Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When?

by Charlene Baumbich

  When Josh had dropped Delbert off at the church after last Wednesday’s “kidnapping,” he pleaded with his uncle to please just keep the little incident between them, since, after all, he hadn’t even been issued a ticket. Delbert took note of Josh’s fearful face. As much as he wanted to oblige, he also knew in his heart of hearts it would not be the right thing to do—for either of them. They both had to pay the piper.

  “Josh,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about how to handle this since the moment Mac pulled us over. Believe you me, I’d rather not have to talk to your mom about my part in it either! But the truth is, we both messed up and we’re not the only ones who know it. An officer knows it, and more importantly, so does God. And to be honest, I always feel better about myself after I fess up, knowing that God forgives me, and hopefully so will your mom.”

  “But you have no idea how mad my mom’s gonna be! Maybe God forgives, but my mom? She’s got a man-eating-plant kind of memory.” He knew this from watching his mom hold a bitter root about his dad’s remarriage for all these years. “What’s the point of getting her all upset and ruining the next decade of my life?” he asked, still trying to cover his butt.

  “The point, Josh, is that we need to be the men we need to be. We’ll do it together, okay? In fact, I’m going to call your mom before you even get home.”

  “But . . .”

  “Listen to me now. I have no idea if she’ll go along with this or not, since I don’t even really feel like I have a right to ask her. But since I’m your uncle—since we are legitimately family—I’m going to ask her if she might be willing to remain calm about this issue until the three of us can meet.”

  “A, too late for calm. B, she’ll probably already have killed me by then.”

  Delbert chuckled. “I have no doubt your mom is a tough cookie, Josh, especially since the whole town knows she can wield a hacksaw.” (Images of the Thanksgiving turkey flashed through his mind!) “But I sincerely doubt she will kill you. Maim you, maybe,” he said playfully, “but not until you’re dead. Besides, if we don’t tell her, somebody else might, and then we’d have twice the trouble. Just give me a chance, okay? For the first time in my life, how about you allow me the wonderful privilege to walk in a real uncle’s shoes.” Without warning, tears sprang into Delbert’s eyes. “Thank you, Lord,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes. No matter the discomfort, this moment, this opportunity, was God’s surprising answer to months of prayers that the door to their familial relationship would find a natural opening. When he opened his eyes, he felt like he was looking into a mirror. Suddenly his own boyish vulnerabilities were washing back on him through the face of his nephew, whose own tear-welled eyes pierced him with familiarity, especially since Josh had the same ears and chin cleft as he did, both inherited from Pastor Delbert Sr.

  Josh, who so very much longed for the ongoing presence of a caring male in his life, who loved his flesh-and-blood father but who also felt like they barely knew each other, filled with a surge of hope so powerful that he nodded his head. “Okay,” he said through a slight quiver in his voice. He deeply inhaled and exhaled with a whoosh. “Let’s do the manly thing we gotta do.” Delbert leaned across the truck’s bench seat and the two of them gave each other an awkward hug and patted each other’s shoulders. It was a moment neither of them would forget. It was the beginning of something new and wonderful for both of their families.

  Delbert didn’t think to ask Josh for his mom’s cell phone number when he was dropped off, so when he arrived back at his office, Delbert called Katie and left a message on the machine at the farm. Josh arrived home shortly after Delbert left the message. When Josh first listened to it, a couple of thoughts crossed his mind, and the first was to erase it before his mom got home. But then Josh remembered Delbert had played the big “God knows” card, and after listening to the message several times, he decided his uncle did such a good job referring to vague facts involving “my idea” and “pulled over” and “imploring” Katie to please wait to discuss this “important issue” until “the three of us can talk,” that he figured his odds of survival were better with the message than if, say, Sergeant McKenzie blew the whistle on him.

  Miraculously (and probably only because she was so stressed out about everything else), his mother did consent to wait (sort of), telling Josh she hoped this wasn’t the thing that finally pushed her over the edge, reminding him of all she had on her plate and how she didn’t need this type of thing right now. It was obvious she worked so hard not to scream that her body broke into a hot flash after the message ended. She picked up the nearest thing, which was the phone book, and started waving it—its pages flapping back and forth in the breeze—while warning Josh in no uncertain terms that severe and swift punishment likely lurked at the end of this meeting and how he better not forget it. But nonetheless, whether it was the power of Delbert’s phone-message pleas or the fact she was just too worn out by the election backlash, she hadn’t brought it up again.

  But now here they were at the kitchen table with Dragon Lady flame-throwing her fiery eyes right at the both of them. She was plenty stressed out from a number of things: holding in two days’ worth of pent-up frustration with Josh’s antics while also having to allow him to keep driving to work; and they were under the gun for time (Katie took her wristwatch off and set it on the table in front of her) since she had to be at the Press at 10 A.M. for the final mall-naming selection, which was testing her very last nerve since she worried that the rest of the committee wouldn’t pick the entry she so badly wanted to win!

  His Uncle Delbert systematically started laying out the chain of events dating way back to December and the night of the town Christmas party here at the farm. He told her about how he and Jacob asked Josh to show them his new wheels. How the three of them sat in the truck and the “older men” had swapped a few car stories from their youths, asked a few questions about the big engine. He told Katie that at his bidding, he’d invited Josh to drop by church some day—kidnap him, so to speak, “no doubt language which would entice a boy’s wild frame of mind from the get-go”—and take him for a ride. Go Uncle Delbert! He also included the funny part about how the windows had steamed up, causing the three men to quickly exit the car before people at the party started talking about them, which made his mother smile. Good one! Then he fast forwarded to the other day. He included every detail about how he’d egged Josh on (YES, so TRUE!) and how he should have known better. He praised the “mature manner in which Josh owned the incident himself” (DAZZLE HER, DUDE!) and emphasized that he believed Josh had learned a valuable lesson. Josh nodded with such agreement that Delbert had to swallow down a smile.

  And then he quit talking and turned to Josh. It was his turn to defend himself.

  “Now you go on, honey, get yourself out of this house,” Dorothy said to Jessica as she bounced Sarah Sue on her lap. “Every woman needs a little time to herself, especially a pregnant woman whose been going nonstop here lately. Sarah Sue and her daddy and I will be just fine.”

  “There’s lunch meat in the fridge and some fresh bananas on the counter. Sarah Sue loves bananas. You don’t have to mash them, just give her a little chunk. And the mayonnaise and . . .”

  “Jessica, I bet Dorothy knows how to rummage in the refrigerator with the best of them, don’t you?” Paul was sitting up in the recliner, leg extended in front of him, a fresh bag of ice perched on the cast to help with the swelling. Although his bruised face looked slightly better, it was still a mess, but at least he was smiling more easily today.

  “Oh, I know how to way better than rummage, don’t I, Sarah Sue? I can downright pilfer like the best of pirates. And this ‘Sooo Big’ girl,” Dorothy said, raising Sarah Sue’s hands in the air, “can help me with whatever any of us need, right?” Sarah Sue giggled. Dorothy took hold of one of Sarah Sue’s hands and began waving it at Jessica. “Say ‘Bye-bye’ to Mommy! Gone with you now, so th
e pilfering can begin!” Jessica reluctantly waved to all three of them, Paul waving back at her like a baby too. She smiled halfheartedly and blew them a kiss. After they heard the engine start, then saw Jessica drive by the front window, her arm hanging out and waving to beat the band, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. It had taken them nearly twenty minutes to assure her they’d be just fine in her absence. She’d shown Dorothy what was in every-single baby dresser drawer, gathered up pacifiers, set out the baby wipes, written out the doctor’s phone number in case Paul’s headache returned. . . .

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am you came to my wife’s rescue, Dorothy.” Paul pushed back in his recliner a little, looking and sounding as though he’d been rescued too. “She’s been sleeping—well, probably not sleeping— right there on the couch since Wednesday night, watching me like a hawk, tiptoeing around and whispering on the phone when she thinks I might be sleeping or need to sleep, when she’s the one who needs the rest! Getting out of here is the best thing for her.”

  “You heard me assure her I have nothing better to do with my life today—nor can I think of anything more fun to do with my life today—than to play with this beautiful baby and take care of the likes of such a handsome man as yourself, especially since my son isn’t back in town yet. I am just de-lighted to be useful.”

  Sarah Sue stiffened her body, letting Dorothy know she wanted to get down on the floor where she eyed her toys. She was crawling now and attempting to pull herself up on things, which is what Jessica kept warning Dorothy about. “You have to watch her every second, she’s so fast!” she’d said.

  Dorothy laughed in response. “I guess you haven’t seen my afterburner then, have you?”

  Sarah Sue shot straight past her toys and headed for the kitchen. “Afterburner time,” Paul teased. “Sic’er, Dorothy!”

  “I’d say,” Dorothy said, launching herself off the couch, “your head is just fine!”

  “If only my leg could heal as quickly,” he replied to the empty room. The living quarters of their motel were so small it only took Sarah Sue a few seconds to disappear around the corner and into the kitchen. But in a flash, Dorothy had scooped her up, plopped her back down by her toys and put up the gate between the two rooms. “Lifesavers, these things, aren’t they? And boy, they sure do make them easier to use than those darned things we had when our kids were young. Those accordion-like wooden folding gates needed to be mounted to the wall and I was always afraid the kids would pinch their fingers in them. Goodness, this big plastic barrier goes in place just like one, two, three. And look how nice and snug it fits!” Dorothy marveled as she pushed on it a few times to make sure it was indeed secure.

  “Jessica got that at the Now and Again Resale shop, which I bet is where she heads today. She is such a wise shopper, which is a good thing considering our financial situation,” he said, pointing to his leg, even though Dorothy knew they scraped pennies way before the accident.

  “You’re a lucky husband and papa, isn’t he, Sarah Sue?”

  Sarah Sue, who was trying, one at a time, to put every toy into her drooling mouth, smiled at Dorothy when she heard her name. “Doesn’t that just melt your heart?” Paul asked. “She looks so much like her momma.”

  “Indeed.” Dorothy none too gracefully got herself down on the floor with Sarah Sue in order to stack a few of her giant plastic building blocks for her. Now that she was down there, she hoped she could get up in time, should Sarah Sue decide to head down the hall toward the bathroom—which is exactly what she did. “You get back here, you little monkey!” she said while she scooted herself on her backside toward the end of the couch so she could get some arm leverage to hoist herself up, her cranky knees acting especially cranky. “I guess my afterburner could use a little oiling!”

  “Don’t worry,” Paul said through a chuckle. “Jessica always closes the bathroom door and our bedroom door, and we don’t keep anything in her bedroom that can harm her—well, at least not within her reach—so there’s really no trouble she can get into heading that direction.”

  “Good thing. And good thing your wife can’t see me now!” Dorothy said, arms outstretched, hands on the couch, feet on the floor, knees straight. “This must be some sight for you,” she said to Paul, her backside aiming right at him.

  Paul was unable to stifle a laugh. “To be honest,” he said through his chuckling, “it’s quite inspiring since I have no doubt that’s exactly what I’d look like right now in the same situation, or rather when I’m even able to get into that situation down on the floor again, which will hopefully just be another day or two.”

  “Whew!” Dorothy said after she’d fully uprighted herself. She brushed off her hands, then took off down the hall. It was exactly as Paul had said: all doors were closed (and she made a mental note to keep them that way) but Sarah Sue’s. She was in there happily chewing on one of her cardboard books. Dorothy pulled the wooden rocking chair closer to where Sarah Sue sat, then bent over and collected the chunky bundle onto her lap. “How about we read us a story?” Sarah Sue leaned back against Dorothy in a clear sign her mommy and daddy, too, probably had spent lots of time doing just that.

  It wasn’t long before the little book was over for the fifth time and Sarah Sue was grunting so hard she looked like a turnip, her face was so red. “Guess it’s time for Grandma Dorothy to get ready for another kind of ‘after’ burner, right?” Sarah Sue twisted around to look at Dorothy’s face, then turned around again and grunted some more.

  “Once upon a time,” Dorothy said, deciding to just make up a story while Sarah Sue finished her business, “there was a little boy just your size, and he pooped his pants too.” Dorothy smiled, rocked a few times so as not to disturb Sarah Sue’s progress. She lightly ran her knobby finger along the feather-soft curls at the nape of Sarah Sue’s neck, then rocked one more short rock. “But in the land of real life in which he lived, time passes very swiftly, and suddenly the boy is a man in his fifties,” she paused, her voice cracking and tears welling to her eyes. “But thankfully, sweetie,” Dorothy said, kissing the top of Sarah Sue’s silky head as she heard and felt the explosion, “it isn’t The End of my story with the little boy yet. We’re going to have a new beginning in only five short days.”

  16

  People with too much time on their hands spent their Saturday morning trying to make sure they hadn’t missed a dollop of election gossip. The Tap, Partonville’s local watering hole, hadn’t seen this much action during the early weekend hours since the area senior citizens’ baseball league wound down at the end of last year’s season, the Partonville Wild Musketeers winning the league. Those not at The Tap gathered on street corners or raced between Harry’s and La Feminique, even if they didn’t have an appointment at the salon. After the third gossip-mongering pop-in showed up, in order to keep her little shop from overflowing, as well as to sort out the money from the mouthpieces, Maggie spontaneously seized the opportunity to start offering “today’s unadvertised special, a quick ‘do’ freshener which includes a comb-out, re-tease and re-spray for only two-fifty,” an overt sales tactic that caused some of them to turn on their heels and depart (Good! she thought) and others to sit themselves right down until she could squeeze them in. (Even better.) She wondered why it had taken her over fifty years in the beautifying business to come up with such a clever scheme.

  But even among the Saturday morning regulars, La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa was a whirring blur of color, cuts and wagging tongues. Sadie Lawson sat in one of Maggie’s two waiting chairs while Maggie finished Ellie’s hair. Ellie was the receptionist for both Doc Streator, who was pulling back toward retirement, and Dr. Nielson, Doc’s replacement. Maggie only had two more curling iron crimps to perform on Ellie’s hair before whirring into her wild teasing dervish, as Dorothy called it any time she witnessed Maggie’s full-body aerobic backcombing action.

  After the death of Sadie�
��s son Rick, Maggie suggested Sadie move her standing appointment to Saturdays. Maggie said it would give her an opportunity to visit with people she otherwise didn’t see on a regular basis and today brought quite the bounty. What Maggie was really thinking was that Saturday’s lineup tended to be a more upbeat group of ladies, so she always made sure she had Sadie’s favorite treats set out—Fig Newtons, M&Ms and vanilla hazelnut coffee—in order to entice Sadie to arrive early for her appointment and stick around afterwards, just for the company. “Sometimes the simplest of changes in our routine is helpful,” Maggie told her when she’d first made the suggestion. Like a blind sheep being led to greener pastures, Sadie followed her suggestion.

  “You know, Sadie,” Ellie said, catching her eye in the mirror, “it’s so good to see you here every week now, too, rather than just in our medical setting.” Sadie suffered with terrible rheumatoid arthritis and a few other serious ailments, so due to her numerous drugs, she needed regular monitoring. Because of this, Rick had cared for his mom up until the time of his sudden and fatal automobile accident. Sadie was badly banged up in the incident, too, since she was riding in the passenger seat. The worst part was being trapped in the upside-down car with him until they got them out, a memory at first suppressed, but which now haunted her. Yes, it was good for her to be around a few live wires. “Thank goodness,” Ellie continued, “Dr. Nielson doesn’t book Saturday appointments unless it’s an emergency, which allows me to come here and play with Maggie every weekend,” she said, reaching up and grabbing Maggie’s wrist in a friendly gesture. “And my, my, my, you two, don’t we have more interesting things to talk about today than pains and pills! It’s been a regular revolving door in here, Maggie. Your door chimes have barely stopped ringing since I arrived! You just can’t turn around without someone flinging an opinion this way or that, can you?”