“Great, because I’m running out of time. If y’all want a move-in-ready dorm room I’ll need y’all to pick out your fabrics and decide on your room design by next Thursday.”
That pit in my stomach had grown into a boulder. “Okay.”
“I sent Lilith several fabric samples. Have you not seen them?”
“That must have been what she was calling me about.” Lilith had left a message from the Cayman Islands wanting to talk about the design of the girls’ room. Never once had it crossed my mind she had hired a dorm-room designer. Heck, I never even knew they existed. “We haven’t connected yet, but I told Ellie to call Annie Laurie.” I paused. “To be honest, I wasn’t planning on getting all that involved. I like to let Ellie make her own decisions.”
“Some moms are like that.”
“So, Rhonda. You said you have an invoice. I assume you charge a design fee?” My voice was interlaced with trepidation.
A long pause followed. “Is the Pope Catholic?” She laughed out loud. “So far I haven’t figured out how to volunteer for a living.” Her voice was strong, snappy, ultra confident.
“Oh no, I… wasn’t suggesting you’d do it for free. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“Girrrl. No offense taken. My business has gone through the roof. My phone has beeped twice during this conversation. I don’t know if I need to thank Panhellenic or Obama.”
“Gosh. Congratulations. I wish I’d thought of it.” My mind floated off to the job I would have to get. To pay for Ellie’sunexpectedexpenses.
“I’ve always been ahead of the curve. It’s a gift.” She laughed again.
“Good for you. I’m assuming you have a total for all this?”
“I have your invoice right here in my hot little hand.”
“Great. How much is it?”
“Ten K.”
I was positive I had misunderstood her. “Excuse me?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Apiece?”
“Yes, honey, yes. But that includes the furniture, the comforter and monogrammed shams, the extra pillows, bed skirt, draperies, the throws. Wait, what am I forgetting?” She paused. “Oh yeah, the woven blinds, the rugs and mirrors, the art, the desk toppers and chair covers. And a dorm-warming gift. It’s turnkey.”
I was utterly gobsmacked. Heart palpitations kick-started into motion. I broke out in a cold sweat and if she said something else, then I never heard her. All I could think about was Haynes and what he was going to say when I told him we owedten thousand dollarsto Ellie’s dorm-room designer.
It had taken me a week to convince him she should move in early—to the tune of one hundred dollars—another of Lilith’s suggestions. But at this point, I couldn’t disappoint our daughter. I’d cooked that goose last February when I encouraged her to room with Annie Laurie Whitmore in the first place.
“One more important thing before I let you go,” Rhonda said, snapping me away from my thoughts. “Y’all are in charge of the fridge, the coffeemaker, the TV, and the microwave. Those are the only things I don’t include… unless you want to pay extra. Heck, I’ll buy the girl’s toothbrushes if you want me to.”
“Oh no,” I said, quickly. “We’ll bring the appliances. And the toothbrushes.”
“Alrighty then.” There was laughter in her voice, like she knew perfectly well she had stepped into a goldmine. “If you’ll send me a deposit check of six thousand, we can get this started. Lilith’s already sent me hers, so don’t worry, I’ve got your install date on the calendar in ink.”
Oh sweet Jesus.A sudden surge of overwhelming panic griped my chest as I hung up the phone.Bump-bump-bump—I could hear the banging of my heart. I felt nauseous. I couldn’t breathe. I was either dying or going crazy. A vision sprung to mind of me, lying in my coffin, with my family peering sadly over the side. Then another replaced it with me, at Bolivar, our West Tennessee mental institution, with a drool cup dangling from my neck.
EIGHT
WILDA
When we finally make it up to the ninth floor, an hour and a half after our arrival, the door to Ellie’s room is half open. “Knock, knock,” I say, poking my head inside, “Woodcocks are here.”
The first person I see is a woman, whom I assume to be Rhonda Taylor, giving instructions to an older African American gentleman about centering an oil painting over a gorgeous gray-and-white floral couch. The Whitmores are off to the side, seated in Lucite chairs watching them work.
“Hey, y’all!” Lilith exclaims, popping up to hug me. Gage Whitmore stands up, too. He puts his breakfast sandwich down and shakes Haynes’s hand. Annie Laurie is nowhere to be found.
