"Let me talk with Piper," Minerva said.
She heard Piper's voice in the background but couldn't make out what she said. George opened the door.
Minerva stood proud, each hand clutching the sides of her sweatshirt. The frosted air blew a stray curl on her neck, tickling it, and Minerva flipped the hood over her head. "I want to tell my side."
Piper appeared in jeans and a blue and white-checkered shirt. Peering around the door, she said, "We don't have anything to say. We spoke with the cops and almost brought charges against you. You need to go home. You can't see Fellow and you can't come in."
Minerva gasped and grabbed the doorknob. She wasn't used to Piper talking to her this way. "Wait. I can say what I have to say to you here. I'm not asking to come in, but I'll come in if you let me."
Minerva heard Piper's voice tremble. "You had no right to lay a hand on him. How can you possibly justify that?"
"I didn't do it," Minerva said, her tone rising. "Lew bit Fellow, like I told George."
"Liar!" George said from the background.
Minerva ran a wadded tissue across her nose. "Let me tell what happened...please." She folded the tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She thought Piper looked shocked at her display of emotion. Or maybe she surprised herself.
"Okay, Momma, tell me." Piper opened the door wider. "You were supposed to care for him."
"Don't believe her," George said loudly. "She's not coming in."
Piper shushed George then unlocked the screen door. "We'll sit in George's truck."
It was times like these Minerva wished she could disappear. She dreaded the "talk," and favored swift action instead. Nothing turned her nose crimson more than having to talk things out. All talking did was get people in trouble.
Minerva hoisted herself in the "monster truck" and grunted the door shut. Her short legs only touched the floorboard when she positioned herself just right. Droplets of moisture whooshed off the hood of her jersey when she flapped it against the seat behind her. She ran a hand through her hair then held both of them against the heated vent. "Piper, now I want you to listen to me."
"I don't—"
"No, wait. Let me talk. You don't listen good, but you can listen now. I didn't hurt that boy." Minerva stared at the side of Piper's face.
Piper's hands rested in a tight ball on her lap. "No dog would bite like that."
"Yes, she would," Minerva said.
"Not a bruise that long or wide."
Minerva watched Piper unfold a hand and turn up the heat, her eyes fixed on a huge cast iron sparrow feeding in the yard. Dirty ice formed a grotesque lump on one of its legs, making it look like it was sick with some dreadful disease.
Minerva's lips pooched. "Now you don't know that. Lew bit Fellow and that's it."
Minerva blinked when Piper carefully turned toward her. "How in the hell did that happen?" she asked. "Small dog—and no teeth marks?"
Minerva found a knit cap on the seat and twisted it in her hands. She knew when someone was calling her a liar. She resisted the urge to lunge at Piper. Slapping her would do no good, she'd go crying to George and he'd take up for her.
"Fellow said you pinched him. I believe him."
Minerva's face puckered as she contemplated this. She and Fellow had laughed and played together that day, watched Disney movies, and she fed him an old-fashioned Orange Push-Up cone after he begged for one. Why would he turn and lie about her? Of course she yanked him by the arm when she caught him almost jumping in a puddle of mud outside the door, but that wouldn't have caused a bruise, she thought. Minerva had forgotten to tell him to put on his coat before sending him out to check the mail for her and the little arm had felt ice cold when she grabbed it.
Minerva drew a breath and sighed. "Fellow was watching cartoons, sitting there on the floor. I think it was a re-run of The Flintstones. Lew was yapping all around him, like she does, you know, trying to get him to play. Anyway, she was barking and he got tired of it, ended up throwing his arm back, like this—" Minerva arched her arm in imitation and swung it over her head—"without giving it much thought and hit Lew square on the head." Minerva eyed Piper for a response but didn't get one. "Lew jumped and turned mad, probably scared more than anything. I grabbed Fellow away from her, so maybe that's why he thought I pinched him."
"So you tried to stop her?"
"Yep, but wasn't quick enough. We both got to his arm at the same time." Minerva stroked her knee. "I must have grabbed him too hard away from her."
Minerva saw her daughter's shoulders relax and what few lines she had on her face seemed to soften. "Why didn't you tell us? You knew we'd see it."
"No, I checked and it was red, but wasn't no blood," Minerva said.
Snow fell and the two watched the flakes breeze off the window and disappear in the air. Minerva told Piper she needed to replace the iron bird with a new one. This one was rusting, but Minerva could find one for her at Lowe's next time she went to Ruidoso. Piper dipped her chin in a thank you and zipped her coat. Minerva thought of adding something else, maybe something meaningful and nice....
But Piper had already turned off the truck and jumped out. "Come on, Mother," she said. "I'll walk you to your pickup."
That night George tucked the patchwork quilt under their chins while they lay in the queen-sized bed, encircled Piper under his arm, and rubbed her cold feet with his. "Think we need to put another cover on Fellow? Sure is cold tonight," he said.
"I already did. He's got his thermal pajamas on, too." She curled her knees and rested her legs against his. They remained like that for a while in the dark, the off and on hum of the heater the only sound.
"George, you awake?"
"Yes, darlin'."
"I'm trying to believe Mother, but I can't help but have my doubts."
"Well, let's sleep on it tonight, and see how we feel in the morning. Things will be clearer then."
Piper remained still for a while before turning on her side. "Okay. But I don't know right now if anything could make me change my mind about her. Something just isn't right."
***
Minerva dog-eared her Lucy Lane romance, switched off the lamp, tugged up her quilt, and stuck a socked foot under the warm spot Lew made on the bed. The little dog felt the heave and opened one sleepy eye. Minerva shut her eyes but the clock ticked on and she turned this way and that, disturbing Lew enough so that the dog stretched and leaped off the bed.
Instead she saw Fellow in her mind's eye laughing up at her, chocolate ice cream smudged on his face, a soggy cone in his hand. She saw herself dabbing a napkin at his chin and kissing his eyelids. But when she drew back she saw his face had changed. She searched for the cone but it was no longer in his hand. In its place was his toy black bear, the one with the missing eye. Fellow was crying up at her now, mouth open wide, the little tongue vibrating like a baby's. Her eyes moved again to the bear and she gasped. The bear was missing a limb and clutched in Fellow's other hand was its arm, bruised and bloody.
Time ticked by. Minerva shivered in the cold.
Chapter Six
Minerva sipped peanut butter cocoa and thumbed through Christmas CDs. Soon Eartha Kitt's cat-like voice purred throughout the trailer. She unraveled a bulky string of lights, plugged them in, and watched them blink. The patterned twinkle of pink, blue, and green delighted Minerva. No late night run to Sav-A-Lot for replacement bulbs. These will be pretty on the fresh cut tree standing in the corner. She appreciated the young man who lived close by helping her lug it in. He even sawed the bottom off for her. She'd make a fruit cake and send it his way. She unboxed blue, green, red, and gold balls and lined them on the floor.
She unfolded a book wrapped in red silk cloth: Henry's Bible. She sipped her cocoa and scooted up against the couch with the Bible on her lap. She reached and pulled reading glasses from the side table and pushed them up the bridge of her nose. To Henry, with Love, the inscription read, From Your Loving Wife. Dated nineteen seventy-two. She flipped th
rough the pages, turning the book this way and that, reading notes Henry had taken. Trust in the Lord written here, Give your troubles to God written there, lines highlighted in pink, the twin's birth date written in a section about sparing the rod. Henry never spanked the kids.
Minerva reached for the warm cup and the Bible fell off her lap. A folded paper stuck between the pages slipped halfway out. She took the book and paper and set them on the couch.
She pushed herself from the floor and her knee creaked. Ugh, got to get that fixed, she thought. Minerva passed a mirror in the hall and glanced at herself. Walter came to mind. A romantic night with him would be nice. She went in her room and changed to thicker socks. She padded over and switched on the electric blanket. The warm fleece would feel good later on when she slipped in.
She swept pine needles into a dustpan and tossed them out the door. She plucked the stubborn ones from the carpet and bundled them in her hand, the pine smell melding into her palm. A light snow continued to fall and the world was quiet. The street lamp illuminated two inches of snow on the roof of the truck.
She tried singing along with Eartha Kitt but her voice croaked on the high notes. Suddenly irritated by Kitt's voice, she pushed the eject button and popped in Burl Ives.
Minerva plinked baby Jesus on the ceramic hay near three wise men and pondered where to set the lamb...Near the baby? Or on the right side of Joseph? The ceramic nativity set had been a favorite of Henry's and every year it sat in the same spot in the living room. Minerva would pull a small table from the shed, clean and adorn it with a red felt runner, then carefully position each person or animal on it. She chose the right side of Joseph and set the lamb close to his ankle.
Minerva spotted the paper on the couch near the Bible, where she had laid them. Scooping herself up, she padded to the couch.
The paper didn't look that old. It still crinkled when she unfolded it. Her pinky fingers curled up while she read.
.
Dear Henry,
I hope this letter finds you comfortable and warm. It's been a while since we talked and I've missed you. I'm doing well. Seems the library is my place of permanent residence now. I don't get home until late most nights. My thoughts are of you, and how in the world you're surviving this monstrosity brought against you. It's been several weeks since you've become really sick. I do hope you're still able to read. Last time you told me your eyesight wasn't as good anymore. I remember the day we met, how you came to the library almost every week that first couple of months. How we talked so easily, you reading so many kinds of books. Later I realized you came to talk with me. I'm grateful for the talks we've had, and how much you've helped me as much as you claim I've helped you. I wouldn't have survived those first months after Leonard's death if it weren't for you. I'm writing this letter with deep regret, Henry, regret of not getting to see you and talk with you. I would hope that Minerva would forgive us, as Leonard would. But we did nothing wrong, did we Henry? Our friendship saw us through tough times, but we did nothing wrong. I hope your retrieval of this letter hasn't been difficult for you. I took great pains in leaving it in your mailbox at the time we mentioned. Lastly, since you've made known to me your situation, I want to leave this with you: God takes the good men early. I will see you again someday.
My Love Always,
Della
August 12th, 2007
.
Minerva fixed her eyes on a fat Santa sitting on the TV. She didn't really see him. Eventually, she refocused and realized his boots needed re-painting. She had this Santa since early in their marriage. How long had she and Henry been married? Thirty years? Thirty-one years?
She let the name Della settle. The sound of it rolled in her head. Della. Dell-la-la. A flirty name, sexy, one like a hussy would be called, or a slut, she thought. A name Henry might have whispered in this woman's ear in bed.
Minerva's heart pounded. She pushed her glasses up and looked around. She rose, grabbed the cold mug and tossed the remains of the chocolate down the drain. She passed Lew asleep near the heating vent and stepped in her room.
She stared at the sagging housedresses hanging her in closet. Her eyes skimmed the chunky shoes disarrayed on the floor and the plastic bag full of too-small teddies and chemises, now crumpled in a heap.
She thought of sex with Walter. The image of them entangled in the sheets pounded in her mind. She could almost feel his smooth hands touching her, caressing her, like he did the keypads on the register. But then Henry popped back in her mind and the picture disappeared.
Minerva pulled the phone book from a drawer in the kitchen and thumbed through it. She didn't know if the small library would be open this time or not since it was rarely open nowadays for lack of people visiting it. She sat down at the table and dialed the number.
A minute later Minerva moved to the recliner and eased herself down in it. The lady there said Della had moved from Pinewood about four years ago but didn't know where she went.
***
That evening, Piper teased George saying he better stay out of the candy. "It's for the party," she said. She swirled butter through a melted gob of marshmallows on the stove, careful not to let it stick to the sides. The sweet aroma of vanilla filled the air. "George, you two get out of there," she said after stepping into the pantry and seeing George and Fellow tiptoe in, sly grins on their faces. She chuckled after they scampered out of the room.
George snagged a piece of fudge for each of them then demanded the boy tackle him for his. Fellow giggled and hopped on his back. Piper entered with a glass of tea in her hand. "Be careful, he's got food in his mouth. George, you shouldn't be feeding him sweets right now." She sat on the footstool and waited for George to look her way. "Mom's making the turkey this year. That all right?"
"Whatever she wants, she gets," George said, making circles on the floor. Fellow clutched the back of his collar and yelled giddy up! "Ouch, you kicked the horse," George said, laughing. He turned and Fellow slipped off, but was caught by his daddy. "All right boy, time to settle down. Go run the bath and I'll be there in a minute."
"I want to play more." Fellow dropped to all fours, his cheeks rosy from exertion. "I'll be the horse. Ride me to the bathroom, Daddy." Piper laughed and George swung one long leg over his son and pretended to sit on his back, spurring Fellow on to the bathroom.
After George tucked Fellow in for the night, he poured himself a glass of tea and joined Piper on the couch. "He's finally asleep, all that sugar did a number on him." The nine o'clock news flashed before them. "Who all's gonna be at your mother's for Christmas besides us?" He asked. "Is Dill coming?" George propped a bare foot on the coffee table.
Piper swatted his foot. "Move that, sir. Not on my new glass-top furniture." As a birthday present George had new living room furniture delivered, something nice to go with the sectional, he had told her when she looked surprised, then displeased.
"Yes," he'd said. "We can afford one lousy coffee table and a couple of end tables." Piper smiled when he called the dark oak, glass-top set "lousy." She had thrown her arms around him and told him it was all beautiful.
He removed his foot and placed it on a riding toy of Fellow's. "Bet John won't be there, huh?"
She placed a hand on his knee, eyes on the television. "Nope, just us."
"You getting the babysitter to watch Fellow when I go for surgery next week?"
Right after Fellow's adoption was finalized two weeks earlier, George had gone home that evening in pain. The next day the doctor found another tiny lump, this time in his right testicle. "Let's not hesitate to take it out while it's still benign," the doctor had said. "Or we may have a more serious issue on our hands later on." Avoiding a possible repeat of his early adolescence, George had agreed and scheduled the surgery several days before Christmas.
Piper hesitated. "The babysitter's not going to be home, George. Mother's watching him. We have no choice. John's too busy."
"What about that god damned dog?" George asked.
"You know I don't want him unsupervised around that dog anymore."
"Mother said she'd kennel Lew for those two days."
George frowned and looked at Piper. "What if she caused the bruise? I don't want Fellow with her now."
Piper turned away as if to avoid the conversation. "I've thought about it, and we can give her one more chance. I don't think she'd be crazy enough to let anything happen to him."
***
Minerva knew John wouldn't be over for Christmas but the sting lingered and she closed her eyes. She lay curled in Henry's recliner with a fleece blanket pulled to her chin. This was the most comfortable seat in the trailer, the distant smell of leather in it, the slump in the seat made by years of Henry sitting in it.
Her mind drifted to Walter and the way he smelled, like wood and spice. One time he stood so close she fantasized biting him on the nape of the neck and tasting his masculine smell. She almost dismissed the thought. Henry had cheated, so what about her? Her mind fixed on Henry and Della. She thought so hard about it she trembled then went numb. How could she express her rage about it now? She didn't have to remain loyal to a cheating, dead husband. The rocking motions of the recliner finally lulled her to sleep and she dreamed of dancing with Walter.
Minerva, dark half-moons under her eyes, yawned before she answered the phone. She had been awake only a few minutes before Piper called to see if any of Fellow's clothes had been left there. She decided to tell Piper of the affair and insisted on reading the letter to her. "I've told you all I know about her. This letter is all I have of the whole thing. Why would he do this to me?" Piper remained quiet on the other end and Minerva got the strange idea that Piper didn't believe her. She even asked Piper what she thought about it and all Piper uttered was, "Nothing." But she could make out something in her daughter's voice that didn't sound quite right to her.
***
Minerva's nerves had calmed by eleven p.m., so she headed to bed. She positioned herself and mentally checked the coming week's to-do list: watch Fellow for two days, a trip to the store for more marshmallows, peanuts, baker's chocolate, and eggs. Her mind rolled around the type of sleeping bag she'd purchase for Fellow, maybe a Batman or Spiderman, or maybe a Sponge Bob one. She preferred he sleep in the spare room, but Fellow loved curling up in Henry's old sleeping bag at the foot of her bed. She didn't have the heart to tell him Lew chewed it up, though, so she'd replace it with a new one.
Minerva Day Page 7