The Improper Life of Bezillia Grove by Susan Gregg Gilmore Read Free Book Online

moment, as though she was rethinking her decision. Then she sat back in her chair and released a slow, steady breath, the smoke forming loose rings as it filtered through the air. “Be sure and keep an eye on Maizelle too.”
    I nodded my head as if I understood her concern.
    “Well, go on and get dressed. It’ll be noon before you know it. And just because it’s summer doesn’t mean you can walk around here looking like an orphan child. This is not your grandparents’ house. Put on those Bermuda shorts I bought you in Atlanta.” She waved her hand in my face again, this time motioning for me to leave.
    I ran up the stairs, skipping every other one, eager to tell Adelaide of our new summer plans. My little sister jumped up and down when I told her she would be staying at Grove Hill, and then she ran to wake Baby Stella and share the news with her. I told them both that if she didn’t mind me, Mother was going to ship Adelaide off to some camp in North Carolina where baby dolls were not allowed. My sister threw her arms around my waist and promised to be a very good girl. She said Baby Stella would be good too.
    I couldn’t stop smiling, knowing that it was me, Bezellia Louise Grove, who had been the one to rescue my mother. Not even Mrs. Hunt could help her dear friend this time. And giving up one carefree summer at the lake would all be worth it, because maybe, come September, my mother would love me a little bit more.

chapter three
    M other left shortly after breakfast almost every morning, not even taking the time to linger in bed and drink her coffee. She was gone until dinner, sometimes not coming home then, choosing instead to stay at the club and eat with her friends. Some afternoons Mother and Mrs. Hunt arrived at Grove Hill, and the two of them sat on the porch, nibbling chicken salad sandwiches and sipping gin and tonics, all the while talking about the ball, devoting much of their conversation to the design of their gowns and the final invitation list.
    Mrs. Holder would be invited. Her husband was a prominent attorney in town. He took her to Paris for their tenth wedding anniversary. Mrs. Warren would not. She was fake and inconsiderate. She bought her clothes at Castner Knott but told everyone they came from Neiman Marcus, shipped all the way from Dallas.
    Father stayed home a little longer in the mornings. Most days we’d sit on the front steps together, waiting for Nathaniel’s truck to pull in the drive. I’d lean against my father’s stiffly starched shirts and fill my head with the musky aftershave he had sprinkled all over his face. He said he needed to check Nathaniel’s work, but I think he was just enjoying the opportunity to visit with his old friend. The two of them would stand by the barn and point toward its roofline every now and again, but mostly they just talked about horses and fishing and long afternoons spent down by the creek when they were young.
    As for me, I spent most of my time tending to my little sister, just as I’d promised my mother I’d do. I helped her bathe and dress her babies and set up tea parties on an old, worn quilt under the oak tree in the front yard. Maizelle wouldn’t let Adelaide put tea or lemonade or even water in her little plastic teapot unless we went outside to play. She said she was not cleaning up any more of Adelaide’s messes in the house. That was my job now. But when Adelaide was napping in the afternoons, I would sprawl across the chaise lounge on the porch and read the collection of Nancy Drew mysteries that Uncle Thad had given me for my fourteenth birthday. He had written a short message inside the first book.
Dear Bezellia, hoping you solve life’s mysteries. Happy Birthday, Uncle Thad
    I must have looked kind of puzzled when I read his inscription, because he patted me on the back and told me not to worry. He said I’d figure it out someday because I was a smart, plucky girl just like Nancy Drew. I loved that he thought I was plucky