Winter in Full Bloom (29 page)

“Mom,” Julie said, “I have something to tell you about college.”

“Hmm?” I asked absently, since my token and I were doing well. “You always do that interrupting thing when I’m winning. And I think you shortchanged me just now, Ms. Banker.”

“No.” Julie laughed. “I did not!”

I woke up from my board game daze. “What? Nothing bad at school I hope.”

“What makes you say that?” Julie restacked the piles of cash just like her Momma always did.

“It was the hesitant way you said it.” I took another mouse nibble off Camille’s cookie. Accumulating vast properties always made me hungry.

“Well, I hope you don’t think it’s bad.” Julie threw the dice. “I love school, but I don’t like my major.”

“Oh?” I studied her then. “But your life has always been about music.”

“Yeah, I like music, but I guess now that I’ve had more time to think about it, well, I don’t want it to be my whole life. I want music to be a joy I do for myself and a gift to others, but I don’t want to do it for a living.” Julie zoomed her race car token around the board.

What brought on that change of plans? “Well, what do you want to do with your life?”

“I know how this is going to come off … like I’m changing my major because I met Miles Hooper today. Sorry.” Julie chuckled. “I mean, Marcus Averill. But I’ve been thinking about it for the last several weeks, and I want to switch my major to English.”

“English? Really? Do you want to discuss this later?” I hoped she’d say yes.

Julie brightened. “No, now is a good time.”

Hmm. That’s how we ended up with a pet gerbil nobody wanted to play with and a trampoline nobody wanted to jump on and so many other nonessentials through the years. Julie knew I couldn’t say no very well in front of other people. But this wasn’t her pet. This was her life. “It will be harder to talk about the downsides to an English major with Marcus here. I wouldn’t want to say anything that might hurt his feelings.”

“Hey, I’m the first to admit that writing is a hard field to break into. The money can be at poverty levels for a long time. I was one of the fortunate few who made it big when I was young. But that’s pretty rare.” Marcus picked up his cup of milk, gulped it all down—loudly—slammed the cup back down like it was a shot glass, and then wiped off his white mustache.

We all sat staring at him and then burst out laughing.

Marcus shrugged. “Hey, I like cold milk.”

Julie dunked her cookie up and down daintily into her coffee. “But you guys are just assuming I want to be a writer. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh? You mean teaching or—?”

“No, I like the writing world, but I was thinking of a behind-the-scenes kind of job. Like an agent.”

“Really?” I sat back in my chair and really studied Julie.

“I’ve researched it, and it seems like something I would enjoy.”

Impressive. She’d obviously spent some time thinking it over. My Julie was growing up.

Marcus perked up. “I have an agent in Austin. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind calling you, and you could ask her a bunch of questions about her career. You know, like what was her major. How she got started in the business. What’s required to make it in that kind of career. The upsides, downsides.” He tossed the dice.

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Well sure. If you’re interested, I’ll set it up.”

“Brilliant. Thanks.”

Marcus looked over at me, and his smile spilled all around the table like the lemonade in the whimsical park from his book. Then he scowled as his boot token landed on Go To Jail. “So not good. Hate that spot. Anyway, did you know that in the Aussie version of this game they have a koala bear for a token?”

“Well, this is the
American
version, Marcs,” Camille said, “and I’m thrilled to say that you’re going bankrupt.” She gestured to her own houses and hotels and rubbed her hands together.

I continued to watch Marcus within my little family and found myself falling more deeply in love with him. He was enchanting with Julie, and she obviously adored him already. Camille also kept giving me nods of approval about Marcus. But I knew what Marcus was up to. He was trying to check every obstacle off my list to getting married. And trying to romance me through my family. His sweet diabolical plan was wonderful, but it still wasn’t the right time for a proposal.

Camille drew a card and gasped. “I totally forgot to tell you, Lily. But Dragan called.”

“Dragan? You mean the woman who wears flip-flops and reeks of rum and whose name rhymes with Fagin?” I grinned. “Sorry, that was unkind.”

Marcus chuckled. “Dragan. She’s got quite a funky name.”

“Not nearly as funky as she is.” I gave the dice a good shake. “So, Camille, what did Dragan want?” I blew into my hands as if for luck, just to make everyone chuckle.

“You’ll never believe what she wanted.” Camille stuffed a whole cookie in her mouth. “These are soo good. And I’m soo hungry,” she said between chews. “When will the pizza be ready?”

“Soon.” I stopped rattling the dice. “So, what did Dragan want?”

“She said that Mrs. Gray wants us three—” Camille licked her fingers— “you and Julie and me—to come to her house tomorrow for tea.”

The dice slipped out of my hand and kerplunked right into my coffee.

Hearing about Mother’s invitation to
tea was like something out of a fantasy movie—it was simply not to be believed. And yet the three of us stood all dressed up fancy on Mother’s porch for high tea at 3:00 sharp, waiting for Dragan Humphreys and her red-rimmed glasses, luau dress, and flip-flops to answer the door. Lately life changed as fast as moving around a board game. I only wished that when things got bad you could fold it up and go to bed.

I grinned at Julie and then at Camille. “We’d better be on our best behavior, because I doubt we’ll get another invitation like this in our lifetimes.” I let out a chortle. “Sorry.” I cackled again. “Must be hysterical laughter syndrome.”

“Hey,” Camille said with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re ruining my lugubrious expression.”

I spewed a snicker again and then tried to rein it in. But failed.

Then within seconds we both exploded with enough chortles and snorts to make Julie shake her head at us. “You guys are like two little kids. I wonder how hokey you both would have been if you’d grown up together. Unbearable, I’m sure.” She grinned.

“Definitely,” Camille said. “So, what are you hiding in that paper bag you’re carrying, Lil?”

“None of your business.” I raised my chin with comedic flair. “It’s a surprise.”

We tried taking some of the monkeyshine off our grins, and we did just in the nick of time too, since the door opened, revealing Dragan Humphreys in her getup straight from a King Kamehameha parade.

Oh, to have life lived on a consistent basis. “Hi.” I sucked in my cheeks to keep my giggles from exploding out my mouth. “We’re here for tea with Mother.”

Ms. Humphreys looked us up and down and then opened the door without even greeting us.

Hmm. Bad day?

“Tea is set up in the dining room,” she said as she walked us toward the back of the house. Dragan still smelled of eau de rum, but she had a strange glint in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. One that gave me the creeps. Wonder what that was all about.

Once in the dining room I was surprised to see that the long mahogany table had been set with lovely tea dishes, lace place mats, and a three-tiered crystal serving tray that was piled high with sweets and savories. A mini-feast for sure. How lovely. Surely Mother hadn’t made any of it, but it was equally hard to imagine Ms. Humphreys toiling over such delights.

“Wow, what a spread,” Julie said. “I was just a kid when I was in here last. I barely remember any of this.”

“I’m starving.” Camille reached out to touch one of the tiny cakes and then suddenly drew her hand back as if she’d been slapped.

“This room looks so pretty, and I can’t believe Granny made all this for us. Maybe she’s changed, Momma, and she’s no longer the odious woman you said she was.”

“Well, if I am odious,” Mrs. Gray said, walking into the room suddenly, “then it’s God’s fault.” She glared at us each in turn, but smiled when she saw Julie. “I see you’re home from college. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

“Hi, Granny. You’ve changed some since the last time I saw you ten years ago.”

“Well, I was old back then,” Mother said. “Now I’m
really
old.”

Julie laughed.

Mother’s face crinkled. “Is that funny?”

“Yes, the way you said it.” Julie went over and gave her grandmother a hug.

Even though Mother didn’t embrace Julie, she didn’t pull back but let her granddaughter give her a hug.

“I had no idea I was such a comic,” Mother said. “Better a comic than being odious I guess.”

“Sorry you heard that, Mother,” I said, feeling crummy for having told Julie such a thing.

Mother motioned toward the table covered in dainties. “Please sit down so we can eat this high-caloric food. I don’t approve of these kinds of sugary fat concoctions, but there you have it. I wanted to see if I could do something maternal. See if it fit me.”

“Of course it does. You have two X chromosomes, don’t you?” Julie smiled at her grandmother so brightly that no scowl could dim its intensity.

“The things they teach in college these days,” her grandmother said, but there was no growl along with her reply.

Mother walked to the head chair of the long table and then fidgeted with a cane in her hand.

I pulled out the chair for Mother. “I don’t remember you using a cane before.”

“That’s because I haven’t
used
a cane before.” Mother sat down and scooted up her chair. She handed me her cane, and I leaned it against the table by her hand.

“Did you injure yourself?” Camille asked.

“No, but Dragan thought it might be best to have one, since she seems to think I’m getting frail.” Mother fingered the carved rose on top of the cane.

“You don’t look frail to me.” Camille pulled out a chair and sat down. “You look as strong as an iron pickax.”

“Oh, really. Good. Well, at least the cane will work for giving the mailman a good thrashing if he needs it.” Mother motioned toward the food. “Eat up. I won’t bother with saying grace, so please go ahead and—”

“Well, is it all right if I say grace then, Granny?” Julie asked.

Mother moved her lower jaw around as a sort of disgruntled reaction to the request, but she said, “Go ahead, if you must.”

We all bowed our heads, except for Mother.

“Lord, thanks for these fine goodies, which we will enjoy to the max. And thanks that Mom found her sister and brought her home to us safely. She’s going to be the best aunt. And thank You for Granny who, if not for her, none of us would exist to enjoy this day. Amen.”

We all looked up and had no words for a moment—maybe we felt a little startled with Julie’s tender but thought-provoking twist at the end of her prayer—but then with pinkies raised, we dug in. Mother didn’t seem to be too displeased, so I took that as a good sign. Maybe I could breathe and actually enjoy some of the tea fare.

“All right now, pour me some tea, won’t you, child,” Mother said to Julie. “Please.”

“Sure.” Julie picked up the pot from the warmer and poured her grandmother some tea. “There you go.” She came around and poured tea for Camille and me and then for herself. Julie lifted the tray and went around the table offering dainties to each of us, but she served her grandmother first. To my surprise Mother took several treats from the tray, even though she called them obscene indulgences.

When we were all situated with our tea and goodies, I asked, “Did Dragan make all this for high tea?”

Mother snorted. “No, she just called a caterer, and they showed up with it all.”

“Oh. Well, it was still nice of you to do this. I’ve never been to a high tea before.”

“To be precise, this isn’t high tea. This is really called low tea. High tea was for the lower classes, the working Brits. So, what do you do, Camille, for a career?” Mother asked, taking the conversation bull by the horns and charging forth.

Camille minced around on her petit four, licking off the frosting first. “I work in a grocery store.”

Mother’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “You mean in management?”

“No, I’m just at the checkout counter, but I like the staff. They’re very kind to me. And that means a lot really.” Camille took a sip of her tea, but when she set it down it made a crash landing into the saucer, spilling some of the tea on the place mat. “I’m sorry.” She righted the cup. “Do you want me to—”

“Just leave it,” Mother said.

I stared at Camille, and with bits of facial language, I tried to wordlessly ask her if she was okay. Amazingly, she understood and gave me a quick nod.

“Hmm. Surely with a little ingenuity, you could find a better situation,” Mother said. “You seem smart enough to improve yourself.”

I was afraid my sister might set Mother straight with a pointed remark, so to neutralize the air, I said, “Camille is being shy about her talent. She’s a flutist.”

Julie livened up. “Really? Are you good?”