“Jade’s not that weak. But she likes to know what’s going on around her. Uh, she likes to hide in one of the ladies’ room stalls with her feet in the air so that the office blabbermouths won’t know she’s present. You know how nosy our girl Jade is,” I reminded her.
“Tell me about it. But I was just like her when I was her age,” Rhoda confessed.
“I remember,” I clucked. I ignored an ominous chill that moved across my face, by just thinking about how much alike mother and daughter were. Not only did they look, act, smell, walk, and sound alike, they also thought alike. It was almost like they were the same person. But as far as I knew, Jade had not killed anybody.
Rhoda had.
CHAPTER 6
While awaiting Rhoda’s arrival, I made sure that all of the windows and the back door in my house were locked. I drank three beers in less than ten minutes, draining the last bottle with a mighty burp. I regretted drinking all that beer because it didn’t help me one bit. I didn’t even get a buzz. All it did was make me run to the bathroom twice within fifteen minutes to empty my bladder.
I didn’t hear Rhoda pull up in her silver Volvo SUV—her last year’s birthday gift from her parents—when she and Jade arrived about twenty minutes after Rhoda and I finished our telephone conversation. They galloped up onto my front porch, stomping like runaway mules. I flung open my front door and they entered my house, both scowling like prosecutors.
As usual, except for height, Rhoda Nelson O’Toole and Jade looked like supermodels. They had inherited their deep green eyes from Rhoda’s father’s Caucasian mother. But other than the color of their eyes, there was nothing else in their appearance that identified them as biracial. Rhoda and Jade were both as dark brown as I was.
Their faces were beautifully made up, and their tight jeans and bibbed white T-shirts showed off slim, taut bodies that women with my body type couldn’t develop even with black magic. Their skin was so smooth and flawless it looked like it had been sprayed on. You had to look really closely to see the fine lines around Rhoda’s eyes and mouth. But even that didn’t give away her true age. I knew women in their early twenties who had more lines on their faces than Rhoda had.
Good skin was one of the few things that I had going for me. I had my share of fine lines and wrinkles, but you had to look really hard and closely at me to see them.
My hair was another story. When I didn’t hide my brittle ends, kinky knots, and bald spots under a scarf or a wig, I kept my hair neat and dyed jet black to hide the stubborn gray strands that sometimes seemed downright invincible. Rhoda’s long hair, cascading down her narrow back like a silk scarf, was just as jet black and lush as Jade’s. Maybe even more so, because Rhoda had pampered hers longer than Jade had. It pleased me to know that Rhoda had to dye her hair, too, to hide the gray. That wasn’t much of a consolation, but it felt good to know that nature had only laid the groundwork; Rhoda had to work hard to remain beautiful.
Even after all the years that I’d known the beautiful Rhoda, standing next to her I sometimes felt as unattractive as a pile of horse shit. I had been fat and plain for as long as she’d been beautiful. It was the one thing that I knew I would never get over. But Rhoda’s opinion of me was decidedly different.
“Annette, you look amazin’,” she assured me as she air-kissed both sides of my face. “Forty-five years old this month and your skin is still as smooth as a baby’s butt.”
Her comment made me feel warm all over because I knew that she was sincere. My good skin was due to good genes, Ivory soap, and warm water. Rhoda spent a fortune on wrinkle creams and facials, and had vowed to get a face-lift as soon as she felt she needed one.
I had slipped into a fresh muumuu and a pair of comfortable shoes, but I was still on edge. I didn’t know what Rhoda had planned, but I was hoping that it involved something that required me to leave my house. It had begun to feel like a chamber of horrors.
A flimsy, red-checked bandanna covered my head. The line in the nasty note about me having a receding hairline had sent me running to the bathroom mirror. I didn’t know what constituted a receding hairline to most people, but I didn’t agree with the person who had sent me the note. However, the remark had made me self-conscious enough to cover my whole head. It didn’t bother me that I looked like a straight-up mammy next to Jade and Rhoda. That was nothing new, and I was used to it.
“Hi, Auntie,” Jade said, covering my cheek with hungry little kisses.
Her warm, wet lips made my face tingle. It puzzled me when, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Jade wipe her lips with the back of her hand after kissing me. I smiled because she smiled.
“Uh, you taste kind of salty and sweaty,” she explained, realizing I’d seen her wiping her lips. “And, by the way, you could use a serious facial, Auntie.”
“I could use a lot of things, baby,” I said sadly, drifting back to my sofa where I plopped down so hard my thighs vibrated.
Jade and Rhoda looked at each other and shrugged. Jade swiped her lips again, holding on to her yellow backpack with both hands. She protected it like it held mankind’s greatest secrets, hiding it in a spot in her bedroom where even Rhoda couldn’t find it. Other than the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogues and the other risqué items that she decided she had to have, I didn’t know what else Jade concealed in her backpack. Frankly, I didn’t want to know. However, one time when she accidentally dropped it in front of me, the lid flew open and a package of condoms fell to the floor. Before Rhoda could see what had dropped out, I’d kicked the package of condoms up under the bottom of my sofa, nodding as Jade gave me a conspiratorial wink. I knew that I was part of the reason Jade was the way she was. But compared to some kids, Jade was still a good girl. And I was so proud of her.
I grabbed Jade’s hand and pulled her onto my lap, the same way I had done since she was a very young child. Rhoda stood over me with her arms folded, with the same scowl still on her face.
“Where’s the note?” she asked, looking around my living room.
I nodded to one of the end tables by the sofa.
“Mama said that it’s probably from somebody who is jealous of you,” Jade announced, patting my shoulder and rocking back and forth on my lap. She felt as light as a feather, but she was as solid as a brick. “I said, ‘Horsefeathers!’ to Mama,” Jade hollered. Even though she sounded and looked profoundly bored, I knew in my heart that Jade was just as concerned about my well-being as Rhoda was.
While Rhoda was looking in another direction, I slid the Frederick’s catalogue under the pillow next to me. With a frightened look, Jade took a deep breath, held her finger up to her lips, shook her head, and quickly snatched the catalogue from under the pillow. Within seconds Jade had stuffed it into her backpack.
Clearing her throat, she continued talking. “Yeah, somebody is straight-up jealous of you, Auntie.”
Jade spoke with such authority she almost had me believing every word that came out of her mouth. But after I gave her comments some thought, I had a hard time believing that anybody was jealous of me. I could feel an incredulous look slide across my face. “Jealous? Jealous of me? What in the world do I have for anybody to be jealous of?” I asked, waving my hand.
I noticed a slight frown on Jade’s face when she noticed my nails.
“Uh…uh…that’s the same thing I asked Mama,” Jade stammered, nodding so hard her eyes blinked. “I mean, what do you have that would make anybody jealous?” Jade made a sweeping gesture with one hand, holding on for dear life to the strap of her backpack with the other.
I was horrified when I saw the lip of a beer bottle peeking from an unzipped pocket on the side of the backpack. Jade’s eyes followed mine. She gave me a contrite look before she slung her backpack around to the side, her back to me and Rhoda as she zipped it up.
“Jade’s got a point,” I said in an offhanded way, with an acute sadness tugging