by Cathy Lamb
Rozlyn said, “I’ll drink to that. I could do with a warm Russian man named Leonard. Is Leonard Russian? I don’t think so.” We clinked our water glasses.
You never know about people, do you?
Kade was, as everyone always said, a good man.
I felt bad for not being truthful about who I was and the trouble I was in.
I would tell him.
Soon.
I didn’t think he knew, but I wasn’t sure. The Internet looms like a big brother, even though I was living under my real name, not Dina Hamilton or Dina Wild. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something? But if he knew, why would a smart man like Kade hire me without asking me about it? Who would? Tons of people want jobs, and you hire the flippy gal who’s been arrested for fraud and money laundering?
Didn’t make sense.
I would have to assume he didn’t know.
I smashed down the voice in my head that said he would fire me if he knew, even if I told him I was innocent. I had lied to him, and to Tildy, by omission. That’s reason enough to fire someone.
I had been living in my car when I applied, but that didn’t cut it.
I cringed at the thought that he and his company might receive bad publicity from my working here. I don’t think I’m interesting enough for the press to track me down and make an issue of it, but they could.
My insane hope was that the charges against me would be dismissed when Covey pulled his head out of his pissed-off butt and admitted my innocence or if Millie could prove it, despite the five papers I signed. I could stay in Pineridge and continue my new, quiet life under Grenady Scotch Wild and no one would know.
If I went to jail, which was certainly a possibility, then I would obviously have to quit. I’d have to tell Kade. Would there be media attention around him or his business as I headed back into the slammer? Probably not.
I groaned. Did I honestly think that? Or was I rationalizing and minimalizing what would happen because it suited me and my need to be employed? Was I being a selfish fool to think that Hendricks’ and The Spirited Owl wouldn’t get dragged into this? Was I in denial because that’s where I wanted to be?
“Ah, shit,” I muttered into the night sky. What should I do? Quit now? Work only for Tildy? Quit Tildy’s, too? I didn’t think that my being a bartender at Tildy’s would have any impact on her business, but Kade’s, so dependent on an honest and professional reputation?
It could.
I didn’t want to quit. I liked the job. I liked seeing Kade all week long, being near him.
But that was all about me. Me, me, me.
I do not like myself sometimes at all.
26
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 9
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: April 20, 1985
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
Although Grenadine’s third foster care placement since the Berlinskys did not work out as I had hoped due to Mr. and Mrs. LaMears’ divorce, I believe that Grenadine is happy at Mr. Hugh and Mrs. Rose Hutchinson’s home.
Their double-wide trailer is out in the country, which means there are many places for Grenadine to run and play. The Hutchinsons have chickens, a goat, and a horse.
Hugh told me that there was a family rumor that his great-great-great-grandmother was a black woman, like me, so maybe we were related down the “ole bloodlines.” I told him that I think we’re all related, like a big family. Rose and he liked that idea, but we agreed he did not need to call me “sister.”
When I went over Grenadine’s case file with the Hutchinsons, to explain about her past, Hugh and Rose both said, repeatedly,
“Oh, my shoutin’ spittin’ Lord” and “Swing me a cat, that is terrible!” Then Hugh started to cry, and we had to take a long break on the porch while Hugh held the cat and had a beer and got control of himself.
Rose told me privately that Hugh could take down a charging bear with one arm, but he had a “sweet, mother-lovin’ heart” and did not like seeing people hurt.
The Hutchinsons have bought her many new clothes. Grenadine said, “Finally, I get to be cool.”
(I will try to adhere to our department’s new policy of directly quoting the kids.)
She wears overalls and plaid flannel shirts and tie-dye T-shirts. She also wears a red feather in her hair that Mrs. Hutchinson gave her and a red bandana around her forehead.
She wears a raccoon hat. Mr. Hutchinson said it was the first raccoon he shot as a boy, and he was proud of it. Mrs. Hutchinson gave her a pink rabbit foot key chain for “fertility and creativity,” according to Grenadine. I asked Grenadine what fertility meant and she said that it meant you could pop babies out quicker than an upside-down possum.
Grenadine was also given a pair of pink cowboy boots, two snakeskin belts, and silver chains with good-luck charms. She wears a fake tattoo of a scorpion on her upper arm, which Mr. Hutchinson put on her to match his. I told Mr. Hutchinson I didn’t think a young lady should have a scorpion on her arm, and he said he wouldn’t do it again.
Mr. Hutchinson’s nephew, Timmy Hutchinson, brought her a fishing vest. She has filled the pockets with beads, rocks, and a pet lizard named Smock.
I asked about her dietary habits and Grenadine says she is “hungry as a bull on charge” all the time, and the Hutchinsons are keeping her fed—her words.
She did say that she wanted to throw some “dead possums” at the Berlinskys. The Hutchinsons have been taking her to doctor and dental appointments, and to the counselor, but Grenadine said that Hugh told her whenever she was angry at the Berlinskys to think about shooting them and the pain would go away. I reminded Hugh that she is not allowed to shoot guns, and he said no, ma’am, that wouldn’t happen.
As you know, I handpicked this couple, and they truly care about our Grenadine. Although Rose Hutchinson said that she didn’t need no government official like me down her throat or telling her what she should do, she said she would be happy to split some moonshine with me any day.
I am so thrilled about this placement. I brought Grenadine a box of art supplies, and she loved it.
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 10
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: November 22, 1986
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
Grenadine said she and the Hutchinsons have barbeques all the time, go duck hunting, camp in the trailer in the winter, and have target practice. I have told the Hutchinsons that Grenadine may not handle a gun. Hugh Hutchinson agreed and said they won’t allow it again.
Grenadine said that Hugh Hutchinson taught her how to wood carve and how to chew tobacco and spit. I talked to the Hutchinsons about it. They denied the tobacco chewing, but I saw Grenadine spit.
Grenadine said Rose taught her how to wring a chicken’s neck, pluck the feathers off, and make a delicious Dead Chicken Chili and Butt Beer Fried Chicken. I am unclear on what that is, but I have told the Hutchinsons that Grenadine cannot wring a chicken’s neck. They said they won’t allow it again.
Grenadine said Rose also taught her how to defend herself against a man who “got too many hands,” and Hugh taught her how to smash a beer can against her forehead. Rose taught her how to karate chop a piece of wood.
The Hutchinsons have agreed that the beer smashing is excessive and won’t allow it again.
It was Rose’s birthday, so Grenadine dried hundreds of flowers between books and hung bunches upside down from hangers. She dried lavender, hydrangea, roses, ferns, and lilies. She then spread them over a canvas that Rose bought her. Grenadine somehow glued the flowers down, then painted stems, leaves, lilies, and a blue sky. It looked like a meadow when she was done. I don’t know how she did it. It’s remarkable. I could see it
in a museum.
Rose framed it and said their daughter, Grenadine, is an artist.
Grenadine says that the kids at school make fun of her and call her “white trash,” “stupido Grenado,” and “foster kid white trash.” Her grades in reading, spelling, and writing are poor. I called her teacher, and she says that Grenadine is struggling in those areas and is getting special help in school. Her grades, though, in art, music, and PE are all As. And when there are art projects in class, she always gets an A.
Grenadine is laughing and talking, although she did tell me that “the program,” which means Children’s Services Division, “sucks the big one, like a raccoon with rabies,” and she is not part of the program anymore. She says she still feels angry sometimes, but when she does Hugh takes her shooting outside.
She also said that she learned a new lesson from Rose: “Don’t ya ever get too big for your britches or someone’s gonna bust your britches wide open and then they’ll find out you got a butt like everybody else. Nothing special about it.”
Grenadine said that was something to always remember. And she said it’s important that if you feel too small for your britches, you should still keep your chin up anyhow and your shoulders back. That’s what Hugh told her.
Grenadine hugged me when I left, as usual. I gave her five new canvases, all large, as she had asked for, and a sketch pad.
Hugh and Rose love Grenadine. They were unable to have their own child, and they treat Grenadine like their daughter.
Rose Hutchinson told me that my skin was the color of her coffee with cream and she loved coffee and cream mixed together. We had some coffee together and had a right nice chat. Hugh offered whiskey with it, but I declined. He said he had a relative back in the 1800s who was the best moonshiner in Oregon. Ever. “The family’s damn proud of him, right, Grenadine?” She agreed.
Rose said, “My ass isn’t exactly as tight as a whiskey drum, I’m not so young anymore, but I’m plenty young enough to be Grenadine’s momma. She’s my girl.”
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 11
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: July 26, 1987
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
Grenadine looks great. Healthy and strong.
She has learned how to fish with Mr. Hutchinson, and she built a fort with Mrs. Hutchinson using a drill. They recently took her to a family reunion at a lake where she went inner tubing and toasted marshmallows at the campfire.
She sang me the songs she learned. Some of the words were inappropriate. One song was about a woman trucker who was “wild, wild, like shit-ass wild,” and another was about a man who was “lonely for love until I put my hands between my legs and thought about Bonnie Boo.” I explained to Grenadine why those songs are inappropriate and talked to the Hutchinsons about it. They said they won’t allow it again.
The Hutchinsons said that Hugh’s brothers are “red-necked howlers, God-fearing sinners who sin a lot, especially with wine and women,” and taught the kids the songs, one about being stuck in a beer bottle. Now Grenadine says she is “stuck in a beer bottle” whenever she feels like things are confusing or she doesn’t have an answer to something.
She has also learned how to use a BB gun and how to shoot beer cans off a tree stump. She said she had learned it “by shots and by fire.” I have told the Hutchinsons she may not use a BB gun or a real gun. They said they won’t allow it again.
She says she rides bareback, no saddle, and I have told the Hutchinsons that that is not allowed. She needs a saddle. They said they won’t allow it again.
Grenadine put together a collage using newspapers and black paint. The painting is about four feet long and three feet high. The collage is of a .38. The Hutchinsons put it on the wall over the fireplace. Hugh told me it was the best art he’d ever seen and said, “Shit. I love it.” Then he cried and had to hold the cat and have a beer.
It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s spectacular. The gun looks like it could come off the wall and be shot.
Grenadine’s grades are not high, and the Hutchinsons said they try to work with her, but they don’t read or write well—their words, not mine—and the math is too hard. Rose said, “Our Grenadine will be a famous artist. She don’t need all this doggone reading and writing!”
They invited me to a fiddle party they were having on Saturday night. They said since I am black I would have good rhythm and a strong singing voice and I could teach them a thing or two. They said even though I work for the government, which they curse, they don’t think I’m there to spy on them.
They both told me, for the hundredth time, that they love Grenadine more than the whole damn world.
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 12
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: February 1, 1988
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
Grenadine took a picture of Hugh and Rose in their leathers on their motorcycles, no helmets, and had them blow it up. Then she put the photo in the middle of a canvas and glued the love letters that Hugh wrote Rose all around it. She placed dried rose petals here and there, too, like the wind was blowing through.
Grenadine gave it to them for their anniversary. They loved it. They framed it and hung it up.
“Look at my home!” Rose told me. “It’s like a museum! A Grenadine museum. People come over to look at our art! Our daughter is an artist.” Rose thinks that Grenadine gets her artistic talent through her line, not Hugh’s, who she says can hardly hold a pencil. Hugh agreed that he could hardly hold a pencil and that the talent had to come through Rose’s family. He said, though, that Grenadine’s skills with a gun are pure Hutchinson and that all his family members can shoot a fly off a fence post.
I told Hugh that Grenadine is not allowed to shoot guns, and he said he won’t allow it again. He asked me to sing a gospel song for him, so he can “get completely right” with the Lord and said he knew because I was black that I would know some good ones. We did sing a few gospel songs together, and I reminded him again that he does not need to call me “sister.”
I also reassured him that I did not know of any personal plots by the government to get in his business.
Grenadine still aches for her parents, but she is happy with the Hutchinsons. I have grown to like the feathers in her hair, and even the scorpion tattoo, but not the two sets of deer antlers on her wall from their last hunting trips.
27
Eudora and I went to Rozlyn’s sex toy party on Sunday night. There were about twenty women there.
I was familiar with a few things, as Covey liked toys, but not with others.
Rozlyn whispered to me, “I want to be prepared for Leonard. Nothing too out of this world, but fun. I saw him yesterday at the coffee shop, and I said hello and pushed my girls out, like this”—she arched her back—“and he said hello and smiled. He wears glasses. I love his glasses. We talked for a few minutes about the pastries, then I had to leave because I could feel my inner temperature boiling up.” She sighed. “Do you think my night sweats would alarm him? I mean, I do drench the sheets.”
Eudora took a sip of wine and said, “Thank you for not ruining my palette, Rozlyn.” Then she picked up one of the sex toys and said, “If you took this apart, it could be used as a weapon.”
“That’s devious and clever, Eudora,” I said. “Why so violent?”
She shrugged, elegant as always. “I’m not. It’s training.” She coughed.
“Training for what?” I said.
“Training for . . .” She threw a delicate hand in the air. “Self-defense.”
I had never thought of using a sex toy as a weapon and was curious as to why she would think of it.
She said something in French, and I s
aid, “What was that, you sex toy weapons expert?”
“I said, ‘Love, sex, and murder. It can all be intertwined.’ ”
Eudora was right. I had loved Covey. We’d had sex. I would like to murder him. I took the sex toy out of her hand and examined it.
There were a lot of single women at the sex toy party.
The woman who was running the party sold a lot of vibrators.
Kade would be an outstanding vibrator.
He’s your boss, Grenady, I told myself. Don’t think like that.
I picked up a pink vibrator with a bird on it. Ha.
I needed to add pretty to my new home above the horses in the red barn. Without pretty, I am reminded of a few rooms I don’t want to think about.