Behind The Mask. Metsy Hingle
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Knowing there was little point in arguing with Gertie Boudreaux, Lily sat down at the small kitchen table where she’d sat, for the first time, two and a half months ago and poured out her troubles to her grandmother’s friend. To this day, Lily hadn’t figured out how old Gertie was because she had the same white hair and plump figure now that she’d had all those years ago when she’d lived next door to Lily and her grandmother in Alabama. And just as she had done when Lily had first shown up on her doorstep with Timmy in late November, scared and desperate after narrowly escaping Adam’s men, Gertie had set about calming her with food. Gertie served up two cups of coffee, placed a plate with steaming biscuits in the center of the table. A dish with real butter, not margarine, followed. She plopped a plate, napkin and utensils in front of Lily.
“I still can’t believe I let Timmy catch chicken pox.”
“And what makes you think you had anything to do with it one way or the other?” Gertie asked as she took the seat next to her. She picked up the dish and peeled back the cloth to reveal the hot flaky biscuits and held them out to Lily. When Lily selected only one, Gertie added a second one to her plate, then served herself.
“The doctor said Timmy probably came into contact with someone, maybe one of the children at the playground.”
“Or he might have picked it up from someone in the grocery or at that hamburger place he likes to go to,” Gertie informed her. “He’s a child, Lily. Children get chicken pox. Nothing you do or don’t do is going to stop that.”
“But did you see his eyes? How pitiful he looked?”
“Looked like he was laying it on pretty thick so you’d agree to bring him a surprise, if you ask me,” Gertie replied. “The little scamp’s got you wrapped around his little finger, Lily, and he knows it.”
“I wasn’t the only one who promised him a surprise.”
She dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “Us honorary grandmothers are allowed to spoil grandchildren.”
Lily leaned over and kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for loving him.”
“Hard not to. That boy of yours is a charmer. Mark my words, he’s going to steal a lot of hearts.”
He’d certainly stolen hers. From the moment she’d known she was carrying him, she had loved Timmy. If only Adam had been able to get beyond his obsession with her to love his son. And just as she’d done so often during the past seven years, she questioned her own blindness to what Adam was. Lily thought of her grandmother, remembered how she’d told her the reason her mother didn’t live with them was because of the choices she’d made. Her mother had wanted to be famous, see her picture in fashion magazines, go to fancy parties, her grandmother had explained. Having a baby girl didn’t fit in with the lifestyle she’d craved. So when she’d been three months old, she’d left her with her grandmother and had never come back. It had been her mother’s choice.
And while she might not have felt she’d had a choice about marrying Adam since he had supported her following her mother’s death, she could never regret having done so. Because had she not married Adam, she wouldn’t have Timmy. No matter what had happened or would happen, she would never regret her son.
“Child, you going to butter that biscuit and eat it or just admire it?”
“Sorry,” Lily said, and smoothed butter onto the warm golden bread. Her eyes strayed toward the bedroom and she thought of her son asleep in the next room, how warm he had been.
“Lily, you need to stop worrying about him. He’s going to be fine.”
“I know. It’s just…he’s so little to have chicken pox already.”
“No littler than you were when you got them,” Gertie told her.
“I had chicken pox?”
“Sure did. Only yours were a lot worse than Timmy’s. Your poor grandmother, God rest her soul, worried something fierce you were going to have scars on that pretty face of yours. But you didn’t. Not a single one. And your skin’s still just as pretty now as it was when you were a baby.”
“I don’t remember,” Lily admitted.
“And Timmy probably isn’t going to remember getting them, either. Now eat,” she instructed.
Lily ate—more to appease Gertie than because of hunger. But fifteen minutes later, both biscuits were gone. So was the coffee. And she was feeling a great deal better—until she saw the time. Lily groaned. “Nancy Lee’s going to kill me. I’ve missed the breakfast crowd, and by the time I get there, the lunch rush will be starting. Let me help you clear these dishes and—”
“I’ll handle the dishes,” Gertie insisted, and took the plate and cup from her.
“All right. But only if you let me pick up something for your dinner.”
“You don’t need to be wasting your hard-earned money on me,” Gertie told her.
“Gertie…”
“We’ll see,” the older woman said, which was her way of saying no without using the word. “Now go check on that boy of yours like you’re itching to do and then get yourself out of here.”
Lily hurried from the kitchen to the bedroom where Timmy was sleeping. Her heart swelled with love as she looked at him. He was the one thing she’d done right in her life, Lily told herself. And to keep him safe, to protect him, she would fight a thousand Adams.
Gertie came up behind her, touched her shoulder. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered. “You go on and stop worrying about him.”
After adjusting the blanket around him, she pressed a kiss to the top of his head and exited the room. “Okay, I’m going,” Lily told her as she glanced around the kitchen for her keys and sunglasses. She spied her keys, but no sunglasses, and decided she must have left them in the car.
Gertie handed Lily her purse. “Thanks,” she said, and kissed the older woman’s cheek, hugged her close. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“You’d do just fine, child. Now, where’s your coat? Did you leave it in the car?”
“I didn’t wear one. It’s nice outside. I think the winter’s finally over and spring’s arrived a little early.”
“Not according to the groundhog. He saw his shadow a couple of weeks ago, which means we’ve got ourselves another six weeks of winter. Bob Breck says a front’s coming through with some rain and that we’re going to have a light frost tonight. You’d better stop by your place on your way to work and pick up your coat and Timmy’s.”
“I thought New Orleans was known for its warm weather,” Lily grumbled.
“It is. But not in February. In February you’re liable to have the air conditioner on in the morning and the heater on by evening. Of course, come July, you’ll be wishing for the cool weather again.”
As Lily waved goodbye and slid behind the wheel of her car, she wondered if she and Timmy would still be around in July to wish for the cool weather. She’d already stayed in New Orleans longer than she had planned—and she’d involved Gertie far more than she should have. But she’d been so tired and scared when she’d arrived, just being with someone who knew who she was, feeling the freedom to at least use the nickname her grandmother had called her and not another alias had made her feel more sane. Gertie had been a godsend, a link to her grandmother and a time when her life had been simple. The time before she’d become a burden to her mother and then Adam Webster’s possession. As much as she hated the idea of leaving Gertie and uprooting Timmy again, she doubted that Adam had stopped looking for her.
Unless he had other things to worry about—things like the police discovering Adam had been involved in the murder of federal agent. She thought about the disk she’d found in Adam’s safe, taking