Chapter 50 #2
“She came from a military family.” Etta put their bags down by the couch. Is this where we’re sleeping? Imagining Etta sleeping on a foldout couch… what was the world coming to? “I never met him, but my grandfather was a pretty strict Army guy. The ethic lived on through me.”
“That explains so much.” Jamie’s mouth was as wide as her eyes.
“Why’s that?”
“You ever see your own work ethic? Sheesh.” Only the military could breed that kind of adherence. Instead, my parents were the ones protesting wars.
“I suppose. Come on. Let’s go let her know we’re not a couple of burglars before she pulls a rifle and hunting knife out from somewhere.”
For as well as Jamie knew her fiancée, she could not tell if that was her dry humor speaking… or an actual warning.
They found Etta’s mother out back, as Sylvia promised.
Anne Coleman was a wiry woman. Perhaps the same height as her daughter, but it was possible she used to be taller.
She wore faded jeans, one leg crossed over the other as she gazed upon the hummingbirds dancing around a cheap dollar store feeder.
Her button-down powder blue shirt was crisp, not a button out of place or threaded in the wrong hole.
But it was her face, wrinkled, a little gaunt, and so serious that she could make a pack of rowdy children calm down in silent reverence that defined her.
That face gave off such a somber air that Jamie imagined Etta’s childhood to be, “Sit down, shut up, and make sure you brush your teeth before going to bed.” The kind of woman who needed a husband who was her polar opposite to balance things out in a household.
“Mom,” Etta said, standing off to the side. Anne slightly turned her head, but was not wont to get up and hug her daughter. “Good to see you well enough.”
Anne rubbed her knuckles along her nose before putting her arm back down and contemplating the freshly mowed yard. “Don’t you know you’re in a retirement community, girl?” a gravelly voice asked. “It’s over seventy degrees. Why are you in that fancy outfit?”
The ironic thing was that Etta wasn’t in any fancy outfit – by her standards!
Her slacks were as casual as she dared outside of the occasional jeans.
She didn’t even wear a jacket over her beige button down.
She’s practically naked. Etta had changed out of her business suit on the plane, and now Jamie knew why.
“You always told me to dress for success.”
“I also told you to keep your hands out of your damn pockets.”
Etta pulled her hands out of her front pockets and flexed her fingers. She’s over thirty, rarely talks to her mother, and is quick to obey whatever she barks at her. Some things never changed. It was kinda cute.
“Anyway, this is Jamie, my fiancée. I may have mentioned her a time or two.”
That was her cue to step before Anne, nerves striking her heart as she made eye contact with this surly mother of the woman Jamie loved. Her expression did not change as she looked her up and down and turned away.
“Nice to meet you.”
Jamie couldn’t tell if that was sarcastic or not.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Everything Jamie had rehearsed until now fell apart.
Was this how Etta felt talking to her mother growing up?
What do you say to a woman like this? Is there any way to please her…
to impress her? Jamie always got the feeling that Etta’s mother was unimpressed by the billions.
She didn’t even want to accept a penny. Out of pride? Probably.
Jamie knew their evening with Etta’s mother would be quiet, but she didn’t expect the total silent treatment as they ate their pot roast dinners and settled in to watch crime shows on TV.
Jamie sat next to Etta on the couch while Anne took up her stoic stance in an armchair, hands folded on her stomach as she grumbled about incompetent detectives and how “that doesn’t work in real life. ” She had read it in an article.
Etta didn’t seem bothered by this, for it was probably her mother’s usual behavior. Jamie, on the other hand, almost craved her parents’ antics compared to this. At least they were alive.
After the latest rerun of CSI: Miami, Etta and her mother went out back to take in the warm night.
Or, at least, that’s what most women would have assumed.
By now, Jamie knew it wasn’t old times transpiring back there.
Worst of all? The kitchen window was still open, so she could hear almost every word they said as it filtered through the screen.
“We would really appreciate you coming to the wedding, Mom,” Etta said.
“I’ll take care of everything. You’d like the garden at my place, anyway.
Looks like that one you used to take me to on the weekends when we lived in Lothsborough.
That’s where we’re getting married. The garden, that is. Not Lothsborough.”
“I was gonna say, anyone could do better than that dump of a town.”
Etta sighed. “You don’t have to make a decision right now, but…”
“I’m not going.”
“I thought as much.”
“Why would I want to leave here? Here is fine. I don’t need to see your fancy things to know they’re there.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about me getting married.”
“I’m sure there will be others to attend if I feel up to it.”
“Other what? Weddings?” Etta was losing her patience already. “I would hope you give my fiancée the benefit of the doubt. She’s not like that.”
“That’s what we all say, girl. You’re young. Sue me for assuming. I saw that girl.”
“That ‘girl’ is my fiancée.”
“So you’ve said a dozen times.”
“Which means there’s no need to insult her. She can probably hear you.” You have no idea, Etta.
“Why would I hide what I have to say? Do you want me to tell you that she’s pretty? Yes, girl, she’s pretty. You have good taste when it comes to looks. I’ll say that much.”
“You don’t know her.”
“I’m fine with that. You’re the only rich person I need to know.”
“She’s not rich.”
“Either way… whether she’s rich or Cinderella… it doesn’t matter.”
“You know that neighborhood we lived in up north? The one with the drug dealers and the rats in the cupboards? That’s where she was living when I met her. She grew up in some small town out in the countryside. I’d trust her with my life.”
Jamie had heard enough. No matter how much she defends me, her mother won’t care.
Maybe it was complete indifference on Anne’s part.
Or maybe she was so cynical that any woman Etta married was merely a starter wife that wasn’t worth getting to know.
Would she feel the same way about any kids I had with Etta?
At the very least, Anne didn’t care that she and Etta shared the couch bed without wedding rings on their fingers.
It was the most uncomfortable bed she had ever slept on since her shitty apartment in the city, but at least it was with Etta, who wore nothing but underwear and a cotton shirt as she climbed beneath an afghan and sighed against a couch pillow. At least she was quick to fall asleep.
Jamie remained wide awake, listening to the sounds of South Carolina around her.
Windows were still open, and a machine hummed in the closed bedroom where Anne slept.
These sounds weren’t what kept her awake, however.
It was the dull ache in her heart. The one that said even Etta’s remnants of a family didn’t accept her, because they thought she was a transient first wife who could be forgotten one day.
“God fucking damnit,” cursed Anne in the bedroom. “These pieces of shit never work…”
Etta continued to sleep steadily. Jamie sat up, threading her hair through her fingers and wondering if she should go to the bathroom for the hundredth time that night.
“How young do they think I am? This wasn’t even this difficult in the ‘80s…”
Jamie got up, picking an empty plastic cup off the coffee table so she could fill it with water. Etta started snoring. Okay, Ms. Adorable. She was missing a cat, though.
“Shit!”
Jamie was halfway to the kitchen when she heard a thump in the bedroom. A heavy thump. The kind that made people stop in their tracks and contemplate whether or not they had heard someone die.
Damnit. Jamie put her empty cup down and went to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. “Ms. Coleman?” she asked, both wanting to wake Etta up and let her sleep. “Are you okay in there? I heard a thump.”
“Don’t bother yourself!”
Grunts and mumbles commenced. Jamie may not have been great at charades, but she definitely knew the sounds of someone struggling to get up off the floor.
She tested the doorknob. Anne Coleman was apparently not a woman who locked her bedroom door at night.
Sure enough, she found her future mother-in-law on the floor beside her bed, attempting to hoist herself up without much success. Jamie rushed to her side, turning on a bedroom light.
“Are you okay?” Nothing sent more fear into a young person’s heart than seeing someone who could be their parent falling to the ground. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“What makes you think I can’t get up?” Anne smacked her wrist, sending Jamie two steps back as she finally made it up onto her bed. She immediately pulled her blanket on top of her body, sputtering that it was indecent for Jamie to see her like this. “Do you think I’m stupid or something?”
“No, I… I don’t think anything like that.” Jamie stayed a respectful distance away. It doesn’t look like she needs any help, but how was I supposed to know that?
“Good! Now, do you think you could leave me alone?”
“Sure.” Jamie turned away, hoping Anne wasn’t embarrassed to see her in a cotton T-shirt and sleep shorts.
“Last thing I need is my daughter’s training wheels flying off in my direction…”
Jamie stopped in the doorway. “Excuse me?”
Anne waved her off.
I don’t fucking think so. Jamie approached her again, too bothered to toss her hair out of her face. “What did you call me?”
“What business of it is yours?”