Over the past week of working side by side with him on the house, it’s become glaringly obvious how much and how often he’s self-medicating. But hell if I know how to help him, short of staging an intervention, and I don’t reckon we’re there quite yet.
Besides, he isn’t the intervention sort. He’d probably toss our twelve-year friendship out the window sooner than he’d sign on to a twelve-step program.
“Eva’s fixing to head out.” Maggie appears beside us. “She’s had about all the fawning and pawing she can stand.”
“She’s not the only one,” Cash grumbles.
“Oh, poor baby.” Maggie purses her lips. “Has the big, bad Green Beret had to fight off too many unwanted advances from pretty women?” Before he can answer, she turns to me. “And what about you, Luc? See anything you like?” She waves her hand to indicate the expanse of the ballroom.
“Why d’ya keep trying to set me up?” I frown at her.
“You’re one of my favorite people,” she says airily. “I think it’s a shame you’re not populating the world with more of your kind.”
Cash snorts. “He’s been too busy practicing procreation to ever get around to actually doing it. At Fort Bragg he was known as the Bayou Banger.”
“Wow.” Maggie makes a face, and I can feel the tips of my ears heat. “That…uh…gets filed directly under TMI.”
“What does?” Eva comes around the corner.
“Never mind,” I tell her, determined to head this topic off at the pass. And then, you know, send it stampeding over the nearest cliff. “Maggie May says you’re leaving.” I take her hand. “It’s a shame to see you go. We didn’t get a chance to talk.”
“There’ll be other times. Maggie will make sure of it.” She smiles, and I can see why she graces the covers of magazines. Her heart-shaped face is pure perfection.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Maggie tells her.
Eva shakes her head. “I know the way. Besides, you better stay here and keep these two company, or the flock of vultures will descend, and there might not be anything left of them but their bones by the time you get back.”
Maggie laughs, and Eva waves her goodbyes before turning to find her way out of the house. Cash looks after her longingly.
“Y’all should take off too,” Maggie says, accurately reading Cash’s expression. “But thank you both for coming. I know it meant the world to my aunts to see y’all again. And it means a lot to me that you’d get all dudded up and spend the better part of an afternoon in a room full of women.”
“We were thinking of heading over to City Park,” Cash says at the same time I insist, “We’ll stay and see this thing through.”
Cash gives me the evil eye. But before I can return his look, Miss Bea lifts her voice above the excited chatter of dozens of conversations. “Attention, ladies!” She’s standing beside an open wall panel. When the soft, classical music that’s been pumping from the speakers in the ceiling disappears, I realize she’s switched off the sound system. “Ladies!” she shouts again. “Quiet! Something’s come up!”
That does it. Every head turns in Miss Bea’s direction.
“It seems Ellie’s son, Jim, was in a car wreck about an hour ago.” A collective gasp is heard around the room. A matronly looking woman, whom I assume is Ellie, hastens to a table to retrieve her purse. Her cell phone is plastered to her ear, and she’s talking in hushed tones. “No! No!” Miss Bea pats the air. “He’s fine. But he did break his leg and sprain his wrist.”
Calls of support and condolence follow Ellie as she hustles toward the back of the room. She waves to the gathered group of well-wishers before brushing past us.
Miss Bea waits long enough for Ellie to get out of earshot before getting down to brass tacks. “Now, as y’all know, Jim was supposed to be one of our bachelors. Since there’s no way he’ll be off crutches before the ball, this means we have a vacancy to fill. Charlene? Would your nephew Stew be willing to help us out again this year?”
“His law office sent him to Savannah for the next two months,” a woman in a dress as red as the devil’s underpants answers. “They’re opening a new branch there.”
Miss Bea nods. “That’s wonderful. Be sure to tell Stew congratulations from all of us.” She glances around the room. “Della? What about your cousin? What is his name?”
I look for a pile of red hair and a slinky pink dress. Della was one of the women who slipped me her number. A year younger than me in high school, she hadn’t seen fit to give me the time of day back then. That she’s itching to do so now that I’m acne-free and a “big, strong war hero” doesn’t sit well.
“His name is Grady,” Della says. “But he’s in graduate school up North and his momma told me he has no plans to make it home until Carnival season.”
“We’re in a bit of a pickle here, ladies,” Miss Bea says to the room. “Anyone have any suggestions?”
“I’ll do it!”
I turn slowly, blinking at Cash in astonishment.
“Thank you, Cash!” Miss Bea beams, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “You’ve saved the day!”
