Page 11 of The Night the Lights Went Out
Merilee wondered how long it would be before one of the children would make a comment about how misnamed their landlady was. She spotted the older woman standing in the entranceway, holding two Kroger grocery bags. Rushing forward, she took the bags, noticing as she did the Fitbit on Sugar’s arm. She looked twice, just to make sure that’s what it really was. The woman didn’t know what Wi-Fi was, for crying out loud. What on earth was she doing with a Fitbit?
Merilee smiled. “I didn’t hear your car or I would have brought this in myself.”
“I walked,” she said with a frown. And then, most likely in response to Merilee’s confused stare, she added, “I’m old, not dead. Exercise is good for me, according to my doctor, who I think might have been kicked in the head by a mule when he was younger.” She headed toward the kitchen as if it were still her house, which, Merilee realized, it was.
Lily sat at the table with her laptop and greeted Miss Sugar with a smile. Feeling the need to explain, as if Sugar’s opinion about her mothering skills mattered, Merilee said, “She’s checking her Facebook page and other social media accounts. She’s only allowed to do that when I’m with her.”
Sugar regarded her with a blank face.
“Oh, sorry. Social media is what all the young people are into these days.”
“Like talking but without the bother of being face-to-face.” Without waiting for a reply, Sugar began unloading the bags onto the counter and storing a few items in the refrigerator, including what appeared to be sandwiches on white bread cut diagonally in half and wrapped in plastic, and several plump, dark red tomatoes that made Merilee’s mouth water. A large clear bag of green okra was emptied into the sink. Sugar looked pointedly at Lily. “In my day we didn’t have time for ‘social media.’ There were too many chores.”
Feeling as if she’d just been scolded, Merilee turned to her daughter. “Lily, would you please wash the okra?”
Lily looked up, her expression like that of a sailor about to walk the plank. “But I still have half an hour of computer time. You said!”
Merilee kept her voice calm, aware of Sugar listening behind her. “You can finish your half hour when you’re done. It won’t take but a few minutes.”
With a sigh, Lily slid back her chair and walked heavily to the sink, as if she wore leg shackles. Merilee refrained from saying anything, aware again of Sugar’s scrutiny, and second-guessing her decision to ask the older woman for help. Her only alternative would have been to go to the local bakery, but, even if she’d decided to put the cookies on one of her own serving dishes, the other mothers would be sure to know they were store-bought, which was apparentlynot doneat Windwood Academy.
It was a tidbit of wisdom passed on from Bailey Blackford to Lily from Bailey’s mother, for which Merilee was absurdly grateful. It was bad enough that her children were from one of only two families in the entire school to come from a “broken home.” Something else that had been passed on via Bailey. She would not bring store-bought cookies to a party so that her daughter from a broken home could be ridiculed or pitied. Even if it meant inviting Sugar Prescott and her disapproving presence into her kitchen to learn how to bake cookies from scratch.
Sugar was already rummaging under the cabinets, which annoyed Merilee. The house included clean and functional yet outdated kitchen appliances—so it made sense that Sugar would be more familiar than Merilee with what the kitchen contained. But still, it was technically Merilee’s kitchen—even though so far she’d used only the utensils, cups, plates, refrigerator, oven, and microwave.
A movement out the window distracted her, and she looked up in time to spot Colin running in the direction of the woods. She quickly cranked the casement window latch to open it and called out, “Colin—stop! Where are you going?”
He stopped suddenly and faced her, and she tried not to cringe when she noticed he still wore his white socks—without shoes—and his uniform shirt, untucked from his pants, was streaked with something she couldn’t identify. “I saw that dog again right by the woods and I was trying to catch him. I think he’s lost.”
“I told you to stay away—it could have rabies or something. And you know you’re not supposed to go near the woods. Come back here. You arenotto go past the tire swing.”
He sent one last look toward the woods before turning back to the house. “Yes, ma’am. But if I catch that dog, can I keep him?”
Merilee snatched back the word “no” even though that’s what she wanted to say. According to Lily and Colin, they were the only two children in the history of the world who didn’t have a dog. Their father had allergies, which was why they’d never had one before, but now her only excuse was that she was too exhausted to add one more thing to her plate. An excuse she knew wouldn’t be understood by anyone under the age of eleven. “We’ll see,” she said instead, closing the window.
Sugar continued to bang things around under the cabinets, pretending she hadn’t heard the exchange. “Please preheat the oven for the cookies, and I’m pretty sure there’s a cookie sheet in the drawer under the oven.”
Merilee stood in front of the avocado green oven, trying to make sense of the knobs. “What temperature?”
Sugar stopped for a moment. “The universal temperature for baking cookies, of course. Didn’t your mama teach you how to cook?”
Merilee kept her focus on the immaculate oven, clean not because it had never been used but probably because Sugar was an expert at cleaning. And baking. “No. She was a great cook, but she didn’t like me to be in the kitchen because she said I got in the way. And then... well, she stopped cooking altogether. That’s when I learned how to pour spaghetti sauce from a jar and turn on the grill.”
When Sugar didn’t say anything, Merilee looked down at where she was crouched in front of a cabinet. The elderly woman’s eyes were focused on her, but her mouth was clenched in determination that had nothing to do with their conversation. “Do you need help?” Merilee asked.
Sugar nodded tersely and Merilee grasped her elbows to haul her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” said Merilee. “But it might have been easier if you’d just asked me to get whatever you need.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d know what mixing bowls are.” Her lips pressed together, but not before Merilee was pretty sure she’d seen what might pass as a smile. “Three hundred and fifty degrees,” Sugar said, indicating the oven. “At least by the end of the day you’ll know how to bake cookies and fry okra. Because it might be against the law for a Southern-born girl not to know how. Along with changing a tire.”
Lily, her hands still immersed in the sink with the okra, looked at her mother with a worried expression. “Really? You mean like we could go to jail?”
“No, sweetheart,” Merilee explained. “It’s just an expression. But Sugar’s right—women should know how to do all sorts of things.”
“So if their husbands leave them they can hang pictures and stuff?”
Sugar spared her from answering. “No, Lily. So women can make the choice to do it for themselves or ask for help.” It looked like she was going to say more, but instead she turned her back and began opening up a sack of sugar. She slid it and a bunch of mixing spoons down the counter toward Merilee. “I need a cup of sugar. If you spill any on the counter, don’t knock it on the floor. We can put any stragglers into a corner of plastic wrap and save them for your morning coffee. Waste not, want not.”
