“I love you, too,” I echoed automatically, but I was marveling at how little I felt. Mainly annoyed that he’d kissed me so possessively without asking. Of course, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be with husbands and wives? Were husbands supposed to ask before passionately kissing their wives?
“Put your ring back on,” he said as he stepped outside. “We’ll work this all out once the craziness subsides.”
“Drive safely,” I said.
He nodded and let the door close softly behind him.
When I turned back to the kitchen, I saw Daddy through the wavy panes of that ancient door. He awkwardly turned in his wheelchair to reach into the oven for a pan of biscuits. He leaned up and to his right but bobbled the pan at a dangerous angle, causing me to gasp. I shoved the door open to give him a hand.
“Daddy, I didn’t know you could cook,” I said as I rummaged for a pot holder to take the biscuits from him.
“Didn’t think I was starving, did you?”
“But you never cooked before.”
His eyes shifted to the corner of the kitchen as though learning to cook was akin to keeping books for a mafioso. “Took some lessons. Where’d Richard go?”
“He went back to Nashville.”
Daddy nodded and I put everything on the table: country ham, biscuits, fried potatoes, green beans, fried okra, sliced tomatoes, and . . . red-eye gravy? “Where’d you learn to make that? Even Mom couldn’t make that.”
“Rosemary, you could write a book with all the things you don’t know about me.”
That was my cue to sit down and start eating.
“Proud of you,” he said after a while. “You did your best to get Maggie to take her calf.”
I blushed. Compliments from Hank Satterfield were few and far between—and never exaggerated. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“And to think I thought you were all citified.”
I opened my mouth to make a smart-aleck comment, but I shut it. True, I was sore and tired, but there was a genuine satisfaction from working the garden and especially from taking care of the calf. I might be going back to Nashville in less than six weeks, but my life there seemed far away. This house, my home, suddenly seemed far cozier than my apartment. I thought of Richard’s condo with its sleek lines and modern furniture of metal and glass—in my mind I seemed as out of place there as he’d seemed leaning against my granny’s antique freezer.
Daddy leaned forward, and I wanted to tell him what he so desperately wanted to hear, but I couldn’t. After all, I was engaged to Richard but married to Julian. And Julian was a fine reason for me to never make my home here again.
Finally, Hank lowered his eyes and sopped his biscuit in gravy. “Genie must’ve called four times today.”
I closed my eyes. No doubt she wanted to finish our discussion from earlier in the week. “I’ll call her after supper.”
Daddy nodded, his jowl jiggling.
We finished supper in silence, then turned to the one routine that had held us together after Mom died. I washed the dishes. He dried. Even right after she died when people brought us enough desserts and casseroles to feed the entire Hun army, I washed and he dried, sometimes emptying containers prematurely so we could keep washing and drying.
We hadn’t been able to find the words back then because she’d been the glue that held us together, the person who bridged the gap between the person he was and the person she wanted me to become. Without her, we were only this routine minus the person who had cooked our meal then sat at the table playfully heckling our efforts to clean up her mess.
That last mess she left us was one we hadn’t been able to clean up yet.
I started to put the stack of plates in the cabinet, then remembered Daddy couldn’t reach them there and set them on the counter instead. He placed his old, rough hand on top of mine. “I still miss her, too, you know.”
I nodded, but turned before he could see the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I squeezed out the dishrag to wipe down the table. After supper would be a great time to tell Genie I couldn’t help her out after all. I could shift my duties to just taking care of Daddy, maybe picking and canning the garden yield so nothing went to waste. There had to be farm boys—other than Julian—who could be paid to put up hay for the cows.
The doorbell rang as I leaned over to wipe the table. I tossed the rag down.
When I got to the door, no one was there, but on the mat was a brand-new pair of steel-toed rubber boots in just my size.
Julian
Imagine my surprise the next morning when I ran into Curtis on my way back from the garden.
“Looks like some mighty fine corn you got there,” he said.
I didn’t even slow down. If he was tossing out compliments, he wanted something. “Silver Queen did really good this year.”
“Your mama might want some,” he said.
“She got some,” I answered as I paused at the back door to take off my boots. “She’s still out there picking beans and getting some tomatoes.”
“Some things I wanted to talk to you about.”
He’d followed me. At least he wasn’t trying to go into the house. He knew how I felt about that. I put my buckets of corn just inside the back porch and turned to face him. “What do you want?”
“Well, now. I went over to The Fountain and heard from Bill that you and that Satterfield . . . girl actually got hitched.”
I forced myself to stare him down. “We did, but we’re not going to stay that way.”
“That’s a shame,” he said as he pulled on his chin. “Seems to me like combining the two old farms might be a good idea.”
I snorted. “Since when?”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I know I’ve been tough on you, boy, but I’m not going to live forever. Maybe I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen to you and your mama when I’m gone.”
“Last night you wanted to kill me.”
“Oh, I’d had a few nips too many. I got a good night’s sleep and decided I needed to have your uncle Charlie draw up those papers that would sign this place over to you. Since you were right about my not being able to see and all.”
Looked like the same jackass, but Curtis was acting like he’d been abducted by aliens. If this kinder, gentler version was what they left behind, I wasn’t complaining.
I also wasn’t stupid enough to trust him.
“Why don’t you bring those papers over to Ben’s office next week, and I’ll sign them.”
“Ben’s office?” Something flashed behind his eyes, but he quickly tamped it down. “He mainly does that stuff with the juvie kids, doesn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“All right then. I’ll be there Thursday at nine.”
“That ain’t next week. He might be busy,” I said.
“Then he can get unbusy. This can’t wait another minute.”
Curtis flashed me a smile. If I hadn’t already known he was up to something, I would’ve known then. Still, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?
Romy
“Did you do all that?” Genie asked as she looked at an array of quart jars full of green beans and tomatoes. Calling her hadn’t been enough. She’d decided to stop by a couple of days after our call.
“That I did. Only lost a jar or two.” I’d spent the day before canning and even froze a few packs of butter beans.
At first I’d been scared to death I would blow up the house with the pressure canner, but the instructions were easy to follow. Freezing hadn’t been too bad, either. It would’ve been easier if Daddy hadn’t been giving a running commentary to Mercutio on everything I was doing wrong. Now the cat sat in a beam of light on the kitchen floor napping as if he’d been doing all the heavy lifting.
“That’s pretty awesome. My mom did some canning, but I never picked it up,” Genie said.
“I followed the instructions,” I said with a shrug.
“Ha! I’d have to have something to can. These crazy sh
ifts keep me too busy to fuss with a garden.” Genie fished around in her bag for all of the reunion paperwork while I fixed us each a cup of coffee.
At the whirring of the Keurig, Daddy rolled in from the living room wanting a cup. Once he got one, he rolled right back out since Genie and I were discussing reunion particulars. She wanted me to search the Internet to see if I could find addresses for a few more people she hadn’t been able to find on Facebook.
“We’re already past the deadline,” I said.
She winced. “I know, but I want everyone to have a chance to come if they want to. Besides, this will all be over and done in three weeks,” she said with a sigh as she closed her notebook and slid all of her information back into her bag.
“I’m actually beginning to look forward to it,” I said.
“Well, I would hope so! Is Richard going to be there?”
I thought of our last conversation. “Maybe?”
“What about Julian?”
“He didn’t pay for a ticket so I can only assume he’s not coming.” Not that I had checked specifically for his name or anything.
“Shocker,” Genie said.
“And you’re bringing Ben?”
She smiled. “I don’t know. I think I will.”
She gathered her things and started for the door, but stopped to tell me one more thing. “You know, this country thing is really suiting you. I wondered if you’d be able to make this work, but here you are working in the garden and canning and”—she nodded toward my arm—“taking care of cows. It’s pretty impressive.”
“Thanks,” I said as I walked her to the door. Life had been easier once I’d relearned how to walk in a pasture. Coffee had helped, too. Apparently, one had to be alert to avoid the cow patties of life.
I followed her out on the porch and onto the lawn barefoot. The grass tickled my overly sensitive feet. But those feet were getting tougher, remembering the freedom of wiggling bare toes in the grass.
I waved to Genie as she left.
My hand felt lighter. I hadn’t put my ring back on despite what Richard had said. At first, I told myself I didn’t want to lose such an expensive piece of jewelry in the garden or get it caught on anything. Now I was beginning to see I didn’t want to wear his ring because it might get in the way of other things.
Julian
Pushing away any thoughts of Romy, I kept my head down and worked hard through the rest of the week including two days changing oil and such for Leroy. Finally, Thursday came, the day to sign the power-of-attorney papers.
I got to Ben’s house early. He was all business, but not anywhere near as optimistic as I was. “You sure he’s actually gonna show this time?”
We both knew how Curtis liked to string people along.
Ben pointed a long finger at me. “You owe me.”
“I know, I know. We’re up to an evening with the Swedish Bikini Team, I believe,” I said.
“Yeah. And a six-pack. And free oil changes for life. You can start with the six-pack.”
I nodded. This was the game we played.
He went back to his desk and started arranging all of the papers in piles. I wanted to be jealous of him because he’d made something of himself. There Ben Little stood in a crisply pressed dress shirt, his dark skin contrasting against the white of the shirt. It might be a new millennium, but folks still asked how we could be friends. Easy: We both knew poor. We both knew bullies and bad fathers—though he’d been lucky enough to escape his. City or country, white or black, those weren’t the things that defined us. Knowing what it was like to be overlooked or underestimated—that’s what united us.
Besides, I was there when he needed me, and he was there when I needed him. Only he and Hank—of all people—knew my darkest secrets.
“He isn’t coming.”
“Ben, he’ll be here. He’s desperate this time.” I leaned back into the leather chair. He has to come.
“And I guess he’s bringing that asshole who gives a bad name to lawyers everywhere?” Ben raised one eyebrow. I couldn’t blame him for disliking Uncle Charlie. He was my uncle and I couldn’t stand the sonuvabitch.
“Of course he’s bringing Uncle Charlie.”
Ben muttered under his breath and pointed at me again. “Big-time.”
“Next time I change your oil, I’ll rotate your tires, too.”
“And find a new hubcap for the town car?” Ben said.
“Yeah, fine.” I wanted to go through car junkyards about like I wanted another hole in my head, but one way I’d been able to pay Ben back was helping him fix up the 1986 Lincoln Town Car that had once been his grandmother’s pride and joy. Damn car guzzled gas, but it was stout. Even if it was a Ford.
I figured Ben had a soft spot for the old car because it’s the one that his grandmother drove to get him out of Chicago, where his parents had been hip-deep in drugs and gangs and who knew what else. I kept the thing running, and Ben made sure my uncle Charlie didn’t pull a fast one.
“There the jackass is,” Ben muttered under his breath.
He opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke for him: “I know. I owe you. Big-time.”
Ben went to get the door, opening it before Uncle Charlie could ring the doorbell. Uncle Charlie and Curtis could’ve been twins: same shock of thinning gray hair, same craggy nose, same paunch, and same mean expression. Curtis had put on his Sunday best overalls, though, while Uncle Charlie wore a cheap, crumpled suit.
“Mistah Little,” Uncle Charlie sneered in an affected Southern drawl.
“Mister McElroy,” Ben returned as he gestured to the house’s dining room, the room he used as a conference room. “Have a seat, gentlemen. Can I get you any coffee?”
I snorted at how polite Ben was being. He shot me a dirty look.
“No thank you,” Curtis said.
“Let’s get down to business then.” Ben leaned out in the hallway to the parlor, where his sometime secretary sat. “Hey, Lydia, I’m going to need a notary on this one.”
Lydia, a sturdy brunette, took a spot along the wall to watch the proceedings.
Uncle Charlie took papers from his attaché case with fat fingers, the exertion causing him to huff. Ben put on his glasses and began reading each paper. Carefully.
Uncle Charlie ran a hand through his hair, and I thought I saw a tremor.
Ben looked up over the rim of his glasses, his eyes burning through Uncle Charlie. “What do you take me for?”
Uncle Charlie opened his mouth to say one of the most hateful words in the English language but stopped short at the look in Ben’s eyes.
Ben pointed to the papers. “My client won’t be signing these.”
“What?” The word came out before I could stop it.
Ben nodded his chin ever so slightly in the no direction, and my heart sank down to my stomach. I’d known it was too good to be true. Just because Curtis was getting blinder by the day did not mean he was getting any nicer.
Curtis walked right into a table and knocked off a couple of file folders.
“Looks like Mr. McElroy has some trouble seeing,” Ben said quietly. “Maybe you should draw up the papers you said you would.”
“Look, asshole,” Uncle Charlie said. “I ain’t gotta do nothing but be white and die.”
Lydia gasped.
Ben took off his glasses and laid them gently on the table. He stood, an impressive six-three. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Ain’t no ni—”
“Don’t.” Ben edged around the table and stood over Uncle Charlie.
Uncle Charlie turned to the side and spit. Tobacco juice just missed Lydia’s shoe and the Oriental rug in the foyer.
“Go. Now.” Ben’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He knew Uncle Charlie was baiting him, knew the old man wanted him to throw a punch. Uncle Charlie would happily take a fat lip or a shiner if it meant he could take someone to court.
Uncle Charlie turned to spit again, but I stepped up besid
e him.
“What you gonna do, boy?”
“Get out,” I said. “Both of you bastards get out. Or I’ll help you out.”
“Bastards, huh?” Curtis laughed as he sidled up to his brother. “You know a lot more about bastards than you think. Guess you’d better figure out a way to convince the Satterfield girl to take you back. Before this is over, you’re going to be selling your clover patch to me.”
I involuntarily leaned forward, but Ben clamped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not bailing you out, Jay,” he said through clenched teeth.
I lunged forward anyway.
Uncle Charlie flinched. “C’mon, Curtis. I think we’re done here.”
Curtis and Uncle Charlie eased out of Ben’s house, leaving the door wide-open behind them.
Lydia slammed it shut and disappeared into the parlor. Ben tossed me a wad of fast-food napkins. “Your family. Clean up their mess.”
“Is it too late to find a new family?”
“I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so. Add entry to the Playboy Mansion to my bill. And Hef’s girls are going to rub the tension right out of these shoulders.”
I dropped the stack of napkins over the wet spot and stepped on them. “What the hell’s going on, Ben?”
“That son of a bitch drew up papers that would make Curtis your power of attorney,” Ben said as he leaned against the doorway and watched me clean. “I can’t believe he thought I wouldn’t catch that.”
“No, he hoped I would be stupid enough not to catch it.” They knew I couldn’t read well, especially not the tiny print Uncle Charlie had chosen. “But why?”
Ben shrugged. “He must want something you’ve got. Something he could sign over to someone else—and he’s got to be desperate if he’s willing to try something that stupid.”
The only thing I had was my third of the farm, the part Mamaw had willed me. But why in the hell would he want that? I mean, he needed the money, but who would pay for our place? The McElroy farm was only a fraction of the Satterfield spread.
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