Rescue Me

minute, one hour at a time.
    “You poor orphaned child.” Aunt Ivella wrapped her arms around Sadie’s neck. She smelled like hairspray and powder. “How are you holding up?”
    Honestly, she didn’t know. “I’m okay.”
    “Well, nothin’ dries as quick as a tear.” Ivella pulled back. “It was a lovely service and so many people. Lord, they had to find a second book.”
    Sadie didn’t understand the whole guest book thing at funerals. Perhaps some people found it a comfort, but she didn’t ever foresee a day when she would look at it.
    “You better get yourself somethin’ to eat. There’s plenty. Charlotte made her cherry pie. The kind she makes every Christmas.”
    “I will.” She took a sip of her tea. “Thanks for coming, Aunt Ivella.”
    “Of course I came. You’re family, Sadie Jo.”
    Dozens of relatives from her mother’s side had shown up to pay their respects. Most of them had dropped off a casserole or pound cake and left after an hour. The elderly aunts had dug in and were there for the long haul.
    “And even though Clive could be difficult,” Ivella continued, “he was family, too.”
    Which was one of the nicest things Ivella had ever said about her late sister’s husband. Sadie had made a point of thanking everyone who attended the service and who’d come to the house, but she was sure she’d missed someone. Someone who would talk about the snub for the next decade.
    She excused herself from the parlor and ran into Uncle Frasier and Aunt Pansy Jean. It was past four in the afternoon, and Frasier was white-knuckling it until the cocktail hour. Frasier told a slightly off-color joke and Pansy Jean gossiped about Margie and Tamara’s pickled relish throw-down. “Tamara Perdue is just naturally horizontal,” she said.
    After a few moments, Sadie slid into the kitchen and filled her glass with tea. She added a little ice to the glass and rolled her head from side to side. She was getting a crick from so many hugs, and her feet were starting to ache from her three-inch pumps. She wondered if anyone would notice if she sneaked upstairs to change her shoes.
    “I hear you’re spending time with Vincent.”
    Sadie recognized that tobacco-rough voice before she turned. “Hello, Mrs. Jinks.” Luraleen wore a pink prairie shirt and long bead earrings hanging to the bony shoulders of her “Fabulous Las Vegas” T-shirt. The older woman held a covered dish in her hands. “I didn’t know that you were back.”
    “I got home this mornin’. I came to pay my respects and bring you a Frito pie, is all.” She shoved it at Sadie. “I always liked your daddy. He was respectful to everyone.”
    Sadie took the dish. “Thank you.” She was right. Clive had been respectful and had taught her to be respectful, too. “We have a full buffet if you’re hungry.”
    “So are you stayin’ in town now?”
    “I’m not sure of my plans.” And even if she was sure, Luraleen Jinks would be the last person she would tell anything. “I have a while yet to figure it out.”
    “Don’t take too long. Girls can’t wait as long as boys,” she said, her voice a raspy wheeze. “You’ve gone back on your raisin’, but now your daddy is gone.” She held up one bony finger. “You need to remember your place around here.”
    Sadie just smiled and handed the dish to Carolynn as she moved past. “Thank you again for coming out and paying your respects.” She turned and said next to the cook’s ear, “I’m going to my room to lie down.”
    “Of course, sugar. Clara Anne and I will make sure everything is taken care of down here. You go rest.”
    Without a backward glance, she moved up the back stairs and down the hall lined with photos of her ancestors. She slipped into her room and out of her shoes. She wanted a few moments of peace and sat on the edge of her bed. Just a little quiet, but voices drifted through the window and up the stairs. Laughter mixed with hushed, respectful tones. She was exhausted but didn’t bother to lie down. She knew sleep would just be an exercise in frustration.
    She rose and moved down the hall to the closed doors of her father’s bedroom. She stood with her hand on the tarnished brass knob for several seconds before she took a deep breath and opened the door. She’d been in here only once since her father’s death. The day she’d had to grab his one and only suit, shirt, and string tie. Her daddy had been a man of few words and fewer personal