by Vicky Jones
“Yes. Please. Thank you, Mrs. Clark.”
“It’s no less than what Shona would do for you.”
After begrudgingly letting Lucy help her into the truck, Dorothy drove back down the highway into town. The air inside the truck was thick with silence as the truck rumbled along the road, until after ten long minutes Lucy finally plucked up the courage to speak. “Mrs. Clark, may I ask you please if, well, is…”
“Spit it out, girl,” Dorothy chastised
“Well, is Shona OK? She seemed pretty upset before and I’m not sure why. I seem to be putting my foot in it a lot lately. I don’t mean to. We’ve become real close since I came here and, well, I don’t mean to pry but…”
“Shona is fine. I’m looking after her,” Dorothy interjected. “And she don’t want people asking questions about her all the time, OK?”
“OK,” Lucy whispered back.
Chapter 18
George walked into the almost-dark living room, lit only by the desk lamp on the bureau, to see Gloria seated there surrounded by the same letters and envelopes he’d seen before.
“What are you doing?” he asked after a minute or two of silently watching her.
“Oh my… George. I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you were out late tonight?” She scrabbled to collect the letters and slip them back into their envelopes before George could reach her side.
“Client cancelled. I thought you said they were old bills?” he asked. Gloria looked back at him. “Let me see that.” George reached out to take the letter Gloria was still holding and began reading it. His expression hardened as he reached the bottom of the page.
“Please don’t tell him, honey, it’ll break his heart,” Gloria whispered.
George looked down at his girlfriend.
“He needs to be told, Gloria. You’ve got to tell Junior the truth.”
“You heard anythin’ more from him yet? There was another bus in last week but…”
Chuck sat down next to Frank, who was pushing an empty shot glass around the bar top.
“No. But he’ll come. Mom and Uncle Harry don't know shit. And when he does, I want this place shipshape. People in town have been complainin’ that the paint’s lookin’ shabby and the door needs the dents taken out of it.” He turned to Chuck. “You still got that paint you used to do up ol’ man Marley’s place last summer?”
“Um… yeah, but it wasn’t great stuff. Needed three coats in the end, it was so thin.”
“Don’t matter. Bring it over tomorrow, will ya? I got a job for ya. Even you can’t mess this up.”
Just as Chuck was about to protest, a loud shriek echoed out over the noise from the jukebox. Before he’d even registered what he was doing, Chuck strode over to a table occupied by three truckers, one of whom was pawing at Lucy as she was finishing her dance.
“Hey, get your hands off her. No touchin’, you know the rules.” Chuck wrapped his huge hand around the rowdy trucker’s shirt collar, lifted him out of his seat and threw him on the floor.
“Chuck, it’s OK. I can handle it,” Lucy protested, smoothing her dress down.
“He ain’t allowed to touch, Lucy. He’s got damn nerve puttin’ his hands on you.” He pointed at Lucy’s skirt, his face sweaty.
The trucker picked himself off the sticky floor, brushed himself down and fronted up to Chuck. “You think you’ve got a chance with her, you son’bitch? As if she’d look twice at a guy who fell outta the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”
Chuck’s head twitched as he bristled in rage at the cheering from the men seated around the trucker’s table.
Frank stormed over and looked at the trucker. “What the hell is goin’ on over here, Barney?”
“I was just about to take my business upstairs with your girl here, Frank. Then this meathead turned up and started throwin’ his weight around.”
“He was gettin’ too familiar with Lucy, boss,” Chuck replied through gritted teeth.
“Well, that ain’t for you to decide now, is it? I pay the wages around here. Lucy, take this gentleman upstairs.” Frank nodded at her and leaned into Barney. “Anythin’ you want, OK?”
Barney smirked as he passed Chuck, looking up into his scarlet face. With his teeth grinding a hole in his jaw, Chuck watched as Lucy took Barney by the hand and led him away.
“Now you listen to me. Lucy is my girlfriend, you got that? I can’t have you in here losin’ me business. OK?” Frank warned. “So you just go up there and do your job. And let me know where Lucy puts the money afterwards, you got that? Too much of my money is going missin’ lately. Unless you know anythin’ about that, huh?” Frank watched his friend’s reactions carefully.
Chuck’s attention snapped back as he processed the question Frank was asking. He was speechless for a moment before he responded. “’Course not. Why would I take money off her?” He looked at Frank in disbelief.
“Look, I know I don’t pay you much, and I’m sure you needed it for somethin’ real bad, but that’s no reason to steal off your best buddy. You understand?” Frank raised himself up to his full height to squeeze his hand just a little bit too firmly around the back of Chuck’s thick neck.
“I didn't take any money,” he repeated.
“Just promise me you won’t do it again?” Frank whispered in his ear, not believing one word.
Chuck ripped his body away from Frank’s grasp. “I didn’t take her money, goddamn it! I wouldn’t do that to Lucy.”
“OK, settle down.” Frank held his palms up in front of him.
In a rage that Frank had only seen a handful of times in the years he’d known him, Chuck stormed towards the exit, throwing the door wide open. A small table full of empty glasses behind it crashed to the floor, causing all of the patrons in the bar to look up from their drinks. Frank swept his arms out wide and tried to defuse the tension.
“You can all go back to your drinks, everythin’s fine,” he said, raising his glass to the onlooking crowd who slowly but surely went back to their conversations.
“Hey Chuck, what you doing out here all by yourself?” Lucy asked as she edged towards him sitting on a bench outside the diner a few hours later.
“Nothin’. Just thinkin’,” he replied, his hands clamped together between his knees. Rocking back and forth, he lifted his sad eyes. “Miss Lucy, you don’t really think I’d steal your money, do you? I'd hate it if you thought badly of me in that way.”
“What? No, of course not,” Lucy lied. It made no sense to tell him the truth of how she felt right now, not with him in such a state. She looked down at his hands and gasped. “What you gone and done there, huh?”
Chuck thrust his pudgy hands in his jeans pockets and looked away. Lucy grabbed his wrists and pulled them out. His hands were covered in scrapes and blotches, the skin on his white knuckles worn away in places. She took a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and began to wrap it around the more wounded-looking hand.
“There. All better now,” she murmured.
“Thank you. I’m sorry about before. Just can’t stand the thought of guys thinkin’ they can put their dirty mitts all over you. I saw that Barney guy leavin’ your place before, smirkin’ and high fivin’ his pals. You’re too good for that, Lucy.” Chuck’s anger was beginning to brim again, his heavy boots clumping on the ground. Sensing this, Lucy put a soft hand on his forearm to try to ease him.
“Listen, I’m a big girl. Frank don’t make me do anything I don’t wanna do, OK? That guy ain’t worth you worrying.”
Chuck smiled at her words of comfort as he fiddled with the delicate lace at the corners of her makeshift bandage on his hand. Lucy stood up to leave and flashed her perfect smile at him.
“But, for what it’s worth? I’m real glad I got you looking out for me. And you know what? You got my full permission to sock it to anyone trying it on with me who shouldn’t be, right?”
“You got it, Miss Lucy,” Chuck replied, blushing.
His timid
smile evaporated, however, the second she walked out of sight. He stared down at the dark red flecks speckling his right boot, remembering the noise Barney’s head had made when it crunched underneath it. Removing the lace from his damaged hand, he picked at a scab, not entirely sure if it was formed of his own blood or Barney’s.
Chapter 19
It was Friday, April 5th, the day of the election, and the whole town had congregated in the town square by the church. All around the sidewalks were hot dog carts and lemonade stands, with children squealing to their mothers that they wanted an ice-cold drink to quench their thirst in the cloying spring humidity. All of the noise and excitement, though, just added to the slowly building atmosphere.
The five candidates, including the favorite, Max Whitfield, and Dennis Compton, stood side by side waving at their supporters in the crowd as the emcee held his hands out to quiet everyone down. Whitfield was in his mid-forties, tall, square-jawed, with light sandy brown hair and keen blue eyes. Dressed in his finest three-piece navy suit adorned with his impressive array of war medals, he straightened his tie and leaned on his silver-topped cane as he looked to the side and nodded politely to Compton, who returned the gesture. Compton, much smaller and older than Whitfield, and more plainly dressed in a well-tailored gray flannel suit and fedora, clasped his thin hands together and focused his gray eyes on the emcee as they all waited to hear the announcement. Standing in the crowd, Shona and Dorothy moved closer to the makeshift stage area as the crowd hushed to hear the result.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to announce that the new Mayor of Riverside is…”
There was a long, drawn-out pause for effect from the emcee, until he read aloud the name of the winner just as the crowd was becoming restless.
“Max Whitfield!” he roared, turning to slap him on the back.
Whitfield raised his cane aloft in triumph and then shook the hands of the other candidates as they consoled each other with back slaps and offers to buy each other a drink. Compton declined the handshake from Whitfield, choosing to storm off the stage instead.
“Well, that’s a relief… for Frank,” Marcie whispered to Harry as they watched on from a distance.
“For all of us,” he murmured back. “Hopefully Whitfield will wanna clean up that eyesore over there properly.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bar. It had received the third coat of paint in as many weeks, but the cheapness of the emulsion Chuck had used was obvious from the amount of peeling already happening around the window frames.
Marcie elbowed Harry who turned back towards the stage. “Shh… I think our new mayor is about to speak.”
Whitfield waited for the cheers to subside before beginning his victory speech. “Thank you, thank you all. It is my honor to be chosen as your new mayor. I will work hard every day of my life to make businesses thrive. It’s no secret I come from a long line of successful businessmen and I wanna assure you fine fellows that I fully intend to put this town on the map. I’ll have investors from Louisiana to Alabama coming here with their money, you see if I don’t.” His rousing words had everyone cheering every time he paused.
Shona’s blood froze. People from out of town? she thought. She looked at Dorothy, who gave her a reassuring nod.
“It’ll be alright. Don’t worry, you’re safe here with me. It’ll be fine,” Dorothy whispered sideways to her, staring straight ahead as the new mayor finished off his speech and began shaking hands with all those who approached him, including Frank and Lucy.
“Can we go home now? I don’t feel so good,” Shona whispered back, looking around her as she felt a swirl in her stomach.
“Alright,” Dorothy replied, without questioning her reasons.
Shona passed Dorothy a glass of sweet tea and sat down on the porch swing next to her.
“It ain’t been the same between me and you since… Since I told you how I got the scars,” Shona said, staring at the side of the old lady’s head. After a minute or two of silence, Shona took a deep breath. “Maybe I should move on, away from here.”
Dorothy lifted the glass to her parched lips and took a long drink. “I just needed time to come to terms with it myself. What happened to you… Well, that wasn’t easy to hear. Especially on top of what you told me in Gulfport about… Well, you know.” Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
“I know,” Shona replied, picking at a splinter on the armrest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the full story sooner, but I just didn’t know how to. I’ve trusted people before, and it’s not worked out so good for me. And I really like it here. You’re as close as I got to family these days and I just didn’t wanna ruin things I guess.”
Another few moments of silence passed between them.
“Shona, you’ve lived with me over a year now and I’ve enjoyed every day of having you here. But I need to know something. After all the horrors that you’ve told me about from your past…” Dorothy hesitated, then turned to face Shona. “Can you guarantee me that what happened in Louisiana is all over now? That you are absolutely sure nobody’s gonna turn up on my doorstep here looking for you? I don’t want no trouble in this house, y’hear?”
Shona looked at her and shook her head. “That’s the last thing I’d ever wan’ do. But no. I can’t guarantee someone won’t show up here one day looking for me. I’m sorry.”
Dorothy clamped her eyes shut.
Lying on her bed and staring up at the postcards she’d collected and pinned to the wall, including the one of the beautiful beach house, Shona wondered what to do for the best now. Dorothy hadn’t actually told her to go but Shona couldn’t assure her that they would be safe in the long term. Sitting upright, Shona came to the decision that Dorothy deserved better than to live in fear. She picked up her satchel, packed her possessions and took one last look around her bedroom before closing the door tight.
As she was halfway down the stairs, she heard a crash and then a dull thud.
“Oh no,” Shona whispered to herself as she flew down the rest of the stairs and flung open the front door. “Shit, no. Not like this.”
At the bottom of the three steps leading up to the door, Dorothy’s crumpled body lay motionless. Beside her were broken pieces of her glass and one of the black chickens that had escaped from its run.
“Dorothy. Wake up. Please… no. I can’t lose someone like this again. No!” Shona kneeled down and scooped up the frail old lady in her arms, desperately trying to rouse her. Flattening her palm to Dorothy’s chest, Shona closed her eyes and prayed. After what felt like the longest seven seconds of her life, she felt a heartbeat and saw Dorothy’s eyes flutter.
“Come on, wake up. Please,” Shona begged as she rocked her.
“Wha… what happened?” Dorothy murmured.
“Chicken got out. You musta tripped over it,” Shona replied, lifting Dorothy up.
“Huh? Oh, right, I remember. Felt my damn leg give way.” She rubbed her knee, then attempted to get up, leaning heavily on Shona.
“I’ll get you up to bed, then I’ll call the doctor. No arguments,” Shona ordered.
Chapter 20
Lucy placed a plateful of Frank’s favorite dinner in front of him that Tuesday evening. It was her last day of college tomorrow before spring break, and she had a question to ask him.
“Must be important if I get fried chicken,” he replied, digging in. Seeing her serious face, he put his wing down and stopped chewing. “What is it?”
“Well, you know it’s my last day of college tomorrow? I was thinking I could maybe go visit my aunt for a few days.” She paused. “Stay for the week, maybe? It’s been ages since I last saw her and…” She leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Why now all of a sudden? She’s been on her own on that farm in Tennessee for as long as you’ve known her. She sick or somethin’?” Frank picked his wing back up and took another messy bite.
“No, not that I know of. I just need a break from everything, you know. I’m s
ure Trish would be happy to have the extra shifts, what with me outta the picture for a few days.” She bit her lip and slid into the chair opposite him. “And I was thinking, the allowance Daddy gives me to cover the holidays could help us out while I’m not here working,” she added.
“I guess.” Frank mulled it over, then beamed at her. “Well, alright then honey, you go, but you just promise me one thing,” he grabbed her hand across the kitchen table and squeezed it just a fraction too firmly.
“Yeah?” she replied, twitching.
“You don’t go without leavin’ me the recipe for this chicken.”
“Deal,” Lucy replied, freeing herself as politely as she could muster from his loosening grip as she got up to leave. Reaching the doorway, she looked over her shoulder to see Frank devouring another piece of chicken.
It was a full two weeks after the day of Dorothy’s fall when Harry next saw the blue truck drive into his parking lot that Monday morning.
“Hi Shona. How’s the old girl doing? Turning cartwheels again yet?” he yelled over to Shona as she pulled up a few yards away from him.
Jumping out of the truck, Shona grinned as she caught the oily rag Harry had thrown at her full in the face. “Yeah, she’s doing OK. Doc said she was lucky. It coulda been much worse.” Shona’s smile faded as she let that thought cross her mind. “Thank you for letting me take some time off to tend to her.”
“That’s OK, I know how hard it is to manage when you’re a leg down,” he grinned, tapping his own affliction.
“How’s things been around here?”
“Better. Giving you guys Friday afternoons off was one of the best decisions I ever made. Done wonders for morale. And it’s made me a goddamn hero around here.” He threw his arms wide in the direction of a group of workers who took their caps off to salute him.