Sinners Football 02- Wish for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  “My cell is somewhere down in that mess,” Norma Jean replied as she shifted off Joe’s arm and trudged towards the horse trailer.

  “Well, we’re smack in the middle of Three Brothers Plantation. The closest house is my Uncle Wylie’s about two miles that direction. Anyone have danger signs or traffic flares we can set up? Then, we can all ride the tractor over to my uncle’s place and call the cops and a couple of tow trucks.”

  “I gots some.” The old man hobbled on arthritic legs to the idling tractor and began unpacking reflective danger triangles to set along the road.

  “Sweet Sue is fine, just shaken up. I’m glad I kept the bumpers on her legs. Help me get the trailer detached and out of the road, Joe.” Norma Jean knelt near the rear of her motor home examining the twisted hitch. A low groan came from the same area.

  “That your mare? Maybe she has internal injuries. Let’s get her out before we try to move the trailer. We can walk her to that little bridge over the culvert and tie her up in the shade out of harm’s way. We’ll check her out.”

  “Good idea, but that noise wasn’t Sweet Sue. Would you look at the hole that trailer punched into my plumbing? I guess I’ll have to go to a motel tonight. Can you recommend a good one?”

  “Jo-o-o-e!”

  One mention of a motel and the voice of his conscience came back loud and clear. “Did you hear someone calling, Norma Jean?”

  She peered into the gap in her motor home. “Joe, I think we have a stowaway aboard the Cactus Blossom. Looks like your wife down there lying in my shower. Did you have to go that bad, honey? Are you hurt?”

  Nell groaned. Joe looked down at his wife’s frightened face deep in her dark hiding place. “I think I’m in labor, but I wish I were dead.”

  “Say that again, Nellwyn Abbott Billodeaux and I’ll really be pissed. What the hell…”

  “Spying. I was spying on you and the rodeo queen.”

  “Have I given you any reason to…”

  “Look, handsome, the girl says she’s in labor. I think you should put off the marital spat and go find a doctor,” Norma Jean advised. “I’ll just take it as a compliment she was that jealous of little ole me.”

  “Joe, I’m hurting really badly. I feel pressure down there. I can’t get up. A big piece of metal is pinning my chest. I think a baby is coming out.”

  “Y’all riding wit’ me?” The old man had returned from setting up the triangles down the road from the trailer and the wreck. “You gots a pregnant woman down in dat hole? Christ Jesus.”

  “Can you unhitch the cane wagon and go to my uncle’s for help? We need an ambulance first, then the cops and two tow trucks. Hell, we might need the fire department and the Jaws of Life. Get help as fast as you can Mr—ah—”

  “Windy. Everyone called me Windy. Not my real name, but I answers to it.”

  “Joe, I have a veterinary kit in the trailer I can leave you just in case. I guess babies come out on their own like foals, only head first instead of hoof first. You’re a farm boy, you can handle it. I’ll hop a ride with Windy, here.”

  “Water, I need clean water.” Joe looked at his dirty hands and muddy clothes.

  Nell, clutching the bar in the shower stall, panted, gave up and screamed.

  Joe looked desperately at Norma Jean and Windy. “I need something clean to put on, rags, anything!”

  “Gots a water jug and a roll of paper towels.” Windy hobbled off again.

  Norma Jean rushed for the horse trailer and returned with the vet kit, a saddle blanket and a garment still in a dry cleaner’s bag.

  “The vet kit has a good pair of scissors for cutting tape, some Betadine, some sutures and those big curved needles they use to sew up horses. The saddle blanket is new. And this is my pageant jacket for when I ride out carryin’ the American flag at the rodeo. Just had it cleaned. It was hanging in my tack room back of the trailer. Won’t fit over your shoulders, Joe, but we could put it on backwards and cover your arms and chest. Could you try not to get blood and gunk all over it?”

  Norma Jean stripped the plastic bag from the coat. The garment glittered in the pale winter sunshine. Encrusted with red, white and blue sequins, the back of the jacket had an American flag picked out in rhinestones. The arms and bottom hung with fringe, lots of fringe.

  “Let me help you get it on,” Norma Jean offered.

  “I heard that!” Nell shouted, then went back to panting.

  Joe held out his arms and Norma Jean slipped the jacket on backwards. “Try to be careful with it, okay?”

  Windy returned with his contributions. He held the water jug and paper towels while Joe washed his hands. Norma Jean poured on some Betadine trying to keep the brown antiseptic away from the sequins. Just before Joe jumped into the hole to be with his wife and babies, Windy withdrew a pint bottle of whiskey still covered with a paper bag from the bib of his overalls and tucked it into the pocket of the coat.

  “You be needin’ dis more den me, boy. But I ain’t been drinkin’ on the job, no sir.”

  “Thanks, Windy.” Joe lowered himself into the breach. “Hand down the kit and the blanket, Norma Jean, then you and the old man haul ass for help.”

  Joe squatted in the dim hole and let his eyes adjust. He could hear his wife moan and smell her fear in the sweat gathering on her forehead. The tractor ground into gear and moved off. In the quiet, Nell’s panting seemed sharper and more desperate.

  “Tink, let’s see what the situation is. I’m sliding this blanket under your hips. Now let’s get your pants off.”

  Joe gagged and suppressed the sound. Nell’s slacks were soaked and sticky and came off bearing the enormous stretchy underpants with them.

  “Lookin’ good down here. Have the top of a head showing. Just let me rub some antiseptic around. Feel good?” he said, trying with all his might to be cheerful and positive.

  “No. Ooooh, I need to push.”

  “No, you don’t. Just pant.”

  “Need to.”

  “Okay, just a tee-tiny push.”

  The head popped out. Nothing left to do but follow the game plan.

  “Okay, we check to be sure the cord isn’t wrapped around the neck, turn the head, and clean the nostrils.”

  “You listened,” Nell panted.

  “Thought I was sleeping during the orientation film at the hospital, no? I did close my eyes a time or two, but not because I was tired. Couldn’t shut out the sound though. This isn’t working. Give me another little push.”

  The tiny body slipped into his hands so quickly, he almost fumbled. His daughter came into the world slimy, very wrinkled and purple-hued. Worse than that, she didn’t seem to be breathing on her own.

  “Sorry, cher heart, but Daddy is gonna spank you.” One quick slap on the behind, and the baby quivered, opened her mouth and hollered. Joe laid her on Nell’s naked thigh.

  “Let me see, Joe.”

  “Got to cut the cord first, Tink. Do you hear a siren?”

  “No, only the baby.”

  “Wishful thinking. Okay, scissors and string to tie off the cord. No string. Some sutures then.”

  “Tie off two places. Cut between.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. Here goes. Done.”

  The baby screamed louder as he sterilized the cut with the contents of Windy’s bottle.

  “Must be Jude Emily. She screams like my sister,” Nell said attempting a joke.

  “Mais, yeah! Keep the baby warm,” Joe told himself. He unrolled a yard of paper toweling and wrapped the infant until she looked like a mummy child, a howling mummy child. “There. All finished.”

  “Joe, the second baby is coming. I can feel it.”

  “Was that a siren?”

  “No, Joe. That was me. I need to push again.”

  “Can’t you just cross your legs? The ambulance will be here soon.”

  “Joe.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry I doubted you. You’re my hero.”

 
“Aw, shucks, Miss Nell. Give me another tee-tiny push.”

  The ambulance got to the accident scene first, followed directly by the fire department vehicles bearing the Jaws of Life and two squad cards. The police blocked the road in both directions. A small crowd gathered at the barricades as tractors hauling cane chugged to a halt and passenger cars taking the back way to the interstate parked along the blacktop.

  The audience applauded as Joe Dean handed up one Bounty-wrapped baby, then the other. A female paramedic prepared to go down into the gap to check on Nell as soon as Joe got out of the way. She laughed when she saw him crawl from the hole.

  “That you, Cousin Joe Dean? When did you buy a motor home? All that money and you let your wife give birth in a ditch,” Uncle Wiley’s second to last daughter teased him.

  “Not funny, Marlene. You better take good care of Nell, or I’ll lock you in the old outhouse like I did when you were a little brat.”

  “Who was the brat, Joe Dean?” she challenged as she slid into the hull of the motor home. “Oh, good. You saved the afterbirth all wrapped up in paper towels. If you ever quit football, we need more paramedics.”

  “I’d rather break every bone I have on the playing field before I do this again.”

  The firemen moved him aside and applied the Jaws of Life to widen the gap in the Cactus Blossom. Someone made a ruckus at one of the barricades.

  “No, no, they’re making it worse!” Norma Jean, her black braid whipping, waved and called out. “And I forgot my horse. How could I forget my horse? Joe, could you check on her?”

  His knees shook like mayhaw jelly, either from kneeling for so long or from the ordeal, but he checked on Sweet Sue still in her trailer. The mare was calmer than he, what with being used to rodeo crowds and noises and all that stuff. Joe walked over and leaned on the barricade in front of Norma Jean.

  “She’s fine, a real sensible creature for a female. Want your jacket back?”

  Norma Jean looked at the fringe wet with some kind of gook and the splatter marks on the sequins. “Why don’t you keep it and give it to your babies as a souvenir from their Aunt Norma Jean.”

  “Joe,” Nell called weakly as the paramedics lifted her from the hole.

  She looked pale and—deflated. They placed her on a stretcher and carried her to the ambulance. Joe started to go to her when a brown, wrinkled face pushed up behind Norma Jean.

  “Would you still be needing dat bottle I give you?”

  “I used a little to sterilize the cords, but most of it’s there. Just a second.” Joe withdrew the flask from the pocket of the pageant jacket. He uncapped it, took a good swig and handed it over to Windy who looked around, then slipped it back into his bib.

  The old man squinted. “You dat football player? What won two Super Bowls? I ain’t never gonna drink dis. Got a grandson could sell it on e-Bay and send hisself to college.”

  “Good luck with that. If this doesn’t bring enough, tell him to call me about a scholarship. Thanks for your help.” Shedding his sequin and rhinestone persona as he went, Joe walked to the ambulance.

  “Not even a good-bye kiss for me.” Norma Jean turned her charms on the policemen guarding the barricade. “Oh, officers, I need to see to my horse and motor home real bad.” She batted her eyelashes like she was swatting flies.

  Nell looked from the barrel racer to her husband kneeling at her side. “Joe, I’m so sorry I risked the babies because that woman irritated me. Aren’t they beautiful?” Nell tuned her head toward the paramedic unwrapping the first twin.

  Honest to God, the first words that dropped into Joe Dean’s mind when he saw his daughter in the light was a mental picture of naked mole rats—skinny, hairless, pink things with closed bulging eyes. As a sign of his increasing maturity, he bit his lips and said, “They are gorgeous just like their mother.”

  Nell looked pretty bad. Her short dark hair was plastered to her skull and the dark circles under her eyes had gotten worse. Something that looked and smelled like vomited cheese sandwich spilled down the front of her huge, sunny yellow T-shirt with the arrow pointing downward and the slogan, “Yes, it is twins.” Still, she gave him the loveliest smile, as if every molecule of her body suffused with joy. He thought his answering grin might display that same happiness.

  “Thanks for saying that. Thanks for my babies.” She took his hand and kissed it, gunk and all.

  Thanks for months of discomfort and an hour or more of pain. He would never understand women entirely. Instead of talking, he squeezed Nell’s hand and kissed her forehead.

  The ambulance dipped as another person climbed in through the open doors. Joe Dean’s cousin, attending to the babies, scolded the new arrival.

  “No visitors, we need to get to the hospital. Oh, it’s you Sheriff LeDoux.”

  “Need to get a statement from Joe Dean, so I’ll just ride along. One of my squad cars is going to clear the way for you and take me back to town. About this hit and run Miss Scruggs reported, I don’t suppose you got a license number either?”

  “Actually, it wasn’t a hit and run. I mean the driver of the truck didn’t hit either of us, just sort of drove us off the road. The back side of the truck was covered with mud. Even if I hadn’t been driving for all I was worth, I couldn’t see the plate.”

  “Yeah, that’s what ole Windy said, but I had to write him up last harvest for overturning a cart when he’d had a few. He said the vehicle was a big fancy rig, extra long cab and bed, probably a Chevy. White man driving. The lady with the motor home supports that.”

  “Me, too. The driver had no cause to swing out like that. He was already past the tractor.”

  “Joe,” Nell interrupted.

  “Hush, Tink. I can barely hear the sheriff over the sirens and the babies.”

  Nell jerked the hand she held hard.

  “Hey, that’s my throwing hand, and playoffs are coming up!”

  “Joe, Sheriff, do you think Bijou is back? That description sounds like our stolen truck.”

  The men stared at each other.

  “He’d be a fool to show up around here. We have a dozen raps we can charge him with including stealing your truck. He got away lucky once. Why would he come back?” Sheriff LeDoux asked.

  “To take our son. Joe, I think Tommy is in danger.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Corazon swung her wide hips in time to the beat coming from the Spanish language mix on the lime green iPod she had bought with her first paycheck. Her brothers would be so envious. She ran a finger around her waistband. Yes, she had lost a few pounds running after small Dino, as she like to call the very active boy, and trudging up and down those stairs when Rojito, her pet name for Tommy, cried for attention. Being hundreds of miles from her mother’s freshly-made tortillas and refried beans helped, too. One day, she would go home to Mexico as the rich and slim American aunt, Tia Corazon, and spoil the children of her brothers and sisters with her largess.

  For now, she remained content with a free hour or two while the babies slept and Miss Nell rested. Corazon removed a pan of her special enchiladas from the oven. Extra cheese bubbled on top of the tortillas. She added a liberal sprinkling of sliced jalapenos for color and heat. Mamacita could not eat them, but Mr. Joe Dean would indulge as would Knox Polk, a fine figure of a man.

  Knox had a stern mahogany face and a straight military bearing. She suspected him to be more than the ranch manager, maybe a guard, too. She certainly felt safe when he was around. He liked the food she prepared and always complimented her after a meal. Corazon Romero knew she was not pretty, but she could cook—and pray for a husband.

  When the tall man came from behind and put an arm around Corazon’s waist pulling her tight against his hard body, she murmured a prayer of thanks that she had not dropped the enchiladas and made a brief plea to the Virgin that he would be gentle their first time. When the knife point dug into her throat, she screamed. Knox was a retired soldier, but he would never do this. The hand near her waist moved
upward and clamped over her mouth. She could tell her attacker said something because she could feel his jaw moving close to her ear, but the vibrant salsa music obscured his words.

  The hand covering her mouth ripped off the ear buds. Corazon, using all her weight, butted him backwards and screamed again. She wished her legs were longer so she could flee, but knew they would not grow longer just because she wanted them to. Instead, the nursemaid pivoted and flung her hot enchiladas at a man who was neither her boss of the questionable reputation or the quiet Knox. This man she did not know, but he stood as tall as the others. The bubbling cheese hit the middle of his chambray-covered chest, not his face. Even though the hot food must have burned his skin, this stranger kept on coming. Corazon let loose with two more screams before her assaulter pinned her against the kitchen counter. Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios!

  Tearing off her oven mitt and shoving it into Corazon’s mouth, the man with the gold tooth got right in her face. “Be glad I’m not a killer, bitch. I come home hoping for some good Cajun food and a lot of pousse-pousse for my signature on a piece of paper, but what do I get, me? Another fat Mexican broad and enchiladas down my shirt. One more scream and I might be pushed into slitting your throat, comprende?”

  Bijou removed the oven mitt. “Now, you tell me where my kid is and I’ll be going.”

  The senora is upstairs calling the policia. The babies are crying. Mr. Joe will come to see.”

  “Mr. Joe might be dead in a ditch by now. Could be I got carried away and killed the golden goose. As for his little wifey, I hear she is so knocked up she needs help going to the bathroom. I’ll be gone before the parish policia put down their donuts. If the woman who works with sick kids wants my healthy one, she’ll have to pay for him. Won’t be kidnapping since he’s mine and I’m just laying claim like Joe Dean did with his bastard. I never agreed to no adoption, you hear?”

  Corazon nodded. This must be Rojito’s true father, an evil man they called Bijou. She hoped the senora had called the police. She prayed the senor was not dead as this man said. She hoped Knox Polk had heard her screams way out in the barn and would come to her rescue.