woman whose son had just killed himself. That afforded me a little pity in the eyes of the Mathisons.
Their wealth just reminded me of everything William and I wanted to give to Kelly but never quite achieved. Our money allowed us to talk with the Mathisons, but there was no way we were one of their group, and everyone knew it. We were new money, tacky money, and were tolerated only because we knew how to comport ourselves in public. The entire family had a way of making you feel insignificant without saying one word, and let me tell you, that was the true difference between new money and its loud brashness and old money and its immense, carefully wielded authority.
As I got out of my car, the man at the front door took my keys and said he would make sure my car was taken care of. I am not sure if the man’s only job was being a valet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. Dolores met me at the front door. Her dress was tasteful while being fashionable at the same time. I knew from experience that if one was to check, there would be no label in it. The dress was one of a kind, designed and made expressly for her. She was older than me by a few years, but she was wearing those years better than I was mine, in my opinion. After all, money might not be able to buy happiness, but it can do wonders at keeping your face looking youthful, which is the next-best thing sometimes.
“Dorothy,” she said sympathetically while moving toward me. She gave me two air kisses and grasped my hand, which for her was positively gushing. “I am so glad you called.” She was too cultured for me to know if she meant what she said. Instead, she ushered me into the house. “I’ve been thinking of you.”
I knew that wasn’t a lie—after all, Dolores and I shared an odd kind of kinship now. One that in a million years I would have never asked for.
“Thank you,” I told her, walking into the stadium she called her living room. “It’s been a tough couple of days.”
A crystal pitcher on a silver tray put my sweet tea setup to shame. There was more money on the table than in my entire kitchen.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to her one-of-a-kind, brought from England, chesterfield. “Have a seat.”
I suddenly felt like I was wearing a flour sack as we waited for her man to pour us both a drink. Once that arduous chore was done, he was dismissed, and she turned to me. “I heard the news. I am so sorry for your loss.”
I nodded and smiled as I took a small sip of what was the best tea I had ever tasted. “Thank you. It’s been trying.”
“Anything we can do for you,” she added as she held the glass but didn’t drink herself. She held it like a prop, and for some reason it annoyed me.
“Well, I did come to talk to you about something,” I said, taking another sip, readying myself. She didn’t ask, instead raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow in question. “It’s about Charlotte Axeworthy.”
I saw her face darken as the past came rushing forward to overwhelm us both.
The Mathisons had three children: two girls and a boy, all of them absolutely perfect in every way possible, of course. The girls were born first, and their arrival was akin to that of royalty in the manner in which they were introduced to the town. Louise and Henrietta were given any little thing they desired and became quite spoiled because of it. They were nine when their little brother Riley was born, but by that time the family knew they had made mistakes with the girls.
The Mathisons had kept the girls isolated from the rest of the town, making them terrible snobs. Instead of attending public school, they were homeschooled, which prevented them from actually learning how to socialize with their peers. By the time they were old enough for junior high, they were sent to a private school outside of Dallas in hopes of instilling some kind of manners in them. But while they struggled with the girls, the Mathisons’ plan for Riley was different
Their wealth just reminded me of everything William and I wanted to give to Kelly but never quite achieved. Our money allowed us to talk with the Mathisons, but there was no way we were one of their group, and everyone knew it. We were new money, tacky money, and were tolerated only because we knew how to comport ourselves in public. The entire family had a way of making you feel insignificant without saying one word, and let me tell you, that was the true difference between new money and its loud brashness and old money and its immense, carefully wielded authority.
As I got out of my car, the man at the front door took my keys and said he would make sure my car was taken care of. I am not sure if the man’s only job was being a valet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. Dolores met me at the front door. Her dress was tasteful while being fashionable at the same time. I knew from experience that if one was to check, there would be no label in it. The dress was one of a kind, designed and made expressly for her. She was older than me by a few years, but she was wearing those years better than I was mine, in my opinion. After all, money might not be able to buy happiness, but it can do wonders at keeping your face looking youthful, which is the next-best thing sometimes.
“Dorothy,” she said sympathetically while moving toward me. She gave me two air kisses and grasped my hand, which for her was positively gushing. “I am so glad you called.” She was too cultured for me to know if she meant what she said. Instead, she ushered me into the house. “I’ve been thinking of you.”
I knew that wasn’t a lie—after all, Dolores and I shared an odd kind of kinship now. One that in a million years I would have never asked for.
“Thank you,” I told her, walking into the stadium she called her living room. “It’s been a tough couple of days.”
A crystal pitcher on a silver tray put my sweet tea setup to shame. There was more money on the table than in my entire kitchen.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to her one-of-a-kind, brought from England, chesterfield. “Have a seat.”
I suddenly felt like I was wearing a flour sack as we waited for her man to pour us both a drink. Once that arduous chore was done, he was dismissed, and she turned to me. “I heard the news. I am so sorry for your loss.”
I nodded and smiled as I took a small sip of what was the best tea I had ever tasted. “Thank you. It’s been trying.”
“Anything we can do for you,” she added as she held the glass but didn’t drink herself. She held it like a prop, and for some reason it annoyed me.
“Well, I did come to talk to you about something,” I said, taking another sip, readying myself. She didn’t ask, instead raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow in question. “It’s about Charlotte Axeworthy.”
I saw her face darken as the past came rushing forward to overwhelm us both.
The Mathisons had three children: two girls and a boy, all of them absolutely perfect in every way possible, of course. The girls were born first, and their arrival was akin to that of royalty in the manner in which they were introduced to the town. Louise and Henrietta were given any little thing they desired and became quite spoiled because of it. They were nine when their little brother Riley was born, but by that time the family knew they had made mistakes with the girls.
The Mathisons had kept the girls isolated from the rest of the town, making them terrible snobs. Instead of attending public school, they were homeschooled, which prevented them from actually learning how to socialize with their peers. By the time they were old enough for junior high, they were sent to a private school outside of Dallas in hopes of instilling some kind of manners in them. But while they struggled with the girls, the Mathisons’ plan for Riley was different
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