in the morning, bright and early. She tell you what time she's got to be there?"
"She told me."
"Can you manage that?"
Tess rolled her gaze to the ceiling and mumbled, "I can't believe this."
"Okay, okay—just asking."
"I meet more schedules in one month than you and Judy will meet in your lifetime."
"Not at that time of day."
"Will you stop treating me like the baby of the family!"
"Okay, all right… I'm going. See you tomorrow."
Tess followed her sister and stood in the front vestibule watching her drive off in a blue van. Evening had fallen and the street was quiet. In the bathroom the tub started draining. The smell in the vestibule never seemed to change. It was one she associated with changeless places from her past—public libraries and churches and school buildings that still had wood floors. The floor in the vestibule was oak, the bound rug old and jute-backed, and the smell was stuffy, like the clothing of old people who don't go outside enough. The vestibule itself was a cramped cubicle with a door to outside and another to the living room, the kind that had been popular in another era before foyers had become integrated with living rooms. It had an antique mirror on the wall, and on the floor in one corner a tarnished brass container holding some old magazines. She stood there feeling disgruntled and misplaced, no longer comfortable in her mother's house and not fully understanding why, wishing she were in the studio in Nashville where she belonged and knew her function and purpose. Here, she felt cast upon a foreign shore. Her connection to it was gone, and she was being blamed for that, yet all she was guilty of was success.
Her mother came out of the bathroom dressed in a flowered cotton nightie and duster that snapped up the front.
"Tess? Is Renee gone?"
"Yes. She had to get home." Tess turned back into the living room where her mother was toweling her hair, releasing a strongly medicinal smell into the room. "Phew! What is that? It stinks."
"They just called it antibacterial soap."
"Can I comb your hair for you? I have my blow-dryer."
"No, thanks, honey. Got my brash right here. I have to use the soap again in the morning anyway—orders from the hospital."
The way Mary was moving Tess could tell she was in pain. "Is your hip worse, Momma?"
Mary put a hand to it and walked with a pronounced heel-slide, perching carefully on the overstuffed arm of a living-room chair whose height made it easier to use than the seat. "It's hard getting in and out of the tub. Always makes it worse."
This time when Tess made her point she did so in much gentler tones than earlier when she was upset with Kenny Kronek. "Then why wouldn't you let me buy you a new house when I wanted to? You could have had a nice roomy shower instead of that cramped little tub."
Mary waved off her remark and tried to make herself comfortable on the arm of the chair, but could not.
"Mom, what can I do for you?"
"Get me a bed pillow and I'll stretch out on the sofa, then sit down and let's talk."
It took some time to get Mary reasonably comfortable on the sofa. When she was, she said, "Now tell me about the places you've been lately."
Tess began giving highlights of the last couple months. After years of traveling by bus she owned her own jet, so she could now perform a concert in California one day and be in Nashville recording the next. Since it was not cost-efficient to employ a mechanic and pilot for a single jet, she had bought five and opened a plane-leasing service to defray the costs. She had been telling her mother how well the two-year-old company was doing but after only a few minutes Mary's eyes grew heavy and got the intermittent glazed look of one who's trying to give the impression of alertness. Realizing her conversation wasn't getting through, Tess finally said, "Momma, you're tired. Let me help you to bed."
Mary stifled a yawn, and murmured, "Mmm… guess you're right, honey. Have to be out by four-thirty
"She told me."
"Can you manage that?"
Tess rolled her gaze to the ceiling and mumbled, "I can't believe this."
"Okay, okay—just asking."
"I meet more schedules in one month than you and Judy will meet in your lifetime."
"Not at that time of day."
"Will you stop treating me like the baby of the family!"
"Okay, all right… I'm going. See you tomorrow."
Tess followed her sister and stood in the front vestibule watching her drive off in a blue van. Evening had fallen and the street was quiet. In the bathroom the tub started draining. The smell in the vestibule never seemed to change. It was one she associated with changeless places from her past—public libraries and churches and school buildings that still had wood floors. The floor in the vestibule was oak, the bound rug old and jute-backed, and the smell was stuffy, like the clothing of old people who don't go outside enough. The vestibule itself was a cramped cubicle with a door to outside and another to the living room, the kind that had been popular in another era before foyers had become integrated with living rooms. It had an antique mirror on the wall, and on the floor in one corner a tarnished brass container holding some old magazines. She stood there feeling disgruntled and misplaced, no longer comfortable in her mother's house and not fully understanding why, wishing she were in the studio in Nashville where she belonged and knew her function and purpose. Here, she felt cast upon a foreign shore. Her connection to it was gone, and she was being blamed for that, yet all she was guilty of was success.
Her mother came out of the bathroom dressed in a flowered cotton nightie and duster that snapped up the front.
"Tess? Is Renee gone?"
"Yes. She had to get home." Tess turned back into the living room where her mother was toweling her hair, releasing a strongly medicinal smell into the room. "Phew! What is that? It stinks."
"They just called it antibacterial soap."
"Can I comb your hair for you? I have my blow-dryer."
"No, thanks, honey. Got my brash right here. I have to use the soap again in the morning anyway—orders from the hospital."
The way Mary was moving Tess could tell she was in pain. "Is your hip worse, Momma?"
Mary put a hand to it and walked with a pronounced heel-slide, perching carefully on the overstuffed arm of a living-room chair whose height made it easier to use than the seat. "It's hard getting in and out of the tub. Always makes it worse."
This time when Tess made her point she did so in much gentler tones than earlier when she was upset with Kenny Kronek. "Then why wouldn't you let me buy you a new house when I wanted to? You could have had a nice roomy shower instead of that cramped little tub."
Mary waved off her remark and tried to make herself comfortable on the arm of the chair, but could not.
"Mom, what can I do for you?"
"Get me a bed pillow and I'll stretch out on the sofa, then sit down and let's talk."
It took some time to get Mary reasonably comfortable on the sofa. When she was, she said, "Now tell me about the places you've been lately."
Tess began giving highlights of the last couple months. After years of traveling by bus she owned her own jet, so she could now perform a concert in California one day and be in Nashville recording the next. Since it was not cost-efficient to employ a mechanic and pilot for a single jet, she had bought five and opened a plane-leasing service to defray the costs. She had been telling her mother how well the two-year-old company was doing but after only a few minutes Mary's eyes grew heavy and got the intermittent glazed look of one who's trying to give the impression of alertness. Realizing her conversation wasn't getting through, Tess finally said, "Momma, you're tired. Let me help you to bed."
Mary stifled a yawn, and murmured, "Mmm… guess you're right, honey. Have to be out by four-thirty
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