Magnolia Wednesdays (9 page)

9

M
ELANIE FINISHED PACKING Trip’s lunch, tucking the frozen water bottle into its own plastic bag to prevent leakage while keeping things “refrigerated,” then pulled a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk from the refrigerator. Coffee dripped into the carafe of the coffeemaker, the smell of the warm brew almost, but not quite, as potent as that first gulp of caffeine.

Upstairs Trip’s alarm buzzed and was followed by the sound of her son clomping to the bathroom. A few moments later water ran in his shower. Trip was like clockwork physically—he got up, showered, and dressed each school morning without prodding, but his brain didn’t really kick in until much later. This could not be said of Shelby, who would stay in bed until the last possible moment and then require both prodding and ejecting to remove her from it. When she did get out of bed, she was in a foul mood, which she liked to share with those around her.

Melanie was on her second cup of coffee and had Trip’s bacon and eggs plated and on the table when her son thudded down the stairs.

“Morning, sweetie,” she said, wondering as she always did how he managed to shower and dress without actually opening his eyes.

His greeting was garbled and his eyes mere slits as she pulled out the kitchen chair and guided him into it. Without further comment he lifted the glass of orange juice and drained it. In a matter of minutes his plate was empty.

“Morning, Mel.”

Melanie looked up in surprise at Vivien’s greeting. She was even more surprised to see that her sister was fully dressed.

“Oh, my God,” Vivi said. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell?”

Melanie hesitated, unable to believe her sister could have an ounce of vacant space inside her, given the amount of lasagna she’d consumed the night before. “Yes. Do you want some?”

“That would be great.” Vivien mussed the top of Trip’s head as she passed. “I’m completely ravenous.”

Melanie lit the burner under the frying pan without comment. “You want some coffee?”

Vivien looked at the pot longingly but declined. “I think I’ll just have some tea.” She whipped bags of chamomile from her pants pocket. “I’m trying to lay off the caffeine.”

“Okay.” Melanie filled the teakettle and put it on to boil. When the frying pan was hot again, she laid strips of bacon in it, then popped four slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. Upstairs Shelby’s alarm clock blared on, the beep sirenlike in its intensity.

How Shelby could tune out the sound, which originated about six inches from her head, Melanie didn’t know. But she did know that somebody needed to go upstairs and pry her out of bed.

Despite his superior size and physical strength, Trip wasn’t awake enough to be sent into such hazardous combat. Melanie’s own hands were full with breakfast. Removing the now-whistling kettle from the burner, she poured the boiling water into the mug that held Vivien’s teabag and realized she had another option.

“I’ve got breakfast under control,” Melanie said casually. “Would you mind getting Shelby up? If she doesn’t get in the shower right now, I’ll get stuck in the car-pool line from hell.”

“Sure.”

Melanie felt a brief flash of guilt for sending her sister up unarmed and without a warning. But Vivien was a big girl and had managed to survive in New York for over a decade; she’d even been shot. Surely she could handle one seventeen-year-old girl.

She hid her smile as Vivien climbed the stairs. While she cracked eggs into a bowl, then began to scramble them, Melanie eavesdropped. There was murmuring, Vivien’s words crisp and pointed, Shelby’s an indecipherable whine. The alarm went off in midbeep. Melanie and Trip exchanged a glance, but studiously avoided placing bets on who would win the skirmish.

Just when it seemed there’d be nothing to hear, there was a yelp. Then another. A loud thud followed as something—or someone—hit the floor.

Melanie flipped the bacon and gave the eggs a final scramble. There was a shout. The stomp of angry feet, though it wasn’t clear whose. A door slammed, then was yanked open, then slammed again.

Trip snorted with laughter when the shower in Shelby’s bathroom went on. He hummed the theme song from
Rocky
as Vivien walked unsteadily down the back stairs into the kitchen.

Her blouse had come untucked and her hair stuck out in strange angles from her head. A grim, but satisfied, smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes still carried the glint of battle.

“You might have warned me,” she said.

“Sorry.” Melanie dished the food onto their plates and handed one to her sister. “I thought you’d be the perfect person for the job. You never used to be a morning person, either.” They carried their plates to the kitchen table and settled in to eat. “I’m a little surprised to see you up and dressed,” she said as Vivien tucked into her food. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“Just thought I’d tag along with you today.”

For a moment Melanie thought she’d misheard. She finished chewing. Swallowed. “With me? You want to spend the whole day with me?”

Vivien piled some scrambled egg on half a piece of toast and lifted it toward her mouth. “Unless I’ll be in the way.”

Melanie studied her sister for a long moment. She was wearing nice pants and a crisp white blouse. Her shoes were pointy-toed with three-inch heels. “I’m not actually going anywhere in particular,” she pointed out. “I’m going to drop the kids off, run errands, do a volunteer shift, give a private lesson—nothing you’d find particularly interesting.”

But Vivien’s eyes didn’t glaze over as they usually did when Melanie mentioned the mostly mundane details of her life.

“No, I’m really curious to see how you spend your day,” Vivien said. “If you don’t mind, I want to do all those things with you.”

“Why?”

Vivien shrugged. “I’ve always wondered what you do all day.”

Melanie tried to process this as they finished their meal. Part of her felt flattered by Vivien’s interest. The larger part of her was already cringing at how boring and trivial her day would seem to her sister. “Do you want to go change?”

Vivien took in Melanie’s stretch jeans, cotton twinset, and beat-up Nikes. There was a strange note of defiance in her voice when she said, “I don’t own any mommy clothes.”

Shelby clomped down the stairs at that moment in a low-cut long-sleeved T-shirt and a tight jean skirt that left her long bare thighs exposed. Her hair was freshly washed, blow-dried, and straightened; her makeup had apparently been applied with a trowel.

Melanie sighed. “That skirt is way too short,” she said. “Hurry up and change. And while you’re up there you can remove some of that makeup.”

Shelby didn’t move. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes or my makeup,” Shelby said. “Besides, I don’t have time for that. I need to be at a help session for History.”

Melanie’s lips clamped shut. Leave it to Shelby to try to turn this into an either/or situation. “If you’d gotten up when your alarm went off, we wouldn’t have to choose between looking acceptable or getting to a morning help session.”

“If you hadn’t sent such a . . . novice . . . to get me out of bed, I would have been ready earlier.” Shelby sent Vivien a taunting look.

“Novice?” Vivien took in Shelby’s getup. “You look like a professional in that getup. If you insist on advertising, someone’s going to want to take you up on it.”

Leave it to Vivien to call a spade a spade, Melanie thought as she stepped between them. She might not be able to force her sister to dress appropriately for her surroundings; her daughter was another story. “Shelby, go tone down your makeup and put on a pair of pants or a longer skirt; that one’s indecent. You’ve got five minutes.”

With a groan and an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Shelby stomped upstairs.

“Trip—in the car.” Melanie dumped the frying pan, spatula, and dishes in the sink to be dealt with later. “Vivi, are you sure you want to come?” She gave her sister one last chance to back out before heading toward the garage to fire up the minivan.

“Shotgun!” Trip called out, grabbing up his backpack and falling in behind her.

“
I’m
riding shotgun,” Vivien said in answer as she followed Trip and the toned-down Shelby. “Age before beauty, kid. And as nice as it is to hear your voice, I wouldn’t bother trying to call it again. As long as I’m here I’ve got permanent dibs on the front seat.”

Melanie backed down the drive. In the cul-de-sac, she put the car in drive but spotted trouble up ahead. “It’s Catherine. Don’t make eye contact!” She and both kids snapped their gazes forward.

“What are you doing?” Vivi asked.

“See the redbrick with the convertible in the driveway up on the left?” Melanie dropped her voice to a whisper, keeping her own gaze straight ahead.

Vivien sneaked a look as they drew closer. A long-legged blonde in skintight jeans and a sprayed on T-shirt was leaning over the passenger side of a silver Mercedes two-seater, her shapely rear end pointed at the street. “Not bad,” Vivien said, taking in the perfectly sculpted body and, when she turned, the too-perfect face. “But I don’t think much of it’s original.”

“That’s Catherine Dennison. Her ex-husband is a plastic surgeon. Ongoing work was part of her divorce settlement.”

Vivi laughed and took another look as Melanie slowed for the stop sign across from Catherine’s house.

“Careful!” Melanie warned. “If you make eye contact, we’ll . . . oh, damn. Here she comes!”

Cradling a ball of white fluff in the crook of one arm, Catherine left the Mercedes to flag them down. Mouth arranged into what she hoped would pass for a smile, Melanie pulled to a full stop.

“I just wanted to make sure you got the invitation to Claire’s starring performance in the high school production of
South Pacific
next week,” Catherine Dennison said when Melanie had rolled the window down. “She’s playing Nellie Forbush. And just wait until you hear her solos! Why, she’s been tapped for a Who’s Who in High School Drama, and the head of the drama department at Pemberton thinks she can get a college scholarship for either acting or music performance.”

The blonde paused to draw a breath—something she didn’t have to do nearly enough—and noticed Vivien in the passenger seat. “That must be your sister,” she said. “You all look like spitting images of each other. Why, I bet . . .”

Knowing there was unlikely to be another breath drawn anytime soon, Melanie dove in. “Catherine, this is my sister, Vivien. Vivi, Catherine.”

Vivien nodded. Catherine opened her mouth, but Melanie was afraid to let her get started again.

“We’ll be glad to buy some tickets, though I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make the performance,” Melanie said. “Why don’t you just have Claire drop them in our mailbox and then I’ll drop off a check?”

Catherine opened her mouth again.

“You know I hate to cut you off,” Melanie interrupted again. “But Shelby’s already late for an appointment at school.” She would not tell this woman that Shelby needed help with History, among other things. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

Catherine’s mouth was still open when they pulled away.

“Good grief,” Vivi said, “what was that all about?”

“Once she gets started, you can spend a good twenty minutes listening to the details of Catherine and Claire’s great adventures. It just depresses the hell out of me.”

“Was that a
dog
she was holding?” Vivi asked as Melanie drove toward the front of the neighborhood.

“Oh, yes. It’s a Havanese named . . .” Melanie pursed her lips to try to give it the same inflection Catherine used. “. . . Pucci. And it’s even more . . . precious . . . than her daughter, Claire, who’s in Shelby’s grade. We avoid all of them whenever possible. Trust me, it’s easier that way.”

As Melanie zoomed out of the neighborhood and onto Roswell Road toward Pemberton High School, Vivien tried to whip up some enthusiasm for what lay ahead. It was barely seven thirty and she’d already wrestled one teenager out of bed and beat out another for the seat she sat in. And people thought living in New York was tough.

Still, the proper frame of mind was essential. If she was going to glean story ideas from how suburbanites like her sister spent the day, she needed to keep her eyes and mind open, try to let go of her preconceived notions, and see things through fresh eyes.

Perhaps it would help if she envisioned herself as a modern-day Jane Goodall about to observe the social interactions of chimpanzees. So thinking, Vivien stared intently out the window as neighborhoods and businesses flashed by.

Throughout the twelve-minute drive, Shelby, whose most critical body parts were now covered, alternately pouted and texted. Trip stared silently out his window. The tinny beat from both of their iPods dueled it out in the backseat.

Melanie drove quickly and efficiently. In the car-pool line at the school’s entrance, she performed the required maneuvers with a finesse born of experience. It was almost like watching a surgeon operate. Or a prima ballerina gliding through the intricate steps of an oft-performed ballet.

“We’re lucky traffic’s so light this morning,” Melanie observed as they left the residential area and turned back onto Upper Roswell Road.