But leave it to Katt Dodd to look like a million bucks as she stared down the suspicious gang that would be gathered in the Wildoh Recreation Room. Leave it to her to get the crying over and done with, then throw back the shoulders, and go face them all. She wouldn’t be wilting in the corner. No way in hell.
But that was a woman for you.
No matter who was saying what — loudly or in whispers — Katt Dodd would face them all.
And she damn well did.
The hush was absolutely complete when we — Mother, Mrs. P, and I — swung open the doors to the rec room. The silence was short-lived, of course, but damned obvious. As were the quick turn-away snubs and the curt smiles and nods delivered by others. I read people — I read people very well — and these few seconds after entry were more than a little telling of what was on the minds of the Wildoh residents.
Beth Mary gave half a wave to Mother without a full half glance. Yes, she was heading toward the kitchen and moving at a pretty good clip when we came in, but still, there was no warmth whatsoever in that greeting, only caution.
Tish did a little snort-huffy thing and bobbed a hand to her perfect hair. “Hello, Katt,” she said, every fucking syllable breaking down and standing out on its own. “Any sign of Frankie Morrell yet?”
Bitch.
“Afraid not, Tish,” Mother answered. “But if you’re back out trolling the swamp later, let me know if you see him, okay?”
Harriet Appleton apparently had another great big stick up her butt this morning and didn’t bother to pivot on it to so much as look in Mother’s direction. And Wiggie was looking, well … Wiggie-ish … as he slouched in his tracksuit beside her. He glanced up at us, and gave the barest of smiles. All in all, there were more than a few cold shoulders turning toward my mother.
And a couple very warm ones.
“Hey, over here!” called Mona with a great big wave and smile from her crib-playing corner, and we headed in that direction. From the look of woe on Roger’s face, he was already set back a bit. Roger, ever the gentleman, stood when we approached the table. His smile to Jane was genuine, but to me and Mother, less so. Not that it changed from one of us to the next, but that it didn’t as it moved along the row. It was just that plastic … just that forced. Mother took a seat beside Mona. Mrs. Presley sat opposite her and I sat between them, again so that my back was to the wall.
“That’s it for me, Mona,” Roger said.
“Are you sure, Roger? I’m up for another game.”
I didn’t like the desperation in Mona’s voice. The flash of it in her eyes.
“Quite sure,” Roger answered. “I’m down twenty on the week. Besides, I want to get my hands on Beth Mary’s buns before everyone else does.”
Ever the gentleman? What kind of place was this? Retirement home for geriatric pervs?
“Close your mouth, Dix,” Mother said. “He means her sticky buns.”
I blinked. “And that makes it better?”
“The sticky buns that you bake, Dix,” Mother said dryly. “You know … that thing people sometimes do with their ovens?”
“Geez, Mother!” I rolled my eyes appropriately. “I figured that.”
I hadn’t figured that. Sticky buns?
“Beth Mary makes them a couple times a week,” Mother said. “She cooks them in the oven down here so we can enjoy them hot. And they are just to die for.”
Huh. I couldn’t picture denturally-challenged Beth Mary eating sticky buns. (Then I could picture it and I shuddered.) But from the group gathered around her in the kitchen now as she was taking two pans out of the oven, and the group just outside the door waiting with napkins in hand, she must be pretty good at making them. There were a few abstainers, notably Tish — wearing stilettos and a pair of pants so tight they were biting back — standing in the corner talking to Big Eddie. No wonder she wouldn’t wait in line for a bun. One bite of sticky bun and the seams would rip. But food was probably the last thing on her mind. Currently, she was finger-walking (somehow I always hurt the guy whenever I tried this) her way along Big Eddie’s shirt — right from his custom-made state of Florida belt buckle to the start of his he-vage (we’re talking maybe a 3-inch trip here). Eddie was so giddy he full-body giggled. I could hear the charms around his neck rattling clear across the room. Like a life-sized bobblehead.
Mona got up. She’d seen what was going on. Hell, everyone had. And she’d been a damn site more patient with things than I would have been. “Well, guess crib’s over for awhile. Want me to grab a sweet for you ladies?”
“Grab one for all three of us,” Mother instructed.
“Oh not for me thanks,” I began. “I’m—”
I’m … shutting up now thanks to that good kick in the shin!
“Sorry,” Mother continued. “Yes, Dix, Jane and I would each love one. Could you grab napkins too while you’re up? We’ll take ours to go.”
“Sure I will….” Mona walked away, holding her hand to her pocket as she went. She looked to Tish and Eddie flirting in the corner but walked right on by.
I looked at mother questioningly as I bent down to rub my shin. “What was that all about?”
Mother leaned over to me and spoke just low enough for Mrs. P and I both to hear. “Mona’s having a hard time these days. Financially, that is. I always ask her to get me a bun … or whatever else someone might be having, and then conveniently forget to take it with me. She takes it with her, calls later, and I tell her not to bother bringing it over. It’s not much, but it’s a little something for her.”
“That seems like a lot of … well, running around to give Mona an extra sticky bun.”
Mother shrugged.
“Why doesn’t she just grab a couple for herself. I’m sure nobody would mind.”
“You don’t know Mona Roberts. She wouldn’t ask for a handout if it killed her. She’s generous … to a fault, perhaps. When she could give, she always did. But these days … well, lets just say it’s easier for Mona to take a leftover sticky bun or two than it is for her to ask for a second one in front of everyone.”
“How do you know that her finances are so bad?” Mrs. P asked. “Did she tell you?”
Excellent question. One that had been on the tip of my tongue. Well, it would have been. Eventually. When I’d thought of it.
“God, no. She’d never say anything. But I suspected it, and Big Eddie confirmed it.”
Mother saw me frown. “I know what you’re thinking, Dix. He shouldn’t have broken her confidence.” She sighed. “Tell you the truth, I’m not so sure Eddie didn’t figure it out for himself rather than Mona telling him. He’s a pretty smart guy. And I’m Mona’s best friend. He discussed this with me because he’s worried about her, too. And because he was worried about me.”
I gave her the old raised-eyebrow look.
“He wanted to make sure I was all right.” She shrugged. “Eddie helps a lot of the widows out with things like that, Dix. He knows a lot about business and investments. Like it or not, years ago women just didn’t do any of that sort of thing. Husbands did. They drove the car and mowed the lawn and looked after everything else. Eddie just likes to make sure everyone’s looked after … that’s all.”
“What about Tish? She’s staying with Mona, right?”
“She’s staying with her, but she’s not helping her one damn bit. In fact, if anything, every day Tish McQueen is there, it gets a little harder on Mona. In every way. Let’s just say there’s only so much to go around. And Tish wants a bit of everyone’s share.”
I looked over to Big Eddie and Tish still talking in the corner. Big Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a golf ball wrapped in a napkin. Well, technically it wasn’t wrapped in a napkin, so much as Big Eddie was shaking a sticky napkin off his fingers as he pulled the golf ball out. Apparently, the decider himself got first dibs on the sticky buns. That’s why his fingers were sticky.