Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (35 page)

I swallowed, forced the brightest smile I could muster, and turned to face her. “It’s very pretty. I . . . I love it.” Though my words rang false in my ears, Aunt Tootie never noticed.

“Oh, I’m thrilled you like it.” She walked toward me and pressed her palms to my cheeks. “And I love your hair in that long braid. We could tie a ribbon in it for the party. Would you like that?”

I nodded, grateful that she didn’t want me to wear my hair in some silly updo or, worse, have it curled.

“Now, where are those lace-top socks and black patent-leather shoes I got to go with your dress?”

“Right here,” I said, heading for the closet. I tried on the socks and shoes, then turned and faced my aunt.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Cecelia Rose!” she chirped. “You look just like a Madame Alexander doll.”

It was all I could do not to throw up.

“Oh, and I was thinking,” my aunt said, fussing with the sash again, “why don’t you invite Dixie Lee McAllister to the party?”

I wanted Dixie to see me in this dress about as much as I wanted to eat a bag of dirt. “Dixie went to visit her grandma in Louisiana,” I blurted. A statement that was true. And to completely close the door on the conversation, I lied and said, “She told me that she won’t be home till late Sunday afternoon.”

“Well, that’s a shame. I’d hoped your new friend could be here.” Aunt Tootie stepped back and scanned me from head to toe. “Are you sure those shoes are comfortable? You’ll be wearing them all afternoon.”

I nodded, said they felt fine, and thanked her for everything she’d done for me. I was certain she had no idea how badly I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Never had I been more grateful than when she untied the sash, unzipped the dress, and took it downstairs to be steamed.

On the morning of the party, I woke to Aunt Tootie’s voice rising through my open windows. “Right over there. Yes, that’s perfect. Now, y’all be careful. Watch out. Don’t step on my flowers!”

The clock on my night chest read 7:55. Wondering what was going on so early, I pushed back the covers and padded to the window. In the garden below, a group of men in matching uniforms were erecting a yellow-and-white-striped canopy on a frame of steel posts. Aunt Tootie stood in the center of the patio wearing a blue seersucker robe and a mesh hairnet tied around a head full of curlers.

I threw on shorts and a T-shirt, slipped into my shoes, and headed down the stairs. As I entered the kitchen, Aunt Tootie walked through the back door, looking frazzled. “Sorry about all the commotion. I about fainted when I came downstairs to put coffee on and the doorbell rang. I can’t believe Miller’s Party Rental showed up so early. I could’ve sworn I told them to come at nine o’clock. Oh, well,” she said, pulling a cup and saucer from the cupboard, “early is always better than late.”

I stood at the window and watched a team of men pull the canopy into position. “Why are they putting up a tent? It’s not supposed to rain, is it?”

“I always have a canopy set up for an outdoor party. Keeps the birds from ruining things when they perch in the trees and do their business. Plus, it offers some nice shade for the tables.”

Mrs. Odell wandered into the kitchen. “Good morning. That’s a beautiful tent, Tootie, so festive.”

“Good morning, Gertrude. I apologize for the ruckus. I hope it didn’t wake you.”

“Oh, heavens, no. I was up at seven. I always read a few pages in my Bible on Sunday mornings. Then I went through my clothes and tried to decide what I should wear for the party. I hope I don’t embarrass you. I don’t have anything dressy . . .”

While Aunt Tootie and Mrs. Odell chattered back and forth, I went out to the porch and watched the workmen. I’d never been to a party, and though I’d met many of the women who where invited, there were just as many I hadn’t. I leaned against the railing and wondered,
What will it be like?

Aunt Tootie came out the door and called to one of the workmen, “Please, be careful of that planter.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure they think I’m an old ninny, but a few times in the past they’ve bumped into things and stepped on my border flowers, so I like to keep an eye on them.”

“Having a garden party sure seems like a lot of work.”

“It is. But oh, how it’s worth it.”

Later that morning, I took a shower and washed my hair. While toweling off, I heard lots of voices outside, so I stood on the toilet lid and peered out the window. The patio and gardens were swarming with workmen and women carrying vases of flowers. Mrs. Odell and Aunt Tootie were standing at the far side of the striped canopy directing the activity. I bounded down the stairs to join them, liking the feel of my wet hair slapping against my back.

A van with the words LESLIE FAYE FLORIST was parked in the alley by the garage. Two women scuttled about, smoothing coral tablecloths over each table, while four others worked at fitting the chairs with gauzy white slipcovers.

Aunt Tootie pointed out a vase of flowers. Along the stems were rows of delicate white blooms that looked like ribbons tied into bows. “Those are my favorites,” she said. “I love the scent.”

“What are they?” I asked.

“Tuberose. Aren’t they lovely?”

Mrs. Odell let out a gasp and pretended to swoon as she inhaled their perfume.

When we walked back into the house, three women, all wearing identical gray dresses and crisp aprons, were working in the kitchen. The rubber soles of their shoes squeaked across the floor as they hustled about, making cucumber sandwiches, arranging a circle of crackers around something muddy-looking that was called
pâté,
and smoothing plastic wrap over trays of tiny cakes that Aunt Tootie had called
petit fours
.

I had no idea what hosting a garden party involved, and all I can say is the preparation alone left both Mrs. Odell and me dumbstruck. I didn’t understand how anyone could own so many dishes and serving trays. I also didn’t understand Oletta’s absence. The kitchen was her domain, and it seemed odd that she wasn’t supervising.

When Aunt Tootie finished talking with the florist and closed the screen door, I asked, “Where’s Oletta?”

“She’ll be here, and knowing Oletta, she’ll try to run the kitchen. But she’s not coming to the party to work. She’s coming as a guest, well,
more
than a guest—she’ll be here as part of your new family. Isn’t that wonderful? I suspect she’ll be here any minute.” Aunt Tootie ran her hand down the length of my hair. “Your hair is still wet. Why don’t you go outside and sit in the sun for a few minutes?”

Deciding it was best to stay out of the way of all the hoopla in the backyard, I walked down the hallway and out the front door. While sitting on the steps and fluffi ng my hair, I heard the bus come to a stop at the corner. A woman wearing the craziest-looking hat I’d ever seen climbed off. Made of straw with an extra-wide brim, the hat was smothered in red, purple, and iridescent green feathers.

I watched her move along the sidewalk, and when she reached Aunt Tootie’s house, she looked up and saw me. “What’re you doin’ out here, child?”

I couldn’t believe it. I ran down the steps and flung open the gate. Gone were Oletta’s gray dress, headscarf, and boxy shoes. Instead, she was wearing a Creamsicle-orange dress that had two rows of ruffles at the hem. On her feet was a pair of orange flats that had peep-toes. And speaking of toes, Oletta’s were painted bright cherry red. She was even wearing lipstick. And her hat? Well, what could I say?

I peered up at her in awe. “Oletta. I didn’t recognize you! You look beautiful.”

“I got all dressed up, just for you. What do you think of my hat?” she said, doing a slow pirouette. “I made it myself.”

“You did? It’s . . . it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I think so too,” she said with a chuckle. “Took me a whole two weeks to get it right. Had to keep goin’ back to the store to buy more feathers. So, how are things goin’ in
my
kitchen?” she asked as we climbed the front steps.

“Okay, I guess. There sure is a lot of food.”

Oletta marched down the hall and into the kitchen like she was the queen of the whole world. After making a few changes to the trays and talking with the caterer, she seemed satisfied. “Well,” she said, scowling at my rumpled shorts, “it’s time you got ready. People will be here soon. Where’s your dress?”

“In my closet.”

“C’mon, then, Miz Gertrude wants to braid your hair.”

Oletta and I went upstairs to find Mrs. Odell in her bedroom. She was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting her honorary garden club hat. She turned to greet us, smiling like a teenager about to go to a spring dance. Her dress was a silky floral print in shades of pink and pale lavender. Mrs. Odell beamed. “Tootie’s so kind. She let me borrow this dress for the party. But please tell me the truth—do you think it’s too young? I’d hate to make a fool of myself.”

“You sure do look pretty,” Oletta said with an approving nod. “That dress fits like it was yours all along.”

“I love that dress,” I chirped.

Mrs. Odell blushed, and I wondered when was the last time she’d heard someone say she looked pretty. She took another quick glance in the mirror and then turned to me. “Are you ready to have your hair braided? I’ve got everything ready.”

I sat on the vanity bench while Oletta sat in the chair by the window and watched Mrs. Odell braid my hair. Her arthritic fingers moved slowly, and when she reached the end, she looked at Oletta.

“My fingers are stiff today. Would you mind putting in the rubber band?”

Oletta twisted it into place and tied the ribbon in a bow. “It’s almost one o’clock,” she said, patting my shoulders. “Time to get dressed.”

“I’ll go to see if Tootie needs any help,” Mrs. Odell said as we left the room.

“We’ll be down shortly, Gertrude.”

My hands grew clammy and my stomach tightened when Oletta and I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. This was it. I had to put on that party dress and pretend to be happy about it.

Once I was all ready, black Mary Janes, lace-top socks, white dress, and all, Oletta took a step back, propped her hands on her hips, and looked at me. “You sure do look a whole lot different than that ragamuffin child who showed up here at the beginning of summer.”

I turned and walked to the window. Already the backyard was fi lling up with Aunt Tootie’s friends.

“It’s time to go downstairs.”

“You go ahead, Oletta. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She reached out and touched my shoulder. “What’s bothering you?”

“It’s just, well, it’s this dress.” I felt miserable admitting this to Oletta.

Her voice shot up several octaves. “You don’t like it?”

I shook my head.

“Why? In all my days, I’ve never seen a prettier dress.”

Without saying another word I walked to the bed, knelt down, and pulled Momma’s scrapbook from beneath the mattress. Slowly I turned to the picture that was taken the moment she won the Vidalia Onion Queen pageant.

Oletta pursed her lips as she studied the picture, then eased herself down on the bed. “I know what you see in that picture, and I’ve got somethin’ I want to say.” She looked deep into my eyes. “Don’t lay claim to somethin’ that don’t belong to you. This picture is of your Momma—not you. And that dress she’s wearin’ ain’t the dress
you’re
wearin’.

“Your momma lost her mind, and that’s a mighty sad truth. Ain’t no words for me to say how sorry I am for all you’ve been through in your young life. But what happened to your momma has nothin’ to do with you, and it sure don’t have nothin’ to do with that dress you’re wearin’.”

Oletta patted the bed, and when I sat down beside her, she took hold of my hand. “Take the gift Miz Tootie is givin’ you and hold it tight. Don’t go wastin’ all them bright tomorrows you ain’t even seen by hangin’ on to what happened yesterday. Let go, child. Just breathe out and let go.”

I knotted up the corners of my mouth and nodded. “You’re so wise, Oletta.”

“People is wise ’cause they get out in the world and live. Wisdom comes from experience—from knowin’ each day is a gift and accepting it with gladness. You read a whole lot of books, and readin’ sure has made you smart, but ain’t no book in the world gonna make you wise.”

Oletta rose to her feet. “So, c’mon, lots of nice ladies is waitin’ for you.”

O
letta held my hand as we stepped out the door and onto the back porch. Without her grounding force, I might have turned and run back inside the house. I wasn’t prepared for this extravaganza of color and chatter; everywhere I looked women in chiffon dresses and flowery hats were clustered in groups like pastel nosegays.

Oletta leaned close to my ear and whispered, “You’ll be fine—all you gotta do is smile.”

When Aunt Tootie saw me, she walked across the patio with open arms. “Here she is! I want y’all to meet my sweet grandniece.”