red dot of lipstick on her front tooth. She seemed like she could claw somebody to pieces and never lose that fakey smile.
Patricia leaned forward and propped her elbows on the glassed desktop. “The reason for our little visit is personal. My mama, bless her heart, took a bad fall a few weeks back. She’s just not getting along like she should. And with it being Easter break and all. Well, I was just wondering if you’d be interested in helping her out. Little things like picking up the house, some washing maybe.”
Years ago, I promised myself I’d never be a maid. The idea of cleaning someone’s toilet was just too humiliating. “Sure. When you need me to start?” The groceries, the rent, and the electric bill made me put pride on the shelf.
I still wasn’t real familiar with certain parts of Wiregrass yet. Certainly not familiar with the type of neighborhood Mrs. Claudia Tyler lived in. I thought Patricia Murray would come from a rich family. In Cross City, anybody who went to college was either rich or a good enough football player that LSU snatched them up.
As I held my city map in one hand and steered my Monte Carlo with the other, I couldn’t help but gawk at the big brick homes. Looking at manicured yards, water sprinklers running, and gigantic oak trees guarding the two-story homes, I could only guess how stuck up the Queen Mother would be.
Mrs. Tyler’s home was a two-story brick building with two white columns and black shutters. It reminded me of a courthouse. Two oaks as big around as four elephant legs towered over the row of pink azaleas leading up to the front door. The covered porch was as big as my trailer and ran sideways towards the garage. Her shrubs were cut neatly, and when I got out of my car, I noticed a rose garden. Needs a full-time staff to keep this place up, I thought.
“How you doing? Richard Tyler. I’m the other child,” said the man who greeted me at the door. He squinted his beady eyes and chuckled for no apparent reason. I thought of Roxi. He was a little older than his sister, Patricia, and a little fatter. His white hair hung in strands, and his round face reminded me of a moon pie.
After pleasantries and questions about my background—thank God he had never heard of Cross City—he led me to the downstairs bedroom that Mrs. Tyler was occupying. I had never seen so many clocks in all my life. The oak-paneled hallway leading to her bedroom not only had two different clocks on the wall, but also a dark grandfather clock standingguard at the end. Ticking rang through my ears, and the hardwood floors creaked under the weight of my work shoes.
The room was dark in muted colors, and the mahogany canopy bed didn’t help lighten it any. A tall bronze lamp formed a backlight against her wavy black hair. She was holding some sort of red book and looked every bit like the Queen Mum I’d imagined.
“Mama, she’s here,” Richard announced and promptly chuckled. The room smelled of Pine-Sol cleaner and expensive flowered perfume.
Mrs. Tyler adjusted herself on the bed and pulled at the pink chiffon nightgown. When she looked up, I saw her hair was all fixed and a touch of pink lipstick covered her thin lips. Not as much makeup as the daughter, but enough to strike me as strange that this woman who was bedridden would even bother. Another extravagance Mama never allowed. To this day I don’t wear any makeup except for special occasions. And I couldn’t tell you the last time that was.
“Well, it’s just so good to know you.” Her hazel eyes danced underneath wire-rimmed glasses. “Come sit where I can get a good look at you.” She pointed to a wingback chair next to the bed. “I guess you know I had to go and fall. Right after I pulled the clothes from the dryer. I just thank the Lord nothing was broken.”
I nodded my head and tried to look pleasant, thinking that if she didn’t like me the job was off.
“Well sir, they want me to lay up here on this bed