Maude eyed her suspiciously. "We close at two p.m. every day and we don't leave no cash in the till, so don't go getting no funny ideas."
Dana quickly backtracked once she realized Maude thought she was casing the joint. "No, you see...A friend of mine told me she worked nights here. I'm trying to find her."
"I done said nobody works here but me and my husband."
"You never hired a woman to work...maybe temporarily?"
"What's this friend's name?" Maude asked like she was sure Dana was lying.
"Well, I don't rightly know, you see—"
Maude's eyes popped and her jaw went slack. She slowly looked from Dana's face to the paper she'd been reading. Dana's eyes followed Maude's and—
Holy cow!
—there was a picture of her right on the front page. It showed her handcuffed with Puddinhead pushing her up against the police car. The bold headline read: “'Wonder Woman' Arrested.” The smaller type under the headline continued: “After a local officer stopped ‘Wonder Woman’ during a potential breaking and entering, she assaulted the officer and hijacked his car.”
Dana snatched the paper off the counter, but she was too late. Maude recognized her picture, which wasn't too hard unless there was another Wonder Woman roaming around town. Maude quickly ducked under the counter where Dana couldn't see or reach her.
"Harold! Get out here!" Maude yelled.
"Hold on a minute, Maude," Dana pleaded.
"Harold!"
"Who's Harold?"
"We're being robbed!"
"I'm not robbing anybody!"
Harold hurried out of the back room, his feet pedaling way behind his big belly. He was red-faced and holding a half-eaten bear claw in his hand. "What's happening? We're being robbed? Who's robbing?" he asked.
"I am! I mean, I'm not. I mean, you're not!" Dana yelled.
"Why are you shouting?!" he shouted.
"I'm not shouting!" she shouted. Dana slapped the newspaper down on the counter, trying to emphasize her point and it popped loudly, sending Maude scurrying back under the counter. Harold clutched his chest like he'd been shot through the heart.
"Give her the money before she kills us dead!" Maude yelled from somewhere down below. "She's a dangerous and wanted criminal!"
Harold stuffed the other half of the bear claw in his mouth, hit a key on the cash register, grabbed all the bills and shoved them into the white sack with the eight sausages. He nervously threw the bag and it hit Dana dead-center in the chest. She caught the bag before it hit the floor.
"You don't understand…" Dana squeaked.
Harold held his hands up in the air a la stick-up mode and said, "Leave. You got the money, just leave. Don't kill us. We're hard-workin', church-goin', peace-lovin' people here, please—don't shoot us."
"I wasn't going to—"
He grabbed a nearby broom and pointed it across the counter, poking Dana in the belly with the bristly end. "Shoo! Bad girl, bad! Shoo, shoo!"
Dana backed toward the door, trying to explain, "I only came in here for some sausage rolls. I wasn't trying—"
"Shoo!" he shouted and heaved the broom at her.
Dana ducked out the front door and closed it as the broom thudded against the glass. She looked back through the door and saw Harold—
Crapola! He's calling the police.
—with a phone in his hand.
Dana ran to Betty, jumped inside and it took her three tries to get the engine to turn over. She peeled out in reverse and backed down Main Street. She pushed the accelerator to the floorboard and sped away—going twenty miles per hour, Betty's top speed in reverse gear.
She realized she had the sausage bag stuffed with money in her hand. Never one to waste food, she rooted around in the bag, found a sausage roll and took a bite to calm her nerves.
After five minutes of driving backwards, ignoring all the honks and stares, Dana realized that making a get-away by car wasn't as fun as the TV made it out to be. Especially in reverse. Her neck was already developing a crick, so she didn't know how she was going to drive much longer.
She had no plan, no idea where she was going. She bit a hunk off another sausage roll and put her brain to work. She was a wanted fugitive. She had robbed a donut shop.
Who was going to believe I didn't when I have a sack full of money and sausage breath? And she was on bail for assaulting a police officer. Her future didn't look so bright.
She wheeled around a curve and a truck loomed up on the road behind her, which was actually in front of her. She shut her eyes and slammed on Betty's brakes.
When she opened her eyes she saw that the rear-end of the car was only an inch or so away from the truck's bumper. And the truck was none other than Maw Maw's ice cream wagon. It was pulled off onto the shoulder, but half the truck was blocking the lane.
Dana knew exactly what that meant...Maw Maw was up to her artistic shenanigans again.
Dana cut off the engine and got out, slamming the door behind her. She walked around the truck and saw what she knew she would: another one of Maw Maw's "Christian Roadkill Artistic Projects." Or as Dana called them...CRAP. This one was a work in progress. Maw Maw had set up an old coffee table alongside the road and there were ten or so frozen critters—opossums, armadillos, dogs, cats—arranged around it. Dana could tell in one glance that it was a rendition of the Last Supper. The only one missing was Jesus.
"Maw Maw! You're blocking the road!"
Dana squinted at the tableau. She took a step closer. Oh no, it couldn't be. But it was. A stuffed Snickerdoodle was sitting to the left of Paul. "You killed Snickerdoodle?"
Maw Maw threw open the service window and poked her neck out. "I didn't kill him, he died of a pickled liver." She looked Dana up and down, then ordered, "Gimme a hand in here." Her head disappeared back inside like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Dana sighed but resigned herself to do as asked. She might have Johnny Law chasing her, but that was a whole heap less scary than Maw Maw's wrath.
She drug her feet up to the truck, stepped inside through the side door and found Maw Maw bent over the deep freeze. Dana shut the door and said, "Still working with the frozen dead, I see."
Maw Maw was up to her shoulders in cold mist and her voice echoed from the bowels of the freezer, "Only until I get my embalming recipe perfected. I'm on the verge of finding a recipe that not only preserves the remains, but also repels insects. Until then my art is going to be temporary, I'm afraid."
Dana nervously cleared her throat and took the plunge, "I'm going on a surprise vacation. Don't know exactly when I'll be back."
Maw Maw didn't even so much as lift her head. "No, you're not, little lady. You're staying put."
"I need to get out of town for a bit."
"Is this because of your mother being back?"
"Yes." That was the first lie Dana had ever told her grandmother and to her surprise it was easy to do. But it left a bad taste in her mouth like she'd put a cup of salt in a recipe that called for a cup of sugar.
"Don't fib to me. Why are you running?"
Dana came clean, "The law's after me. They think I robbed the Hole In One."
Maw Maw's head popped up. "Did you?"
"Of course not."
"Then there's nothing to worry about." She poked her head back down into the freezer.
"It looks like I did, though. I kinda sorta have a bag full of their money and eight, I mean six, of their sausage rolls."
Maw Maw lifted her head and said simply, "Then go give it back and explain what really happened."
"I don't think it's that simple. Harold threw a broom at me."
"I've known Harold and Maude since God was a child. They're decent folks. I was at their wedding. I schooled both their kids and all their grandchildren." She wiped her hands on the front of her dress like that decided that. She bent back over the fridge and rooted around inside. "You saw your mother, I take it?"
"Yes." Maw didn't lift her head or say an
ything more so Dana continued, "I'm not going to forgive her if that's what you're getting at."
She jerked her head out of the freezer and looked at Dana. "That's your prerogative." She pulled a cigar out of her dress pocket, along with a pack of matches. Dana knew the cigar meant she was in for a lecture. Cigars were Maw Maw's way of giving weight to her words. Maw Maw had a cigar in her mouth the day she gave Dana the sex talk; the day she told Dana her Paw Paw had died; and the day she didn't get a clock for Christmas.
Dana knew it was odd, but when she was nine years old, more than anything in this whole wide world, she wanted a clock for Christmas. Not a watch. A clock—like the kind most people have hanging on their kitchen walls. When Christmas morning came Dana unwrapped an Easy-Bake Oven and scads of new clothes most girls would kill to have and she didn't find a clock, not even one single timepiece of any kind. Dana flung herself headfirst into a full-blown, throw-down hissy fit. Maw Maw picked her up and tossed her into the middle of the backyard, went back in the house and locked all the windows and doors. It didn't take Dana long to realize that having a fit without an audience wasn't worth the trouble. When she worked up the nerve to knock on the door, Maw Maw let her back in, lit a cigar and gave her what-for in the gratitude department.
Maw Maw stuck the cigar in her mouth and chawed from one side to the other, looking out the window for a long moment.
"Your mother...Leona..."
"I don't want to talk about her if you don't mind."
"I'm not asking you to talk. I'm asking you to listen."
Dana sighed, but other than that, she kept quiet.
While Maw Maw talked, her eyes roamed around the interior of the truck, lighting on everything except Dana. "Leona was born angry. Angriest baby you ever did see. She was never happy. Always sassing back, getting into trouble with teachers and the like. It was like life wasn't big enough for her and she always wanted more and when she couldn't have it she got mad. Most of that was my fault. I didn't ever spank her, never raised my hand to her, and maybe I should have."
She paused to light the cigar before continuing, "She got it into her head that life was supposed to be exciting. And when it wasn't exciting enough to suit her, she would make it that way. That got her into all kinds of trouble. By the time she was a young woman, she was drinking and carrying-on. Right out of high school, she moved in with that man, the one with the beard and the guitar, had two babies, but even that didn't settle her down or make her happy. At that point she was so fed up with her lot in life that she couldn't have found happy if it'd bit her in the butt."
Dana stared at the cigar's red embers.
"After that man left her, she tried to make ends meet. But she couldn't raise two little ones on a waitress's salary. She finally broke down and wrote me a letter asking for money. A loan, she said, for diapers and food. That's why I drove to Nashville and loaded up you and your little brother and brought you back home with me. Oh, Leona squawled and carried on, but she knew I was right in doing that. Even if she couldn't see it at the time."
"You went and got us?"
Maw Maw squinted at her through the curly-cues of cigar smoke.
Dana continued, "All I remember is her shoving me and Matt out of the Thunderbird in front of the house. I remember her dropping us off, not you bringing us back."
Maw Maw said, "You must be remembering that time when she tried to kidnap you."
Dana couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice, "Kidnap? When?"
"She came back to town with the idea of kidnapping her babies back. Said she couldn't live without you all. She had a pocketful of money for writing some country song that got sold and she thought she could make a go of it for a living. She had you both in her car and almost got out of town too, but li'l Matt started crying and screaming so hard for his Maw Maw, it broke her heart and she brought you all back to me. Dropped you all off in front of the house and drove away bawling her eyes out."
Dana shook her head, confused. "I don't remember any of that."
"Memories are funny things, aren't they? They're like your own private little picture show. You can edit and splice and put 'em together any way you want."
Dana sat down on top of the deep freeze and tried to make some kind of order out of all the thoughts swirling around in her head. Her mother didn't abandon her like she thought. She even came back for to get her—that was a big pill to swallow all at once.
"Your mother is no saint and that's a fact, but she does love you in her own way. And if you'd give her the time of day, you might find that out."
Dana nodded.
"Good," she said, swatting Dana's leg, "now get your butt off my freezer."
Dana hopped down and Maw Maw opened the lid, rummaged around a minute, then pulled out two big furry blocks of ice. She thrust them in Dana's direction and asked, "Which one do you think looks more like Jesus? The tabby cat or the collie dog?"
"Collie dog. Obviously. Look at his face."
She placed the cat back in the freezer and handed Dana the frozen dog, saying, "That's exactly what I thought."
Dana gripped the frozen Jesus by the tail and held him out at arm's length. She peeked inside the freezer and was amazed by how full it was. "You've been busy."
Maw Maw shut the freezer lid, saying, "Had a good harvest. Summertime's always the best season 'cause all the animals come out and try to cross the roads."
Maw Maw was a picky harvester. She didn't collect and freeze any old roadkill. It had to meet her high standards. Her criteria were four-part: 1. It had to be completely dead. 2. It had to be whole, not in parts. 3. It had to free of all blood. 4. And it had to have a certain je ne sais quoi.
Maw Maw took the dog from Dana and cradled him in her arms. "Look at the je ne sais quoi on this one," she said.
Dana stared into the glassy, cold eyes of the dog and just to humor her said, "This one is your best Jesus yet."
Maw Maw looked lovingly into the dog's face. "Your Paw Paw used to look at me the same way."
Dana didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, so she nodded.
Maw Maw straddled the dog on her hip and rummaged around in some big cardboard boxes, flinging costumes and cheap jewelry every which way. She pulled out a purple apron and draped it over Jesus's shoulders.
"I hate to interrupt you when you're in the middle of a creative orgy, Maw Maw, but I thought you were going to quit doing your art displays. You said you couldn't afford to keep paying for all the fines."
"I thought of a better way to handle the situation."
"What better way?"
"I'm not going to pay those fines."
"You want to go to jail? That's a heavy price for some little ol' roadside display."
She shot Dana a stern look. "They're not displays. They are drive-by art that connects to the soul with a mighty moral punch."
That was an exact quote from some Christian magazine out of Arkansas that interviewed Maw Maw about three years ago. They compared her to John the Baptist as a modern "voice crying in the wilderness." They didn't bother to mention that John the Baptist was bat-shit crazy from eating all those locusts and only wearing animal-skin dresses like Barney Rubble.
"Now grab that possum," Maw Maw said, pointing into the belly of the freezer. "He'll make a good Judas."
Fifteen minutes later Maw Maw had all the varmints arranged like the photograph of The Last Supper painting that she had ripped out of a magazine.
"You got it wrong," Dana said, studying the magazine photo. "The woman to the left of Jesus should be facing out more."
"That isn't a woman, Dana," Maw Maw corrected. "That there is the Apostle John."
Dana scrutinized the photo from an arm's length away, then again at only inches from her nose. "It sure looks like a woman to me."
"Men looked like women back in the olden days," Maw Maw said. "They all had long hair and wore dresses."
"No, it's definitely a woman. Look, no adam's apple and check out her soft hands." D
ana stuck the picture under Maw Maw's nose so she could inspect it.
Maw Maw refused to look and waved the paper away. "They all looked feminine back when. Especially Jesus. That there's the Apostle John all right. I oughta know, I taught Sunday School for thirty years."
Dana gave up. Maw Maw could argue with God and win.
Fourteen
Dana drove the ice cream truck back into town because Maw Maw had insisted on switching cars with her so Dana could remain undetected by the police. Maw Maw said if the cops hauled her off to jail for aiding and abetting it would be a great adventure. In Dana's humble opinion it wasn't a good trade. It's not like she could be inconspicuous in an ice cream truck that blared the tune to "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know."
Dana told herself that she would sneak in and out of town quickly. She wanted to pack some clothes, (she wanted to get out of her cockamamie Wonder Woman costume) and maybe say goodbye to Trudy before she ventured out and lived a life in the underbelly of society as a renegade outlaw fugitive. But if she were being totally honest with herself, she wanted to see Ellen one last time. She envisioned a tearful goodbye. Ellen would burst into tears, lamenting the love she'd never have. Then Dana would relent against her better judgment and invite Ellen to go on the lam with her. It would be like Bonnie and Clyde except it would be Bonnie and Bonnie.
"But life won't be all roses. You have to understand that. I'll always be a wanted woman," Dana would say. "We'll have to live on the road, always on the move, the law chasing us from one nameless town to another, eating bologna and raw weiners out of an ice chest."
"I love you and that's all the matters," Ellen would say. Then, just like in her favorite book, they would drive off in the ice cream truck toward the orange sunset and the Go, Dog. Go! party tree.
Dana's romantic fantasy was interrupted by another round of "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know. " The song jangled every last nerve she had in her body. She scanned the dashboard and punched and twirled every button she could find, but the stupid song still tinkled from the overhead speaker. She had been in the ice cream truck five minutes and she felt like ripping out her hair.
A Perfect Romance Page 21