Old Wounds (29 page)

Elizabeth checked the car clock for the third time. It was almost one and still no sign of Rosemary. She glanced up at the façade of the shopping mall and grimaced at the bold green letters proclaiming that this was the home of Trish Trantham Lifeworks.
I am
not
going in there to talk with Patricia Mullins unless Rosemary’s here. And I don’t want to talk to Trish Trantham either. Whatever she calls herself, I call her a
—

“Mum!” Rosemary was rapping on her car window. “There was a huge traffic jam just outside Asheville or I’d have been here sooner. Let’s go!”

The emerald green door was opening as they approached it, and a plump young woman, her brown hair skewered atop her head in an unbecoming and uncompromising knot, emerged. Her arms cradled a towering stack of padded mailers and she called back over her shoulder, “All
right,
I said I would, didn’t I? Give it a rest, Trish.”

Catching sight of Elizabeth and Rosemary, she smiled sourly. “Oh, my! Old home week!” Protuberant blue eyes studied them briefly through thick glasses. “She’s waiting for you.” The young woman bared her teeth in an unpleasantly knowing smile. “In there. Let the games begin.”

G
RAMMER
G
REY

September 1986

M
UM’S MOTHER
,
GRAMMER
Grey, had finally come to visit. At least five times since they had moved to North Carolina, Grammer had called and said that she was coming—just for a few days, just to see her darling grandbabies. Each time, a whirlwind of cleaning and mowing and finishing incomplete bits of the house had made life unbearable for several weeks, and each time there had been the last-minute phone call. Mum’s face would go all blank, and after a few words she would hang up and say, Well, girls, Grammer says to tell you how sorry she is, but she can’t come up after all. She’s…not feeling well.

Rosemary remembered her grandmother Grey…sort of. She had pale blond hair, red-lipstick lips, and was very thin. Grand-mère was what she had taught Rosie to call her, back when the Goodweathers lived in Florida. Only “Grandmère” was hard to say and it had turned into “Grammer,” no matter how much Grace Howell Grey protested.

Grace Howell Grey, that’s what Mum said when she talked about Grammer to Pa. Grace Howell Grey says we should send Laurie to Montessori school—there’s one in Asheville, Mum would say in a prissy kind of voice; or Grace Howell Grey says Rosemary needs to go to dancing class; or Grace Howell Grey wants to know when we’re getting indoor plumbing.

Never, if it’ll keep that old harpy from coming here, Pa had said.

But finally Grammer had come—not to the farm, but to a big hotel in Asheville. She had driven out to the farm for lunch and been taken on a tour of the house. Everything looked beautiful, Rosemary thought. Mum and Pa had stayed up late the night before, waxing the living room floor till the broad oak boards shone. She and Laurie had skated on them in their sock feet till it was time for Grammer to arrive.

There were big vases of flowers everywhere. Rosemary had helped pick them first thing in the morning—lavender chrysanthemums, black-eyed Susans, the dangling pink begonias whose seeds looked like paper airplanes. Even Laurie had picked a bunch of those inky-blue wildflowers that Mum called Great Lobelia.

But Grammer hadn’t seemed to notice the flowers. Her sharp blue eyes had darted everywhere as she came into the house and her high heels had tap-tap-tapped on the shiny floor. Well, Elizabeth, she had said to Mum. Here I am.

Mum had hugged Grammer and said, I’m glad you’re here. I’ll show you the house and then we’ll have some lunch. I’ve made chicken salad by your recipe.

Pa was holding two interesting shopping bags with crackly pink tissue paper sticking out of them. Thank you, Sam, Grammer had said, taking them from him. These are for the girls.

They had both been disappointed to see that the presents were just clothes, but at least Rosemary knew enough to smile and say Thank you, Grammer; it’s very pretty—even though she hated dresses and wasn’t crazy about pink either.

Laurie, prompted by a nudge from her mother, had reeled off a ThankyouverymuchGrammer, then had completely ignored the smocked green velvet dress in favor of putting the shopping bag over her head and clumping straight-legged about the living room pretending to be a robot.

Well. Grammer had said after the tour of the house. It’s rather small and rustic for my taste. And why in god’s name you don’t have a proper bathroom, I cannot understand. When I was a child in Alabama we visited relatives once—second or third cousins—who lived out in the country. They had an outhouse. I didn’t think it was cute then and I don’t think it’s cute now.

Mum had put pretty place mats and napkins on the table and the silver had been polished too. There was chicken salad on a lettuce leaf and a hot cheesy bread Mum said had a French name—something like goo-jeir. Grammer ate most of her chicken salad but only took one bite of the cheesy bread. Too rich for me, Elizabeth, she said, and put it to one side of her plate. I have to be careful if I don’t want to put on weight. And speaking of weight, how much have you gained since you’ve been here? I hate to see you letting yourself go this way.

Three bloody pounds! That’s what I’ve gained! And not a single nice thing could she find to say about the house, the view, the garden, even the girls. Rosie’s too quiet and Laurie’s too loud…and why didn’t we give them family names instead of naming them after herbs? If we’d had a boy, would we have named him Basil? I tell you, Sam, there’s nothing I can do to please her.

Relax, Liz. She’s leaving tomorrow. We’ll go in, have a nice dinner, and say good-bye. We’ll all be polite and pleasant to the old harpy and that’ll be it for a year or so. Maybe longer if we don’t tell her we’re having a septic tank put in next week.

Rosemary could hear Mum fussing as she and Pa got dressed. They were all going in to Asheville tonight to have dinner at Grammer’s fancy hotel. Very much against her wishes, Laurel had been put into the new green dress—I want to wear my striped overalls, she had insisted. Rosemary hadn’t argued; that was for babies.

Pa and Mum came into the living room. Rosemary was reading Where the Wild Things Are out loud while Laurie stomped around pretending to be Max in his wolf suit. Mum looked at them with a funny smile. I have to say, Sam, Grace Howell Grey has an eye for clothes. Don’t they both look beautiful?

Pa smiled too. They do clean up right good, Liz. He made his voice sound like Miss Birdie’s husband, Luther. Fact is, yore a right handsome woman yore ownself, Miz Goodweather.

Mum was wearing a soft-looking white blouse and a dark swirly skirt that had little purple and green squiggles in it. Pa had on a pale blue shirt and gray pants and a dark blue coat. There was even a tie around his neck. Rosemary didn’t think that she’d ever seen Pa with a tie on. She hadn’t even known he had one.

Come on, all you fine-lookin’ women, Pa said. We’re off for dinner with Grammer. Best behavior, Miss Laurie Lou!

Laurel’s red curls bobbed as she nodded vigorously. I’ll be very nice to the old harby!

By the time the dessert came, Laurie’s eyes were heavy. She spooned up her ice cream laboriously, her eyelids drifting shut between mouthfuls. Finally Mum took Laurel from her chair and held her in her lap, where Laurie immediately went fast asleep.

Rosemary had been sleepy, too, but the arrival of her crème brûlée and the intense joy of cracking her spoon against the brittle caramelized sugar had awakened her. She ate the delicious creamy dessert very slowly, taking tiny spoonfuls to make it last.

The waiter was at the table again. He had brought first one and then another bottle of wine. Now Grammer was saying Three Irish coffees.

No, thank you, Grace, I have to drive, said Pa. Just black coffee will be great.

Just coffee for me, too, Mum said.

The waiter nodded and went away. Grammer poured the last of the red wine into her glass and lifted it. Well, here’s to the Goodweathers and their oh-so-happy life. Pardon me if I don’t get it. I guess I’m just not a nature girl like my older daughter.

Mum’s eye darted toward Pa and she started to say something, but Grammer kept on. I only asked you to let the girls spend the night here with me. There’s a lovely heated indoor pool they could swim in tomorrow and I could drive them out to the farm before I head back for Florida.

Thank you, Mother, but I don’t think…anyway, they don’t have their bathing suits
—

There’s a nice little shop right here in the hotel—all sorts of swimwear…I’ll buy them some
—

—
and Laurie’s never spent the night away from home
—

She’s old enough to start now. Grammer’s face was growing red and her voice was getting louder. I want to spend some time with my granbabies! You dragged them away from civilization—their grandmother, their aunt…Grammer grabbed Rosemary’s hand and the spoon with the last bite of crème brûlée fell onto the pink velvet, leaving a white smear. Grammer’s hand held Rosemary’s wrist very tightly.

Mum? Rosie looked at her mother, who was clutching the sleeping Laurel. Grammer was standing now and trying to make Rosemary get up and come with her.

Mum? Rosemary whispered.

She slept most of the way back to the farm. She had the whole back seat to herself because Mum was still holding Laurie. She woke up once to hear her parents talking softly.

I got her back to her room, Pa was saying. She was pretty well staggering by the time we got there. And into the maudlin, nobody-loves-me thing. But she collapsed on her bed and told me to leave her alone and take you and the girls home.

Mum didn’t say anything and Pa continued in the same low voice. Rosie looked kind of freaked. What did you tell her?

Mum’s voice was cold and hard, like a stone in the shade. I told her Grammer had too much to drink. Again.

Pa’s voice was very soft. Liz, as I was leaving her room, she said, Tell my daughter I apologize.

Mum didn’t answer at first. When she did, the stone had turned to ice. She always does, Mum said.