Collard Greens and Catfishing

by Kelsey Browning

  “Can I answer any questions?” the tour guide asked.

  Actually, Maggie had a couple. “So if I understand what you’re saying, anyone can keep bees.”

  “Well, anyone who responsible and willing to learn and put in the effort needed to take care of some of the earth’s most precious gifts.”

  Sounded right up Sera’s alley. “Can you make your own honey bee boxes?”

  “Most people order theirs from suppliers,” he said, “but your friend here was telling me that you’re quite handy. I’ve seen plans online for beehive frames.”

  How nice of DanOfYourDreams to remember that from her profile. “Do you mind if I look closer at their construction?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Over the years, Maggie had become good at measuring distances just by using her arms and legs. She contorted over and around the glossy white boxes that were stacked five and six high, making note of the measurements and construction.

  Her date said, “I like a woman who likes to be outside and get a little dirty.”

  That was Maggie’s natural element. “Most men like women who’re dainty and sweet-smelling.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, DanOfYourDreams leaned closed and sniffed her. “I’m more into the earth goddess type.”

  Oh, no. That meant he was Sera’s type, not Maggie’s. “I’m more of the duct-tape goddess type.”

  “I’m very attracted to a woman who can handle herself. Fix situations that need to be fixed. I’m not interested in someone who waits for a man to solve all her problems.”

  Well, that definitely sounded more like the new and improved Maggie since she’d moved to Summer Haven. “I’m actually in the middle of a major home improvement project right now.” Okay, so that was a bit of a stretch. What she was in the middle of wasn’t so much improvement as it was necessary maintenance.

  “You do a lot of DIY work?”

  “There’s almost nothing I can’t fix.” Maggie pushed out her chest with pride and noticed that DanOfYourDreams’ head dipped for an instant. Her date was, in fact, a breast man. “Tell you what, why don’t we get out of these coveralls? I’d be happy to tell you all about my projects over a cup of apple cider.”

  He started fidgeting as though an entire frame of bees has just swarmed into his boxer shorts. “You know, as much as I’d love that, I have to…uh…be at work in an hour, and—”

  “Oh? Where do you work?”

  “Nowhere as interesting as this farm, that’s for sure.”

  Talk about a runaround answer to her question. “Surely you have ten minutes to—”

  “I almost forgot,” he blurted out. “I bought the souvenir photo and the beekeeper was supposed to take that for us. Let me go get him.” And off he dashed.

  Well, he’s gone, Maggie.

  She plodded toward the changing area. She’d become so involved in the tour that she hadn’t pumped her date for nearly enough information. That would be a big, fat fail when she got back to Summer Haven. And it was clear that he wasn’t interested in her. Her cooler of steaks would probably be sitting on the front porch when she got home.

  Oh, well. She’d tried.

  Before she could slip inside and change her clothes, DanOfYourDreams came loping across the grass. “Wait,” he hollered. “What about the picture?”

  Sure enough, the preacher-tour guide-beekeeper was jogging her way as well.

  DanOfYourDreams hadn’t ducked out. He’d come back and he wanted to take a picture with her. How thoughtful!

  Maybe this dating thing wasn’t so bad after all.

  * * *

  Knowing she’d get no visitors today, Lillian moped around the cottage. Maggie had called to let her know a visit just wasn’t in the schedule. With the deadline on this project looming—just four short days away—she shouldn’t have cared so much about a visit from her girls. But the comment Martha had made—the longer you were in, the less your friends visited—weighed on Lillian.

  Big Martha walked in and stared at her lying on her bunk gazing at the ceiling. “What’s got you all down in the mouth?”

  “I’m not getting visitors today.”

  “That sucks. May as well get used to it.”

  Lillian didn’t even have the energy to reprimand Martha. She wanted to be considered a lady, but it would be a long road if she didn’t clean up her language. Then again, Lil had picked up some colorful phrases over the past few months. She’d keep her stones to herself lest they boomerang into her glass house. “It does indeed.”

  “Well, why don’t you come with me? My niece is visiting today. Supposed to tell me all about her date with Tom Thumb.” She said it as if it she were spitting out a rotten plum.

  “I don’t want to horn in—”

  Martha tugged on Lillian’s shirtsleeve. “Get your bony old butt off that bunk and come to the visiting room. Last thing in the world I need is your sad face bringing me down later.”

  Lillian shoved her feet in her prison-issued shoes. “Fine.”

  “Let’s go.” Martha hurried her across the grounds. The door to the visitation area was just opening when Martha finessed her way past at least thirty other inmates to snag a place at the front of the line.

  Lillian nodded apologetically, and Martha tugged her by the arm into line.

  Everyone walked single file into the room, taking the next available table, except Martha. She stepped out of the khaki conga line and commandeered her normal spot.

  Martha plopped down into one of the chairs, causing the legs to screech against the utilitarian tile. Lillian gently pulled out a chair and settled in next to her, crossing her legs.

  The first person through the door was a woman with straight, dark hair. She beelined straight to Martha’s table and bounced into a chair across from them.

  Martha silently studied the woman’s bright eyes and glowing skin. “Spill it, girl. You look like you have a secret that you’re just busting to tell.”

  “Tom is amazing.”

  Martha’s eyes narrowed. “OnceUponATom is amazing?”

  “Yes! Our date was so romantic.”

  Times had certainly changed if shooting your date was considered romance. It was obvious this was the niece Martha was so worried about. Lil could see why now.

  Martha made a come-on motion with her fingers. “Give it up. I want to hear everything about this whack-job.”

  “He’s not a whack-job. He’s my boyfriend.” The niece thrust out her chin. “And I’m…I’m in love with him. Tom is my meant-to-be. My perfect fit. I just know it.”

  Oh, this was serious, and Martha looked mad enough to kick a kitten. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave out a single detail. Where did he take you? How did he treat you? And did he pay for the whole thing?”

  The girl sighed and sat back in her chair. “He thought of everything. Even had my favorite color paint pre-loaded in the gun when I got there.”

  “Do you mean to tell me he didn’t even pick you up?”

  Lillian didn’t know why that upset Martha so much. She’d much rather not have the lunatic know where the clueless girl lived.

  “Well, no, but that’s because he had all those surprises for me.” She rummaged in her purse. “Look.” She pushed a picture across the table.

  Martha edged it closer between she and Lil.

  The cardboard picture frame held a picture of two people who, in camo outfits and bulky headgear, weren’t even distinguishable as male or female. Both had big guns strapped across their bodies. Lil couldn’t even imagine. “That looks—”

  “Dangerous,” Martha spat out.

  The niece rolled her eyes. “You’re an old fuddy-duddy.” If Martha—in her forties—was old, then Lillian was an artifact. “It was sweet and fun.”

  “Sweet? Did he shoot you?” Martha asked.

  “No, we were on the same team. I wasn’t much help, but with Tom shooting at the enemy, our team won easily. A man who’s a great shot is hot.”

  �
��Did he try anything afterward?”

  The girl visibly deflated. “Not for lack of my trying. But he claimed he was too dirty and sweaty. Wouldn’t even take off his paintball helmet. How in the world is a girl supposed to get a little something-something when a guy won’t even kiss her? He had great eyes, and bet his lips are totally kissable.”

  Martha’s jaw pulsed. “What’s that mean?”

  “His profile picture showed him smiling, so it was hard to tell. Then, with him wearing a helmet during paintball, I just had to use my imagination.”

  “Are you telling me,” Martha said slowly, “that you don’t even know what this guy looks like?”

  “Of course I do, silly. I told you I’ve seen his profile picture. He’s about six feet tall. He has short hair. And his aim is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yeah,” Martha muttered where only Lillian could hear her. “I don’t like this guy’s aim one damn bit.” Then she increased her volume and asked, “Did you make another date? When are you planning to see him again?”

  “I don’t know yet, but just this morning I got a bushel of fresh roses. Those things had to cost fifty bucks if they cost a dollar.”

  At the end of their visiting time, Martha’s niece was so high on paintball love, she floated out of the room.

  Lillian and Martha headed out of the main building and across the camp without so much as one word until they returned to the cottage.

  Martha shut the door behind them. “I don’t like it one bit. That guy sounds like bad news.” She paced, kicking at anything in her path. “He could be one of those social-paths. Gonna lure her in with paintball and flowers and then wham! He’s gonna cut her up into hash-sized pieces.”

  “You have a bit of a gory side I didn’t know anything about.”

  Martha whirled around, got in Lillian’s face. “You have people you love more than you love anything else in this world, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” Maggie’s dear face—sewer grime and all—floated in Lillian’s mind.

  “Then you’re willing to do any damn thing it takes to protect them, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, Miss H&M, we had a deal. You promised your granny girls would figure out who this weirdo is. They making any progress on that?”

  “The last time I talked with Maggie, she hadn’t yet tracked him—”

  Martha took a half step closer, so close Lil spotted an almost invisible scar at the corner of her right eye, a reminder that she didn’t know everything about this woman. “If they don’t get on the stick, not only will I not call the plumbers in my family, but I will put in a call to the leg-breakers.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maggie was surprised her little truck didn’t sprout wings and glide home. That was how over the moon she was after her unconventional first date. Definitely not your normal dinner and a movie, but the guy had shown originality. That was worth a thousand dinners because he was the kind of man who would always keep a woman guessing. Not the kind of man who would lapse into the habit of plopping into his easy chair every evening to snore his way through a few TV shows.

  This man would keep things fresh. Exciting.

  When she pulled around Summer Haven’s circle drive, Sera and Abby Ruth were both rocking on the front porch like parents worried about their daughter, making Maggie grin.

  She hopped out of the truck, the door slamming behind her from the adrenaline still pumping through her. She couldn’t help herself. She practically skipped up the steps. “Were you worried about me, girls?”

  “No,” Abby Ruth said quickly. “We just wanted to enjoy a little cool fall air.”

  And thank goodness for the cool air because after an hour in that beekeeping zoot suit, Maggie had been worried she was suffering from a nuclear meltdown hot flash. The sweat was still drying at the small of her back.

  “How was your date?” Sera asked.

  “It was…different.”

  “Different doesn’t sound good.” Abby Ruth rocked forward in her chair and pinned Maggie with her I-will-get-to-the-bottom-of-this stare. “Was he a freak? Ugly? Smell bad?”

  “The date was good. No. I don’t know. And no.” In fact, he’d smelled of citrus and slightly of gun oil.

  “How can you not know if a man is ugly?” Abby Ruth asked. “I mean I get that eye-of-the-beholder thing, but ugly is pretty easy to recognize.”

  “If he looked anything like his profile picture, he’s certainly not ugly,” Sera said. “He did look like his picture, right?”

  Maggie slowly shook her head. “Don’t y’all care about anything besides the way he looked?”

  “Of course we care.” Sera leaned forward and grabbed Maggie’s hands. “We want to hear every detail.”

  “Why don’t we go inside so I can get a glass of iced tea, and I’ll tell y’all all about it?”

  “How about I bring some out?” Abby Ruth stood and offered Maggie her chair. Then she was gone.

  Her mouth gaping, Maggie turned to Sera. “Did she…did she just volunteer to do something nice for us?”

  “Sometimes you don’t give her enough credit.”

  It was true that she should probably give Abby Ruth the benefit of the doubt more than she did. No one was all good or all bad. Before Maggie could give that any deeper thought, Abby Ruth stuck her head out the front door and said, “Holy high waters. Get in here, girls, because we’re in deep shit.”

  Oh, no. Abby Ruth never minced words at the best of times, but her voice contained a hysterical note Maggie had never heard before. She and Sera shot out of their chairs and hit the front door at a jog.

  When Maggie stepped inside, even she had to agree there were no better words to describe what they’d walked into. The downstairs toilet had erupted into a simmering mess that was oozing straight toward them like something out of a sci-fi movie.

  All the good feelings Maggie’s date had built up, the potty sludge chased away.

  “It’s time for Plan B,” Abby Ruth sidestepped the muck and headed for the back porch. “I’ll get your rubber boots, sugar.”

  To their credit, Abby Ruth and Sera did walk out to the septic line with Maggie and helped by shining flashlights on the swamp. Although she’d checked it before, Maggie went straight for the outlet tee. Please, please let a layer of bacon fat have risen to the surface. That’s easy enough to skim off.

  But when she checked, it was clear the outlet tee was still allowing water to pass through.

  “Mags,” Abby Ruth called, “I think you might want to see this.”

  Maggie carefully picked her way through the dark to see what she’d found. Didn’t take long to get the lay of the land. Abby Ruth was straddling one of the VW van’s tire tracks with her flashlight pointed toward the ground. Between her feet, a mangled terracotta-colored ceramic pipe protruded from the ground like a bleeding, fractured femur.

  Maggie had thought Sera had moved her van without incident. But now it was clear the main sewer line to the house was a fatality.

  “So, what exactly does this mess mean, Maggie?” Abby Ruth’s brow was arched so high it looked almost like a question mark. “That we’re back to that flush, no-flush zone again?”

  Maggie sagged under the heavy weight of defeat. She knew what this meant. It meant she couldn’t handle the septic mess alone. It meant she couldn’t save Summer Haven without exhausting the better portion of their dwindling funds. It meant, worst of all, that she had to suck it up and play nice with Martha so the woman would come through on the septic deal.

  Tears glazed her eyes, but she blinked them back. “It means our facilities are out of order. Completely.”

  “We can just go outside.” Sera shrugged. “If animals can do it, so can we.”

  “I’m not an animal,” Abby Ruth said. “I’m not doing my business outside.”

  Sometimes Abby Ruth was a bit mule-headed, but this time she was right. They couldn’t live without a proper septic system, and th
ey couldn’t be without toilets. “We can get a portable potty. The ones they used at the fair last year were clean and nice, and they were from a company just outside of town.”

  Sera and Abby Ruth both whirled around and gave Maggie a synchronized the-heck-you-say look.

  “What?” Maggie shrugged. “Best we can do for now. I’ll make an SOS call to Mrs. Potts and see if she can have a portable potty delivered right away.” She’d pay for it out of her own funds. Lil needn’t even know about it. Not only because of the cost, but because Lil would be beside herself if she knew a bright pink portable potty was sitting on Summer Haven’s lawn.

  “Oh, that ought to go over like gangbusters with the committee,” Abby Ruth said, drawing air quotes around the word committee.

  That danged committee would be the death of Maggie. “True, but we’ll just say we’re using the portable potties for Abby Ruth’s birthday party tomorrow night. It’ll be fine.”

  “Actually,” Abby Ruth said, “that’s a pretty good excuse.”

  Maggie took in a breath. “Thanks. I’ll go ahead and get a washing station at the same time. You know, like they use at the petting zoo. That’ll give us a sink to clean up in too.”

  “I am not bathing in a sink. I may just have to hitch my wagon and go to the nearest KOA campground.”

  “You can bathe in the creek with me,” Sera said.

  “Lord, girl,” Abby Ruth said, “the creek is colder than that blessed mammogram machine. No, thank you.”

  Maggie and the girls plodded back to the house. “As soon as we sop up the overflow inside, we’ll have to get the dirt on this guy for Martha pronto. We just hit the critical stage, and I hate to admit that I didn’t find one helpful thing by going on that date.”

  “It’s okay, Maggie. It was a long shot, but at least we took it.”

  That didn’t make her feel much better. “Sera, can you get ThePerfectFit.com up on the computer so we can put our heads together?”