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“Won’t you please—”
“No, I will not,” I said firmly as I stepped away from the circle of light and love and family. Because clearly, that was not the place for this conversation. Also, Mama was not aware that Zeb’s wedding was that night, and I could only imagine the tear storm that would ensue if she found out she hadn’t been invited. “Now, speaking of Grandma, have you heard from her in the last twenty-four hours, or should we assume that Wilbur has married and buried another wife?”
“Actually, Grandma Ruthie has canceled the wedding.”
“Because of something I said?”
“Oh, no, of course not.” Mama laughed. “But when you started talking about how many wives Wilbur had, it just turned her stomach. Then she realized that she’d been married almost as many times as he has.”
“So, she realized her reign of matrimonial terror must end?” I asked as Gabriel approached with Solo cups full of what might have been Boone’s Farm’s version of champagne.
Mama snorted. “Something like that.”
“Does this mean I should contact the authorities about Wilbur?” I asked. “Did he take the break-up well?”
“Oh, no, she didn’t break it off with him. She says she still wants to date him,” Mama said.
“Ew!” I cried. “He’s a dead guy.”
A hurt look flashed across Gabriel’s features. I mouthed, “Not you,” then pointed to the phone and added, “Wilbur.”
“You’re dead,” Mama pointed out.
“I’m a different kind of dead. I’m a cool kind of dead. Wilbur is all graveyard smells and feeding on the bottom rung of the food chain.”
“Jane, just let it go. Your grandma’s a grown woman. If she wants to date a dead man, she can date a dead man.”
“That’s not what you said when I started dating a dead man,” I grumbled.
“Well, I just want you to be nice to Wilbur when you see him at the Labor Day picnic.”
“I don’t have to be nice to people who try to stake me.”
“Jane, it’s bad enough that you aren’t speaking to Jenny. Don’t cause more problems with your grandmother.”
“Jenny stole knickknacks from me, and I stopped talking to her. What makes you think I’ll respond any better to someone trying to stake me with a cane?”
In a maneuver that would make a NASCAR driver proud, Mama switched conversational lanes on me. “Oh, honey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you seen Adam Morrow lately? His mama was at the beauty shop today. She hasn’t heard from Adam in the last day or so.”
“No, I haven’t seen him since he stopped by the shop the other night,” I said. “He seemed …” Creepy. Perverse. In need of medication and negative-reinforcement therapy.
“Fine.”
“Well, if you see him, tell him to call his mama,” she said. “It’s not right to make a mother worry like that.”
“I will. Look, I’ve really got to go, Mama,” I said as the DJ asked the crowd to clear the floor for Jolene and Zeb to have their first dance as husband and wife. I played the only excuse that I knew would get Mama off the phone. “I’ve got a date tonight. With Gabriel.”
“Good night!” Mama squeaked, then promptly hung up.
Gabriel and I watched with interest as Zeb led his new bride onto the dance floor and the painfully familiar flute intro lilted.
“Oh, please tell me she didn’t.”
“What?” Gabriel asked as Celine Dion’s breathy soprano warbled, “Every night in my dreams …”
I groaned. “Who picks ‘My Heart Will Go On’ for their first dance song?”
“It’s a nice song.”
