I place my hand on her arm. “You and Daddy have kept this secret for five long years. The questions coming your way aren’t going to be fair to you either.”
She steps back to a more typical distance and waves her hand as if she’s swatting away a problem the size of an annoying mosquito. “My family, my business. Ain’t no different than how anyone here goes about their lives. Daddy and me ain’t worried about no town gossip.” She casts a gaze full of love at her granddaughter then swipes a workworn, slender finger down my cheek. “The wellbein’ of this here youngin’ is our only concern. She’s the apple of our eyes like her mama before her.”
I fold my mother in a hug that is anything but fake. All the misgivings and failures that have piled up on my shoulders over the years fall away as she wraps her arms around me in return. No matter how hard this is going to be, I’m surer than ever I made the right decision by coming home.
She sniffles back a few tears of emotion then adopts the same overly cheery smile that’s been on my face since making this life-altering move. “Come on then. Let’s go into town.”
Anne’s surly mood doesn’t improve a bit, even with her Grammaw’s help. She plants herself more firmly on the bed, crosses her arms over her chest, and juts out her bottom lip, which deepens the dimple in her chin that’s usually not so noticeable.
Mama pins me with a look. “Lord help ya; she is her mama and daddy’s child through and through.”
It is precisely that knowledge that keeps Mama and me on our toes to interest Anne in any small glimmer of excitement during our trip to town—the elementary school she’ll attend next year; the library where we promise to get her very own card, so she can borrow books; the picturesque river banks that are perfect places for an afternoon picnic; the hand-churned ice cream shop where she’ll receive a reward if she’s on her best behavior during our errands.
Town isn’t bustling with activity in the heat of the day during a typical sweltering August. Especially not when the stench of the coke plant seems to coat one’s throat. The alternative is sweating to death in homes too old for central air. There are enough people trying to escape that stifling heat in the slight open-air breeze who are more than willing to make Mama’s predictions come true.
The weight of their judgment pricks the hairs on the back of my neck even as Anne skips happily along between Mama and me, clutching tightly to our hands.
“You’re gonna have to give ‘em answers soon enough,” Mama mutters. “Some of these folk are about to be your coworkers.”
“I know it.” The muscles in my face are taut enough to snap, but they impossibly tense even more as another familiar face from the past stumbles out the doors of the general store. On instinct, I shove Anne behind my body.
Mama closes ranks beside me, her voice sad and low. “Act natural. She ain’t gonna know no different. Nothin’ has changed for her, but everyone else watchin’ is gonna notice you bein’ jumpier than a coon dog on the hunt. These folk are simple, not stupid.”
With those wise words, I inhale a bracing breath and act as if I have nothing and no one to hide. “Mrs. Yates. It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
The woman blinks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language before glancing at the two ladies accompanying me. Even without the undoubted drugs and alcohol coursing through her frail body, it must be like a strange sort of mirage. Three generations of the same family who all bear such striking resemblance, an outsider might guess we’re either sisters separated by wide age gaps or a time travel experiment gone wrong.
Mama on one side, her once glossy auburn hair streaked with gray, shining green eyes surrounded by laugh lines, her beauty enhanced by age and wisdom instead of diminished by it. Me, a spitting image of my mother with the same hair, same eyes, same nose and chin, even the same exact height. Finally, Mrs. Yates’s eyes settle on the bouncing four year old between us, the sun cascading a kaleidoscope of copper against her wavy hair as she openly admires the display of candy just inside the shop window.
With great difficulty, the woman lowers herself to Anne’s eye level. The years have not been as kind to Shelby Yates as they have to my mother. Her beauty has been stolen by both time and circumstance. Her once glossy black hair now looks faded, dyed, and brittle. Layers of makeup—however artistically applied—can’t erase the wrinkles in her forehead or around her striking blue eyes. They’re not the marks of a life well-lived. She looks haggard, worn…old.
“And who’s this fine lookin’ princess?” Mrs. Yates glances up at me with an unexpected amount of pride in her dull eyes.
“My daughter, Anne.”
She returns her gaze to the girl who has her nose crinkled in obvious distaste. “Is that right now? And how old are ya, Princess Anne?”
“Four,” Anne mumbles.
“Four.” The woman nods slowly. “Four. Ya visitin’ your maw-maw and paw-paw with your folks? Takin’ a little family holiday to learn about your roots? I’d sore like to meet your pa, too.”
Anne’s face twists even further. This time in confusion. She looks up at me with a clear plea for a translation I have no intention of giving.
True to her promise, Mama clears her throat before her voice rings out in the town square, clear and confident. “Lenore is the new English teacher at the high school. Her and Anne are back at the homestead with me and Leland. Our whole family is together again.”
Mrs. Yates pushes to her feet, stumbling a bit before she fully rights herself. Even her low, throaty chuckle seems off-balance. “Is that the way of it? Well. Gonna be a might interestin’ time in Martins Landing then, I reckon.”
Panic rises in my chest as Shelby Yates turns toward me with an even louder cackle that seems to echo off the dilapidated buildings surrounding us. It definitely draws the attention of the few passersby who weren’t previously interested in this public show.
She pats my cheek a little too harshly. “I’m pleased as pie to see ya done followed my advice, Lenore. Ya ain’t done as well for yourself as I expected, but ya ain’t done nothin’ that can’t be rectified neither. Ain’t no shame in settin’ a spell to get your tail out from between your legs, but this town ain’t got nothin’ ya need. Catch your breath then move on.” She seems to sober on a dime, sweeping a clear gaze over me and my daughter before shaking her head, her gaze re-clouding in sadness. “Ya best prepare yourself for a fight, sugar. Don’t get too comfortable.”
My breath stutters in my chest in increasingly short bursts as Mrs. Yates stumbles away from us, disappearing into a random alley. “She knows. Oh my God, she knows.”
Mama grasps my shoulders in her capable hands. “She don’t know nothin’. Mind my words. Ya ain’t seein’ the forest for the trees. She was just givin’ ya as much love as she has to give with her advice. Ain’t no secret she took a shine to your sweet ways when ya was just little. She’s tryin’ to do right by ya and Anne. That’s all.”
A waist-high sniff diverts our attention to the girl who’s lost her taste for the promise of candy. “She’s ugly, and she talks funny. I hate Martin Land.”