Heart of Texas

by Mary Alfort

  But you can’t run away from yourself.

  With difficulty, I shoved the past back where it belonged. It was too painful to deal with now, while I was in the middle of my own private mini-meltdown.

  I spotted Thelma first. She was standing behind the counter, talking to a customer. She and my Aunt Selma might be twins, but they were nothing alike in looks or personality.

  Selma had always been the alpha twin. Thelma had to “go along to get along.” But those two had been best friends for going on eighty-three years. They’d survived wars, lean times, boyfriends, and deaths.

  Before I could shake off my memories, Thelma glanced up and spotted me. It was almost like instinct. She’d know, even before I said a word, that something was wrong. I put on a fake smile and gave her a little wave. I barely registered the sound of the jingling bell above the door as Thelma enveloped me in her loving arms.

  Just for a moment, before she would look into my eyes and see the truth, I allowed myself to be her little girl again. Little Laney McClanahan, who’d scraped her knee and needed comforting from her motherly aunt. My life in Dallas slowly evaporated, along with my meager, arena-league writing successes, my fancy house, the extravagant lifestyle, and one two-timing husband. I’d returned to my middle-class roots.

  Thelma pulled me in, forcing me to meet her gaze. For the first time, I realized we were standing in the middle of the diner. She studied me with her all-seeing eyes before nodding as if she’d come to some decision about me. “Oh, my dear. Selma, come quick. Our baby’s home, and she’s having a baby.”

  How did she do that? I wondered while I looked around the diner. Even though I was at the end of my first trimester, I’d done my best to conceal my baby bump from the aunts.

  Most of the patrons had stopped eating. All eyes were focused on Thelma and me. The room suddenly became too hot, and I was in desperate need of air. I rushed outside to the deck and began my fight to contain my dignity. Must not be sick in front of all of Down.

  Even though the air was thick with humidity, the fresh scent of pine trees cleared away the nausea.

  Slowly the world around me stopped spinning, and I realized I wasn’t alone. Standing with me, as always, were the rocks of my youth.

  As I faced them again, I was amazed as always to find two very distinct reactions, as individual as my aunts themselves. Aunt Thelma, always the more positive one of the two, was beaming at the prospect of another baby in the house, while Aunt Selma squinted at me through the smoke drifting from her cigar. She had picked up the nasty habit from her third serious boyfriend, circa 1955, and she didn’t intend to quit, no matter how much Thelma and I nagged.

  “When’s the baby due, Laney?” Thelma asked as she wiped her teary eyes with her apron.

  “More importantly, where’s that loser husband of yours?” Selma bellowed.

  As I stared from one to the other, I considered how much to divulge right away.

  “In December, seven months from now,” I said to Thelma, who had now begun weeping dramatically. “He’s in Dallas,” I answered Selma, not quite making eye contact. “He couldn’t come this time, but he really wanted to.”

  “Pig’s eye,” Selma squinted even more. She wasn’t buying my story for a minute.

  Not that I really expected to put anything over on her. Selma always could see through my lies, no matter how much I sugar-coated them.

  “Did you finally wise up and dump him?”

  “Selma.” Thelma had been trying to clean up her sister’s act for years. “Laney’s just arrived, and you’re already giving her the third degree.” Thelma squeezed my arm. “Come inside, baby doll. Have something to eat.” She took me by the hand and led me back inside the now-noisy diner, while Selma stamped her cigar out with a vengeance.

  Selma left us alone and went to attend to the grill. She’d been the cook for the diner since she was fourteen.

  I slipped into a booth and waited for the inevitable questions from Aunt Thelma. She knew something wasn’t right, but she’d give me all the time in the world to tell her.

  “How are the two of you doing?” I asked, starting out slowly, mostly because I really didn’t know how to tell her the truth.

  “Oh, honey, we’re doing great. We added a few new tables to the place, and Selma’s been trying out some different recipes. We’re fine.” She gave me a pointed look as if to say, ‘The same can’t be said about you.’

  “That’s great,” I managed to get out before Thelma retrieved a pitcher of her famous lemonade, poured two glasses, and sat back down.

  Selma rushed off to shoo one of the high school girls waiting tables away from a group of boys. The place was hopping with teenagers.

  I stifled a yawn and realized it was almost ten at night, well past my bedtime.

  She’d caught me eyeing the kids. “They start arriving a little before ten. So sometimes we stay open a little longer on the weekends. We like having the young’uns around.”

  I was amazed at my aunts’ vitality. I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “Honey, let me have Selma make you one of her burgers.” Thelma got to her feet, and added, “You just rest up a bit. I’ll be right back.”

  By twelve thirty, the crowd of teenagers had begun to thin a little.

  The double-meat cheeseburger and fries, Selma’s specialty, had hit the spot and put me in a mellowed-out beef stupor. I told myself I’d only close my eyes for a moment. I awakened to Selma nudging my shoulder. “What?” I wiped my eyes and managed to focus on her.

  “Time to go home, Laney. You’re bushed.”

  The clock on the wall said I’d been napping for almost two hours. “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Uh-huh.” Then she pinned me with those piercing brown eyes.

  It was only a matter of time before I confessed everything, right down to the fact that I could no longer find it in my heart to write romance novels.

  “Thelma, you ride with Laney to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep at the wheel. I’ll take the truck home.”

  Thelma’s sweeping glance took in the backseat, filled with my belongings, but she didn’t ask any questions. She was dying to know what was going on.

  The headlights of the SUV panned across the familiar bulk of the two-story house. There was nothing fancy about the place—just a simple white farmhouse, but still my eyes misted over with tears. This was the place I loved most in the world, no matter how hard I had tried to escape my roots.

  “We’ve kept your room ready for you... and, of course, Tom,” Thelma added as an apparent afterthought. “Why don’t you go up and get some rest? We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

  I kissed her and Selma goodnight, knowing full well I’d be their topic of discussion for the next few hours, in spite of the fact that the diner opened at 5:00 AM for the loggers.

  As much as I wanted to sink into my twin-size bed, and sleep for days, tonight such a luxury would prove to be elusive. Too many discouraging thoughts crowded in. Isn’t life supposed to be fair?

  I had my future all planned. My life was supposed to revolve around two perfect children, being a New York Times bestseller, and an adoring husband. I wasn’t supposed to be alone and starting over at twenty-four. This was a definite setback, and time for some major soul-searching. Where had things taken a turn for the worse for me?

  ****

  I awakened the following morning to the sound of growling. It took me a few seconds to realize the sound was actually purring coming from Buster. Aunt Thelma had developed a soft spot for stray cats, and they came from miles around because of Aunt Thelma’s generosity. But only a few were allowed access to the house. Buster was one of them.

  “Am I sleeping in your bed or something?” I demanded, only to have Buster flick his tail at me in disdain. I scrubbed sleep from my eyes, got out of bed, and put on my robe. Before I reached the bottom stair, the smell of frying bacon, mingled with Selma’s cigar, reminded me the hard way that I w
as at the end of my first trimester. “You’re up early,” I called out to her as a means of not frightening her by my sudden appearance. I surveyed the scene.

  Selma had the window cracked open and was busily puffing at her cigar in between flipping strips of bacon. She jumped at my entrance. “Geez, Laney, you just about scared me to death.” She parked the cigar on the windowsill. “Thelma’s banned me from smoking in the house, or so she thinks. You ain’t gonna rat me out, are you?”

  I stepped inside the familiar kitchen and kissed her cheek. “No, but she’s right, you know. Those things are bad for you.”

  “I’m almost eighty-three, what am I trying to live for? Besides, if they were gonna kill me they’d have done so long ago.” She pointed to the table with her fork. “Sit down. Breakfast’s almost ready and I’ve got to finish my smoke before Thelma comes down, which should be just about...now.” She tapped her watch just as Aunt Thelma’s bedroom door closed. Selma winked, took one final draw from the cigar, and then tossed it out the window. She obviously had the timing thing down to perfection. Just as the window closed, Thelma entered the room.

  “Oh good, you’re up.” She paused for a moment to sniff the air before throwing Selma an accusing glare. “I was hoping we could have a nice little chat before we go to the diner.”

  I had been through enough of Aunt Thelma’s ‘nice little chats’ to know exactly where this was going.

  “Now Laney, you know we love you, and we want to help you.”

  Let the interrogation begin…

  “But where is Tom? Why isn’t he here with you? Did you two have a fight? You can tell us, you know.”

  “Thelma, for crying out loud, quit hem-hawing around and ask the girl what you really want to know. Did he dump you for another woman?” Selma pinned me with her best squint.

  From Thelma’s motherly concern to Selma’s determined glare, before me were imaginary two doors. I could go through door number one and fib to save face and keep on denying my terrible situation, or I could tell them truth, endure the embarrassment of failure, and find comfort in the two women I loved the most.

  I chose door number two.

  “Tom left me for another woman. I caught them together. I’m pregnant, and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with our child. He kicked me out of the house so that his secretary-slash-girlfriend can have her decorator get started immediately. I have nowhere to go. Can I come live with you?”

  Selma and Thelma exchange startled glances.

  “Oh, Laney, of course, you can. You know you don’t have to ask.” Thelma reached for my hand. “Isn’t that right, Selma?”

  “We’re your family. We’d do anything for you.” Selma readily gave her consent, which didn’t surprise me one bit.

  “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you, Aunt Thelma and Aunt Selma. I know it’s an imposition, but hopefully it won’t be for long.”

  “Laney, Thelma’s right. This is your home more than that fancy-pants Dallas home you were living in with that no-good low-life. I knew he’d pull something like this. I could see it in his eyes from the moment I met him. He was rotten to the core. You know,” Selma added with a quick glance at her sister, and a knowing twinkle in her eyes that spoke of trouble ahead. “I know someone who can take him out for a couple thousand scratch. He’d probably throw in the girlfriend for free.”

  3

  Nothing screams failure like a blank page in the story of your life.

  Reasons why I’m thankful I moved back to Down:

  1.

  I’d once read in a Christian self-help book that you should ask God to give you at least ten legitimate reasons—not excuses—reasons for making any major decision in your life. Unfortunately, the blank screen in front of me served as a reminder I couldn’t think of even one good reason why I’d moved back to Down, even though I’d been sitting in front of the computer for most of the day. Fear began to rear its ugly head.

  What if I never figured it out? What if I became one of those crazy old ladies who lived alone and had a dozen or more cats for companionship? The thought of ending up like that made me want to cry. To distract myself from my misery, I began to contemplate my writing future. I was a romance writer who no longer believed in romance, and that was a hard obstacle to overcome. I’d reached rock bottom in both my life and my career.

  Dear Lord, I need Your help to get out of this hole.

  I got to my feet, waded past all six of Aunt Thelma’s ‘indoor’ cats, and clapped my hands loud enough to shoo away the two who’d taken up residence on top of my car. I’d been a temporary resident of Down for going on two weeks now and I hadn’t so much as ventured outside of the house. No wonder the cats thought the SUV was their home. It was time to make a change.

  I wasn’t sure where I was heading or what I planned to do when I got there, only that I needed to do something. I stuck an experimental foot outside the front door. Nothing bad happened, so I followed it up with a second foot, then my whole body. The heat from the midday Texas sun seeped through my dark gray sweats, my standard uniform of late, bringing my body temperature to the boiling point.

  After trying the driver’s side door, I realized I’d locked the keys inside. The alarm system was armed, the cats had returned to their roosting place, and something strange was wrong with my eyes. They’d begun to sting and water leaked from them.

  Tears? Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

  It had been almost two days since I’d shed a tear over my pitiful situation and I was not about to start that up again now.

  I began walking as fast as I could down the gravel road leading to the water tower where the local high school kids used graffiti to proclaim their date with freedom. I’d reached the half-way mark when I heard the noise of a vehicle quickly approaching behind me. From the sound of its engine I guessed it was at least the three-quarter-ton variety.

  Too late, I realized I was standing in the middle of the road close to a sharp, ninety-degree corner fittingly dubbed ‘Dead Man’s Curve’. I managed to vault for the ditch just as the truck’s driver spotted me. To his credit, he gave it all he had in an effort to avoid hitting me. Unfortunately, this landed his vehicle in the opposite ditch.

  It took us both a minute to come to terms with our situation. We’d both been blessed there wasn’t a crash and no one was hurt. My pride was a little bruised, but I’d survive that.

  The man in the truck got out and looked around in a daze. “Are you all right?” he asked as he crossed the road to my ditch.

  “I’m fine. Sorry about the near miss. It doesn’t look as if anything’s hurt, though. You should be able to drive right out of that ditch.” I glanced at the huge black four-by-four truck he drove. Not that uncommon for this part of Texas where everything was larger, including the vehicles we drove.

  He ignored my observation. “Did you have car trouble down the road?” He was looking me over.

  I was perspiring like crazy. My face was damp with sweat and he was staring at my hair. My hand went up to it automatically. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember if I’d brushed it today. Or for that matter, this week. “I’m fine. Thank you for stopping.” I turned to continue going wherever I was going before the run-in.

  “Wait.”

  I stopped and turned to face him.

  “Can I take you somewhere?” He looked around the deserted area in confusion. “Do you live around here?”

  Now there was the question I’d been avoiding since I’d arrived in Down two weeks earlier.

  “Um, sort of.” I could tell my answer only served to pique his curiosity. Maybe he was imagining me as the neighborhood burglar or the town’s only homeless woman.

  He reached for his wallet before awkwardly asking, “Do you need some money?”

  Shocked by his assumption, I was unable to do more than stare back at him with my mouth agape. Do I look that desperate? I thought about how embarrassed poor Thelma, the champion of the less fortunate, would be if she could see the pity
in this man’s eyes.

  “Here.” He shoved some money into my hand and headed back toward the Black Beast. “Get yourself something to eat and maybe a change of clothes.” He easily maneuvered his truck out of the ditch and waved politely as he drove away.

  I glanced down at the money in my hand in shock. He’d shoved a hundred dollar bill into it.

  Do I look that pathetic?

  I headed back to the house. One look in the mirror confirmed the truth. Not only had I not brushed my hair in days, I could certainly pass for a homeless woman.

  I promptly showered and put on something other than sweats, then called the security company that serviced my car and had them unlock the SUV. Since writing didn’t appear to be an option, I decided to do something else. Maybe the aunts could use a little help at the diner.

  When I arrived at the restaurant, I found the aunts dispensing advice along with the day’s lunch special to a few of the locals. This was the first time I’d been to the diner since the night I’d returned to Down. I paused for a moment in the doorway to let the familiar welcoming scene unfold.

  Thelma, who acted as lunchtime waitress, left the kitchen carrying a tray loaded down with meatloaf—my favorite.

  I took the tray from her and smiled. “Which table?”

  “Laney, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Table four. You still remember how to waitress?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

  Together we served the four loggers their meal. It was here, in the diner and chatting up the customers, that Thelma was in her zone. The men were all familiar to her. Thelma knew all the names of their wives, kids, and girlfriends. I stood listening while she made small talk, and I found myself actually feeling happy.

  After the lunch rush ended, I joined the aunts for lunch, which consisted of the meatloaf special, followed by a homemade malt. I told them my plans—the ones I’d formed after my near-death experience with the Black Beast. However, I did not mention said Black Beast or the man who had assumed I was homeless. “So, I noticed you guys get pretty busy during the lunch hour, and it seems as if you could use another waitress around here to help out until the high school kids come in the afternoon.”