I, Gracie Read online

  It was time to notify her siblings. She went to look for her cell phone, hoping she could get a good signal from their satellite service today.

  She got out Delia's address book with all the names and addresses and sat down at the kitchen table to make the calls, but each time she punched in a number, it came up as disconnected.

  First James in Houston, then Mamie in Austin. And then it hit her. These numbers were their old landline numbers! Most likely, they'd done away with them and only used cell phones now.

  None of them had called her. They'd used the old landline in the house to call Mama until she’d forgotten who they were, and then they’d quit calling. Now that phone was gone. She had not heard their voices since that last Christmas seven years ago, when they'd all said goodbye.

  Her last hope was Daphne, who lived in Dallas. When she turned the page to Daphne's name, and saw one number had been marked out, and another added below that. She had hopes it would be to a cell phone, and it was.

  It rang, and it rang, and just when Gracie thought it was going to go to voicemail, Daphne answered in a breathless voice, as if she'd been running.

  "Hello?"

  "Daphne, it's me, Gracie. Mama died this morning," she said without preamble. "I tried to call James and Mamie, but their numbers are disconnected. If you want them to know, you'll have to tell them."

  "Oh no! Gracie, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

  "No. I am not okay. I haven't been okay for the past seven years. I will let you know when the service is held. Kindly do not show up here at this house before the services and pretend you are still part of my family. You will go straight to the church for the funeral and the dinner, and when it's over, you will all come to the house. There are things that have to be settled."

  "But—"

  Gracie hung up in Daphne's ear, then put her head down on the table and cried from frustration and rage.

  She was a woman on fire, and for the past seven years, not one person had cared enough to even throw a little water on her, let alone put it out.

  After the tears, she felt better. But it was moving on toward 10:00, and since Gracie had told Willis Decker she would stop by, it was time to get moving.

  She showered and washed her hair, then began making a mental list of what she had to do in town as she tried to find something decent to put on that still fit her.

  Daphne's phone call to James caught him off guard. She rarely ever called, and never at work. When he saw her name come up on Caller ID, he hit Save on his work screen and picked up.

  "Hello?"

  "James, it's me, Daphne. Gracie just called. Mama died. She tried to call you but got a disconnected number for both you and Mamie."

  "Oh no! Oh man...I knew this day would come. What do we need to do? Does she—"

  "She doesn't want shit from any of us. I've never heard such cold rage in someone's voice in my life. She will let us know the time and date later. We are not invited to the house early. We go straight to the church for services and dinner, and then go to the house only after it's over. She said there are things to settle."

  James felt bile in the back of his throat and had to swallow hard so he wouldn't puke.

  "Did you ever call her? I mean...after that last Christmas?" Daphne asked.

  "No, but—"

  "Neither did I. Did you ever check on them?" Daphne asked.

  James's eyes welled. "No. I guess I thought if Gracie needed us, she would call."

  Daphne's voice was shaking. "Except your number was disconnected. So, who the hell knows if she ever tried?"

  "Oh my God," James said. "How will we ever make this right?"

  "Just prepare yourself for the wrath, because I could feel it in my bones with every word she uttered. I'll text you info later, although you could call her yourself. She still has the same number from college."

  Then the line went dead in James's ear.

  He was a whiz as a CPA, but he'd fucked up his marriage. He'd fucked up his responsibilities as a father, and now it had come home to him what a sorry-ass son and brother he'd become.

  He got up from his desk and went into his boss's office in a daze.

  "Hey, Ralph, uh...my sister just called. My mom died."

  Ralph Corrigan looked up, saw the devastation on James's face, and was immediately sympathetic.

  "Oh man...James...I'm so sorry. My sympathies to all of you." He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where did she live? You'll need time off, of course. We can work around your schedule just fine. What days do you need to be gone?"

  Ralph's kindness just made James feel worse because he deserved none of the sympathy. He would have felt better if Ralph had punched him in the face.

  "She lived out on the family ranch not far from Sweetwater. I'm not sure about services, yet. As soon as I get a day and time, I'll let you know. For now, I just wanted to give you a heads up."

  "Of course," Ralph said. "Listen, why don't you take an early lunch and then go home for the rest of the day."

  "Are you sure?" James asked.

  "Absolutely. Just let me know the name of the funeral home, and we'll send flowers. What was your mother's name?"

  "Delia. Her name was Delia Dunham," James said and walked out.

  Today was Mamie Freemont's weekly lunch date with her three best girlfriends. They were going to the Salt Lick just outside of Austin, and she was already anticipating the restaurant's famous mouth-watering barbecue.

  Going out was one of Mamie's favorite pastimes, and today was no different. She had her white-blonde hair pulled up on top of her head, leaving the carefully coifed curls free to dangle. She was in skin-tight jeans that showed off her shapely ass, and a low-cut top that showed off her big boobs. And, as always, she was wearing all five of her diamond rings, because a Texas girl never had hair too big or too many diamonds.

  Her husband, Joel, was on one of his business trips. This time back to Portland. Or was it Seattle? She couldn't remember. But it didn't matter. Mamie had the most fun when Joel was gone. She didn't exactly cheat on him. She'd never do that. But she liked to flirt when she was out with the girls, and today, she felt fine enough to flirt.

  She was trading lipstick colors in her purse when her cell phone rang. A quick glance put a smile on her face. It was Daphne! She and her sister were only thirteen months apart, and as close as twins.

  "Hello, sugar!" Mamie said.

  "I have bad news," Daphne said. "Mama passed."

  For a second, Mamie felt like someone had punched her in the gut, and then she took a deep breath.

  "Oh no."

  "That's not the worst," Daphne added. "You need to know Gracie is pissed. We are not invited to the house early. We are to go straight to the funeral home the day of the services. Dinner will be there, and when it's over, we are all to go back to the house to settle things. Her words. Not mine."

  Mamie's eyes welled. "Well, that's just awful. That's our home, too. She can’t—"

  "We abandoned her, Mamie. Don't deny it. She tried to call you personally to let you and James both know but got disconnected numbers."

  "Oh my God," Mamie muttered. "I guess I let time slip away from me after Mama couldn't talk on the phone anymore."

  Daphne sighed. "Did you ever call Gracie?" Daphne asked.

  "Well, no, I don't guess I did. But Mama always said she was busy, or—"

  "Oh, for the love of God, Mamie. Mama lost her mind. Why would you believe anything she said then? She told the same story over and over, and then forgot who we were. I didn't call Gracie because I didn't want her to ask me to come stay. I didn't want to take care of Mama. Not even for a weekend, especially not after she got scary, talking all crazy. I will admit it right now. I sacrificed my baby sister for my own selfish life. I didn't want to know how Gracie felt living with Mama's crazy shit every day, because I didn't want to do it. I hate myself for that, and now I have to live with it. But I don't imagine time slipped anywhere for Gracie, so just be prepare
d for a cold shoulder when we get there."

  Mamie didn't like being called down for anything, and she didn't want to talk about her failures, so she cut the call short.

  "I'm just sick about this, but I have to go or I'm gonna be late. I'm meeting the girls for lunch. Let me know the details when you get them."

  "You could call and ask her yourself," Daphne said. "She still has the same number."

  "I guess," Mamie said. "But you let me know anyway," and then disconnected. She dropped her phone back in her purse, gathered up the rest of her stuff, and headed out the door.

  She didn't feel quite as flirty as she had. In fact, she was feeling a little sick to her stomach, but she probably just needed to eat something. And staying home by herself wasn't going to solve seven years' worth of sins.

  Chapter Two

  Gracie went into the funeral home to sign papers, then set the date for the service on Friday at 10:00 A.M.—three days away.

  "Will you have a family dinner at the church? I’m asking because people always want to know," Willis said.

  "Yes, and I remember from Daddy's service that Mama needed copies of the death certificate, so I need to order some."

  "Do you think five will be enough?" he asked.

  "I will only need one, so I assume so. If anyone needs more, they can order them, right?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Willis said.

  "Then, are we done here?" Gracie asked.

  Willis nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow when she's ready for viewing."

  "Thank you," Gracie said.

  After Willis escorted her out, she drove straight to the bank and walked in with her sunglasses on, her long dark hair swinging down her back. The t-shirt and shorts she wore showed off the long legs she'd inherited from her daddy and hid a body just a shade too thin.

  She withdrew a little over one thousand dollars from her mama's checking account, leaving $55 dollars in the bank, which would cover the $37.27 automatic withdrawal for her mama's life insurance policy one last time.

  It was a bittersweet comfort to know she wouldn't be homeless and broke, but it was all due to Delia's need to make things right that the life insurance policy even existed.

  * * *

  It was the day after Easter. Everyone had gone home. Gracie was cooking breakfast when Delia came into the kitchen, insistent that they go straight to Sweetwater after they ate.

  "To take care of business," Delia said, and so they did.

  The first place they went was to her insurance agent to change the beneficiaries of her small life insurance policy from all four of her children to Gracie as the sole beneficiary.

  "For you, and what you're about to give up," Delia told Gracie.

  Then they went next to Delia's lawyer. Delia knew she was going to lose her good sense, but she wanted to put her affairs in order before it happened. So, she signed over her power of attorney to Gracie.

  Gracie remembered then the feeling of life spinning out of control. This was all happening too fast. She hadn't thought—she didn't know—she should have—but it was already too late.

  The last place they went that day was to Decker Funeral Home.

  The whole trip there was, as Gracie thought of it later, a fucking out of body experience. She was standing at her mother's side, watching her pick out her own casket, and then sitting at her mother's side as she paid for her own burial expenses. Delia already owned the plot where her husband, Tommy, was buried, and her name was already on the headstone beside his. That's when Gracie finally gave up and cried, and Delia had just patted her hand.

  "Don't be sad, baby girl. It's just me takin' care of business."

  * * *

  And now, baby girl was takin' care of business for mama.

  No one challenged Gracie's right to withdraw the money when she went into the bank, because her name was on the account, and she never blinked an eye when she pocketed the cash and walked out.

  Her next stop was the florist, and her choice of flowers for mama's casket was swift and simple. Pink carnations. Always pink carnations.

  When they were kids, their daddy used to dance Delia around the kitchen, singing old songs from the fifties. "A White Sport Coat and Pink Carnations" was her favorite and never failed to make her smile.

  As soon as Gracie paid for the flowers, she got in her car and headed for the Sonic Drive-In. Dirty house or not, Gracie had to get something in her belly before she passed out.

  As she pulled into the stall to order, it occurred to her that this was where she and Mama had come to eat the day Mama had picked out her own casket.

  That day, Delia hadn't remembered tater tots, and they'd been her favorites. Gracie had ordered them for her anyway, and Delia hadn't remembered what the hell they were until they'd arrived on their tray. After that, she’d laughed at her forgetfulness and dunked every one of them in ketchup.

  Gracie's eyes welled again as she lowered the window to order, but she knew in her heart what she was going to choose when she pressed the button.

  "Welcome to Sonic. What can I get for you today?"

  "I want a chili-cheese coney, an order of tater tots, and a large Coke," Gracie said.

  "Will there be anything else?" the boy asked.

  "No. That's all," Gracie said, rolled up the window, jacked up the air conditioner, then called the preacher.

  He answered on the second ring. "Brother Harp speaking."

  "This is Gracie Dunham. I've set the service for this coming Friday at 10:00 A.M., with the family dinner at the church after we come back from the cemetery. Will that work for you?"

  "Yes. I'll notify the Ladies Aide so they can make plans to provide the food. Do you have any idea how much family will be coming?"

  "Less than ten, counting me," Gracie said. "One other thing. If you would, please inform the congregation not to bring food to my house. There won't be any family here ahead of time. I don't have a working deep freeze, and it'll all go to waste in this heat."

  "Yes, ma'am, I will certainly do that," he said. "Do you have a eulogy written? If not–"

  "Mama wrote her own. I'll drop it by the church in a day or so. She also picked out the songs she wanted sung, so I'll bring the file with all her last wishes. You can plan the service around that."

  "Well, I'll say," Brother Harp said. "Delia was—"

  "Always in charge," Gracie said. "She took care of business."

  "Yes, that she did," Brother Harp agreed.

  Gracie disconnected, then sent a text to Daphne, giving her the date and time of the service and the funeral home where Mama was being laid out.

  She didn't want to talk to her. She wished she never had to see their faces again, but that was running away from trouble and wasn't Gracie's style.

  She had money waiting when the carhop brought out her food. As soon as she was alone again, she opened a packet of ketchup, squirted it all over the tater tots, and then picked one off the top.

  "Here's to you, Mama," Gracie said, and popped it in her mouth.

  She ate slowly, savoring the food, the comfort of eating where it was cool, and the luxury of not having to stuff it in her mouth on the run like she had at home. And when she had finished eating, she headed for the supermarket. She needed cleaning supplies and enough food to last for three days.

  A couple of hours later, Gracie was home and putting up groceries when she heard a knock at the door. As she walked back toward the front of the house, she saw a delivery van from the florist parked in the drive and opened the door to a man she'd gone to school with.

  "Delivery for you, Gracie."

  "Hello, Kenny. I'm not accepting flowers here. If you don't mind, please take everything to Decker's Funeral home."

  "Uh...well, I..."

  Gracie shut the door and caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror on her way back to the kitchen, then paused and moved closer.

  She still looked like her daddy—dark eyes, black hair, and high cheekbones. But where her daddy's jaw had been s
quare and sharp, Gracie's had a soft curve leading down to a very stubborn chin. She saw defiance and anger in her eyes—two emotions she had a right to feel.

  Then she leaned closer, then closer still until she could see the pores in her skin and the glisten of sweat on her forehead and stared straight into her own eyes—as if she was facing down her worst enemy and didn't like what she saw.

  She closed her eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, there was nothing left to see but pain, and that would fade with the passing of time.

  Glancing down, she saw the dust on the floor, and on the hall table, and absently traced her name in it, as she had done so many times before as a child, writing, I, Gracie, as if she was just getting ready to swear to some kind of vow.

  And then she smiled, remembering her mother's sharp tone every time she'd done it.

  "Well now, Gracie Jean... since you saw fit to call attention to this ever-present west Texas dust, then I suggest you get a dust rag and the furniture polish, and start wiping it off."

  "Yes, ma'am," Gracie would answer, and run to get the lemon oil. It was still one of her favorite scents.

  She looked down at the name she'd just scribbled and could only imagine what a stir her refusal to accept flowers at the house was going to cause. But stirring was a woman's prerogative, and her days of careful silence were over.

  It occurred to her then that notifying the other florists in Sweetwater about her decision might be prudent, so she sat down and did that, then finished putting away groceries.

  Her next task was cleaning and laundry, so she headed straight to her mama's bedroom and began stripping the bed and putting everything in to wash. Then she did something she'd been wanting to do for years and began pulling down the old rotting curtains in Mama's room. She stuffed them in a garbage bag, then began emptying trash cans all over the house.