out with Tom for years—
years
—and they’d never even discussed marriage seriously.

“Tomorrow at noon, at some church in Houston,” Gladys said.

At first, Bev argued for a total Putterman boycott of this sickening event. Barring that, her mother was of course free to go, but she herself would be staying home.

Diana had been a thorn in her side her whole life—always insisting on attention, or getting into embarrassing situations. Like the time she’d showed up at school with no underpants. (
Fourth
grade! Way too old for a stunt like that.) The principal had sent Bev home with her, as if it was Bev’s fault or something. And all through their childhoods, Diana had tormented her, tattled, tried to outshine her in every way that didn’t require application or brainpower. Diana wasn’t capable of making good grades, so she opted for making a nuisance of herself. And no matter how tight money was at home, she got things. The attic was littered with the detritus of her castoff manias—a clarinet and guitar took their places next to tutus and tap shoes, the ventriloquist dummy and the little equestrian outfit she’d
had
to have for the lessons she’d begged to take . . . before realizing that she was terrified of horses. Not to mention all the discarded toys that were up there.

Tom would be discarded soon, too. She was sure of it. Marriage or no marriage.

Despite Bev’s boycott threats, the next morning at first light she helped her mother load the car and then seated herself on the passenger side.

Gladys made no comment about her change of heart until they were out of town. “I appreciate your coming with me.”

Bev drummed her fingers on the door’s armrest.

“I understand that from your perspective this marriage is a—”

“An abomination,” Bev said.

“It’s not ideal,” Gladys agreed. “But Diana isn’t like you. She’s not like me. She doesn’t have much to fall back on. Anything could happen to her.”

“So it’s okay if she falls back on my boyfriend?” Bev almost said
my fiancé,
which wasn’t accurate. Technically. Especially now. But Diana had known what Tom meant to her. She’d seen the wedding dress, and worse, she’d overheard her telling Dr. Gary about the baby. She knew everything—and still she’d stolen him.

“She’s made some foolish mistakes,” Gladys said. “Who hasn’t?”

Bev’s cheeks burned. She knew what her mother meant. Her generation would never condone making love to a boy without getting a ring on your finger first, even if you’d been going out with the boy—man—for four years and he was about to go to war. To her, that poor lost child would always be Bev’s “mistake.”

“Maybe this is what she needs,” her mother continued. “They must be in love to have run away together like they did.”

Ha. “She lured him.”

“I just want to be there and make certain the marriage takes place,” Gladys said.

Interesting. Because Bev wanted to be there to see that it didn’t.

They arrived in Houston an hour ahead of time and drove straight to the Jackson house. The driveway and surrounding street looked deserted, which threw Bev. She’d expected more activity. She also expected a maid to answer the door. Instead, she came face-to-face with Dot, now eighteen, who was wearing a simple navy-blue dress and white gloves. She took in Bev and her mother with a tight smile that held what Bev could have sworn was a hint of derision, and called out behind her, “The Puttermans are here!”

After Bev introduced Gladys, Dot escorted them back to the walnut-paneled library. Far from festive, the house was as quiet as a tomb, and as they walked along the impressive hallway, Gladys shrank a little, gaping at the enormous chandelier above as if it might come crashing down on her head.

Tom and his parents were assembled in the library, huddled in a tight knot in their Sunday best. There were no guests. Right away, Bev understood. No Jackson considered this a happy occasion. No one at all did, except maybe Diana. The bride was probably her usual heedless, ecstatic self.

When Tom caught sight of Bev, he seemed to snap awake. “No one told me
you
were coming.”

For over two months she’d yearned to talk to him, to find out what had happened. Why he’d abandoned her. But now that they were suddenly face-to-face, she didn’t have to wonder. She knew. He was the boy his sister had described to her—the weak-willed one who fell for flaky girls. He’d found himself a doozy.

Bev couldn’t think of any response that didn’t involve slapping his face. Instead, she forced a smile and spun on her heel back toward Dot. “Is Diana here? I’d like to see her.”

“Sure,” Dot said, grinning.

She led Bev upstairs, but not to the room they’d shared when Bev had stayed before. Diana evidently rated the guest room.

The bedroom—which, with fresh paint and bright floral curtains did show signs of having been recently renovated—already looked as if Diana lived in it. Rumpled bedcovers were strewn across the mattress of the four-poster, and discarded clothes were scattered everywhere. Diana, in a long white dress with flowing sleeves, sat slumped in front of a massive, elaborately carved vanity. Her face was glum and pale, and seeing Bev didn’t cheer her up. “Oh God. It’s you.”

Bev turned to Dot. “You don’t have to stay. Diana and I are going to have a chat. You know—sister talk?”

Dot’s reluctance to miss the show couldn’t have been more obvious. The girl finally backed out of the room, however, and shut the heavy door behind her.

Diana exhaled. “That one’s a real pain in the ass.”

On that, at least, they were in total agreement. For a moment, Bev weighed whether Diana’s getting stuck with Dot for a sister-in-law counted as just desserts. But no, that wasn’t punishment enough. Nothing would be punishment enough until Diana was banished from Tom’s life forever.

“Welcome to the world of little sisters,” Bev said.

Diana buried her head in her hands and groaned. “Give me a break, Bev. Please.” A split second later, she rebounded slightly as a possibility occurred to her. “You didn’t happen to bring anything to drink, did you?”

“No.”

“Smoke?” She saw Bev’s unspoken answer—a glare—and sagged again. “I should have known. Are the Jackasses getting impatient down there?”

Bev was stunned. Outraged, even—and she didn’t like the Jacksons all that much, either. “Diana, they’re supposed to be your new family!”

“So? They’ve been treating me like I’m a disease.”

“That’s just the way they are.”

“Not to you, I bet. They
love
you.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Well, they don’t even
like
me. After Tom told them he wanted to get married, the four of them spent half the night in conference, and then yesterday Mrs. Jackson hauled me off to Neiman’s to buy this getup.” She flapped her arms, showing off the sheer, fluttery sleeves. “Isn’t it awful? It’s like a diaphanous muumuu. I’m not sure even Phyllis Diller would wear it.”

Bev lowered herself onto the bed. “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be getting married in an hour. Can’t you think of better things to be doing now than bad-mouthing your in-laws for their generosity? And that’s leaving aside the fact that you could watch me walk in here without showing a hint of shame. Not a hint! Tom at least winced a little when he saw me.”

“Oh, I bet he did,” Diana said. “Mr. Worrywart.” In imitation of her fiancé, her voice tightened into a squeaky whine.
“ ‘What have we done? What about Bev?’ ”

If Diana hadn’t been so irritating, Bev might have been gratified at this hint that Tom had at least spared her a thought. But how could she be so sarcastic about the man she was about to marry? About Tom.

Yes, he’d behaved like a jerk, but even a jerk was too good for Diana.

“What are you saying?” Bev feared she was yelling, but she couldn’t help it. “You don’t like Tom’s family or Tom, either?”

“Shut up, Bev. You don’t understand how much pressure I’ve been under.”

“You have no right to tell me to shut up!” Bev said, exploding. “You have been a menace to me since you were born—a menace to everyone. Including Mama, who you never seem to think about. Even if you didn’t give a damn about crushing me when you ran off with Tom, you might have at least spared a thought for her. There Mama was, dealing with one sick daughter, and the other one disappeared. For all we knew, you were dead!”

“I wish I was.”

“No, you don’t,” Bev said in disgust. “You live to create drama. You’re never happier than when you’ve screwed up and you’re watching the rest of us try to figure out how to straighten everything out again. But there’s no straightening this out. If you marry Tom today, mark my words, your life will be cursed!”

Diana sputtered out a cackle of surprise. “Cursed? Are you God now? Are you casting some horrible spell on me?”

“I wish I could. I wish I could banish you from my sight, from Mama’s, from everybody’s. All you do, all you’ve ever done, is bring people misery. You failed at life and resented me because I didn’t, and so all you could think to do was run off with the only person I’ve ever cared about.”