Cathead Crazy

by Rhett DeVane

  “You’ve always been such a little shit.” Helen fought the laughter threatening her bruised attitude.

  Mae splashed water in her eldest daughter’s direction. “Mind your potty-mouth.”

  “Are we going to act like that when we get old?” Justine asked.

  Jonas plucked the MP3 player’s earphones from his ears. “You say something?”

  “Never freakin’ mind.” Justine turned over to tan her back.

  “Hey, I got a new redneck thing for y’all,” Charlie called out. “You might be a redneck if—” One of the family’s favorite games: spotting distinctive Southern behaviors, based on comedian Jeff Foxworthy’s claim to fame. “—if you keep a spoon stored in your mayonnaise jar.” Charlie delivered the punch line with a wide grin. “I found one in ours this morning.”

  Hannah closed her eyes, her body bouncing with laughter. In that moment—hearing the distinctive chortles from each of them—the collected tension from being a mother, wife, and caretaker faded and love for her family took over, a white-hot emotion so intense it sent a prickle through the fine blonde hairs on her forearms.

  A couple of hours later, Suzanne sat the chilled watermelon in the middle of a patio table. Mili followed with a butcher knife, a handful of napkins, forks and a box of salt.

  “You best go wake up those two sleeping beauties,” Suzanne told Hal. “Especially your mama. If she sleeps through the melon, she’ll be mad as a mule chewing bumblebees.”

  Hannah laughed. Where did her sister-in-law come up with her expressions?

  Following the bountiful meal of baked ham, barbequed pork ribs, potato salad, coleslaw, deviled eggs, baked beans and corn on the cob, the family matriarchs had retired inside to air-conditioned bedrooms. The rest of the clan had alternately swam and lolled around the pool, too full to do much else.

  As soon as Mae and Ruthie joined the group, the age-old family dispute started: Watermelon—salt versus no salt.

  Helen: “Yuck! I can’t abide salt on watermelon.”

  Norman: “You don’t have to shake any on your slice, Helen dear. Some of us think it’s better that way.”

  Charlie: “I like it with salt. Brings out the sweetness.”

  Hannah: “That never made a dab of sense. Salt on something sweet to make it sweeter?”

  Michael Jack: “I’m with you guys. Pour the salt to it.”

  Mae: “Salt’s for homegrown tomatoes and fried eggs, not watermelon.”

  Ruthie: “My blood pressure won’t allow for salt.”

  Mili: “Must be a guy thing. I never put salt on melon.”

  Does everyone beat a subject to death quite like my family? Hannah wondered. The same debate raged every time someone showed up for a summer function with a ripe melon.

  Mae glanced up. “Hey, don’t you kids want some? It’s going fast!”

  Justine shook her head, but Jonas jumped up, grabbed a huge salted slice and returned to his lounge.

  “First time I’ve seen that girl without a cell phone glued to one ear,” Helen said.

  Hannah flicked flat black seeds from her slice with the tip of a knife. “She doesn’t bother turning it on when she and Brittany are quarreling.” Hannah glanced over toward Justine. “Jus had planned on watching the pageant. This morning at breakfast, she asked to come over here with us instead.”

  “It’ll pass,” Mae said. Pink watermelon juice glistened on her lips. “Younguns her age can fight like starved dogs over a pot roast one minute and swear undying faith the next.”

  Michael Jack asked, “Y’all still plan on going down to the lake, right?”

  “Of course.” Hannah rested one hand on Norman’s knee. “One of our first dates was to the Lake Seminole fireworks.”

  Norman winked. “That night was lit up in more ways than one.”

  “I’ll be, Norman.” Suzanne’s eyes shone with fun. “Who ever took you for such a romantic?”

  You don’t know the half of it, Hannah thought. Lately, she craved Norman almost as much as peanut butter.

  Helen’s Mixed-up Baked Beans

  3 slices bacon, cut into bite size pieces

  1 medium onion, diced

  1/2 lb lean ground beef

  1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

  1/2 cup dark brown sugar

  3/4 cup ketchup

  1 (16 ounce) can kidney beans, rinsed and drained

  1 (16 ounce) can lima beans, rinsed and drained

  1 (16 ounce) can pork and beans (okay to use the vegetarian kind)

  Sauté bacon, onion, and ground beef. Drain off grease and add rest of ingredients. Pour into casserole dish (a lasagna pan works well). Bake at 350º for 1 hour, uncovered.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Hannah followed Hal’s official Gadsden County Sheriff’s Office truck in the family motorcade. He motioned to a spot reserved for handicapped access, perfect for the two elderly women. Jonas hopped from the Olsens’ SUV as soon as it pulled to a stop.

  “Son?” Hannah crooked her finger. “C’mere.”

  Jonas turned in mid-stride.

  “I don’t mind you hanging around with your friends, but I need you to promise me something. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the immediate area unless you check first with either your father or me. Clear?” Hannah used her stern-mom face.

  “Yes ’um.”

  “When the fireworks are over, meet us right here. Do not make us have to come hunting for you in this crowd. Got it?”

  Jonas’s head bobbed, his eyes searching the gathering.

  Hannah could recall a time when parents didn’t have to worry about letting their children run wild, but meanness and crime had seeped into even the remote corners of the South. Hannah gave him a nod. “Okay, then.”

  She would’ve kissed him on the cheek, but heaven forbid she show that type of affection in public. People might see! Hannah longed for the cuddly little ragamuffin who had always reached up for hugs and sugar-smacks.

  Justine said, “I’m going to find out how the pageant went. ’kay?”

  “Same goes for you. Be back here before it’s time to pack up and leave.”

  Twilight shadows cast by the light of a full moon cloaked the expectant crowd gathered on the banks of Lake Seminole. A paved path off the main road led to the east bank landing, where a team of pyrotechnicians readied the staging area. Next to the lake, food and drink vendors blended with a mixture of people from three surrounding Florida counties and parts of southern Georgia.

  “There’s a perfect spot right there, Norman.” Mae pointed. “Ruthie won’t have so far to walk afterwards.”

  Norman popped the hatch on the SUV to unload the chairs. The family had just settled in for the show when Justine appeared, her face flushed.

  “Something awful has happened!” She gasped for air. “Brittany . . .”

  Hannah stood. “Slow down. Breathe!”

  Justine leaned over and put her hands on her knees, panting as if she had completed a marathon.

  “. . . passed out during her talent presentation . . . took her off in an ambulance.”

  “Where’d they take her?” Hannah asked.

  Justine wiped sweat from her face and shook her head.

  “Where’s her mother?”

  “Dunno. With her, I guess. She was supposed to be down here.”

  “I can find out,” Hal volunteered before jogging into the crowd.

  Justine cried. “Oh, Mom. I was so mean to her. What if . . . ”

  Hannah wrapped one arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Let’s not jump to any terrible conclusions.”

  Hal appeared. “She’s been taken over to Tallahassee General. Fellow I talked to said heat stroke, maybe. Her mom followed the ambulance over.”

  Justine wrung her hands. “Can I go to her? I can drive if—”

  “Not at night, and on a holiday, you’re not,” Norman said. “Too many drunks and fools on the highways.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Hannah turned t
o her husband. “Can you get Ma-Mae and Jonas on home after the fireworks?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Thanks. I’ll drive Justine over to TGH.”

  “You sure, hon?” Norman asked.

  “Missy’s all alone, Norman.”

  “Be careful.” Norman kissed his wife. “Keep your cell phone on. Call me as soon as you have any news.”

  “Mom. Where are you going?” Justine asked when Hannah raced through Chattahoochee and turned down Bonita Street instead of heading to the Interstate.

  “You have a key to Brittany’s, don’t you?”

  Justine’s blonde brows knit together. “I know where she hides the spare. Why?”

  “Because we’re going to stop by and pack up a few things for them.”

  “Mom, no! We have to get to Tallahassee right away!”

  Hannah parked the SUV in the Rodgers’s driveway. “This will only take five minutes, tops. Trust me, Jus. If they admit Brit, which is very likely, her mom will stay with her tonight. Neither have any clothes or toiletries with them. I’ve been through this scenario with your Grand-Mae more times than I want to count.”

  “If you think—”

  “I do think. Now, go into Brittany’s room, find a bag, and pack up undies, a couple of nightshirts, socks, maybe a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then grab what she’ll need from the bathroom: shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, brush and comb—those sort of things. I’ll take care of Missy’s bag.”

  “Won’t they get kind of pissed at us for going through their stuff?” Justine asked as she reached beneath one of the pottery planters for the front door key. “I mean, Brit’s still mad with me, and well . . . you and Mrs. Rodgers aren’t exactly friends.”

  “We can deal with that later, honey.” Hannah pushed through the ornate wooden front door. “They can both get glad in the same panties they got mad in.”

  Hannah pursed her lips when she saw the perfection of Missy Rodgers’s private space. The underwear drawer looked like a store display with small wooden dividers between the rows of folded bras and panties. The other drawers and master bathroom mirrored the same careful organization. She was unprepared for what lay behind the bi-fold closet doors.

  “Jeez-o-pete!” Hannah let out a long whistle.

  A category 5 hurricane would have left a neater aftermath. It was like finally making it to the Garden of Eden and finding weeds a mile high. Hannah’s mouth dropped open and stayed in that position until the initial shock waned.

  Hangers crammed the double rods. Wrinkled clothes hung haphazardly from bent wire and clear plastic department-store hangers. Soiled clothing crowded the floor, allowing a path barely wide enough to gain entrance. At least sixty pairs of shoes lay in heaps underneath the suspended rods, many missing mates. The closet made Hannah feel closer to Missy than all the well-meant home-baked muffins and polite conversation in the South.

  “Bless you, Missy Rodgers. You are human, after all.”

  “Were you and Brit disagreeing about her eating issues again?”

  The dim glow of the interior dash lights illuminated Justine’s anxious features. On the Interstate, holiday traffic flowed in thick strings. Justine nodded and sniffed.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “It got real ugly, Mom. It all started because Brit wanted to bleach her teeth for the pageant. God only knows why. They practically glow in the dark now.”

  Hannah pulled a tissue from the console box and handed it to her daughter.

  “After that last time, I had decided not to get involved with it, at all. Brit was barely speaking to me as it was.” Justine turned to face her. “You should’ve seen her in the bathing suit she bought for the competition. Her bones were sticking out all over. It’s like . . . she’s a skeleton!” Justine huffed. “She believes she’s fat. Can you imagine?”

  “From what I’ve read, anorexia goes hand in hand with a poor self image. You were saying—something about her teeth?”

  “Oh yeah. So she went to Dr. Payne’s office uptown to see about the bleaching. She was going to get started before the contest. The dentist told her the enamel on her teeth was all screwed up. He started asking her all these questions, then he called Mrs. Rodgers after the appointment.”

  Hannah felt a twinge of guilt about her brief conversation with Missy and Brittany’s dentist. Obviously, he had been listening. “How did you figure into this whole affair?”

  “I was over there when her mom came home and confronted her.” Justine’s voice trembled. “Brit made up this stupid story about how it was some toothpaste she was using and how Dr. Payne was full of crap.”

  Hannah pursed her lips. “Missy, of course, believed her daughter.”

  “Not totally. She wanted to, I could tell. But it was such a bold-faced lie!” Justine wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Mrs. Rodgers everything. How Brit had been eating then throwing up for months.”

  “Brittany was upset.”

  “You could say that. She screamed at me. It was awful. Told me to get out and never come back. Like, as in e-ver!”

  Hannah reached over and rested a hand on Justine’s thin shoulder.

  “Brittany will never forgive me. And now . . . ” Justine dissolved once more into tears.

  “And now, you and I will do our best to support them in any way they will allow.”

  The waiting area at the Tallahassee General Hospital ER teemed with people. Hannah figured the holiday magnified the numbers, adding in a mix of fireworks injuries and misfortune brought on by too much free time and not enough good sense. Hannah and Justine waited in line at the reception desk.

  “Let me do the talking,” Hannah said in a low voice. “With all those new privacy rules, I might have to tell a little white lie to find out anything.”

  “Justified deception,” Justine said. “How come I can’t get away with that?”

  “Ground me later.”

  “May I help you?” the nurse asked.

  “Please. They brought my niece in earlier. Brittany Rodgers. Is she still in the ER, can you tell me?”

  The nurse tapped on a computer keypad. “She’s in room six.”

  “May I go back?”

  The nurse glanced from Hannah to Justine, then handed over a visitor’s pass. “If there are more than two of you with your niece, one of you must wait here. We have to leave room for the staff to operate.”

  “My sister’s with her. I’ll check in, see if she needs a break. I promise, one of us will come right back out.”

  The nurse hit the lock release and Hannah and Justine walked quickly down a long hallway leading to the treatment rooms.

  “This is a lot bigger than before,” Justine said.

  “Oh, that’s right. You weren’t over here last time we brought your Grand-Mae over.” She motioned ahead. “There’s room six.”

  When they entered, Missy glanced up. Missy’s eyes were red-rimmed and her usually perfect hair, disheveled. On the gurney, Brittany slept, a spidery network of wires attached to her arms and chest. Hannah gasped involuntarily. Justine’s best friend’s skin appeared ashen, her withered body barely making a ripple in the stiff white sheets.

  “Hannah. Justine . . . ” Missy’s voice sounded ragged with emotion.

  Hannah crossed the small room and hugged her, while Justine stepped toward the bed and gently grasped Brittany’s hand.

  “We came right over as soon as we heard,” Hannah handed Missy a soft cloth hankie from her purse. Ma-Mae would have been proud.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. You don’t know . . . ”

  “The doctors— what do they say?” Hannah kept her voice calm.

  Missy’s weary eyes watered. “Can we talk outside?” She glanced toward her daughter.

  “Justine, will you stay with Brittany a few minutes?” Hannah asked.

  “If you need me. If they come to move her . . . ” Missy’s hands smoothed one corner of the sheet, flitting like dying moths
.

  “I’ll text Mom’s cell. Don’t worry, Mrs. Rodgers.” Justine pulled up a plastic-backed chair and settled in by the bedside.

  Hannah searched the busy waiting area and motioned to a quiet corner near a parlor palm. A TV monitor tuned to CNN yammered on about a tropical wave, churning off the coast of Africa. “Go sit down. I’ll get us both a cup of coffee.” Hannah paused in front of the monitor. If this one found its way into the Gulf of Mexico . . . She stopped herself from speculating and found the coffee vending machine.

  When she returned with two Styrofoam cups of coffee, Missy offered a weak smile. “I can’t imagine why you came, Hannah. Neither you nor Justine have had the kindest treatment from us lately.”

  “Sometimes people do things that are out of character, Missy. We wouldn’t be worth anything if we couldn’t overlook and forgive.”

  Missy picked at the cup clutched in her hands. Miniature dots of the plastic foam stuck to her fingers. “I still can’t believe all of this.”

  “Do they know what happened?”

  “Heat, combined with dehydration and . . . malnutrition.” Missy’s hands shook as she took a sip of the steaming black coffee. “You tried to tell me. So did Justine—”

  “As a parent, it’s hard to see. We’re all blind when it’s someone close to us.”

  Fresh tears popped into the corners of Missy’s eyes. “She was starving herself to death. Killing herself, one little bit at a time. And I flatly denied it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “God, what kind of a mother am I, to stand by and watch my child wither away in front of my eyes?”

  Hannah rubbed Missy’s shoulder. “I’ve seen how you dote on Brittany. It would be clear to anyone what she means to you.” She hesitated, reaching for the words. “What’s important now is getting her the help she needs.”

  “The ER physician mentioned something about programs for people with Brittany’s disorder. He said someone from the counseling department would come by when she’s out of immediate danger.” Her voice grew strong with resolve. “She will get better.”