Elaine Hussey - The Oleander Sisters

Why didn’t Larry say something?

“You know, a little man-to-man talk in a house full of women?” She waited, nervous, and still Larry said nothing. “Of course, there’s Andy, but I’m afraid his conversation runs to frog houses and rocket ships.”

Emily twisted the phone cord around her fingers, and a little pulse started pounding in her temple.

“Larry? Are you still there?” She put a hand to her forehead and silently counted to three. “Say something. Please.”

Sis set down her glass in that slow, deliberate manner she had when she was getting ready to wade into the middle of a situation gone bad. Even worse, she pushed back her chair. Emily frantically signaled her sister to sit back down.

When Larry finally decided to talk to her again, she was so flustered she nearly dropped the receiver.

“You said you’d make spaghetti and meatballs, Emily.” He was breathing hard, like somebody having a heart attack.

“Larry? Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. Just disappointed, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Larry.” She looked down at her engagement ring and twisted it on her finger. “I was just... I don’t know what I was doing.” She squinted at her ring. “I was just trying to be helpful, that’s all.”

Sis was scowling so hard it seemed to Emily the whole room had gone dark.

“I was looking forward to your spaghetti, Emily,” Larry told her.

“I promise you I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs the next time. And listen, Beulah is one of the best cooks on the Gulf Coast. I know you’re going to enjoy having dinner with my family.”

“I even told my boss I was eating spaghetti my fiancée made.”

“I’m sorry, Larry. I really, really am.”

She couldn’t even look at Sis. She knew what she’d see: a sister getting ready to explode.

Emily frantically searched for a way to salvage the situation. It was too late to fix spaghetti from scratch and still have dinner at her house at a decent hour. But she could pick up some spaghetti sauce on her way home and doctor it up so Larry wouldn’t be able to tell it from the real thing.

“Listen, Larry. Just forget I even mentioned dinner at Sweet Mama’s. I’ll hurry on home to cook and see you in a little while. Okay?”

His sigh was as dramatic as Andy’s when he’d been told he had to take a bath before going to bed.

“I forgive you, sweetheart. And I’ll come to Sweet Mama’s for dinner. But next time, discuss plans with me first, okay?”

“Of course. I will.”

Sis was out of her chair before Emily had even hung up the phone.

“That rat! What did he say to you?”

“He was disappointed about the spaghetti, Sis, that’s all.”

“Disappointed, my hind foot. It looks like he put you through the wringer.” Sis stomped over to the sink and dumped the rest of her iced tea so hard ice cubes bounced over the lip of the sink and rattled to the floor. “I’d like to slap some sense into him. And if he gives me half a chance, I will.”

“We have to all get along.”

“If he wants to get along with me, he’d better start treating my sister right.”

“He treats me just fine. Really, he does.”

“Do you call that fine, being reduced to a nervous wreck just because you invited him to dinner?” Sis snatched up a dish towel and attacked the ice cubes on the floor. “Apologizing for Pete’s sake, as if you’d done something wrong!”

“Please, Sis! He’s going to be my husband!”

Sis went very still, collecting her rage the way the air collects turbulence right before a tornado rips through. If you didn’t know Sis, you’d tremble in your shoes; you’d expect her to tear into you any minute and try to straighten you out. But Emily saw with a sister’s heart. She watched Sis rein in her feelings and bury them so deep not a glimmer was left behind.

Sis dumped the ice cubes back into the sink, easy now in her movements and her posture.

“All right. I’ll behave.”

“Oh, Sis! I knew you would.”

“But that doesn’t mean I like it, Em.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like this man and I don’t like the idea of you marrying him. But we’ll get through the evening. Now I’m going to clean up and then warn Sweet Mama and Beulah.”

“Warn?”

“Tell. Is that better?”

“Much.”

“Em, I want you to think about the way Larry acted over something as simple as coming here for dinner. If he’s this controlling now, what will he be like after the wedding?”

“Sis, don’t start on Larry again.”

“I’m not starting on Larry. Just promise me you’ll think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Sis left the kitchen while the conversation with Larry burned through Emily. Not even the endearment he’d used to say goodbye could erase the sense that she’d headed out to pick a basketful of ripe strawberries and ended up in a tangle of briars. She bent over the sink to splash cool water on her hot face, then stood with water dripping down her chin, simply stood there staring into space.

Sis’s footsteps echoed on the wooden floors upstairs. She’d be going about her business, getting cleaned up for dinner. From the direction of the hall closet came sounds of Andy’s rambunctious search, probably for one of Sis’s old balls and her baseball bat. Out on the porch, her grandmother and Beulah would be drinking sweet tea from tall, cool glasses, blissfully unaware of the little storm that had swept through the kitchen.

After a little while, Emily shook herself like a woman coming out of a bad dream, then searched the pantry till she found an apron. She wasn’t going to let this little setback spoil the evening. It was going to be great, maybe even wonderful, that’s all. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Her brother needed wonderful, and right this minute, so did she.

* * *

Upstairs Sis washed the dirt off and changed into fresh slacks and a clean black T-shirt, but there was nothing she could do to erase the awful way Emily had looked during her phone conversation with Larry. He’d crushed her with the ease and carelessness of someone smashing a butterfly.

She thought about knocking on Jim’s door and relating the incident to him, but he might be getting dressed, and besides, he was too hurt from his own wounds to be burdened with Sis’s dark opinions.

She headed back downstairs to warn Sweet Mama and Beulah. They were both in rocking chairs on the porch, swaying gently to the ebb and flow of their conversation. Sis stood in the doorway a moment, the rhythm of their words running through her like a beloved song. No matter what was going on in the world around her, Sis could hear their voices and feel herself being tethered to this place she called home. She allowed herself the luxury of soaking up that comfort a moment longer, and then she pushed away and marched across the wooden porch.

“Guess who’s coming to dinner?” she said.

“If you fixing to tell me you bringing Sidney Poitier, I’m gonna get all gussied up.” Beulah chuckled, and after a heartbreaking lag, Sweet Mama joined her.

They both loved Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. When it had first come out two years ago, they’d planned the theater outing as if they were going on an overnight trip to the Peabody Hotel in Memphis.

“I hate to disappoint you, Beulah. It’s not Sidney. It’s Larry Chastain.”

“Who?” Sweet Mama said, and Sis leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Emily’s fiancé. Remember?”

“Of course I do. What do you think I am? Senile?” Sweet Mama eased out of her rocker, one blue-veined hand clutching the armrest to steady herself. “Come on, Beulah. If company’s coming, we’re eating in the dining room and using the good silver.”