Linny's Sweet Dream List

by Susan Schild

  Her mother must have noticed her expression, and gave her a proud little smile. “That trailer rented for five-fifty. Sometimes the renters gave me cash, and I don’t get to the bank much.”

  Whoa. Five-fifty a month. “Way to go, Mama.” Linny nodded, impressed. The rental trailer had been on the farm for years, but she’d never thought about the income it generated.

  “It was my idea to buy the trailer and use it as a rental, you know. Your daddy didn’t want to mess with it. He said it was too much trouble.” Her mother’s voice was tight. “But beside this last batch of bad apples, the tenants have mostly been good, and the rent tides me over each month.”

  Cocking her head, Linny smiled at her mother. She didn’t know Dottie had so much business sense. She looked more closely at her. Why did her mouth look like a taut clothesline just because Daddy didn’t want to manage rentals? Linny knew all about her own grief after Andy died and knew no two people made the same journey through that underworld. But after being widowed for five years, why would Dottie still be angry at him over something so inconsequential? She rubbed the back of her neck and thought about it as she watched her mother put the Barbasol can back and ineffectually tidy the junk on the mantle. For the past few days, she’d been having memories of her parents fighting, and she was starting to wonder if her picture of her parents’ long and happy marriage was accurate. In the aftermath of her own marital mayhem, getting clarity on that piece of family history was now very important to her. One more item for her mental to do list, Ask Kate if she thinks Mama and Daddy were happy together.

  All business now, Dottie led her back through the clutter to the door. “Tell me when you need more money, and keep the receipts. I can write it off on my taxes.”

  Her mother was crazy like a fox. Linny hugged her and headed out.

  Dottie called to her from the doorway, “If you want to get supper later on, they do a real nice buffet at the K & W. You get a discount if you come before five-thirty.”

  Linny stepped into the car. “Maybe another time, Mama. I’ve got a lot to do.” As soon as her mother went back inside, Linny banged her head softly on the steering wheel. Not that long ago, she’d had a happy life and high hopes for the future. Now she was living a life she didn’t recognize, a life she thought only happened to other, less careful people—people who were content to drive around on bald tires, eat most meals at fast food restaurants, and shoplift T-bones at the grocery store. Now she’d be living in a dumpy trailer a quarter mile down the road from where she grew up. The highlight of her week would be going with her Mama to the early bird special at the cafeteria. Shakily, she put the car in reverse.

  When she reached the leaning red mailbox, she turned the car down the rutted driveway. She gripped the wheel with both hands as the Volvo bushwhacked through overgrown weeds. At the end of a field of tasseled corn, she saw her new home, the old trailer with faded aqua siding. Linny saw a navy blue Ford crossover and grinned. Her lifelong best friend lounged on the floor of the sagging, makeshift front porch. Letting down the car windows, Linny stuck her hand out to wave, and cruised to a stop.

  Mary Catherine waved hello with the grape Popsicle she was finishing. The jacket of her pantsuit was draped over the porch railing, and she’d kicked off her pumps. “Did you know about this?” she called, holding up a tabloid with headlines that blared, SHOCKING LESBIAN LOVE NEST PHOTOS! IS HOLLYWOOD’S HAPPIEST MARRIAGE A SHAM?

  Linny stepped from the car, and felt a flood of relief at the normalcy of this exchange. Well, normal for Mary Catherine. “You’ll have to fill me in.”

  “Oh, I will,” she promised.

  Linny shook her head as she stepped up the iffy looking stairs. “Do all you attorneys read those magazines?”

  “Professional development.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at Linny with her Popsicle stick. “I like your Too Sexy shirt. Subtle.”

  “Thanks.” She leaned down and gave her friend a hug. “What you doing here?”

  Mary Catherine tucked the tabloid into her oversized purse and rose. “Going to help you clean.”

  Linny started to protest and her friend just held up a hand. “Not listening.” She pointed to a ratty looking gym bag on the floor behind her. “Tell me where I can change, and let’s get at it.”

  Linny wavered, wanting to refuse the help. Her friends and family had done so much already. But the trailer was beyond gross inside, and she needed a dose of Mary Catherine’s bracing company. Fitting the key in the lock, she pushed open the door, and made the hand gesture she’d seen Jackie Kennedy use in a documentary about her White House tour. “Welcome to my home.”

  Mary Catherine glanced around and lifted her nose in the air. “It’s not nearly as nice as where I grew up.” She grinned. “At Mobile Meadows, we had a doublewide, with a tractor tire flower bed.”

  And she had. Linny felt relief wash over her. Her best friend, at least, wouldn’t judge her.

  Mary Catherine stepped into the bedroom with her gym bag, emerging a moment later wearing shorts and a T-shirt that read, Be Sweet. She pulled a portable sound dock from the gym bag, set it on the counter, and plugged her iPod. “This mix is country and pop. It starts out with women down on men, but then it mellows out.”

  Linny smiled as she turned on the hot water and waited for the bucket to fill up. Only Mary Catherine would be so thoughtful as to make a clean-up-a-trailer playlist.

  Back in the kitchen, Mary Catherine looked nonchalant as she pulled on zebra-striped rubber gloves with pink marabou feathers on the cuffs and a giant fake diamond on the ring finger.

  Linny grinned, but hurriedly pushed open a window as she watched her friend pour straight Clorox on the yellowed linoleum floor. “Shouldn’t you dilute that?” she asked, trying not to inhale.

  Mary Catherine waved away the suggestion. “We want power, baby.”

  Worried about the extra strength Ajax she’d already tried on the floor, Linny edged away but there was no chemical explosion. After she vacuumed, she took a hard-bristle brush to the floor, licking into high gear as Kacey Musgraves sang “Pageant Material” and Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, and Katy Perry sang about lying men. As she dipped her rag into a bucket of steamy water and wiped down the outside of the refrigerator, she listened to every word and had a deeply satisfied sense of being understood. She would come back stronger, as they had.

  She glanced over at Mary Catherine, who was using a paint scraper to remove splotches of unknown gunk from the counter. Her friend sang along and Lord help her, she danced. For a graceful woman who’d been a talented gymnast and the number one singles player on the tennis team in high school, she just could not dance. Linny’s lips twitched.

  Mary Catherine’s law colleagues saw her as serious, dedicated, and by the book. What would they think of her awkward lassoing pony move, her oddly executed Beyoncé bounce, the off-beat shimmy and dramatic gestures—like the wrist on the forehead and the pointing finger when the song said “you.” Although most of the herky-jerky motions were pure Mary Catherine, Linny knew she was amping up the foolishness to lighten the mood. She smiled. It was working.

  “You’ve got some moves,” Linny said admiringly, as she held her breath and opened the fridge. She exhaled, relieved. Surprisingly, the inside wasn’t the biohazard she’d expected.

  Mary Catherine gathered up the Hoover to move to the next room but paused in the doorway to demonstrate a cringe-worthy rear end popping motion. “This is a hip-hop move called twizzle-dazzle. I saw it on YouTube.”

  Linny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  By the time they finished vacuuming and clearing out junk the old tenants had thoughtfully left behind—a garbage bag full of beer cans Linny had missed on her first trash run, a broken baby carriage, a black-and-white TV with a broken screen, a box full of rotary telephones—male singers were getting airtime. Jason Aldean, Pitbull, and Sam Smith had serious problems in their love lives. Linny sighed. Good men get wronged, too. The bluesy, s
oulful voice of John Newman helped the two women pick up the pace for the home stretch as they mopped the floors for a third time with Pine Sol. When they wiped down the dust-encrusted mini-blinds, a singer Mary Catherine identified as Kip Moore just wanted to take the pretty girl home and marry her. Linny felt wistful as she listened to the words. That Kip sounded like such a nice man.

  Linny was dripping with perspiration as she tried to take apart the window AC unit to see if she could find a filter and clean it.

  Mary Catherine mopped her face with a clean rag dipped in cool water, and held up a finger. “Be right back.” She trotted outside, and few moments later, poked her head in the trailer and beckoned. “Come on out.”

  Linny rolled her shoulders as she trudged outside into the oven broiler of an afternoon, and broke into a smile when she saw the blue baby pool that Mary Catherine must have crammed in the back of her car. She’d almost finished filling it with the garden hose. “Oh, how perfect.” She put her hand to her mouth, examined the happy crabs and little treasure chests that decorated the pool, and felt like crying. It was just what she needed. “I don’t know where my bathing suit is.”

  “We’ll wear our clothes.” Mary Catherine kicked off her shoes and sank in. “Aaah. Every country girl’s dream—an above ground pool.” She pointed to a small cooler. “Cold beer. We deserve a reward for all our hard work.”

  “We do.” Linny grabbed two icy St. Pauli Girls, popped the tops with the opener Mary Catherine had thoughtfully tied to the cooler, untied her sneakers, and sank into the chilly water. “This is heavenly,” she said, and dipped her head back to wet her hair.

  Mary Catherine took a swig, and gave her a sideways glance. “How are you doing?”

  “Bumping along.” Linny tipped back the green bottle and shook her head as if to clear it. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Mary Catherine nodded.

  “The way he died was so embarrassing. What husband dies of a heart attack at the Surfside Inn with a woman named Kandi? Kandi with a K,” Linny clarified.

  “Bet she dots her i’s with a little heart.” Her friend stared contemplatively at her beer bottle. “Still, he saved you the trouble of a divorce.”

  “True.” Linny shuddered.

  “You gotten up with Diamond?”

  Mary Catherine had referred her to a colleague, but Linny had her doubts about an attorney named Diamond. Still, the woman seemed to be on the ball. “She’s already put the probate notice in the papers, but it could take a year to sort out.” Linny turned to her friend. “The widow is responsible for the dead husband’s debt, right?”

  “Depends on the business entity. The corporation is responsible for the business debts, but any liabilities he personally guaranteed are on the widow.”

  Linny remembered the funeral director apologetically declining her credit card when she’d tried to pay for Buck’s casket. Her heart beating wildly, she had checked the account on her phone and stared in disbelief at the ba0lance. A call to the bank confirmed the awful truth—Buck’s high-roller lifestyle had been partially funded by her savings—including Andy’s life insurance payout. Her brother-in-law had to help her trade in her new Volvo for a ten-years-older model, just so she’d have the cash to bury Buck. “I can’t believe I trusted him to handle all the finances. I just turned them over to him because he seemed so smart about money. So June Cleaver.”

  Mary Catherine grimaced, and shook her head. “Happens more than you’d think.”

  Linny nodded. She tried to be surreptitious as she snapped the rubber band on her wrist and pictured doing the twist toward tenacity with a tortoise. She sighed. The visual wasn’t that reassuring. “Maybe the money will turn up.”

  “It’s possible.” Mary Catherine’s voice was neutral. She pointed at Linny’s wrist with her beer bottle. “Is that some sort of Kabbalah bracelet?”

  “No. I’m trying to stop criticizing myself.” She peeled at the label of her beer with a dirty fingernail. “Why didn’t I listen to you about checking his finances?”

  “I think you said it would be ‘vulgar’ to ask about money.” Mary Catherine gave a half smile. “But stop beating yourself up. He said he was financially stable, and you trusted him.” Her eyes were kind. “You’ll get through this. You just need to hunker down and regroup.”

  Linny felt a sting of irritation as she glanced at her friend’s expensive haircut and perfect manicure. Easy to dish out advice when you were sitting pretty. “I know that,” she said more sharply than she’d intended.

  “Sorry, Linny. You know me, I boss the people I love.” Mary Catherine squinted off into the distance. “I can try to be quiet if you want.”

  “Don’t.” Linny felt ashamed, remembering how many times her friend had been there for her. In third grade, Linny had just been knocked down again at recess by a bully named Billy Grubber when Mary Catherine—a wiry fourth grader—saw the trouble, raced over, and shoved the boy to the ground. She’d threatened to beat the snot out of him if he ever touched Linny again. “Sorry. I’m just a mess, and your life is so together.”

  Her friend gave a wry smile, and gently knocked on Linny’s head. “Hello, hello? My husband has been unemployed for the last two years and just now landed a job. My son is a mouth-of-the-south nineteen-year-old who knows everything. I don’t have it together either.”

  Linny touched her hand. “I’m sorry. And sorry for being so self-involved.”

  “You have a right.” Mary Catherine took a last swallow of beer and stood. “I need to get home. I’ve got a hungry husband and chores.”

  Linny rose and stepped from the pool. Her dripping clothes made the humid air feel refreshingly cool on her skin. “Kate’s coming tomorrow to help me size up the repairs.”

  “Good to have a sister who helps run her husband’s construction business.” Mary Catherine squeezed water from the ends of her hair.

  “It is.” Linny walked Mary Catherine to her car, found a piece of packing carton cardboard for her to sit on, and gave her a soggy hug. She waved, and tried to smile until Mary Catherine’s car disappeared from view. Linny fought an urge to lie down in the dirt yard, curl up in a ball, and wait for time to pass and the world to right itself. She made a half-hearted attempt to muster up an east coast swing with an eagle or a salsa with a squirrel, but came up empty. With leaden steps, she trudged back to the trailer.

  CHAPTER 3

  Roy Rogers

  Linny woke with a start and strained her ears, but there was only silence. She lay rigid. Though blurred around the edges from a choppy sleep, she was sure she’d heard something. Bleary-eyed, she glanced at the clock. Two seventeen. Holding her breath, she listened harder. There it was. Scritch, scritch. Slowly, she reached under the bed and pulled out the baseball bat Andy had bought for her for when he traveled for work. Breathing shallowly, she heard the scratching resume, followed by a faint mewling sound. Her mind raced. If she called 911 out here in the county, it would take the sheriff ’s department thirty minutes to arrive. Her body could be cold by then. Terrified, she crept from the bed, quiet as a mouse. In the living room, the sound became louder. It was coming from underneath the trailer.

  Linny’s mind raced. Should she hide? But where? The doors and windows were so flimsy; it would be a cinch for an intruder to break in. Why would someone want to break into a trailer? She shuddered. Maybe the former renters were involved with drugs, like in the TV crime show she’d watched last week. Switching on the outside lights, she clenched the bat in her hands, threw open the living room window. In as deep and manly a voice as she could muster, she bellowed out, “The sheriff is on the way and I have a gun. You’d better get your butt out of here.”

  Peeking out from behind dusty mini-blinds, she saw a small black ball of fur race out from beneath the trailer, and stand in a weak pool of light outside the front door. It was a quivering black puppy. Linny’s receding terror left her limp. She breathed, unlocked the door and called to the puppy softly, “He
y. Hey there sweetie pie. Sorry for yelling. It’s all right.” The pup looked at her, tail wiggling, and scrambled up the first stair. Still crooning, she stooped and extended her hand, but it quickly backed away. Slowly she stepped down and sat on the bottom step, her hands on her knees. She sent a steady stream of patter in its direction. “It’s late for you to be outside all by yourself. Where’s your Mama?” The puppy sidled up to her. She scooped it up and held it. The animal’s coat was matted, and Linny could feel every rib. Its heart hammered as hard as hers did.

  “Hey, there. It’s all right,” she crooned. She started and then burst out laughing as a warm trickle ran down her nightgown. Holding the little guy up to look in its velvet eyes, she said, “You peed on me. Does this mean you’re glad to see me?” She hurried back inside with the squirming bundle, but hesitated, wondering for a moment if the puppy would bring in fleas, or go to the bathroom inside. Then she shook her head ruefully. The trailer was so dirty, it didn’t matter.

  “You must have been so scared.” Quickly rummaging through the Kitchen box, she found a bowl and filled it with water. As she held it out, the puppy lapped greedily. Linny kissed the top of its head, and recoiled. It smelled like dirty socks and old shrimp shells. She’d have to bathe the critter first thing tomorrow. “Looks like I’ve got myself a friend,” she said softly, feeling a measure of comfort she hadn’t felt in far too long.

  Later that morning, Linny sat at the kitchen table, chin in hand, and yawned. She sipped a flat Diet Pepsi and chewed a protein bar. At her feet, a whiffling snore emanated from the BOOKS box, and a shiny black button of a nose rested atop the nest she’d made from an old flannel sheet and lined with a garbage bag.

  She rubbed her eyes. Now the dog was sleeping. At four thirty that morning, the whimpering finally stopped when she’d hauled the box up on the mattress beside her. She rotated her shoulder, stiff from draping her arm in the box to pat him. The softness of his fur, and the rise and fall of his regular breathing had felt so good to her.