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  I tiptoed to the side of the bed and whispered, “Junior? Mr. Connard? Are you awake?”

  He opened one eye, then the other. “Blood pressure again?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not a nurse. I mean, I am, but not a hospital nurse. I just came to see how you’re doing.”

  He frowned and blinked like he couldn’t focus his eyes. And he probably couldn’t with his head busted open like it was. “Okay, I guess,” he mumbled. “Helluva headache.”

  “I don’t doubt it. What happened, you remember?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, and brought a hand with a heavy gold ring on his finger out from under the covers and ran it over his face. “Minding my own business, and wake up in the hospital.” He cut his eyes back to me, and winced with the movement. “You from the police?”

  “No.” I took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m Etta Mae Wiggins.”

  “Who?”

  “Etta Mae Wiggins. You know, I’m your daddy’s home nurse and . . . friend.”

  “Oh. How is he?”

  “He’s fine, but we’re all worried about you. He wants to know what you were doing when you got hurt.”

  “Just . . . I don’t know. Went somewhere.” He stopped and frowned again like the events of the night were all jumbled up in his brain. “Woke up here. Where’s my wife?”

  I’d forgotten about her. What if she came in while I was here? I looked over my shoulder at the door, which was still closed.

  “I’ll try to find her for you,” I told him. “But don’t you remember going to my trailer? That’s where I—they—found you.”

  “Trailer?” He screwed up his mouth, thinking hard, and frowned at me again with an addled look on his face. “Who are you?”

  “Etta Mae Wiggins,” I said, loud and clear so I’d shake a memory or two loose. Then, deciding to risk it all, I said, “I’m your daddy’s fiancée. Remember how happy you were when you heard about it?” Well, I had to try it.

  “I was?”

  “Oh, yes. It took a burden off your mind to have someone in the family taking care of him.”

  “Daddy’s married?”

  “Getting married,” I said, and added, “real soon.”

  A tiny smile flicked at the corner of his mouth, and he said, “Why, that ole goat.”

  “I’m going over there in a little while. Is that all right with you?”

  He blinked his eyes several times, mumbled something that sounded like “Okay,” and before I knew it, he’d dropped off to sleep.

  “I brought you some candy,” I whispered, and put the Whitman’s Sampler on the bedside table.

  In an even lower whisper, I said, “Thank you for your blessing.” And under my breath, I added, “Son.” Then, relieved that Junior’d never be able to say I’d married his daddy behind his back, I turned to get out while the getting was good.

  She opened the door just as I reached for it, and we stood face-to-face, both of us too shocked to speak. Mrs. Howard Connard, Junior, known as Valerie McLean, of the Raleigh and Pinehurst McLeans, anchor of Your Live Local Late-Breaking News on the Raleigh CBS affliate, drew back like she’d almost stepped in something.

  She got herself together first, and demanded, “What are you doing in here?”

  “I, ah, I just brought him some candy,” I mumbled, feeling hot and sweaty, and short and frumpy, standing in front of the cool, thin-faced woman looking down on me. Danielle Steel, my favorite writer, would’ve called her a Nordic beauty. Everything about her, from the emerald green silk suit to the icy green eyes, was perfect. I’d never seen a TV personality up close before, especially one who glared at me like I was a waitress who’d gotten her order wrong. I wished I’d worn panty hose.

  “From his daddy,” I added, hoping she’d get out of the doorway so I could leave.

  “He’s not supposed to have visitors,” she said, her voice as hard and cold as her face. “Can’t you read? And just who do you think you are?”

  “I am Etta Mae Wiggins,” I said, my head coming up to face her. “And you don’t have to speak to me like I’m a dog.”

  “I’ll speak to you any way I please. You’re not supposed to be in my husband’s room, and I’m calling security right now.” She moved toward the telephone by the bed.

  I’d had enough by then. “Why don’t you call the Delmont sheriff’s office instead? They’re dying to talk to him, and so am I. For instance, I want to know what he was doing in my trailer last night.”

  She put the phone down carefully and turned toward me. “Your trailer?” She looked me up and down and said, “Well, this isn’t the first time he’s been attracted to trash. Trailer or otherwise.”

  She could’ve slapped me in the face and I wouldn’t have been more shocked. It takes more than a silk suit and a perfect complexion to make a lady, and this woman, TV personality or not, certainly wasn’t one. A dozen things flashed through my mind to throw back at her, but I remembered that we were all going to be part of the same family. And families are supposed to get along and be happy. I swallowed hard.

  Even so, I could feel my face getting hot as I tried my best to restrain the red haze that rose up so fast I could hardly see through it. Mr. Howard would want me to conduct myself like a lady, even if his daughter-in-law didn’t, so I clenched my fists and said, “Well, he’s your husband, so no wonder.”

  Then, turning on my heel, I left the room, clacking down the hall on my high heels and muttering, “Bitch, bitch, bitch” to myself all the way to the elevator.

  Chapter 15

  I threw my bag into the car and flopped in after it. When my bottom and the back of my legs hit the hot plastic seat covers, I almost went through the roof. I jumped back out and went through my dirty clothes until I found a towel. After spreading it on the driver’s seat, I gingerly crawled back under the wheel.

  I didn’t start the car. I couldn’t. I just sat there in the hospital visitors’ parking lot, steaming over Valerie McLean Connard’s contempt for me, which she’d made no effort to hide. And I didn’t even think she’d recognized me as the one Junior had come to get his daddy away from. She’d taken one look at me and figured I wasn’t worth the time of day. Just like Mr. Sitton’s receptionist had, only taken to the nth degree. What was it that made people treat me like that? I was clean. I was neat and hardworking. And I had good manners and never went out of my way to hurt anybody. I couldn’t understand it. But what I did understand was that when I had Mr. Howard’s name tacked onto mine, they’d change their tune. Giving care and kindness to Mr. Howard for the rest of his pitiful life was no sacrifice in comparison to what he’d do for me. In spite of what Lurline thought.

  I pulled down the visor and checked my mascara in the mirror, then got out my list and, with a shaking hand, checked off number 7.

  Driving away from the hospital, I decided I deserved a treat for lunch after all I’d been through. I drove up to the drive-through window at McDonald’s and ordered a Big Mac, small fries, and a large Coke. Parked under a tree in the lot, I ate my lunch while trying to put Valerie Connard out of my mind. Sufficient unto the morning were the evils thereof. Or something like that. I needed to concentrate on the afternoon to come, and let the evils of the morning go. At least until I was in a position to do something about them.

  After wadding up the greasy wrappers and putting them in the trash, I got back into my car and tried to set my mind on facing Mrs. Julia Springer. I swear, I was in no shape to tackle her, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. I had to play it out and pretend that my life wasn’t about to change so that I’d never have to be at her beck and call again. After today, if everything went right, my rented space in her trailer park could be plowed over and left to go to seed, for all I’d care.

  But first I had to make sure everything went right, and that meant not letting anyone know what I was planning to do. If I’d re
ad Mrs. Springer right, and I was pretty sure I had, she’d be outraged at the thought of me marrying Mr. Howard. I just knew she’d do whatever she could to put a stumbling block in my way. Why, she might even join forces with Valerie, for all I knew. It was a wonder to me how people who’d already reached a level of success just hated to see anybody else rise up to join them.

  So what I had to do was go see the woman, listen to what she had to say, and hold on to my temper. The proposition she’d mentioned had to mean some kind of deal she wanted me to agree to. Maybe the deal was that I either put a stop to visits by the sheriff to my trailer or she’d throw me out. But then again . . .

  Maybe it was something good, and it could be, since she’d said it was Hazel Marie’s idea. Hazel Marie, I thought, and smiled. She’d be happy for me, if I dared tell her who I’d be in a few hours. She knew what it was like to struggle for every little thing, and have people judge you regardless of what you did. Whatever Mrs. Springer had to propose to me, if it was any good, it would’ve come from Hazel Marie, who wasn’t the kind to turn her back on those she’d left behind in the same mess she’d come from.

  So, blowing out my breath, I started the car and drove to Polk Street, pulling up by the curb in front of the Springer house. I recalled how the last time I’d been there, on the occasion of Binkie and Coleman’s June wedding, the yard had been filled with people milling around, along with balloons, rice, and birds swooping everywhere. And I thought back to the previous March, when the street and yards had been covered with ice and the power’d been off and Junior Johnson’s big NASCAR hauler’d been parked across the street and old lady Springer’d been so jealous of Mr. Sam Murdoch that she couldn’t see straight.

  What a difference a few months and sixty-something degrees made.

  Slinging my purse on my shoulder as I got out of the car, I smoothed out my dress and marched up the front walk. Mrs. Julia Springer didn’t know it, but I was soon going to be on her financial level. When I was Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, I’d be her equal in society, and she’d never be able to look down her nose at me again. In fact, I thought, as I walked onto her porch, the next time I came it would be as an invited guest to her famous Spring Tea.

  At the same time that pleasant thought was running through my mind, my stomach was giving me a bad case of the jitters. What if she told me to vacate the premises, and do it today? That would put a crimp in any bride’s wedding day, and mine more than most, because by the time I found another place to live and somebody to move me, Junior and Valerie would have Mr. Howard packed up and moved out of Delmont, and my life, as well.

  I thought I might throw up at the thought, but I got a grip and rang the doorbell, as ready as I was going to be for whatever the old bat intended to throw at me.

  “Come in, Miss Wiggins.” Mrs. Springer held the door for me and I walked into her cool living room. “You know Hazel Marie, of course.”

  Hazel Marie gave me a hug, and I thought again how good she looked. So good, in fact, that you’d never know that she was a Puckett. It’s amazing how three meals a day, prepared by someone else, and no worries about what bills you can afford to pay can smooth away wrinkles and put a glow in your complexion. A few trips to the Lancôme counter at Belk’s help some, too.

  “It’s so good to see you, Etta Mae,” Hazel Marie said. “My, you look nice. Come on in.”

  “Have a seat, Miss Wiggins,” Mrs. Springer said, motioning to her hard-as-a-rock sofa with the claw feet that I’d have thrown out in a minute.

  I sat gingerly as she and Hazel Marie took the matching chairs on each side of the fireplace. I took note of the glycerinized magnolia leaves between the andirons for the months when a fire wasn’t needed, and thought I’d do the same in Mr. Howard’s living room fireplace.

  Rich people knew so many helpful household hints like that, and I determined to make a list of as many as I noticed, so that when Mr. Howard and I entertained, everybody would know I fit in with their way of doing things. I’m the quick-learning type.

  “Now,” Mrs. Springer said, like she was calling a meeting to order. “As I told you, Hazel Marie and I have been discussing how we could solve all these problems you’ve brought to my attention, and—”

  “’Scuse me, Mrs. Springer,” I said, leaning forward. “But I didn’t cause that problem last night. Somebody I don’t even know broke into my trailer and somebody else did the damage. Why, if I hadn’t come home when I did, there’s no telling what would’ve happened.”

  Hazel Marie frowned. “Somebody broke in? Are you all right, Etta Mae?”

  Before I could do more than nod my head, Mrs. Springer breezed right on. “That’s not exactly the way the sheriff’s department tells it. But let’s not get bogged down with the details.” She waved her hand, like my version was a fly buzzing around. “Now, Miss Wiggins, far be it from me to meddle in your personal affairs, but since you are my tenant, I must caution you about mixing with the kind of people who create, um, difficulties with the Law.” She stopped to be sure I was following her meaning. I was, and I wanted so bad to tell her that it’d been Junior Connard who was not only one of the kind of people she was talking about, but one of her own kind, as well.

  With a little sniff, she went on, “You need to choose your associates with a little more discretion, and I hope you understand that I’m telling you this for your own good. I thought after I had the street paved and a fence put up that the complaints would stop. That hasn’t happened, but Hazel Marie thinks a lot of you, and after talking it over, we’ve decided that more supervision is needed over there.”

  I looked from one to the other, fuming inside because Clyde Maybry had been on the phone, carrying tales and besmirching my reputation. I felt the skin on my face tighten, as I thought of what I’d like to do to him. And to old lady Springer, too, who had a nerve telling me how I ought to conduct myself. Holding myself in, though, I sat back and waited to hear the rest of it.

  “Ms. Wiggins,” Mrs. Springer went on, folding her hands in her lap and acting like the chairman of the board. “There are twenty-two renters in that park, and of all of them, you are the only one who makes calls of complaint—”

  I scooted up onto the edge of the sofa. “Ma’am. Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t think I make trivial complaints. I mean, burnt-out lights, overturned garbage, broken asphalt, packs of dogs roaming around, and weeds growing everywhere, well, they’re things I’d think you’d want to know about.”

  Hazel Marie looked at Mrs. Springer with this little smile on her face. She nodded at her, like she was saying, See? Then she turned to me and winked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” Mrs. Springer nodded back at Hazel Marie, then said to me, “Here lately, every time the phone rings, I figure it’s you bringing up another problem over there. So I agree with Hazel Marie that you do notice things and that you care about the condition of the park. But the call I got this morning,” she went on, straightening that back another notch, like she had to get said everything she’d been stewing about, “was not about the park, but about you. Miss Wiggins, I just cannot have public disturbances, with the sheriff being called out and people injured on my property.”

  “Mrs. Springer,” I said, clenching my hands in my lap and feeling a trickle of sweat down my back. “I swear on a stack of Bibles, that was not my doing.” I turned to Hazel Marie, looking for help as the thought of being thrown out of the park right when I didn’t have time for one other roadblock on my way to the altar raced through my mind. “Hazel Marie, you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with that. Clyde Maybry jumped to conclusions. He doesn’t like me, and wouldn’t listen to a word I said. But Mr. Ernest Sitton did,” I said, playing my trump card. “And Mr. Ernest Sitton said that I was an innocent bystander. He’s my lawyer now.”

  I sat back, fighting tears and anger at the injustice of it all. I wanted so bad to tell them I was about to marry Mr. Howard C
onnard, Senior. I just wanted to throw it in Mrs. Julia Springer’s face, and see how quick she changed her tune. I had to bite my lip, because so many unexpected things had happened in my life that I’d learned not to burn any bridges until I was safely on the other side. So I had to suck it up and take whatever she dished out.

  “Etta Mae,” Hazel Marie said, reaching over and patting my arm, “I know what Clyde Maybry’s like, and we know you’ve had a hard time. But listen to what Miss Julia has to say. She’s about to get to it, and it might solve a lot of problems for you.”

  Mrs. Springer had the nerve to sniff, like she didn’t entirely agree. But she went on, “Yes, we are sympathetic, but you have to realize that any rowdy behavior on my property reflects badly on me. There is, however,” she said, like it hurt her to admit it, “such a thing as Christian charity and making use of the particular qualities that people have. Hazel Marie has brought to my attention that you’re doing me a service by looking after things. So what I’ve decided to do is offer you the position of manager of the park. I would expect you to take care of these problems, see that repairs are made, and take responsibility, in general, for keeping the property in good condition. In return, I will let you have your space for free. That would be your fee for service.”

  “Well,” I said, flabbergasted by the offer, especially after mentally picturing my new floral-covered sofa being dumped on the side of the road because I didn’t have a place to move it to. But instead of being evicted, I was being offered a position of authority. I took a deep breath and tried to look thoughtful as I considered her offer.

  A little hard to do, as thoughts of that extra money in my pocket flashed in my mind. What an opportunity! I could straighten out that place for her and make it a decent place to live. And save myself some money, too.

  Then I thought of my plans to make an end run around Junior and Valerie and get myself married to Mr. Howard. If I managed to do that, I could flip off Mrs. Julia Springer and her Christian charity, which, let’s face it, would benefit her more than me.