Chasing Justice (4 page)

“I was just going to say I was hungry. I haven’t eaten yet.” The two broke out into a laugh as Betty slapped her hand across her forehead. “Coming right up,” she called as she hustled into the kitchen.

The average person might take for granted how much an upbringing prepares one for adulthood. By the time most people hit their mid-twenties they are, at a bare minimum, equipped to attend a casual dinner at the home of an acquaintance. But, of course, most folks don’t have the paralyzing social ineptitude that comes from being raised by criminals.

Piper sat in front of her computer staring at the void line of a ready and waiting search engine. She wasn’t quite sure how to word her inquiry, and it had her eyes practically crossing as she tried to focus on the screen.

Finally she typed in “How to act at a dinner party” and hit enter. Much to her surprise she was met with over seven hundred thousand results. Perhaps she wasn’t the only person in the world not given the tools to succeed. And, like so many times before, the vast information floating around the Internet had saved the day.

She browsed over each link and settled for the blog including five easy steps of dinner party etiquette. She figured she couldn’t possibly go wrong with five easy steps. She pulled out her notebook and proceeded to jot them down. She always seemed to retain more information when she was writing it for herself.

Step 1: Always bring a gift or dish for the host and hostess.

Step 2: Unfold your napkin and place it across your lap. When your meal is finished place the napkin neatly back on the table.

Step 3: Wait your turn for food. It is traditional to serve the most senior lady at the table, then the other ladies in descending order of rank (usually equating to age unless you have royalty staying), and lastly the gentlemen.
Never
start eating until the hostess begins to eat.

Step 4: With many different sets of cutlery beside the plate, start at the outside and work in. If in doubt, look at what the other guests are using.

Step 5: Make polite conversation with those guests around you. Dinner parties are not just about the food; they are intended to be a sociable occasion.

Piper closed her notebook feeling like those were pretty manageable rules to follow. Now she just had to pick something to wear and which dish she would bring for Betty, considering her plates were all pretty plain.

As Piper approached the house at the address Betty had given her, she felt tightness in her chest. Social endeavors of any kind were something she avoided. She continued to remind herself this would all be worth it when she was working at the cable company and coming and going out of people’s houses without having to put breaking and entering onto her record.

Betty’s home was fairly unassuming and old-fashioned. Parts of it teetered on being in disrepair in Piper’s opinion. The clapboard siding was faded with the paint chipping and peeling. The bones of the house seemed tired but the attempts at keeping it fresh were easy to see. The garden was full of fresh blossoms and the hedges that hugged the outside of the house were well-kept and blooming beautifully. The windows were sparkling, and white cotton sheer curtains were blowing in and out of them with the breeze. The front porch had an old style hanging swing with floral cushions that Piper immediately found inviting. She imagined how relaxing it would be to waste away an afternoon there.

It was farther outside of town than Piper expected. She didn’t realize Betty had a twenty-minute drive to work each day and that the house would be tucked so far from the road. The long dirt driveway was lined with trees and an old stone wall that had seen better days. It was quieter here than any place Piper had ever been. The only real noises she heard were the idling of her own car engine and the birds chirping in the trees.

As Piper parked her car she saw Betty’s rusted blue sedan and a shiny, red antique pick-up truck
parked ahead of her. She reached into the back to get her purse and the plain blue empty plate she had brought. And finally it hit her. The article she read didn’t mean to bring your hostess an empty plate; it meant a
dish,
like peas or salad! “What an idiot,” she thought to herself, feeling grateful that she hadn’t brought the stupid plate in with her. She rummaged through her glove box to see if she had something that would qualify as a gift for her hostess. Nothing. Well, rule number one had been broken.

Piper walked toward the house and heard the swinging of a screen door as Betty stepped out onto the porch to greet her. Betty’s smile wasn’t a cosmetically pretty one, but the way it spread across her whole face made it striking.

“I’m so glad you found the house. We’re so excited to have you, and I hope you’re hungry. I know you’re not from down South, so I made you some good ol’ fashioned country food for you to try out.” Betty hardly took a breath as she spoke, and Piper only had time to nod and follow her obediently into the house.

“I’ve got some more work to do in the kitchen so you go on into the sitting room, it’s two doors down that hall. I’ll get the rest of the meal all finished up.” She pulled her apron back up over her head and around her neck. Before Piper could ask if there was anything she could help with, Betty was gone.

Piper intended to make some polite conversation with Julie and Scott and do her best to not sound like a fool until Betty came back. As she entered the sitting room she was surprised to see Bobby lounging comfortably on the couch reading a car magazine.

“What are you doing here?” Piper asked without the slightest attempt to cover her disappointment at his presence.

Bobby did a slightly better job at hiding his surprise. He had years of experience at dealing with Betty’s meddling ways. He kept his face unaffected as she spoke. “I come here every Wednesday night for dinner, but I would have made the exception and skipped tonight had I known I’d be in mixed company.” He barely spared her a glance over the top of his magazine before nonchalantly returning to his reading.

At the sight of this man lounging confidently and flinging insults her way, Piper felt her fight or flight mechanism kick in. Running out of the room seemed slightly ruder than engaging him in some hostile banter, so fight would have to do right now. “Do you have some sort of mental disorder or something? Because it seems like you do a lot of the same things at the same time in the same place every week. You might want to have that checked out. I’m going to give Betty a hand in the kitchen.” Piper turned to leave as Bobby stood up. She was still taken aback by his height and the width of his shoulders, but more so by the way he carried his size. He was so much larger than her but not the least bit intimidating.

“No, don’t go into the kitchen. Then Betty will think I was rude to you, and I’ll catch hell for it. Sit down and I promise not to bother you.” He caught her elbow gently and she felt a shock go through her body. Its intensity was unfamiliar and scary. She didn’t think she liked the way Bobby’s touch rocked her. He pointed to the wingback chair across from the couch.

Piper looked closely at the chair, peeking on either side of it and behind it.

“What are you looking for?” Bobby asked, thinking this girl might be crazy.

“I’m trying to make sure your name isn’t on this chair anywhere. I’d hate to take a seat that belongs to you again. I’ve learned my lesson.” Piper kept her face intentionally serious even though she felt like a wry smirk would fit the moment better. Bobby rolled his eyes and flopped back to his seat heavily. He pulled the magazine up in front of his face and she felt slightly victorious as she caught a glimpse of the corners of his mouth rising in a reluctant smile.

The screen door squeaked open and slammed shut as someone else entered the house. A younger version of Betty stood in the doorway of the sitting room. She had all of Betty’s features: the small pointed nose, almond shaped eyes, and feminine jaw line. But they were all in a form that had not been weathered by half a lifetime of worry. Her hair, however, was crimson red—not at all like Betty’s dark caramel tresses that were now streaked with gray. Everything about this girl seemed perfectly proportioned and delicate. Her nails were artfully polished, her hair bright and voluminous. Her lips were a soft pink and freshly glossed contrasting her pale complexion which was dotted with endearing little freckles. It would have been easy to tell which attributes came from her mother and which from her father, even without ever meeting him.

“Hi, you must be Piper. I’m Jules.” She reached her hand out and Piper shook it firmly. Piper meant to say that it was nice to meet her as well, that she was grateful to Betty for having her over for dinner and helping her to get a job. Instead all that came out was a timid “hello” and then it was too late, the conversation moved on without her. Piper hated how the events in her life over the past few years had changed her so greatly and how weak she must look to people. She missed being labeled as a firecracker and partaking in clever banter. She felt constantly confined by her new identity and her responsibility to maintain its credibility.

“So you don’t even say hello anymore, Bobby? Have you been as rude to poor Piper here as you’ve been to the rest of us lately?” Jules’s hand rested on her hip, and she stood on tippy-toes to catch Bobby’s eye over the top of his magazine.

“Hello Jules. Where’s Scott, or have you wised up and left him?” He raised his magazine higher as a shield from her frosty stare.

“You’re such an ass. Actually he’s stuck on a job. He’ll be here when he’s finished.” She crossed the small room and sat beside him on the couch. She was just about to turn the conversation back to Piper when Bobby spoke.

“Some big cable company emergency? Boy they sure are lucky to have a dedicated guy like Scott there when HBO is on the fritz. I’m sure he’s up for a medal or something by now.” He threw his magazine to the coffee table and readied himself for Jules to fire back. Piper was having a hard time telling if they were both enjoying
themselves or genuinely couldn’t stand each other. Regardless, she was slightly envious of the chemistry between them. This was the dynamic she had missed since moving here.

“You know what Bobby? His job is important, and he’s good at it. What’s the point of having some big job like yours if you’re just going to screw it up in the first place?” Piper cringed with the direct hit that Bobby had just taken to his ego.

“Whatever, I’m going in the kitchen to see if Betty needs any more help with dinner. The sooner it’s ready the sooner I can get out of here.” He went to stand and Jules grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back to the couch.

“No way, if you go in there she’ll know I am giving you a hard time and she’ll give me hell for it,” Jules stammered.

With that, Bobby’s eyes met Piper’s and they both did their best to stifle a laugh.

“Supper’s ready,” Betty called from the kitchen. It was still strange to Piper to hear the last meal of the day referred to as supper, rather than dinner. There were certainly things down South she felt she’d never get accustomed to.

Piper felt her palms begin to sweat as she ran through the rules of etiquette once more in her mind. She waited for everyone to take what she assumed were customary seats. Betty pointed to the open chair by Bobby, and Piper cringed inside at the thought of having to apply rule number five regarding polite conversation to him. She was still beating herself up about blowing it on rule number one, but was relieved to see a paper towel in place of a napkin sitting across her plate. She still laid it over her lap, but at least it wasn’t a beautifully folded cloth napkin to contend with. She also noticed that there was no endless line of different shaped cutlery at either side of her plate, just a fork and knife.

“So Piper, this meal is about as country as it gets, and I won’t be offended it you don’t like it. I know we all tend to like what we grew up on. You eat what you like; no feelings will be hurt here. What was your favorite dish growing up, dear?” Betty asked as she served herself a heaping spoon of mashed potatoes and passed the bowl over to Bobby. Piper noticed no one at the table seemed to have read the same article she had regarding etiquette.

“Um… we ate a lot of takeout when I was growing up. Pizza, fast food, not a lot of home cooking, but this all looks amazing, I’m sure I’ll love it. Are these your own recipes or something from a cookbook?” Piper had become incredibly astute at redirecting a conversation away from her. She had found people generally enjoyed talking about themselves more than listening anyway.

Betty proceeded to go into elaborate detail about how the fried chicken recipe had been handed down through many generations of her family. She talked at length of how it was her mother who had started adding sour cream to the mashed potatoes, her great-grandmother who had first fried the okra, and how the biscuits were a family secret.

Piper, who had no appreciation for cooking, or food for that matter, was astonished by the pride Betty associated with the simple act of mixing up some ingredients. It was another reminder there was no shortage of things that separated Piper from the rest of the world.

The screen door swung open and slammed shut again, and in walked a stocky bald man wearing the navy button-down shirt of the cable company. This must be Scott, thought Piper. He was as dull looking as Betty had implied. Piper thought she recalled Jules mentioning that Scott was twenty-eight, but he could easily pass for forty. His eyes were slightly vacant and droopy like those of a basset hound. His round face was flush and sweaty from working outdoors. Piper thought if you put a hard hat and tool belt on this guy he could be the poster child for blue-collar work in the South.