Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

  “I’m sorry I failed you,” Titan said, although the bull didn’t look up. “I’m going to have to give you back to Dodge. But I promise I’ll visit you every day.”

  He gazed at Fancy, who limped into a darkened corner as a loud laugh from outside their sanctuary startled her. He wished he could make her the same promise. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to Fat Chance every day. Pappy would take good care of Fancy, but it wouldn’t be the same.

  Old Bertha watched as Pappy took Meriwether’s hand and helped her hop down from the boardwalk onto Main Street. They were laughing as Pappy steadied her. He left his plate on the side of the boardwalk.

  Litterer!

  Old Bertha kept her distance. While she couldn’t actually hear what they were saying, she’d observed their conversation turn from awkward to friendly in a matter of minutes. How could thirty years of bad feelings disappear in the blink of an eye?

  Don’t these people know how to hold a grudge?

  “Hey, Bertha,” Polly said, suddenly at her side. “I want you to meet Hank.”

  Old Bertha lost sight of Pappy and Meriwether as she was introduced to the young man.

  “You work for Meriwether McMurphy, is that right?” Old Bertha said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hank cocked his head to one side as he looked at her. “How did you know that?”

  “Oh, you know these small towns,” Old Bertha said. “Word gets around.”

  Polly smirked at Old Bertha. The old woman could tell that Polly wasn’t buying a word of it. Polly must have seen her spying on Pappy from the beginning. She gave Polly a withering stare, but Polly was enjoying herself too much to be intimidated.

  “I better get back to work,” Polly said.

  “Anything else I can help with?” Hank asked Polly.

  “I bet I can find something for you to do. Maybe help me with the dishes?”

  Old Bertha could swear the girl was batting her eyelashes. She thought about the glowering Goth Polly had been when she first got to town. When had everybody turned so happy?

  Hank smiled as if he’d been granted an audience with a supermodel instead of an invitation to do manual labor, and followed Polly into the café.

  Old Bertha scanned the crowd.

  Pappy and Meriwether were gone.

  Fernando sent Hank down to the creek to pick up more lemonade, which he’d had the foresight to store in the icy water. Fernando and Polly stood in the doorway, watching him.

  Hank waded into the creek, lightly stepping over rocks to keep his jeans and boots dry.

  “Good balance,” Polly said.

  Hank bent over and plunked his hands into the water.

  “More importantly,” Fernando said, “nice ass.”

  Hank retrieved a large sealed jar of lemonade from the creek. He stood up and waved it over his head in triumph. Polly and Fernando waved back at him, Polly adding a thumbs-up.

  “He’s cute as a bug,” Fernando said as they watched Hank amble back up to Cowboy Food.

  “I know! Is it too soon to tell if he’s ‘the one’?”

  “Oh, honey, who cares?” Fernando said. “Just settle for ‘he’s one of the ones.’”

  “I like your thinking.” Polly kissed Fernando on the cheek.

  “We’ve been here twenty minutes and haven’t seen anyone we know,” Cleo said to Professor Johnson as they wandered through the crowd. “How is that even possible?”

  Professor Johnson shook his head. He was about to answer, but realized his aunt was asking a rhetorical question. He’d fallen for that more than once in his life. Suddenly, Dodge Durham was standing in front of them, eating a chicken leg.

  “Look who’s back,” Dodge said, a speck of barbecue sauce on his cheek, muting his naturally threatening presence. Thud growled low in his chest. Professor Johnson put his hand on the dog, although he didn’t actually mind the bloodhound snarling at this man.

  “If you’ve come to talk about Rocket,” said Dodge, “you can save your breath. Every single one of you has stuck your nose where it don’t belong, and I’m sick of all of you.”

  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Cleo said with a sweet smile.

  Dodge looked at her, not sure he’d heard correctly.

  “In any case, it’s nice to see you supporting an event in Fat Chance, Dodge,” Cleo said, sounding for all the world like a Beverly Hills matron.

  “Yeah, right.” Dodge licked his fingers. “I got business here, but no use letting good barbecue go to waste.”

  Dodge walked on, Professor Johnson and Cleo looking after him.

  “What business could he have in Fat Chance?” Cleo said.

  “I don’t know.” Professor Johnson fingered Thud’s snakeskin collar. “And who is Rocket?”

  Professor Johnson patted Thud, who continued to knock into him, constantly looking up to make sure Professor Johnson was still there.

  At least somebody was glad to see him.

  Dymphna felt guilty sitting in Professor Johnson’s domain with another man, even if they were only eating rice and beans. She looked at the museum display cases shoved out of the way, cases Professor Johnson had tried so hard to fill with historic memorabilia.

  It’s not too late. When he gets here next week, he’ll be able to start again.

  Will we be able to start again?

  “Where’s Thud?” Dymphna asked Tino.

  “He’s around,” Tino said. “I saw him a few minutes ago.”

  Dymphna wasn’t really worried about the bloodhound. Thud was a responsible dog. He’d go visit the other shopkeepers or splash in the creek for an hour or so, but always returned to her.

  Unlike Crash.

  Dymphna thought about the duckling and her throat tightened.

  Tino put his hand over hers. “I know you’re thinking about Crash,” he said. “It’s only natural to be sad, but it’s just in some creatures’ nature to go, and some to stay.”

  “I know,” Dymphna said. “I do know. It doesn’t make it easier, that’s all. Crash was a really great duck.”

  “He still is a really great duck. Just . . . you know . . .”

  “Not here,” Dymphna said. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Great idea.” Tino put down his fork and leaned closer to her. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  “OK.”

  “Not here. Can we go back to the farm?”

  “I don’t know if we should. That doesn’t sound very supportive, to just leave in the middle of Fernando’s grand opening.”

  “Look around. There’s a line waiting for our table. And we can always come back. It’s just so noisy in here, I can’t think straight.”

  He traced his finger over her forearm, sending shivers up her body.

  Speaking of not thinking straight . . .

  As they headed up the hill, Dymphna cast a sweeping glance around the town for Thud. She thought she saw a quick flick of his tail, but wasn’t sure.

  CHAPTER 27

  Old Bertha had looked up and down Main Street for the last half hour with no sign of Pappy or Meriwether. She turned to make another loop, when she ran right into Hank.

  “Whoa, sorry, ma’am,” he said, steadying her. “You all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right,” Old Bertha snapped. “I was just looking for . . . your boss, that’s all.”

  “I just saw her.” Hank smiled.

  “Oh? Where was that?” Old Bertha asked casually. She had to admit, those dimples were damned cute.

  “I was down by the creek, picking up some lemonade for Polly,” he said.

  “That’s so interesting.” Old Bertha tried to control her temper—and her sarcasm. “I mean, where did you see them . . . her?”

  “Oh!” Hank said. “They were behind the buildings . . . on some sort of patio.”

  Old Bertha knew immediately that they were behind Pappy’s place. Maybe she’d head over there and surprise them. She could catch them red-handed. But wha
t excuse could she use for going? Her thoughts were interrupted by Hank.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I was wondering . . .”

  Old Bertha waited. Hank didn’t say anything.

  “Speak up,” she said.

  “I was wondering . . . Do you think Polly might go out with me if I asked? I mean, I’m sure every guy for miles around asks you this, but . . . well, I sure do like her.”

  Old Bertha stared at the boy. Had he just arrived from Mayberry? Who talked like that?

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she said, forgetting about her own quest for a moment. “I’ll put in a good word for you. That might shoot you to the top of her list.”

  “I bet it would. Polly thinks you’re the greatest! Well, I better get back to Cowboy Food. Polly and Fernando are letting me help clean up.”

  “Lucky boy.”

  “I’m going to see if Marshall . . . Powderkeg . . . is in the shop,” Cleo said to Professor Johnson as they climbed the stairs to the boardwalk. Powderkeg’s carpentry and leatherwork shop was the first building on the boardwalk.

  “OK,” he said, “I’ll just follow Thud around. I’m sure he’ll lead me to Dymphna.” He stared down at the dog, who was drooling on his shoes and looking at him adoringly. “Eventually,” he added.

  Cleo grabbed Professor Johnson’s arm suddenly. He looked at her. She put her other hand to her heart.

  “I’m suddenly very nervous,” she said. “I mean, I did sort of desert him . . . again.”

  Professor Johnson touched the hand that was clutching his sleeve. This was alien territory for the Johnsons. They were not a touchy-feely family.

  “You just have to put yourself out there,” he said. “Whatever happens, it is what it is.”

  “No need to sink to platitudes.” Cleo removed his hand, then softened. “Thank you, Elwood. I’ll do what I can. What will be, will be.”

  Now who’s sinking to platitudes? he thought.

  Cleo watched her nephew drift down the boardwalk, looking for a familiar face. When she lost sight of him, she reached into her bag and felt for the ring box. She wrapped her hand around it to give her the courage to walk in the door. She hesitated, got out the ring box, and put the tiny engagement ring on her finger. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the doorknob and pulled.

  There was so much noise on the boardwalk and Main Street that no one heard Mikie’s shriek when she saw a middle-aged woman enter the store and catch her with her blouse open and her legs around Powderkeg, who sat on a tall toolbox. As soon as Cleo’s eyes adjusted to the light, she added her own scream. Luckily, in the few seconds it took for her eyes to adapt to the murky interior of the shop, Mikie had buttoned her shirt and leapt to the floor. Powderkeg also managed to stand, but Cleo caught him mid-buckle.

  “The shop is closed,” Mikie said, scooping her bra off the floor and stuffing it in her back pocket. “Didn’t you see the sign?”

  “Who in God’s name are you?” Cleo said.

  “Who in God’s name is asking?” Mikie said, swiveling her head as if she had ball bearings in her neck, all fluster banished.

  “Ladies, ladies,” Powderkeg said, stepping between them. “Let me introduce you. Lacey Carmichael, this is Cleo . . .”

  “Your ex?” Mikie said, eyes widening.

  “Yes,” Powderkeg said. “You’ll have to forgive me, Cleo. I didn’t know you were coming back to town.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Marshall,” she said, looking Mikie up and down dismissively. She wore her best “this too shall pass” expression.

  “Marshall?” Mikie asked, turning to Powderkeg.

  Apparently he hasn’t told her everything.

  “Cleo, this is Lacey Carmichael,” he said. “My . . .”

  The two women turned to look at him. A lot was riding on his introduction.

  “Your what?” Cleo demanded.

  “My . . .” Powderkeg looked miserable. “My friend.”

  Cleo turned to watch Lacey Carmichael’s big eyes fill with tears before she turned and stormed out the door. Powderkeg followed after her.

  “Mikie! Mikie!” he said to the back of the door as it slammed in his face.

  He turned to Cleo, shaking his head.

  “Mikie?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

  He glared at her. He was clearly not in the mood for arched eyebrows and sarcasm. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked heatedly.

  “I thought I’d surprise you,” she said softly.

  “Congratulations,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re a howling success.”

  “Is she . . .” Cleo steeled herself to continue. “Is she really just a friend?”

  The noise from outside the walls faded away. There was nothing but silence between them.

  “No,” Powderkeg said finally. “I . . . it’s all new. I don’t know how she feels and I didn’t want to scare her off.”

  She stood in front of Powderkeg, who was looking out the window. She tried to remain calm. He said this thing was new. She could fight this. She could win him back. She touched his cheek and drew his face down to look at her. The storm she saw in his eyes took her breath away.

  She was too late.

  “You better go after her,” she said, trying to hide her emotions.

  “I might have blown it already,” he said miserably.

  “Go on, Marshall,” she said. “She’ll be fine. Just chalk it up to your first fight.”

  “Are you going to be okay? What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say you were coming?”

  “I just decided to come with Elwood—to keep him company,” she said airily. She saw Mikie storming toward the trailhead. “You better go. You don’t want to ruin this.”

  “Cleo . . .”

  “Go!” she said, forcing a smile.

  Cleo could see the relief flood over him.

  He bolted from the store. Cleo watched as he chased the long-legged woman to the edge of town. He spun her around. Cleo couldn’t hear what they were saying, but within minutes, the woman was in Powderkeg’s arms.

  Cleo touched the window, the star sapphire of her engagement ring twinkling sadly in farewell.

  Old Bertha rounded the corner to Pappy’s back patio. No one was there. Laughter came from the little barn where Jerry lived. Old Bertha stepped as lightly as she could toward the voices.

  When she reached the door, she stared at the sight in front of her. It was like a geriatric version of the Mad Hatter’s tea party—Pappy and Meriwether, wearing hats from last year’s Fandango-Up in Fat Chance. Jerry Lee wore his fedora from the Fandango as well. Pappy was pouring some of Fernando’s peach brandy into two mason jars. He looked up and his smile faded.

  “Bertha!” he said.

  “Oh!” Meriwether said. “So this is Bertha!”

  “Damn, it, Bertha,” Pappy said, sounding annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

  Old Bertha felt like a schoolgirl. A goofy schoolgirl running into the cool kids in a deserted hallway—albeit cool kids in stupid hats. Maybe it was more like running into the drama kids. She tried to steady her nerves.

  What am I doing here? she wondered.

  “I just . . .” Old Bertha could come up with no explanation that would leave her with any dignity, so she stopped explaining.

  “I guess our secret is out,” Meriwether said.

  “Secret?” She didn’t want to know their secret.

  “I guess so,” Pappy said. “You know that Meriwether and I had some bad blood between us. Well, we’ve talked it out and that’s over.”

  “Having young Hank around has taught me to live a little,” Meriwether said, patting Pappy’s arm. “I’ve just decided I’m too old to keep embracing all that negative energy.”

  Negative energy? Where does she think she is? Taos?

  “I asked Meriwether to come back here to help me with something,” Pappy said.

  Meriwether fell for that old line? At her age?
>
  Pappy walked to the barn, leaving Meriwether and Old Bertha staring at each other. He returned with a delicate little white mule in a straw hat.

  “Meriwether was helping me get everything just right,” Pappy said. “Bertha, meet Patsy. Now I know you said you wanted to pay for her, but . . .” He looked right at Bertha, daring her to challenge him. “You would make me a very happy man to accept her . . .”

  He faltered. Meriwether moved to his side. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, possibly from the peach brandy. She rose up on her toes and whispered in Pappy’s ear, “As a token of my esteem.”

  “As a token of my esteem,” Pappy said formally.

  Old Bertha could feel her eyes welling up. She pulled an old but ironed handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. She turned to Meriwether, who was smiling kindly at her. It occurred to Old Bertha that she might have a new friend as well as a new mule and—she snuck a quick peek at Pappy—a suitor too.

  “Grab a hat,” Pappy said. “I’ll pour you some peach brandy.”

  Cleo felt as if she were wrapped in cotton. What was she going to do now? She looked for Professor Johnson but saw that he and Thud were heading up the hill to Dymphna’s farm. She couldn’t very well run after him. She glanced over at the shuttered forge. She’d assumed that Titan wasn’t in Fat Chance. If he was, why wouldn’t he be out in the streets with everyone else? But she thought she saw a slight movement from between the gaps in the walls. Avoiding the peril of spilled barbecue at every step, she made her way to the smithy and knocked. There was no answer. But this time she was sure she saw movement within. She knocked again.

  “Titan,” Cleo called. “Titan, it’s Cleo! May I come in?”

  The door opened. Cleo was shocked by Titan’s appearance. He’d always seemed massive to Cleo, but now he looked diminished. She could see by the muscular chest and massive forearms that he hadn’t actually changed size. It was his spirit that appeared to have shrunk. She threw her arms around him, not sure if she was comforting him or asking for comfort.