Her Sister's Shoes Page 3

  Faith had told her husband countless times about the party. She’d even affixed the invitation to the refrigerator so as to remind him every time he got a beer.

  “Stop messing around, Curtis.” She nudged him with the toe of her worn-out ballet flat. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t get dressed.”

  He took a sip from the full beer in his left hand, then spit tobacco juice into an empty can in his right. “Late to what?”

  “Aunt Jackie’s birthday party is tonight, Daddy,” Bitsy said, without looking up from her coloring. “Do you think they’ll put fifty candles on her cake?”

  “I ain’t going to no party with no stuck-up rich people.” He wiped his stringy brown hair out of his face. “Besides, I already made plans.”

  “Then unmake them. Jackie has been planning this party for months.” Faith pulled Bitsy to her feet. “Don’t sit on the floor like that, honey. You’ll wrinkle your dress.” She smoothed her hand along the bottom of her daughter’s dress, hoping no one would notice the crease in the fabric where she’d let out several inches of hem. “Go get your hairbrush out of the bathroom,” she said, patting her daughter’s bottom.

  “Come on, Curtis.” Faith picked his foot up off the couch and let it drop to the floor. “We’re supposed to pick Mama up in ten minutes.”

  “Aw, hell, nah.” He drained the rest of his beer and crumbled the can. “I’m not going anywhere with that crazy old bitch. I’m supposed to meet the gang later.”

  Faith placed her hands on her hips. “It won’t kill you to come to the party, at least for a little while.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you ever asking me if I wanted to go.”

  “I shouldn’t have to ask you to go to my sister’s fiftieth birthday party. Sometimes you have to do things for your family, whether you want to or not.”

  He struggled to sit up. “I guess I could stop by for some grub on the way to meet the fellas. But she better have some real meat, like barbecue ribs. Those fancy little bite-size things you pop in your mouth ain’t food.”

  Bitsy returned with her hairbrush and a ribbon, handing them both to her mother.

  “Oh … I almost forgot. Sam needs you to help stock the showroom tomorrow and Friday.”

  “Fine, as long as she pays me.”

  Faith secured Bitsy’s ponytail with a hairband, then tied the pink ribbon in a big bow. She set the hairbrush down on the coffee table. “Haven’t you already been paid enough?”

  “My going rate is twenty an hour. Take it or leave it.” Curtis hauled himself up off the couch. He picked Bitsy up by her shoulders, planted a big kiss on her cheek, then set her back down and turned to Faith. “Damn, woman, you’re looking downright hot tonight. Where’d you get the money to buy the new dress?” His face was so close to hers she could smell the stale tobacco juice on his breath.

  “I didn’t buy it. I borrowed it from Sam.”

  He lifted a lock of Faith’s hair and sniffed it. Fingering the pearls around her neck, he said, “I haven’t seen you wear these in a while. They’d fetch a pretty penny down at Hank’s.”

  Faith swatted his hand away. “Daddy gave me these pearls, Curtis. They belong to me. And one day I will give them to our daughter.” She opened the door and escorted her daughter out before her husband got any more ideas about pawning her pearls.

  She stood for a moment on the front steps. The refreshing evening air offered a welcome relief from the stuffy trailer and the heated exchange with her husband.

  “Why is Daddy mad at you, Mama?” Bitsy skipped along beside Faith as they walked across the driveway to her rusty old pickup truck.

  Once white, the paint on the truck had yellowed with age. The tires were bald and the starter was shot, but Faith loved the truck just the same. Her father had given her the pearls on her sixteenth birthday, and the truck when she graduated from high school—the only two items of value she owned.

  “He’s not mad, honey. He’s just in a bad mood.” Faith scooped her daughter up and gave her a big hug before sliding her into her car seat in the back.

  “But he’s always in a bad mood,” Bitsy insisted as Faith was fastening her in.

  “Not always, baby. It just seems like it lately. That happens sometimes when grown-ups have a lot on their mind.” Faith kissed the tip of Bitsy’s nose. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  For the past two years, Curtis had been in and out of numerous jobs. He’d been fired from the job at the brick plant after only three days. The longer Curtis went without a job, the meaner he got and the more he drank. Most nights he came in drunk. She only wished he spent as much time looking for a job as he did hanging out with his biker friends.

  Faith, saying a silent prayer that the truck would start, turned the key several times before the engine finally caught. “We’re not gonna let Daddy’s bad mood spoil our fun, now are we?” she asked, looking at Bitsy in the rearview mirror.

  “No, we’re not!” Bitsy said, bouncing in her seat. “Mommy, will they have a cake for you and Aunt Sam tonight, too?”

  “No, sweetie. We decided to let Aunt Jackie have the spotlight this year since she’s turning fifty.” Bitsy’s disappointed face prompted her to add, “But I’ll tell you what. After the grand reopening on Saturday, I’ll let you buy me an ice cream sundae at Sandy’s to celebrate my birthday.”

  She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “But I don’t have any money to buy ice cream.”

  Faith smiled. “How about if I loan you the money and you can pay me back in kisses and hugs?”

  Bitsy beamed as she bobbed her head up and down.

  Faith turned the truck around and headed down the long dirt driveway toward the highway. Moving their double-wide to the woods in the middle of nowhere had been Curtis’s idea. He loved to kill squirrels with his shotgun, and scratch his privates on the front steps without anyone around to see. Faith dreamed of having neighbors, a friend to drink coffee with in the mornings, children for Bitsy to play with in the afternoons. She envied her sisters their proximity to town, especially Jackie whose expansive property fronted on the water.

  Faith wasn’t smart like Sam or creative like Jackie. Instead of going off to college like her sisters, she’d chosen to stay home and attend classes at the regional community college. All she’d ever really wanted was to be a mom. But one child was all she and Curtis were destined to have. After several miscarriages and a difficult pregnancy, she was lucky to carry Bitsy until the thirtieth week. She’d never forget the chaos in the delivery room that day—the emergency cesarean section, her baby’s blue face as the nurses rushed her off to the neonatal nursery, her husband’s pale face when the doctors told him the baby was a girl and there’d be no more. For one whole month, Faith never left the side of the incubator. The baby had problems eating and breathing, and a little problem with her heart that eventually worked itself out. Faith named the baby Elizabeth after Curtis’s great aunt, but Lovie called her Bitsy from the start. “Such an itsy-bitsy thing, fighting for her life.”

  Mother and daughter sang along together, very loud and very off-key, to Brad Paisley all the way to town. Faith turned left onto Creekside Drive, drove four blocks, then turned right into the complex where her mom lived in the last townhouse in a row of ten. The corner unit afforded her two hundred more square feet than the others, plus a first-floor master suite and large deck out back.

  Faith pulled up in front of the townhouse and blew the horn, a honking noise that sounded like a wounded goose flying in for a landing.

  Her mama appeared at the door. Lovie was not a fancy dresser. Shorts in the summer, jeans in the winter, and the same red knit dress on Sundays to church. She’d shrunk two inches in the past few years, now measuring in at exactly five feet. Today’s outfit—a pale-blue silk nightgown cinched with a zebra-skinned belt and topped with a furry vest—made her look like a little girl playing dress-up.

  Bitsy giggled from the backseat. “What is Lovie wearing, M
ama?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie, but we’d better go find out.”

  Once freed from her car seat, Bitsy ran over and wrapped her arms around her grandmother. Faith could hardly believe her mom was only six months shy of her eighty-third birthday. She’d always been the youngest-acting of all her friends’ moms. She’d insisted her grandchildren call her Lovie, claiming it made her sound like a hip grandmother instead of some old lady granny.

  Jackie had mentioned their mother’s memory slipping, but she hadn’t said anything about strange behavior.

  Faith ran her hand down the back of Lovie’s vest. “Is this real?”

  Lovie beamed. “Jacqueline gave it to me two Christmases ago. Mink isn’t exactly my taste, but I thought I’d wear it in honor of her birthday.”

  “It’s kinda cool tonight, but I think you might get hot,” Faith said.

  Lovie reached for the door handle on the truck. “We don’t have time for me to change now.”

  “At least put on a slip. I can see right through your nightgown.”

  “My nightgown?” Lovie looked down, apparently realizing for the first time what she was wearing. She rubbed the silky fabric between her fingers. “I guess you’re right. This is kind of a strange outfit. I never could figure out how to wear this silly old vest.” She rummaged through her pocketbook for her house keys. “It won’t take me but a minute to change.”

  Faith glanced at her watch. “Take your time. We don’t have to be there until seven.” Faith knew Jackie would prefer for them to skip the party than arrive with their mom in her nightgown. She took the key from Lovie and unlocked the front door. “Come on, we’ll help you find something to wear.”

  Once inside, Faith glimpsed the mess in the living room as they passed by, but the chaos in Lovie’s bedroom caught her by surprise. Clothes lay strewn across the floor and every piece of furniture as though a tornado had ripped through her closet and dresser. Her mama had always insisted they keep their rooms tidy when they were young. They had shared two tiny rooms between the three of them, but always kept their underwear folded in their drawers, and their dresses hung in neat rows in the closets.

  “What happened in here?” Faith asked. “Hurricane season is still weeks away.”

  “There’s a method to this madness.” Lovie dug through the pile of clothes on her bed until she found her navy slacks. “All my pants are here. And my blouses over there.” She found a white silky blouse from the mountain of clothes heaped on top of the rocking chair.

  While Lovie changed into her new outfit, Faith began to straighten the room. When she went to hang her mom’s robe on the back of the bathroom door, she found cosmetics scattered across the counter and clumps of dried toothpaste in the sink. Wet towels were piled up in the corner and the wastebasket overflowed with lipstick-blotted tissues.

  “What time are we supposed to be at Jackie’s?” Lovie asked.

  “Seven o’clock, Mama.” She’d told her mom that not ten minutes ago.

  Lovie glanced nervously at her bedside table where three different alarm clocks were set to the same time. “Oh Lordy. It’s already six thirty.”

  “Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. What’s with all the clocks, Mom?”

  “They help me keep my appointments straight. Each night before I go to bed, I write my appointments for the next day on those little sticky notes next to the clocks. Then, I set a different alarm for each appointment, fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to be there.”

  Faith glanced over at Bitsy who was listening attentively, as though her grandmama’s system was the most brilliant idea ever. One of the alarms sounded, a loud beeping noise, and the three of them jumped. Lovie removed the sticky note attached to the clock and held it up for Faith to read. “See, Jacqueline’s party. You told me a fib. We’re supposed to be there at six forty-five, not seven o’clock. Which means we better get going.” She stuffed a wad of tissues in her bag and started toward the door.

  “Shouldn’t you put on shoes first?”

  Lovie looked down. “Oops.” She slid her feet into gold sandals and then motioned to Faith and Bitsy to follow. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

  As she passed down the hallway, Faith studied the disarray in the other rooms. Stacks of newspapers and catalogs cluttered the floor and furniture in the living room, and dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink.

  “Why don’t I come over on Sunday and help you clean up?” Faith said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do it myself. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t had time.”

  Busy? Doing what? The market had been closed for remodeling for more than six weeks. Lovie didn’t belong to a bridge club or a book club or any groups at church. Other than taking meals to sick friends and looking after her family, her mom’s life had always revolved around the seafood market.

  Lovie asked Faith five more times during the ten-minute drive what time the party started. When they passed their old driveway, next door to Jackie’s, Lovie smacked her hand on the dashboard and shouted, “Where on earth are you going, Faith? You missed the turn.”

  Faith hesitated. Did her mom think they still lived in the cottage next door, or was she simply confused about whose driveway was whose?

  “I know it’s hard to see with the sun glaring through the windshield, but that’s our old driveway.” Faith pulled up next to the mailbox at the end of her sister’s driveway. “This is Jackie’s.”

  “Oh right,” Lovie mumbled. “Of course.”

  Her mama popped the top off a Maybelline tube and smeared lipstick across her lips. Lovie had always worn the same shade of cherry red lipstick, but the woman who grinned over at her looked like a clown with penciled-on eyebrows, flushed cheeks, and bright orange lips.

  Four

  Jacqueline

  From the balcony off her second-floor kitchen, Jackie watched the party preparations taking place on the terrace below. The band members tuned their instruments and tested their microphones. The bartenders iced down beer and opened bottles of wine. The caterers placed trays of sushi and bowls of shrimp on the tables while the wait staff stood ready to offer the guests fried oysters on Ritz crackers with a dab of remoulade sauce.

  The late afternoon sun was inching toward the horizon. A full moon would soon rise over the high tide, bringing with it the promise of a lovely summer’s eve. Tiki torches illuminated the path leading down to the dock, which was outlined by strands of hundreds of little white lights. The stage was set for Jackie’s guests to dance the night away.

  That is, if anyone actually showed up.

  She felt a bit guilty for not sharing her birthday with her sisters. All three of them were born during the first week of June—the first, the second, and the fourth—Jackie, Sam, and Faith, respectively. Sam was two years younger than Jackie, and Faith six years younger than Sam. When they were little, the girls always celebrated their birthdays with one great big party on June 3, the one nonbirthday, neutral day of the week.

  The parties were chaotic affairs, usually set up on the lawn with games of Pin the Tail on the Donkey and Musical Chairs. After a peanut butter and jelly lunch, the three girls would blow out the candles on a full-size vanilla sheet cake. Next came the required thirty minutes of rest to allow their food to digest. Then children and grown-ups migrated down to the dock for an afternoon of swimming. It’s a wonder no one ever drowned, with kids of all ages diving and cannonballing from the dock.

  The parties grew smaller as the girls grew older. In recent years, the burden of hosting the party had fallen on Jackie. For as long as she could remember, she’d thrown a dinner party on June 3 for the whole family—husbands, children, and Lovie—complete with a catering staff to execute her elaborate themes. She’d planned everything from the traditional hamburgers-and-hotdogs-on-the-grill cookout to a festive Hawaiian luau. One year, she’d surprised Sam on her fortieth by inviting all her friends to a sixties throwback party. As the first to reach the midcentury mark, Jackie ha
d declared a new rule–each sister reserved the right to have her own birthday party when she turned fifty.

  She watched a pelican swoop in and settle on the railing of the dock, the bird’s large throat pouch reminding Jackie of her own thickening neck. Her father, inspired by his love of seagulls, had always referred to his three daughters as his gulls, but Jackie preferred to think of herself as a blue heron, tall and elegant and lean. For her fortieth birthday, her husband had given her a four-foot bronze heron. She’d named the statue Grace, and positioned it on the terrace at the edge of the walkway to the dock, where she could see it from every room on the waterside of her house. She placed a wreath and red bow around the heron’s neck at Christmas, and hung a basket of colored eggs from its beak at Easter. Tonight, for the occasion of Jackie’s fiftieth, Grace sported a lei of white dendrobium orchids.

  Jackie heard a screen door slam at the cottage next door, then saw ten-year-old Rebecca Griffin flying across the lawn toward their dock. “Happy Birthday, Miss Jackie,” the child called, waving up at her.

  Jackie waved back. “The boys are expecting you to come over later for cake.”

  Rebecca flashed a mouth full of metal before continuing on her mission. When she got to the end of the dock, she untied a rope from one of the cleats and hoisted a crab trap out of the water. Jackie was too far away to count the crabs in the trap, but the little girl’s squeal signaled a successful catch.

  Rebecca reminded Jackie of Sam at that age, long tanned legs and freckles splattered across her cheeks. When she wasn’t fishing or shrimping or mud-hole punching, Sam had followed their father around from one home improvement project to another.

  How could three sisters with the same parents, the same set of genetics, be so different?

  The girls were nine, seven, and one when they moved into the house next door. With three tiny bedrooms, two baths, and a sweeping view of the inlet, the rundown shack had been their parents’ dream home, the only waterfront property they’d ever be able to afford. Looking past the peeling paint and rotten floorboards, their parents combined their life savings and devoted the next five years to weekend work projects. Oscar became proficient with a hammer and a saw while Lovie developed a knack for turning flea market trash into treasures. Jackie and Sam, dressed in matching overalls, appointed themselves the painters. Naturally, Sam was better with a brush and roller while Jackie fancied herself the color consultant. The sisters had argued over which color to paint their room—Jackie’s purple against Sam’s green—until Jackie finally convinced Sam they should paint one side a subtle shade of moss green and the other a pale-lavender hue.