Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  A girlish giggle rose up as I pictured myself flying straight into D.J.’s arms.

  Earline chose that moment to wrap me in another motherly hug, one that felt quite comfortable. She finally released her hold, and I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes again. “I’m headed next door to check on my boys,” she announced. “Want to come with me?”

  “Do I ever!”

  We followed our flared nostrils to the brisket on the far side of the lawn. Bubba stood to the side of the fire pit, stirring the massive pot of southwestern beans. I gave an admiring whistle, which caught his attention. “This looks great, Bubba. I feel like I’m on the wagon train, waiting for my chuck wagon supper.”

  He smiled his response. “Well, that’s high praise, Bella. Thanks.” His cheeks flushed pink. Actually, they’d been pink all along. It was ninety-five degrees outside, after all. Still, he didn’t look bothered by that fact.

  For the first time, I noticed his apron with words SHADE TREE COOKERS on the front, and the tagline SPLENDIFEROUS BARBECUE FROM SPLENDORA, TEXAS, underneath. I couldn’t help but smile, especially when D.J. appeared at my side. He slipped his arm around my waist, and I melted into his embrace.

  “You’re still speaking to me?” I whispered.

  “Well, of course.” He looked baffled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I started to give him a list of all the reasons he should turn and run all the way back to Splendora, but I stopped myself short. I did somehow manage to squeak out a weak response. “For starters, my bird stole your dad’s hair. And then there’s the part where my uncle raised your mother from the dead.”

  At this, D.J. laughed long and loud, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Well, at least he’s got a sense of humor about it.

  “My dad and that toupee.” D.J. grinned. “We’ve been trying to talk him into going without it for years now, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Likely this’ll do the trick. And as for Laz raising my mother from the dead, well, I should be thanking him. We witnessed a miracle, you know.” D.J. gave me a wink, and my heart melted.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” I whispered, leaning my head against his shoulder.

  “You’re doing just fine.” He pulled me a bit closer and placed a few tender kisses along my hairline.

  Uncle Laz appeared and muttered a teasing “Hey, no PDA, you two,” and D.J. and I each took a small step back. My uncle shifted his attention to the fire underneath the beans, and his pleasant demeanor took a turn for the worse. “It’s not hot enough.” He spoke to Bubba like one would scold a child. “Those beans are going to be half-cooked if we don’t get a better flame going.”

  “No, sir. It’s fine like it is.” Bubba’s response was more Southern gentleman than harried chef. “This ain’t my first rodeo.” He added a playful wink.

  When Laz gave him a curious look, D.J. offered an explanation. “He’s just saying he’s done this dozens of times before, Mr. Rossi. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah.” Bubba nodded. “The coals are nice and white, just like they need to be. And I’ve banked them, so they’re plenty hot.” He pointed at the bottom of the pit to prove his point.

  Laz grunted, then went over to the smoker to check the meat. I looked at Bubba apologetically and shrugged. “He’s used to being the one in charge. Sorry.”

  “No problem. I understand.”

  A plume of smoke rose from the open smoker just as my uncle’s voice rang out again. “I think this brisket is getting dried out. Come and have a look.”

  To his credit, Bubba didn’t respond right away. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, then walked over to the fifty-five-gallon drum smoker. After a quick look inside, he assured Laz everything was moving according to plan. “I’ve kept the temperature at 220 since five this morning. We’re in great shape. The food will be cooked perfectly, I promise.”

  Laz muttered, “Troppi cuochi guastano la cucina,” under his breath. I knew the translation, of course: “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” But I said nothing. Instead, I offered the Splendora team an encouraging smile and thanked them for their hard work. Laz took that as his cue to head back to Parma John’s to help Jenna with the appetizers and side dishes.

  The rest of the afternoon sailed by. I found myself strangely calm as the undeniable presence of God swept over me, removing any lingering anxieties. After giving the facility a thorough once-over, I made sure the linens on every table were spotless and wrinkle free. Then I spent some time fussing over the head table, all the while trying to imagine what it would look like once the bridal party was seated. That done, I set out the chafing dishes and the punch bowl and checked our ice supply.

  At 3:00, I watched with trepidation as Mama and Aunt Rosa carried the wedding cake into the reception hall and pieced the layers together. That done, Rosa touched up a couple of spots with the cream cheese frosting, then pulled out the decorating tips, and the party began. My, but that woman could make a simple cake look like something out of a magazine. Using perfectly white buttercream, she added her own unique reverse shell technique around the edges of each layer, then began to place some intricate scrollwork on the sides of each cake. Maybe one of these days she would teach me her tricks.

  We all laughed when Mama added the cake topper—one Sharlene had specially selected with a cowgirl bride lassoing a cowboy groom. Sometimes a picture really does paint a thousand words. We stood back and examined the whole cake, now complete. I gave a little whistle, and Mama nodded.

  “It’s a little uneven on the back,” Rosa said, walking around the table. “But I don’t think anyone will notice.”

  “Uneven? Rosa, it’s perfect.”

  Why did she always insist on seeing her flaws, not her achievements? What had caused her to be this way? After a moment of thinking about it, I had to conclude we were two peas in a pod. I usually noticed my flaws before my achievements too. Interesting.

  I turned my attention to Patti-Lou, marveling at her handiwork as she put together the centerpieces. My, but those boots looked spiffy filled with gorgeous yellow roses and bluebonnets, all capped off with red, white, and blue bandanas. Yes, the whole thing was coming together—hee-haw style. Before long, the room would be filled with happy guests, wishing the bride and groom many years of marital bliss.

  At 5:00—completely convinced everything was under control—I headed home to change into my cowgirl gear. Afterward, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I could hardly believe the transformation. I’d truly morphed into a real, honest-to-goodness Texan, from the tips of my boots to the top of my head.

  My head. Hmm. I’d forgotten to put on Jenna’s hat. Could I really do it? Would I look like a goober in a hat? Slipping it on my head, I felt like a character in an old Western. Striking a pose in front of the mirror, I pretended to draw a pistol. Pointing my index finger straight ahead, I drawled, “This town ain’t big enough fer the both of us. So yer gonna hafta get on outta town, mister.”

  Of course, my sister chose that very moment to peek her head in the door.

  “Bella?” She looked at me as if she wasn’t quite sure it was me. “Laz and Jenna are here with all of the appetizers, and they’re having trouble with one of the chafing dishes. Jenna needs to talk to you about it. But you might want to stop off at the fire pit first. Laz is giving Bubba a hard time.”

  “About what?” I turned to her, curious.

  “Everything. You know how he is when it comes to cooking.” An overly dramatic sigh escaped her lips.

  “Yeah. But I was hoping he’d be a team player today.”

  “Like that would happen.” Sophia glanced at her watch. “The bride will be here in thirty minutes. We need to get back over there. Don’t want to miss it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Reaching for my purse, I took one final glimpse in the mirror, then said, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I adjusted the hat on my head and sprinted down the stairs.

  Less than three minutes later, I found my
self at the edge of the fire pit, where—true to Sophia’s words—Bubba and Uncle Laz appeared to be having it out. Glancing down at the pot of beans, I couldn’t quite figure out what all of the shouting was about. They looked fine to me. Great, even.

  “I told you those beans weren’t going to be fully cooked,” Laz argued with a look of pure stubbornness written on his face. “But would you listen to me? No!”

  “But sir, they’re fine,” Bubba said. He gave them another stir, and we all hovered over the pot, staring down. “And they’ll go on cooking throughout the wedding, so there’s still plenty of time to get ’em softened up before they’re served at the reception. Trust me.”

  “Trust you, my eye.” Under his breath, Laz muttered—in Italian, of course—something about the fire not being hot enough.

  What happened next will be forever seared in my memory—pun intended. I watched, not quite believing it, as Uncle Laz reached for a container of charcoal starter. To my great horror, he pointed it at the hot coals just as Bubba leaned in to stir the pot of beans.

  I’d just opened my mouth to shout “No!” when a monstrous burst of flame shot up, followed by an immediate cry of pain from Bubba. He jumped back, nearly knocking the pot of beans from its hanging position. Immediately, he bent over at the waist and released a wail unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

  At the sound of his voice, Jenna came running from inside the wedding facility with a punch ladle in hand. She took to screaming at Uncle Laz, whose eyes filled with tears. On and on she went, the ladle flailing as she lectured him on his carelessness.

  Bubba rose, and we caught a clear glimpse of his face, black as coal. I’d never seen such a strange and terrifying sight. He repeated “Oh!” several times over, then prayed aloud, imploring the Almighty for help.

  I needed to do something. Quickly.

  “Are you okay? Should I call for the paramedics?” My breathless words must’ve frightened him speechless, because my splendiferous chef simply shook his head and stared at me like we’d all gone mad. He began to pace back and forth, back and forth, not saying a word.

  Seconds later, D.J. and Armando came running from inside the building.

  “We saw it all from the window,” my brother exclaimed. “Should we call 9-1-1?”

  “No, don’t!” Bubba put his hand up in the air, as if he’d had enough of this nonsense. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just give me a minute. Please.”

  Then the strangest thing happened. He reached up with the back of his hand to wipe the soot from his face, particularly the area around his eyes, which seemed to be bothering him the most. When he brought his hands back down, we all gasped in unison.

  Bubba’s eyebrows were missing.

  19

  Turn the World Around

  There are those moments in every life where you hope—or even pray—you might be dreaming. Moments where everything you think you’ve just seen was not real at all. As I looked back and forth between D.J. and his charred younger brother, I felt sure someone would wake me up, would tell me this was all some horrible nightmare.

  Instead, reality stared me in the face. As I gaped at our eyebrow-less chef with his sooty face and scorched apron, I realized I wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. And I wasn’t sure I’d want to anyway.

  Earline, who’d been happily setting up her keyboard until the accident, appeared at Bubba’s side with a look of horror on her face. She began to cry out as if she’d been the one injured. Then, with a bona fide Mama Bear expression on her face, she turned to Laz, looking as if she might very well put an end to his cooking days forever.

  You could’ve heard a pin drop as she opened her mouth. “You . . . you . . . you . . .” The anger in her voice caused an unfamiliar vibration. I’d never heard this particular sound before. Hoped I never would again. “You are . . .”

  She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and slowly counted to ten. Then her lips began to move in what I took to be a prayer. This went on for a while, so I eventually decided to join her. I closed my eyes and ushered up my request too, that Earline Neeley would not choose this particular moment—just two hours before the Boot-Scootin’ wedding—to shred Uncle Laz to bits. With her words or otherwise.

  Now, I’m a firm believer in prayer, but what happened next astounded even me. Earline’s face softened, bit by mesmerizing bit. The deep creases in her brow and the irrefutable slits of anger between her eyes eventually dissipated. Within seconds, she’d morphed into the kindhearted, charitable Earline Neeley once more. She looked at my uncle, patted him gently on the arm, and very quietly said, “You are one of God’s children who simply made a mistake.”

  Laz, likely overcome with relief, began to weep and to plead with the whole group of us for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he said between sobs. “It was just my lousy, stinking pride. I let it get in the way . . . and look what happened. I could’ve killed him. I could’ve . . .”

  I couldn’t hear the next few words through the wailing.

  Now, Italian men are known to be emotional, no doubt. But I’d never—repeat, never—seen my uncle in such a state. And as he melted down on us, the most unlikely of people moved in to comfort him—Dwayne Sr. and Earline.

  “Don’t fret,” Earline said after shushing him. “I’m sure Bubba’s going to be all right. He’s been through worse than this.” Smiling all the way, she lit into a story about some accident he’d had on his bike as a kid.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Bubba nodded, but I could still see the pain in his eyes.

  “Coulda happened to anyone,” Dwayne Sr. added, slapping Laz on the back. “Why, I’ve got some barbecue stories that’ll singe the hair right off your head.”

  “Save ’em for another day, darlin’,” Earline urged. “We’ve got to figure out what to do with Bubba right now. He’s lookin’ a little overbaked.”

  At these words, the whole group of us turned to stare at him. Through the smears of black soot, I could almost make out his face underneath. Didn’t look too bad. Except for the missing eyebrows and the newly formed blisters, of course.

  Jenna, who had never come close to publicly expressing her feelings for anyone—even David, her almost-fiancé—began to weep uncontrollably at this point. She threw herself into Bubba’s arms, and he wrapped her in a loving embrace.

  Good-bye, David. It’s been nice knowing you.

  “Stay calm, everyone,” my father instructed. “We’ve got to keep our cool.” He turned to look at Bubba, then reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “You’re sure you don’t need medical assistance, son? I’ve got 9-1-1 on speed dial.”

  “I’m sure.” Bubba’s eyes glistened, but no tears erupted. “Simply feels like a bad sunburn. Really, I’m just stunned more than anything. I’m sure I’ll be fine after I get cleaned up a bit.”

  “Well then, let’s get him to the house,” Mama instructed. “I know exactly what to do.”

  She’d just turned to lead him to the Rossi homestead when the sound of sirens began to shriek in the distance. They drew closer, then closer still. I looked around at the group, astounded. “Did someone call the paramedics?”

  When I got a “no” from everyone in attendance, concern set in.

  “Doesn’t sound like an ambulance to me, anyway,” Joey said. “Sounds more like police sirens. Those are patrol cars.”

  “Patrol cars?” I echoed.

  “Yeah. A whole slew of them, from the sound of it.” After analyzing the sound another second or two, he added, “And I’d wager there’s a fire truck in the mix.”

  A lump the size of a golf ball filled my throat as I imagined the what-if scenarios.

  Less than a minute later, the wedding facility was surrounded by police and firemen. They swarmed us like flies on honey. My heart flew into my throat as an officer called out, “Who’s in charge here?”

  I looked around for the nearest bush to hide behind but finally decided to fess up. “I . . . I am.” I gingerl
y raised my hand.

  The fellow’s dark uniform was intimidating enough. So was his six-foot-plus physique. But that stern look on his face really put me in my place.

  “Ma’am, we’ve received a complaint from a neighbor that you’ve got a fire going on the property.” He pointed to the fire pit. “You’re in violation of city ordinance. That fire will have to be extinguished, and I’m going to write you up.”

  “You’re giving me a ticket for . . . a campfire?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wait just a minute, officer.” Uncle Laz stepped up and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I have a letter from the city, giving permission for this fire. We applied for the permit over a week ago.”

  He opened the paper, and the officer read it, then gave a nod. “I see.”

  One of the firemen turned to give Bubba an odd look. “Sir, are you in need of medical care?”

  “No, I, um . . .”

  “Are you sure?” The officer gave each of us a suspicious look.

  “We’ll take good care of him, I promise.” Mama took him by the hand and turned toward our house.

  “Well then, have a nice day.”

  “Keep a close eye on those flames,” one of the firefighters advised. “If the wind picks up, you’ll want to extinguish it right away.”

  The policeman gestured to the other officers, who’d positioned themselves à la S. W. A. T. style, and they all relaxed. I wish I could’ve said the same thing about the Rossis and the Neeleys. From the looks of things, it would be a long while before any of us relaxed again.

  As Galveston’s finest left the premises, Mama led Bubba to our house, with Earline, Rosa, and Jenna following close behind. I started to follow them, but Sophia stopped me. “Bella, leave it to the others. You just go on with things like nothing ever happened.”

  “Like nothing ever happened? Are you kidding? Last night our bird stole Mr. Neeley’s hair, and today our uncle catches Bubba on fire. What’s next? Is Aunt Rosa going to poison the wedding cake and blame it on Earline? Is Armando’s girlfriend’s father going to show up with a shotgun and take us all hostage? Will Pop decide we need some sort of sports tournament in the middle of the reception? Or maybe we’ll just all get arrested for starting a bonfire.”