Cathead Crazy

by Rhett DeVane

  “Nothing you do surprises me, Ma-Mae.”

  Hannah glanced around the room. Unlike her mother’s, Josephine’s space showed little decoration. Except for stacks of books, the room looked utilitarian and sparse.

  “Josie has the prettiest hair. It’s like spun silver. She gets this one flat place in the back where she wallows around on the pillow.”

  “Really, Mae.” Josephine dabbed dots of cologne on her wrists. “You make me sound like some old hog. I don’t wallow!”

  “Well, missy, if you don’t wallow, how you reckon your hair sticks out like a scared porcupine every morning?”

  Hannah pushed aside a stack of novels and sat on the edge of Josephine’s single bed. “Looks like you two are almost ready to go.”

  Josephine nodded. “It’s taken us a couple of hours and more than a few curse words, but we’re about as ready as two old women can get.”

  Her mother asked, “Where’s your sister?”

  “Helen’s meeting us in Havana.”

  “How’ll she ever find us? We’re bound to be wandering around in the antique stores.” Mae shellacked Josephine’s hair with spray.

  “Havana’s not that big, Ma-Mae. I’ll have my cell phone on.”

  Josephine stood slowly, then balanced on the back of the chair. “Let me use the restroom before we go.”

  “She’s got another of her kidney infections,” Mae said after her friend closed the bathroom door. “I try to get her to drink more water, but that woman is used to going like a house afire once she gets started. By midday, she’s worn herself slap out. She’s got to learn to pace herself. At our age, life’s more a marathon than a sprint.”

  Mae’s metaphors were so on target.

  “God provided me a lesson with her, He did.” Mae motioned toward the bathroom.

  “How’s that?”

  “When I first met Josie, I thought she was plain cathead crazy. Judged her wrong. She wasn’t oriented to life here at the Mont.”

  Mae recapped the hairspray and stored it in a small cabinet by the closet. “Smart as a whip, that woman. Keeps busy on her computer, and she’s even writing a book. She wants to start up a memoir-writing class. I think that’s a fine idea, don’t you?”

  “I’d love it if you recorded some of your memories. Helen and Hal would too.”

  Mae checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Reckon it’s best I write them down before I don’t have good sense.”

  Josephine stepped from the bathroom. “Is there room to take my walker, Hannah? I can use a cane, if need be. But I can move much faster and easier with my walker.”

  “Hannah’s got one of those suvs,” Mae told Josephine.

  Her mother refused to call the vehicle by its initials—SUV—preferring to pronounce the acronym as a word. Hannah had heard the term so often, it seemed normal.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The main street in Havana streamed with cars and transport trucks making their way north toward the Alabama line. Once Hannah turned onto a side street, the traffic disappeared.

  “Use the handicapped permit, sugar, so Josie won’t have to walk too far.” Mae pointed to a vacant space in front of the Art Gallery.

  “Any place special you ladies want to visit?” Hannah asked as she retrieved Josephine’s walker from the rear compartment.

  “I think Josie might like the Lazy River General Store,” Mae said.

  “My uncle owned a hardware store down near Crystal River when I was a little girl, but it was more like a general store.” Josephine smiled behind her dark sunglasses. “Folks came by as much to visit as they did to buy. The men would gather at the counter and talk and talk.”

  “Hardware stores are to men what beauty parlors are to women,” Mae commented. “You could spend a couple of hours at the Triple C and learn anything about anybody.”

  “Not that most of it would be accurate.” Hannah walked ahead a few paces and held open the country store’s door.

  “Speculation is the gravy of society,” Mae said.

  Rena waved from behind the wooden counter. Though the shop’s proprietor was close to Hannah in age, she appeared years younger. Even when Rena’s features relaxed, the corners of her lips turned slightly upward, the kind of demeanor her mother labeled approachable.

  “Look, Mae! Cherry licorice!” Josephine pointed to a glass jar filled with long braided ropes of the deep red chewy candy. “I haven’t had that in years.”

  “I’m addicted to it,” Rena said. “If I don’t watch myself, I’ll eat up the inventory.”

  When the cell phone in Hannah’s purse trilled, she stepped outside to get a better signal and a little privacy.

  “Sister?” Helen asked.

  “Where are you?”

  “Just now passing Quincy,” Helen said. “Got a late start. What kind of mood is Ma-Mae in today? She was melancholy when I talked to her last night.”

  A semi rumbled by and Hannah waited for a moment to answer. “You know how she gets in July. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get her out today.”

  “I’ll find you. Gotta hang up and drive. These country roads are narrow as the dickens.”

  Two hours later, after taking in a watercolor exhibit at the Art Gallery and wandering through shops of assorted antiques, Helen, Hannah and the two seniors stopped for lunch at the Azalea Café.

  “What did you like best, Miz Josie?” Helen asked.

  “The old books especially, but I liked it all. Funny, the things I remember from childhood are now antique collectables.”

  Mae reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “We’re antiques too, gal. They just can’t figure a way to sit us on a shelf.”

  Hannah sat back and enjoyed the women’s easy camaraderie. She noted the similarities between Helen and Ma-Mae: how they both listened intently; the way they made the speaker feel like she marked the center of the world; the softness around their mouths and eyes that hinted at depths of empathy.

  “ . . . and Hannah, didn’t you tell me—” Mae stopped. “You with us, sugar?” Then to Josephine, “When Hannah’s got that goofy look on her face, she’s gone off to somewhere else. Probably gets that from me. I used to daydream a lot when I was her age.”

  The front doorbell chimed. Odd. Most visitors to the Olsen home came to the carport door. Other than a polite knock, callers didn’t bother to formally announce themselves. That was reserved for postal workers, pushy salespeople, and the occasional Jehovah’s Witness. Since none of those would call on a Sunday, Hannah was hard-pressed to guess at the identity of person on the finger-end of the bell.

  When Hannah opened the door, Missy Rodgers squinted and shaded her eyes from the glare of the summer sun. “This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

  Oh great. The one person in the entire universe I’d rather not see at this moment. Hannah glanced down at her outfit: the rattiest, most-faded shorts in her wardrobe, a yellowed-with-wear T-shirt. Add to that: no makeup and left-over-from-church hair. “Why, no! Come on in.”

  Missy brushed by her, a cloud of floral perfume in her wake. “I just popped these blonde brownies from the oven. Thought your family might enjoy a few.” She carried a lacquered white wicker basket, lined with a pastel paisley-printed napkin, topped with a perfect pink bow. The aroma of hot sugar and spices lifted into the air.

  “How thoughtful of you, Missy. Norman and the kids aren’t here—they rode over to Quincy to Wal-Mart—but I’ll make sure to save them a bite.” She tabbed mentally through the refrigerator contents. “Can I offer you a glass of tea? Or I have soda, and . . . maybe some lemonade.”

  “Tea would be wonderful.” Missy dabbed the glistening perspiration from her upper lip. “Silly me, I walked over here. I don’t know what I was thinking, in this heat.”

  Not to mention, the fact that Missy wore a dress, pumps and pantyhose. You could torture political prisoners with an outfit like that, given the humidity and ninety-plus temperature.

  “Please, have a seat. I’
ll get you a tall glass with plenty of ice.”

  Hannah dialed the ceiling fan up a notch on her way to the kitchen. The last thing she needed was Missy Rodgers passing out in her living room.

  “I can’t believe anyone bakes this time of year,” Hannah commented as she handed a frosted glass to her guest. “If it can’t be warmed in the microwave or cooked on the grill outside, we don’t eat it.”

  “I don’t know what came over me this morning. I got up in a baking mood. I’ve already cooked three batches of cookies, a cake, bread, and these brownies.” Missy took a long drink of tea.

  “It was nice of you to think of us.” Hannah stretched to find some common ground for conversation. Other than their daughters’ friendship, what did they share?

  “Actually, I came to apologize.” Missy’s blue-eyed gaze rested on her.

  “Apologize? For what?”

  Missy sat the tea glass on a coaster and folded her hands primly in her lap. “I was somewhat abrupt with you when you last visited my home. I didn’t want you to think unkindly of me.”

  “Not at all,” Hannah said. “Suppose Justine stays over there with Brittany so much, I figured I could barge in without proper warning. The blame, if any, is on me.”

  “Oh, but you’re always welcome.” Missy hesitated. “I don’t have many callers, other than the charity committee members.”

  Was the Queen of Southern Etiquette’s veneer showing a hairline crack? With her money and societal position, it was hard to imagine Missy Rodgers lacking for company. “You always seem so . . . busy.”

  Missy fidgeted with one of her diamond and emerald rings. “I keep myself that way on purpose. It fills the time. Sometimes, being a single parent . . . ” Her gaze dropped to her lap.

  “It must have been difficult, not having your husband to lean on. I don’t know, some days, how I would handle things without Norman.”

  “Brittany’s an absolute angel; she’s always been an easy child. Well, there was that one river-party incident. But she is a teenager. I guess I should expect a bit of foolishness. None of us were innocent at that age.” She offered a weak smile.

  “My kids are pretty good, too. I don’t expect perfection. Heaven knows, Norman and I aren’t perfect. You do your best.”

  “Your husband seems to be such a nice, family man.”

  Hannah nodded. “He is. I’m fortunate. I fuss about his golf and the way he’s sometimes a bit of a slob—leaving his shoes and clothes cast off around the house. And he leaves the toothpaste lid off, most of the time. Little things, but all in all, I can’t complain.”

  Missy’s eyes watered slightly. “My Andrew was a bit . . . demanding.”

  Hannah searched her memory for any hint of the person Andrew Rodgers had been. Other than seeing him at a few school functions, she had little recollection of the man. Clean cut, dark hair, nicely dressed. She could barely recall his features.

  “Andrew was a good provider. He left Brittany and me . . . ” Her voice faltered. “To be honest, Hannah, I don’t miss him at all.”

  This was turning out to be the most interesting Sunday afternoon, full of true confessions from Chattahoochee’s eminent ice queen. Hannah had no idea why she’d been singled out to supply the counselor’s couch. “I suppose it’s true, what they say about time healing all wounds.”

  “He controlled everything we did.” Missy’s expression hardened. “Everything. Down to how the towels were hung in the bathrooms. He didn’t allow Brittany to ever look like she had any soil on her clothing. She was the perfect little girl, always trying so very hard to please her daddy.”

  Heavy stuff. What exactly could she say? “I take it, you don’t mind being—”

  “— alone?” Missy supplied the word. “I have my daughter. And my charity work.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I ever want to be involved that way again.”

  Hannah fiddled with a hangnail. The clock ticked.

  “Gosh, listen to me. I didn’t intend to come over here and rattle on so.” Missy reached over and touched Hannah’s hand. “Thank you for being concerned enough about Brittany to come by. She’s fine, really. Your Justine is such a good friend to her. If only . . . ”

  Hannah leaned forward.

  Missy’s expression grew wistful. “We should all be so fortunate to have one true friend.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The morning of the Fourth of July left no doubt in Hannah’s mind that summer had settled in with hellish gusto. By midday, heat waves shimmered from every horizontal surface. The Olsens’ backyard bloomed with holes excavated in Snooker’s earthen attempts to stay cool. Slug refused to step outdoors for any reason, content to view the birdfeeders from a window ledge. People and animals alike moved like chilled syrup. To do otherwise would’ve been a down payment on disaster.

  Mae stepped from Hal and Suzanne’s back door and propped her hands on her ample hips. “This pool sure is a welcome sight!” She motioned to her hips. “You should’ve seen me trying to wriggle into this bathing costume. Feel like I’ve poked myself into a sausage casing. I really have to stop eating that good food at the Mont.”

  “You say that every time something is the least bit tight.” Hannah helped steady her mother as she ambled toward the pool steps.

  Suzanne floated in the pool’s shallow end on a water-lounger. “Today isn’t the day to start up a diet. We’ve got tons of food. And you can’t leave it behind for Hal and me.”

  The pool-side picnic was Southern-mandated for the Independence celebration. The in-ground pool sparkled next to a long covered porch. Hal’s pride, a stainless steel gas grill, stood ready for action.

  Hal dozed on a float in the deep end, too tempting to his baby sister. She stripped off her bathing suit cover-up and took a few steps back to get a running start.

  “Cow-a-bunga!” The cannonball Hannah executed sent sprays high into the air and the wake scuttled her brother.

  Hal’s head popped up from the water’s surface. “Of course you know this means WAR?!”

  Hannah giggled like a teenager. “Ya think?”

  A slam-dunk game of cat and mouse ensued. Suzanne slipped from her floating lounger and headed for the steps. “I’m not going to get caught up in all this business. I just colored my hair.”

  “You kids, calm down now!” Mae called out.

  Hannah and Hal dunked each other one last time before obeying their matriarch’s orders.

  Justine lifted her head from the pillowed lounge and peered at her mother and uncle from beneath a straw visor. “Nice to hear someone else get fussed at, for a change.”

  Jonas, lying on the chaise near hers, chuckled.

  “When you reckon Helen and Charlie will be here?” Mae slipped inch by inch into the cool water, alternately grimacing and hissing.

  “Any time now,” Suzanne said. “She was taking the beans from the oven when she called, and then they were on the way.”

  “And Michael Jack? He bringing Mili with him?” Mae asked.

  “Far as I know.” Suzanne wrapped in a beach towel. “I’m going to bring out some drinks. Anyone want anything special?”

  Hannah pointed to a large red cooler. “Why don’t you put yours with ours. That way, you don’t have to go in and out.”

  In the shallow end, Mae huffed and puffed.

  “Ma-Mae, you act like getting wet is about to kill you,” Hannah said.

  “I can’t go barreling in like you and Hal do. It might stop my heart,” Mae said. “You do it your way and I’ll do it mine, thank you very much.”

  Hal used a beach towel to dry off. “I’m going to pick up Suzanne’s mother.”

  “Tell Ruthie to bring her bathing suit,” Mae said.

  “I doubt she’ll get in the water, Ma-Mae. Ruthie’s only gotten in this pool twice in all the years Suzanne’s had it.”

  Helen and Charlie stepped through one of the double gates. “Yoo-hoo! We’re here!”

  “Helen, you’d be late for your o
wn funeral.” Mae tsk-ed.

  “I was way-ting on my beans,” Helen fired back. “You know full well, I like to be early.”

  Charlie cradled a watermelon. “Lady was selling these beside the road for two dollars apiece. Said they were real sweet.”

  Suzanne stepped from the house, her arms full of soda cans. “Hey, y’all. I’ll hug when I get my arms free.” Michael Jack and Mili arrived and Suzanne directed everyone to drinks and places to store the casseroles and chilled food.

  “Too bad your younguns can’t join us, Suzanne,” Mae said.

  “They’re at their in-laws.” Suzanne ushered Mili and Helen inside.

  Mae nodded. “Reckon it gets that-a-way, after a fashion. Rare to get everyone in one place at a time.”

  A few minutes went by before Hal returned with Suzanne’s elderly mother. He helped Ruthie into a chair, provided a cool drink, and jumped into the pool.

  Mae pointed toward the water lounge. “Reckon I could ride that thing?”

  “Don’t see why not.” Hannah pulled the float toward her mother.

  “Hold ’er steady, daughter.” Mae backed up.

  Each time the duo came close to taming the wild-stallion pool lounge, it spit them out in a whirlpool of thrashing arms and legs.

  “It’s like trying to ride a rotten banana peel!” Mae said between attempts. “Hal, help your sister hold this doggone thing still.”

  With Hal on one side and Hannah on the other, they finally managed to plop their elderly mother squarely into the middle. Mae’s smile: triumphant. “There’s nothing my kids can’t do if they put their minds to it,” she proclaimed.

  Helen stepped from the back door and propped her hands on her hips, laughing. “Y’all just beat all I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh I don’t know, Helen.” Hal lurched from the pool and grabbed his older sister. “I think you in the drink would beat even us.”

  “Don’t you dare, Hal Mathers! I swannee!”

  “Hold your breath, Sister,” Hal warned.

  “Oh, shoot!” Helen grabbed her nose with one hand and the two plummeted into the water. Seconds later, their heads bobbed up.