Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith

pinching off her nose. “Who hurled Varsity?”
    Howe smiled and opened his eyes. “I did, but it was worth every bite. C’mere, Patti-pie.”
    “Oh, Daddy!” She hurled herself into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
    Crying, Howe stroked her hair. “Damn straight. Me, too. I love ya, Patti-pie.”
    Whether Patti would still be glad remained to be seen.

Chapter 7
     
    The past. May 21, 1991. Whittington, Georgia.
     
    The minute Howe closed the door on the last guest from Patricia’s second birthday party, Elizabeth sank into a club chair and threw her head back, eyes closed. “Thank God, it’s over.” What an ordeal.
    All she’d wanted was to invite Patricia’s Sunday school class for cake and ice cream, but Howe had turned the event into a three-ring circus, inviting half the town and hiring clowns and a pony ride, then having a caterer from Atlanta provide two separate buffets for both kids and parents—with at least a dozen servers—plus two bartenders.
    To top it off, two-year-old Patricia ate so much cake and candy that she self-destructed amid an avalanche of wrapping paper, with a temper tantrum that would remain in the annals of Whittington history for generations. After Elizabeth finally got the child to sleep, she spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep the children from hurting themselves or each other, while their parents got loaded inside.
    Not
her idea of a birthday party for a two-year-old.
    “Howe, we cannot do this again,” she groaned. “I can barely move.”
    Howe didn’t answer. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her since they’d argued over how he spoiled Patricia, leaving Elizabeth to be the heavy.
    She sat up and looked toward the front door. “Howe?”
    “I’m here,” he said from the bar.
    Servers came in and out of the kitchen, filling trays with dirty dishes and plastic bags with torn wrapping paper and festive birthday napkins.
    “You didn’t answer me,” she said with annoyance.
    Howe faced her squarely with a hefty scotch in hand. “You didn’t ask me a question,” he said in that maddeningly cool tone he used. “You made a statement. Statements don’t require a response.”
    Here they went again. “I just . . . Howe, this wasn’t a kids’ birthday party,” Elizabeth said, hearing it come out like a whine, which she hated. “Kids’ birthdays are like the one we had for Charles: a few good friends, cake and ice cream, and some yard games.” She sat forward, forcing her spine erect. “Please. Come sit down and talk to me. I want to understand what you’re feeling.”
    Howe visibly recoiled. “What good would it do? You think one thing, I think another. We’ve been over all this half a dozen times already. Elizabeth, we have a position to uphold in this town, and social obligations. And those include our daughter.”
    “But not Charles, apparently,” Elizabeth shot back before she could stop herself.
    Howe took a slug of scotch, his features hard. “Why are you complaining, anyway?” he accused. “You haven’t had to lift a finger. The maid service cleaned the house for the party. The caterers will stay till everything’s back in order. And the lawn crew is almost finished with the backyard.”
    “That’s not the point,” she repeated from their previous arguments. “Patricia isn’t a princess. She’s a child. She needs appropriate things in her life, appropriate boundaries. And she needs two parents who keep a unified front when it comes to discipline.”
    Howe rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.” Another slug of scotch. “She’s just a baby, and this is a home, not boot camp. Lighten up, Elizabeth.” He set his drink on the table, then waited till the server left them alone. “I feel a cold coming on, so I’ll be staying in Dad’s suite for a while.”
    Elizabeth stilled. The opposite sides of their king-sized bed might as well have been in separate counties, for all the interaction they’d had lately, but she read