Page 133

“Drew’s staying in my room, Mama Gussie,” Nicole said. “It’s fine. We⁠—”

“No ma’am. The hell he is.” Mama Gussie cut her eyes at Drew, who had very wisely taken a step back from Nicole’s suitcase. “This young man is going to sleep in the guest wing, on the other side of this house. And you are going to sleep in your own bed, by yourself, like you have since you were five years old. I don’t know how y’all do things in Alabama, and I don’t want to know. But in this house, you are not married.”

“Mama Gussie⁠—”

“Don’t Mama Gussie me. Roxanne, tell her.”

Her mother had her lips pressed together. If Nicole didn’t know better, she’d have sworn her mother was trying not to laugh. “You heard your grandmother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Drew said, before Nicole could get another word out. “The guest wing’s great.”

Mama Gussie nodded at him. “See. He’s got sense.” Then she disappeared back into the kitchen, and her voice carried behind her. “More sense than some people.”

Drew looked at Nicole.

Nicole crossed her arms. “You could’ve backed me up.”

“Against your grandmother?” He kept his voice down, since her mother was standing right there. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going up against her.”

She’d been looking forward to falling asleep next to him in her own bed for two weeks, and he’d folded in about two seconds. Nicole was not amused.

Her mother cleared her throat. “Nicole, why don’t you go get settled. I’ll show Drew where he’s staying.” She looked at Drew, polite and pleasant and impossible to read. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nicole watched them go, her mother leading the way down the hall toward the east side of the house, her heels clicking on the floor, Drew following with his duffel, keeping his elbows in close. Nicole would’ve bet money he was scared to death of knocking something over. Her mother was going on about the towels. Drew said, “Yes, ma’am,” again. Before today, Nicole had never heard him say it once.

She went up the curved staircase alone, bumping her suitcase up one step at a time, and she was halfway to the top when she heard the front door open below her.

“I’m here, everybody. God-lee, the traffic on 495—” Tiffany came in stomping her boots on the mat, in a long black coat with her briefcase under her arm, straight from the office on the Friday before Christmas, because that was Tiffany. She saw Nicole on the stairs and stopped.

“Well. If it isn’t the heavyweight champion of the world.”

“Hi, Tiff.”

“Don’t ‘Hi, Tiff’ me.” But Tiffany set her briefcase down and came up three steps and hugged her anyway, as tight as ever, and then held her back and looked her over. “Let me see your hands.”

“My hands are fine.”

“Let me see them.”

Nicole held them out. Tiffany turned the right one over and studied her knuckles a long time. “Two punches,” she said. “And a slap. And you pulled out her hair. Mama read me the letter.”

“She deserved it.”

“I’m not saying she didn’t. I’m saying it’s on paper now, and anything on paper can be used.” Tiffany let go of her hand. “Where is he?”

“Mama’s showing him the guest room.”

“The guest room,” Tiffany repeated. “Let me guess. Mama Gussie.”

“Mama Gussie.”

That got a laugh out of her sister. “So he came,” Tiffany said. “I’ll give him that. I thought he’d find some excuse.”

“Why would he do that?”

Tiffany just gave her a look, the same one she’d given Nicole her whole life whenever Nicole said something Tiffany thought was naive. “Because men like that always do, squirt. They show up when it’s easy. You’ll see.” She picked up her briefcase. “I’m going to go say hi to Mama Gussie before she gets mad. Then I want to meet him.”