Chapter 10 #2
I hadn’t been wrong about everyone dressing up.
They all looked like they were heading to the opera or a museum gala or some other fancy event.
Even in my new dress I felt underdressed.
But no one noticed. They were too busy doting on Henry and making a fuss over him.
I faded into the background, content to sip on my lemonade in the corner.
Which is probably why no one noticed me when I wandered into the living room where Henry and Addie had been playing during our first dinner at Pearlie and Junior’s apartment.
“You promised.”
An elderly woman in a wine-colored lace evening gown and perfectly matched leather pumps that looked like ones she might’ve worn as a young woman, clutched Whit’s hands from where she sat in her wheelchair.
Her voice was thick with tears as she added, “Your daddy promised it was my turn. I was supposed to be next!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Netty,” Whit told her, his tone sympathetic.
At that moment, Merilee glanced up and saw me. She bent to whisper something to Whit, then gave me a bright, carefully placed smile.
“Hey there!” she said cheerfully. “I’m going to take Ms. Netty back to our apartment. I think the party might be a bit too much for her.”
I stepped aside as she began to wheel Netty past, but the older woman grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.
“Don’t trust these people,” she rasped. “They’re lying to you, girl. Run now while you can!”
“Now, Ms. Netty,” Merilee chided with a condescending smile. “You’re going to frighten our Ms. Zellie. We want her to stay, don’t we?”
“No!” Ms. Netty shrieked, shaking her head vehemently, her voice stronger than it had been, the cloudiness in her eyes briefly clearing. “Run, girl!”
I watched them disappear down the hall until I sensed Whit at my elbow.
“Poor Ms. Netty,” he murmured. “She gets confused so easily these days.”
“Is she always like that?” I asked, dread twisting inside me, unnerved by her warning.
Whit sighed. “Most days.”
I turned to face him. “What did she mean ‘her turn?’”
He swirled the ice in his drink and downed the last of it before responding. “Like I said, she’s confused.” He abruptly held up his glass. “Going for another. Would you like one?”
I shook my head. “No. Thanks. I’m good.”
But before Whit could top off his drink, Junior poked his head in. “Come on, y’all!” he said, waving at us to follow. “We’re gonna take this party outside. June’s worrying herself to death that no one’s eating Mr. Dean’s cake.”
I raised a brow. “Outside? Isn’t it too hot? The frosting on the cake will melt.”
Whit chuckled. “Guess we’ll just have to eat quickly.”
He gestured for me to exit the room before him, then placed a hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me from the room.
It was an innocent enough touch, but it still sent a rush of heat through my body.
I tried to hide the shiver that followed.
But the subtle increase in pressure from his fingertips told me he’d noticed… and maybe even felt it too.
“Mama!” Henry shouted, having already shed his tie. “We’re going outside! Papaw Earl put up a swing for me and Addie!”
Papaw Earl, was it now?
June smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. “He sure did! You’d best go try it out, little prince!”
Little Prince?
“That’s awesome, baby!” I gushed, forcing excitement into my voice. “I’ll be right out.”
Henry pivoted and ran outside, June behind him. I reached out to grab Whit’s arm before he followed.
He turned, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitated, considering my words. Finally, I managed, “I just…I appreciate all the kindness from June and Earl, but I’m worried they’re going to confuse Henry. He’s not their grandson. I mean, when we leave…”
I didn’t continue, remembering what he’d said the other day about hoping I’d stay. He knew exactly what sentence I’d left unfinished.
His expression shuttered, that familiar guardedness slipping back into place. “Even if you leave Dawes House, I hope you won’t disregard us. There are people here who care about you and Henry.”
I swallowed hard, working up the courage to ask, “People like you?”
His eyes searched my face briefly, and his voice was deeper, softer when he confirmed, “People like me.”
We stood there for a long, charged moment before the sound of singing drifted across the yard, drawing my attention away from the warmth of his gaze.
I frowned. The melody tugged at some distant corner of memory, familiar, but out of reach. “What is that song?”
Whit cleared his throat and stepped back, retreating to Junior’s liquor cart and pouring himself another drink. “Old blessing song.”
I moved to the open door that led from the Johnsons’ apartment to the back garden. “What language is that?”
“Uh…not sure,” Whit said with a shrug. “Old English, I think. Or maybe Gaelic.”
I laughed. “What happened to Happy Birthday?”
He grinned, visibly relaxing again. “Yeah, well, if you want to sing Happy Birthday to Mr. Dean, I’m sure he’d just glower at you for the duration of the song and not hold it against you for the rest of the night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Does the man ever smile?”
Whit took a sip of his drink and then shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.” He gestured toward the door. “But there’s a first time for everything, as they say. Better not miss it.”
I followed him outside and instantly hit a wall of heat.
Thick, damp humidity wrapped around my lungs, making it difficult to draw a breath.
Within moments, sweat began to creep along the nape of my neck.
I scanned the yard to make sure Henry wasn’t suffering the same discomfort, but he was happily spinning on the rope swing Earl had hung earlier.
A grunt near my shoulder drew my attention. Mr. Dean glowered at the children as they played, clearly disapproving of their presence.
“Had a swing like that when I was his age.”
I blinked, surprised to see him standing there, let alone talking to me. “Really? That must’ve been fun.”
He grunted again. “Fell off and broke my arm in three places. My mother was so upset that my father cut down the tree and burned it for firewood.”
And there was the Mr. Dean I was familiar with. “Henry and Addie seem to love it,” I offered. “Henry’s doing so much better now that he has someone to play with.”
Mr. Dean glanced at me and made a dismissive noise. “That’d be June and Pearlie’s doing.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant or how to respond. So, I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “Are you enjoying your birthday party?”
“A lot of nonsense,” he grumbled. “Don’t need a party. Need to be about fifty years younger. Why would I want to celebrate getting even older? Bullshit, if you ask me.”
I glanced around, hoping someone would come rescue me from the conversation, but they were all occupied elsewhere—either playing with the kids or enjoying another cocktail while chatting with the others.
Even Whit was now talking quietly with Merilee who had returned.
A brief, sharp pain stabbed me in my chest at seeing them together, but I shoved it aside.
“Well,” I said to Mr. Dean, exasperated by his attitude, “if you didn’t want a party, you should have said so. I doubt they would’ve gone to all this trouble if they’d known you didn’t want it.”
He stared at me and shook his head like I’d said something profoundly stupid. “I’m eighty,” he said. “It’s tradition.”
With that, he shuffled away toward Ms. Pearlie, who was waving him over to a tray of tiny silver goblets. Then Pearlie clapped her hands, calling for everyone’s attention.
“My beloved family,” she called as Earl picked up the tray and began handing out the drinks. She placed a hand on Mr. Dean’s shoulder. “Our dear Mr. Dean has reached his eightieth year. Tonight, we toast him and bid him well as he takes his next journey.”
I accepted the goblet Earl handed me. He winked. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he whispered. “It won’t kill you.”
I gave him a weak smile and turned my attention back to Pearlie.
She glanced around the yard as if looking for someone and then a smile curved her lips.
I turned to see who’d arrived and was surprised to see Billy Wayne and Kitty, the latter heavily pregnant and dangerously pale, leaning on her husband’s arm as if she was nearly too weak to walk.
Earl immediately handed goblets to both of them.
The only one missing at this point was Ms. Netty.
Pearlie raised her goblet again. “As we enter, so shall we depart.”
Every resident raised their goblet, repeating Pearlie’s words. I quickly raised mine, murmuring the odd toast a beat late, and watched as they all tossed back their sherry in a single swallow—except Kitty who only took a tiny sip before handing hers to her husband to finish.
“Drink up, buttercup.”
I flinched and turned to see Merilee standing beside me, grinning.
“Is this the way you all usually celebrate birthdays?” I asked before obediently downing the sherry. It wasn’t like I knew what a normal birthday celebration was supposed to be except for what I’d seen on TV or read about in books, but this couldn’t have been typical.
“Not every year,” Merilee replied. “Just the big ones. When we come of age and when we turn eighty.”
“Why those?” I asked.
Merilee lifted her empty goblet, signaling Earl for a refill.
“Coming of age is obvious, isn’t it? That’s when everything changes.
You’re no longer bound by childish rules.
You’re free to be without apology, to truly experience it all without reserve—love, joy, pleasure, desire, sex.
” She gave me a wicked grin. “You do remember what sex is like, don’t you? ”
My cheeks burned. And not from the sherry. I wasn’t about to divulge anything I wanted or needed or had (or hadn’t much) experienced. Luckily, before I could respond, Earl showed up to refill both our goblets before moving on to chat with Billy Wayne and Iris, Kitty having gone back inside.