The Cotton Queen (20 page)

“I thought we might all go to church together,” she said.

“We don’t go to church,” I told her.

“Of course you don’t,” she said. “But I’m your guest and I want to go. You have to humor me.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “You’re not my guest, you’re my mother. You showed up uninvited and you’re not making me go to church with you, just so that you can try to make me feel bad for ‘living in sin’ with the man I love.”

“‘Living in sin,’” she repeated. “Remember that I did not say that, dear, that is your description. And you may love this man, but it seems to me that if he loved you, he’d want to declare it publicly and put a ring on your finger to prove it.”

“Robert doesn’t need to prove anything to me,” I told her. “And he doesn’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Oh, Robert dear, good morning,” she said a moment later as he came out of the bedroom. His hair was standing straight up and he was still unshaven. “I was hoping that you and Laney could take me to church this morning. I hate to go alone, but of course, I will, if you could give me directions or let me follow you in your car again.”

“No, no, you don’t have to go alone,” he told her. “Laney and I will be happy to go with you.”

I wanted to kick him. I wanted to insist that I wouldn’t go. But I knew that Robert wouldn’t, couldn’t, back down after he said he would take her. And the last thing I wanted was for my mother to be able to talk with him about me behind my back. We showered, dressed and went to church. Afterward, Robert bought us both brunch at the Warwick.

“By the next time you come to visit,” he told Babs. “We’ll be able to cook for you at home.”

I had high hopes that she would never come again.

After lunch, we went back to the house. I thought it was time for Babs to head out. I didn’t want any excuse for her to linger.

“It’s a long drive to McKinney,” I mentioned several times.

She didn’t take the hint. Instead she made herself busy in my kitchen, where the paint was dry and the cabinets and shelves were ready to be reloaded. She laid down shelf paper and unpacked boxes. I didn’t like having her take the lead.

“You don’t know where I want things,” I told her.

She nodded. “So, I’ll unpack and hand them to you and you can decide where they should go.”

That seemed reasonable, though I still thought the most reasonable thing was for her to get in her car and drive away.

Neither Robert nor I had a great deal of dishes or utensils. Which was actually a big plus when it came to the two small cabinets in my freshly painted yellow kitchen. The work went quickly and within a half hour we had all of Robert’s meager possessions shelved and most of mine. I was straining to put a nest of mixing bowls on the top shelf when I heard a startled intake of breath behind me.

I turned to see Babs, standing wide-eyed, pale and still as she stared at my SoupKids salt and pepper shakers. She looked as if she might dash them to the floor at any second. I couldn’t believe she would still be angry at me for rescuing them from the trash. I reached over and took them from her hands.

“I see you found Alana and Marley,” I said. “You remember, Aunt Maxine and I saved soup-can labels and sent off for these. That’s what I named them.” I placed them on the windowsill and smiled at the sight of them there. “All the SoupKids are collectors items now,” I told her. “The ones in good condition go for fifty bucks, minimum. Of course, Marley’s hat is broken so that really cuts down on the resale value.”

Babs made a strange, almost inhuman noise that seemed to come from deep within her chest. Then, inexplicably, and to my horror, she rushed to the sink and vomited.

B
ABS

W
HEN
I
RETURNED
to McKinney, I was determined not to allow myself to retreat again into the isolation that I’d been living. My visit to Houston had not been a success. There were so many things that I wanted to say to Laney, so many arguments I wanted to make against wasting her life on a man who had no commitment to her.

Unfortunately my own demons had followed me to their place. After the incident with the salt and pepper shakers, I couldn’t get to my car and get out of there fast enough. Home was where I wanted to go. Home was where I was headed. In fact, I was in such a hurry that I went directly up the interstate driving right through the middle of Dallas, as if that city was no longer any more dangerous than the rest of the world.

Amazingly, in terms of the conversations that I’d had with my daughter, Laney’s words had more effect on me than mine seemed to have on her. My daughter couldn’t see herself marrying someone from McKinney and putting up wallpaper for the rest of her life. Well, for myself, I couldn’t really view that as my future, either.

I was forty years old. My daughter was grown. I had no prospect of grandchildren on the horizon. I had no real friends or social position. I was uninterested in remarriage. But, unless some tragedy occurred, I was likely to live for thirty years. I realized that I had to do something.

I went to see Aunt Maxine. The day hadn’t yet heated up as we sat on her front porch sharing coffee. She was happier and more optimistic than I’d seen her in months.

“Renny is moving home,” she told me.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “He called me last weekend. He asked about you and I told him that you’d gone to Houston. He said he’d been thinking about starting over and that the best place might be home.”

“That’s wonderful.”

She agreed. “I’m thinking about giving him the house.”

“What?” I’m sure my jaw dropped open.

“It’s not easy for a man to live with his mother,” she said. “That treads on a man’s self-respect, somehow. I’ve been thinking for some time that this place is too big for me. I’m going to sign over the deed to Renny and move into an old-folks place.”

“A nursing home?” I was shocked. “Aunt Maxine, you’re much too healthy and vital to move into someplace like that.”

“Not a nursing home,” she answered. “There’s a new kind of place they’ve come up with for old people, Senior Living they call it. They call us seniors instead of old coots. They have these places in Dallas. Every resident has her own apartment and some privacy, but there are group activities and help as well if you need it.”

“You’re moving to Dallas?”

“Oh, no, I could never leave this town,” she said. “I want to live in a place like that here in McKinney.”

“There’s no place like that here.”

“Not yet,” she said. “But you know what your uncle Warren and I always did. If we decided McKinney needed a drive-in or a Laundromat or a dry cleaners, we just built one.”

“You don’t know anything about running a Senior Living Center.”

“Warren didn’t know anything about shoemaking until he got his leg blown apart in the war,” she said. “He needed a more supportive shoe to allow him to stand, so he learned how to make one. Everything we’ve ever done, we’ve started from knowing nothing. I’m not too old to begin with that again.”

I nodded. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I told her. “I’ve decided that I need to go to work.”

“Praise the Almighty!” she exclaimed. “Babs, I was beginning to worry that you were going to sit in the house until you became a piece of furniture.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

“It wasn’t my place to say,” she answered.

“I’m hoping that you’ll give me a job,” I told her.

She shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said. “You don’t need to be working for me. People who work for me do it because they need money. Seems to me you’re set up well enough that money’s not your chief concern. You need to be out there doing something that brings you satisfaction.”

“If only I knew what that was,” I said.

“Surely you’ve done something that you really liked,” she said. “I know you’ve done something that really captured all your thoughts and made you feel helpful, useful. Maybe decorating or some such.”

I shook my head.

“Maybe you could open a little dress shop, you’ve always loved clothes.”

“No, I don’t think I’d want to do that,” I said.

“Well, there’s always running the Cotton Days celebration,” Aunt Maxine said. “You can volunteer to do that again.”

“You know what I really liked,” I said. “I really liked Acee’s political campaign.”

Aunt Maxine rocked thoughtfully in the swing as she nodded. “They’re always needing people for that kind of thing,” she said. “Warm bodies, they call them. With a big election coming up, they’ll be needing plenty.”

Aunt Maxine was exactly right. On the way home, I detoured over to McDonald Street to the former gas station on the corner that now bore a huge sign that read Collin County Republican Headquarters. I parked the Buick and walked inside.

There was only one guy in the building, a stranger. There were so many strangers in McKinney these days. The growth of the subdivisions on the edge of town meant lots of new faces. I figured that not knowing the man was both good and bad. Good, because he’d not think of me as Acee Clifton’s ex-wife. Bad, because he’d have no idea of the level of my competency at community organization.

“Good morning,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Actually I’ve come in to see if I can help you,” I said. “I have some interest and experience in political campaigns and I thought that perhaps you were looking for volunteers.”

He smiled broadly, revealing the perfect, gleaming white teeth that are only available with caps.

“So you’re a supporter of Ronald Reagan.”

“Ronald Reagan?”

“That’s who we’re supporting for president,” he said.

“Ronald Reagan, the actor?” I asked.

The man’s smile disappeared. “Ronald Reagan, the governor of California,” he replied rather sharply.

“Oh sorry, I guess I’m confused,” I apologized profusely. “I haven’t really been keeping up with the newspapers. And I’m a Texan, so I’m not familiar with who’s governor in other states. The only Ronald Reagan I ever heard of was that actor on
Death Valley Days.
Remember him? The guy who sold the Twenty Mule Team Borax, he had that same name.”

The man’s face was beet-red, obviously furious. “Governor Reagan used to be an actor, but now he’s a governor.”

“Oh, it is the same man, oh I’m.... I didn’t know, I...”

The interview, such as it was, went downhill from there. I knew so little about the election, who was running, what the issues might be. My ignorance appalled even me. The last straw was when he asked if I was a registered Republican. I had no idea and had to check my voter registration card.

I left the place feeling stupid, embarrassed and humiliated. I peeled out of the parking lot, directly in front of an oncoming car. I screamed, as I realized he was going to hit me. The sound of screeching brakes was near deafening and he swerved off the road, managing only to give my car one startling jolt.

I sat there behind the wheel, trying to catch my breath.

The door jerked open.

“Babs, good God, are you all right?” a familiar voice said beside me.

“Acee?”

I looked over to see my ex-husband squatting down beside my car. Without any thought, agenda or motive I wrapped my arms around him, grateful for the warmth I knew was there. He hugged me back. It felt wonderful for one long, pleasurable moment and then he pulled away.

“Are you all right?” he repeated.

I nodded, remembering that he was not my husband anymore. “I guess, you just scared the bejeezus out of me,” I said.

“Here, let’s get your car off the road,” he said, helping me to my feet. It was only then that I realized how traffic had begun to back up around our near accident. “Stand on the sidewalk,” he said.

He moved my car off the street. His own was parked far out of the way on the middle of somebody’s lawn. A young motorcycle cop showed up. Acee knew him. I didn’t. We both told our stories. He appeared pretty bored with them until he realized that we were former spouses. Then he was determined to make sure that neither of us had targeted the other.

Ultimately, I was given a ticket. There was some damage to both vehicles, but when Acee told the policeman that he was the one who paid insurance on both cars, the man went on his way. Acee and I lingered.

“You’re looking good,” he told me.

“Thanks. I got a new do,” I admitted. “I went down to see Laney and her boyfriend last weekend and I wanted to look my best.”

He nodded. “Yeah, she called me after you left,” he said. “She told me that you’d gotten sick and she was worried about you. I said I’d check on you this week. But I hadn’t intend to
bump into you
quite this way.”

We both laughed.

“Why aren’t you at the office?” I asked him.

He looked at me strangely for a moment before he replied. “It’s Marley’s birthday,” he said. “I was going out to the cemetery to put flowers on his grave.”

“Oh! Really?”

“I do it every year,” he said. “You knew that.”

“No,” I told him. “I had no idea.”

“I used to ask you to go with me,” he said. “You never wanted to, so I quit asking.”

I thought about that for a long moment, nodding.

“You know, I haven’t been out there since the day we buried him,” I admitted. “I doubt if I could even find his grave if I wanted to.”

His brow furrowed and his expression was incredulous. “He’s buried next to Tom,” he said. “Don’t you remember, you insisted that he be buried next to Tom.”

“No, I didn’t remember that.”

“You haven’t been out to visit Tom’s grave, either,” he said.

“No, no I guess I haven’t,” I said.

He reached down and clasped my hand. “Come with me,” he said.

“What?”

“Come with me to the cemetery. Please,” he added.

I really had no interest in going, but I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse. I got into Acee’s car. A fragrant bouquet of lilacs and baby’s breath lay on the backseat. The meaning of it disturbed me so much that I found myself talking nonstop.

I told him about my encounter in the Republican headquarters. He hooted with laughter.

“Most people who want to help with elections know who’s running,” he pointed out.

“I just enjoyed your campaign so much,” I said. “So much of it is organizing events and getting people and places set up. I really thought I could do that. You’re not thinking of running for office again, are you?”

“No,” he assured me. “Dorrie’s great, but she wouldn’t make a good politician’s wife, she’s way too honest. Maybe you should find a cause to support. They have campaigns that are just as intense and political as any election.”

“I’ll think about it,” I told him.

The conversation drifted to Laney and Robert.

“She’s got to find her own way,” Acee said. “I don’t know if this guy is right for her or wrong for her. But until they both know, maybe it is best if they don’t get married.”

“Acee, think what people must be thinking, what they must be saying,” I said.

He glanced over at me and chuckled. “You and I, probably one of the most well-known divorced couples in McKinney, just drove through downtown together in the same car. Can you even imagine what people are thinking or saying about that?”

He had a point. If anyone had seen us, the gossips’ tongues would be wagging nonstop.

“But we know we’re just driving together to the cemetery,” I pointed out. “It’s all innocent. With Laney, well, I didn’t ask for specifics, but I’m fairly certain that she and Robert are not sharing a bed because of a shortage of sheets.”

Acee shrugged. “I slept with Dorrie before I married her,” he said.

“I don’t want to know that.”

“I didn’t sleep with her while I was still married to you,” he said. “You probably do want to know that. But is it so terrible to have sex before you’re married?”

“Yes, the whole thing about marriage is that married people have sex,” I told him.

“I don’t think it’s the whole thing about marriage,” he said. “I mean if sex was everything, I’d never have stayed with you twelve years. Our sex life was simply terrible.”

I was so shocked at his statement, I gasped.

“I hope you’re not going to pretend that’s not true,” he said. “You hated my touch. I’ve heard lots of jokes about women who fake orgasm, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever known or heard of that had to fake affection.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to deny it. But I didn’t bother.

“Sorry,” I said, simply.

“Me, too,” he said.

The cemetery was huge, much larger than I’d remembered with webs of new roads and whole new sections of graves. Acee drove to a part more familiar. The giant trees hung over the lawns with stark shadows in the heat of midday. Acee pulled up to the curb.

“Come on, let’s say happy birthday to the little guy,” he said, grabbing the flowers from the back.

It felt strange, otherworldly, as I followed Acee. The little grave was exactly where I had left it. The tiny lamb carved into the stone was just as I had remembered.
Marley Barstow Clifton
it read,
July 18–October 30, 1964.

“Babs, are you okay,” Acee said beside me.

The sight of the stone blurred as tears filled my eyes.

“My baby!” I choked out and dropped to my knees at his tiny grave.

I remembered everything about him, his little hands and his little toes, the tiny mewling cries and the dark eyes that never once focused on my face. He had been so small, so helpless, so dependent upon me. I’d failed him.

For the second time that day, Acee wrapped his arms around me. He knelt at my side, holding me, lovingly, tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let it out, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I told him. “I killed him. I killed this precious child.”