Troubled waters, p.4
Troubled Waters, page 4
“No,” Macey said. She noticed the easel now, just a few yards away. “It’s just that you don’t really look like an artist. Do you have, um, formal training?”
“I have instinct and quite a bit of natural talent, which has gotten me pretty far.”
Macey felt pity for the man. Perhaps if he’d left this part of Kansas, he could’ve been somebody great. She offered a bit of unwanted advice. “Well, instinct and natural talent can’t teach you some of the finer points of painting, now can they? I know out here people don’t have too much of an appreciation for higher education, but you should consider it. It might take you places.”
The man stared at her, his eyes perfectly still, as though he were receiving some silent message from her and interpreting it as it came. He nodded as an afterthought, then said, “I have strengths and weaknesses. More strengths than weaknesses. I know color, for example.”
Macey was growing aggravated. She could feel the suffocating humidity melting her makeup and flattening her hair. Sweat dripped down the sides of her temples, rolling over her cheeks and gathering in the hollow of her neck. Did she really have the energy to debate artistry with a man who couldn’t even find an undershirt to wear with his overalls?
“Color,” Macey responded, her intolerance increasing with each bead of sweat. “That’s handy if you’re going to be a painter. What do you know about color?”
That same small smile she’d seen before crept across his weathered lips. “Oh, for example, a brunette should never wear that color eye shadow with that color blouse and expect to pull off pink lipstick. It washes you out.”
Macey’s eyes narrowed in disgust. Here she was trying to help the poor guy out with some friendly advice, and he was insulting her choice of lipstick? She tried to think what color of eye shadow she had on. Her blouse was purple. Was it the blue eye shadow she put on this morning? And what in the world did her brown hair have to do with it?
“I didn’t realize Mary Kay had representatives this far into nowhere land.” It was the best she could come up with, but it didn’t seem to have fazed him. He fiddled with one of his paintbrushes and stared at her with complete social ineptness.
The sun was making her dizzy. Was it the sun or the giant beast of a man standing in front of her? She could feel her cheeks flushing from the heat; she was probably getting a sunburn. “Well, it was nice talking with you,” Macey offered in the dullest voice she could find. “I’m sorry again for trespassing.”
He shrugged. “Oh, no, listen, my house is always open to people who just want to wander around and snoop. In fact, if you’re not busy tomorrow, maybe you could sneak over and dig around in my personal belongings.”
Macey crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes again.
“You are not a very nice person.”
“I suppose you’ve mistaken me for someone with a strong intellect, like yourself. After all, I know a higher education can at least make a person nice. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m leaving now,” Macey said, stomping her heels into the dirt as she rounded the corner of the house, back toward Stone Bridge.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said, but Macey didn’t turn around.
What a facetious, arrogant hick! She quickly made her way through the grass and weeds and back to the bridge, where she was able to catch her breath for the first time. Halfway over, she looked back at the old house.
She had always imagined it haunted when she was a child. Now, as a young adult, the ghosts she’d created there still haunted her to this day. She had hoped the house would be torn down, but to no avail. There it stood, dark against the horizon, reminding her of the biggest mistake of her life.
Four
Her sweaty feet made it impossible to walk in heels with any grace, so Macey was now barefoot, enjoying the soft grass between her toes. Her mind replayed clever insult after clever insult, thinking of all the ways she could have, should have, thrown the lipstick comment back in his face! She glanced at her watch. 3:50.
A few blue jays swooped down low and harassed her and each other before moving back into the trees. They were mean birds, sort of like the one across the river. She glanced over her shoulder one more time. The house was smaller and no longer detailed.
She walked through a grouping of tall elm trees, feeling their bark and admiring their strength. She remembered how much imagination was set free in the midst of all these trees. She looked around at the tops and there it was! Her old tree house. She couldn’t believe it had resisted years of storms and wind. She also couldn’t imagine how she’d ever climbed up so high. Her father had built it for her when she was six.
Shuffling her feet through the grass again, Macey looked up and was startled to be so close already to her mom’s house. There in the driveway sat the old maroon Pontiac. Could she still be driving the same car? She barely had time to process this when she looked toward the back door of the home, and there, standing in the frame, was her mother.
She was large, even more so than the pictures revealed. A lightweight sleeveless summer dress hung loosely around her and moved in the breeze. Macey could see her face, which was bright and glowing, causing Macey to pick up her pace with no regard for stickers or rocks.
Then, as she neared the back door, Macey hesitated. She watched her mom hold on to the railing and ease herself slowly down the steps, wincing in pain every time her knee bent. Macey took a few more steps forward until they were face-to-face.
Macey offered a smile.
“Macille! You’re home!” Her mother’s strong arms embraced her, and Macey patted her lightly on the back. “You’re home!” She released her daughter and cupped her shoulders in her hands. “You’re beautiful! As beautiful as I could’ve ever imagined you to be. And you still have that thick brown hair of yours.”
“Hi, Mom.” Macey smiled again, thinking of the six or so times she’d cut and grown out her hair in the past seventeen years. Her hands found their way into the pockets of her pants. She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t used to being hugged. Or even being touched, for that matter.
Her mom put her arm around Macey’s waist and guided her toward the back steps. “The heat’s unbearable. Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some lemonade.”
The shuffling of her mom’s feet against the cement indicated she couldn’t do much more than walk, for she could hardly pick up her feet. Macey slipped her heels back on and finally matched height with her mom, who had always been a tall woman. When they got to the steps Macey took her mom’s arm and helped her up the steps while her mom complained of arthritis and tendinitis and several other itises Macey had never heard of.
They walked into the kitchen, and her mom grabbed the pitcher off the baker’s rack and began filling it with water. She then turned and looked at Macey, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you would come. How did you find out your father had passed on?”
Guilt stung her heart. “Um, Diana Parr. You remember her?”
“Oh, yes. I see her mother at least twice a week at the grocery store.”
“Yes, well, we’ve kept in touch, sort of. I mean, not regularly. I guess I’ve only talked to her twice since high school. But she called to let me know.” Macey paused as she watched her mom stir the lemonade. “I’m sorry I didn’t forward my address to you after I left San Antonio. Things got crazy. I just lost track of time.” Four years of time? Hardly an excuse. Her mom didn’t seem to care, though. She set the lemonade on the small kitchen table with a grin and went to the cupboard for glasses and to the refrigerator for ice.
“So you’ve been livin’ where now?”
“Dallas.” She took the glass from her mom. “Nice city. I like it much more than San Antonio.”
“Still doing the TV personality?” She watched her mom lower herself carefully into the chair.
“Anchoring, yes. I anchor the noon news.” The ice in her drink melted almost instantly. The conversation ended, and her mom simply stared at her and smiled as if trying to recreate all the time that had passed while separated from each other.
“You’re just so beautiful. And sophisticated. That suit looks so expensive—you look like a model! I see you wear your makeup like the department store women try to show me. I can’t ever get it to look right. But you look just perfect. The pink lipstick is just wonderful. I could never wear a color like that.”
“Apparently neither can I,” Macey said with a chuckle, then wondered if it might be time for an updated look if a woman on a farm in Kansas thought her makeup looked like someone in a department store had done it.
“I’d always dreamed of wearing suits and high heels,” Evelyn said with enthusiasm. “But sometimes all your dreams can’t come true.” She shrugged and smiled again. “It’s so good to have you home.” Her hands messed with her short curly hair. “I must look like I’ve aged a hundred years.”
“Oh, Mom, no. You look fine. Really.” She glanced around the kitchen and into the living room. “The house has hardly changed.”
“That’s your father’s doing. Never did like change. Of any kind.” Macey noticed her eyes moistened a little. “But did you see our coffee maker?”
Macey laughed. “I noticed it. Who says you’re not modern?”
Evelyn smiled and then giggled, and Macey’s heart melted with hearing her mom laugh. They both enjoyed the quietness of each other’s company for a bit, and then Macey felt compelled to fill the silence. Silence made her uncomfortable, she guessed because when on-air even a second of it was too long.
“Have I missed the funeral?”
“No, no. It’s tomorrow at ten. Pastor Lyle’s doing it.”
“Pastor Lyle is still alive?”
“Oh, yes. He was over just last night for casserole and biscuits. The man must be doing something right for the Lord, since the Lord refuses to take him home. I guess it goes to show that His timing is all that matters.” Evelyn poured another glass of lemonade, and her eyes became distant in a reflective thought of some sort. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home. I had to make a few more arrangements for the funeral.” She looked up at Macey with tear-filled eyes again. “I’m just so glad I didn’t have to come home to an empty house. Your timing couldn’t have been better.” The tears fell and dripped down her cheeks. Macey was speechless. She had little experience in comforting others.
“Um . . . can I see upstairs? Is it still the same?”
Evelyn wiped the tears away and seemed embarrassed.
“Your room is all ready for you! Haven’t changed it a bit, either. Do you have any luggage?”
———
Macey groaned as she sorted through lipstick that had turned to liquid. It had seeped into her eye shadow and powder so that everything was now a sticky mess. Evelyn busily wet paper towels to try to help her daughter clean up the assortment of melted makeup colors.
“I knew I shouldn’t have left my luggage in the car,” her daughter lamented. “I know what this kind of heat can do.”
Evelyn handed her another paper towel, trying not to be too obvious in staring at her. She was just so pretty. “Well, we can go into town and get some more. It’s probably not the fancy kind, but it’ll do for now.”
Macey nodded and wiped her hands off with a towel. “Let’s leave this. I still want to see my room.”
Evelyn smiled and let her go first up the stairs. Macey was gracious enough not to race up before her, but took her hand and helped her climb each step. They finally topped the staircase, and she watched her daughter’s eyes take in all the pictures and rooms with one turn of the head. She then walked straight down the hallway to her room, with Evelyn following close behind.
Macey stood in the middle of the room and gazed at all the knickknacks, pictures, and keepsakes from high school. She seemed to be speechless. Evelyn was out of breath herself from the climb, so she shuffled over to the bed and sat down, patting the comforter.
“The sheets are washed and cleaned. Everything’s dusted. I even waxed these old wood floors. ’Bout broke my back, but at least they’re shiny.”
Macey turned to her. “But you didn’t know I was coming.”
“Well, I prayed that you would,” said Evelyn, “and I wouldn’t have too much faith if I didn’t prepare like the Lord was going to answer those prayers.” She pointed to the shelf above her bed. “All of your high school ribbons and awards are still there.”
Macey walked over and took a ribbon down. “Track. First place.”
“Do you still enjoy athletics?”
“I run eight miles almost every day,” her daughter said with a smile. She then walked around the rest of the room, even looking out the window for a moment. “I suppose I took for granted this view from my room. Look at those beautiful fields.”
“The combines will be here soon for harvest. I’m sure you remember all the rumbling that causes. It’s like we’re having an earthquake for a month! We don’t have to mess with them anymore since your father retired and sold the fields.” Evelyn paused, thinking of what a painful time it had been for Jess. The drought had lessened the value of the land drastically, but with his health he couldn’t afford to keep up with it all.
Macey opened the door to one of her closets. She turned to Evelyn and said, “My clothes are still here?”
Evelyn shrugged. “Didn’t know what else to do with them. I didn’t want to give them away. I thought you might call and need them.”
Macey pulled a high school T-shirt off a hanger and grabbed some cutoffs from the shelf. She held them up and laughed. “I can’t think of anything more comfortable to wear in the world! I feel like I’ve run a hundred miles. Mind if I take a shower and clean up?”
Evelyn rose, steadying herself on her feet, and went to the linen closet. “Here’s a towel and washrag. You take your time. Relax. Take a nap if you need to. I’m going to go start dinner.” She handed them over to Macey. “Make sure to check for ticks. It’s that season and you were out barefoot in the grass.”
Macey thanked her and moved to the bathroom. Evelyn stood in the hall long after the door had shut and the water had been turned on. There was joy yet there was also sorrow. Her daughter was home, but she’d come home too late. Wounds couldn’t be mended now.
As tears streamed down her face, she wondered what in the world God could be up to, because she knew one thing for sure: He was never late.
The water relaxed her. It was a steady stream, just like she remembered, and she found herself complimenting the showerhead and comparing it to the one at home. The water warmed up quickly, but she turned the hot down and let the cool dominate. Even in the air-conditioned house, the heat remained suffocating.
Afterward, Macey stood at the window of her bedroom, looking out at the fields glowing with golden hues. She mindlessly towel-dried her hair and studied the beauty before her. She hadn’t ever remembered taking the time to stand here and appreciate it all like this.
But soon enough a haunting voice chilled her spine, and she turned to watch the memories she’d tried so hard to escape play out before her in vivid images. Her breath escaped her and she closed her eyes, forbidding any more to be recalled. Except she could still smell the distinctly sweet aroma of the tobacco from his pipe, the one he somehow justified against all the strict rules he’d been so loyal to.
It was a long moment before she felt it safe to open her eyes again. She stood motionless as she observed her room again, this time without the watchful eyes of her mother nearby. She imagined her mother begging her father not to touch the room, her father relentless in insisting they take everything out of it and burn it. Somehow everything had remained intact. It was as if seventeen years ago she had walked out and the door hadn’t been opened since.
Suddenly she realized how much her feet hurt and how her back and shoulders ached. She lay down on her bed, on top of the frilly white-and-pink comforter, and closed her eyes. Her feet almost hung off the end, and it seemed so much smaller than she remembered. Montsey, her favorite stuffed animal—a large white animated bunny with floppy ears—was much smaller than she remembered.
Rolling over, she opened her eyes and it hit her that she couldn’t stay in Kansas long. The funeral was tomorrow. She would stay another day after that, to help her mom get settled and make sure all her finances were in order, and then she would leave.
But all these thoughts couldn’t silence the one voice she hated to hear. She wrapped the edges of the pillow around her ears. As her mind sank into the darkness of sleep, her last thoughts pondered how a dead man could still be so alive and how his words could still sting so much.
Five
The heap of mashed potatoes hit Macey’s plate with a thud. She watched her mother cut off a two-inch square of butter and slap it on top of her serving, followed by an overwhelming helping of salt. Evelyn then salted and buttered her own potatoes with as much.
Next came the gravy. It screamed “heart attack,” and Macey swallowed hard as her mom poured a lumpy scoop of it over the potatoes while mumbling about how Margie’s gravy was always as smooth as silk.
Evelyn went back into the kitchen, and Macey thought she was going to be sick. The smell of grease permeated the air.
“Honey, this is the best fried chicken you’ll ever have in your life!” Evelyn exclaimed, setting in front of Macey a large platter of what appeared to be at least two chickens. Paper towels underneath the chickens soaked up the grease. “This is Oda Yeager’s recipe, and it’s won the Chanute County Fair blue ribbon for three years in a row.”
Macey tried to sound grateful, but she’d become somewhat of a vegetarian and was working on eliminating almost all fat from her diet. Eyeing the fried chicken platter, she asked, “Mom, how many chickens did you fix? It’s just you and me.”
