Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day Page 23

  I walked over to the bed and took Mr. Howard’s good hand, my heart sinking as I felt how thin and frail it was. Then I remembered how happy I was making him and was glad that I could brighten his life. I mean, when somebody has to live with a handicap or an infirmity like he had, it does you good to be able to give them a little enjoyment now and again.

  “Mr. Howard,” I whispered, “don’t wake up if you don’t want to, but I just wanted to tell you what’s been going on. I know you must be wondering, all closed up in here, not knowing who’s doing what. You just keep in mind that I’m always working for us and doing the things you can’t do, and that I’m always thinking about you.”

  He batted his eyelids, looking straight up at the ceiling like he was trying to figure out where he was. I took a Kleenex and wiped his mouth. “It’s me,” I said. “How’re you feeling?”

  He finally focused on me, giving me that little half smile, which was the best he could do, and tightened his hand on mine.

  As he tried to speak, I shushed him, telling him to save his strength for later on. Then I told him how Mr. Sitton had taken the news, and he nodded, pleased to hear it. His eyelids kept closing down on him, although each time they opened he looked at me with all the love I knew was in his old heart.

  Then I told him about the party that’d be later in the evening, telling him we’d keep it quiet and not disturb him, but that if he didn’t think we ought to have it in his house, to just tell me and I’d call it off.

  “You,” he said, straining to get the words out. “You,” he tried again, pointing at me. “You-er ’ouse. Now.”

  My heart melted. I leaned over and kissed his face. Then to tickle him, I said, “I would invite you to the party, but I’m afraid you’d be embarrassed. It’s going to be”—and I leaned close and whispered—“a lingerie shower. What do you think of that?”

  His eyes flew open, sparkling with the thought of what usually turned men on, regardless of how feeble they were.

  “Knowing those girls,” I went on, “they’ll give me something nice from Belk’s or Dillard’s. Or maybe even from Victoria’s Secret! How about that?”

  He liked it. I could tell. So I kept on telling him how Emmett was going to set the table for us, and who I thought would come, then how I was moving my clothes in, meaning I was going to stay and be with him all the time. Then I mentioned Valerie and Junior, and how I thought they would come to terms with our situation and go on back to Raleigh, and how happy the two of us were going to be.

  By that time, he’d dropped off again, his eyelids and mouth fluttering as he breathed. I put his hand back under the sheet and patted it, telling him I had to go talk to Valerie and Junior, but that I wasn’t going anywhere else.

  “I’ll be here for you from now on,” I whispered. “And things will be done the way you want them to be.”

  I didn’t think he heard me, but the books say that a part of the mind never sleeps. So I hoped some of what I’d said got through, because I meant it.

  As I turned to leave, he suddenly stirred in bed and grasped the metal handrail with his good hand, grunting and striving to pull himself up.

  “Ehra Mae, way . . .” he called.

  I came back to his bedside, concerned because his face was even more strained than his words. He grabbed my hand again, as he turned loose of the rail and flopped back in bed. The lines in his face deepened as he tried to say what was on his mind.

  “Geh Ernes’,” he croaked, jerking at my hand like it was an urgent matter.

  “Ernest? You mean, Mr. Sitton?”

  He nodded his head hard, squeezing my hand even harder. “Geh ’im. Need . . . nee’ take.” He stopped and looked at me with the frustration of a once-mighty man who’d lost all his powers. “Nee’,” he strained to say. “Take care.”

  “Oh,” I said, catching his meaning. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of myself and you, too.”

  He shook his head on the pillow, back and forth, back and forth, while tears of frustration leaked out of one eye. “I. You. Ernes’.” He took a deep breath, looking straight at me, hoping, I guessed, that I would read his meaning in his eyes. “I . . . wan’ take . . . care you. Need see . . . Ernes’.”

  I leaned my head on the metal handrail, tears flooding my eyes, just melting away inside.

  “You’re the sweetest man in the world,” I whispered. “Now don’t worry, Mr. Ernest Sitton will be here in a while and I’ll tell him you want to see him.”

  He fell back in relief, nodding his head and loosening my hand. I pulled the sheet up again and smoothed it down. Then, whispering that I’d be in the drawing room, I left.

  As I pulled the door closed, I heard the soft snoring begin again.

  Chapter 39

  As I came out into the center hall, the front doorbell rang and I stood there wondering if it was my place to answer it. I didn’t hear any sounds of movement from the drawing room, so Valerie certainly wasn’t going to do it.

  Then I heard the swinging door from the kitchen swish open and shut, and Emmett came through the dining room, headed for the door. I stepped back, not knowing who had come calling and thinking I ought to maybe wait in the kitchen, in case it was somebody for Junior or Valerie.

  I needn’t have worried. It was Mr. Sitton, and he was my bud now. I walked down the hall and shook his hand.

  When I turned around to motion him into the drawing room, Valerie was standing with her hands on her bony hips, glaring at me. If looks could kill, I’d be in my grave.

  “Come have a seat, Mr. Sitton,” I said, just like I was used to having guests in a house instead of a single-wide. “They’re waiting for you, I think. Hello, Valerie.”

  “Mrs. Connard, to you,” she hissed as I passed her.

  “Oh, well, then,” I said back at her, “that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” And proceeded to take a chair by the hearth. Though there wasn’t a fire in it, as hot as it was.

  Junior was sitting across from me in a matching wingback. He gave me a small smile, though he still had a slightly addled look to him. That could’ve been from an ongoing headache, though, from his concussion. Headaches like that usually lingered for a while, and what with having to listen to Valerie bitching all day, I didn’t doubt that he was suffering. To say nothing of worrying about where I fit in.

  Mr. Sitton sat on one end of the couch, sinking into the down cushions that Emmett had to fluff up after anybody touched them. I prefer foam rubber myself, so your cushions will keep their shape.

  Valerie jerked a side chair away from the wall and plunked it down next to Mr. Sitton. She smoothed down the backside of her dress as she took her seat. When she kept staring at me, with her mouth all primmed up, I realized I’d taken her chair. I hadn’t meant to do that. I mean, it wasn’t on purpose, so I started to get up and let her have it. I didn’t care where I sat, but about that time, Mr. Sitton took out some legal-looking papers from a folder in his briefcase and I sat down, not wanting to interrupt a lawyer’s train of thought.

  “I understand you’re all concerned about how Howard’s new marital state will affect his estate and the beneficiaries thereof,” he began.

  “We certainly are,” Valerie said. “But what I want to know first is this. How valid is this so-called marriage? Daddy Connard is obviously not of sound mind, so it seems to me that anything he enters into of a legal nature under his present circumstances could be annulled or declared invalid.” She stopped, seeing Mr. Sitton’s surprised stare and Junior over there covering his eyes with one hand. “Or something,” she finished.

  “Valerie,” Junior said, very quietly.

  “I assure you,” Mr. Sitton said, “that I am in close contact with Howard, seeing him weekly at the least. I have been made aware of his strong feelings for this young woman, and even though the marriage itself came about more quickly than I’d been led to believe, I k
new that was his intention. Now, as to his mental acuity and decision-making ability, I have had no indication of any impairment of his judgment at all. So, there are no grounds to petition for an annulment or a declaration of invalidity. Much less of mental incompetence.” He shuffled some papers, and said, “Now, let us move on.

  “Junior, I believe you’ve be apprised of certain provisions concerning the distribution of your father’s estate, so there’s little need to reiterate them.”

  Valerie jerked her head toward her husband and said, “What? What provisions?”

  “I’ve told you, Valerie,” Junior said. “He’s referring to the trust Daddy set up for me, and which we already benefit from.”

  “Well, I know about that,” she said, “but what about the provisions for the rest of the estate?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. It’s Daddy’s money, and he hasn’t seen fit to tell me what arrangements he’s made. All I know is what he’s already done for us.”

  “So?” she demanded of Mr. Sitton. “What happens to the rest of it? Surely, what he’s put in trust for us is not all there is.”

  “I am not at liberty to reveal the terms of Howard’s will, as you should know.” Mr. Sitton turned sideways, facing away from her and addressing himself in Junior’s direction. “The rest of your father’s estate is also in trust, set up to benefit certain persons and charities in which he has long had an interest. At the present, he is himself the lifetime income beneficiary and is also a trustee, along with myself. He added my name after suffering his first stroke to forestall any question as to the impairment of his faculties. But, I assure you, your father is not unable to think and act wisely.”

  There was silence in the room, as they absorbed this information, and as I tried to understand what he was talking about.

  “So who are the certain persons and charities that are now in line for what should remain in the family?” Valerie asked, frowning and gripping the sides of her chair. “And how much are we talking about?”

  “That information is beyond the scope of this discussion,” Mr. Sitton informed her. “The question before us and the subject of this discussion, as I understand it, is the status of the new Mrs. Connard.”

  I perked up at this, especially since it made Valerie screw up her face like she was about to spit.

  “The way it stands at the present,” Mr. Sitton said, adjusting his glasses as he glanced at one of the papers, “Mrs. Connard, this Mrs. Connard,” he said, peering at me over his gold rims, “has no viable interest in the estate, since everything is in trust, despite the spousal rights operative in this state. Except, of course, she will share Howard’s income, which, I assure you, Mrs. Connard, will be adequate to cover all reasonable living expenses.”

  “You mean,” Valerie said, sitting forward in her chair with the beginnings of a smile, “the will is fixed so that she’ll get nothing?”

  “According to the present arrangements,” Mr. Sitton answered, “you are correct. Unless—”

  But before he could finish, Valerie threw her head back and let out a real unladylike laugh. “So much for marrying a crazy old man for his money, wouldn’t you say?” And she gave me one of those television-personality smiles that says one thing and means another.

  “Unless,” Mr. Sitton said again, doing a little glaring of his own, “in the event of Howard’s demise with no change in the present arrangements, she should petition for spousal rights, as I would advise her to do and which would most likely be granted. However, Junior, nothing can affect the trust that is in effect for you.”

  “We know that,” Valerie said, cutting off the smile like she was taking a commercial break. “What we’re talking about here is the remainder of the estate. So, you’re saying that she’d have to go to court to get any of it? And undoubtedly the present beneficiaries, whoever they are, would contest any petition she might make. Is that right?”

  “Quite possibly. However, the courts look with sympathy upon a surviving spouse and tend to grant her, or him as the case may be, a livable portion. For the present, though, Mrs. Connard,” he said, nodding toward me, “you won’t need to worry about an income. Howard is well able to meet your daily expenses for as long as he lives.”

  I guess that was a relief, though I’d never given it much thought, assuming that Mr. Howard was pretty well loaded and could pay our bills. Valerie, though, was acting like she’d won the lottery. She flung her head up and watched me with a pleased glint in her eye. And a smirk on her mouth.

  “Well, that’s about all I can say at the present,” Mr. Sitton said, “but I think I’ve addressed your concerns. I’d like to speak to Howard now, if it’s convenient.”

  He stood up and shook Junior’s hand, asking him how he was getting along after his accident, which reminded me that I needed to speak to Junior about that myself. Then, shaking my hand and nodding to Valerie, he left to see Mr. Howard.

  I started to follow him, but Valerie said, “Just one minute, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I do, but that probably doesn’t matter.”

  “I hope you heard what Ernest said about suing the estate if something happens to Daddy Connard.”

  Don’t you hate it when somebody says “if something happens” to whoever, when what they mean is “if he kicks the bucket”?

  “I want you to know,” Valerie went on, “that we will fight you every inch of the way if you try to get your hands on anything Daddy Connard has. And I mean any thing: money, stocks, trust funds, furniture, Mother Connard’s jewelry . . . Oh, my God! Junior! She’s wearing Mother Connard’s cluster ring! There must be four carats in that thing, and she’s wearing it! Give it to me. Give it to me right now!”

  Junior stood up, staring at my hand with his mother’s ring on it. He swayed a little, but managed to say, “I think Valerie’s right. You can’t just come in here and make free with things that don’t belong to you. So just hand it over, and we won’t have to take this any further.”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could get a word out, Valerie said, “You may not want to take it any further, but for my money, she’s a thief! No telling what else is missing from this house. I’m pressing charges.” And she stalked toward the hall and the telephone.

  “Hold on, Valerie,” Junior said. “We can work this out without getting the authorities in. Let’s give her a chance to confess what she’s taken. Then, if she won’t, we can call the sheriff.”

  I’d had enough. More than, in fact. I put my hands on my hips, those killer diamonds sparkling on my finger, glared at Junior, and cut loose. “You’re accusing me of being a thief? So what does that make you? You broke into my trailer and tore up my furniture and bloodied my new couch and ruined one of my Barbies. What did you steal from me? Huh? Huh? What were you doing there? What were you looking for? Had to break the lock to get in, didn’t you? Had your head beat in for your trouble, too, didn’t you? Yeah, Valerie,” I yelled, swinging around to her, “call the sheriff. I want him to come out here. I want to press charges against this burglar, this breaker and enterer, this, this thief. And maybe attempted rapist, too! Who knows what was in his mind? You want to press charges? I’ll press some charges for you.”

  “Now, wait,” Junior said, sinking back into his chair. “Wait, I can explain—”

  “So can I,” I said, so bummed out my head was ringing. “I can explain that Mr. Howard gave me this ring, and I can explain that I have taken nothing from this house and never will. I don’t like what’s in it. How about that? I wouldn’t have a single thing in it on a silver platter. Let me tell you something, Junior Connard. I. Am. Not. A. Thief. But you are, and the police found you in my trailer with the evidence of what you did to it everywhere they looked.

  “And another thing,” I stormed on, just hitting my stride. “What’s everybody going to think when they see you spread all over the newspapers and television f
or breaking into a woman’s trailer? And being arrested for it?” I whirled around to Valerie, whose face had gone white at the thought. “You thought about that, Miss Late-Breaking News?”

  “I . . . wait,” Junior said, looking pretty strained himself. “I went there just to talk to you. To see if you were planning to marry Daddy. To, well, to try to talk you out of it. I was worried, you see. I didn’t know you. And I did break the lock just, you know, to sit and wait for you to come home. I didn’t mean to, but I shook the door and the screws just popped out. So I waited. I didn’t touch anything, just looked around. Next thing I knew I was in the hospital. So, well, I apologize to you.”

  Valerie said, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  I said, “Who’s going to pay for my couch to be re-covered?”

  She rolled her eyes as Junior said, “I will, and for your lock, too. But if anything else was damaged, I swear I didn’t do it.”

  I believed him, figuring the Pucketts had jumped him because he looked like Skip from the back. But I hadn’t had my full say, and I intended to get it said. “Well, and another thing. There’s a pair of green mist lace bikini panties missing that’s part of a matched set, and I want them back. Are they in your pocket? Or do you have them hidden away where Valerie won’t find them? Sorry to tell on you, but I want them back, or I want them paid for.”

  “He doesn’t have your bikini panties!” Valerie screeched, like the word itself was nasty. She glared at me with her fists doubled up and her shoulders shaking. “Tell her, Junior! Stand up for youself for a change.”

  “Valerie,” Junior said, his voice as tired as his face looked. “Let it go, for God’s sake.”

  “Oh,” she said, flopping down on a chair and almost missing the seat.

  “One last thing, Valerie, before I forget,” I went on, giving her a last dig along with my sweetest smile. “Some of my friends are giving me a lingerie shower tonight. Maybe you’d like to come. You don’t have to give me anything, if you don’t want to.”