by Jim Grimsley
"Where is he now? Is he mad?"
"He's at the mall. I think he's all right. But he's not saying much, these last few days."
Dan said, "He never says that much. I hope he acts okay."
"He's doing his best, son." Handing Dan a slice of apple, patting his arm. "Sit down at the table, you worry me standing there like that."
She poured fresh coffee from the pot, wordlessly. Dan said, "I'm half asleep after the ride."
"I'll be glad to make you something to eat if you're hungry. Ray and me already had a sandwich, and he can't eat again till supper, because of his diet. I try to eat like he does. Your sister wanted to make lasagna, but I told her Ray can't eat it and I don't need it as fat as I'm getting to be. Ray would sit right here and eat a mountain of it and then belch half the night and tell me how his stomach hurts. And I have enough trouble sleeping."
"When is Allen getting here?"
"Sometime tomorrow.Him and Cherise are going to stop by to see you, and then they're driving on to see Cherise's parents. Then they're going to stop back by here the day after Christmas and spend the night."
"Did you tell him about Ford?"
Mom answered, quietly, "I told him you were bringing a friend home with you. And that's all."
Dan accepted the slight admonition in her tone. "When does Cherise have the baby?"
"She's due in March, but she's so big you'd think it was next week. Some women show and some women don't; but Cherise, she shows."
Hesitating, listening to the wind against the sides of the trailer, Dan asked, finally, "Have you heard from Duck?"
"He calls me sometimes. He called a couple of weeks ago." She paused, but Dan knew to wait. "He told me he doesn't want to come home. So I don't fight with him about it."
"At least he's talking to you now. Does he tell you where he is?"
"He says he's in New Mexico. But I don't know whether to believe him."
"Is he all right?"
"He says he is. I think he's still drinking pretty much. I try not to worry about it."
Ford emerged from the bedroom, and Dan's mother turned toward him at the sound. Her expression stiffened slightly. "Come join us in here. I made Danny a cup of coffee. You want one?"
Ford slid into a seat across from Dan. Even seated, his presence dominated the room, his shoulders monumental, his size almost an embarrassment. Mom set the coffee cup in front of him and asked, in a brisker tone, "Do you boys ever cook at your house, or do you eat out all the time?"
"We cook when I'm home," Ford said, "which is not much."
"Danny cooks too? I didn't even think he knew how. He used to eat in restaurants all the time. I couldn't believe it when he told me. Wasting all that money."
"Mama thinks eating out is taking a bologna sandwich to the yard," Dan said, and she laughed, almost relaxed.
They sat together awkwardly; Dan froze and could think of nothing at all to say Till finally Ford stood. "I need to call the hospital."
Something about his expression touched a chord in
Mom. She warmed toward Ford all in a moment. "You can use the phone in the office if you want to. It's that room where we came in. You can be by yourself in there."
When he was gone, Mom poured the cooked apples into pie crusts. "Is he calling about a patient?"
"Yes, ma'am.A sick little boy."
"He reminds me of one of your doctors when you were in Chapel Hill, that first time. I bet you don't remember him, do you?"
Dan felt a prickle at the base of his skull. "No, ma'am."
"He was one of the interns. I don't remember what his name was. But he was real nice to me. And he always acted like he was so worried about you. Ford reminds me of him. He was tall like that." They heard Ford's voice from the other room, muffled. "I guess he got the call through."
Mom watched him, tangible as a touch. "I'm glad you came."
"So am I."
"Ford seems like a real good person," spoken haltingly, though; and she could not look him in the eye. "He has a lot of money, doesn't he? You can tell."
Not a sound from the other room; they were both listening. "He must be finished."
But the silence went on too long. Dan stood and stuck his head in the office. He found Ford staring out the window with the phone receiver in his lap. "They have the kid back in surgery. Too much bleeding. I couldn't get Russell, he's with the surgeons."
"Who did you talk to?"
"The floor nurse. He's been in the OR about an hour." Shoulders wracked with sudden tension. "I don't think this kid's going to make it. I had a bad feeling when I left."
"Do you think it would be any different if you were there?" Gently pressing his body against the back of Ford's neck.
Mom called, from the den, out of sight of the door, "Everything all right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Ford called. Taking a deep breath, he stood. "Come on, there's no reason to sit out here. I'll call again later."
During the lull in her cooking, Mother took them on a tour of her yard, and they walked among the various flower beds as she pointed out the shrubs and flowers. She named the colors of all the azaleas, even though all were bloomless and green. "Have you always lived on cemeteries?" Ford asked, looking around at the graves, the closest of them being across the paved loop road.
Mom laughed. "No. This is my first one. But I'll tell you one thing. It's quiet. And nobody bothers you."
Her vegetable garden bore witness to her careful frugality; neatly laid out on an otherwise untilled portion of the land, it had continued to bear collards for her table even in deepest autumn. She described, matter-of-factly, what types of vegetables each row had yielded, and how many quarts of peas, beans, and corn she had frozen. "We got a mess of field peas this year. I must have put up sixty quarts. But the butterbeans didn't do anything."
A car pulled into the gate, and its lone occupant opened the driver-side door. A woman with her hair tied up in a dark scarf carried a foil-clad poinsettia carefully into the field of graves. Stopping at last, she knelt to touch the bronze plaque nested in dry grass, setting the poinsettia into the bronze vase. She adjusted the flower to make the picture perfect, then remained kneeling, longer than her knees might have wished, as evidenced by the difficulty with which she stood. Mom said, "Her husband died two years ago. She brings flowers out here almost every month."
"You have people out here all the time, don't you?" Ford asked.
"Except at night. Sometimes people will ride through here at night, but they don't stop."
The woman returned to her car as another vehicle passed through the gate. At the sight of this one, Mom said, "There's Ray with my Christmas present."
Ray Burley parked beside Ford's rented sedan and emerged with his collar upturned. From the backseat he retrieved large gray shopping bags of the department-store type and, arms full, he spied the party approaching from the garden. Neatly dressed in gray slacks, a precise jacket, and well-shined shoes. His expression bland, only the sharpness of his gaze warned of danger in his scrutiny of Ford. His jaw was set in a line indicating discomfort. "I see you boys got here."
"Hey, Ray." Dan moved to help with the bags. He hugged Ray quickly and shyly, feeling the man's resistance.
Ray handed him one of the bags. "Don't let your mother grab that out of your hands. She's liable to try anything to find out what's in there."
"Ray, this is Ford McKinney. Ford, this is my second dad."
Ray's eyes glittered. After a moment he offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you, sir. Thank you for having me."
Ray nodded, somewhat stiffly. "You have a good trip?"
"Yes, sir," Dan said. "We didn't have any trouble at all."
Ray inspected Ford up and down. Nothing could be read in his face. The inspection ended, and Ray ambled toward the house, passing the rented car, which he stopped to inspect. Hesitating a moment, then stopping. Turning to Ford, he asked, "This yours?"
"Till tomorrow
night," Ford said.
Ray stooped to look at the interior and patted the side mirror. Deadpan, looking Ford in the eye, "You don't let Danny drive it, do you?"
Ford choked on a laugh and answered, "No, sir, I don't."
"That's good."
Everyone headed inside. Mom said, "Danny drug Ford all through the fields getting here. Took him through Potter's Lake, and you know that adds a good hour to go that way."
"Not much to Potter's Lake, is there?" Ray said. They were all sitting in the kitchen. "You grew up in Savannah. That right?"
"Sure is."
"Pretty town."
"Did you live there?" Ford asked.
Ray, worrying a bottle cap between his fingertips, glanced at Ford, then back at the bottle cap. "I sold spaces at a cemetery right outside of Savannah for a while. Fairway Oaks."
"He keeps telling me he'll take me down there one day," Mom said, "when we get a camper."
Dan had always considered his stepfather handsome, with his strong nose and jaw, clear blue eyes and neatly trimmed hair. Ray stood four or five inches shorter than Dan, stocky-framed and solid, but with a salesman's smooth, tan body. Mom stood briefly beside him, stroking his shoulders as he talked to Ford. "This your first Christmas away from home?" Ray asked.
"Yes, sir, it is. And it feels a little odd."
Ray chuckled. "You ought to talk to my children. They don't come home for Christmas, and they don't even think twice about it. Ellen's children come to see her. But mine don't. Unless they need money."
"Your boys come to see you," Mom said, "almost every year."
"How many children do you have?" Ford asked.
"Six. Three sons and three daughters." Sipping coffee, he gestured to the pictures on the divider of shelves that separated the kitchen from the living room. "Most of my kids live in Louisiana."
Mom added, "The oldest boys are really sweet. They built my shelves for me."
Ray nodded with a touch of pride. "Built that shed out back too."
"Do you do much carpentry?" Ford asked.
"I do a little," Ray said. "That's why we built that shed. I got me a good shop out there."
"I've been trying to set up a woodworking shop at home," Ford said, "if I could ever get time."
"It takes some doing, all right. Took me four, five years to get mine like I wanted it. I still don't have a good lathe like I want."
"He's making me a cabinet for the bathroom," Mom said. "I can't find anything in the stores that will fit the space I got. Ray's good with that stuff."
Ford said, "My dad has a shop. And there's plenty of room in my basement for one, if I knew what to do to get started."
The pause lengthened. Dan could tell Ray was considering the thing, turning it over. After a while he pushed back his chair and stood, saying to Ford, "Come on out and look at my shop."
Nobody said a word as Ray led Ford out the back door. Mom watched as they crossed the yard. "That wasn't too bad."
"No, it wasn't."
"You want to wrap your presents while they're out there? I got all the gift-wrapping stuff back in my bedroom."
He retrieved the gifts he had packed. Mom pulled out her bag of Christmas wrapping paper from the closet. Dan displayed his gifts, and Mom asked the price of each. "Son, you spent too much money."
"No, I didn't. I'm doing fine." Pleased at her admonition, nonetheless. "Wait till you see what I got you."
"Lord help me, I'll feel so guilty about whatever it is I won't be able to use it."
"Now, Mama, it's my money, and I can spend it on Christmas if I want to."
She fretted another moment or so but was obviously pleased. This game repeated itself every Christmas, and Dan found himself relieved at its cycle this year, restoring, in some way, his sense of normalcy. She laid out rolls of paper on her bed, arranging scissors and tape. The game of Dan wrapping his own presents also replayed itself each time he came home, since Mom invariably wrapped the gifts herself. "Your sister bought that power saw like Ray wanted. You can write her a check for your half. Ray will really like that. And I got him that lathe he keeps talking about. I don't even half know what it is, but he wants it. I hid it in the vault behind the shed. He'll be surprised because he doesn't think I could manage something as big as that."
"What did Ray get you?"
Mom laughed. "I don't know, I can't figure it out this year. I guess I'll have to wait. What did you give Ford?"
"I gave him a sweater and some other stuff. A watch." Tense, suddenly, but forcing speech. "I have one more present for him. But I'm scared to give it to him. I don't know what he'll think."
This present openness of conversation disturbed his mother, but she persevered. "What is it?"
She understood his hesitation when she saw the box, and a slight cast of fear overlay her features. Dan opened the blue velvet lid. A gold ring nested in white satin, a plain band inlaid with fine geometric tracings. He handed (he box to her. "This is a wedding ring," she said.
"It's not, really." Dan blushed. "I don't even know if he'll wear it."
Disturbed, she touched the ring with her fingertip. He could see her sadness was real. "It worries me. I guess I always hoped you'd change your mind and find you a wife."
"I won't ever have a wife. I'm not looking for one. I told you that a long time ago."
She nodded. "But you were never with anybody before. So I could pretend." The moment lengthened. "Seems like nothing is ever the way it ought to be. And this is one more thing."
Returning to the bed, she took up the Christmas paper again. She rested the box in sight, open, to show the ring. Finally she asked, "Are you happy?"
"Yes, ma'am."A knot of feeling rising in his throat.
"That's good." She touched the ring again. Closing the box, lifting it, she met his eye. "Do you want me to wrap it?"
Ford and Ray spent a peaceful half hour in the shed while the sun sank, and Dan and his mother arranged the new gifts under the tree. Mom switched on the television with its soft background chatter of Christmas greetings from the local stations.
"Do you have any shopping to do?" Mom asked, pulling out her butcher block from the top of the refrigerator. "I need to make one more trip to the mall tonight. To pick up something for Cherise."
"I wouldn't mind going out there, but I don't think I need to buy anything else."
"It's going to be a mess, trying to shop tonight. But all I got her so far is a sconce. You know how she likes that colonial-type stuff. And I think I ought to get her something else."
"Are you getting along with her?"
"Oh, yeah," Mom said, "we're doing fine. I went up to Greensboro to see her and your brother, and her and me had a real nice talk. Allen is doing real good. He's running that whole branch of the bank. And they think he'll go to the district office pretty soon."
"Allen always had the knack for making money, didn't he?"
Mom laughed. "He sure did. And for spending every penny of it." She had begun to cut up a whole, raw chicken. The white, elastic skin stretched and parted. Bone cartilage glistened. "I thought I'd fry this chicken. I'll bake a piece each for me and Ray. How does that sound?"
"You know how that sounds to me. I'll sit here while you fry chicken any day."
Pleased, she added, "And I can cook some vegetables out of the freezer. They won't be like right out of the garden, like you used to get. But it tastes better than what you buy in the store. To me it does, anyway."
They sat peacefully in the kitchen until Amy arrived. Her small car slid beneath the branches of the pecan tree, and Amy waved, cigarette in hand. Through the windshield Dan glimpsed her pale face beneath dark, short curls, her smile flashing. A slight haunted look to her eyes. Cigarette bobbing, she looked around the yard as if expecting to find someone else. Beside her, strapped into the passenger seat, Jason waved his small white hand.
They stepped free of the car. She wore her hair neat and short and rinsed it with a red-tinged henna. On her face, alo
ng with the requisite makeup, eyeliner, and mascara, she had that hard-edged expression Dan remembered from childhood. Only when she watched Jason, standing on tiptoe to embrace his uncle, the hardness vanished.
"Welcome," she said. "Did Mom tell you me and her had a fight about supper?"
"Hush, Amy."
"We did. I'm sorry I was so ugly." She matter-of-factly pecked Mom's cheek. "I bet we're having chicken. Right?"
"I like Nanna's fried chicken," Jason announced, whirling around the yard with a plastic jet.
"Tell Uncle Dan who's coming to see you tonight," Amy said.
Jason screamed, "Santa Claus! And he's bringing me a whole bunch of stuff."
"Well that's good," Dan said. "I bet you can hardly wait, can you?"
Jason shook his head furiously. Amy said, "I won't have any trouble getting him to bed tonight." Looking around the yard. "Did your friend come with you?"
"Him and Ray are in the shed looking at Ray's shop," Mom said. "Get Jason's toys and come on in the house— it's too cold to stand around out here."
Amy opened the hatch of the small car and Dan hefted the laundry basket full of bright plastic toys that traveled with Jason from house to house. The child played inside the trailer adjacent to the kitchen, where Mom and Amy could keep an eye on him while they drank coffee. Dan set down the basket of toys. Jason asked, "Will you play with me, Uncle Dan?"
Through the window Dan could see Ray and Ford leaving the shed. Ray toured the exterior of the shed with Ford briefly, showing off the lumber rack and the shelter under which Ray kept the machinery for tending the cemetery grounds. Amy noted this movement from her kitchen vantage, leaning over to look out the window. "Is that him?" She glanced at Dan, who had knelt to help Jason with the basket of toys. "He's good-looking." Amy tapped the cigarette on the ashtray.
"Who is?" asked Jason.
"Nobody," Mom said. "Play with your toys."
"Ray must like him," Amy said, "because he's sure showing off that shed."
"Am I good-looking, Nanna?" Jason asked.
"Yes, honey," Mom said, "you're a handsome little boy."
Amy looked at Dan and grinned. "I never had a boyfriend who looked like that."