Relatively Crazy

by Ellen Dye

  “Good thinking.”

  And I realized it probably was. Such things had never come up during my married days. I could say with complete honesty that I doubted either Reed or any of his colleagues had ever been remotely acquainted with the business end of a hammer.

  Seconds later, the refrigerator was crammed to capacity with enough fried chicken and fixings to feed a small army. And I was crammed to capacity with doubts as to what we’d be doing with all that food. Sam was indeed a champion eater, but I didn’t think even he could make a dent in the bounty Val had supplied.

  I glanced at my watch.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be here.”

  I shot Val a sidelong glance. She nudged my arm, gave a smug wink, and then promptly changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, Mitzi called right before we left. She and Rich can’t make it.”

  I nodded. “Think she’s okay?”

  Val shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”

  “Well, she has been married to him for a long time—”

  “Which is not always a good thing. Remember Mama?” She shot me a look, and I nodded. “Mitzi’s got a story, and I’d bet cash it’s not a good one. I’m sure of it.”

  I thought back to the strange emotions I’d seen swirling in Mitzi’s eyes. “You’re probably right. But what can we do about it?”

  “Nothing now. She knows we’re here for her if she needs us.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. Although I knew it to be true, I still wished I could feel better about Mitzi and whatever her situation might be.

  “This is going to be really nice.” Val cast a glance around the kitchen, taking it all in, from the freshly painted, sunny yellow cabinets to the shiny new linoleum. “Lots of light. Very cheerful. I can just see the way it’s going to look. Cozy. How about the grand tour?”

  I smiled and gave a small bow. “Right this way.”

  As we walked through the cottage, pausing here and there as Val admired, my mind returned once again to The Kiss. That’s right, capitalized. Or at least that’s how I’d begun to think of it. And now that a week had passed, I’d begun to think of it as not only capitalized but also with the subtitle Wanda Jo’s Foolishness.

  Why hadn’t Sam kissed me again? This question was quickly followed by, Why the hell did he kiss me in the first place?

  Damned if I knew the answer to either one.

  “Earth to Wanda Jo.” Val nudged my arm once we’d circled back to the kitchen.

  “Sorry?”

  Val grinned, giving me a pointed look that ended with a wink.

  I hadn’t mentioned The Kiss, or my personal quandary surrounding the event. But courtesy of best friend intuition, she knew something had happened and often underscored her knowledge with nudges, winks, and the occasional verbal mention of what she called “the changes in you.”

  I coughed. “You were saying?”

  “Thanks again for including Kate in your great idea.”

  “No problem. Actually, it worked out well for everybody.” I heaved a mental sigh of relief at the diversion. “With Madge retiring, we needed to find a supplier for quality baked goods.”

  “And our girls certainly do have the knack when it comes to quality treats.”

  “And the ambition.”

  We peeked around the kitchen archway to the living room, where Olivia and Kate, who was almost a carbon copy of Val as a teenager, were sitting side by side on the sofa, poring over a cookbook, each with a notebook and pen at the ready.

  Ryan, who was tall and blond like his daddy, appeared as uncomfortable as any teenage boy trapped in a house filled with females could be, as he stood stiffly peering out the front window. Clearly he was desperate for the other male members of our party to arrive.

  “They’re here,” he announced before darting through the front door, a flash of high-top sneakers in motion.

  I looked at Val, one brow raised.

  “I think he’s hoping for power tools,” Val commented, slightly shrugging one shoulder.

  “They?”

  Still puzzled, I peeked out the kitchen window and spotted three large pickup trucks, each filled with both men and building supplies.

  Val joined me at the window. “Yeah. I thought so.”

  “How did you know about this?” I asked, completely baffled. Sam hadn’t mentioned bringing along an entire volunteer construction army.

  “Home repair projects. They draw men like half-price white sales draw the ladies.” Val cocked her head to one side and then thoughtfully tapped her chin with an index finger. “Just so long as it’s not their home in need of repair, that is,” she amended with a laugh.

  “Hey, Wanda Jo,” Sam called, coming through the doorway carrying a large toolbox. “Well, hey, Valentine. Long time, no see.”

  “Hey yourself, big guy.” Val rose on tiptoe as Sam bent nearly double for a back-patting hug.

  Sam pulled back and sniffed appreciatively. “Is that your fried chicken I smell?”

  “Sure is.” Val grinned.

  Sam laughed and gave his belly a pat. “Ah, you’re a good woman, Val.”

  Val waved away his compliments with a grin and a flurry of introductions began. Before I knew it I had a paintbrush in hand and was dipping into a bucket of primer.

  “You do the cutting in and I’ll roll this baby out. Sound good?” Sam asked as we stood in the center of what would become my bedroom as he fitted a roller cover to a metal frame.

  I nodded. “Thanks so much for all you’ve done. I really appreciate all the trouble—”

  He held up one large hand. “That’s what friends are for. And besides, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

  Ah. With a pang I realized I’d finally gotten an answer to each of the Whys that had been running rampant through my thoughts. Friends. That’s what Sam and I were—nothing more. I gave a small sigh of what felt suspiciously like regret and chalked The Kiss up to a side effect of champagne and candlelight.

  And that was for the best. Really.

  Sam was also right about something else. I did have plenty on my plate at the moment. Building a stable life for Olivia and me was a full time occupation—and that was all I had time to focus on at the moment.

  I didn’t have time for moonlight—or candlelight, as in this case—kisses.

  Now if I could just stop thinking about them.

  ****

  Another week, another incredible transformation, I mused as I gazed out on what was usually the Dew Drop Inn’s parking lot and adjacent field behind. The metamorphosis was so complete it was hard to imagine the parking lot had ever been anything other than an old-fashioned country fair.

  The perimeter was flanked with brightly colored booths, some hastily assembled from canvas and PVC and others constructed of more durable and stable plywood.

  About half were traditional, at least in these parts, fair…well, fare. Several were draped with hand-stitched quilts and featured sparkling canning jars filled with everything from peach preserves to bread-and-butter pickles. Others displayed pottery, hand-woven goods, willow baskets, and fine art, all contributed by local artists and craftspeople.

  The rest of the booths, decorated with their various prizes, housed games of chance and skill. Everything from a coin toss competition to darts and skee-ball were present. Toward the center back, there was a dunk tank set up for the local teens to purchase a chance at dousing the Buckston High faculty member of their choice.

  The inner asphalt surface of the parking lot had been filled with food vendors of every kind imaginable, some directly local and others from nearby Worthington. Uncle Jimmy, the proud papa of the largest outdoor grill, had set up near the very center and was busy serving up slaw dogs with side orders of golden french fries to legions of hungry patrons. And, I was proud to say, Olivia and Kate were keeping pace serving up hot, deep-fried apple turnovers to a line that very nearly wound around the festivities.

  The Worthington Petting
Zoo had also been most generous. They’d trotted out a full contingent of critters. Goats, donkeys, and even a pair of llamas happily meandered around the grassy areas of the adjacent field, nibbling contentedly while passersby petted and admired. And the focal point of their setup featured a pony ride, which was merrily under way with nearly a dozen kids happily astride as their ponies pranced about the ring.

  I couldn’t believe the turnout we had.

  Local people were everywhere. In fact, I had to admit, I’d had no idea so many people lived in our little neck of the woods.

  “You’ve got one heck of a hit on your hands, girl.” Val gave me a hug. “You did a great job. Just look at all these people.”

  “I had no idea we’d see such a turnout.”

  Once again I gaped in wonder at the assembled crowd. Many of the faces were familiar. Mrs. and Miss were currently enjoying slaw dogs while admiring the abundant wares at the pottery booth. Mr. Robertson was polishing his skill at skee-ball, and judging by the armload of stuffed animals Mrs. Robertson was holding, doing quite well. Even the Pie Club was present, currently debating some topic of interest, each with a Styrofoam cup in one hand and what looked to be an apple turnover in the other.

  Toward the asphalt center, Donnie was holding tightly in his arms the reason we’d gathered, keeping her thoroughly entertained, as a very delighted Dottie looked on.

  “Good Lord. Is that a corn dog?” I nudged Val.

  Val raised her purple-and-rhinestone cat’s-eye glasses. “Clever. Infinitely more challenging than the steak fries. Is that who I think it is?” she asked, as a distinguished gentleman dressed in crisply pressed slacks made his way directly toward the trio.

  “Only if you think it’s Porter Garrison.”

  I jumped as Donnie forcefully exhaled, sending the corn dog, stick and all, hurtling toward the asphalt with remarkable speed. In the blink of an eye he stood erect, holding out his right hand.

  “What did you do?” Val gaped as we watched identical smiles of pure joy light Donnie and Dottie’s faces.

  I shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just paid the executive offices a short visit and explained the situation.”

  “And now another resident of Buckston County returns to the ranks of gainfully employed,” Val pronounced, just as Donnie and the prestigious CEO of Backhill’s shook hands one final time. “People can be so damned good here. Sometimes you can just see it.”

  I agreed.

  It was true. You did see the good in people here. Each and every person here enjoying themselves knew they were helping a child, knew they were lending a helping hand. And they did so with all their hearts.

  There was a world of difference between this and the last fundraiser I’d assembled, where the dress code had been strictly black tie and the formal dinner had gone for a thousand dollars a plate. I doubted those that had attended had any idea, or actually cared, who they were helping. They only came to see and be seen for personal gain.

  “Hey, isn’t that Mitzi?” Val asked, inclining her head away from Donnie and toward the far side of the festivities.

  I glanced in the direction Val indicated. “And that must be Rich.”

  “Yep.” Val bit her lower lip. “And our suspicions were right on the money.”

  I had to agree as I watched the angry-looking man now facing Mitzi. He was one big guy, definitely well over six feet tall and powerfully built. He was shaking his head, the color in his cheeks crimson. Every so often he’d punctuate with an angry jab of one index finger.

  Mitzi simply stood very still. Her head was bent, and her gaze never rose from the pavement at her feet.

  “Oh, God,” I groaned.

  “Ditto.”

  As we watched, Rich abruptly turned away, and Mitzi took a half step to follow, then stopped.

  “Should we—”

  Mitzi’s quick turn cut me off. She made eye contact, donned a strained smile, and then gave a small wave. We returned the gesture and started closing the distance.

  “Glad you could make it.” I gave her a hug.

  Mitzi’s smile was just a bit too bright now. “I just wanted to drop by. Say hello. But I can’t stay…”

  “That’s okay—”

  “Rich has been having a tough time on the job. I just made a mistake… I forgot…”

  Val took her arm. “It’s okay.” We three exchanged a look. “We’re here. When you need us, we’ll be here. I have an unused apartment over my garage, and it’s yours if you should need it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Just keep it in mind, okay?”

  Mitzi licked her lips and gave a nod. “I’d better go.”

  As she turned abruptly, one T-shirt sleeve raised slightly, and that’s when I saw it.

  “See you all tomorrow,” she called over one shoulder as she walked briskly away.

  “Did you—” I screeched to a halt.

  “I did.”

  “How…”

  Val sighed. “He’s one big guy. Remember Redmond?”

  I nodded as the face of Val’s stepfather swam to the surface in a sea of half-forgotten memories. I remained silent as the memory of Maybelle’s frequent bruises melded with the sight of Mitzi’s and the two became one.

  “Mitzi will handle it as she sees fit,” Val said.

  I knew she was right. I didn’t like it one bit, but still I knew it.

  “Mama got out once she really understood that the possibility of being alone is better than being abused. Mitzi will have to figure out the same. And she will.”

  I took small comfort in knowing that Maybelle had gone on to live a very good life, far from lonely and far from alone.

  “Now would you look at that.” Val grabbed my arm and led the way to the dunk tank. “This, I’m not missing for the world.”

  “Is that who I think it is?” I gaped at the small, thin man wearing neon orange-and-purple-flowered surfer shorts and a tank top, sitting on the tank’s hot seat.

  Val removed her glasses. “Looks different without the tweed.”

  “I’ll say.”

  It certainly was a whole new look for Mr. Plower. It could best be described as Don Knotts goes Hawaiian. And more power to him, I thought.

  “Oh, Lord, it’s Rye,” Val squeaked as her son stepped up to the mark, a baseball clenched in his right hand.

  “Is that bad?”

  “Very. Rye spent the last three years as the varsity starting pitcher.” Val scrubbed one hand over her face. “He was the first to break all those records Pat set.”

  “Shit,” I whispered as visions of a well drowned, if exceptionally colorful, Mr. Plower floated behind my eyes.

  “Hey, Rye!” Mr. Plower called from behind the chain-link of the tank’s top half with far more pluck than I, or any likewise sane person, would have had in his position. “How’s that famous arm of yours today?”

  Rye gave a cocky grin. “Better than ever. Ready for a swim?”

  “Ha!” Mr. Plower crowed. “Do your best. I can take it.”

  Rye pulled back and let the ball fly.

  Val and I held both our breaths and each other’s tightly clasped hands.

  As the ball made contact with the bright red bull’s-eye target, Mr. Plower let out a whoop worthy of a Cherokee on the warpath. A split second later, the seat gave way and he was plunged into the cold water below.

  And didn’t come up.

  Val and I raced forward with a very concerned Rye close behind. Olivia and Kate, having momentarily abandoned their turnover booth, were close on our heels.

  “Oh, God! I killed him!” Rye gasped as he leaned close to the cage, peering over the blacked-out area of the tank, searching for Mr. Plower’s head below the water.

  Just as Rye grabbed the chain-link, in preparation to dive to Mr. Plower’s rescue, the water suddenly erupted in a small tidal wave as Mr. Plower broke the surface. “Whoa!” he shouted, giving his hair a toss that completely drenched the five of us. “What a ride!”r />
  “Mr. Plower, are you all right?” Val gasped, ignoring the water dripping from her bangs and grasping the chain-link with both hands.

  Mr. Plower nimbly hopped onto the seat and ran one hand through his hair, which magically reformed into his standard Bella Do.

  “Ain’t had that much fun since my bungee-jumping trip last summer.” He grinned broadly, eyes sparkling. “Hey, Wanda Jo. Welcome home.”

  “Uh. Thanks,” I managed to squeak.

  “Give me a buzz when you get on the floor. I’m thinking of updating my look.” He ran one hand through his Do, which didn’t move. “And maybe a stud,” he added, tugging on one ear lobe. “I’d trust you; you’ve got talent. I like to think I gave you your start.”

  Before I could comment, Mr. Plower was anxiously scanning the assembled crowd. “Who’s next?”

  “I guess you just never really know about people, do you?” Val asked a few minutes later as we made our way toward the slaw dog stand.

  She passed me the towel and I blotted the front of my thoroughly damp shirt. “Guess not. I’d have never thought there was a dormant bungee jumper living inside Mr. Plower.”

  Val handed our money over to Uncle Jimmy and accepted two slaw dogs in exchange. “Thanks, Mr. Donald,” she said, and he gave a wink. “So,” Val turned back to me. “Did the last of the painting get finished up?”

  “All done and all dry.”

  Val handed me a slaw dog. “Then we’re on for moving day tomorrow?”

  “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” I took a bite and chewed.

  “I’ll be over early. I may just have a proposition for you. And Mitzi, too.”

  I raised a brow. “Val, I’m broke.”

  “Just promise you’ll keep an open mind. Okay?” she asked, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I agreed, even though I knew she had something up her sleeve.

  “Hey, isn’t that your mama?”

  I looked in the direction of Val’s discreetly pointed finger.

  Certainly not, I thought as I looked at the chestnut-haired woman wearing a swingy, bright yellow dress and matching kitten-heeled shoes. This woman was cheerful, smiling, and engaged in animated conversation with a tall, handsome, gray-haired gentleman.

  And then she turned our way.