Looping an arm through his, Ellie sidles in closer. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I wonder if Annie Laurie’s here yet?” I say as we peer up at the floor indicators above the elevators.
Ellie looks at her phone. “I just texted her. She and her parents got here an hour and a half ago.”
Haynes clears his throat, looks straight at her. “They didn’t have as far to travel.”
“Dad,” Ellie retorts, “Memphis is way closer than Natchez.”
“Not by air. I’m sure they flew in on their private helicopter and landed on the roof.”
“Stop, Dad.”
I shoot Haynes mynot nowlook. He shrugs and pulls on the bill of his Memphis Grizzlies ball cap.
Evidently, Lilith and Gage Whitmore are loaded. One of the wealthiest families in Natchez, from what I hear—possibly one of the wealthiest in the state. Even though we’re the same age, she pledged Alpha Delt as a transfer from Randolph Macon a year behind me, and I vaguely remember rumblings about her family fortune. The word is her husband is a trust-fund baby himself. From our telephone conversations, I gather he’s usually at home during the day, “managing their portfolios.”
It takes a full hour for our turn on an elevator to arrive, despite the fact that our move-in times were staggered. The whole way down to Ole Miss I’d been thinking about what Haynes would say when he saw Ellie’s dorm room. He was usually oblivious to such things, but there was no hiding this one.
Just thinking about that phone message I received back in June has me frozen in fear. I had just finished my water aerobics class when I checked my phone for missed calls. Sure enough there was one from a 601 area code. Mississippi. When I checked the recording I had a voice message from someone named Rhonda Taylor from Chic Small Spaces. She said she needed my address to send me an invoice. I remember thinking,An invoice? And who the heck is Rhonda Taylor?
I pushed redial.
She answered on the first ring. “Rhonda Taylor. Hotty Toddy.”
“Hi Rhonda, this is Wilda Woodcock. You left a message on—”
“Hey, Wilda, how are you?” She definitely thought she had the right person.
“Fine, thank you.”
“Great. I need your address, girl. To send you an invoice.”
I put on my best semi-confrontational tone. “You mentioned that in your voice mail, but I think there’s been a mistake. You must have the wrong Wilda Woodcock.”
“Aren’t you Lilith Whitmore’s friend?”
An ultra-big pit constricted my stomach, near one of my sphincter muscles right under my breastbone. “Yes.”
“I’m her dorm-room designer.”
Silence. Shock.Shit.Every inch of me, every tiny pore of mine was dying to scream,“Lilith Whitmore has a dorm-room designer? Are you freaking kidding me?”But I am well versed in the art of polite Southern-speak. So I told a little white lie. “Of course,” I said, in a breathy tone. “Now I remember.”
“See, I do have the right Wilda Woodcock.” She giggled, and I couldn’t blame her. “Now. We need to talk install. What date is your daughter moving into Martin?”
“August sixteenth.” I had that date branded into my heart. The day I would become an empty nester.
“Lilith told me she’d be happy to pay me an up-charge to get the exact move-in date y’all want. I’m assuming you’re good with that?”
Oh great,I thought.Lilith wants me to pay yet another up-charge.“How much is that? Out of curiosity.”
“Two-fifty.”
I took a deep breath, tried to remain calm. “Oh… well, okay.”
“I assume the girls have been chatting about their colors and designs.”
“Yes, I think so.”
