Thirty-Three
Trudy
Verlaine Crump’s perfume smelled so strong Trudy could taste it. The Crumps arrived before anyone else carrying a bottle of wine Dickie claimed was from Italy.
Leta Pearl said, “You shouldn’t have,” and she likely meant it since she believed red wine was for Catholics. Ever the gracious host, though, she poured everyone a glass.
“Hey there, stranger!” Verlaine hugged Trudy and her nostrils filled with White Shoulders. Strong perfume always gave Trudy a terrible headache, made her lightheaded, and clouded her thinking.
Trudy sneezed into her elbow. “Good to see you, Verlaine.” She offered her hand to Dickie, who pecked her knuckles.
When Haskel arrived, Trudy became overly conscious of herself, monitoring her own every move like someone wearing a stolen dress to church. She found herself forcing eye contact and ensuring she smiled and giggled at all the right moments.
Leta Pearl had set the formal dining room, which she only used when she tried to make an impression.
Pete behaved and didn’t even play with his green beans, which sat untouched.
He even raised his milk, clinked his glass right along with everyone when Dickie toasted Verlaine’s recent presidential success.
“Oh, hush,” Verlaine said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
The headache was coming on quickly. Trudy tried to ignore it, willed it to go away, and rubbed the spot at the base of her skull that often staved it off. She sneezed into her napkin, and everyone blessed her.
Leta Pearl had made biscuits. Lots of them.
Haskel made the biggest fuss like he always did, took a bite, and leaned over to kiss Trudy on the cheek while squeezing her hand under the table, details Trudy probably wouldn’t have even noticed if Emily hadn’t told her that ridiculous tale last night.
For a moment, Haskel’s eyes became empty as if staring into pitch darkness.
Beads of sweat collected above his brow.
She rubbed the spot on her neck again, but her head started to throb behind her eyes. She sneezed again. Everyone blessed her again.
Then Dickie Crump had the exact same reaction as Haskel.
Beads of sweat collected on his forehead, and he nuzzled his nose into Verlaine’s neck, an innocent gesture, but perhaps a little too affectionate for mixed company.
Dub was always affectionate with Leta Pearl, embarrassingly so, but Trudy noticed his eyes, too, were a little more spacey, one of them winking at Leta Pearl across the oval-shaped table, and his smirk said he couldn’t wait until their guests had finally left.
The room wasn’t dark enough for such dilated pupils.
“Wow!” Dickie Crump said. “These biscuits are even better when they’re hot and fresh, Miss Leta Pearl.”
Leta Pearl smiled and flicked her wrist, deflecting the remark but somehow fully receiving it too, the graceful way of a Southern woman. Verlaine scrunched up her face as Dickie planted an audible kiss on her cheek. He seemed almost breathless, his own cheeks turning bright red.
Something wasn’t right.
“You’ve had Mama’s biscuits before, Mr. Crump?” Trudy asked.
“Oh, yes, but never fresh. Holy moly!”
Verlaine took a gulp of wine and set her glass down. “Honey, your mama has been cooking me a batch a week just for Dickie. He can’t get enough of ’em.”
Leta Pearl cleared her throat and scratched the back of her neck, did that little thing with her wrist again.
“Is that so?” Trudy said. The air in the room felt strange, but maybe it was Verlaine’s perfume.
Sometimes Trudy would have to lie in a darkened room for a few hours to make these headaches go away, until the nausea passed, and it felt like her head was attached to her body again.
Perhaps, she thought, she should excuse herself.
“Bless you, honey,” Haskel said as Trudy sneezed again.
Trudy looked closely; she broke her biscuit open and let the crumbs float down on her turquoise Fiestaware plate.
And then. That image sparked a memory: the crumbs on Shug’s plate.
That Saturday morning after the first football game.
It came flooding back in vibrant technicolor.
How strangely agitated Leta Pearl had been about him eating that biscuit.
Not to mention she’d lied about it being for a bridal shower that didn’t exist. And who took biscuits to a bridal shower in the first place?
After he ate that biscuit, Shug had asked Trudy to go fishing; they’d almost kissed .
She’d almost let him. Leta Pearl had demanded Trudy ask the coach to leave and then she’d watched them like a prison guard from the kitchen window until Louley Gooch showed up, and then she’d all but shoved him out herself.
Trudy drew in a breath trying to settle her nerves. She closed, then opened, her eyes. The scene had not changed. The tension in her face grew tighter. Her jaws flexed and her teeth ground down hard.
Their kiss on the lake. Shug holding her hand to his mouth and breathing in her scent as if mesmerized.
Him planning the whole time for Pete to join them, making the peanut butter, jelly, and bacon sandwich with no crusts.
It had seemed so real . That spark she’d felt had zipped through every square inch of her.
But was it all just a biscuit?
Trudy rubbed her temples and her neck, pinched the bridge of her nose, looked around at everyone’s faces; the smirks Verlaine flashed to Leta Pearl and Leta Pearl flashed back validating some mutual secret. The dreamy smiles and swooning mutters from the men. Something was happening.
Pete stirred his meat loaf with his fork, next to his own half-eaten biscuit.
“Pete?” Trudy said. “Honey, do you feel okay?”
He nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s fine, Trudy,” Leta Pearl said. “Let him eat.”
Trudy eyed him closely.
“Peter,” Leta Pearl said. “Why don’t you tell everyone about those Canadian geese we saw today?”
“They were in the park,” Pete said. “Right acrosss from the store. Lotsss of ’em.”
Leta Pearl said, “Lord, you should’ve seen—”
“What is going on here!” Trudy slammed her fork down, so hard the table rattled and caused little ripples in everyone’s wine. Everyone snapped to attention, eyes wide.
“What on earth?” Leta Pearl said.
Trudy sneezed again. “What in the hell is going on here?”
“Darling,” Haskel said, all head-in-the-clouds, gently taking her hand in his like some stoned televangelist. “We’re having a nice dinner. Are you getting one of your headaches?”
“No.” Trudy jerked her hand away and stood. “Something ... I don’t know what ... is in those biscuits.” She was halfway to the kitchen to investigate when she heard Leta Pearl say behind her, “I’m so sorry, y’all ... excuse me.”