Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith Page A

for a critical assessment before finding the disconnect button. “I don’t know why that child doesn’t answer. She might as well not have a cell phone.”
    Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Augusta rarely even turned hers on, considering it beneath her to be at the beck and call of everybody no matter where she was.
    Elizabeth glanced to the clock on the wall. Three-fifteen on a sunny Sunday December afternoon in Athens. Patricia could be anywhere.
    Then she jumped when the phone in her hand rang. The screen showed her daughter’s number. “Hello?”
    “Mama?” Patricia’s tone was the one she’d had when she was little and afraid, waking Elizabeth’s maternal emotions. “What’s wrong? Please tell me Daddy’s okay.”
    “Oh, sweetheart,” Elizabeth told her. “I’m so sorry, but your daddy’s had a stroke. He’s in surgery at Piedmont, but he’s in the very best of hands. There was a small tumor at the front of his brain—”
    Patricia lost it. “Oh, God! A stroke?” she sobbed out. “That’s what killed Granddaddy! Daddy can’t die. He can’t. He’s the only one besides Gamma who really loves me!” The last hit Elizabeth hard, square in the sternum. “He can’t die, Mama. He can’t. Don’t let him.”
    Shaken, Elizabeth managed, “Sweetie, do you have a friend who can drive you down here?” Patricia was reckless under the best of circumstances. “I don’t think you should drive right now, but I do think you need to come.”
    “Cathy!” Patricia shrieked away from the receiver. “Get your car! I need you to take me to Atlanta. My daddy’s dying!”
    For once, she wasn’t exaggerating.
    Her voice came back on the line. “I’m coming. Where? You said where?”
    “Piedmont Hospital, at Peachtree and Collier. We’re in the intensive care waiting room. But don’t speed. There’s time,”
    Elizabeth said, unaware how prophetic that would turn out to be. “The doctor said the surgery could take hours and hours. Be safe, honey. Don’t let anything bad happen to you.”
    “If Daddy dies,” her daughter wailed, “I might as well die, too.”
    Elizabeth didn’t even try to address that. “Just be safe, honey. I love you. We’ll be waiting.”
    She ended the call, then turned to her waiting mother-in-law.“He can’t die,” she whispered, echoing Patricia’s desperation, the tears overtaking her at last. “He can’t.” Grief for all they’d lost and all that never had been overtook her, and she broke down.
    Augusta peered at her with consternation. “You love him?” Clearly, the idea didn’t compute. “Even after all these years? Even after . . . everything?”
    So she knew about the hookers.
    “God help me,” Elizabeth managed through her tears, shocked by the truth of it. “I do.” But how could she? She’d laid that all to rest so long ago.
    Augusta rose and took the seat beside her. Awkward, she patted at her shoulder. “There, there. We mustn’t make a spectacle. Howell wouldn’t want us to. Dignity. We have to be strong for the children.”
    All the frustration of the past few hours suddenly found a focus, and Elizabeth turned on her mother-in-law. “Like you were for Howe when his father died? Do you have any idea how your coldness about that hurt him? Well, it did.” Anger replaced the sorrow that had gripped her. “He hated you for that. He told me so.” Augusta flinched, but Elizabeth took no satisfaction from it. “I hope my children do see me cry for their father. At least they’ll know I cared what happened to him.”
    Her mother-in-law stood. “I refuse to listen to such hateful talk. Call me when you learn anything, and send Patricia to me. I’ll be in the other waiting room.” She left without a backward glance.
    Even when attacked, she just gave orders.
    Numb, Elizabeth sat back to wait, alone.
    Two hours later, Patricia arrived. By then, Elizabeth had calmed down enough to comfort her daughter, then send her to her