Family Fruitcake Frenzy

by Margaret Lashley

  “Did you get my crullers?”

  Dale held up the box like a proud champion. “Got you the last two, darlin’.”

  Mom beamed. “Thanky. Oh, and Dale?”

  “Yes’m?”

  “Our Val here wants to meet Mary Ann.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I WAS SHOCKED TO DISCOVER how well my mother dealt with playing second fiddle to another woman. But I was even more shocked that Dale was still alive to tell the tale. He set the box of donuts on the breakfast table as I poured us all a round of coffee. Mom acted as if she couldn’t care a flip about Dale’s infidelity.

  “I seen that feller with the funny nose drive by on my way home from IGA,” Dale said as I handed him his cup.

  “That’s odd,” I said. “Is Tammy staying around here somewhere?”

  “Not as I know of,” Dale said.

  I looked over at Mom, but she simply smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. I guess the new, nicer Lucille Jolly Short was going to take some getting used to on my part.

  “Should we wait for Tom?” Dale asked.

  “Nope,” Mom answered with a mouthful of cruller. “Let him sleep. He’s our guest.”

  Dale reached across the table and grabbed the bottle of castor oil. “Oh, Dale, that’s not the sugar,” I said, thinking he couldn’t see it clearly.

  “I know. I been taking me a shot of castor oil now and again for years.”

  “What?” Mom said. A piece of cruller fell out of her mouth onto the table.

  “It’s good for you,” Dale said. “That’s what my mammy always told me.”

  Mom snatched the bottle from him. “Maybe so, but this castor oil’s different.”

  Dale squinted at Mom through his thick lenses. “Lucille –”

  “Morning, everybody!” Tom said. He strolled into the kitchen looking way too clean and shiny for his surroundings.

  “Grab a cup of coffee,” I said cheerfully, hoping to break the ice between him and me. “Dale got donuts.”

  Tom poured himself a cup and sat down. “Any glazed left?”

  Dale passed Tom the box. He picked out a fat donut. As he bit into it, Mom timed her words for maximum choking effect.

  “Eat up,” she said. “Then Dale’s gonna take you and Val to meet Mary Ann.”

  “YOU MIGHT WANT TO PUT on something nice,” Mom told me as I rummaged through my suitcase. “Mary Ann is a particularly fussy one.”

  “I don’t understand, Mom. How can you –”

  “Y’all ready?” Dale asked.

  Tom and I looked at each other, then shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Follow me, then,” he said, and ambled out the door.

  “You want me to drive?” Tom asked after him.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Tom, Mom and I followed Dale out into the yard. To my surprise, Dale went around to the side yard, as he’d done the night before when I’d tried to follow him. He walked up to the old garden shed and fiddled with a padlock as Tom and I exchanged semi-horrified stares.

  “We keep Mary Ann locked up in here,” Dale said, then flung the door open.

  Mom, who was right behind me, started cackling like a laying hen. In the back of the shed, adjacent to a rusty old deep freezer, stood Mary Ann. She had a plastic milk jug for a head, topped with one of Mom’s old wigs. Two pink, plastic funnels duct-taped to her drum-shaped body formed conical boobs. Two sets of copper tubes sprouted out on either side of her 30-gallon metal basin like spindly arms. Mary Ann was a moonshine still.

  “Dale’s been trying to recreate Justas’ moonshine recipe for years,” Mom said. “But somehow, it ain’t never quite right.”

  “Y’all want a swaller?” Dale asked.

  Tom turned to me, worried, and whispered, “I heard bad hooch can make you go blind.”

  “Yeah, but this must be okay because –” It suddenly dawned on me that perhaps Dale’s afflicted eyesight had something to do with his penchant for moonshine. He squinted at me through his thick lenses.

  “Try a sip, Val.” He held up an old, cracked cup full of clear liquid. “This here’s my latest batch.”

  “No thanks, Dale,” I said.

  He offered up the cup to Tom. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  “More for me, then,” Dale said, and drank down the whole cupful.

  MOM HUNG UP THE PHONE. “Your sister’s coming to help decorate the tree.”

  My heart leapt up my throat. “I thought she wasn’t in town,” I fumbled. “She hasn’t come by or anything.”

  “Well, she was out shopping all day yesterday in Dothan, with your ex, Ricky.” Mom looked me square in my eye. “She’s worried you might be mad about the whole Ricky thang, you know.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it. And it’s all right, Mom. Ricky and I were no good together. Maybe they will be.”

  Mom smiled. “Well, good for you, thinkin’ about it like that, Valiant. Don’t do no good to think otherwise, no-how.” Mom sighed and dusted her hands off, as if finishing the topic. “Now maybe we can have us a good Christmas, huh?”

  “Sure.”

  “But first, Val, we need to finish up our fruitcakes for the contest tomorrow.”

  “Okay. But I’m curious, Mom. Why me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you pass on your secret recipe to me...instead of Annie?”

  Mom laughed. “Are you kidding? That girl couldn’t cook a Pop Tart in a room full of toasters. No one would ever believe she could make a winning fruitcake on her own. But you, Valliant...well, to folks around here, yore some kind a international fancy person.”

  “I thought that was a bad thing.”

  “What? No! It means folks afear you, that’s true. But more out of respect. Cause they know you can do anything you set yore mind to.”

  “Oh.”

  Mom winked. “Now, where’d Dale put that dang bottle of castor oil?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE DIRT ON THE LIVING room rug dug into my knees as I knelt and pulled the tape off a dilapidated cardboard box labeled, “Kids X-mas.” The sound of Mom’s voice in the hallway caused me to freeze. She must have ambushed Tom as he came out of his bedroom. He’d gone in there to call to check up on the guys back in St. Pete.

  “Lieutenant Foreman, just what are your intentions with my daughter?” Mom asked in a voice that implied he was up to no good. I knew that voice all too well.

  Tom cleared his throat. “My intentions?”

  “You gonna make an honest woman of her or not?”

  “Oh. Err..I don’t have to, ma’am. Val’s one of the most honest people I know.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Mrs. Short, what happens between Val and me is not entirely up to me, you know.”

  “That may be true, son. But a girl can’t ask a boy to marry her.”

  My face flushed with embarrassment. Still, I craned my neck closer toward the voices.

  “What? Marry? Um...well, why not?” Tom choked.

  “Take my word for it, Tom. If a girl asks a boy to marry her, she’ll spend the rest of her days wondering if that’s what you really wanted, or if she trapped you into it.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it’s true. I learned it the hard way.”

  “Wait a minute...did you ask Dale to marry you, Mrs. Short?”

  “What? No! I make a lot a mistakes, sonny, but not many of the same ones twiced.”

  “So, you asked Justas?”

  Mom was silent for a moment. “Well, it was more like our hand was forced.”

  “Oh. Annie?”

  “Yep. But don’t you breathe a word of it to either of my girls, you hear?”

  “Yes ma’am. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Good. Now, do the right thing by my Val. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  A throbbing lump in my throat threatened to strangle me alive. As Tom w
alked into the living room, I turned and crouched over the box, pretending to study its contents, but all I could see was a pinkish-grey blur. Tom tapped me on the shoulder. A static charge sent sparks flying between us. But given our current spat, I didn’t know if the electricity between us stemmed from romance or anger. I slowly turned to look up at Tom. His face was as red as a sun-ripened tomato.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick, his eyes trying to read mine.

  “Decorations...tree...for trimming,” I fumbled. My mind scrambled for something to say to erase the massive awkwardness. “Did you get in touch with the guys?”

  Relief registered on Tom’s face. “Yes. With Jorge. He said he’d been trying to call me all day about the Christmas lights they did for the mayor and you guys.”

  “Oh. Cell reception can be sketchy around here,” I offered.

  Tom stared at me with far-away eyes.

  “Is everything all right, Tom?”

  Tom focused back on me. “Oh. Yes. I mean, no. It turns out, the guys got another job on your street. But when they plugged all four houses in last night, it blew out a transformer.”

  “Oh, crap!”

  “Yeah. Electricity’s out in the whole neighborhood. And to top it off, the mayor can’t find his dog. He was using one of those invisible, electric fences.”

  “Oh my word! What did you say to Jorge?”

  Tom bit his lip and looked at me wistfully. “I told him it would probably be a good idea to skip town for a while.”

  And with that, Tom walked out the front door.

  MY HEART SANK. I DIDN’T know how much Tom knew I knew, and how much he didn’t know I knew. I wanted to chase after him, tell him.... Tell him what, Val? I blew out a frustrated breath. You don’t have time for this nonsense! I scolded myself. You’ve got to prepare yourself for the even bigger faceoff about to go down.

  My sister Annie was scheduled to arrive at any moment.

  I needed to muster my best game face and most gracious attitude, and now. I looked down into the box labeled “Kids Xmas.” What I found inside didn’t fortify my position. Instead, it sent those pesky hot tears raining down my cheeks again.

  Wrapped up like little treasures in faded yellow paper towels were every silly, shabby, and poorly constructed little ornament Annie and I had ever made at grade school and Sunday school class. Tatty, cotton-ball snowmen stared back at me with maniacal faces of embroidery thread and beads. Cracked and faded eggshell baubles still bore our childish scribbles of stars and bows. Twisted red-and-white pipe cleaners, once in the shape of candy canes, were now mal-formed and moth-ridden. But the crowning glory was a tragic baby Jesus made of walnut shells and elbow macaroni.

  I sighed and wiped tears of sad and silly memories from my eyes with an old paper towel. Just when I’d needed all the emotional strength I could gather, I’d been reduced to rubble by globs of glitter and faded construction paper. I thought about heading to the kitchen for a dose of castor oil. But as I stood up, a familiar voice sounded behind me.

  “Those were the days, weren’t they?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  MY BIG SISTER ANNIE towered over me just as she had when we were kids. I was on my knees in grubby sweatpants and a t-shirt. She, on the other hand, was wearing fashionable jeans, a cute Christmas sweater, and an unreadable smile.

  Annie was a hairdresser by profession. Over the years, I’d seen her in every hairstyle that ever came down the fashion pipe, from short, blonde pixie to long, black extensions halfway down her back. But no matter what trend she’d chosen to follow, one thing had always remained the same – Annie’s unintentional secret power over me. One look at Annie’s immaculate hair, perfect makeup and trendy clothes was all it took to make me instantly feel like a frump-a-dump.

  “Hi-ya, Sis,” Annie said. She tilted her pretty, cinnamon-haired head and eyed me tentatively. “What ‘cha doin’ down there?”

  “Hi, Annie,” I said as I hoisted myself to standing.

  We stood face-to-face in silence for a moment, taking each other in, testing the temperature of each other’s temperament. We both knew this could go either way.

  I tried to make my eyes smile along with my mouth. “Is Ricky with you?” I choked out. The words were meant as an ice breaker, but judging by Annie’s reaction, they hit her like a ton of bricks.

  “No,” she winced. “I wanted to talk to you first. I want to explain....”

  My worried brow melted with relief. There was a pretty good chance this wasn’t going to end in a catfight. “Annie, you don’t have to explain. What I mean, is, I’m okay with it.”

  Annie’s face registered redneck astonishment. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. If Ricky is the guy who makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. Honest.”

  Annie grabbed me and hugged me tight. “Thank you, Val! I didn’t do this to hurt you, you know.”

  “I know,” I said, and hugged her back.

  “He’s a good guy, Val,” Annie said, and released me from her arms.

  I nodded. “He and I were idiots back then.”

  “We all were,” Annie said, then laughed. Her forehead wrinkled. “So, you’re sure it’s all good?”

  “Yeah. It’s all good. But I have a confession of my own.”

  Annie braced for impact. “What?”

  “Mom gave me her secret fruitcake recipe.”

  Annie laughed. “Oh, Val. Don’t you know Mom by now? She walloped me with that whopper two days ago.”

  I shook my head. “I should have known.”

  Annie giggled, then mimicked Mom’s voice; “Annie, you know it was for your own good. Nobody’d believe you could brew a decent pot of tea, much less make my famous fruitcake.”

  I smiled and suddenly felt fifty pounds lighter. “So, I guess that means we both ended up with a sort-of-sweet nut-loaf, huh?”

  Annie laughed. “Yeah. I’d say that pretty much sums it up.”

  “WHERE’S MOM AND THE Hostage?” Annie asked as we decorated the tree together.

  I unwrapped a tiny, felt elf that was missing an ear. “Tom took them out to visit Aunt May again. I think Mom’s sabotage plans got interrupted when we were out there yesterday.”

  “Figures. Speaking of Tom, how are things going between you two?”

  “Well, we had a little bit of a tiff last night.”

  “What about?”

  I hung the hearing-disabled elf on the tree. Annie picked up a reindeer missing an antler and his back left leg.

  “I dunno. It’s Tom. He never gets mad about anything.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  I blew out a frustrated breath. “You would think, Annie. But somehow, it makes me mad – that he doesn’t get mad, I mean. Does that make me a jerk?”

  “No,” Annie answered, then grinned. “Apparently, it makes you mad.”

  Annie tossed the hobbled reindeer at me. It ricocheted off the side of my head, hit the outhouse figurine on the coffee table and knocked it over. For a moment, Annie and I were transported back in time forty years.

  “Takes one to know one!” I screeched with laughter and flung the macaroni Jesus at her.

  “Na-na-na-na-na!” Annie giggled. She dodged baby Jesus and flopped onto the couch. “I’m so glad you’re okay with me and Ricky, Val. All this tension...it gave me a headache.”

  “Mom’s out of aspirin,” I said.

  “How do you know?”

  I smirked. “I’ve been here two days. I used it all up.”

  Annie chuckled. “What say we run up to IGA for more, then.”

  I turned my nose up. “I hate grocery shopping.”

  “Why?”

  “I hate having to pick something. There’s too many choices.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Sis.”

  “Yes it does.”

  “How?”

  “If I choose something, Annie, it means I can’t have the other ones. I don’t like narrowing down my
options.”

  Annie’s perfect eyebrows arched. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She grinned and shook her head. “Nothing. Listen. Come with me. It’ll be fun. I need to get some polish remover, anyway.”

  “Do you mind driving? It’s either that or the golf cart.”

  “The golf cart sounds like fun,” Annie said, then patted her perfect coif. “If I hadn’t just fixed my hair, I’d go for it.” Annie shot me a sideways smirk. “But lucky for us, we have options. We can take my beautiful Ford Fiesta.”

  WE CLIMBED INTO ANNIE’S old Ford and were at IGA in three minutes flat. I’d forgotten she drove like a bat out of hell. As we pulled into the parking lot, I relaxed my death grip on the door handle. Annie looked over at a red truck. “Huh. Uncle Jake’s here.” She turned her head and stared at a grey, late-model Lincoln. “And Tabitha Barfield, too. How convenient.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Annie’s pretty face clouded over with suspicion. “You’ll see. Let’s go.”

  I followed Annie into the IGA. Once inside, she walked in weird, hitched steps. Her brown eyes darted around the grocery store as we cautiously sidled our way down the cosmetics aisle. When we passed the baby wipes and rubbing alcohol, I took a double glance at an empty slot on the shelf. IGA was sold out of castor oil. When I looked back at Annie, she had a bottle in her hand. Her back was to me, and she was peeking around the corner of the aisle where the meat, eggs and dairy cases were. I tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped three inches.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Annie waved the bottle in my face. “Buying nail polish remover,” Annie whispered. “Shhh!”

  “Why the sneaking around?”

  “Look.” She pointed down toward the buttermilk. “See that woman over there talking to Uncle Jake?”

  A slight-built woman in her late sixties was chatting up Uncle Jake. Her face looked like an old potato, but her auburn hair, cut in a long, layered shag, looked fabulous. “Uh huh.”