Charlaine Harris - A Bone To Pick

Now she put down the steamer and gave me a hug.

“I just hope Amina’s doing the right thing,” she whispered.

“Well, I’m sure she is,” I said with a confidence I was far from feeling. “I’m sure he’s a good man.”

“Oh, it’s not him I worry about so much,” Miss Joe Nell said, to my surprise. “It’s Amina.”

“We just hope she’s really ready to settle this time,” rumbled Mr. Day. He sang bass in the church choir, had for twenty years, and would until he could sing no more.

“I hope so, too,” I admitted. And we all three looked at one another rather dolefully for a long second.

“Now, what kind of dress does Amina want me to try on?” I asked briskly.

Miss Joe Nell shook herself visibly and led me over to the formal dresses. “Let’s see,” she said. “Her dress, like I said, is mint green, with some white beading. I have it here, she tried on several things when she was home for your mother’s wedding. I thought she was just sort of dreaming and planning, but I bet she had a little idea back then that they would move the date up.”

The dress was beautiful. Amina would look like an American dream in it.

“So we can coordinate my dress easily,” I said in an optimistic tone.

“Well, I looked at what we have in your size, and I found a few things that would look lovely with this shade of green. Even if you pick a solid in a different color, your bouquet could have green ribbons that would sort of tie it together…”

And we were off and running, deep in wedding talk.

I was glad I’d braided my hair that morning, because by the time I’d finished hauling dresses off and on it would have been a crow’s nest otherwise. As it was, loose hairs crackling with electricity were floating around my face by the time I was done. One of the dresses became me and would coordinate, and, though I doubted I would ever have occasion to wear it again, I bought it. Mrs. Day tried to tell me she would pay for it, but I knew my bridesmaid’s duty. Finally she let me have it at cost, and we both were satisfied. Amina’s dress had long, see-through sleeves and solid cuffs, a simple neckline, beaded bodice, and a full skirt, plain enough to set off the bridal bouquet but fancy enough to be festive. My dress had short sleeves but the same neckline, and it was peach with a mint green cummerbund. I could get some heels dyed to match-in fact, I thought the heels I’d had dyed to match Linda Erhardt’s bridesmaid’s dress might do. I promised Miss Joe Nell I’d bring them by the store to check, since my dress had to remain at Great Day to have its hem raised.

And it had only taken an hour and a half, I discovered when I got back in my car. I remembered when I’d gone dress hunting with Sally Saxby and her mother, and four other bridesmaids. The expedition had consumed a whole very long day. It had taken me awhile to feel as fond of Sally as I had before we went dress hunting in Atlanta.

Of course, now Sally had been Mrs. Hunter for ten years and had a son almost as tall as me, and a daughter who took piano lessons.

No, I would not be depressed. The dress had been found, that was a good thing. I was going by the office, that was another good thing. Then I would go see the cats at the new house, as I was trying to think of it. Then I would treat myself to lunch somewhere good.

When I turned into the rear parking lot of my mother’s office, I noticed no one dared to park in her space though she was actually out of the country. I pulled into it neatly, making a mental note to tell Mother this little fact. Mother, thinking “Teagarden Homes” was too long to fit on a Sold sign, had instead named her business Select Realty. Of course this was a blatant attempt to appeal to the “up” side of the market, and it seemed to have worked. Mother was a go-get’em realtor who never let business call her if she could get out there and beat the bushes for it first. She wanted every realtor she hired to be just as aggressive, and she didn’t care what the applicant looked like as long as the right attitude came across. An injudicious rival had compared Select realtors to a school of sharks, in my hearing. Marching up the sidewalk to the old home Mother had bought and renovated beautifully, I found myself wondering if my mother would consider me a suitable employee.

Everyone who worked at Select Realty dressed to the nines, so I was fairly conspicuous, and I realized my choice of jeans and T-shirt had been a mistake. I had wanted to look as unlike a realtor as I could, and I had succeeded in looking like an outdated hippie.

Patty Cloud, at the front desk, was wearing a suit that cost as much as a week’s salary from the library. And this was the receptionist.

“Aurora, how good to see you!” she said with a practiced smile. Patty was at least four years younger than me, but the suit and the artificial ease made her seem as much older.

Eileen Norris passed through the reception area to drop some papers labeled with a Post-it note on Patty’s desk, and stopped in her tracks when she recognized me.

“My God, child, you look like something the cat dragged in!” Eileen bellowed. She was a suspiciously dark-haired woman about forty-five, with expensive clothes from the very best big women’s store. Her makeup was heavy but well done, her perfume was intrusive but attractive, and she was one of the most overwhelming women I’d ever met. Eileen was something of a town character in Lawrenceton, and she could talk you into buying a house quicker than you could take an aspirin.

I wasn’t exactly pleased with her greeting, but I’d made an error in judgment, and Eileen was not one to let that go by.

“I’m just dropping in to deliver a message. Mother is extending her honeymoon a little.”

“I’m so glad she is,” Eileen boomed. “That woman hadn’t taken a vacation in a coon’s age. I bet she’s having a real good time.”

“No doubt about it.”

“And you’re checking up on the children while their mama’s away?”

There was also no doubt Eileen wasn’t happy with the idea of the boss’s daughter “checking up.”

“Just wanted to see that the building was still standing,” I said lightly. “But I do have a realty question to ask.”

Mackie Knight, a young black realtor Mother had just taken on, came in just then with clients, a pair of newlyweds I recognized since their picture had been in the paper the same day Mother and John’s had been. The couple looked a little dazed, and were arguing in a weary way between a house on Macree and a house on Littleton. Safely ahead of them, Mackie rolled his eyes at us as they passed through.

“He’s working out good,” Eileen said absently. “The younger couples don’t mind having a black realtor, and the black clients love it. Now, you said you had a realty question?”

“Yes, I do. What are houses in the area right around the junior high selling for?”

Patty and Eileen snapped to attention. This was Business.

“How many bedrooms?”

“Ah-two.”

“Square footage?”

“Maybe fourteen hundred.”

“A house on Honor in that area just sold,” Eileen said promptly. “Just a minute and I’ll look that up.”

She marched back to her desk, her high heels making little thumps on the carpet. I followed her through the unobtrusively attractive gray and blue halls to her office, second in size only to Mother’s. It had probably been the second best bedroom. Mother had what had been the master bedroom, and the kitchen had the copying machine and a little snack area. The other rooms were much smaller and occupied by Mother’s lesser minions. Eileen’s desk was aggressively busy, papers everywhere, but they were in separate stacks, and she doubtless was capable of juggling many balls at a time.