Making Waves by Cassandra King Page B

Martha shook her head sympathetically. “Poor old thing.”
    I wondered if she meant Miss Maudie or Aunt Opal, whom I hadn’t noticed wasn’t here until now. She had never been one of my favorite people, since she was who Sonny inherited his charm from. As Aunt Della was prone to say, the apple never falls far from the tree.
    â€œThe United Methodist Women are always there when there’s a death in the church, like they should be,” Daddy Clark said as he nodded in approval. Sonny nodded as well and I grinned. Yessir, keep them womenfolks in their place. I watched fascinated as Daddy Clark stirred about ten spoonfuls of sugar into his glass of iced tea. It would take more than that to sweeten him up.
    As Annie Lou began to bring the fancy serving dishes to the table, I became more and more sure that in spite of his coldness, Daddy Clark might actually be glad to see me. Why else would they put on the dog so? Annie Lou was dressed in a crisp maid’s uniform, and she was using the best Clark china and silver. Pleased in spite of myself, I relaxed somewhat for the first time since arriving here.
    The food wasn’t to my liking, however. I’d seen this sort of spread often in the past, at fancy dinners and banquets and so forth. It was Clarksville’s attempt at gourmet sophistication, shit like processed ham, or chicken cooked in Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup; store-bought rolls with that fabulous taste of styrofoam; canned vegetable casseroles topped with crushed potato chips and full of crap like pimentos, olives, water chestnuts. I picked around at the plate Annie Lou put in front of me, pushing pukey cherries off my ham slice, thinking longingly of Aunt Della’s good old country cooking.
    Glancing up, I saw Daddy Clark chewing away, Sonny sawing on a piece of ham, and Aunt Frances Martha stuffing her expressionless face with a roll dripping butter. Ellis, sitting right across from me, was the only one not eating. Instead, she was watching everyone closely, peering with her heavily made-up eyes first at one, then the other. She looked down quickly when she met my eyes.
    â€œMighty good, sugar.” Sonny smiled at her as he continued to wolf down the awful stuff.
    Daddy Clark nodded agreement, still chewing, his fat jowls stuffed like a guinea pig. Aunt Frances Martha smiled sweetly up at me, then looked over at Ellis. “Winn-Dixie’s English peas are better than Piggly Wiggly’s,” she told her new niece brightly, as though she’d just discovered the theory of relativity.
    It hit me then—Aunt Frances Martha was not the only retard in the family. Ellis did all this! The new bride showing out. She must have seen my look of realization, for our eyes met and she looked directly at me, her silver-blonde head tilted, erect and proud. And the old girl wasn’t doing it for my benefit either—the maid, the citified food, the good china, none of it. What a fool I was to even consider that. No, Ellis was the Lady of the Manor now, the new First Lady of Clarksville. I choked on the artichoke casserole and reached for my iced tea, coughing like hell. Daddy Clark glared at me as though I’d just farted at the table.
    There was little conversation at the Clark table, something I’d forgotten in my absence. An occasional remark, “Um—these rolls are mighty good,” or some such inanity; eating was a duty to be done and not enjoyed in Daddy Clark’s house. It was a relief when Annie Lou cleared the dishes and brought in the dessert. I almost lost it then and looked out the heavily draped windows at the setting sun to keep from cracking up. Ellis took the cake platter from Annie Lou and held it up for us to see.
    â€œWho wants some of my mama’s delectable Black Forest cake? It’s an old family recipe,” she asked, batting her eyelashes.
    I had to bite my lip when she turned to Sonny and said, “Your favorite,