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Stop smiling like that, or I’ll do the Emergency Broadcast System beep again.
Jane’s lips twitched, but she said nothing. Still, it was very convenient having a mind-reader around. It was far more efficient than text-messaging.
“Would you like some sweet tea, Nola?”
I sighed in relief. “I’d love a good cup of tea, Mrs. Jameson, thank you.”
Mrs. Jameson fairly flitted to the refrigerator, pulled out a tall pitcher of brownish liquid, and poured a tall glass over ice. I tamped down the small flare of disappointment. I’d forgotten that hot tea wasn’t exactly the beverage of choice in Kentucky. It was no problem, really. My dad had enjoyed the odd iced tea now and then, so I accepted it graciously when Mrs. Jameson handed me the glass. I took a long sip, and a sickeningly sweet, near-syrup concoction flooded my mouth, making me choke and sputter.
Mrs. Jameson fussed and cooed, patting me on the back while I coughed.
“What is this?” I wheezed.
“Ah!” Jane said, pouring me a glass of water. “I forgot to warn you about sweet tea. It’s basically liquid cotton candy, equal parts sugar and tea. You’ll get used to it.”
I shook my head, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Mrs. Jameson fretted. “From now on, you should probably stick with unsweet.”
“I think I’ll stick with coffee,” I muttered.
My attention was drawn to Mr. Jameson, whose shoulders seemed hunched while he stirred a pan of sauce on the stove. I could sense a painful red buzzing somewhere in the vicinity of his head. A nagging, throbbing ache. It was almost powerful enough to distract me from the burgeoning tooth decay in my own mouth.
Can we ask your mother about the candle before she feeds me something that causes violent hives or vomiting? I thought to Jane.
Jane cleared her throat and seemed to compose the question carefully in her head before speaking. “Mama, do you remember the candle I gave you for Mother’s Day? It was a white candle with pretty symbols carved into the wax? Do you know where it is?”
Jane’s mother blanched but managed to cover it quickly. She chuckled, waving in an offhand manner. “Oh, well, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Why don’t you give me a few days to look around, and I’ll call you when I find it?”
“Actually, Mrs. Jameson, it’s really important for us to find it straightaway,” I said. “Would you mind if we looked for it?”
“Oh, honey, I can’t imagine where it is,” she protested.
“Mama, it’s important.”
Mr. Jameson cleared his throat. Mrs. Jameson snapped her head up to glare at him. “Sherry, you need to show them the closet,” Mr. Jameson told her.
“John, no!”
“Sherry,” he said in a stern, warning tone.
Mrs. Jameson sighed. “Come with me, girls.” She pulled me gently from my chair and led us toward the stairs. “John, stir those peas,” she called over her shoulder.
Mrs. Jameson led us upstairs, past an impeccably decorated master bedroom done in mauves and creams, into a smaller guest bedroom. Jane informed me that this had been her room until she left for college. Her mother had only removed Jane’s boy-band posters and unicorn figurines the year before when Jane got married.
“Now, Jane, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the things that you give me,” her mother said, standing as a human shield between us and Jane’s old closet.
“Just open the door, Mama.”
Mrs. Jameson cringed as she turned the doorknob. The closet was packed floor to ceiling with various gift boxes. It was like that scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, where the Ark of the Covenant was packed away with rows and rows of other priceless treasures. Jane was looking at the preserved remains of every gift-giving occasion since her elementary-school days.
And given the way her mouth was hanging open, I don’t think that made her very happy.
“We just have different tastes in décor,” Mrs. Jameson offered weakly.
Instead of throwing a box-pitching tantrum, as I expected, Jane burst out laughing. She bent at the waist and guffawed like a deranged hyena. “When I think of all the time I spent in Pier One!” she exclaimed. “You’re on a strict diet of gift cards from now on.”
Mrs. Jameson bit her lip and nodded. “I think that would be best.”
