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Authors: Rachel Gibson
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towel away as his mother walked from the kitchen. “There she goes. The arbiter of sin and mortality.”
“For once in my life, I’m sort of grateful Nonnie is so high and mighty and bossy.” Vivien glanced across at him and her green eyes widened. “Oh, sorry to talk about your momma like that.”
Once again, she’d managed to sound sincere. “High and mighty and bossy describes her fairly well.”
Vivien moved a few steps to the table and grabbed a Starbucks coffee cup. “Never thought I’d live to hear a lie come from her mouth.” From the side, she looked so thin he could slip her through a mail slot.
“You mean ‘God’s tender mercies?’” He grabbed a couple of forks from a drawer and moved toward her. “Mother can justify anything and doggedly stick to it. It’s how she wins most arguments.” He stabbed a small chunk of broken cake and held the fork out for her. Vivien looked at the fork but didn’t take it.
“It’s been a long time since I had coconut funeral cake.” He took her free hand and placed the handle in her palm. “Don’t make me eat this alone.” He stabbed another piece and stuck it in his mouth.
She looked at the fork in her hand then up at him as a frown pulled at the corners of her full lips. “I’m not a fan of cake.”
He swallowed and stabbed another piece. “Since when? I recall one of Mother’s garden parties and the theft of those fussy little cakes she serves.”
“Must have been Spence.”
He took a bite and chuckled. “A lot of things got blamed on Spence, but he didn’t like those sissy cakes any more than I did.”
“I don’t remember that.” She took a drink of her coffee and a small smile curved her mouth. “If I did borrow Nonnie’s garden party petit fours—”
“—Darlin’,” he interrupted, “you can’t
borrow
something that you don’t plan to return.”
Her smile grew and warm, bubbly laughter spilled from her lips like she was filled with sunshine and champagne.
“Well if I did,
accidently
, take a few of your momma’s petit fours, it was because y’all were out of ice cream.” She set the fork on the table without taking a bite. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Whitley-Shuler. If I’m not ready by the time Nonnie comes back, she’ll snatch me bald headed,” she said, her accent back in full force and dripping with Southern honey.
Chapter 6
THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR hours were a kaleidoscope of panic and exhaustion, fear and grief, tumbling and turning and sliding one over the other, changing color and shape but always creating the same unreal images. Sharp and dull at the same time, Vivien’s sorrow was a constant in her heart and soul.
If not for Nonnie, Vivien wasn’t sure how she would have gotten though the day. The Mantis had been surprisingly helpful, showing glimpses of tenderness and emotion in between domineering commands. She sat beside Vivien as she chose funeral music at St. Phillips and toured the coffin room at Stuhr’s. Nonnie knew how many limousines and which hearse they should use. When it came to cemeteries, Nonnie insisted that only Mount Pleasant Memorial Gardens would do. They chose a burial plot not far from former governor James Edwards. Nonnie wrote down the names of the six pallbearers who would carry Macy Jane’s white casket, and she knew exactly which florist to call to arrange the flowers. But Nonnie wasn’t family. Vivien was family, and she and her momma had always taken care of each other. It was Vivien’s responsibility to take care of the intimate details for her mother this one last time.
It was her responsibility alone to write her momma’s obituary, and later that night as her panties once again dried in the laundry room, she grabbed the laptop her mother had used to feud with the United Daughters of the Confederacy and wrote. Vivien was an actress, not a writer, and it took her most of the night to end up with something long enough to take up three-quarters of a page in
“For once in my life, I’m sort of grateful Nonnie is so high and mighty and bossy.” Vivien glanced across at him and her green eyes widened. “Oh, sorry to talk about your momma like that.”
Once again, she’d managed to sound sincere. “High and mighty and bossy describes her fairly well.”
Vivien moved a few steps to the table and grabbed a Starbucks coffee cup. “Never thought I’d live to hear a lie come from her mouth.” From the side, she looked so thin he could slip her through a mail slot.
“You mean ‘God’s tender mercies?’” He grabbed a couple of forks from a drawer and moved toward her. “Mother can justify anything and doggedly stick to it. It’s how she wins most arguments.” He stabbed a small chunk of broken cake and held the fork out for her. Vivien looked at the fork but didn’t take it.
“It’s been a long time since I had coconut funeral cake.” He took her free hand and placed the handle in her palm. “Don’t make me eat this alone.” He stabbed another piece and stuck it in his mouth.
She looked at the fork in her hand then up at him as a frown pulled at the corners of her full lips. “I’m not a fan of cake.”
He swallowed and stabbed another piece. “Since when? I recall one of Mother’s garden parties and the theft of those fussy little cakes she serves.”
“Must have been Spence.”
He took a bite and chuckled. “A lot of things got blamed on Spence, but he didn’t like those sissy cakes any more than I did.”
“I don’t remember that.” She took a drink of her coffee and a small smile curved her mouth. “If I did borrow Nonnie’s garden party petit fours—”
“—Darlin’,” he interrupted, “you can’t
borrow
something that you don’t plan to return.”
Her smile grew and warm, bubbly laughter spilled from her lips like she was filled with sunshine and champagne.
“Well if I did,
accidently
, take a few of your momma’s petit fours, it was because y’all were out of ice cream.” She set the fork on the table without taking a bite. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Whitley-Shuler. If I’m not ready by the time Nonnie comes back, she’ll snatch me bald headed,” she said, her accent back in full force and dripping with Southern honey.
Chapter 6
THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR hours were a kaleidoscope of panic and exhaustion, fear and grief, tumbling and turning and sliding one over the other, changing color and shape but always creating the same unreal images. Sharp and dull at the same time, Vivien’s sorrow was a constant in her heart and soul.
If not for Nonnie, Vivien wasn’t sure how she would have gotten though the day. The Mantis had been surprisingly helpful, showing glimpses of tenderness and emotion in between domineering commands. She sat beside Vivien as she chose funeral music at St. Phillips and toured the coffin room at Stuhr’s. Nonnie knew how many limousines and which hearse they should use. When it came to cemeteries, Nonnie insisted that only Mount Pleasant Memorial Gardens would do. They chose a burial plot not far from former governor James Edwards. Nonnie wrote down the names of the six pallbearers who would carry Macy Jane’s white casket, and she knew exactly which florist to call to arrange the flowers. But Nonnie wasn’t family. Vivien was family, and she and her momma had always taken care of each other. It was Vivien’s responsibility to take care of the intimate details for her mother this one last time.
It was her responsibility alone to write her momma’s obituary, and later that night as her panties once again dried in the laundry room, she grabbed the laptop her mother had used to feud with the United Daughters of the Confederacy and wrote. Vivien was an actress, not a writer, and it took her most of the night to end up with something long enough to take up three-quarters of a page in
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