by Fran Rizer
"Bill!" she screamed. "What are you doing?"
"Just a little horseplay going on," Bill said with a grin on his face as he climbed from the pool.
Molly began a tirade, but she stopped midstream when a uniformed sheriff’s deputy stepped up behind Bill’s two friends who’d thrown him in the pool and began snapping handcuffs on them.
"What do you think you’re doing?" one of the men asked.
"Arresting you for creating a disturbance and probably for public drunkenness," the deputy said, and I recognized the voice. Fast Eddie Blake had struck again.
"How about I take you in for public stupidity?" Sheriff Harmon said to his deputy as he popped up beside him. "This is a party on private property, and this is none of your business," he added.
"But Sheriff," Blake spluttered.
"Get the cuffs off and get out of here," Harmon barked. "I should never have let you stop by with me, whether we were going up to my fishing cabin or not."
One of the servers handed Bill a large, fluffy towel. "It’s okay," Bill laughed. "I think I did something worse at my friend Bo’s wedding. Let’s call it even."
"Sorry," Harmon said and left with his new deputy by his side, jabbering all the way.
As they passed me, Harmon leaned over and said, "I think we have an ID on Snake Man in the Jag. Call me when you leave here." I stood to follow him, but he waved me back to my seat.
Molly hurried Bill into her aunts’ house, and soon they returned with Bill wearing khakis and a brown and white polo shirt. I wondered if Molly carried around an extra set of clothes for Bill like new moms do for their babies. Together, they circulated around the yard, speaking and laughing with their guests. I really wanted to see the gifts, but apparently, at high falutin’ showers like this, the presents aren’t opened until the end. Maybe even after the event is over.
I noticed that the guests seemed to be getting happier and happier. The crowd was full of tomfoolery and laughter. When Bill and Molly reached our table, Molly was most gracious to everyone. She and Miriam seemed to have bonded because they were discussing wedding plans as though Miriam had helped Molly with them from the beginning. So far as I knew, today was the first time they’d met. Some women go ga-ga over weddings and babies. I’m not a whole lot into either.
While we sat there, Molly picked up Bill’s glass and took a sip.
She quickly turned away and spewed tea all over.
"What is this?" she squealed."
"Tea," said Bill.
John took a sip. "Long Island Iced Tea?" he questioned.
Daddy took a sip. "Nope," he laughed. "It’s St. Mary Iced Tea—good old southern sweet tea with a healthy splash of grain alcohol."
"What? Did you add something to your drink?" Molly.
"Nope, it’s right out of the punch bowl." Bill.
"No wonder Aunt Nila didn’t make any sense when we talked to her." Molly in a panic. "She’s drinking spiked tea and she’s an alcoholic." Molly jumped up and looked around. She headed toward the plump little lady in the lavender floral dress. Bill followed her. They had almost reached Aunt Nila when she looked at them. Her eyes bugged as she saw them head straight for her. She turned and tried to go around the pool to the house, but the deck was too crowded with people, and the elderly lady wasn’t steady on her feet.
When his friends threw Bill into the pool, he’d made a loud ker-splash. When Aunt Nila fell, there was no big noise. She just slid into the water. Automatically, I jumped up, but Bill had seen her and dived in beside her. He was lifting her out before I could even get around the table. He stretched her out and looked like he was going to do CPR, but she coughed and sat up. Molly was raising Cain. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, but I could see that she was having one of her temper tantrums. I’d seen her do that before.
Aunt Nina pushed through the crowd around them and bent over her sister. Now she appeared to be fussing, too. I thought they should be more sympathetic. Aunt Nila lived in a house with a pool, but that didn’t mean that, at her age, falling in was reason to scold her instead of offering sympathy and comfort. Once again, a server appeared with a big white towel, which Bill used to wrap around his future aunt while they helped her to the house.
I spotted Levi in the crowd standing around the pool. He was beside Loose Lucy, my brother Bill’s friend who had been hiding out with him at the cemetery. Lucy’s arm slinked around Levi, and I wondered if the reason he’d come to the party was to be Lucy’s escort. Maybe Lucy felt she needed a man by her side at a wedding shower for a man she’d cheated with. Levi certainly hadn’t made any effort to rejoin me since I came over to Daddy’s table.
"Looks like Bill is marrying into an interesting family," John commented.
"Molly’s marrying into one, too," Miriam said. "I can vouch for that."
"Now, Miriam," Daddy interrupted, "you’re not saying that the Parrish family is anything less than perfectly normal, are you?"
Miriam smiled at him. "I’m not saying that because I’ve been in this family for years, and I hope to stay a Parrish ’til I die." Well, I hoped John had worked out his feelings of being ignored at home, because Miriam wasn’t hesitant to reach up and kiss him when she finished talking. He grinned.
"Pa, would you care for some of that iced tea?" John asked Daddy.
"Don’t think so, but let me tell you a secret." John leaned his ear toward Daddy, and the rest of us didn’t hear what was said. I watched John when he stopped by the drink table and got two empty cups. He headed toward the edge of the yard, and I lost him in the crowd. A little while later, he returned and gave Daddy one of the cups while he sipped from the other. I wondered if there were another drink table somewhere else in the yard.
Johnny complained that John didn’t let him and his sister bring their swim suits. "I’m bored," he said in that squeaky adolescent voice.
"Get something to eat," Miriam suggested.
"I’m already full," he complained.
"I’ve had about all of this wedding shower I can stand," Daddy said. "The kids can ride to the house with me. Pick them up when you leave." Johnny and Megan beamed. They didn’t get to see their Grandpa much, but grumpy though he was with everyone else at times, he’d always been a doting grandparent to his only two grandchildren.
"I’ll walk out with you," I said. "I worked until an hour or so ago, and I’m tired." I air-kissed Miriam and John on their cheeks.
As we walked through the crowd, we passed my brother Mike. Daddy asked him if he was drinking tea.
"No, not me," Mike said. "I’ve had a headache all day. Afraid that tea wouldn’t mix too well with my migraine medicine."
"Why don’t you go home with us?" Daddy asked.
"I’ve got to help Bill with some things, but I won’t be late," Mike answered.
Daddy and I walked the kids around to the front of the house and up the drive to the entrance to the parking lot pasture.
"Are you spending the night?" I asked Megan.
"No, but we’re coming back for the wedding."
The heeled sandals had gotten to me. I slipped them off and walked bare-footed with my purse in one hand and shoes in the other.
I knew what it was when I felt it. Growing up on a farm, I’d felt that sickening squish between my toes before. I stopped and held my foot up.
"Oh . . ." I almost slipped away from kindergarten cussing and said the "s" word.
"That’s what it is, all right," Daddy said. Megan looked sympathetic. Johnny laughed, danced around, and made disgusting sounds.
I tried cleaning my foot off with some tissues from the car, but the smell was still there on the way home. I even forgot to call Sheriff Harmon.
If I ever have children, I want girls, not boys, and I don’t want a pasture for the parking lot at my baby shower.
Chapter Eighteen
7:16 flashed in red on my digital clock when I opened my eyes Sunday morning. The jarring ring of the telephone ended my hope to sleep late. It also brought
an abrupt closure to whatever I was dreaming because the details fled when I awoke. With The Boys for brothers, it’s a wonder I hadn’t received a call like that long ago.
"Hello," I managed while Big Boy stretched his legs out and rolled around on the bed, flopping a paw in my face.
A recorded female voice responded, "You have a collect call from . . ."
"Mike Parrish." My brother’s voice spoke his name.
". . . at Jade County Detention Center," the recording continued. "Do you accept the charges?"
"I do." Oops! Those are two words I’m not sure I’ll ever want to say again. "I—I will. That’s what I m-m-mean," I stuttered. Big Boy bounded off the bed and headed out of the bedroom.
"Callie? Callie? Are you there?"
"Yes, Mike, I’m here. Are you at the jail? Who’s been arrested? Is it Daddy? Or Bill? Or Frank?"
"No, it’s me. Now don’t start fussing. Just listen. There’s a long line of dudes behind me waiting for this phone, and I don’t wanna make ’em mad. I need you to get some cash money. I don’t know how much, probably several hundred dollars. Bring it to the county jail and be here by nine o’clock for my bail hearing."
"I don’t have several hundred. I’ve got about twenty in cash, and I can go to the ATM, but I probably don’t have even a hundred dollars in my account."
"Get it from Pa. Just don’t tell him what you want it for."
"Yeah, you want me to call Daddy and ask him for a few hundred dollars, but I can’t tell him why I need it?" Big Boy returned, carrying his leash in his mouth. I patted him on the head and whispered, "We’ll go out in just a minute," before turning my attention back to Mike.
"Why were you arrested?" I asked my brother.
I could hear male voices complaining in the background.
"Hurry up!"
"You’ve had long enough."
"We need to use the phone."
"I gotta go," Mike said. "Get the money and be here by nine." He paused, then added, "Please!"
I dropped my sleep shirt on the floor and slipped on underwear, jeans, T-shirt, socks, and Nikes. Big Boy dragged me to the door when I clipped his leash to his collar. His business didn’t take long, and I didn’t bother taking him for his walk.
Back in the apartment, I knocked on Jane’s door and called, "I’m going out. Be back as soon as possible."
Jane either didn’t answer me or mumbled so softly that I couldn’t hear her. I grabbed my cell phone and hit automatic dial for Daddy’s number while I fired up the Mustang.
"Hey, Callie," Frank answered. I was surprised he was at the home place. It seemed that recently he was in the apartment with Jane whenever I woke.
"I need to talk to Daddy," I said.
"Well, good morning to you too," Frank snapped.
I heard the phone drop onto a table or some other hard surface as Frank yelled, "Pa, it’s Callie. She’s gotta talk to you!"
"Calamine?" Daddy’s voice growled, making him sound like Odell.
"Daddy, I’ve got a problem, and I need you to help me without asking questions."
"What is it? Is your car broke down?"
"No, I need some money, a couple hundred dollars. Can I pick you up and take you to the ATM? I promise you’ll get it back, but I don’t want to tell you why I need it."
"Are you in trouble, girl?"
I didn’t know how to answer. Finally, I said, "Kinda, but the money will get me out of trouble."
"Come on by the house. I’ve got about four hundred stashed in the back of my gun safe. You can take that, but I want it clear that it’s a loan, not a gift."
"Yes, sir."
I turned on the radio and sang along with Carrie Underwood and Rascal Flatts as I drove to Daddy’s house. As always, the long driveway was picture postcard beautiful. Old live oaks lined both sides. Their branches, loaded with lacy Spanish moss, dipped over the road. Abruptly the drive ended at the ugly farmhouse where I’d spent my childhood. When Daddy had grown tired of having to paint the outside every few years, he’d installed vinyl siding. The supply store had a really depressing dark gray on sale. Our house was gray with black trim and a black roof. Not dove gray. Angry thunderstorm sky gray.
I didn’t have time to get out of the car before Daddy came out on the front porch.
He had one fist balled up, and I wondered if someone had made him mad. He hugged me, then opened the fist over my hand. Greenbacks fell from his palm to mine.
"That’s three hundred, eighty-five dollars there. I hope it’s enough for your problem." He looked down at the ground and blushed. "This isn’t anything female, is it?"
"Oh, no, Daddy, I’m not in that kind of trouble."
"Okay, because times have changed, and you’d be welcome to move back in with me with a grandbaby. John’s younguns are too far away for me to be a real grandpa to them. Besides, those kids are about grown. Did you see how big they are yesterday?"
Now it was my turn to laugh. Buh-leeve me. If that had been my problem, it would have been an immaculate conception. My love life had been nonexistent for months and months. At least Daddy didn’t seem to know that. He’d probably be glad if he did. After all, I was over thirty and divorced, but he still thought I was too young to drink a beer. Sometimes I wondered if he thought I was a virgin, too.
I shoved the money into my jeans pocket, kissed Daddy on the cheek, and headed toward the Jade County Detention Center.
My experience with jails and prisons had been limited to television shows. I knew the directions to the new building, but I’d never been there. A sign on the dirt road pointed me to turn left. A parking lot at the end of the drive faced a large brick building surrounded by a chain link fence topped with rolls of razor wire. The enclosure wrapped up to the door on each side of the entry sidewalk so that it wasn’t necessary to get into the fenced area to go into the building.
The first room I entered was a small lobby. About fifteen plastic chairs bolted to the tiled floor were crowded with men, women, and children. Some of them held magazines, but most of them just sat there, looking tired and bored. A baby cried, and the mother was busy unbuttoning her shirt, preparing to nurse him.
A young woman sat behind a desk in the corner and looked at me expectantly. "May I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, ma’am. I hope so," I said. "My brother called and asked me to come bail him out."
"What’s his name?"
"Michael Earl Parrish."
"What’s the offense?"
"I don’t know."
"Well, they’ll tell you around at the hearing." She motioned toward a door to the right of her desk. "Go through there," she said. "Follow the signs. You’ll see a wall of lockers. When you get to them, put your purse and anything else you’re carrying into a locker. The key will have a clip on it for you to attach it to your shirt, then go through the check point. The attendant will give you an ID to wear while you’re in the back. Pin that beside the key."
"Will that be where I pay his bail?" I asked.
"No, you’ll be going to the hearing where the judge will either set bail or deny it. If he sets it, someone will direct you to the cashier."
I followed directions. On the other side of the door, before I reached the lockers, I passed rows of people sitting in little cubicles.
After securing my purse and car keys in a locker, I walked through another doorway, picked up an identification tag and followed the hall to an open area filled with people. An older, uniformed man holding a clipboard stood in front of a double door. "May I help you?" he asked.
"My brother asked me to be here at nine."
"What’s his name?"
Once again, I identified Mike by his full legal name.
The guard looked at the paper on the clipboard. "Yes, we have him on the docket for this morning. Have a seat over there. When we call his name, you go into the courtroom and stand by his side. Do not touch him. Do not speak to him."
"What about the bail money?" I asked.
; "Take it one step at a time, little lady," he said and pointed toward an empty seat on a bench by the wall.
When I sat down, the young woman sitting beside me said, "Hi, honey. They gotcha husband?" At first, she sounded like some kind of severe southern accent. Then I realized what it really was—she whined.
"No, it’s my brother."
"I told my old man not to go out last night, but nothing would do but he had to go get some more beer. Sure enough, he’s got another DUI. Driving Under the Influence will take your license, give you a big fine, and make you have to get expensive insurance in this state. Since it’s not my old man’s first offense, he may wind up in jail this time. Is that what they got your brother for—DUI?"
"I don’t know, but I saw him last night, and he wasn’t drinking. He’d had a bad headache yesterday and was drinking lemonade."
"You’ll find out when you go in. They call out the charges," the lady said.
"What’s the routine here? I’ve never done this before," I said.
"I been down here so many times I could do it in my sleep," she answered. "You’ll go in there and stand by him. That’s supposed to show the judge that he’s got family. The judge will say what the fine or bail is unless they’re going to keep him. If they don’t jail him, they’ll process him and call you to the cashier. You’ll pay whatever it is or sometimes they let you set it up in payments. Then you take him home until his trial comes up."
"This isn’t the trial?"
"No, unless they got him for something that’s just a fine, he’ll have a trial later."
The guard called a name and Whiney jumped up and ran to the double doors. They must have decided to keep her husband or set his bail really high because about ten minutes later, she came out crying and walked away without speaking to me again.
I sat on that bench for almost two hours before the guard called, "Michael Earl Parrish."
First sight of Mike standing there in an orange jumpsuit made the whole thing real. My brother had been arrested. He looked miserable. The guard led me to Mike’s side in front of the judge’s bench. The person I assumed was the bailiff said, "Michael Earl Parrish. Charged with driving with an open container of alcohol and failure to secure seat belt."