Shine - Lauren Myracle [30]
My lips twitched, because Mrs. Lawson sure did love fussing. As Aunt Tildy said, she’d complain if Jesus Christ came down Himself and handed her a five-dollar bill.
“The waitress said they’d run out of cornbread, but that they had absolutely delicious homemade yeast rolls,” Destiny said. “But nuh-uh, Mrs. Lawson wouldn’t have nothing of it.”
“Let me guess. She’d ordered green beans for one of her sides,” I filled in. My aunt Tildy followed the rules about what made a proper meal, and she would sooner do a hula dance in her underwear than put a dish of green beans on her table without a cake of cornbread to keep it company.
“‘Ronald, I would like to leave,’” Destiny said, adopting Mrs. Lawson’s snooty tone. “‘Immediately, Ronald.’”
Destiny uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other direction. Her pink cowboy boots caught her attention, and she leaned over and rubbed at a scuff mark.
“These are the wrong shoes, aren’t they?” she said.
I felt myself frown. “Uh. . .”
“So wrong,” she pronounced, springing up from the couch. “Am I going to a rodeo? No.”
She headed out of the living room. “So anyway,” she called over her shoulder, “the whole ride back, she went on about how she grew up in Black Creek and she’d die in Black Creek. She also mentioned how tacky our waitress was, how the iced tea wasn’t sweet enough, and how the air-conditioning was turned up too high, if you can believe that.”
Her voice was fading. I could make out the words, but it was strange holding a conversation from different rooms. Were we holding a conversation?
“Hey!” Destiny said, louder. I leaned back against the sofa and craned my neck to see Destiny standing in the door of what I assumed was her bedroom. She had one hand on each side of the doorframe. When our eyes met, she let go with one hand and made an impatient come-here gesture. “What’s the problem? You gonna just sit there?”
“Oh,” I said. I hopped up and hurried down the hall. On the way to her room, I passed another room crammed floor to ceiling with plastic bins, cardboard boxes, and wire hangers.
“So that’s why she’s bound and determined to stay in Black Creek,” she said, picking up where we’d left off. “Never mind that even here in Black Creek, she thinks everyone’s out to get her. Did I mention that part?”
I was distracted, because unlike the rest of the house, her room was spotless. On top of her chest of drawers was a set of nesting dolls, separated from one another and lined up in order of height. Other than that, there was no clutter.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“For what?” she said.
“No, I mean . . .” I pushed a stray hair behind my ear. “Why does she think everyone is out to get her? Mrs. Lawson?”
Destiny studied me. She made a hmmph sound and turned back to her closet. “Supposedly, checks have gone missing from her mailbox, and she saw a Dateline report about how criminals can do all sorts of stuff with bank account numbers.” The way she said “criminals” made it clear she was mocking Mrs. Lawson’s concerns. “Whatever, right?”
“Tommy bought a new mailbox for her,” I said. I sat cautiously on the end of Destiny’s bed, which was twin-size and pink. I didn’t want to mess up the covers. “One she can lock.”
Destiny straightened up. A pair of black heels dangled from her index finger. “Well, that was nice of him, I guess. Tommy’s not all bad.” She lifted the shoes. “Yes or no?”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know about shoes or outfits or makeup, and my stomach clenched up. “Yes?” I ventured.
She looked at the shoes, held out one bare foot, and nodded. “Yeah.”
As she slipped a shoe on, hopping to keep from falling, I said, “Do you think anyone really stole from her?”
She slipped the strap of the second shoe over her heel and straightened up. “It happens. Freakin’ tweakers, coming out like zombies in the night.”
Tweakers, meaning anyone dumb enough to do meth. They were zombielike with their gray teeth and pocked skin, if they let it get that far.
“You thinks meth heads have been stealing her checks?” I said.
“Oh, who knows,” Destiny said, less a question than a worn out