Mr. and Mrs. Brown were the kindest couple on the face of the earth and I saw where Yardley got his compassion from. I’d warned Momma not to show out but that was the equivalent of trying to teach a pig to wipe his snout with a napkin.
I’d given Momma one of my dress suits to wear because she didn’t have anything appropriate in her numerous bags. Yardley was driving an Infiniti that night. I didn’t even realize he had a second car since he always picked me up in his two-seater Porsche. Momma ranted and raved the entire way to Silver Spring. I’d made her “dry out” and she was feenin’ for some liquor.
When we arrived at the Browns’ split-level home, Yardley used his key to let us in so he could sneak up on his parents, who were sitting in the family room watching Jeopardy! Mrs. Brown, a petite woman with a voice that sounded like it would belong to a woman twice her size, embraced both Momma and me as if she’d known us for decades. I immediately felt right at home.
His father was tall and it looked like he’d spit Yardley out; the resemblance was so uncanny. He was much more soft-spoken than his wife and I could imagine him teaching math. Mrs. Brown was a science teacher. They were the perfect match; two people who visibly loved their careers, their only child, and each other.
“So you’re an only child also?” Mr. Brown asked me over the table as we dined on country-style steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and string beans with homemade biscuits.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“That’s debatable,” Momma blurted out, having taken Mr. Brown up on his offer for some dinner wine. She was up to glass four already and I was totally embarrassed.
“Debatable?” Mrs. Brown asked.
I glared at Momma across the table. She glared back and sucked her teeth.
“What do you mean by that, Arjay?” Mrs. Brown prodded.
“Being that I haven’t a clue whose Rayne’s daddy is, she could have fifty siblings for all I know. Surely if he pulled a fast one on me, then he’s pulled fast ones on other women as well.”
Yardley cleared his throat and took my hand, helping me to suppress the scream that was building up in my throat.
Mrs. Brown had this expression of disgust on her face. She glanced back and forth between Momma and me. I lowered my eyes to the ta
ble and refused to look back up until I could pull myself together.
“So, Son,” his father asked, “how’s the practice going?”
“It’s coming along great, Dad. You have to stop by the office soon and see the renovations.”
“Oh, they’re done?” Mr. Brown pointed to the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Arjay, can you pass the potatoes, please?”
“Certainly, Corbett.” Momma picked up the bowl and handed it to him. She lingered long enough to make eye contact with him and then touched his hand with her free one. “My, my, you have such soft hands.”
No she wasn’t! No she was not!
“Momma, can I speak to you for a moment? In the other room.”
“We’re in the middle of dinner, Rayne,” Momma hissed at me. “We can talk any time.”
Yardley leaned over and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay, baby. Let it go.”
“Corbett, how long have you and Agnes over here been married?” Momma asked, nodding her head toward Yardley’s mother.
“We’ll be married thirty-five years this spring,” Mrs. Brown replied. “Have you ever been married?”
Momma smirked as if to say, “I wasn’t talking to you!” She wanted Mr. Brown to answer.
“Humph, not me,” Momma replied. “Never been married and never trying to be married. There are too many men on this planet for me to be tied down to one. Variety is the spice of life and I love my variety, don’t I, baby?”
It dawned on me that she was addressing me. I didn’t respond.
Momma continued, “You two come across as the swinging type. Do you ever swing, Corbett?”
Mr. Brown obviously knew what Momma meant but Yardley’s mother didn’t get it, so she asked, “Swing?”
I could tell Momma was getting vexed. She wasn’t used to men snubbing her; even in front of their own wives.