Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells

Author:Rebecca Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

19

Caro lay back in her recliner and let her mind drift back to an earlier time, when the world was different and her breathing easier.

That whole birthday ball had been odd from the beginning. It was out of character for the Abbotts to stage something so extravagant.

She’d never liked Taylor Abbott, never really liked Buggy. Didn’t hate her like Teensy did, just didn’t like her. Or trust her. Buggy acted like a maid. Housework, digging in the yard, and going to Mass, that’s all the woman did. No luncheons with friends; she didn’t even go to movies. Always said she had too much work to do.

And Taylor Abbott. When that man came home from work, the whole household had to stop breathing, stop living. If Vivi and the Ya-Yas walked into the living room when he was home—laughing like they always were—he wouldn’t even look up at them. He’d just say, “Viviane, keep it down.” And Vivi would clam up and they’d have to tiptoe across the room and up the stairs, not breathing a sound until they were in Vivi’s bedroom with the door shut. Taylor Abbott wanted his home to be a library or a museum where he could read his newspaper.

The girls could make all the noise they wanted, do anything they felt like, until he got home. Buggy would just go on working. That woman did tolerate umpteen kids running in and out of her house, from the time the Ya-Yas were four until they got married. During high school, they’d roll up the rugs in the afternoons, push the furniture back, and practice the latest dance steps for hours. Buggy always had plenty of food, no matter how many of them trooped in.

But Buggy Abbott did it as her job. She wasn’t sour with the food or anything, but the way she set it out, the way she opened her kitchen, it felt like she worked there, like she was hired help, not the lady of the house, as women were called back then.

The night of Vivi’s birthday ball was cold and clear. Cold enough for Vivi to wear the sable stole that Genevieve had loaned her. Jack had arrived the afternoon before, home on leave, handsome and tall in his Air Corps uniform, a miracle that he’d been able to come home early for Christmas to celebrate Vivi’s birthday.

The Theodore Hotel ballroom had been decorated with poinsettias and sparkling lights. Stan Lemoine and His Rhythm Kings, cool cats in sharp jackets, had a terrific horn player who blew “Happy Birthday” in swing tempo. Vivi stood next to the gift table, piled high with parcels, a birthday cake, and glasses filled with mysteriously acquired liquor. She wore a stunning off-the-shoulder midnight-blue velvet and organdy gown that she’d had made just for that evening. While the guests sang to her, she smiled wide, eyes glistening, with her father on one side and Jack Whitman on the other. Photos snapped at that moment would not have shown Buggy in the frame.

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