Divas and Dead Rebels by Virginia Brown Page A

a flour sifter and began sifting flour into a stoneware bowl. I saw the red food coloring sitting near the bowl and knew that she was making one of her specialties.
    “Red Velvet Cake?” I asked, and Mama nodded.
    “Is this for Emerald? I mean, Thanksgiving is still three weeks away, isn’t it?”
    “This is for our church social,” said Mama over her shoulder. “I’m baking a Lane cake for Emerald.”
    “A Lane cake!” I drew in a breath of ecstasy. Maybe my sister coming home for a few days would have unexpected perks. It had been a long time since I’d seen her, even if she was going to show up with kids in tow. Most of my family knows I avoid children in any groups larger than one. Emerald’s children were, the last time I spent longer than five minutes with them, beautiful to look at but hard on anyone who still had their hearing. And their sanity.
    Emerald seems not to notice when her offspring bounce on couches, walk across coffee tables, or pee in her potted plants. I suspected my sister of being a bit “potted” herself a time or two. She just smiles serenely and goes on with whatever she’s doing at the moment, whether it be peeling a child off the ceiling or escorting a terrified guest to the front door. That last would be me.
    “You do realize Emerald’s children are much older than the last time you saw them,” Mama pointed out while I was still reminiscing about the little darlings.
    “Oh. Yes, I guess they are. So . . . the oldest ones are somewhere around the ages of Bitty’s boys, I suppose? And that would make the youngest . . . ten? There are a couple more in there somewhere. Good lord. She’s too old to have kids that young. What was she thinking?”
    “Change of life babies,” Mama said as she sifted in baking powder and salt. “It’s a miracle they got here in perfect shape. But I suppose medicine has come so far now that the risks aren’t as great for mother and baby.”
    “Twins at forty-two,” I thought out loud, and shook my head as I realized just how lucky I’ve been in my life. “I’d have left them at the hospital.”
    “Oh, Trinket, the things you say. You know you’d have done no such thing,” Mama said, and I wondered just how it was my mother could be so blind to who I really am, especially lately.
    I decided to let her drift pleasantly along in her fantasy world and went upstairs to my bedroom to change clothes and unpack my overnight bag. Daddy must have taken it from the hallway and brought it upstairs for me, since I couldn’t recall having done so myself. I was pretty sure I hadn’t, but then, strange things have been happening to and around me so much lately, I wouldn’t place a bet on even a sure thing. My mind plays terrible tricks on me.
    I sat down on the edge of my bed after unpacking my overnight bag and thought about not only my twin sister, but Bitty and her new habit of carting around corpses. That was not a situation that would mesh well with my sister’s visit. Emerald had never been that adventurous, and as a child had been a terrible tattletale. My brothers and I could never resist tormenting her, so of course, we always stayed in trouble.
    Not that Emerald was an innocent victim all the time. Oh no. She was just sneaky. She put itching powder in my brothers’ underwear and socks. She substituted liquid food coloring for one of my spray perfumes, so that I looked like a Smurf right before my date came to the door to get me. She used my best fingernail polish on the barn dog’s toenails.
    All that aside, if Emerald got even a whiff of what Bitty and I had encountered in Clayton’s dorm room, it would be all over town. She’s worse than Cady Lee Forsythe, who has the biggest mouth of all the Divas. Not the loudest, just the biggest. I’d better let Bitty know she was coming home for a visit.
    “You’re not calling to cancel, are you?” asked Bitty when she answered my call. I had finally given in and gotten a cell phone, and