The bestselling tale-powerful, compassionate, humorous-of the three Lovejoy sisters reunited in their hometown of Mulberry, Georgia, on the occasion of their mother’s death. As the emotionally scarred Lovejoys prepare for their mother’s funeral, the spirit of the selfish and manipulative Mudear hovers above them, complaining about her daughters’ “ugly ways” in death as she did in life. Tina McElroy Ansa is the author of Baby of the Family, The Hand I Fan With, and You Know Better. A frequent contributor to the Los Angeles Times, Newsday, and Atlanta Journal-Constitution, she can be seen on the CBS News Sunday Morning segment "Postcards from Georgia." She lives with her husband on St. Simons Island, Georgia. Ugly Ways A Novel By Tina McElroy Ansa Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company Copyright © 1993 Tina McElroy Ansa All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-15-600077-2 CHAPTER 1 "Come get me." When Betty picked up the receiver of the cream-colored wall phone, the voice on the other end was already speaking. It sounded as if it came from the grave. "Come get me. Come ... get ... me. Come ... get ... me," the voice kept repeating slowly, deliberately, as if each word carried some specific meaning. Betty turned her head away from the phone and massaged her temples. "Damn," she said to her sister Emily, who was sitting at the rec room bar looking at herself in the mirror through rows of glasses and leafing through a stack of her father's science fiction magazines. Emily fiddled with her thick black shiny bangs awhile and finally pulled them back behind her ears with the rest of her hair, blow-dried straight and even nearly down to her shoulders. "We ain't even had Mudear's funeral yet and the Lovejoy family's already falling apart. It's Annie Ruth." Emily bit her lower lip and shook her head slowly. Betty took a deep breath. "Annie Ruth," she said serenely into the receiver. "Annie Ruth, where are you?" "Come ... get ... me" was the only response. "Sugar, you have to tell me where you are for me to come get you. Now, calm down and stop acting so silly. Tell me where you are. Are you here in town? Are you here in Mulberry?" There was a long pause. Betty could just imagine her baby sister dramatically brushing her soft thin hair back out of her face with the flat of her free hand, then sighing deeply. Betty could hear her labored breathing over the phone. "Uh-huh, I'm home," Annie Ruth finally said. "Okay, you're home. Now, where are you at home? You're not out on the street, are you? What's all that noise? Just be quiet for a minute and let me listen. ... "Is that some kind of a PA system? You can't be at the train station, can you? No, not this soon. The airport?" "Yes," Annie Ruth said. "The airport?" "Yes." Betty sighed. "We're on our way. Stay by the phones. You hear me? Stay right there by the phones." Emily didn't say a word. She just picked up her sister's car keys, tossed Betty's purse to her, and, grabbing her red-fringed cowboy jacket and Betty's beige light cashmere shawl, headed out the door toward the newly painted double carport. Betty stopped long enough at the small table by the front door to scribble a note to their father on a yellow Post-It — "Poppa, we've gone to get Annie Ruth" — and stick it on the mirror over the table before following her sister's rounded red-fringed figure to her own big silver Town Car with the black fabric roof. Her butt looked like two ripe apples. "I'll drive your car," Emily said as she slipped behind the steering wheel into the thick black velour contour seat and threw the coats in the back. Even though it was a chilly fall day, Betty rolled down the window as soon as she got in the car. Her sister pulled out of the driveway and headed down the narrow suburban street past modern brick houses that all looked the same. Only their parents' house stood out from the other cookie-cutter ranch-style and split-level brick and wooden houses that each had the carport on either the left or the right. Even from the end of the street where Emily made the turn under an ornate black wrought-iron sign stretched between two mortar columns that said SHERWOOD FOREST, Betty could see the big screened porch attached to the back of her parents' house and the grove of trees and lush vegetation growing in the front and back yards. Next to the manicured lawns and thin rows of shrubbery surrounding the other houses, her parents' home looked as if it had been picked up from a tropical plantation and dropped in place in a different zone. Opening the car window was the one concession Betty made to her sister about smoking cigarettes. Even though Emily smoked enough marijuana to keep a small country's economy going, Betty knew Emily couldn't stand the smell of cigarette smoke getting in her hair and clothes. The brisk wind blowing in Betty's face and tousling her short permed hair felt good. Emily watched her out of the corner of her eye as Betty smoothed her hair back into pla