encase both thighs.
Glory Meechum also had a penchant for floral-print dresses. Not demure daisies or elegant roses but big, splotchy prints of indeterminate floral and fauna origin. Certainly not as nature had intended.
When Carmela looked out the window Friday morning and saw Glory Meechum steamrolling down Governor Nicholls Street, headed straight for Memory Mine, her first thought was that Shamus’s older sister looked like an overstuffed parlor chair.
Then the door flew open, and Glory Meechum exploded inward. Plunking her sturdy black leather Queen-of-England-style purse on the front counter, Glory planted chubby hands on Lycra-encased hips.
“You’ve got to help me!” she wailed loudly at Carmela.
Keenly aware that both Baby and Tandy were sitting at the back table and that Gabby was close by in the storeroom, Carmela willed herself to stifle any unseemly urge to giggle. The idea of Glory Meechum coming to her for help was over-the-top ridiculous. Glory had barely even been present at their wedding ceremony and her thinly veiled dislike for Carmela had always hung between them.
Carmela also made up her mind to handle Glory with a fair amount of decorum and try her very best to forestall any shouting match that might threaten to erupt. On Glory’s part, not hers.
“Glory, what’s wrong?” Carmela asked with as much civility as she could muster.
Glory fixed beady, bright eyes on Carmela. “That nasty little Granger Rathbone came looking for Shamus yesterday. Poking his nose into things over at the house.”
The house Glory was referring to was one of three elegant manses in the Garden District that were owned by the Meechum family. According to the Meechum family’s whims, these houses were allowed to be occupied by whomever was most recently married in the family or needed a place to live. Not necessarily in that order and certainly not a family dictum that had ever applied to Carmela.
“Well, have you seen him?” Glory demanded.
Carmela shook her head regretfully. “No. Sorry.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Carmela hesitated. “No,” she said finally. If Shamus wants to talk to his sister, he’ll call her, right?
Glory Meechum threw her hands up in the air, exhaled a gush of air through her nostrils. Her sigh emerged as a distinct snort. “Then, where in heaven’s name is he?” Glory demanded.
“Glory, I don’t know,” said Carmela. “Shamus left me, remember?”
Glory Meechum flashed Carmela an exasperated look, a look that said Oh, give me a break. “Yes, yes, of course,” said Glory hastily, “but I thought for sure you two would keep in touch. That your little spat would eventually blow over.”
If you thought we just had a little spat, then why was I asked to vacate the house?
But Carmela held her tongue. She simply replied, “Sorry I can’t help you, Glory.” Gosh, she thought, I wish my momma hadn’t instilled so much civility in me. This really could have been fun. Sport, actually.
There was a scrape of chair legs against the wooden floor as Tandy slid her chair back a few inches, jockeying for a better position from which to observe Glory Meechum’s rantings.
“Don’t get me wrong,” thundered Glory as she snatched up her purse and hung it possesively in the crook of her hefty arm. “It’s not Granger Rathbone who concerns me. He’s not nearly smart enough. What worries me is who Granger might be working for.” With that, Glory Meechum spun on her sensible low heels and darted out the door.
“Who was that? ” asked Gabby. She emerged from the storeroom with an armful of paper and a startled look on her normally placid face.
“That, my dear girl, was Glory Meechum, Shamus’s big sister,” answered Tandy, obviously relishing the heated exchange she’d just witnessed. “Isn’t she a doozy? The old gal really fancies herself the matriarch of the family.”
Gabby put a hand to her heart. “I don’t mind telling you, that lady frightened me to
Glory Meechum also had a penchant for floral-print dresses. Not demure daisies or elegant roses but big, splotchy prints of indeterminate floral and fauna origin. Certainly not as nature had intended.
When Carmela looked out the window Friday morning and saw Glory Meechum steamrolling down Governor Nicholls Street, headed straight for Memory Mine, her first thought was that Shamus’s older sister looked like an overstuffed parlor chair.
Then the door flew open, and Glory Meechum exploded inward. Plunking her sturdy black leather Queen-of-England-style purse on the front counter, Glory planted chubby hands on Lycra-encased hips.
“You’ve got to help me!” she wailed loudly at Carmela.
Keenly aware that both Baby and Tandy were sitting at the back table and that Gabby was close by in the storeroom, Carmela willed herself to stifle any unseemly urge to giggle. The idea of Glory Meechum coming to her for help was over-the-top ridiculous. Glory had barely even been present at their wedding ceremony and her thinly veiled dislike for Carmela had always hung between them.
Carmela also made up her mind to handle Glory with a fair amount of decorum and try her very best to forestall any shouting match that might threaten to erupt. On Glory’s part, not hers.
“Glory, what’s wrong?” Carmela asked with as much civility as she could muster.
Glory fixed beady, bright eyes on Carmela. “That nasty little Granger Rathbone came looking for Shamus yesterday. Poking his nose into things over at the house.”
The house Glory was referring to was one of three elegant manses in the Garden District that were owned by the Meechum family. According to the Meechum family’s whims, these houses were allowed to be occupied by whomever was most recently married in the family or needed a place to live. Not necessarily in that order and certainly not a family dictum that had ever applied to Carmela.
“Well, have you seen him?” Glory demanded.
Carmela shook her head regretfully. “No. Sorry.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Carmela hesitated. “No,” she said finally. If Shamus wants to talk to his sister, he’ll call her, right?
Glory Meechum threw her hands up in the air, exhaled a gush of air through her nostrils. Her sigh emerged as a distinct snort. “Then, where in heaven’s name is he?” Glory demanded.
“Glory, I don’t know,” said Carmela. “Shamus left me, remember?”
Glory Meechum flashed Carmela an exasperated look, a look that said Oh, give me a break. “Yes, yes, of course,” said Glory hastily, “but I thought for sure you two would keep in touch. That your little spat would eventually blow over.”
If you thought we just had a little spat, then why was I asked to vacate the house?
But Carmela held her tongue. She simply replied, “Sorry I can’t help you, Glory.” Gosh, she thought, I wish my momma hadn’t instilled so much civility in me. This really could have been fun. Sport, actually.
There was a scrape of chair legs against the wooden floor as Tandy slid her chair back a few inches, jockeying for a better position from which to observe Glory Meechum’s rantings.
“Don’t get me wrong,” thundered Glory as she snatched up her purse and hung it possesively in the crook of her hefty arm. “It’s not Granger Rathbone who concerns me. He’s not nearly smart enough. What worries me is who Granger might be working for.” With that, Glory Meechum spun on her sensible low heels and darted out the door.
“Who was that? ” asked Gabby. She emerged from the storeroom with an armful of paper and a startled look on her normally placid face.
“That, my dear girl, was Glory Meechum, Shamus’s big sister,” answered Tandy, obviously relishing the heated exchange she’d just witnessed. “Isn’t she a doozy? The old gal really fancies herself the matriarch of the family.”
Gabby put a hand to her heart. “I don’t mind telling you, that lady frightened me to
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