The Happy Hour Choir (14 page)

“That's not how you felt before. Do it.” I dared him. “Here. In front of God and everybody.”

The elevator dinged to announce its arrival, and he let my arm drop.

“That's what I thought,” I said softly.

Fire snapped in those blue eyes, and his hand reached the small of my back before I could gasp. “There's more to it than you think. Come downstairs and let me explain.”

I shook my head no and wriggled away from him. He thrust his arm between the elevator doors to keep them from closing.

“Beulah?” he asked from the elevator, his hand holding the door open as an invitation for me.

“I've heard enough explanations,” I muttered before walking back in the direction of Ginger's room.

Chapter 16

G
inger was awake, but pain pinched her face into new wrinkles. I sat on the side of the bed and held her hand. I resisted the urge to bring my fingers to my lips, and, if she had deduced my latest little scandal, she wasn't saying anything. She had
Jerry Springer
on, but the TV was muted as always. She had long maintained that the best way to watch daytime TV was without sound. Unfortunately, I was beginning to feel I was better suited to appearing on an episode of
Springer
than to real life.

“Beulah, we need to talk.”

No French toast to soften the blow this time.

I didn't say anything, and she squeezed my hand. “I'm serious. The more I think about it, the more there is to tell you. Especially now that we've inherited Tiffany.”

I took a deep breath. “If I listen to what you have to say, promise me that you won't up and die because you've told me everything you think you need to?”

Ginger chuckled. “I never get tired of telling you what to do, Beulah. It's one of my greatest joys in life. I'm not going anywhere yet, but I thought a heart attack was taking me home.”

“First, I had to spend a little bit of your inheritance—”

“What inheritance? What are you talking about, Ginger?”

“Your inheritance, Beulah. It's not like I have a bunch of cats and need to establish a trust fund for them—the house and all of my money is going to you.”

What money?
I thought of all of the bills and tanks of gas I'd paid for during Ginger's first round of chemo—not that she was with-it enough to know what I was doing.

It took a couple of tries before I could get out the words. “Ginger, I don't need your money. You need to spend your money on you.”

“Beulah, I'm too old and sick to go gallivanting around the world or to buy fancy cars. I've had everything I've ever wanted and then some. There are some bank accounts I didn't tell you about before, but I cleaned out one of them to pay Luke back for your little trip to the emergency room.”

My heart landed at my toes. I had been waiting for them to send the bill in the mail before officially worrying. “Ginger, I'm so sorry about that.”

Ginger waved away my concern then winced at the pain such motion caused. “Don't worry about that, but can't you see you need a real job? One with health insurance? The time for playing around is over. I made you graduate from high school for a reason, you know. And that's where my life insurance policy comes in.”

“Your what?”

“When I thought I might have a baby of my own, I bought a life insurance policy, one of those that you keep. I kept paying into it because I didn't need that much money, I guess. I got a statement that I'd paid up right after you started living with me and thought it'd be a good way for you to go to college. It seems I underestimated both your stubbornness and my longevity,” she sniffed.

“But—”

“There's over a hundred thousand in there. I've already spoken with Mr. Cohen over at the Farm Bureau. The policy's in the lock box. He'll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

“Okay, but—”

“There should be enough for both you and Tiffany to get started at the community college. She won't be able to play softball, but I think she'll be okay with that, don't you?”

“Ye-yes.” This was a surreal conversation, one that brought tears. Some were tears of sadness at the thought of losing Ginger; others were tears of gratitude.

Ginger pointed to the box of tissues on the table by her bed. “Oh, quit blubbering, Beulah. You're going to get me started, and it's just plain silly. I've lived a long, long life. And if I haven't taught you how to make it in the world by now, then it can't be done.”

I grabbed a tissue, blew my nose, and nodded to show I was on board.

“All right. I already told you I don't want an open casket visitation. You remember that. Everything should be paid for because I went to see Mr. Anderson a few weeks ago and prepaid. There may be shysters in the mortuary business, but Declan Anderson is not one of them.”

“But, Ginger—”

“It's done. And paid for. There are some advantages to living alone frugally for most of your life. Now, the house.” Ginger yawned. “When I'm gone, you can do with it as you please, but you're going to have to do something about the nursery.”

I closed my eyes to the memory of my recent disastrous attempt to reconcile with the nursery.

“Tiffany wants to redecorate a little, and you're not going to let her lift anything heavy, are you?”

“No, ma'am.”

“And if she decides she wants to paint the room, you're not going to let a pregnant woman paint and breathe in all those fumes, are you?”

“But—”

“I know you painted that room, but we didn't know any better. Now, are you going to let Tiffany paint?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Good.” Ginger took one of my hands into two of hers. “It's a room, Beulah, just a room. Sooner or later, you have to go into that room and make peace with what happened there.”

I nodded my head affirmatively, even though I had no intentions of doing what Ginger suggested.

“That's enough for now,” she said. She lay back on her bed and waved one hand at me as though dismissing me from her royal presence. “Everything else I'm going to write out for you, but I wanted to lay out the important stuff. Especially about your hospital bill, because I knew it would eat at you once it came in the mail.”

She settled into the pillow and closed her eyes. I didn't want her to go to sleep. I had the oddest urge to shake her by the shoulders until she woke up and stayed awake, because if she went to sleep she might die. And I wasn't ready for that, no matter how much money Ginger had stashed away.

She opened one eye. “Beulah, it's creepy having someone watch you while you're sleeping. Go downstairs and get yourself a Coke. Read the paper. Do something.”

I backed out of the door against my will. Why couldn't I do
something?
For that matter, why couldn't I take the cancer instead of Ginger? I was younger, stronger, almost as stubborn. If anyone deserved cancer, it was me. I was the bad person here, the person who got pregnant at sixteen, the person who refused to pray, and the person who played hymns in a honky-tonk. Ginger didn't deserve cancer; she deserved a cabana boy who looked like a young Tom Selleck to feed her grapes by the pool while he massaged her feet. She gave and gave. And she got cancer in return? It wasn't fair.

I tamped down that familiar feeling of injustice and took the elevator downstairs to find a Coke and a paper. I knew Ginger would get a kick out of the celebrity magazines, so I picked up a couple of those, too. On impulse, I picked up a Milky Way, her favorite candy bar.

At the register, my fingers reached out to touch a necklace with a cardinal pendant. I turned it over to see it was still twenty dollars, even on sale.

“Do you want the necklace, too?” the cashier asked, but I jerked my fingers away and quickly shook my head. Jewelry was frivolous, and old habits died hard.

“I'll take it, though.”

His familiar voice rumbled through me. I couldn't decide if I wanted to throw myself into his arms or run like hell. Another Coke appeared on the counter beside mine. “In fact, this purchase is on me.”

“Luke, you don't have to do that.” I wheeled around.
After all, I'm freaking rich, apparently. Rich enough to go to college just as soon as the nicest old lady in the history of man dies of a ridiculously horrible disease.

“Beulah, you've got the frantic eyes again. Let me get this one.”

“Frantic eyes?” He reached around me, and my traitorous body almost swayed into him.

“Come on,” he said as he grabbed the paper and the little white bag with one hand then guided my shoulder with the other. He led me to a sunny seating area just inside the hospital's main entrance and took a seat across from me.

We each took a Coke and popped the top.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier today. And for last night,” he said. “I shouldn't have kissed you. Either time.” He studied the Coke can as though he'd taken a sip only to discover it wasn't what he wanted after all.

“So, you
are
embarrassed to be seen with me.” It should have been anger bubbling up, but instead despair pulled me down. Not that I was about to let him see that.

He slammed the Coke down too hard, and some fizzed over the top. “No, I was not embarrassed. I was taking advantage of you, and that isn't right.”

“Taking advantage of me?”
I
wish
that was how being taken advantage of felt. Luke had no idea.

He ran a hand through that glossy black hair, and it all fell right back where it was supposed to be. What I would give to see it mussed just once. “Look, you turned to me for comfort, and I knew you were hurting. And I took advantage of that. And I'm sorry. And it won't happen again.”

I had walked away. And now that he had taken the hint, I realized I had wanted him to follow me. No way to fix that now. “Apology accepted. I'm sorry I taunted you.”

He nodded his acceptance. “I'm glad that's settled.”

He handed me the paper, then held up the necklace. “Need help with the clasp?”

“I was getting it for Ginger,” I said with a smile I didn't feel.

“Of course,” he said with a tight smile as he let the necklace spill into my cupped hand. I wondered if he wanted to stand behind me and fasten the necklace as badly as I wanted him to. Maybe so, but he quickly drew his hand back instead.

“Well, I still need to see Miss Ginger,” he said. I had already run into him by accident twice. He was giving me the chance to avoid him this time.

“Thanks for the necklace . . . and everything else.”

“You're welcome.” He stood reluctantly, but collected himself and walked briskly down the hall. In his odd Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine, Luke the minister had squelched Luke the man. Only, Luke the man was certainly not the monster he seemed to think he was.

I stretched out the chain of the necklace. Both chain and pendant were nothing special—some type of cheap gold plating. Still, the extra-fat cardinal reminded me of the one outside our window, and I wondered if Ginger would remember him.

So he had, but I couldn't put on a necklace I'd intended for Ginger, not even for the brush of his fingertips against the nape of my neck.

 

They released Ginger a couple of days after they admitted her. We all knew it was too soon, but Ginger was ready to escape the hospital, so I pulled the car around and waited while Tiffany and a nurse eased Ginger into the front seat. I noticed her new necklace had left a yellowish-green stain around her neck, but she refused to take it off.

“You know,” Ginger said with a twinkle in her eye, “I believe I'm actually hungry. Beulah, you think we can swing by Burger Paradise on the way home, maybe give Tiffany something to check off her list?”

I chanced a look in the rearview mirror just in time to see Tiffany grinning from ear to ear. She held a flower arrangement with each arm and propped the third between her feet, looking like an animal sticking its head out of exotic foliage. “Please, please, please. I'll have my burger with extra pickles.”

Ginger's hand flew to her mouth. Even before cancer and her first round of chemo, she'd hated pickles, refusing to put them in potato salad or chicken salad, which was fine by me. “Life's too short for something so sour,” she would tell me.

“Yes, Miss Momma to Be.” I shifted my voice to a whisper. “Just don't say the p-word again.”

Tiffany nodded, her face solemn with no smile in those huge brown eyes. She looked like little more than a child, yet she was going to be a mother. That had been me once upon a time. Only I wouldn't have shut up. I would have shouted “Pickles! Pickles! Pickles, how I love their sour flavor and the green slime they leave behind on the bun!” It took me a long time to feel remorse for hurting Ginger's feelings, a lot longer than it'd taken Tiffany.

“Beulah, can you get me a plain burger?” Ginger turned to the window.

“And—”

“Tiffany, baby, I know you want a double burger with cheese, no lettuce, no tomato, but extra . . .
you know
.”

She nodded with a grin. “And a chocolate-banana milk shake.”

As I smiled at her, I felt love even if I couldn't articulate it. A chocolate-banana milk shake. I was becoming such a softie. If she'd asked me, I probably would've had them put pickles in her milk shake, too.

Instead I eased out of the car and walked up to the outside window to place my order. Burger Paradise might be the best restaurant in town, an institution for far longer than I had been alive, but they had their own way of doing things. Some folks went inside to eat, but I knew Ginger didn't want to wait that long or to be seen in public while still green around the edges.

I sneaked a glance at her and Tiffany in the car as I finished giving the waitress my order. Then I slipped her an extra twenty. “Could you kinda push this one to the top of the pile? I have a couple of ladies who need to get home.”

The teenager tried not to grin at me, but she nodded as she slipped the extra twenty into the back pocket of her jeans. Ten minutes later I walked back to the car with a Styrofoam cup and a white grease-stained sack in hand.