“Yes, Lupe.” She silently and fervently thanked God for male chauvinists. The crew would surely have abandoned their task if there hadn’t been the issue of the men outlasting a lone woman in the rain. She felt a wave of affection for the workers. They looked so darned rough…but she’d been offered four additional raincoats in the past hour, which rather said it all. As their trucks rumbled off down the back road in quick succession, Bett stood up to walk over to the last three crates of peaches. On the far hill, she spotted a sudden flash of pink.
The flash quickly resolved itself into a shocking-pink Lincoln, four years old, with a U-Haul behind it that sagged dangerously close to the ground. The farm road was constructed for slow-moving tractors; the Lincoln seemed to be approaching at the speed of sound. Its brakes were slammed on just inches from the back of her truck, about the same time Bett vaulted down from the truck bed, her tennis shoes squishing on the slippery wet earth.
A pink-and-mauve polka-dotted umbrella emerged from the car first, then a blouse in a vivid print of pink, orange and chartreuse. Pink culottes were next, and, finally, a brand-new pair of pink tennis shoes-Elizabeth’s concession to farm life. Bett took one look at her mother and swallowed hard, before extending outstretched arms.
“Mom! We weren’t expecting you for another two days.”
“Oh, darling, I just couldn’t wait. I started to think about how hard you two kids work and how much I could help you.
Swiftly and instinctively, Bett ducked under the umbrella and wrapped her arms around her mother. The scent of lavender surrounded her, as familiar as the oatmeal cookies she’d been fed as a child. Good food, good sleep, good love, Elizabeth used to say. A billion times? Bett found herself laughing as the rain pelted down on both of them.
Elizabeth pulled back first, surveying her daughter up and down. “Brittany, you are a total mess, and soaking wet.”
“And before
“You’re so busy, you and Zach. I’m so terribly afraid I’m going to be in your way…”
“You’re
Bett kept an eye on her mother in the rearview mirror as they drove toward the farmyard. At fifty-four, Elizabeth still had a relatively unlined face, brown hair worn in a short mass of curls and a trim figure a little on the buxom side. Her smooth skin and doelike brown eyes reflected the life she had lived, that of a sheltered homemaker who wanted nothing more from life than to be a sheltered homemaker.
The circles under Elizabeth’s eyes made Bett ache for her mother. Elizabeth hadn’t known how to even begin coping when Chet died. After more than a year, she still didn’t. If the constant tears had finally eased a little, Elizabeth was still at sea over balancing checkbooks and caring for the yard, taxes, what to do with her time. The smallest decisions still overwhelmed her, not because she lacked ability or intelligence, but simply because she really didn’t want to change her lifestyle.
Nurturing was her specialty. Babies knew it; babies were capable of spotting Elizabeth in a crowded room and holding out their arms to be picked up. Bett couldn’t remember a time when her mother had ever raised her voice.
Bett had raised her own voice quite often in adolescence. She remembered that period of her life with utter misery. Elizabeth had so badly wanted a daughter created in exactly her own image. She had traditional values concerning home and hearth and women’s roles, all of which she’d tried desperately to ingrain in her daughter. It hadn’t worked. The failures began with her name. Early on her father had nicknamed her “Bett,” thank goodness. “Elizabeth” was intended to evoke the genteel grandeur of the Old World and a buxom lass with rosy cheeks who needlepointed and raised babies as her mother had. She hadn’t developed into anything remotely resembling “buxom,” didn’t sew and had yet to produce offspring. Her list of failures to fit the mold was ongoing. None of these “faults” was really so terrible; it was just that mothers and daughters were supposed to be close. Elizabeth and Bett weren’t, though they both tried very hard. Bett believed herself at fault, yet with all her efforts had never been able to bridge the distance between them.
At the moment, though, old memories weren’t in her mind. Protective feelings swamped her as she glanced once more in the rearview mirror before braking the truck in the farmyard. This time, Bett was determined she would come through for her mother. There would be no hurt feelings, no arguments, no impatience. Her mom needed help, and Bett had every intention of being there for her.
Still, her eyes settled uneasily on the U-Haul behind the Lincoln. How literally had Elizabeth taken Zach’s invitation to “stay as long as you like”?
The moment Bett opened the back door of her mother’s car, Sniper leaped into the car in a flurry of Persian fur, discovering her mother’s canary cage instantly as if he’d sensed the birds from half a mile away. “Behave yourself for once,” Bett hissed. The cat sprang to the top of the felt-covered cage, purring. Bett batted the animal down, and tried to work the cage out over a lopsided suitcase.
“Brittany?”
Elizabeth was waiting at the door to remove the wrap and coo at the two yellow birds. “I should have asked you if I could bring them. If you mind, darling-”
“Of course not.” Bett pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “Tell me what you need to bring in immediately, Mom; the rest we’ll get after the rain stops.”
“I really think you should get out of those wet clothes first.”
Bett shook her head, smiling. “It’s warm-wet, not cold-wet. Really, it’s okay.”
“Well, as far as just the essentials go…”
The seven plants had to come in-they could catch cold in the rain. The base for the canary cage. Four suitcases. Elizabeth never traveled without her own reading lamp and pillow, nor the box of china that had been a wedding gift when she’d married Chet. Four shoeboxes full of coupons; Elizabeth planned to go shopping. Three afghans; it was no fun at all to work on just one at a time. Her rocker with the yellow velvet cushion. She always sat in that rocker before dinner. “You’re irritated with me, aren’t you, Brittany?” Elizabeth said hesitantly.
Panting and dripping, Bett dropped the next load of boxes on the floor. The couches were filled. “Of course not, Mom.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind just bringing in the presents, then. Brittany, you’re already so very wet, but I could hardly come without presents, now could I? It’s not every son-in-law who would be willing to put up with his wife’s mother for any period of time. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate it; you know I love Zach.”
Bett soon discovered that Elizabeth loved Zach worth a purple tie, three issues of
“He’ll love it,” Bett lied without a qualm. Zach would wear a pink shirt when mainland China became a democracy-sort of a better-not-hold-your-breath kind of proposition. But Elizabeth was so pathetically eager to please… “Anything else we need this minute?”
“Just a few things,” Elizabeth beamed delightedly as Bett brought in the last stack of boxes. “You can open them all later, Brittany, but just peek at that first one.”
Bett dutifully opened the first box. A bright green blouse with zigzaggy stripes and ruffles. She stared blankly.
“I thought it would make you look a little bustier, darling, no offense-you do like it?”
“It’s lovely.” Bett tried to sound enthusiastic.
“You don’t like it.” Elizabeth sounded hurt.
“Honestly, Mom, I love it.” Bett swept back her hair again, swallowing a sigh. She tugged off the sopping yellow
