Flies on the Butter

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  Rose pulled into a parking place as close to the facilities as possible. She put the car in park, then took her coffee-colored cashmere shawl from the passenger’s seat, letting the softness glide underneath her fingertips. She wrapped it around her shoulders and raised it gently to her face. Its familiarity soothed her as much as its warmth shielded her. She climbed from the car and walked quickly up the walkway. She shivered. A man holding the hand of a little girl no older than three opened the door so she could come inside.

  “Can you say ‘excuse me’ to the nice lady?” the young man said to his little one as he pulled her hood up over her head.

  “Excuse me, nice lady,” the child replied obediently, tilting her head up and letting a smile of tiny teeth peek out from underneath her hood.

  “Why, thank you, little miss.” Rose grinned back at her. The father laughed as he scooped up his little girl. He peppered her face with kisses as he carried her to the car. Rose could hear the child’s giggles even after the restroom door closed. The little girl’s spirit was contagious, and for a moment, Rose felt lighter. But only for a moment. Quickly her smile faded. And she tried to push back the thoughts of Jack and children as they forced their way into her thoughts. She had far too much to think about to let her mind navigate those waters today. And after all, she was taking good care of children. That should be enough.

  The car still held its heat, and Rose was thankful. Hopefully, as she drove farther south, the icy bite would leave the air. Nothing she could do about the bite in her gut that would only increase at the thought of getting closer to her mother. But there was something she could do about the bite in her gut from her opposition. She dialed a telephone number on the dashboard electronic screen that, among other functions, calculated miles, adjusted temperatures, and showed current CD selections. She put the car in reverse and listened as the ringing came from the other end.

  “Senator Tomason’s office,” the refined voice answered. Rose made a note to have Helen call this number a couple of times and listen to how this lady answered the telephone. Of course, by the time Helen finished throwing the phone at her, they both would have forgotten what she had even asked her to do.

  “Senator Tomason, please. Would you let him know Rose Fletcher with the National Education Center is calling?”

  “One moment, ma’am.”

  The hold music tried to soothe her. You’d expect “The Star-Spangled Banner” or something, but this was a nice alternative. But waiting didn’t soothe her. And the senator was making her wait. Rose wasn’t impressed. All senators and congresspeople liked people to think they were busy and important. And both seemed to go hand in hand. Yet even senators knew it was people like Rose who got the most accomplished within that chamber.

  “Well, well . . . Rose Fletcher. To what do I owe the privilege this morning?”

  Rose put on her game face, or in this case, her phone voice. “Senator Tomason, it’s a pleasure to find you available this morning. Thanks so much for taking some time to chat.”

  “I always have time to chat with you, Rose. You know that.” He laid on the Southern charm strong enough to tie a noose.

  “Well, I got word this morning that there might be a slight snag in our education bill. And I would just hate to think that all of those fine teachers wouldn’t be able to get their needs met in this upcoming year because we had a communication problem. So if I’ve made something unclear in this bill, something that doesn’t satisfy you, then I’d love to get your thoughts so we can correct it.”

  “Well, you know, Rose,”—she could imagine his heavy, round frame leaning back in his chair as he rubbed his belly like a genie—“I’ve got some constituents who are really concerned about this bill. So I think we might need to look at it again and make some revisions.”

  Rose tried to squelch her seething. She had worked on this bill for months. It would be one of her greatest accomplishments to date, and just a week ago, Senator Tomason had okayed it for his side, making it as official as anything in Washington ever really was. “Well, I understand, but I thought we had your support. At least that’s the impression you left me with last week.”

  “Well now, Rose, you need to understand this is an election year. And I can’t be ticking off my faithful constituents with a bill that they’re just not real happy about . . .” He paused to gauge her response. She didn’t respond. She knew he’d have a “but.” They always had a “but.” “But you know, Rose, if your education group wants to think about this further, with it being an election year and all . . .”

  She knew exactly what it meant, and it made her seethe even more.

  “Well then, I might be able to take a second look. But you’re going to have to give me a little more incentive than just a bill that works for you.” He sucked his teeth.

  Rose had never crossed ethical lines in all of her years as a lobbyist. She was too good at what she did to need to bribe someone. She would get them on her team because she was just that smart—not because new lobbyist legislation had been passed. She didn’t need to pay them or sleep with them, even though she’d had multiple requests for both. But those things were against her moral code, even if other ethical lines were becoming suspect. In fact, Rose was known in a town of little ethics for a strong stance in hers; that’s why she found Senator Tomason’s request so loathsome and why it made her so angry. But she had never had a bill this important. This high-profile. The president had even been talking about it. And about her, so she had heard.

  She couldn’t believe her next words. “We’ll take another look at it. I’ll call you later with my response. But for the record, I find this proposal from someone of your stature very offensive. You knew I was away, and to try to slip this one by me really isn’t something I thought you would stoop to, Senator.”

  He chuckled that fake laugh. “I shock even myself sometimes, Rose.”

  They hung up with multiple opportunities hanging in the air. Rose spent the next hour mentally processing their conversation. And making herself sick that she was even contemplating his insulting suggestion. But she had shocked herself with her actions quite a bit lately. What was one more area of weakness?

  Rose tried the radio again to drown out her thoughts, but the jazz station had turned to static. She scanned the channels for other offerings. The light-pop station filled Rose’s car with the familiar sounds of Corey Hart’s “Sunglasses at Night.” She couldn’t help but laugh to herself, thinking of how she used to dance around the house with her sunglasses on to the sounds of this song.

  She sang along, surprising herself that she remembered every word. A U-Haul moving van drove up beside her. As it passed, the young man in the passenger’s seat eyed her curiously. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She watched as the van continued by her, remembering the last time she had seen those orange letters. That move had changed her life. It changed the lives of her entire family.

  Rosey and Christopher heard “We’re moving to Myrtle Beach” one evening just before bedtime. They hated the words before the sentence was even finished.

  Eleven and fourteen weren’t the ages when kids wanted to change their lives. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rosey felt the horror settle in. “We can’t leave Mamaw and Granddaddy! And I can’t leave Jenny! There’s no way you can do this to us!”

  But they did. Rosey’s father had taken a job leading praise and worship at another church, a larger church. It was what he felt led to do.

  Rosey’s mother took her into her arms and held her. They cried together. After all, Rosey’s mother had never lived anywhere except with her parents or down the street from her parents in her thirty-five years of living.

  But one month later the U-Haul was packed and headed for Myrtle Beach. A move that Rosey was certain her father had come to regret. And one that Rosey’s mother had allowed to destroy their family.

  Outside of the suburbs, the Virginia hills clearly stated how peaceful life could actually be. Even the air here felt
different from DC. She had been on the road for two hours, and it only took a couple of hours for Rose to get hungry. She pulled off the interstate somewhere near Richmond and scanned each side of the street slowly, only to realize there wasn’t a restaurant or recognizable gas station to be found.

  “I am a genius,” she said aloud, scolding her inability to observe exit signs before actually taking one.

  A small gas station had a large neon sign with a blinking arrow in front of its store. The station looked like something from a country music video. But it was the black lettering on the sign that got her attention: “Boiled Peanuts.” Rose hadn’t had boiled peanuts in years.

  A wiry old man approached in used-up denim overalls, pulling the sides of his flannel cap down over his ears. She cracked the window. “Hello, little lady,” he said, touching the bill. “Can I get you a fill-up?” His name patch confirmed that he was Herschel. And she had no idea why he wasn’t wearing a coat in this frigid weather.

  She studied her surroundings. The cold air and the smell of gas flooded her senses. So full-service stations still existed? She had no idea. The last full-service station she’d seen was the one she and Christopher used to pull into every other morning on the way to school. He’d get two dollars’ worth of gas from the self-serve pump. And then they would enjoy the rest of the trip to school singing “Islands in the Stream.” For some reason that song came on the radio almost every morning.

  And now, somewhere in the vicinity of Richmond, Virginia, she eyed her gas gauge. Still a good three hours or more on that tank, but the sharpness in the wind didn’t offer any great appeal to stop later and fill it up herself.

  “Well, if you could just top it off, that would be great,” she answered. As she emerged from the car, she grabbed her wrap and closed the door. She hurried past Herschel and into the shelter, obviously an old house later christened a gas station.

  After a few moments of browsing, she spotted a big, heated metal container of peanuts in the middle of the store. The handle of the ladle protruded from the side. She frowned. She liked her peanuts cold.

  The cowbell that hung around the handle of the glass door rang. She was pretty sure it was Herschel by the shuffle of his boots against the concrete floor.

  “Are these the only kind of boiled peanuts you have?” she asked without turning around.

  “Oh no. We’ve got some back here in the cooler. That’s the way I like ’em.” Maybe some wouldn’t have understood his strong dialect, but Rose did. Just because she didn’t speak Southern anymore didn’t mean she’d lost her ability to under-stand it. She watched his feeble-looking black hand grasp the cooler door with more strength than she expected. With his Sammy Davis Jr. build, she wasn’t quite sure how he opened it so readily.

  She saw the little brown bag and couldn’t help but smile. There, sitting in front of her, was a sack of boiled peanuts just the way she liked them. This was exactly the way her dad always bought them for her at Cromer’s whenever they traveled to Columbia. Cromer’s slogan was “Guaranteed the Worst in Town.” People knew better. They came like old people to Bingo night.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, refraining from snatching them from the poor man’s hand.

  “But you can’t eat cold boiled peanuts without a little something to go with it,” he said, motioning his index finger for Rose to follow. He slowly led her down one of the aisles that held all the food Rose had called cursed years ago. The Doritos, the Twinkies, the Sugar Babies. She tried to conceal her amusement.

  “You headed somewhere special?” he asked as he scooted.

  “I’m headed to my mamaw’s,” she responded, not sure why she told him the truth. Because in the South, the truth always took too long. Especially hers.

  He stopped at the toiletry rack and turned around. “She’ll be tickled to death to see you, I’m sure.” He grinned, revealing a glimmering section of gold teeth.

  She pondered his statement. “I hope so,” she replied. “I hope so.”

  He resumed their trek and rounded the corner, and she caught sight of their destination. Situated up against the wall was an old Coca-Cola dispenser. Rose couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink from a glass Coca-Cola bottle. She leaned against the rack next to her.

  “They don’t come any better than this, little lady,” he said, reaching inside and pulling one out. “But I keep it a little colder than most. I betcha it’ll be just like you like it.” He winked. Then with one flick of the wrist, he had the bottle cap off and falling to the bottom of the opener that was attached to the Coke dispenser.

  The rush of the cold wind and the ringing of the cowbell on the door caught the old man’s attention. “You enjoy that Coca-Cola, little lady. I’ll be right back.” He went to help the new customer.

  Rose nodded absently. She watched as the warmth of her hand melted the frost on the bottle.

  “You got me again, Granddaddy!” Rosey squealed, pointing at the checkerboard. Granddaddy smiled at her. He sat in his green iron chair with the white lattice. The chair had been there for at least as long as Rosey had been around. “Let’s play again . . . just one more time, Granddaddy! I can win if you give me one more time.”

  “All right, Red, one more time. But you be careful, baby girl, because I’m ready for you.” Granddaddy had called her Red from the day her mama and daddy brought her home from the hospital—already with hair as auburn as a sunset. At least that’s what Granddaddy told her.

  They played a few minutes in silence. Rosey concentrated on her winning strategy.

  Granddaddy’s old hound, Scout, got up to survey whatever Christopher and Bobby Dean were busy doing on the other side of the porch. The dog bumped Rosey, who bumped the small television tray they played on, but her granddaddy steadied it just in time. Just in time, that is, for Rosey’s final move. She planted her red checker firmly.

  “I gotcha, Granddaddy! I gotcha!” She stood up and did a victory dance.

  He chuckled. “I do believe you got me, Red. I do believe you got me.”

  Mamaw’s head peeked out of the house. “Rosey, Mamaw’s got something for you she thinks you’re going to like,” she coaxed.

  Rosey’s eyes grew wide when she saw Mamaw’s apron on. That meant Rosey was going to get something from the kitchen. Rosey loved Mamaw’s kitchen. In fact, Rosey thought, if it hadn’t been for Mamaw’s cooking, their entire family probably would’ve starved by now. Because Rosey’s mother couldn’t cook anything. Made it hard to believe that Mamaw was even her mother’s mama, come to think of it. Rosey figured maybe her mother had been adopted.

  Rosey ran inside and paid no attention as the screen door slapped shut behind her. She smelled fried chicken. There was no smell she loved more. In the kitchen, Mamaw’s upper half, including her ample bosom, was hidden by the freezer door. All Rosey could see was her bottom half—round stomach covered by her blue floral dress, and skinny calves sticking out from the hem. An edge of her green apron also showed. Mamaw, white hair in a neat bun on the back of her head, finally emerged holding two bottles.

  “What is it, Mamaw?” Rosey asked, craning her neck and squinting her eyes to see. After all, with Mamaw, you were usually getting a national treasure. At least her fried chicken should be declared one.

  Mamaw closed the freezer door and smiled at her. “It’s a soda, baby girl.” She placed one in Rosey’s tiny hand.

  Rosey stared at it. She loved sodas. She’d have lived on sodas if her parents would have let her. They didn’t. But she’d never seen a soda like this before. It was a glass Coke bottle, all icy and cold. In fact, it was freezing her hand. “What did you do to it?”

  “I put it in the freezer,” Mamaw said, turning to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers. She pulled out a bottle opener and turned back to Rosey. “Now watch this.”

  There wasn’t any sense in Mamaw’s words, because Rosey hadn’t taken her eyes off that bottle since it came out of the freezer. Her hand was completely numb, b
ut she didn’t care. Her mamaw wrapped her hand around Rosey’s and flipped off the cap. Rosey watched as the frost inched down the bottle.

  “Try it,” Mamaw prodded.

  “It’s so cold!” Rosey giggled. But then she took a long swig. Her eyes widened as she drank long and hard. She came up for air with a gasp, her eyes watering.

  Mamaw’s belly shook. “It’s not going anywhere. Here, take Granddaddy one to enjoy with you.”

  Rosey took the other bottle from Mamaw’s hands and headed back to the door. There she stopped and turned around. “Mamaw, can you make me another one of these for later? Because I’m already feeling like I’ll be pretty thirsty around three o’clock.”

  “Three o’clock, huh?” Mamaw’s belly shook harder.

  “Yeah, three o’clock. I’m sure that’s when I’ll need me another one.” The screen door tapped closed behind her.

  When the whoosh of cold air hit Rosey again, she realized she’d been standing there like an idiot. She hurried up to the counter and handed Herschel her credit card to pay for the gas. He handed her back her card and nodded toward the goodies in her hand.

  “So those’ll be one dollar,” Herschel said, holding out his hand.

  A moment went by before his demand registered. “Only a dollar? Surely these cost more than a dollar?”

  “Nope. Today’s special is one dollar for all ladies travelin’ to see their mamaws.” He raised one of his bushy eyebrows, and his grin offered her the confirmation that she would probably be one of many getting the Herschel treatment today. He winked again. He probably made everyone feel special.