Читать книгу Falling Into Grace - Michelle Stimpson - Страница 10

CHAPTER 4

Alexis dropped the phone into her backpack and breathed a heavy sigh. “Thank You, Lord.” Hearing from Camille after all these years brought both relief and a burden. Not like she didn’t have enough stones around her neck already, but—like her parents—Alexis bore them with thanks. This was her season’s assignment, and she would gladly endure.

“Who were you singing to, baby?” Momma asked from the couch.

Daddy, who had reclined dangerously beyond the chair’s intended range, answered for his daughter. “Ain’t none of your business, now, Mattie. ’Lexis got a life of her own.”

Momma piped up, “I can ask my daughter whatsoever question I want to ask her!”

“I was talking to Camille, from our old singing group,” Alexis ended the argument.

“Oh, yeah,” Daddy recalled, “Camille called here earlier today looking for you. I gave her the number to your car phone.”

“Car phone,” Momma mumbled. “Cell phone is what they callin’ it now. And mighty fine of you to tell her now. Maybe she didn’t want Camille to have her number, you ever thought about that? Act like you the telephone operator or something.”

Time for another intervention. “It’s okay, Momma. I don’t mind Camille having my number.”

“See there?” from Daddy.

“What else can she say, Willie? Damage already done now.”

Though Momma was never one to let anyone else get the last word in, she wasn’t usually so vicious. Alexis hoped that her mother’s doctor would soon be able to determine the optimal dosage of blood-pressure medicine, because if not, her parents would have to move to separate corners of the house.

“I never did like that Camille girl,” Momma continued with her tirade. “She always tried to steal the show from the rest of the group.”

This, of course, was the latest of Mattie’s pharmaceutically induced confessions. Not that she was wrong, just that she usually had enough wisdom to keep her mouth shut and pray about such negative observations unless sharing them was absolutely necessary. Rather than listen to her mother rattle off everything she disliked about Camille and the next five people who might come to mind, Alexis stood from the kitchen stool and grabbed her keys from the counter. “I’m out. See you two tomorrow.”

She crossed the living room threshold and kissed both parents on their cheeks. The house hadn’t changed much in her lifetime except for this converted garage where her parents spent sixteen hours a day eating, watching television, and debating politics. Two lounge chairs, a forty-inch screen, a lamp for each one, and a nightstand between the recliners.

Dutifully, Alexis closed the blinds so that, once the sun sank, passersby wouldn’t have a view into the house. She’d asked her older brother to buy solar screens for their parents, but he didn’t have the money. Sometimes, Alexis had to remind herself that Thomas was fifty-one, statistically approaching the last quarter of his life with little in retirement, thanks to a failing economy and a son whose drug addiction ate up any and all liquid assets. If Thomas Junior (T. J.) wasn’t robbing his parents, Thomas Senior and his wife were still spending funds on lawyers, rehabilitation clinics, T. J.’s restitution, and finally helping raise T. J.’s plenteous offspring.

Alexis had tried to tell Thomas to let T. J. go down his own road—wherever that might lead. But Thomas’s heart was too big. She laid off, knowing that if it had been her own child, she probably wouldn’t have done anything different. Though her parents fussed and fought more often than not, they were fiercely loyal to family and friends.

As she let herself out the front door, Alexis could hear her parents arguing about which one of them had driven her to leave. All she could do was shake her head. Momma and Daddy were made for each other, really.

Once in her car, Alexis waited for the Bluetooth signal to appear on her dashboard, then she commanded the system. “Call Tonya.”

Three rings later, her best friend answered. “Hey.”

“You’ll never guess who I just talked to,” Alexis gushed.

“No time for guessing, girl. Who?”

Alexis announced, “Camille Elizabeth Robertson,” in graduation-commencement style.

“Serious?” Tonya quipped.

“Yep.”

“What did she want?”

“Nothing, really. Well, she did want to get the group back together, but Kyra already put an end to that,” Alexis said.

“Wow,” Tonya remarked. “Did she say why?”

“No,” Alexis confided, “but sounds like she might not be doing so well. No friends, a job she hates. And apparently she’s broke. We need to pray for her.”

“I’ll add her to my prayer list,” Tonya agreed. Then she asked, “Did you tell her?”

“No. I couldn’t.”

“Mmm,” Tonya moaned with concern. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”