Chapter 63 Cece
Cece
Cece is used to being left alone, unnoticed perhaps, in her cabin-style home tucked off an out-of-the-way road and up a twisty
driveway. That’s why she’s surprised when she spots Georgia’s fancy car snaking up toward her. She steps out onto the deck,
afternoon coffee in hand.
She leans on the rail and calls out once the driver door pops open. “Georgia Louise, do my eyes deceive me?”
Cece means the words even more once she gets a full look at Georgia. She’s wearing wrinkled pajamas, looking like she was
just spit out of a spin cycle, haggard with hair her mother would insist on fixing—first things first.
Georgia throws up her hands. “I know I’m not your preferred niece, but I’d hoped you’d take pity.”
Cece’s heart squeezes. She could probably be softer with Georgia. “Come on up. No Louise woman will ever be turned away from
this house.”
A smile passes Georgia’s face, and it tickles Cece.
She’s always loved the way both girls delight in being called a Louise by their aunts—even if their actual name is Scott.
Being a Louise is a way of life, not a name you have to own.
Names have already done their number on this family, so the Louise one will be open to anyone in their circle.
Georgia climbs the decking steps and stops in front of Cece, who sets down her mug and opens her arms. Georgia falls into
them, and she is heavy like someone desperate for rest. Cece wonders if she’s still doing that job remotely and, if so, how she’s doing it. All the same, it’s not the priority now that the genetic testing debacle is out.
Georgia breathes in and out in deep gulps that fill her belly and press the women closer. Cece relishes it as a moment to
have Georgia close, one she doesn’t have to hurry her along from toward her next big thing.
“Come on,” Cece says. “Let’s get you inside and a cup of coffee in your hand.”
She grabs her mug and leads her niece inside to the sofa, where she leaves her. After a few minutes, Cece returns and Georgia
is curled in a ball looking like she wants the world to leave her alone.
The mugs let out a muted thud as Cece sets them on the coffee table. Georgia looks up at the sound. “If I ask you a question,
will you tell me the truth?”
Cece sighs, and they exchange a knowing look. “The truth gets a little squirrely around here, doesn’t it? I think your sister
didn’t want to hurt you with that news.”
Georgia sits herself upright. “That’s not what I’m here for. But for the record, you’re right, and I’m not upset with her.
On that front, I’m entirely upset with myself and will be forevermore.”
“Forevermore? Really? We have to do that to ourselves?”
Georgia stifles an eye roll and then mutters, “It’s what I deserve.” She finds her voice. “But I’m here to talk about Mama.”
Cece perks up and reaches for her coffee. She holds out a hand for Georgia to continue.
“Was she a bully? Because long story short, Misty Prince called the licensing board on us, and I went over to her house—like this, mind you”—Georgia drags her hands up and down her sides in demonstration—“to confront her. She basically said All-Star is her mom’s franchise and that my mama bullied hers.
And I have never heard such hogwash coming out of her aesthetically enhanced lips. I could—”
“Well,” Cece says, “your mama wasn’t a saint.”
Georgia scoffs. Yet her tone is uncertain when she says, “How dare you . . .”
Cece holds up her hands. “Please. You want this info or not?”
“Story of my freakin’ life,” Georgia chirps. “I guess I’ll take it, Lord help me.”
“I know the woman—now that I think about it—Cynthia Stonewall. What with Misty keeping her married last name, I didn’t put
them together. Cynthia went to high school with us, but really your mother knew her better. June and Cynthia were rivals.
In hindsight, it was silly. They both ran for student council, but there could only be one president. They both wanted the
prize for best homecoming decorations, but only one hall won. They both wanted to date the same guy, but although he might’ve
entertained it, they couldn’t share. I imagine had they competed less, they might’ve been friends. But . . . your mama, just
like she always did, took it too far.”
Georgia sits quietly listening, her face giving nothing away. Perhaps she’s yet to be convinced.
“There was one night where Cynthia was on a date with the guy June wanted. She’d been sore over it for weeks—though no one
could be sure if she really wanted the guy or just the win. So June hears that Cynthia and this guy are heading down to the creek behind the shops.”
Georgia’s face finally cracks into a curious frown.
“She recruited her meanest gal pals, and they staked out the creek. Turns out, the lovebirds climbed uphill to the deeper part, and they caught them skinny-dipping. June and her crew took their clothes and their shoes and left them high and dry. In the moment, I’m sure they thought it was a prank—for June it was certainly revenge—but it wasn’t until the next day that they realized the extent of what they’d done.
“Cynthia and the boy had to hike back to town covered with whatever they could scavenge, sopping wet and shoeless. They were
teenagers. Mortified. And Cynthia’s father was a minister at the Baptist church. It turned out that once he got wind of the
skinny-dipping, he sent her off to some terrible ‘camp’ for troubled kids to be ‘corrected in their ways.’ It went so far
south that all the girls involved were racked with guilt—your mama included. But just as the pendulum swung and knocked Cynthia
off her throne, your mama was labeled as a bully for a while.”
Georgia leans in. “Mama did that?”
Cece nods. “Yes, honey, she did. She made a mistake, and it turned out to be much bigger than she planned. She was human.
She messed up.”
“It just doesn’t seem in keeping with her, you know? Are we sure? Mama just seemed more sensitive than that. Like she’d be
able to take the higher road, that she’d have better insight.”
“This is what happens when people die,” Cece says. “We forgive them their faults by forgetting them.”
“She did have faults, I’m not denying that—”
“Which ones?” Cece asks.
Georgia stops in her tracks, her lips pausing in the shape of an O. Her eyes flit around as if the list should be close at
hand, but eventually they stop and she looks to the ground in defeat.
“See?” Cece says. “It’s ok for you to love your mama like crazy and think about all her good parts—because don’t get me wrong, she was wonderful and incredible in all kinds of ways. But she was also real life, human and flawed, just like the rest of us.”
“I was so young when she died,” Georgia says.
Cece nods. “We wouldn’t have told you any of this then. And frankly, you and Junie reminding us of all our favorite parts
of June—either by talking or by showing us—has been a balm all these years.”
“I’ve been trying to live up to her example all this time.” The earnestness and true belief drips from Georgia’s face. “I’ve
treated her words and ideas like some divine final word. I forgot that she was only a person.”
“And she was an incredible, insatiable, irresistible person at that, Georgia. We don’t have to dull her. But you owe it to
yourself to acknowledge that your mother made mistakes, and you can too. She wasn’t perfect, so you don’t have to be either.”
“I wouldn’t be letting her down?”
Cece slaps her leg. “You remember June as the woman who told you to eat your veggies and stay out of the middle of the road.
I remember her drunk and arguing with the guy from the auto shop over the price of her oil change. You remember sweet bedtime
stories and gentle tuck-ins. I remember her cussing over dead houseplants. All of them are true. All of us have both.”
“She wasn’t perfect. What a thought.” Georgia sounds like she’s trying for a sarcastic lilt, but it comes out sounding much
sadder. Like news she could’ve used a decade earlier.
“She’d want you to have a full-spectrum life too. Do what fills you up, be kind to your sister, love your daddy, but also
don’t kill yourself for the sake of someone else. You deserve the main meal, not the leftovers.”
“Do you think she’d forgive me for misreading Junie’s results?” Georgia’s lips quiver.
Cece rushes to wrap her arms around her and wills herself to become her sister come to life.
“I am as sure of that as I am about anything in this world. June wouldn’t blame you.
She would tell you that you don’t need to be forgiven.
Now, she’d probably already be online searching for the home addresses of the people running the lab, cussing and yelping as she plotted some revenge. Again, she wasn’t a saint.”
Georgia pulls back, finally nodding slightly, as if she’s starting to believe it. “With every year, the weight of being the
big sister, the responsible one in charge, grew. It started with Mama’s memory and it ran like fire in a dry field. But from
here, maybe it can be something else too. I can be lots of things and still make Mama’s memory proud.”
Cece nods deeply and doesn’t stop as she begins to speak. “You’ve done more for Junie, more for this family than is reasonable
to expect of any one person. It’s why we wanted you to have the life you wanted for yourself, Georgia. You were a high schooler
who took on the task of making genetic testing happen for you and your sister. Don’t you see how much that already is? And
as much as I hate to admit it, if you hadn’t, it might not have been done. At least not for years until we all got our heads
on straight and finally got around to remembering it—not to mention the time and effort it’d take to figure out how to get
it. You did your best, and it was more than we could’ve asked.”
Georgia looks back at Cece, relief finally in her eyes. “I think I’m starting to understand that.”