by Dennis Foley
She was one of those students who never came to school unprepared, seemed to be any teacher’s favorite and would always supply the right answer when called upon. But never more. She was brief and never smug about her grasp of the material. But she was unlikely to raise her hand to insert herself into the discussions. When classes were over, she’d be one of the first to leave the room and immediately get swallowed up by the crowds of students shuttling to their next classes. Even if she wasn’t available, he still enjoyed killing time in history class by watching her.
Scotty finished shaving, dried his face and rinsed the sink he wouldn’t have thought to clean up in his high school days. He was looking forward to a friendly pair of soft worn blue jeans and a comfortable cotton shirt without starch. He suddenly realized he was thinking of Eileen when considering what to put on.
He’d forgotten how comfortable it was to walk around his own home barefoot in jeans and a loose fitting shirt. It had been a while. But there was a reason for it. Bare feet in any Army barracks, shower room or latrine was an invitation to infection. And infections caused more than a few trainees to be recycled after those infections got out of hand and caused them to drop out of forced marches and long morning runs. Even if it were not the case, the grit and sand never seemed to disappear from the floors, no matter how often they mopped them. He wiggled his toes and reminded himself he was home.
Scotty straightened his back as he reentered the kitchen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to blast in here and scare the crap out of you. I just didn’t expect —”
“To find me in your kitchen?” Eileen didn’t turn around from the kitchen counter she was wiping down. “No problem. Like I said, I knew you were home.”
He pulled a chair from the small lime colored dinette table, spun it around, straddled it, sat down and folded his arms on its back. He didn’t take his eyes off of her. “So tell me how this happened?”
She toweled off the dishes she had just washed and began putting them away. “How what happened?”
“How you ended up here—at my house, working for Kitty.”
“Well, it wasn’t your house when I got hired to help out your step-mom. It was just Kitty’s house.”
Her answer didn’t tell him more than he already knew. “I mean, I thought you’d be gone—out of Belton.”
She turned around and he got his first good look at her. Her hair was a bit shorter than he remembered and the waitress’ uniform looked so out of place. He didn’t know if it was some dress code thing, but she wasn’t wearing the ever-present class ring on the chain around her neck.
Eileen folded up the dish towel and draped it over the faucet. “Nope. I’m still here.”
She pointed at the percolator on the sideboard. “Coffee?”
Scotty had forgotten how much he had enjoyed home-made coffee with Kitty. “Sure. If you’re going to have some.”
She turned her back to Scotty and reached up to an overhead cupboard for a coffee mug. The move forced her up on her tiptoes to make up for her five foot four frame.
Scotty resisted the urge to steal a look at her legs and jumped up from his chair. “Here, let me help you.” He reached over her and pulled down a second mug. The smell of her hair was an unexpected surprise. He couldn’t remember when he had smelled someone so fresh or so clean. He handed her the mug.
Eileen filled one mug and half-filled the other. “I can only stay long enough for a splash of coffee. I have to get to my job over at Ronnie’s.”
“Ronnie’s? Ronnie’s Restaurant? The Ronnie’s where everyone in town goes after church? The Ronnie’s where everyone takes their mom on Mother’s Day? Ronnie’s Restaurant?”
“Yep. The Ronnie’s known for low pay. The Ronnie’s not known for overtime pay. The Ronnie’s known for serving gallons of grits and bushels of greens every day—that Ronnie’s. Anyway, I’m there from five to eleven every night. Every night ’cept Sundays.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Oh. I’d hoped we’d get a chance to talk. You know, catch up.” He searched her face hoping she felt the same way. “We could talk about old times or you could tell me were everyone ended up after graduation, or something…”
“Well, I’d love to sit and talk with you, but I got to work, Scotty.”
He had no idea what made him think she might say yes, but he asked anyway. “Some other time? How about after work? Could we grab a burger or something? After you get off? Tonight?”
She was quiet for a long pause and then smiled, meeting Scotty’s gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If you don’t mind hanging out at Ronnie’s while I close the place up.”
“No. Not a problem for me. I’ve got nothing but time. I’ll be there. At eleven. I’ll be there.” He suddenly heard his own voice. It sounded to him like he was babbling. He shifted his focus to his coffee mug and took a sip. “This is good. You can’t believe the coffee I’ve had to put up with in the Army. One day it’s watered down and the next it’s more like motor oil. Thanks.”
Eileen brought hers to the tiny table and sat down with Scotty. Scotty motioned toward Kitty’s bedroom with his mug. “So, how’s she doing?”
“Kitty?” Eileen smiled. “She’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. She’s worried she might be a burden on me. And I’m trying to help her. You’re lucky to have her.”
“Oh, I know. You know she’s not even my real mom?”
“I know. She told me all about your dad and everything. She’s mighty proud of you, you know? Get her started talking about you and she lights up.”
“It’s about time I did something. I didn’t set Belton on fire while I was in school. Now it’s my turn to take care of her.
“I talked to her doctor already. What do you think? She doing okay?”
“She’s tough, Scotty. I’m no expert, but I think you just being home is going to help. She’s never going to be a hundred percent again, but if she takes her medicine, stays away from cigarettes and gets her rest I think she’s going to do pretty good. You, me and Doctor Gordon have to corner her and make sure she can’t do anything but what’s good for her.”
“She seemed pretty tired when I came in earlier.”
“She’s only good for so long,” Eileen said. “She needs a nap every afternoon. It helps. She’ll be up and around in a little while. Except for her coughing now and then, you’ll think she’s okay. But don’t let her get over tired and don’t let her push it. Rest is her very best friend.”
Eileen got up again and opened a cupboard over the sink. She took out three large plastic pill bottles and put them on the counter. “She’s got some of these in her bedroom, but if she runs out, here’s the rest.” Eileen raised one container filled with yellow pills. “You have to force her to take these. They make her sleepy. But they help her breathe. So don’t let her talk you out of taking them.”
Flipping another cupboard open, Eileen tapped a schedule written on lined notebook paper and taped to the back of the door. “Here’s the schedule. You’ll need it. There’s no way you can remember she needs to take some pills twice a day and others three times a day.”
Scotty stabbed himself in the chest with his index finger. “Me make Kitty do anything? I’ll try. But this is a new role for me for sure.”
“Scotty, she needs you and in the six months I’ve been working for her I’ve never seen her more excited about anything than she is about you coming home. She’ll listen to you. She’s your biggest fan.”
He finished his coffee and took his mug to the sink. He picked up the bottles of pills and shook his head. “I hate this.”
“I know. So do I,” Eileen said. She pulled the apron from around her waist, folded it up into a neat little square and placed it on the kitchen counter. “I’ve got to go. I’m gonna’ be late for work if I don’t get out of here.”
“Oh,” Scotty searched for words. “Is there something I can do? Can I drive you over there?” He thumbed the door to his room. “I can get some shoes on and take you ove
r there with time to spare.”
“No. I’ll take the bus. And you should know Kitty’s car isn’t running again. I don’t know what; it just doesn’t want to start for me or her. And thanks, anyway, for offering, but I’ve got to go.”
Scotty followed her to the front door and stepped out onto the small landing immediately feeling the warm smooth concrete step with his feet. He watched her move down the short sidewalk to the street. “Tonight? Eleven? Right?”
She turned, shaded her eyes with her hand. “Sure. That’ll be nice. Oh, and, welcome home, Scotty.”
He watched her as she walked toward the bus stop and suddenly realized he’d never seen her at a distance greater than a few yards. She’d always been in a classroom or swallowed up by the river of students in the halls passing the classroom door. He liked the way she walked. Her walk was more confident than he would have guessed.
It was the same Eileen but a different Eileen walking down the road. She hadn’t run from him. She wasn’t in the same kind of hurry to get to work as she had always been to leave history class.
He felt more comfortable around Eileen the waitress than Eileen the classmate, even though he’d stammered and looked pretty stupid in the kitchen. All he knew was he couldn’t wait to see to see her that night.
He raised his hand to his eyes and watched. Though the outfit wasn’t at all flattering, she was prettier than he remembered. He felt a pleasant flutter in his gut.
The carport hung loosely from the side of the house as if eager to sever its connection and be on its way. Scotty made a mental note to do something about it before Florida’s regular tropical storms finally took it away and caused some serious damage in its flight.
He stepped under the overhang and looked at Kitty’s 1947 Studebaker two-door sedan. It scowled back at him under the large metal visor bolted over the windshield like a long eyebrow. The visors were common accessories in a state with so many sunny days and the only thing to help bring the interior temperature down in a time before cars were air conditioned.
He opened the door to the smell of damp, musty upholstery mixed with the irritating aroma of just plain old Florida dust. Tufting peeked out of splits and tears in the aging bench seats. They looked more like sofas than car seats. He could see the concrete slab beneath the car through a small hole rusted into the floorboard on the driver’s side.
Scotty remembered Eileen’s words, which weren’t much help. Won’t start could mean plenty of things. He leaned inside the car and looked over the steering wheel to find the keys, as always, still in the ignition. Turning the key, he watched the gas gauge fail to crawl away from its resting point.
Scotty threw his butt into the seat, his foot up under the dash and pressed in on the clutch as he centered himself under the steering wheel. Yanking the gear shift into neutral, he pressed the starter button and pumped the accelerator.
Nothing. Not a sound. Not a response. He tried it again and got the same silence, broken only by the small chain on the keys clinking against the dashboard.
He knew the next move was under the hood, but he sat for a moment and remembered learning to drive in the old Studebaker. He’d been worried he couldn’t see over the hood to the hidden right fender and was never sure if he was too close to something or might do some damage. But Kitty taught him how to use the hood ornament to gauge his distance from the roadside or a curb. She made it fun and reminded him if she could see over the dash, he could too. Back then, he was fifteen and was already a foot taller than she was.
“Okay. Time to get serious,” he pronounced to the car as he took the keys, got out and walked back to the bulging turtle shell of a trunk lid. It surrendered to the keys and after giving off a sound of stuck rubber weather stripping it opened wide enough for Scotty to step into it if he’d wanted to.
Inside he grabbed a small sandbag. It was like sandbags found everywhere in Florida, but it was oiled stained and filled with hand tools. Getting a strangle hold on the gathered neck of the bag he carried it around to the front of the car and rested it on the salt pitted chrome bumper. He didn’t bother to look for a hood release. There was a small length of rope sticking through the large grinning grill. It served as the makeshift hood latch since the real one had been broken for several years. He untied it and lifted the heavy hood, putting up the long rod to support it.
He surveyed the greasy engine for anything obvious. It was a mess. Oil, grease and some pine needles covered almost everything in the engine compartment. Dust hugged the surfaces unclaimed by the oily spatter. There was even a cobweb stretching from the steering column to the fender well. And the leaking radiator had a collection of long-dead bugs stuck in its tight mesh teeth.
Scotty strained to reach over a bulbous fender flaring back from the headlight to squeeze the radiator hoses for signs of fatigue in the rubber, but he finally had to step up onto the bumper to reach the hoses.
As he suspected, they were soft and mushy and would definitely need replacing before he left for Vietnam. The thought of Vietnam flagged his troubleshooting process, but as fast as it popped up he thought of Kitty and what else needed doing. Suddenly, time was important. Important where it had never much concerned him in the past.
Once up and leaning over the engine, Scotty spotted the mushroom shaped, beige colored corrosion encircling each of the battery’s posts. He pulled a pair of pliers from the sand bag and spread the handles open holding onto the jaws. With his free hand he scraped some of the corrosion off the posts then blew some more of it away. He steadied one side of the open pliers’ handle on one post and quickly tapped the other post with the other handle. Scotty jumped as sparks shot from the point of contact confirming there was juice in the battery. It just wasn’t getting to the starter.
After a trip to the kitchen to track down some baking soda and water, an old toothbrush and some rags, Scotty cleaned the battery top and posts, added water to the three thirsty cells and reinstalled the cables. He finished the process by greasing up both posts and cables with a coat of Vaseline to keep the corrosion from returning before he did.
Coming in from the bright Florida sunshine the kitchen seemed dark at first. Finding Kitty leaning against the sink with coffee in hand surprised him. “Hey, you’re up. Great! How are you feeling?”
Kitty quickly put her cup and saucer down, stepped toward Scotty and threw her arms around his neck. “Forget how I feel. Give me a hug, baby.”
He embraced her and discovered how frail she was, how brittle she felt and how thin she’d become since he left. He was almost afraid to hold her too tight. When she quickly broke the embrace it was obvious she was trying to keep the extent of her deterioration from him.
“I’ve been waitin’ for so long for you to come home, hon.” She held him at arm’s length and examined him moving the focus to him. “Look at you. Your hair… Did they need to shave it all off?” She patted his shoulders at their wide points. “What are they doing to you? You must have put on twenty pounds of muscle, sweetie.”
“In the Army they just like to call it good training. Now, why don’t you sit down and let me get you something to eat and some more coffee?”
Kitty ignored him, leaned forward, just out of reach and gave him a peck on the lips. “Baby, I missed you so much.”
Scotty shook his head at it all. “It’s really, really good to be home, Mom.”
She stepped back. “Golly, you’ve changed so much, hon.”
He mugged and struck a pose as if competing as a weight lifter, flexing. “Okay. I’m a bit older. I weigh about fifteen more pounds than when I left. But I’m okay and they didn’t break anything.”
He reached down and pulled the waistband of his jeans away from his stomach. “And I’ve even lost inches. Go figure.”
“Well, honey, the ol’ army sure put some bulk on your bones. Look at your arms.” She tried to wrap the fingers of both hands around one of his biceps. “What the hell do they feed you up there in Georgia?”
“
Snakes.”
“Snakes?!” Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. “They make you eat snakes?”
“No. Not really. It’s just a nickname. They just call us snake eaters.”
“Us?” Kitty made a face, confused. “Us who?”
“Rangers, Mom. Some call us snake eaters.”
Kitty took a sip of her coffee and put it back down, the cup rattling a bit as she returned it to the saucer as she thought over the nickname. “So you didn’t have to eat snakes?”
“Well, no. I mean, yes. We did have to eat snakes, but it was only for survival training in the swamps. Not like we have to eat ’em on a regular basis.”
Kitty waved her hand in front of her face as if it would expel the taste and smell of snake. “Oh, sugar. How could they make you do that? It’s so awful!”
Scotty laughed. “It wasn’t all bad. Honest.”
She pointed her finger at him. “Now, don’t you go an’ tell me it tastes like chicken.”
Scotty smiled and laughed again. “Would you feel better if it tastes like chocolate?”
Kitty slapped Scotty playfully. “Now don’t you tease me, Scott Hayes.” She laughed harder and began to cough a little, then harder. She pulled a handkerchief from her bra by reaching through the arm hole of her sleeveless dress and covered her mouth to conceal the mucous she had coughed up.
Scotty pulled up a chair. “Sit. Can I get you some water or something?”
Kitty doubled over in an extra effort to control the cough. “No, no. I’ll be okay. It’ll pass.”
Scotty felt helpless watching her struggle to regain her breath. He tried to get her to smile again. “Okay. Okay. I surrender. No more snake stories.”
Kitty smiled and looked Scotty directly in the eyes. “Honey, oh my lord.” She paused for a long time before continuing. “It’s so, so good to have you home.”
The two went on to finish a whole fresh pot of coffee. Scotty got Kitty a slice of melon, insisted she take her medication and ended up bribing her with a promise he’d cook her a steak on the grill in the back yard for dinner. He’d also insisted she rest in the living room while he cooked—telling her he’d take care of everything.