Page 35 of The Night the Lights Went Out
“Yes, well, there’s nothing quite like being a cheerleader, especially captain, as you know.”
“Oh, right,” Merilee said, hoping her mother could hear the sarcastic note in her voice. “Look what it did for me.”
“It did everything for you.” She paused, and Merilee held her breath, waiting for it. “And watch your tone with me, Merilee. Dave’s not here anymore to tell me I’m not the terrible mother you always told me I was.” The clink of ice cubes was louder now, and Merilee pictured her turning the glass upside down to make sure she’d drained all the vodka.
“I didn’t call to argue with you, Mama.”
“Then why did you call?”
“I wanted to ask you a question. About Sandersville.”
“Why on earth would you need to know something about Sandersville? We haven’t lived there in twelve years. Sadly.”
Merilee took this last dig without comment. “I just wanted to know if you remembered a William and Sharon West. They’re older than you and Dad, but they lived there for a long time, so I was just wondering if you knew who they were.”
“Of course we knew them. Not well, because they were older, but they belonged to the country club, too, so we knew them in passing. Why are you asking?”
Merilee waited for a moment, searching for the right words. “Do you know if they were still living there when you left?”
“I don’t know. Really, Merilee. What is this all about? I feel another one of my migraines coming on.”
“It’s just that somebody here knows them. And wanted to know if I knew them. And when he asks the Wests about me, I wanted to know what they might tell him.”
She could picture her mother holding on to her crystal tumbler, her long, painted nails wrapped elegantly around it, the tips bloodless from pressing too hard. “Yes, well, I guess it would depend on how good their memory is. And how much they read. It’s been fourteen years, so it’s quite possible they don’t remember. We can at least hope so.”Clink-clink. “So, when are you and Michael getting back together?”
Merilee bit her tongue before she told Deanne about Tammy’s pregnancy. She didn’t have the strength to deal with her mother and that bit of news just yet. “Not anytime soon. We’re... still working things out.”
“Good. A woman shouldn’t be on her own. Thank goodness for your father. I don’t know what I would have done without him. At least you have a son.” She waited for a moment to let the arrow find its target. “Before I forget, I thought you should know that we’ve decided to sell the Tybee house.”
The room seemed to dim, and Merilee wasn’t sure if it was because of the storm. “No, Mama. You can’t. It’s been in your family for so long. And we have so many happy memories there.”
“Nobody goes there, and it’s senseless to keep paying taxes and maintenance on it.”
“But I’ve told you, I want to bring the children there. So it’s as much a part of their childhoods as it was of mine and David’s.”
“I told you not to mention his name to me. You have no right. Noright.” She’d slurred the last word, allowing Merilee to pretend that it was the alcohol that was making her say these things. Except she knew it wasn’t. Because she’d been saying them for years.
A burst of rain hit the side of the house as the lights flickered again. “I have to go now, Mama. We’re having really bad weather and I have a meeting tonight.” She hung up the phone before her mother could say anything else.
It was only seven o’clock in the evening, but pewter clouds dimmed the remaining light, throwing the dirt road and sodden grass into premature dusk. Merilee concentrated on the drum of her wipers, hoping to erase the conversation with her mother. She wondered how much longer it would be before she could have a conversation with Deanne and not feel depleted afterward. Probably around the same time her mother would forgive her.
There wasn’t a lot of traffic, and Merilee took her time driving to Prescott Estates, hoping to be in the right frame of mind to deal with a committee meeting by the time she arrived. She knew the neighborhood, of course, having dropped off both children at various times for playdates over the years. The topography was mostly flat, owing to its previous incarnation as farm fields, but those humble beginnings had long since been erased by the sprawling mansions playing coy behind gated drives, heavy foliage, and the occasional giant gas hurricane lamps giving the impression of vintage. It was like, Merilee mused, a discount store hiring a Neiman’s window designer without changing the contents of the shop.
She stopped at the stone-and-iron front gate and waited for the uniformed guard to slide open his door before opening her own window. Despite the money apparently spent on the front entrance, they’d skimped on providing an overhang to protect visitors from the elements. Leaning back as far as she could so she could still be heard but not get drenched, she said, “I’m Merilee Dunlap, here to see Heather Blackford.”
Moving as slowly as she thought a person could without actually being asleep, the guard picked up a clipboard and studied a sheet of paper on top, running his finger down the line with such a lack of speed that Merilee wanted to grab it from him. Eventually he found her name, then took so long to make a check mark next to it that she assumed he must be drawing a sketch of her.
“You know where to go?” the man drawled.
Heather had only mentioned that the meeting would be at her house but hadn’t given her the address, so Merilee had looked it up in the school directory. “I got it,” she said, already raising her window.
“Stay dry!” he called out helpfully right before it shut.
“Thanks,” she mouthed, feeling the drenched inside of her door and seat, the damp strands of hair sticking to her face.
The professionally landscaped streets were lit by replica gaslights, the bulbs inside valiantly flickering to give the impression of authenticity. They were pretty, she conceded. Much nicer than the generic electric lights in her previous neighborhoods.
Her wipers thwacked back and forth as the rain increased in intensity. She allowed a groan as she realized she’d left her umbrella at work and that she would show up at the meeting looking like a drowned rat.
