Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [22]
“We are.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“What the – ”
“Now, Wally, I’ve asked you not to use that kind of language in my house.”
“But what – ”
“Here’s the car keys – ”
“I can take the car?”
“You’ll have to. I’ll make a list of what we need. You can pick it up at Jewel, and then on your way home stop by Marie’s and pick up your mother. I’m going to need her help.”
Esther Kinshaw from next door was the first one to arrive with a hamburger and hominy casserole in hand. She was followed by our neighbors on the other side, our neighbors across the street, neighbors we had met only in passing, neighbors we had never met at all, Fred the butcher, Hazel the cashier, Leonard the postman, and Winston Newberry, the editor and instigator of the whole affair. While everyone else came with a contribution of food for the potluck, Editor Newberry came with a camera slung around his neck and a tape recorder in hand. He was determined to get a story for the Sunday edition, he said, “and I’m going to handle this one myself.”
“Is it true?” Tillie asked him when he first showed up.
“Is what true?” Winston Newberry said, one eyebrow raised.
“Is it true you did this because of the birthmark?”
The eyebrow dropped as Winston Newberry sniffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mrs. Monroe.” He snapped her picture, leaving her blinking wildly from the flash before moving on to the punch in the dining room.
I saw our car inching its way through the gauntlet of vehicles parked in front of the house. Wally turned into the drive, stopping midway to the detached garage in the backyard. Mom climbed out of the passenger side. Wally rolled on and parked while Mom stood in the middle of the driveway, looking dumbfounded, her feet refusing to carry her to the porch. I ran out to meet her.
“Roz, what’s going on here?”
She didn’t look happy. I tried to sound cheerful. “We’re having a party.”
“We are?”
“Well, Tillie is. Did you see the paper today?”
Mom shook her head dully.
“Oh, um, well there was an ad in the paper, right on the front page,” I said.
“An ad about what?”
“Tillie’s welcome home party.”
“Her welcome home party?”
“Uh-huh.”
“She didn’t tell me she was having a party.”
“She didn’t know she was having it.”
“She didn’t? Then what – ”
“She just found out an hour ago. Did Wally pick up the party supplies?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. Roz, just who did she invite to this party?”
“The whole town.”
“The whole town?”
“But don’t worry, Mom. She doesn’t think everyone’s going to come.”
At that moment Mom looked ready to collapse. I grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the house. “It’s going to be fun, Mom. You’ll see.”
Mom started forward, but her feet were reluctant to follow. Together we stumbled across the front yard and into the house, full now of warm bodies, loud chatter, and the aroma of dozens of homemade dishes. John Monroe had left and come back with folding tables that were scattered throughout the rooms downstairs. Women were busy arranging casseroles, salads, breads, and desserts on the tables, children scrambled underfoot, and two men were hanging a banner above the living room fireplace that read, “Welcome Home, Tillie!”
Mom faltered at the sight of the banner, but I pulled her down the hall to the kitchen, where Tillie was directing traffic. The kitchen was full of ladies heating dishes in the oven and stirring pitchers of lemonade and iced tea. Wally burst in through the kitchen door carrying two grocery bags and yelling, “Here’s your paper goods and junk, Tillie.”
“Just in time,” she said. “We can’t eat all this food without paper plates. Help me get everything unpacked, will you? Oh, Janis, you’re home! Can you lend us a hand?”
Mom’s eyes widened, and I felt sure I was going to lose her this time, but she mustered her strength and said, “Tillie, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Right now I’m just trying to feed the crowd.”
“But . . . how could you – ”
Tillie raised a hand. “You’ve got to believe me when I say I didn’t plan this.