The Ladies' Room (3 page)

I paused.

"Well?" Marty asked testily.

"She'll probably leave it to the church, and we'll all get some
of her jewelry. The church can take care of the sale of the place
and use the proceeds to buy new carpet or a new piano." Betsy
stopped herself. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this. She's not even
covered up in her grave yet"

Marty set her mouth in a firm line and narrowed her eyes. "Stop acting like you're sorry she's gone. She was a pain. I
hope she doesn't leave me her jewelry. That's the last thing I'd
want. All that awful junk she bought at yard sales. I wouldn't
be caught dead in any of it."

Betsy sighed loudly. "What we'll probably get is a bill for
ten years' back taxes and a house full of termites to split three
ways. We'll end up in debt because of our inheritance."

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," I
snapped.

Marty gasped. "You sounded just like her. I swear, that was
even her voice. Did her spirit stick around and crawl inside
you?"

The glare I gave her apparently erased all doubt. She shivered and looked out the side window the rest of the way to the
church. When the funeral-home limo parked, Betsy giggled
in an attempt to ease the tension, but it came out as a highpitched squeal. "Here we are! Dinner and then the will. Are
we ready?"

They couldn't get out of the limo fast enough. I didn't know
either of them could run in three-inch pumps, but run they
did. If I'd tried to keep up with them, I'd have fallen flat on my
face right there-in-the church parking lot.

I slowly walked toward the fellowship hall for the dinner.
Charity was that teller with the tight little body and straight
blond hair, I remembered. Short blond hair at that. I liked to
wear my hair short and kinky, but Drew hated it, so I kept it
long and fought with straightening irons and hair dryers every
single day.

Go to the bank and hit him where it hurts, Gert's voice
said.

We had a joint checking account and at least one joint savings account. If I wiped out those two accounts, I wouldn't
have to end the marriage; he would.

Was I ready to live in the same town with him and watch
each new plaything drive a new Thunderbird? Blast it all, I
was driving a five-year-old Chevrolet Impala.

Some folks can't eat when they're stressed out. Not me.
For me, food cures everything. Depression. Boredom. Anger. Chocolate cake can take care of ingrown toenails, and potato
chips can eradicate acne. I've told my fat cells things like that
for so long, my body believes all of it.

The ladies of the church had prepared every Great-aunt Gert
recipe they had in their files. There was potato salad. Barbecued chicken. Turkey, cooked long and slow with a stick of
pure butter in the cavity to keep it tender. Corn bread dressing.
Hot rolls with butter smeared on the tops when they're fresh
out of the oven. Chocolate cake topped off with an inch of
homemade fudge icing. Baked beans. Hash brown casserole.

Folks lined up for the buffet and talked about how Aunt Gert
had made this for Thanksgiving or always brought that when
someone died. It was as if they were trying to use her favorite
foods to give her the strength to face the afterlife. Those poor
folks didn't know that Gert didn't need any extra strength. She
could take on Lucifer himself and come out the winner.

My plate needed sideboards by the time I finished loading
it, but I just got frumpier every year, so it didn't matter how I
comforted my aching heart. By the time I got through the
line, the only place left for me to sit was right across from
Marty and Betsy. There I was with the best plate of food since
last Thanksgiving, and just looking at my cousins nauseated
me. It wasn't fair that they'd shattered my whole world and
taken my appetite too.

"Feelin' better?" Betsy asked.

I pushed my plate back. "I'm not hungry. I need some air.
I'll see y'all at the reading of the will."

Marty whispered but not low enough. "What's gotten into
her?"

Great-aunt Gert was barely in the grave, and the dirt was
loose enough that she could still claw her way out of that pale
pink coffin if I made a public scene, so I kept my mouth shut
and didn't tell them what had gotten into fat Trudy, bless her
heart. I meandered into the sanctuary and sat down in the pew
where she'd always sat. Who cared if my mascara left black
streaks, anyway? It was a funeral, and I was the only one in
the sanctuary, so I gave way to tears and wiped at them with
the back of one hand.

Suddenly I could feel her presence so powerfully that I hesitated before I turned to look to my left. Naturally, there wasn't a
ghost sitting there in the oak pew beside me; it was more like a
feeling, and it wasn't a happy one, either. It was the same feeling
I'd had the time she caught me buying a frozen turkey for
Thanksgiving. I had gotten the entire thirty-minute tirade about
how a person should buy the live turkey directly from the
farmer and dress it herself if she wanted a perfect Thanksgiving
dinner. I had stared dumbly at her. Dress a turkey? I wouldn't
know where to start with a live bird. I could sense that she had
a lecture all prepared for me but I sure didn't want to hear it.

I blinked and allowed the feeling to pass. My tears dried
up. I wanted to destroy something. I could have torn the pulpit
down with my bare hands and then started on the oak pews.
Forget about killing the messengers, Betsy and Marty. I'd deal
with them later. Drew Williams was a different matter. He
had vowed to be faithful right there in a church house in front
of my parents, God, and even Great-aunt Gert. I could see him
telling a lie to my parents and maybe even God, but he was a
fool of the worst kind for lying to Aunt Gert. She'd get even,
and she had a heck of a lot more power now that she was on the
other side. He'd best be getting his affairs in order, because
there was a good chance he'd be standing on a street corner
with an empty Campbell's soup can begging for pennies before
it was all said and done.

Was Miss Charity keeping him company on his business
trip, or was she at the bank that day? I was definitely going to
wipe out those two accounts. Wouldn't it be a hoot if she
waited on me? She'd do just fine for a taste of my anger until
Drew got home.

"Excuse me. Are you all right?" a masculine voice said right
at my elbow.

My cheeks burned scarlet, and I hoped none of my thoughts
had been whispered aloud.

The voice was deep and faintly familiar. I jerked my head
up to look into Billy Lee Tucker's crystal blue eyes.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Well, I was sitting back there thinking about Gert when you came in, and I just wondered if you were all right. It looked
like you were crying," he said.

Billy Lee Tucker was a nerd with a capital N back when we
were in school, and afterward he became Tishomingo's oddball. We had all started school together-Billy Lee always
wearing his overalls and thick glasses. My friends and I largely
ignored him, and he quietly found a corner to be alone, usually with a book in his hands.

He didn't grow out of it. He just got taller, and his glasses
got thicker. The other boys wore tight jeans, and he continued
to wear bibbed overalls-always clean and starched, right
along with his chambray shirts. He didn't play football, so that
was another strike against him in Tishomingo, Oklahoma. He
didn't play basketball. Strike three. He didn't drink or smoke
or chase around town on Saturday night in a pickup truck.
Strikes four, five, and six.

His voice was a whisper of respect. "Mind if I join you?"

I didn't answer, but he sat down in the corner of the pew. "It
just don't seem right. Everyone is in there eating and laughing.
How can they act so happy, like it's a normal day?"

Billy Lee hadn't changed all that much. His angular face had
a few wrinkles, but he was my age, and wrinkles come along at
about that time. He was still thin, but the thing that almost took
my mind off Drew was the suit he wore. If it wasn't Armani, I
would eat my hat-tulle, fake black rose, and all.

"What way do you think it should be?" I asked.

"Gert was a lady. They should be sitting quietly and thinking about her and the way she brought happiness into the
world."

Gert, a lady? What rock had he been hiding under all these
years? Poor Billy Lee was several bricks short of a wagonload, bless his heart. And Gert bringing happiness into the
world? Was the man crazy? She had brought lots of things into
the world. Opinions. Bossiness. Bitterness. But happiness?

"They should be in here with us, not out there carrying on
like they're glad she's gone," he said.

Maybe he didn't have any bricks in his wagon. They were
glad she was gone.

"She was the wisest woman I knew and the best neighbor a
man could ask for." Billy Lee kept talking.

They say birds of a feather flock together. He and Gert were
both slightly odd.

"I didn't realize you still lived in your grandparents' house"
"Nice" wasn't difficult for me. Conflict was, and I was wondering how to get out of the sanctuary without being rude.

He shrugged. "I was born in that house and have lived there
my whole life."

"I see. Then you knew Gert very well?"

"Of course. She was my next-door neighbor and my best
friend."

Even though I'd had my head in the sand and my big bubble
butt stuck up in the sky, I knew what had happened to almost
every kid in my graduating class all those years ago-where
they lived, where they worked, how many kids they had or
if they had divorced, how many had had affairs and how many
times-most everything Marty and Betsy knew. Or I thought
I had until that morning. Evidently I didn't know Drew Williams
at all. Or Billy Lee Tucker.

My husband's name on the edge of my conscience jerked
me right back into the present. I absolutely hated conflict. How
would I ever psych myself up enough to confront him?

"I guess I should go on back into the dinner," I said.

"I'm staying right here"

"Trudy? You in here?" Betsy whispered loudly.

"I'm right here."

What would Betsy tell Marty about poor, pitiful Trudy sitting with Billy Lee Tucker in a semidark, quiet church? I didn't
need to wait to take action. There was a pulpit in front of me
and a congregation in the fellowship hall. Maybe I'd call them
all in and preach them a sermon on two-timin' husbands.

She talked too fast and too loud as she walked toward the
pew. "We are gathering in the children's Sunday school room
for the reading of the will. The lawyer is some fancy-pants out
of Dallas. Don't know why Gert couldn't use Drew for her
business."

"Guess she knew too much about him," I sniped.

"Hello, Betsy," Billy said.

"Do I know you?"

"Probably not. I'm Gert's next-door neighbor."

"Oh, I thought she lived next door to Billy Lee Tucker."

"That's right."

"Well, I'll be danged. Didn't recognize you with a suit on,
Billy Lee. Sorry about that. It's time for the judgment, Trudy.
Have you been prayin' that she doesn't leave you that eyesore
of a house? If I hadn't been starvin', I would have joined you,
and I haven't prayed in years" Betsy was trying to be amusing.

"I was not.

Betsy shot me a mean look. "You have been horrid all day
long. You are acting just like Gert"

Anger replaced the sadness in Billy Lee's blue eyes.

I looked up at Betsy, standing there with her hands on her
hips in defiance, and said, "You're right. I have been praying,
and I really don't see a change coming anytime soon. Let's go
hear the will. Billy, would you like to join us?"

"I would love to"

Betsy shot me another hateful look. "Why would he want to
be there?"

"Who knows? Maybe she left her house to him, and he gets
to decide whether to burn it down or not"

"I hope she left it to you, Trudy. I hope you get all hot and
sweaty cleaning out that mess," Betsy said. "You've really
been horrible today."

`And just think, my dear cousin. Today is the first day of the
rest of my life, and I may never change." I led the way out of
the sanctuary and into the room where the lawyer and Marty
waited.

This is ridiculous," Marty said.

Betsy folded her arms over her chest and snarled at the sight
of the tiny chairs and tables. Billy Lee pulled one out and sat
down, his knees drawn up practically to his chin.

"Let's go into the sanctuary or the adult Sunday school
room," Betsy said.

The lawyer ignored her, opened his briefcase, and took out
a single sheet of paper. "I am Steven McRae. Gertrude asked
that her last will and testament be read in this room. It won't
take long to take care of the business."

He picked up the single piece of paper and adjusted his
reading glasses. My stomach growled loudly. Marty stared at
me. Betsy actually giggled. It wasn't fair to be hungry and not
be able to swallow a bread crumb. Drew might have to pay for
that as well as his philandering.