some of Mother’s time too. I’m taking more than my fair share here,” I say through gritted teeth.
He laughs like he understands, but how could he really? He’s three years older than me and great-looking, tall with wavy blond hair, finishing LSU law school, protected by a hundred and seventy miles of badly paved roads.
When he goes back to his girlfriend, I search for Mother’s car keys, but I can’t find them anywhere. It’s already a quarter to five. I go and stand in the doorway, try to catch Mother’s attention. I have to wait for her to finish firing questions at Ponytail Girl about her people and where she’s from, but Mother will not let up until she finds at least one person they have in common. After that, it’s what sorority the girl was in at Vanderbilt, and she finally concludes by asking what her silver pattern is. It’s better than a horoscope, Mother always says.
Ponytail Girl says her family pattern is Chantilly, but she’ll be picking out her own new pattern when she gets married. “Since I consider myself an independent thinker and all.” Carlton pets her on the head and she nudges against his hand like a cat. They both look up at me and smile.
“Skeeter,” Ponytail Girl says to me across the room, “you’re so lucky to come from a Francis the First family pattern. Will you keep it when you get married?”
“Francis the First is just dreamy,” I beam. “Why, I pull those forks out all the time just to look at them.”
Mother narrows her eyes at me. I motion her to the kitchen, but another ten minutes pass until she comes in.
“Where in the world are your keys, Mama? I’m late for Hilly’s. I’m staying there tonight.”
“What? But Carlton’s home. What’s his new friend going to think if you leave for something better to do?”
I’ve put off telling her this because I knew, whether Carlton was home or not, it would turn into an argument.
“And Pascagoula made a roast and Daddy’s got the wood all ready for a fire tonight in the relaxing room.”
“It’s eighty-five degrees outside, Mama.”
“Now look. Your brother is home and I expect you to behave like a good sister. I don’t want you leaving until you’ve had a nice long visit with this girl.” She’s looking at her watch while I remind myself I’m twenty-three years old. “Please, darling,” she says and I sigh and carry a damn tray of mint juleps out to the others.
“Mama,” I say back in the kitchen at five twenty-eight. “I’ve got to go. Where are your keys? Hilly’s waiting on me.”
“But we haven’t even had the pigs in a blanket yet.”
“Hilly’s got . . . a stomach bug,” I whisper. “And her help doesn’t come in tomorrow. She needs me to watch the kids.”
Mother sighs. “I guess that means you’re going to church with them too. And I thought we could all go tomorrow as a family. Have Sunday dinner together.”
“Mama, please,” I say, rummaging through a basket where she keeps her keys. “I can’t find your keys anywhere.”
“You can’t take the Cadillac overnight. That’s our good Sunday church car.”
He’s going to be at Hilly’s in thirty minutes. I’m supposed to dress and do my makeup at Hilly’s so Mother won’t suspect anything. I can’t take Daddy’s new truck. It’s full of fertilizer and I know he’ll need it at dawn tomorrow.
“Alright, I’ll take the old truck, then.”
“I believe it has a trailer on it. Go ask your daddy.”
But I can’t ask Daddy because I can’t go through this in front of three other people who will look all hurt that I’m leaving, so I grab the old truck keys and say, “It doesn’t matter. I’m just going straight to Hilly’s,” and I huff outside only to find that not only does the old truck have a trailer hitched to it, but a half-ton tractor on top of that trailer.
So I drive into town for my first date in two years in a red 1941 Chevrolet four-on-the-floor with a John Deere motor grader hooked behind me. The engine sputters and churns and I wonder if the truck will make it. Chunks of mud spray behind me off the tires. The engine stalls on the main road, sending my dress and bag flying onto the dirty floor. I have to restart twice.
At five forty-five, a black thing streaks out in front of me and I feel a thunk. I try to stop but braking’s