Today's Reading
The Belle Meade ladies favored Gucci and Chanel, so she was able to keep her closet stuffed with barely worn designer outfits she bought for next to nothing during her forays into Nashville. Every excursion ended the same way—with a slow cruise down magnolia-lined Coventry Circle to gape at number 229, a stately Colonial with green shutters she would have painted black.
Her own house was an abhorrence. It had belonged to her in-laws, and they had thought it a palace, but to her, the two-bedroom, too-small ranch screamed middle class. The narrow windows were better suited to a medieval fortress, and the closets couldn't hold the belongings of a nun sworn to poverty. When Vern's mother passed away less than a year after his father's death, Vern insisted their little family of three move in. Her cheeks had ached from the effort it took to smile her way through the compliments offered by the townsfolk on her new home, "the cutest house in Spark," much as they had from all the congratulations on her marriage: "The Lord has never made a sweeter man than Vern Jarvis."
Posey walked down the hall and tapped on Callie Jane's door. After hearing a soft "Come in," she sat beside her daughter, who was on her bed, curled under a blanket. Posey stroked her head. "How are you feeling, sweetie?"
"Lightheaded and queasy, like I might throw up."
Posey brushed a strand of long blonde hair from Callie Jane's pale cheek. "It's probably just nerves. Getting engaged is a pretty big deal."
"I didn't know he was going to propose. It was so awkward, with his family there and all."
"The whole town's known for years you two would end up together. I'm not sure how it could be a surprise."
"Trace and I are friends. I love him, but not like that." Callie Jane struggled to a sitting position. "You and Daddy were friends before you got married, and I'm not sure you all—"
"I adore your father." Posey picked up a pillow, fluffing it. "If you love someone, hang on to them, no matter what." She gently tucked the pillow beside her daughter's head. "You'll have plenty of time to warm up to the idea while we plan the wedding." She smoothed her skirt and smiled. "Let's start with your gown. You're not obligated to wear Opal Humboldt's dress, no matter what she said."
"Mama, I'm not sure I want to marry Trace. He's been my best friend forever, but the truth is, I don't think I want him for my husband. Getting married was always just a someday idea we'd talk about while we were doing homework together or watching for shooting stars in his backyard, but now that we're engaged, it feels wrong."
Posey studied her daughter's troubled face, at a loss for an answer. Her own mother's advice, "The truth is overrated," sprang to her mind. Marriage was for security, not for some fairy-tale happily ever after, but Callie Jane was too naive to understand that. Instead, Posey responded, "He gave you the highest compliment a man can give his future wife. He said he needs you by his side to be truly successful." She twisted her thin gold wedding band.
Callie Jane was the one thing she had done right with her life, despite the rocky start. Vern loved Callie Jane because she was smart, capable, and creative. He told anyone who would listen that she spent her first Emporium paycheck on a yard sale doghouse, repurposing it for the feral cats she fed behind the BuyMore grocery store. Posey loved Callie Jane because she was quiet, obedient, and polite. Everyone in town gave Posey credit for raising such a fine young woman, and she always accepted the compliments with a smile. What she kept to herself was what she was most proud of: Callie Jane was the spitting image of her father.
Posey had probably faded from CJ's memory long ago, but she had an unforgettable reminder—his child, something Frances had never provided. Callie Jane was the best of herself and CJ blended together, flesh-and-blood proof that he had risked everything to be with her. Each time their daughter looked at her with eyes the color of a still summer lake, a rush of both love and pride washed over her.
She studied the shadow box on the shelf containing the Miss Tiny Tennessee sash and fifteen-year-old Gazette article about Callie Jane participating in the Caney Ridge toddler beauty pageant. Her daughter was perfect, a blonde version of herself she could manipulate, carefully steering her away from the mistakes that had ruined her own life.
"Do you love Trace?"
Callie Jane nodded. "He's always taken care of me and makes me feel safe, like the big brother I never had."
"All brides get cold feet." She frowned. "Although not usually this early." Standing, she said, "You'll get over it." Pulling the curtains closed, she added, "I'll get dinner started." She paused by the bedroom door. "I hate to think of you grown and gone, but being the wife of the man you love is every woman's dream."
"But, Mama, what should I do about not wanting to marry—"
"You'll be so happy," Posey said as she shut the door.
...
