Breaking TWIG

by Deborah Epperson

  "You didn’t put on your brassiere, Becky."

  "Haven’t you heard? Women are burning their bras these days."

  "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. A good bra is a woman’s best ally. By the way, what are you now? B cup?"

  "C cup," I said, rushing past her.

  "C cup my ass."

  The wail of sirens split the night air. I stopped on the stairs. "Hurry, Momma."

  "What’s the rush? That old warehouse needed tearing down anyway. We’ll build a new one with the insurance money. Is that my old shirt? The one I told you to cut up for cleaning rags?"

  "It’s a perfectly good work shirt. Now come on!"

  At the bottom of the stairs, Momma grabbed my arm. "Is that all you want out of life, Becky? Hand-me-down clothes and a hand-me-down man?"

  I jerked my arm free. "You didn’t hand Frank down to me. I took him."

  "Only after I’d finished with him." An alley cat grin pranced across her face "I never thanked you for carrying out my plan, did I?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "My plan for you to seduce Frank, of course." Helen opened the drawer to the hall table pulled out her keys, cigarettes, and lighter. "I recognized the signs. Frank was lonely and getting restless. When a man gets restless, he starts thinking about moving on." She lit her smoke, took a quick drag. "I saw the way you two looked at each other. All I needed to do was get out of the way. Why else would I waste a week of my life listening to some fool preaching about what a wicked world we live in? As if I didn’t know."

  "You’re lying. My getting together with Frank had nothing to do with you."

  "I needed him to run the damn business." She stopped to pick a speck of tobacco off her tongue. "I figured once Frank got a taste of you, he’d never leave Sugardale without you. And truth be told, we both know you’ll never forsake the Cooper homestead."

  "The truth be told? If you ever tried to tell the truth, you’d choke to death."

  Helen laughed. "Maybe, but you have to admit, my plan worked out well for everyone. I got Henry. Instead of spending the past two years pining for one another, you and Frank have been bumping bellies. Best of all, the stores have done great."

  I pounded the end of the banister. "You can’t take this away from me. I came up with the plan to keep him from leaving. It was my idea to seduce Frank."

  "So it wasn’t true love after all, huh?" Helen grinned. "Goes to show, you’re as much my daughter, Becky Leigh, as you are Paul Cooper’s."

  "I love Frank. We can’t wait until you’re gone. We’re going to throw a party."

  She jingled her keys. "Speaking of parties, we’d better go."

  I kicked the screen door open and yelled, "I’d rather crawl than ride with you."

  *****

  Although some people swear our lives are ruled by providence, I’d never believed in destiny, fate, or lady luck. I’ve found that human beings are quite capable of screwing up their lives on their own. But after last night’s fire, I’d started to think maybe there was something to this divine intervention theory.

  For weeks, Frank and I had looked forward to this weekend—Momma’s last weekend in Sugardale. Henry had picked Momma and Eva up at the airport on Friday. After taking Eva home, he’d brought his newly divorced fiancée back to Sugardale. She was in a great mood, handing out presents from the islands and going on about how she couldn’t wait to start her new life as Mrs. Henry Nash. All she needed was the cash and the settlement agreement, and she’d be out of our lives forever.

  Frank had assured her she’d have it all by Monday noon. By suppertime, Momma and Henry would be on their way to Florida. But who would’ve imagined that the warehouse would burn down over the weekend? If there was some cosmic troll pushing our lives around, he had a depraved sense of humor. Frank had promised to give Helen $50,000 cash. Now, he needed that money to replace equipment and inventory lost in the fire.

  I pushed the glider harder and tried to block out Helen’s screaming emanating from the house by remembering the stories of how Grandpa Eli built the original store. After returning home from the World War One, he married Grandma Rebecca and went to work in a talc mine near Chatsworth. He worked hard and Grandma saved all she could in order to help him open his own business. The Coopers have a long history of possessing green thumbs so a gardening business was a logical choice. Since you need tools to plant with, he thought a hardware division fit right in.

  In early 1930, Grandpa quit his job to peruse his dream of being his own boss. People called him crazy. The stock market crash of the previous year had left many people without a job or a home. But where others saw despair, Grandpa Eli saw opportunity.

  He often told me, "I knew whatever happened, people had to eat. The folks who’d lost their jobs in the city were moving to the country so they could grow their own food. Someone had to sell them seed and supplies. Might as well be the Coopers."

  He bought two acres where our house now stood and three lots at what was then the edge of town. Papa was five, too young to be of much help. So every Sunday afternoon, Grandpa Eli went down to the railroad tracks to look over the batch of homeless men who traveled the rails from town to town, looking for work. Some called them hobos, but my grandfather didn’t.

  "They were just men, Miss Becky," he often said. "Men down on their luck due to no fault of their own. I could’ve been one of them if your Grandma Rebecca hadn’t been such a penny-pinching sweetheart."

  He’d pick a few fellows and offer them a cot in one of the tents he’d set up on the side lot. Along with a dry bed, they’d get three meals a day, a hot bath, and a two-dollar bill in exchange for a week’s hard work. In six weeks time, Grandpa had a store built. In 1952, Papa and Grandpa Eli built a larger store in front of the old structure. The original building became a storage facility for tractors, mowers, and inventory. Last night, the old building burned to the ground.

  The ruckus from the house quieted. I heard doors slam and a car leave. Helen’s van and Frank’s Ranchero were still in the driveway. Henry must have left. Hopefully, he took his fiancée with him.

  I’d chosen to sit out this battle between Frank and Helen. He wanted her to let us use the cash to buy the new inventory. When the insurance company reimbursed him for the damages, Frank would give her the $50,000. Sick at heart over what I’d found at the fire, I sought refuge in our backyard glider.

  Upon arriving at the fire, I ran around, shoes still in my hand, frantically searching for Frank. I stepped on something hard and round, picked it up, slipped into my pocket, and forgot about it until doing the morning laundry. When I emptied the pockets of my jeans, I found the medallion and recognized it as being the one Donald had showed us at Thanksgiving.

  I gave the gilder another push, pulled the medallion out of my pocket, and checked it once more. On one side was a logo and the words Ben Welch Chevrolet, Athens, Georgia.

  The flip side read Donald Wooten, Used Car Salesman of the Month, October, 1970.

  The backdoor slammed. Frank’s familiar footsteps pounded the stone path leading to the glider. I jammed the medallion into my pocket.

  "I could’ve used your help in there, Becky." He plopped down beside me, unwrapped a roll of antacids, and popped a couple in his mouth.

  "Heartburn again?" I asked.

  "What do you expect? I just went ten rounds with Helen."

  "How did it go?"

  "She agreed to wait for her money. At least for part of it."

  "How did you get her to do that?"

  "I didn’t. Henry did. He convinced her to take $5000 now and let us keep the rest to buy inventory." Frank blew out a deep breath. "When the insurance pays off, Helen will get the rest of her money plus an extra $100 a week interest."

  "Wouldn’t it be cheaper to get a loan from the bank?"

  "I want Gordon and Josh to go to the factory first thing tomorrow and pick up mowers and equipment." Frank rubbed his chest and tossed back another antacid. "This ar
son investigation will make the bank skittish about loaning us money."

  "Is Sheriff Hays still insisting that it’s arson?"

  "Yes, but it’s hard for me to believe anyone would do this deliberately."

  I got out of the glider. "Maybe he’s wrong. He’s only been the sheriff a short while."

  "Hays might be new to the valley, but he’s been in law enforcement for a long time. The man knows his business." Frank stopped the glider, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "I hope he catches the bastard who did this and gives me five minutes alone with him. That’s all I want. Five minutes."

  My neck muscles tightened. What would Frank do it he found out the bastard was his own son? "I think we should let it go. It was probably kids messing around with fireworks left over from last week’s Fourth of July celebration."

  "Gasoline started the fire. We found an empty can in the debris." Frank got up, stretched, and slicked back his hair. "Who’d do this to us, Becky? The only enemy we have is Helen and burning down the store would be the same as burning her own money. That eliminates her. Who else could’ve done something so malicious?"

  If Frank’s mind traveled that road very far, he was bound to think of Donald. I needed to change the subject. "Where are you going to store the new equipment?"

  "Henry offered us the use of the big barn behind his house until he and the new owners close their deal next month. We’ve got to get another building up by then."

  "That’s not enough time."

  "We’ll get it done. Neil is sending some fellows from the Kirbyville store over. We’ll start hauling off debris as soon as the sheriff gives us the okay." Frank reached for my hand. "I’m meeting with Gordon and Josh to come up with a list of what equipment we need. Do you want to come?"

  I sat back down. "No, thanks."

  Frank looked at his watch. "I’ll be back in a couple of hours."

  "What do you want for supper?"

  "I’d better not eat. This damn indigestion is bad enough."

  "You promised to see Doc Condray about that."

  "First chance I get." Frank got up, turned, and squatted down in front of me. "I know you’re upset about the fire and about having to deal with Helen, but don’t worry. She’s going to Palm Beach with Henry tomorrow."

  "Are we still getting married next week? What about our honeymoon?"

  "The wedding and honeymoon will have to wait until the new building is finished."

  "I have a better idea," I said, taking his face in my hands. "You once talked about selling out and moving someplace new. Just you and me. You were right, Frank. Let’s do it."

  He pulled back, a startled look on his face. "You know you couldn’t leave Sugardale. You’d never be able to sell your family home."

  "I could. I’ve worked it all out in my mind."

  He stood. "What’s come over you?"

  I patted the seat beside me. "Sit down. Let’s talk a minute."

  "I’ve got to go. Gordon and Josh are waiting."

  "Not yet," I shouted. "Let me explain." I jumped out of the glider, grabbed Frank’s arm, pushed him into the seat. "Give me five minutes."

  "Okay, Becky," he said. "Calm down."

  "I’ve spent the afternoon thinking about this. Planning it all out." I rubbed the back of my neck. This would be the most important argument I’d ever made. Frank had to see things my way. "We can sell the business to Gordon and Josh."

  "They don’t have the money to buy it."

  "We can sell it to them on contract, the way you bought the Kirbyville store. They can make monthly payments to us. That would work, wouldn’t it?"

  "I suppose, but what about the house? What about our plans to build a cabin?"

  "Gordon and his family rent a small house now. They could rent Papa’s house for the same money. They’d take good care of it." I took hold of Frank’s hands. "The mountain isn’t going anywhere. We can wait on the cabin."

  "I don’t want to wait, Becky." He got up, paced the stone path, all the time rubbing his arm. "We’ve had a setback, but that’s all it is. Everything will settle down soon, and Helen will be out of our lives."

  "No, she won’t. She’ll always be here, poking us, jabbing us, hammering at us until we break apart. Are you blind, Frank? Can’t you see that?" I avoided mentioning Donald’s name in my accusations, even though I now considered him a bigger threat than Momma.

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. "I’m not blind, but I am confused. Every time I suggested we leave here, you said you couldn’t go. Now that I’m committed to making a life together here and am on the verge of getting us everything we’ve dreamed of, you want to run away."

  "It’s not running away. It’s escaping before Momma can destroy us."

  "No one can come between us unless we let them."

  "They’re Pickers, Frank. They’ll find a way."

  "They?"

  "Momma . . . the preacher . . . neighbors. There’s lots of Pickers in this town."

  "I don’t want to hear any of that Picker nonsense." Frank pulled at his chin. "Perhaps you’re having second thoughts about marrying me."

  "That’s not true." I flung my arms around his waist. "I’m just scared."

  Frank lifted my face. "Scared of what? What’s got you tied in such a knot? Tell me."

  Tell him? Tell him his own son is an arsonist as well as a rapist. Or that out of spite, Donald tried to destroy all his father had worked for over the past eight years? How could I explain to this wonderful man that one day soon he might have to watch his only child be carted off to prison? I couldn’t do that anymore than I could convince Frank of the need to leave Sugardale immediately.

  For better or worse, we were what we were. Momma and Donald were expert Pickers. Frank wasn’t the kind of man to run off when things got tough. And me? I hadn’t figured out who or what I was. But I did know two things. I loved Frank, and knew he’d be devastated if he discovered his son had set the fire. What could I do except hide the evidence of Donald’s guilt and hope Sheriff Hays wasn’t very good at his job?

  "I’m tired," I said. "And I feel bad about the store. For over four decades, it stood there. Then in matter of minutes, it was gone. It scares me to think how quickly a person can lose everything."

  "Not everything. We’re still here. We’ll rebuild and make it better." He sighed wearily. "But now, I want you to take a long soak and go to bed. You’re exhausted. We both are."

  "You’re wrong when you say I could never leave Sugardale or this house. I could leave them for you, Frank. I love you that much."

  The back of his hand slid slowly down my cheek. "I believe you could." He pulled me into his arms, hugged me tight. "I love you, Becky. Remember that and you’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think." His entire body trembled as he planted kisses on the top of my head.

  "Don’t be gone long," I whispered. "I have trouble sleeping without you."

  "I’ll hurry." Frank stroked back my hair, kissed me twice, and then let go.

  I stood in the middle of the road, watching until the darkness of the encroaching nightfall gobbled up the Ranchero’s taillights. The sadness, the feeling of impending doom returned. If Sheriff Hays found Donald’s fingerprints on the gasoline can, my hiding the medallion might be for nothing. What if Frank discovered I’d hid evidence of Donald’s guilt? Would he be grateful I protected his son? Would he hate me for not telling him the truth? My head ached. I needed two aspirin, a hot bath, and a large miracle.

  CHAPTER 26

  I placed the pot of chrysanthemums in the box. It was number twenty out of thirty-five plants in need of repotting. Reaching for the next pot, I tried to concentrate on the colors of the flowers—bronzes, golds, creams—instead of on Momma’s complaining. She and Henry had returned to Sugardale so he could close the sale on his house.

  "It’s been five weeks since the fire, Becky, and I still haven’t received my money or laid eyes on those damn settlement papers. Have you seen them?"

  "No,
but Frank said he had the papers drawn up when he had his new will made out."

  "You took his word for it?"

  "Yes."

  "Did Frank show you his new will? The one leaving everything to you."

  I tapped the bottom of a pot of yellow mums to loosen the dirt. "He knows I don’t like to discuss such matters."

  "Then how can you be sure he made it out?"

  I shook the old dirt off the roots. "Frank wouldn’t lie to me."

  Helen clapped her hands. "Of course not. Men never lie to women, do they? When are you going to start seeing the world for what it is?"

  "If you mean seeing everything like you do, as ugly, conniving, and sinister, then never. I prefer Frank’s way of looking at things."

  "Frank’s way, huh?" Helen folded her arms across her chest. "Tell me, do you need his consent before you pee too."

  I jammed the flower into a new clay pot, poured in fresh soil, and patted the dirt down around the roots. "Frank and I respect each other."

  "Respect? That’s bull. You cling to him because inside you’re still a little girl wanting her daddy to protect her from the boogie man." She pushed a fallen strand of hair back up into her French twist. "And Frank? It’s no secret why he holds on so tight. Like most middle-aged fools, the only thing he respects is a firm young body."

  "One more word and I’m going to throw this pot at your head."

  "Don’t you need Frank’s permission first?"

  I picked up the pot, pulled back my arm.

  "Calm down, Becky." She walked to the opposite end of the greenhouse. "It’s a good thing you have a pretty face and a nice body. You sure don’t have a sense of humor."

  I threw the pot. It hit a table of mixed greens, rocketing shards of clay, potting soil, and pieces of ivy, philodendron, and Boston fern into the air.

  "Look at the mess you’ve made for yourself." Helen brushed off the few pieces of soil that had managed to hit her blouse. "Haven’t you learned not to throw anything unless there’s someone else available to clean up after you?"

  "When is Henry picking you up?" I asked. "Soon, I hope."