by Rhett DeVane
She heard a rap on the door and called out, “Come on in.”
Evelyn and Joe Fletcher pushed through the door, all smiles.
Elvina chunked the puzzle book and pencil onto the wheeled, over-bed table. “Thank you, sweet Jesus! I prayed to Piddie this morning to send me someone to make the time pass by. Now here y’all are!”
Evelyn leaned down and gave Elvina a kiss on the cheek. “We’d have been over sooner, but I’ve been tied up, finishing my holiday line. I will never, ever sew on chenille again as long as I live and breathe. It’s like trying to stitch up a rabid wildcat.”
“You look good, Elvina.” Joe gave Elvina a hug then set a basket of blooming African violets on the bedside table. “Jon sends his love, and Jake heard we were on the way over and insisted we bring you these.”
“It throws me when someone calls Shug Presley by his real name. I hardly hear anyone call him Jon.” Elvina admired the lush plant. “Aren’t Jake and Shug the sweetest boys? I’ll owe them for the rest of my born days for all they’ve done: keeping up my house, watching over Buster, watering my ferns. Why, do you know Shug asked permission to open my mail so he could make sure the bills were paid on time? I don’t know how I could’ve gotten by without all the help I’ve gotten . . . from everyone.”
“Jake’s driven the Olds to work a few times, to keep the battery from going down,” Joe said.
Elvina slapped her lap. “Bet that’s a sight, Jake Witherspoon in my big ole boat of a car. He and Piddie tried to talk me into buying a newer model, something not so hard to park. Piddie used to say the Olds was so roomy, that when I died, I could be buried in it, laid full-out in the back seat. Y’all could be rid of my body and my car at the same time.” She paused. “Only, I plan to be cremated. So I reckon one of y’all can borrow my Olds coffin.”
They laughed.
“You know, Elvina. When Mama passed, I believed all of the joy had drained from my life. I am so blessed you are here to remind me to have fun.” Evelyn settled onto one of the vinyl chairs. “We have something to discuss with you. Hear us out before you say anything.”
Elvina leaned forward, plumped the stack of pillows behind her, and settled back. “Anytime someone tells me to hear them out, I worry.”
“Joe and I would like for you to stay with us when you’re released from rehab.”
Elvina arched her brows. “Why in Sam Hill would I do such? I have a perfectly good house.”
“Hold your horses before you say no.” Evelyn held up a stop hand. “Joe and I have put a lot of thought into this. Mama’s little apartment is sitting there vacant. Oh, I go in and clean it every few weeks, but it is doing no one any good. It’s private and closes off from our end of the house. The bathroom has a chair-height toilet and grab bars everywhere. Plus the bath enclosure doesn’t have a big lip to step over like a tub does, and we still have the shower seat Mama used.”
“It’s going to be challenging for you until your cast comes off,” Joe added. “Our house has wide halls and ramps. Ev and I will make it a point not to intrude on your privacy, unless you need us.”
Evelyn continued the pitch. “We can ride to work together. I know how much you miss the Triple C, and believe me, we miss you too. Not that Angelina isn’t helping tremendously. She’s just not you. I’ll even bring the Olds over and we can alternate taking it to the spa.”
“Hmm . . .” Elvina tapped one of her painted nails on her chin. “You’d have to get to work earlier, Evelyn.”
“I will adjust.” Evelyn glanced at Joe. “And another thing, Jake and Bobby have looked over your little house. I know Hattie said something to you about building a ramp for you to get into the side door, but Bobby wants to discuss some other renovations.”
“Renovations?”
“Mainly the bathroom. None of us are trying to step in and run your life for you, Elvina. We’re thinking ahead. Even when you get your cast off, you might not be as able-bodied.”
Elvina sighed. “I so love to take a long, relaxing bath. I would hate giving up my old claw foot tub. I can put enough water in it to practically sink clean up to my neck.”
“Here’s the good part, Elvina,” Joe said. “Bobby says they make an upright tub. You can walk in and sit down, close the door, then fill it with water. That way, you get to soak without worrying about taking a bad fall.”
“All this sounds good, but expensive.”
“We’ll go easy on you,” Joe said. “No rent at the Fletcher No-tell Hotel.”
Elvina raised one eyebrow. “Kind of you.”
“And,” Evelyn added, “with Bobby doing the construction, it will be reasonable.”
“Sounds like the decisions have been made for me,” Elvina stated.
Joe, always the counselor, said, “It’s your choice, Elvina. All of us would be pleased if you allowed us to ease you through this transition.”
“That’s what family is for,” Evelyn said.
Chapter Sixteen
Jake Witherspoon used a credit-card-sized remote control to flip radio channels in Hattie’s SUV. “This satellite radio is marvelous. I simply must have one.”
“I got tired of commercials and deejays rattling on and on about nothing. This way, I can listen to what I want without all the garbage.”
Jake consulted a laminated play list. “One whole station for disco and for rhythm and blues and Jeez-O-Pete, the Weather Channel! You can listen to old people’s MTV in your car.”
Hattie merged onto Interstate 10 East and accelerated. “I hate it when you call it that. The weather is important, Jakey.”
“You are the queen of Weather Channel junkies, Sister-girl. Go ahead and admit it. It’s constantly on at your house. You even know the names of most of the weather nerds.”
“Whatever. It’s my only flaw. It’s not like I’m stealing from my grandmother to buy drugs, or something of the sort.”
Two motorcycles zipped past, well beyond the speed limit. In seconds, they disappeared from view.
“Speaking of drugs, you haven’t taken yours yet, have you?” Jake asked. “If so, you’d best pull Betty over and let me take the wheel. With your somewhat challenged sense of direction, combined with a sedative, we’re likely to end up in Miami.”
“No, I haven’t taken it. What kind of a fruitcake do you think I am?” She glanced over to her friend. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“I would never say such to you. I’m the only fruit in this relationship.”
Hattie admired the way Jake didn’t wait on others to comment on his homosexuality. He made enough snarky remarks to cover any occasion. Most people failed to realize his self-deprecating humor acknowledged their biases instead of agreeing with them.
“If you’re the fruit, what does that make me?” Hattie grinned.
“White bread, Sister-girl. Married, straight, patriotic, win-one-for-the-allies, white bread. Probably Wonder Bread.”
“You make me sound so ordinary.” She accelerated to pass a caravan of motorhomes, probably bound for south Florida Mouse-land and that web of theme parks.
“Ah, but that’s my point, and my compliment. In this day of everyone trying so hard to be different and odd, you are a breath of clean, country air. Besides, I like white bread. My most favorite comfort food in the whole wide world wouldn’t be the same on whole grain.”
“Fried egg sandwich,” Hattie stated.
“Slathered with mayonnaise. Real mayo, not that no-fat, no-taste crap. With a middle that oozes out yellow yolk goo when you bite into it.”
Hattie shuddered at the thought of oozing eggs. Give her scrambled any day. “Which reminds me, where do you want to do lunch? I can’t take my medication on an empty stomach.”
“There’s a little eatery off Fifth Avenue that Shug and I lucked up on a couple of months ago—Bella, Bella. Fabulous! If you’d like to keep it light, they usually have a soup de jour. Shug had a crock of French onion, the best he’d ever had. And they make killer tiramisu.”
“Sounds good. I prefer the little local places anyway.”
“We might as well make a good day out of this. We can eat, do a little light shoe shopping until your sedatives kick in, and then go get you zapped.” He studied the list of satellite radio channels.
When Hattie didn’t reply, Jake asked, “Something else bugging you, Sister-girl?”
“Why?”
He switched to an R & B station. “You seem a smidge edgy lately.”
Her best friend could read the subtleties of her moods. No use in trying to deny anything. She had been on Jake’s radar screen since grade school. “I’m unsettled lately, Jakey. I don’t even know why.”
Three semi-tractor trucks flew by, rocking the SUV in their slipstreams.
“Gah! Sometimes I wish you had a heavier vehicle, Sister-girl. Those big trucks push little Betty around like she’s pixie dust.”
“You want to buy me a Hummer and pay for the gas, I will certainly oblige you by driving it.”
“I’m not complaining, Hattie. It’s just that I loathe feeling we’re being swished off the highway.” He flipped the satellite channel again, this time to light jazz. “A little tell-Jakey-your-worries background music. Now, you were saying?”
“I’ve had the strangest feelings lately. And little things have happened.”
“Like?”
“There’s an old van that keeps hovering around The Hill, for one. Margie’s seen it a couple of times. For another, I’ve had a lot of hang-up calls at the house.”
Jake frowned. “Have you called the police?”
“And told them what, that I’m paranoid?”
“Sister-girl, one can never be too careful.”
She glanced from the road to her friend. “I know.”
Before Jake’s abduction and assault, Hattie never would’ve given a second thought to evil intent. Not in Chattahoochee! Between the hate crime and the recent downfall of a local respected attorney, the entire town had lost a good portion of its innocence.
“It’s not only that. I’ve had the strangest sense of impending . . . ,” she waved one hand through the air, “. . . something.”
Jake tapped the dash in time with the music’s percussion. “That’s clear as mud.”
“How can I explain when I don’t understand it, myself? Something is building, like there’s this thick cloud rolling in.”
“You and the husband-of-the-century getting along okay?”
“No problem there.”
“Delayed post-adoption, new-mommy syndrome?” Jake leaned toward her.
“Nope.” Hattie dialed down the volume. “I’ll admit motherhood is a challenge at times, but nothing the two of us can’t handle. Maybe when she’s a teenager, but not now. For the most part, Sarah’s easy.”
“Maybe it’s this thing with your shoulder. You’ve never had much of a tolerance for pain. You can stub your toe and drama-queen yourself into a seizure.”
She reached over and gave his arm a light sock. “You take that back! That is so not true.”
“Right. I’ll remember this conversation next time you go ballistic over a hangnail.” Jake rubbed his bicep as if he had been sucker-punched.
“Oh, good grief. I didn’t hit you that hard.” Hattie snorted. “So I don’t do pain. Okay. Anyway, I had this bizarre dream last night. It stayed with me all morning.”
“You should come with a program, Sister-girl. Sometimes I find it hard to keep up with the way your mind fast-forwards to the next topic.”
“Pay attention, then.” She checked the light traffic around her then engaged the cruise control.
Jake turned his body to face her. “Undivided. You have me.”
“In this dream, I was walking down the lane in front of the house and a hawk flew over. It was like what really happened a couple of days ago. Except, there was this baby crying somewhere close to the edge of the road. I went over to see where it was, and my mom was sitting behind the bush sobbing.”
Jake whistled. “Deep.”
“Then she held up three fingers.”
“What happened then?”
“I woke up.”
Jake flipped the satellite radio to disco. “I am so glad I’m not a shrink.”
*
By the time the radiologist’s assistant led Hattie back to the changing room, the mild sedative had kicked in, and she really would not have minded if they shoved her into the MRI machine and left for the day. Medication certainly had its place.
“The series will take about forty minutes, Mrs. Lewis.”
Hattie offered a lopsided smile. “Okay, Mr. Radiation Person. Wake me up when it’s over.”
“It will be a little loud, so I’m going to put in some earplugs for you.” He gently inserted the plugs then used a soft towel to cradle her head. A plastic device to hold her head and chin steady snapped into position. Next, he swaddled her securely in a sheet and spread a warm blanket over her legs and feet.
“That’s cozy.” Already a better experience than the last.
“Press the bulb in your hand if you need me to stop the scan. I’ll be talking to you between sets. Ready?”
“Let ’er rip!”
The cushioned table entered the open-ended MRI machine. Hattie took one quick look and noticed the proximity to her face as before, but she could see the room in her peripheral vision. She closed her eyes. No need to risk freaking out.
“The first noises will last a few seconds. Then I will tell you when the first series starts.”
The banging sounded, but the noise was muffled. Hattie took a deep breath and relaxed for the next half-hour. No clock face this time. No father, mother, sister-in-a-coffin thoughts.
“That’s it. I’m bringing you out now,” the radiologist’s voice announced.
“Man, that was a piece of cake.” Hattie’s vision blurred and she had to blink to keep the room in focus.
Back in the changing room, Hattie dressed slowly, twice almost falling over. Jake met her in the waiting room.
“You look positively loaded, Sister-girl. How was it?”
“A beautiful experience. I think I saw God, Jakey. I really did!” Hattie’s head lolled from side to side.
“That’s nice, Sister-girl. I’ll email the Pope. See if we can have it declared a miracle.”
“I love you. Do you know that? Do you, Jakey?” She patted his cheeks with both hands.
“I am so glad you don’t drink or take mind-altering drugs on a regular basis. You’re a bit of a sap when you’re under the influence.”
Hattie batted her eyelids. “You love me anyway, don’t you?”
“Madly, hon. Madly.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Morning, Officer.” Mary-Esther poured hot coffee into Jerry’s mug. Around them, the Homeplace buzzed with the usual egg and grits crew.
He added two sugars and stirred. “Morning, yourself. How’s the old truck working out?”
“Fantastic. I owe you.”
“No debt between friends.” He instantly chided himself. Would she take it as too familiar?
“That what we are, friends?”
“Yeah. Or I hope so. I am. I mean—” Jerry felt his cheeks flush.
“Relax, Jerry. It wasn’t a loaded question.” She took out her order pad and pen, smiled, then slipped the pad back into her pocket. “You want two eggs over easy, bacon, grits, two slices of wheat toast, strawberry jam, right?”
“I must be pretty predictable.”
“Most folks are. Not a bad thing.” Mary-Esther stuck the pen behind one ear. “Means you know what you like.”
When she delivered his order a few minutes later, Jerry asked, “Do you have any plans for this evening?”
“You asking me out, Officer Blount?”
“No. Yes. Maybe.” Heat crept once more from his neck to his face. “Um, the carnival. I thought you might like to go, or . . . meet me there or . . .”
Mary-Esther glanced toward the other morning diners
before sliding into the booth opposite him. “Jerry, you really have to stop being cautious with me. First,” she held up her index finger, “I promise I won’t drop kick you into some muddy bayou.” She held up another finger. “Second, I would take you up on it if I wasn’t already going to be there working the Homeplace’s booth.”
Jerry couldn’t get any words to form in his brain, so he busied himself salting and peppering his eggs and grits. Finally, he spoke. “I have to work it too. I’m leading the parade in the county car.”
She reached over and tapped his sleeve with a fingertip. “Eww, touch you! I love it when the fire trucks and police cars blast their sirens. You probably don’t throw beads and trinkets like the Mardi Gras Krewes. Still, I’m all in for a parade of any sort.”
He picked up a fork then laid it down.
“Go ahead. Eat. Cold eggs are nasty,” Mary-Esther said.
Jerry dug into the breakfast.
“For our booth, I’m making a huge pot of gumbo, my Nana Boudreau’s recipe. I cooked some a couple of weeks back and Mr. Bill loved it. We may add it to the menu.”
“Authentic Nawlin’s food?” he asked around a bite of eggs. “Love Cajun cooking, myself. Went to New Orleans a few years back, me and some buddies from work. I ate until I nearly made myself sick.”
“I’ll have to make you some of my specialties sometime. The Herrings like my gumbo too, though I have to cut back a bit on the spices for them.”
“You’ve made peace with your landlords?” Jerry asked.
“We never were at odds. Rose really is a sweetheart. She’s not well, you know. Eustis tries to keep things up—clean, cook—but he’s struggling. He’s not healthy himself. It’s times like old age when having children is a good thing. They don’t have any, and nothing but a cousin from”—she waved a hand—“some little town near here.”
“Eustis moved in with the railroad years ago. My grandpop knew him. I think they’re originally from, maybe, Alabama.”