Losing Brave

CHAPTER 1

August 11, 2017

6:20 a.m.

Payton? Are you all right?

Payton opened her eyes and peered up at her father. The previously dark closet was now slightly illuminated by soft orange sunlight that streamed in through her bedroom’s large, eastern-facing window, and she could once again see the colorful clothes hanging around her head.

Um . . . She lowered her eyes and realized she was crouched down, her toes tightly curled into the carpet. And based on how white—and numb—her feet were, she’d been in that position for some time. Um . . . I’m good.

She stood quickly, and tried to act like she’d only taken a slight detour from her morning routine. The sudden blood rushing through her body made her light-headed, and she felt herself tip into the sweaters overhead. She forced a bright smile to flash across her face as she surveyed the closet, wide-eyed and basking in a sea of options while the latest Top 40s pop station played loudly in the background. What’s a girl to wear?

His eyes narrowed into a confusion-filled squint. You were hiding out in the dark because you weren’t sure what to wear?

Girl problems.

The squint disappeared. Like he usually did whenever she or any other female confounded him, Daddy seemed to accept her answer with a casual but uncomfortable shrug. He then swept his hand toward the bedroom in a formal invitation for her to leave the confines of the dark closet.

Now fully composed, Payton tiptoed out of the closet, walked over to her dresser, picked up her hairbrush, and started to run it through her long hair. Back to her normal routine: fifty strokes. She glanced over at her daddy, noting his hair’s contrast to hers.

She’d always preferred the color of his hair. It reminded her of the fizz that perched atop her faux champagne every New Year’s Eve. It was a happy color, unlike the curse she was left with: a mopey shade of brown that was more day-old coffee than the café macchiato hue her friends called it out of kindness. Each morning, she was tasked with trying to apply enough shine and color to her cheeks and eyelids to detract from the depression that circled her face.

He disappeared deep into the bowels of her closet much like someone entering unknown territory and chopping their way through a dense forest canopy. I don’t know how you can find anything in here. His voice was a little muffled, as if the cotton, cashmere, and denim fabrics took him in and smothered him under their weight.

Daddy? Being from small town Mississippi meant that even if Payton were ninety-seven years old, she’d still refer to him as Daddy. If she or her friends ever called their parents anything other than Mama or Daddy, they’d be accused of rejecting their Southern roots. Daddy? she asked a bit louder. You okay in there?

Another muffled response from the closet. I’m fine. Just lookin’.

Lookin’ for what?

Umm . . . pink. Your mama wants you wearing pink.

You shouldn’t have to search very hard. It’s everywhere. Payton smirked at her reflection, although she could only see slivers of herself between the many photos taped to the perfectly shined surface. Why pink?

It’s happy. He reappeared with a simple pink pouf dress that was sure to make her look twelve years old rather than seventeen. This screams happy.

Payton scrunched up her nose. I think I wore that to one of Mama’s Women’s Club teas back in middle school. It was ugly then and it’s even more grotesque now.

She carefully placed the brush back on the dresser, walked to the closet, swung the door completely open, and walked back into the cramped quarters.

Is that light out again? he asked.

She hung up the atrocity and inspected other options with an intensity she usually reserved for shopping online. It burned out a few days ago, she muttered.

Daddy reached up and slightly twisted the bulb. It immediately resurrected and illuminated the space. Nope. The bulb’s fine. Must be a wonky socket.

Weird.

I’ll make a call. Get someone out here to look at it.

No. Her heart raced and she felt her face flush. She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. Don’t do that. I don’t want anyone in here.

Payton— He stopped himself, and then slowly nodded.

Anyway . . . Her voice trailed off as she collected herself, smiled again, turned toward the pink section of her closet, and pulled out a blush-colored halter dress. It was much more Marilyn Monroe than Shirley Temple; and the only reason she knew who those 1950s starlets were was because Nana made her watch their movies every Sunday afternoon, and had for as long as she could remember.

One time, while the three generations of Sassy women watched The Seven Year Itch, Payton’s mama moaned over the fact that Nana prayed and prayed for a daughter like Shirley Temple, but she got stuck with a Marilyn Monroe.

Payton couldn’t even fathom it. In Payton’s estimation, Laurie Sassy-Brave was the most straight-laced woman this side of the Mason-Dixon Line, and the only thing that proved there was ever a time when that wasn’t the case was the fact that she’d become a single mother five months after her sixteenth birthday.

Her mama’s more outgoing Marilyn Monroe phase was obviously short lived.

Daddy parked himself at the foot of the twin bed that sat under the window. It was piled high with so many clothes that he could hardly find a spot to sit. While one bed was a nightmare in the making, the other bed, which sat on the opposite wall, was neatly made and covered in enough throw pillows to make her daddy see putrid.

Since David Brave wasn’t a fan of the frilly stuff but had no say in the decor in the upper floors of the house, when he had the funeral home portion redecorated a few years before, he’d made a point to request furniture with clean lines—and any time her mama so much as placed a throw pillow on a sofa, it up and disappeared with absolutely no trace of having existed. Although she’d never caught him in the act, Payton believed that he shuffled them out of the house, and they eventually found their way to the incinerator where he performed cremations. The next day, a brand-new pillow would suddenly appear, and the cycle would repeat itself until her parents found a new territory to silently fight over.

Lady Bug’s full of gas and waiting for you, he announced as he scanned the room and scratched his head. Daddy pretty much always looked like he was lost or missing something. Sad truth was, he never seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for.

And Brody got her all shined up for you. He found her all caked in mud. Said maybe you somehow took her four-wheeling or something. He stood quietly, and watched her brush her hair. Did you? he asked in a half-serious tone.

Did I what?

Take Lady Bug four-wheeling?

Course not. That thing can hardly drive over a pothole, so I’m pretty certain it wouldn’t ever survive muddin’ terrain. Payton grabbed her makeup bag and kissed him on the top of the head on the way to the bathroom. Thanks for the gas, and I’ll be sure to thank Brody for cleaning her up. She arrived in front of the bathroom mirror and started to lay her makeup out on the spotless countertop. I saw you bring someone in late last night. Who passed away?

Mrs. Humphrey. She fell off a curb and broke her hip.

Payton cringed. More from seeing her bare, slightly freckled face than the news of the broken hip. She died of a broken hip?

No. She died during the surgery to fix the broken hip. Nothing uncommon for someone her age.

Lilac eye shadow floated across Payton’s eyelid as she quietly digested his words. I suppose the most important piece of information is that she’s no longer with us, and the children of Cornwell can rest assured that they’ll never again get toothpaste in their trick or treat sack.

That woman did have a thing for clean teeth, he muttered.

She smiled, then tilted her head toward the overhead light and carefully applied shadow to the other lid. Most girls would never be able to get away with purple eye shadow, but Payton wasn’t most girls—at least not as far as they were concerned, anyway.

I best go take care of Mrs. Humphrey. I wouldn’t want her to get lonely down there. Daddy stepped into the hallway and walked to the top of the stairs. Come say bye before you head off.

Yes, sir.

Moments after Payton finished putting on her face, Mama’s voice rumbled up the stairs. Payton Brave, breakfast is ready! Her mama’s announcement pierced the eardrums, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. For over a decade, the broadcast had rolled through the house at the same time every morning. In years past, if it went ignored, she would stomp up the stairs, walk to the doorway, and announce it in person, but her mama hadn’t walked upstairs, let alone stepped into Payton’s room, in a year, so the shrill voice now would echo through the halls of the Brave home over and over again until Payton made her appearance downstairs.

Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right down. Payton slipped on a pair of sandals, grabbed her bag, and raced down the steps as she coated her lips in a slick, clear gloss.

Payton only had a few minutes a day with her mama before she left for work, and would miss her altogether if she wasn’t downstairs promptly at seven. In fact, if Payton wasn’t downstairs at seven ten to see Mama off, she got a passive-aggressive text message promptly at seven thirty.

I’m sorry that you weren’t able to see me before I left. Or, I’m sorry you missed me. Perhaps you can make time this evening?

Of course, that wasn’t a request, it was a not-so-subtle demand of Payton’s time, and if she failed her twice in one day, may God have mercy on her pitiful soul.

Payton entered the vast kitchen, where an ungodly amount of wicker baskets hung from wooden beams on the ceiling. Like the throw pillows, they were one of her mama’s decorating obsessions and Daddy’s nuisances, and he was convinced that the rough basket surfaces did nothing more than collect the pollen and dust that caused his allergies to wreak havoc every spring.

It’s about time you got down here, Mama huffed. I was just fixin’ to leave. I have a full patient load today—seems like everyone’s gettin’ pregnant lately.

Mus’ be in the water, Nana said, her voice as breezy as the air that drafted through the open kitchen windows. Being an old-school Southern Belle, Nana wouldn’t allow the air conditioner to run until the heat of the day. She’d always made her family spend the morning with the windows open so they could feel the breeze on their skin and take in the relaxing visual of the draperies blowing in the wind.

The family accommodated her wishes, which meant that in the hottest months of the summer they walked around in a perpetual state of stickiness due to the sweat that accumulated on their skin.

This morning was no different. Payton threw her purse onto the counter, and walked straight to the bay window that faced the back patio and looked out over the cemetery. She stood with her legs slightly parted and lifted her dress above her knees so the breeze could cool her already overheated body.

I’m beyond ready for fall. This heat and humidity can’t be comfortable for anyone. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Brody’s head was stuck in the refrigerator as he scrounged around for food, and Nana sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of grits in front of her and sipping on a cup of coffee. The china she held gently between her fingers and supported in her hand had been passed down for two generations, and nobody but Nana ever touched it.

Brody emerged from the refrigerator with a hand full of cheddar cheese cubes.

Don’t feed Pugsley, Mama ordered. I caught him with a half-empty bag of beef jerky this morning.

Brody covertly dropped a cube of cheddar onto the floor, then shoved several into his mouth. A’ight.

His sodium levels are probably through the roof. If Mama hadn’t been wearing her white physician’s coat, she’d look more like Payton’s sister than her mother. Not a line on her face, and with her milk-chocolate hair styled into a high, effortless ponytail, she could’ve just as easily been on her way to cheer practice instead of her newly opened OB-GYN office. Payton. Act like a lady, please.

Payton let the hem of her dress drop back to below her knees and immediately felt flushed.

What brings you here this mornin’, Brody? Mama asked.

I’ve got some big news. A guy I met last night. Maybe wants to go into business with me on that club I was telling you ’bout.

Oh yeah? Payton asked, walking to the kitchen island.

Yep. I wanna get your daddy’s opinion.

He’s gonna tell you to wait until the shop’s doing better. You know that, Mama said. Best prepare yourself so you don’t get your feelings hurt.

But I’ve got an investor. It’s gonna work now. Just wait. You’ll see. He walked to the toaster, pulled out two newly browned pieces of bread, and started to butter them. Big things ahead.

Brody Wynn was practically Payton’s big brother. Ever since his dad died suddenly when he was a senior in high school—leaving him with no other family, and forcing him to drop out and run the family body shop—Daddy had taken him in as one of his own. Brody was one of the biggest talkers and dreamers she knew, but he never followed through with anything, so Payton felt instant sympathy for her daddy, who was about to have to hear another one of Brody’s grand plans . . . and she was thrilled she wouldn’t be around to hear it.

Is David already downstairs workin’? he asked.

Yes. He’s with Mrs. Humphrey.

Really? What did her in?

Payton caught his eye. Broken hip.

Let’s have a little compassion, shall we? Mama suggested while briefly eying Payton’s dress. Interesting choice of color. Her voice was a little chilled, and the r disappeared at the end of the sentence. Her mama’s coastal Southern accent was stronger than most. Possibly even forced, since she couldn’t claim to be a Southern Belle if she didn’t actually sound like one.

What do you mean? I chose it because you wanted me to.

Me? Her mother briefly shot Payton a raised eyebrow before going back to doing a million other things, including avoiding a run-in with Brody as he simultaneously moved through the kitchen and grabbed any food item not already taken. Payton wasn’t sure he’d even gone grocery shopping in the last two years. For the most part, he showed up at the Braves’ for almost every meal, and when he didn’t stay to eat, he raided the fridge and pantry and made off with whatever he could fit in his arms.

Payton scrutinized the pink dress, which now felt more like a garbage sack, and then eyed the bologna sandwich her mother was smothering in mustard. Perhaps a little lighter on the condiments, please?

She was actually more of a Miracle Whip girl, but due to the calorie count, her mama only let her have it on weekends.

Mama stopped herself, then took the opposite edge of the knife and scraped some of the yellow substance off the bread. I’m preoccupied.

With what?

I’ve got a sixteen-year-old girl having some complications. She’s on edge, and I’m worried that the stress is gonna throw her into early labor.

Stress can do crazy things to a person. Not that we’d know anything about that. That last part was muttered under Payton’s breath as she grabbed a bag of Cheetos from the chip drawer and simultaneously kept an eye on her sandwich in case her preoccupied mama decided to add more mustard, or forgot to salt the slice of tomato. To Payton’s relief, she didn’t, and finally slapped a piece of bread on top and wrapped it in wax paper like it was a Christmas present.

You sure you wanna choose those? Mama asked while rinsing the knife, and the veiled order was so slick, it resembled the satin lining in one of the showroom caskets.

Payton held the chip sack against the now rancid pink dress, and cringed. I suppose not. She tossed the Cheetos to Brody and then gripped a bag of Baked Lays, tossing it on the counter like an attorney throwing down evidence in hopes her client would be exonerated. Were you talkin’ about Misty McNeese?

The pregnant girl? Her mama dropped the knife into the dishwasher, kicked the door shut, and turned her focus to cleaning the spotless kitchen counter with some Ajax. Do you talk to her much?

Not really. Payton grabbed some fruit snacks and threw them in the paper sack with the chips before her mother could make another snide comment, such as A moment on the lips is forever on the hips. Misty and I never ran in the same circles. She was more Dylan’s friend.

The maneuvering between Payton and her mama was like a well-choreographed dance. They moved in unison while simultaneously talking without actually communicating.

By the way, you missed your dentist appointment last week. I rescheduled for next Tuesday at three.

I promise that my teeth are fine. I brush and floss every day.

You’ve missed your teeth cleaning twice now.

I keep forgetting.

You’re supposed to get ’em done every six months.

Payton walked to the hallway and pressed on the intercom situated at the top of the basement steps. Daddy, please tell Mama to leave me be about the dentist.

A few moments later, her daddy’s response crackled back. Laurie, leave her be about the dentist. He sounded distant, which made Payton suspect Daddy’s assistant, Maggie, was the one who’d gotten up and pressed the return button so Daddy could keep working.

Her teeth are gonna rot out of her head, Mama asserted.

They will not rot, but Mrs. Humphrey will if you two don’t let me finish this embalming.

Life and death. The reality of Mama and Daddy’s occupations often amused Payton—one helped bring life into the world, the other helped to usher it out, or at least made it look prettier after it went.

Payton plopped onto the stool that sat at the top of the basement steps, but kept her finger firmly planted on the intercom button so her father could hear the continuing conversation. I brush and floss twice a day. What more do you want?

I want you to go to the dentist every six months like normal people do.

She heard Daddy’s footsteps approach the intercom. Normal people don’t go to the dentist every six months, Laurie. Obsessive people do.

Quit taking her side!

The two-story argument left some tension hovering in the floorboards below Payton’s feet. More tension than being caught eating a bag of crunchy Cheetos, then chasing it with a Moon Pie and downing it with sweet tea ever could.

Put it on your calendar.

Mama, I—

Now. Please.

Payton pulled out her phone, entered the appointment, and held the phone in front of her mother’s face. Feel better?

Yes.

Payton laid her phone on the counter, grabbed another bag of fruit snacks, and shoved them in her brown paper lunch sack while her mama kicked her routine into overdrive. Okay, I best be goin’. She collected her briefcase and medical bag. As she turned back around, she did a once-over of the pink dress, pursed her lips, and then tore off down the hallway. Add a little color to your cheeks, she hollered as she passed through the front door.

Payton picked up a perfectly polished silver serving spoon out of the drawer and tried to look at her reflection to check her foundation to blush ratio. Looks fine to me. She dropped the spoon back in the drawer and slammed it shut with her hip.

Nana stood from the table, straightened her floral cotton dress, and grabbed her pocketbook. All right. I’m off to the bus station.

Payton and Brody shared a quick glance.

Nana slowly strolled over, kissed Payton on the cheek and Brody on the forehead, then moseyed down the hallway and out the front door without another word. Pugsley waddled not far behind.

Payton rushed over, cranked on the air-conditioner, and then grabbed her lunch sack and purse, raced back to the basement steps, and pushed the button again. Daddy, Brody’s here. Says he has some news for ya.

Great news! Brody mumbled with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth as he started closing windows.

I’ll be up in a minute, Brody. Make yourself at home.

He always does. She and Brody rolled their eyes at each other before Brody closed the last window and took another large bite out of his buttered toast.

All right, bye, Daddy. See ya when I get home.

Have a great day, sweet girl.

She removed her finger from the button, quickly ran her hands over her dress to smooth out any wrinkles, and turned to Brody with a large smile. Best of luck with Daddy.

Thanks.

What about my blush situation? she asked.

Looks fine to me.

I’ll take it. She walked outside and onto the patio, where Nana now sat in all of her splendor. A regal woman, Nana was always impeccably dressed, and at the moment had her hands on her pocketbook and bright red lipstick applied in mass quantity as she waited on the porch for a bus that would never come.

Payton kissed her grandmother on the cheek and gently primped her over-teased silver hair. Have a great mornin’, Nana. Are you going to be okay out here?

I’ll be jus’ fine, Payton. Jus’ fine. It’s a little humid out. Hope it don’t mess my hair.

No, ma’am. Your hair looks beautiful, just like it always does.

Well, I’ll be. You’re a sweet little bug, ain’t ya? Nana elongated every word as it left her mouth. A true Moonlight Magnolia drawl that could lure anyone into a trance.

I try. Payton gave Pugsley a quick pat on the head, and then skipped down the steps. I’m fixin’ to head off to school. Do you need anything before I go?

No, sugar. Leave me be. I’m jus’ waitin’ on the bus.

All right then, I’ll be back later. Payton walked out into the yard.

Payton!

Brody hopped down the steps. You were so worried ’bout your makeup, you forgot your phone.

She expelled a sigh of relief and clutched her hands to her chest. Thanks, Brody. You’re a life saver.

He shrugged, then wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve like a first grader before tossing her the phone. Sometimes I think you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck.

Sometimes, I think you’re right. But Daddy’s worse. She made her way to her bright red vintage Volkswagen convertible bug. And thanks for cleaning Lady Bug. I’m not sure how she got so dirty.

He laughed. You don’t remember driving through about a foot of mud?

Not really. She tossed her book bag inside, then turned her attention to her cell phone.

Arguments with your mama first thing in the morning means no time for a stop at the coffee shop. Tragedy. she tweeted.

Payton took one more look toward the patio. Bye, Brody. Bye, Nana!

Soar, Payton Belle Brave! Nana shouted. Soar!

And soar she did. Right through Cornwell, Mississippi, a town she’d lived in her entire life. It was situated not far from the river and directly on the bayou—not to mention a hop, skip, and a jump from New Orleans. Cornwell, where the moss hanging from the trees was as heavy as the Southern accents. And, Payton thought, the need for the townspeople to be considered among Southern elite. The town was small enough to be quaint and large enough to matter, but if a person moved there hoping they’d blend in and go unnoticed, they moved out within a matter of months. She knew firsthand that anonymity was an impossibility. Everyone was in your business, and your business depended on it.

Like the Brave Family Funeral Home, stores were all family owned and operated, and had been for generations. While Payton and her friends dreamt of having a Starbucks, there was no way the town council would ever let something so common and trendy situate itself on Main Street.

With a sigh and another coffee-craving pang, Payton pulled Lady Bug into the Cornwell High parking lot, where students arrived for the day. Some walked slowly, clearly dreading the reality of school starting in a matter of minutes. Others seemed to almost tremble with excitement as they made their way directly into the school building.

She waved to passing classmates as she threaded Lady Bug through the rows of vehicles, straight up to the first parking spot. A sign perched in front read Senior Class President. It was a title she’d won with hardly any effort. Perhaps because she never admitted that she only wanted the position for the primo parking spot.

Once the car came to a stop, Payton checked her makeup one last time in the rearview mirror, added a bit more blush and lip gloss, put a big smile on her face, and then climbed out. Grabbing her book bag in one hand and lacing the car keys between her fingers in the other, she slunk past Lady Bug and strolled into Cornwell High.

Payton hadn’t made it ten steps inside the building before her best