Feisty Family Values

Read an excerpt:

The grinding of the brakes jolted her back to the present and the smell of dirty socks and stale cigarette smoke.

“Is this the place, ma’am?” the driver asked.

She looked at the three-story house; pristine white paint glowed in the sun. “Yes,” she said.



“That’ll be five seventy-five,” he said and hung his open palm over his shoulder into the back seat. His knuckles bulged, and his fingers were crooked, and the skin cracked.

“I’m sorry, how much?” She held her breath for a moment, hoping she had enough for the fare.

“Five seventy-five,” he flipped the meter handle down and put the car in park. Turning, he looked over the seat with his grizzled chin and rheumy eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine . . . sorry . . .” Annabelle stuffed her handkerchief back up the sleeve of her cardigan and opened her cracked vinyl pocketbook. She pulled out four crumpled ones, two quarters, and an assortment of dimes and pennies from her coin purse. She dropped the wadded bills in his palm and proceeded to count the coins. “Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two . . .”

“It’s five seventy-five, lady,” he said. The radio squawked, but he didn’t answer.

“That makes five, forty-two,” she said. “Just a minute, I always have coins in the bottom of my bag. They fall out sometimes . . .” She found another thirty cents in change and dropped it in his palm. The money she’d placed there had already disappeared into his pocket.

“You’re three cents short,” he said, and she jumped at the growl in his voice. “Why’d you call a cab if you didn’t have the money? Geez, short and no tip besides . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’ll go up to the house and see if my cousin has some change.” Her eyes filled with tears and her throat constricted.

He snorted, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. The microphone squawked, so he picked it up and spoke. “I got that one. I’m in Riverside now.”

He had no idea how hard it had been to come here. She didn’t mean to cheat him, but it was all she had. A lone tear escaped down her wrinkled cheek. Annabelle lowered her head and pulled the threadbare hankie from her sleeve.

As she dabbed her eye she noticed two pennies on the floorboard. Reaching down she picked up the coins. “Here you go,” she said, a stiff smile on her face. “I found two more.”

“Good enough, I got to go, lady,” he said. “Got another fare a couple blocks from here.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you. If you’ll give me your name, I’ll send you the tip and the penny.” She opened the door. The sidewalk appeared a mile long to the porch.

“Forget it,” he said and revved the engine. “I suppose you want help with your bag now, too,” he spoke to the rear view mirror.

“No, I can . . . manage,” she said. She scooted the battered Pullman across the seat and stepped onto the walk. Bracing her hand on the rim of the door she pulled it onto the curb with a thud, then dragged it upright.

He leaned over the back of the seat, eager to close the door, but she beat him to it.

“Thanks,” she said, coughing from the exhaust fumes. She watched him zip around the corner, feeling her courage go with him.

Straightening her shoulders she faced the house and an uncertain welcome. It didn’t appear to have changed a bit since she’d last seen it. But she had. Oh, how Annabelle Hubbard had changed.

Chapter 1

A dusting mitt lay abandoned on the coffee table. The luscious scent of baking bread wafted through the house, causing Regina’s stomach to rumble. She listened to the sounds of her housemate, Tillie, crooning an old Motown tune from the kitchen.

Tillie sauntered into the parlor, still wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hey girl, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”

“Have a nice dinner,” Regina said to the air, hearing the back door bang against the frame.

Quiet, at last, she thought and settled onto the window cushion to catch the ebbing light.

A car door slammed, sending a mass of barn swallows into the dusky sky heading northwest of the river, drawing Regina’s attention from the tawdry romance that had only just captured her attention. From her seat, she had to look twice before she realized it was her cousin Annabelle who stumbled from the cab dragging a huge tattered suitcase toward the house.

“What the . . . ?”

She stared at what she hoped was an apparition wearing a pink flowered cardigan draped over a faded gunnysack dress, two shades lighter than the blue hair. A white vinyl belt cinched the ample waist of her older cousin.

“Good Lord,” Regina muttered. The paperback slipped to the floor, unnoticed. She smoothed her skirt before gliding into the foyer, where she took a deep breath and flung open the massive oak doors before the bell.

“Why, Annabelle, what brings you here?” Her eyes bore a hole into the older woman’s brown eyes.

For a moment Regina detected defiance, but it soon disappeared as Annabelle’s shoulders rounded. She sniffed back fresh tears, her nose red and chins quivering with the effort. “Hello, Regina. May I come in?”

Regina narrowed her eyes, then scanned Annabelle from head to foot, noting the swollen purple smudge barely concealed by make-up beneath her right eye. “What’s wrong with your face?”

A shaking hand quickly covered the swollen bottom lip nearly split in half. “I fell.”

With a raise of her eyebrows, Regina made no comment.

“Can I come in?” Annabelle righted her posture, her breasts leading.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Regina said, “Well, come in off the stoop. I’ll get us some refreshments, and then we’ll sort out your troubles.” She turned to lead her cousin into the cozy parlor.

“It’s just . . .” Catching the toe of her shoe on the rug, Annabelle stumbled over the threshold.

Klutz, Regina thought. “Tell me inside, over a cup of tea.”

This better be good or I swear to god she’s out of here.

Annabelle sank down onto the rich brocade of the carved settee, pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed her lip, then wiped her drippy nose.

“Wait here.” Regina said. “And don’t break anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Annabelle tugged at the laddered stockings, sniffled, and replaced her nail-bitten fingers in her lap.

From the darkened doorway, Regina paused to watch her cousin scan the room, no doubt taking inventory of the antique furniture, shelves of leather bound books, and crystal vases perched on the fireplace mantel.

With shock, Regina heard her dead mother’s voice.

“Poor relatives and baggage is not a good sign.”

Swallowing bile, Regina straightened her own shoulders.

I’ll handle it, Mother. Good Lord, where did that come from?

She shook her head and continued to the kitchen. The smell of warm pastries accompanied Regina’s return to the sitting room. With grace born of privilege, she placed on the coffee table a china tray supporting a matching teapot, plate of scones, and two gold-rimmed cups.

“Always use the best china for guests, even the unwelcome kind,” her mother drilled into her head.

Her cousin’s face creased with a crooked frown that matched the uneven part in her tinted hair. “How lovely, but why so formal?”

“I don’t suppose you know this, but . . . tea tastes better when served from fine china.”

She saw Annabelle’s mouth tighten as she watched Regina arrange the folds of her silky skirt, then pat her long black and silver braid.

“Where’s Matilda? Does she still live here with you?”

“Almost ten years now. She’s just left to go shopping and then to dinner with friends.”

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll see her when she gets back.” Annabelle bent down and retrieved the novel from the floor. “Since when did you read heaving bosom books? I thought it was high brow all the way for you.”

Regina snatched the book from her. “At least I read,” she said, then gave Annabelle a poke on the arm. “Get on with your story. I’m sure it’s gripping.”

Were the woman’s brains stuck in neutral?

With a flinch, Annabelle cradled her arm under the protection of her bosom. “I’ve been staying with my daughter Liddy, and she’s had a hard time since her husband left. She just can’t afford another mouth to feed.”

“I remember Lydia. Overbearing, judgmental, and self-centered . . . a veritable clone of her late father. So unlike . . .” Regina’s foot began to tap.

Puzzled by her cousin’s nastiness, Annabelle continued, “I tried not to be a burden. She’s got three kids, you know, but I’m always in the way, although I tried to be helpful . . .”

Here we go.