High Cotton

by Debby Mayne

  I keep an ear open for awkwardness in the conversation, just in case I have to step in and rescue her. It’s the least I can do for all the times she’s pulled me out of pickles.

  Elliot doesn’t seem concerned, so I don’t think he’s aware of the sizzling tension between Shay and Joe. But Shay is still trying to cover up her nerves, so I speak up.

  “I have a little album of some photos of our new house.” I pull the hot-pink album out of my tote and lift it for all to see. “It’s my dream house—the redbrick ranch on a corner lot. It has three whole bedrooms and two full baths.”

  “I saw it,” Marybeth says as she approaches from the side. “It’s a quaint little starter home. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it until you can afford something nicer.”

  Deep down, I know that if it weren’t for discovering oil on her husband’s share of the land, Marybeth wouldn’t even be able to afford what she calls a “quaint little starter home,” but she still gets my goat. I take a deep breath, count to seven since I can’t make it to ten without feeling like I might explode, and turn my attention to Shay’s date as I shove the album back into my tote. I can show off later, when that awful, ungrateful woman isn’t around.

  “Hey, Joe, you mentioned that you brought some cobblers. Which ones are yours?” I point to the dessert table. “Can you show me?”

  “Yes, of course.” He glances at Shay with a look that melts my kneecaps, so I’m glad I intervened.

  On the way to the dessert table, Joe strikes up a conversation. “So how serious is this relationship between Shay and Elliot?”

  I don’t want to lie and make more of it than I’m aware of, but I also don’t want to mess anything up for Shay. So I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe you can ask her later.”

  “I think I will. She’s very nice, and of course, it’s obvious that she’s easy on the eyes.” He pauses. “And the most important thing is that her faith seems steadfast.”

  I like this guy already. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled him away. “I take it you’re not in a relationship.”

  He smiles. “You’re a very smart woman.” We approach the table, and he points to a peach and a blueberry cobbler. “I made these, and I brought ice cream that’s in the freezer over there in the shed.”

  “I can’t wait to try it.” I stand there and look around, awkwardness taking over and rendering me incapable of a normal conversation.

  “In case you’re wondering why I’m not already in a relationship, I might as well let you know that I was engaged until about six months ago. She kept putting off the wedding, until she finally admitted that she couldn’t see herself married to a pastor.”

  “Oh.” He obviously recognizes my discomfort, which isn’t too difficult, given the fact that I’m not sure what to do with my hands so I’m wringing them. But the fact that he understands the cause blows my mind. Digger never would have been able to do that.

  “Most of the time, I don’t mind being single,” he continues. “But I have to admit there are times when it would be nice to have someone. A person I can call . . . well . . .” He chuckles. “I’d like some companionship.” He laughs. “Man, this is awkward. I’m not sure how to put this.”

  “Oh, trust me, I understand.” I reach out and touch his arm. “You seem like a great guy. I’m sure some woman will realize just how much you have to offer.”

  “I hope so, but one thing she’ll also need to know is that I’ll probably never be rich with worldly things.”

  “The right woman won’t care. If she loves you for who you are, it won’t even be an issue.”

  “Thank you so much, Puddin’. Digger is blessed to have you.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Someone needs to tell him that. I’m not sure he knows.”

  “He knows, but when the timing is right, I’ll say something.” He glances over his shoulder toward my sister-in-law. “I think I’ll keep my distance today and talk to Shay sometime next week.”

  “That’s a good plan.”

  After Joe heads off in the direction of Digger’s aunt and uncle who invited him, I go back to Shay. She gives me a shy smile and sighs. I know how relieved she must feel.

  It’s been a mighty long time since I’ve felt what I think she’s feeling at this moment. When Digger and I first got married, our chemistry was sizzling. But now . . . well, it’s more of a slow simmer. I actually like the way it is now, but I would love a little more heat every once in a while.

  “Hey, y’all!” The sound of Aunt Lady’s shrill voice and her clapping hands snags my attention. I glance up at the woman with hair that’s too red, blush that’s too pink, and an outfit that I’m ashamed to say I sold to her. “Bucky and Marybeth have some news they’d like to share, so come on, everyone. Gather ’round.”

  Elliot leans toward me and whispers, “Any idea what this is all about?”

  “No telling.” I shake my head. “Aunt Lady has some kind of announcement every year, and it’s always something different.”

  “A lot of your family members look annoyed.”

  “That’s because they are.” I give him an apologetic look. “This family has all types.”

  “Yeah, I’ve always known that.” He gives me a sweet smile that reminds me why I’ve liked him for as long as I can remember. “But it’s strange seeing all of them here in one place.”

  I hope he doesn’t hold some of the people in my family against me. Before I have a chance to tell him that, Aunt Lady starts clapping her hands again. I look up at her, and she has a smile as wide as her face. Her dark-red lipstick is smeared all over her teeth, but I don’t think she cares.

  “Come on up, Bucky.” She reaches for her son’s arm, but he yanks it away. His face is bright red, and his wife is glowering at him from a few feet away.

  “Just tell us already so we can eat,” Uncle Dennis shouts from behind.

  Aunt Lady gives up trying to pull Bucky into the circle. “It looks like my son is too shy to tell y’all the good news, so I reckon I must.”

  “Of course you must,” Uncle Dennis says as he approaches her. “Why don’t you just tell us and get it over with?”

  She cuts a glare in his direction but quickly replaces it with a smile. “I’m sure you all know how delighted Bubba and I were when Gulf States Drilling discovered oil on our property, and then they found even more on the land we gave our kids. Well . . .” She turns to Uncle Bubba, and they exchange equally wide smiles before she skims the crowd with her snooty gaze. “Well, Bucky and Marybeth gave them the go-ahead to look some more, and guess what!”

  “They found more oil.” All heads turn to Uncle Dennis. “Anyone in the family could’ve told you that would happen. It’s no big surprise. There’s oil everywhere around these parts.”

  Aunt Lady appears momentarily frazzled, but she quickly regains her composure. “I bet you they’d find oil on your property if you’d let them drill.”

  “Of course they would, but I don’t care about that,” Uncle Dennis replies loud enough for everyone to hear. “I like the land as it is, clean and unblemished. Those rigs are ugly.”

  Elliot’s eyes widen and he gives me an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening look. “This is weird.”

  “Not really. They do this all the time.” I’m surprised that I’m not the least bit worried about Elliot’s impression of my family at this moment. If this had happened years ago, I would have wanted to crawl into a hole and never show my face again. But this is my family, and it is what it is.

  “Who do you agree with?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.” I shuffle my feet before looking him in the eyes. “I can see both sides. How about you?”

  I study his face as he chews his bottom lip. “I reckon I can, too, but it seems wise to think what all you can do with the money if you strike oil.”

  “But you heard what Uncle Dennis said.” I narrow my eyes as I wait to hear what Elliot has to say.

  “He could always buy more land with the money
from the oil.”

  “True.” His response doesn’t hit me well, but I try not to let him know how I feel. “I’m sure everyone has a perfectly good reason for whatever decisions they have to make.”

  A soft chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re so diplomatic, Shay. That’s one of many things I like about you.”

  I try to smile, but I don’t feel it in my heart. I’m back to feeling uncomfortable about Elliot now. Some of the things he says are disturbing. Until now, I never saw him as a gold digger, but I’m starting to have my doubts. There is the fact that, in spite of what he keeps saying about not having a chance with me all those years ago, he never really tried that hard. There’s a lot to think about, but I’ll do that later.

  When I glance toward the tables packed with casseroles, salads, pies, cakes, and every other type of food, I see Granny Marge standing at the one holding the meats. She holds up her hands, a sign to get closer so someone can say the blessing before we line up to fill our plates.

  Joe steps up from the side. “I’ve been asked to ask the Lord to bless the food we’re about to eat and to give thanks.” He opens his arms wide and gestures around. “And it looks like we have a lot to be thankful for because we’ve been abundantly blessed.”

  Granny Marge lifts a finger. “Don’t forget to pray for my friend Clara. She’s still in the hospital.”

  “Yes, of course.” Joe gives her a sympathetic look. “Does she . . . I mean, is she terminally ill?”

  I brace myself for what I know is coming, and she doesn’t let me down. She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “Joe, honey, we’re all terminally ill.” She pauses and offers a slight smile. “In fact, not a solitary one of us is getting out of this human condition alive.”

  “Oh.” Joe’s face turns bright red. “I didn’t mean—”

  With a flip of her hand, Granny Marge interrupts. “She’s just getting her gallbladder removed, so I think she’ll be okay.”

  “Okay.” Joe takes a deep breath and lifts his hands.

  A few people chuckle. Elliot whispers, “I know he’s clergy, but there’s something about him I don’t trust.”

  I blink but don’t respond. I’m impressed by how comfortable Joe seems standing in front of my family like this, even though he’s never met most of us.

  Elliot takes my hand and holds it throughout the blessing. After the “amen,” he squeezes my hand and lets go.

  “Ready to get some grub?” he asks.

  I purse my lips and narrow my eyes. “Better not use that word with some of my aunts. They put a lot of time into preparing this food, and I don’t think they’d appreciate having someone call it grub.”

  “I’m sorry.” A look of concern crosses his face. “I have to admit, I’m a little bit nervous. I wasn’t sure how people would feel about having me here. Folks in your family don’t get divorced, and I know they think something’s wrong with me.”

  He steps forward, picks up two plates, and hands me one.

  “Something is wrong with everyone.” My tone sounds terse, even to me. I take a breath, slowly blow it out, and try to relax my voice. “We’re all sinners, remember?”

  “Some more than most, I’m afraid.” He points to the array of meats. “I don’t know which to choose. Any suggestions?”

  “How about a little of all of it? You can come back if you want more.”

  He gives me an odd look, like he’s confused about something, but then he turns around to face the food. “Ladies first.”

  As we go through the line, I glance up and take quick looks around. When my gaze settles on Joe’s, my heart hammers. Lord, forgive me.

  “Why don’t we go sit over there with your brother and his wife?” Elliot says, pointing to a large oak tree with a couple of concrete picnic tables beneath it.

  Rather than talk and risk exposing my annoyance with him, I nod, grab a napkin and some plastic flatware, and head straight to the table. Elliot is right behind me.

  As soon as we sit down, Puddin’ tilts her head, squints her eyes, and slowly shakes her head. “If you boys will excuse us for a couple of minutes, I have something important and very personal to discuss with Shay.”

  “Again?” I look back at her with curiosity. “I mean, you do?”

  She stands. “Yes, I do.” The tone of her voice is similar to what she uses with her kids.

  “All right, then.” I stand up. “I’ll follow you.”

  Puddin’ leads the way to another oak tree—one that doesn’t have a bunch of people standing beneath it. “Okay, Shay. What gives?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought you were thrilled to bring Elliot here, but now that I see you together, you look miserable.” She puts her face closer to mine, making it impossible to look away. “Is that the way it is?”

  I can’t lie to Puddin’. At least not with her looking at me like this. “I’m afraid so.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I clear my throat, wishing I could say more, but I’m not really sure of anything yet.

  “Well, since you don’t know, let me take a stab at it.”

  I blink and meet her gaze again. “Okay.”

  “There’s this crazy chemistry zinging between you and the preacher boy. Is that it?”

  I try to stifle my surprise, but she has seen right through me so there’s no doubt she’ll recognize a lie. “I’m afraid that might be part of it.”

  She sucks in a deep breath and slowly blows it out. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s already asked me about you.”

  “He has?” I have to hold myself back from showing too much excitement. “What did he say?”

  “He asked me if you were in a relationship with Elliot.” Puddin’ snorts. “This feels so much like high school.”

  “Hey, Shay!” The sound of a very deep masculine voice behind me snags my attention, so I turn around.

  It’s Sally and Sara’s dad. “Hey, Georgie. Where’s Sheila?”

  “She’s around here somewhere. I got someone here I want you to meet.”

  I glance at the man walking behind him. He’s tall—well over six feet tall—has a little bit of facial hair, is clad in faded jeans, and wears a hat to match his cowboy boots. He almost looks like a caricature of the hero in an old western.

  “This here is Dex.” George pauses as Puddin’ and I get a good look at the man. “And this is my cousin, Shay. I thought the two of you might hit it off.”

  Dex tips his hat. “How do you do, Shay?”

  “Just fine.” I have no idea what to do, what to say, or how to act.

  He gives me what appears to be a practiced flirty look. “Yes, you certainly are.”

  “I am what?”

  He forces a crooked grin. “Just fine.”

  Puddin’ lets out a groan. I gesture toward her. “And this is my sister-in-law, Puddin’.”

  “We’ve met,” Puddin says. Without missing a beat, she takes me by the arm and gently nudges me away. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, we’re discussing something very important. And private.”

  As we walk away, I overhear Dex talking to Georgie. “She sure don’t look like an old maid.”

  I grab my husband’s arm and try to pull him toward the crowd. “Come on, Foster. You can’t stand here all by yourself all day.”

  When he looks at me and yanks his arm out of my grip, I see fear, and my heart melts as I realize it’s not stubbornness that almost kept him from coming. “I wish you hadn’t made me come, Missy. I’d much rather be home.”

  “Doing what? Sitting in front of the TV, eating potato chips and that stinky onion dip?” I place my hand on my husband’s arm again, only this time I don’t try to move him. I feel a tug at my heart as I realize how miserable he is, and the emotion practically makes me speechless. I clear my throat. “Look, Foster, everything’s going to be okay. Don’t forget that George has worn hearing aids for years.”

  “I know, but he’s part of
the family. I’m not.”

  I let out a grunt. “You know better than that. You became family the second you said, ‘I do.’”

  “It’s still different.” His expression turns pouty. “I think I’ll just hang out here for a while until everyone else has their food.”

  “No.”

  Foster jumps at the sound of my very firm voice. I stand there and wait while he processes the situation, and I can see when it dawns on him that his only choices are cooperating or remaining stubborn . . . and that the second choice comes with consequences. He lowers his head for a few seconds then reaches for my hand. “Okay, but promise you’ll stay with me.”

  In all the years we’ve been married, I’ve never seen my husband like this. Even though it’s a bit disconcerting, I have to admit that I kind of like having him acting so unsure of himself. It makes me feel important and . . . well, motherly.

  “Look at all those desserts,” he says softly. “Can I have some cobbler?”

  I laugh as I see his mischievous grin, but it quickly fades. “You have to eat something nutritious first. Let’s start at the salad table.”

  His frown becomes even more pronounced. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes. In fact, you have to take at least two bites of everything before you can go to the dessert table.”

  He tries to get away with loading up on a so-called fruit salad that’s nothing but canned fruit and marshmallows, but I stop him after the first scoop. “Why don’t you try some of that tomato-and-cucumber salad?”

  We go down the side of the salad table, having the same conversation over and over, until he finally digs his heels in. “This is enough roughage. I’ll be spending the rest of the weekend in the bathroom as it is.”

  “Okay, let’s get another plate and get some meat and potatoes,” I say. I know he won’t balk at that, but I’ll have to keep an eye on him to make sure he eats his veggies.

  As we load up our second plates, I think about how things have changed between us in such a short time. I never would have insisted on him eating anything a little more than a month ago, but now I feel emboldened. Now that I know he hasn’t been intentionally tuning me out, I think there might be hope for rekindling the old loving feeling.