Goldenrod

by Ann McMan

  He was a rare man in her experience. And that meant a lot because Rita didn’t much care for men. But after getting to know James, she had wondered more than once how her life might’ve been different if she’d had a friend like him a hundred years ago, when things had gone so far off the rails for her.

  It was pointless to make herself crazy by wondering about all the ways the past could’ve been different. It wasn’t different and it couldn’t ever be changed. That’s why it was called the past. The best thing she could do was try to shake the dust of it off her feet and go on without looking back.

  She watched Watson leave the table full of undertakers and move on to another group—the crew from the tire store this time. He must’ve sensed her staring at him because he cut his beady eyes over and looked right at her. She reflexively raised her fingers to her mouth, and rapidly wagged her tongue back and forth between them. Judging by how quickly his face turned red, she knew he understood the gesture.

  He abruptly changed direction and walked away without so much as a backwards glance.

  “Just what in the hell are you doin’?” Natalie slapped her hand down. “There’s children around here.”

  “Don’t waste no more energy tryin’ to poke that badger,” Jocelyn added. “There ain’t nothin’ to be gained by it.”

  “Just look at him,” Natalie. pointed out. “He’s over there commiseratin’ with that other Grade A piece of shit—Hozbiest.”

  “Them two sure are cut from the same bolt of cloth.” Jocelyn gave a disgusted laugh. “Well, maybe that makes sense. They do say that birds of a feather flock together.”

  “Yeah,” Natalie agreed. “Especially when they’re both turkey buzzards.”

  Rita took a last, long drag on her cigarette. They were right. Why was she wasting any more of her time worrying about that pencil dick?

  She ground out her cigarette and got up.

  “Gimme your car keys, Natalie.”

  Natalie looked up at her. “What for?”

  “Because we got about another hour until them fireworks get started. If we’re gonna stay, I gotta go get more smokes.”

  Natalie fished the big ring of keys out of her oversized pocket-book.

  “Here.” She slapped them against Rita’s outstretched hand. “Don’t say none of us didn’t try to save you from yourself and all them bad instincts.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Come on.”

  Roma Jean grabbed Charlie’s hand and started leading her away from the shady spot where they’d been hanging out beneath a couple of aspen trees.

  “Where are we going?” Charlie complained. “Roma Jean? I don’t wanna go out in the sun. It’s hot.”

  “There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  Charlie gave up on trying to slow her down. She had no idea where they were headed, but Roma Jean seemed determined to drag her past just about every damn resident of the town to get to their destination. More than one person raised an eyebrow as they passed. Others waved. A few whispered behind their hands. Some even gave them wide smiles. An oblivious Roma Jean just trudged right on, still dragging Charlie along by the hand.

  They were nearly at the river when Charlie saw a small group of people sitting in a semi-circle on aluminum lawn chairs. They had a portable picnic table set up and it was loaded with plates, cups, a giant vat of iced tea, and leftover plates of chicken and slaw.

  The Freemantle clan had staked out their traditional Fourth of July spot near the water. This was one of the best places to get an unobstructed view of the fireworks—and they were quick to claim it every year. Sometimes, Cletus actually drove down here the night before and set up their tables and chairs, just to be sure nobody else would have a shot at moving in on their prized domain.

  Charlie felt a jolt of misgiving when she realized where Roma Jean was taking her. It wasn’t that she wanted Roma Jean to keep their relationship a secret. She didn’t. But she wasn’t sure that parading their newfound attachment around in full view of her extended family during the town’s most popular holiday celebration was the best idea she’d ever had.

  They were all here, too. Roma Jean’s parents. Her aunt Evelyn and Uncle Cletus. Her crazy grandma, Azalea. Aunt Evelyn’s nieces, Nicorette and Maybelline, were there, too. So was Nadine’s husband, Raymond Odell. There were even a couple of distant cousins from out near Bone Gap.

  Roma Jean practically skidded to a halt in front of her Aunt Evelyn’s chair.

  She was still holding on to Charlie’s hand.

  “Aunt Evelyn?” she said. “I wanted to be sure you got to meet Charlie Davis.” Roma Jean looked up at Charlie and gave her an electric smile. “We talked about her.” She shifted her gaze back to her aunt. “Remember?”

  Evelyn didn’t say anything. In fact, no one seated in the family compound said anything—except Roma Jean’s Gramma Azalea, who dropped her chicken leg and asked if Charlie’s people were related to Jeff Davis, the former president of the Confederacy.

  Charlie opened her mouth to say “No, ma’am,” but Roma Jean cut her off.

  “Yes, she is,” Roma Jean declared. “Her people moved here from Kentucky right after ‘The War of Northern Aggression.’”

  While it was true that Charlie’s ancestors actually did relocate to Virginia from Kentucky, it was a boldfaced lie to suggest they had any relationship to the family of the famed former president.

  Roma Jean’s eccentric grandma pushed her half-finished plate of chicken and broccoli slaw off the chair beside her and patted the seat with a bony hand. Charlie noticed her bright white shoes. She hadn’t seen Nike Cortez sneakers on anyone since Eazy-E got buried in a pair.

  “She wants you to come over and sit down beside her,” Roma Jean whispered. When Charlie didn’t budge right away, Roma Jean gave her a shove. “Go on. Get over there.”

  Charlie looked at Aunt Evelyn, who was clearly sizing her up. After a moment, Aunt Evelyn slowly shook her head and fluttered a hand toward Azalea.

  “You’d best get moving, young lady,” she said. “If you’re gonna be part of this family, you’ll make out a lot better once you stop asking questions and just learn to do as you’re told.” She elbowed her husband, who lounged in the chair beside her, watching the show with a half-smile on his face. “Ain’t that right, Cletus?”

  Cletus cleared his throat.

  “Yes, dear,” he said. He winked at Charlie. “It surely is.”

  Charlie gave Aunt Evelyn a shy smile before dutifully walking over to sit down next to Gramma Azalea.

  “Well, Roma Jean,” Charlie heard Aunt Evelyn say. “I see you went with happy. Now, that’s smart.”

  Charlie didn’t hear Roma Jean’s response because Gramma Azalea was already beginning an energetic narrative about how Jefferson Davis contracted malaria in the Mexican-American War, and never had a shot at a successful presidency because everyone knew that Alexander Stephens was a conniver who undercut Davis, and was really a Yankee sympathizer . . .

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “How much longer you think we need to wait before we can start telling folks we’re fixin’ to get things fired up?”

  Sonny and Bert were hauling munitions from their trucks down to an ideal launch pad along a rocky bank beside the river. Buddy was helping them get organized for the big finale of the evening. His job was to set up the launch apparatus and make sure it was good and secure.

  Buddy had brought along a couple extra rolls of car tape just to be sure they didn’t have any mishaps like last year, when that one stand fell over and shot a bottle rocket up the bank and right into the dessert table. They were lucky nobody got hurt—but it did take out about five of Peggy Hawkes’s untouched lemon chess pies.

  More than one person had taken Bert aside earlier today and told him they’d slip him a couple of sawbucks if he could do the town the same favor this year . . .

  Bert looked up at the sky. The sun was already below treetop level, but they still probably had another good hour or
so before it would start getting dark enough to commence.

  “I’d say another hour and fifteen to twenty minutes,” he told Sonny. “’Sides, we can’t start nothin’ until they get that debate over with.”

  “Shucks. I forgot about that.”

  “No place for hate,” Buddy said. “Ten canons before hate goes away.”

  “Ten cannons?” Sonny looked at Bert. “What does he mean by ten cannons? There ain’t no cannons this year, is there? I thought they outlawed that after that guy got killed shootin’ one off in that accident down in Shelby.”

  “They did,” Bert agreed. “Buddy? There ain’t no cannons this year. Just the fireworks that me and Sonny set off, like usual.”

  “Ten canons,” Buddy repeated. “Row, row, row the boat. Three times ten. Bach is in the middle.”

  “Now he’s talkin’ about some music he heard out at Dr. Heller’s,” Bert explained. “But I don’t know where he came up with that cannon idea.”

  “‘God has made them a kingdom and they shall reign on earth,’” Buddy said. He wound a length of silver tape around a tripod to secure it to a stake in the ground. “Revelation happens at five and ten. Five is not finished. Ten is God.”

  Buddy had set up ten tripods in two rows of five. Each tripod was separated from the next one by five feet—plenty of space for Bert and Sonny to safely reload the fireworks after each volley was discharged. They probably had enough munitions for a twenty-minute show—about half as long as last year. That was because the mayor’s office had cracked down on this part of the celebration. He said the noise it created was disruptive to people in the area who didn’t attend the festivities.

  Bert had no idea who that could be. Pretty much everybody who lived within a thirty-mile radius came out for the Jericho Fourth of July fireworks. Anybody who didn’t attend either lived way off in another county or were so deaf they wouldn’t be able to hear the explosions even if they were sitting a couple hundred yards up-river with all them Freemantles.

  “Hate stops when the canons are through,” Buddy said. “God redeems the imperfect. Ten replaces five.”

  Sonny looked over their setup, then back at Bert. “Do you think he means that having ten tripods is too many?”

  “Hey, Buddy?” Bert asked his son. “Do we have too many tripods set up?”

  Buddy shook his head and tore off another long strip of silver tape.

  “Ten is perfect,” he said. “Ten is God.”

  Bert looked at Sonny. “Looks like we’re all good.” He took another gander at the sky. “Not much else to do here until show time. Why don’t you two go watch that debate—maybe get another bite of dessert? I’ll stay here and watch the gear.”

  “Works for me.” Sonny put down his tools and headed back toward the crowd. “I could go for another slice of Nadine’s rhubarb pie.”

  “You go on, too, Buddy.” Bert added. “Bring me back some of that pie.”

  Buddy put down his roll of tape and followed Sonny along the narrow path that led away from the water. Just before they reached the wooden steps that led up to the picnic area, he stopped and looked back at the river.

  “No place for hate,” he said.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Maddie knew she’d probably regret what she was about to do, but she resolved to do it, anyway.

  After a lot of cajoling, coaxing and pleading by more than half a dozen of her closest friends, Lizzy Mayes had finally relented and agreed to attend the holiday celebration. Syd and Maddie were thrilled to see her there and immediately asked her to join them. Lizzy begged off, insisting that she’d already promised to eat with some nurses from the hospital in Wytheville—but she did say that she’d reconnect before the fireworks started and spend the rest of the evening with them.

  Maddie was worried about her.

  She didn’t seem to be rebounding after her miscarriage. She’d lost weight and her normally vivacious temperament was more than a little bit subdued. She didn’t think Lizzy was suffering any medically induced side effects from the experience—at least not physical ones. No. It seemed more to Maddie like she was . . . sad. It was a tough needle for Maddie to thread. She didn’t want to presume too much, and she didn’t want to invade Lizzy’s privacy any more than they already had—even though Lizzy had been quick to tell her how much Syd’s visit meant on the day she lost the baby.

  That ended up being the real tragedy for Lizzy. Even though her relationship with Tom fell apart, she had made her decision to go forward with the pregnancy—on her own.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  Maddie could tell that Lizzy was now rethinking everything in her life—even whether she wanted to stay on in this area. The grant that funded her position was up for renewal in another few months. Prior to recent events, there had been no question about her desire to continue working with Maddie and keep living in her little bungalow on the river. But now?

  Losing Lizzy would deal a huge blow to Maddie’s practice. She was a top-notch nurse practitioner who coupled keen diagnostic ability with a warm and engaging demeanor—a rare combination in medicine. She was also blessed with a professional disposition that inspired immediate confidence. And that was a huge asset in a backcountry area where people had a nearly inbred mistrust of modern medicine. Maddie would be sorry to lose her as a partner and trusted colleague.

  She’d also be sorry to lose her as a valued friend.

  It was that latter motivation that drove her to undertake such an uncharacteristic course of action today.

  She’d seen Syd’s brother, Tom, arrive about an hour ago.

  He looked just about as morose and dejected as Lizzy did . . .

  It was ridiculous.

  And it was about time for something to change.

  She kept a watchful eye on Lizzy and saw her opportunity when Lizzy excused herself from her group and headed for the bank of rented port-a-potties that had been hauled in for the occasion. Miraculously, there were no lines just then, so she knew Lizzy wouldn’t be gone for long.

  This was her chance.

  Tom was standing with them, listening intently while Syd filled him in on the sordid story of how Rosebud swallowed Oma’s ring, and the hilarity that ensued when Maddie enlisted David to help her x-ray the beleaguered cat.

  “Excuse me, sweetheart,” she said to Syd. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I really need to speak with Tom. Now.”

  Syd raised an eyebrow at her tone, but she didn’t object to her request.

  “Of course,” she said. “Go right on ahead.”

  “Thanks.” Maddie took Tom by the arm and led him in the direction Lizzy had just gone.

  “What’s up?” Tom asked. “And where are we going?”

  Maddie stopped just short of the path that led to the portable restrooms. She knew that she only had a minute or two before Lizzy reappeared.

  She had to work fast.

  “Tom,” she said. “I’m going to make this short and sweet. Sometimes in life, you have to take the bull by the horns.”

  He looked confused. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.”

  “It means that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.”

  “Okay.” Tom laid a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Has someone been dipping a bit too freely into the hard cider?”

  Maddie shook his hand off.

  “Listen, dude. I’m preparing to do something I never do—and your total want of sense is not gonna mess it up. So.” She took hold of his shoulders. “Whatever the hell happens here—just follow my damn lead. Capisce?”

  Tom looked more than a little wary, but he wisely complied.

  Lizzy appeared seconds later. Maddie saw her eyes widen when she noticed them standing there. She stopped and cast about for an escape route—but Maddie was too fast.

  “Hold up there, Cherry Ames,” she called out. “You’re not going anyplace just yet.”

  Maddie hauled Tom over to where Lizzy stood.

  She noticed
that neither of them would make eye contact with the other.

  “Okay.” Maddie folded her arms and adopted her most authoritative stance. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to make this as profoundly simple as possible. You two can love each other or hate each other—but indifference is not an option. You can forgive, do your level best to forget, start over, and get busy planning a future together that will, in my humble and informed estimation, result in prodigiously energetic and geometrically successful attempts at procreation—or—you can walk away from each other forever and go down in history as two of the stupidest and most moribund losers ever to squander a shot at real happiness.” She took a long, slow breath. “Now, do us all a favor and take a few minutes to talk it over.”

  They were now sneaking sidelong looks at each other. At least that was a good sign.

  “That’s pretty much it. Thanks for your attention.”

  Maddie laid a hand on each of their shoulders, and turned them to face each other.

  She nodded at them, then turned on her heel to walk away. She didn’t look back—not even after she rejoined Syd, who watched her approach with an open mouth.

  “What on earth did you say to them?” Syd asked with amazement.

  “Why?” Maddie replied, nonchalantly. “What are they doing?”

  “Well. Let’s just say if they don’t stop soon, someone’s going to turn a fire hose on them.”

  Maddie smiled at her.

  “I love it when a plan comes together . . .”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Will you please calm down.” Michael pointed beneath the table that was loaded with desserts. “You’re upsetting the dogs.”

  “The dogs? Who cares about the dogs? I’m having a nervous breakdown and you’re worried about the dogs?”