by Amy Metz
“Hmm . . . what?” Honey finally took her eyes off Johnny and let go of his hand.
“The girls. Outside. Fun.” Martha Maye wasn’t used to such forward women, and she didn’t appreciate the tremendous amount of friendliness her new neighbor was showing Johnny. Honey’s particular brand of friendly was different than most people’s. It seemed like she never met a man she didn’t like.
“Oh yeah, they’re having fun. Maddy Mack is so happy to have a friend right next door now. Say, whatchy’all up to in here all by your lonesome? Y’all haven’t been smooching and mooning, have you? You know, Johnny, Martha Maye isn’t quite a free woman just yet.” Honey batted her eyelashes at him. “But I’m free as a bird.”
“Free and easy,” Martha Maye muttered, plopping onto an overstuffed chair.
“What’s that, sugar?” Honey asked, running her fingers through her short strawberry-blond hair.
“I said, maybe we could play Parcheesi.” She rubbed her nose, an habitual nervous gesture.
“Oh sugar, I like to play games”—she paused to give Johnny a coy look—”but I prefer the more . . . physical ones.” She fluffed her spiky hair and let her hand fall slowly to her chest.
Martha Maye didn’t think Honey would go beyond innuendo, so she called her bluff. “Such as?” she said sweetly.
“Oh, you know, I like football, basketball, anything physical.” She looked right at Johnny, who shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “Say! Maybe we could play that game—whatsit called, Foursome?”
Martha Maye rolled her eyes and said, “You mean Four Square?”
“Oh, of course, Four Square. Maybe we could play that with the kids some time.”
“Yeah, uh, that might be fun.” Johnny hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Listen, ladies, I’m gonna have to shove off. Got to go check in at the station.” With the look of a cornered animal, he began backing toward the door.
“Don’t be a stranger, Chief,” Honey called in her Southern twang.
Martha Maye walked to the door with him. He stepped out onto the porch, then turned, and their eyes met. She hoped he was finally going to ask her out, but he simply squeezed her hand and said, “Let me know if you need any help getting set up in there.”
“I will, Johnny, thank you for your help.”
She turned to go back inside but looked over her shoulder and saw Johnny looking back at her.
“Anything else?” she said hopefully.
He looked at her for a long moment. Her heart sped up.
He adjusted the ball cap on his head. “Nah, I reckon not.” A shy grin appeared on his face. “See you later, sweet tater.”
Flustered, she went back inside to find Honey making herself at home on the couch. The screen door slapped shut loudly behind her.
“He sure seems nice,” Honey said in a singsong way. “And cute as a bug’s ear.” She crossed her long, tanned legs gracefully. Honey had the perfect body. She was not only a PE teacher, she was also a personal trainer, and she looked it. She had a tiny waist, toned, shapely legs, and a man-made chest that left men unable to remember her eye color. Her short, spiky hair made her look slightly tomboyish, but she was all woman.
“He’s very nice,” Martha Maye said, sitting down across from Honey.
“Is he taken?” Honey asked.
“He’s not married or seeing anyone, if that’s what you mean,” Martha Maye said, trying to keep impatience out of her voice.
“Are you two …”—Honey waggled her finger in the air as she stretched out the word “two” for a few seconds—”an item?”
“No. You know we’re not.” Martha Maye tucked her feet under her.
“I don’t know. He seemed kind of sweet on you, Mart.” Honey reached for the bottle and took a swig of Blue Moon beer Johnny had left behind.
Martha Maye looked earnestly at her friend. “You think? I feel like there’s something between us, but he won’t ask me out.”
“So you two are just friends.” She finished the bottle off in one astonishing gulp.
“Just friends,” Martha Maye sighed, making the word sound like “free-unds.”
“Well, if you don’t mind—” Honey was cut off by the ringing phone.
“Saved by the bell,” Martha Maye muttered under her breath.
“What’s that, sugar?”
“I said, that’s my cell.” Martha Maye smiled sweetly. But as soon as the person calling said one word, her smile disappeared.
“How did you get this number?” she hissed, surging to her feet.
“Never you mind about that, darlin’, I’m just calling to make sure you’re all right. I heard you were almost killed.” Lenny’s voice boomed over the line, his words full of emotion.
“Where’d you hear that?” she asked in a flat tone.
“Aw baby, don’t be like that. I love you, of course I’m gonna worry about you when I hear you were kidnapped, for Pete’s sake. I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you, baby?”
“I’m just fine.” Martha clamped her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. “And I’m not your baby.”
“Listen, sweet pea, I’m not mad. I know you did what you had to do. Both of us have had time to cool off and think about things, and honey, literally, the only thing I think about is you. Let me come talk to you. We can work out our problems. I know we can. I’m a changed man. Losing you was literally the worst thing ever happened to me, and I swear on a stack of Bibles I’ve changed. You were right to leave, but I miss you something awful, you and Carrie. I can’t stand being without y’all—”
“Lenny!” Martha Maye interrupted his pleading. He was quickly giving her a headache. “That’s enough. I’m happy now. I’m teaching up at Butterbean’s school, and we’re settling into a new life. Leave me be.”
“What about Carrie? You can’t just go off and expect me not to see our little girl anymore. I got my rights.” Lenny started crying. “I just miss y’all so much, Marty. Please let me come see y’all. Pleeeeaaaassse.”
“I’ll think about it, Len,” Martha Maye said softly. “I’ll think about it. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” And with that, she punched End on her phone.
“Sugar, are you all right?” Honey asked, coming up beside her. “You look sorta pale. More than usual.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just fine.” Martha Maye ignored the slight insult. “I’d rather not talk about it right now, okay?”
“‘Course it’s okay,” Honey soothed, rubbing Martha Maye’s back. “Listen, why don’t we take the girls and go get some ice cream? That would take your mind off things, wouldn’t it? I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.”
“Yeah, well, I scream when I look at my scale.” Martha Maye let out a big sigh. “That sounds nice, Honey, but you’ve helped me lose weight, now don’t go putting it back on me. No ice cream for me.”
“Oh sugar, you’re back in fine form, you look like a million bucks. Your pear shape is more like an hourglass now, but you gotta show it off by wearing clothes that fit.”
Martha Maye looked down at her baggy T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. She didn’t think she looked too bad. But I suppose I don’t look too appealing, either. I’d be embarrassed to go to Wal-Mart dressed this way. No wonder Johnny wouldn’t ask me out. Twenty pounds had come off, but she hated to buy new clothes before the final ten were gone, and they were sticking like glue.
She took a deep breath and let it out, sounding forlorn. “I still have ten more ugly pounds to lose.”
“And you will. You keep working with me, and pretty soon you’ll have men lining up at your door. Now let’s sit down and work up a plan.” Honey tugged on Martha Maye’s arm, pulling her toward the couch. “We’ll plan our work and work our plan, and in no time we’ll find you a man.”
Martha smiled stiffly, thinking she’d already found one, if only he’d ask her out.
Lenny clicked the phone off. She hung up on me, he thought with spite.
Lenny, my man, what you need is a plan, he told himself, getting a pencil and a piece of paper. He sat down and began to write.
Step 1: Go to Goose Pimple Junction and get a job.
Step 2: Go see Martha Maye and Carrie. Beg forgiveness.
Step 3: Visit Louetta. Get on her good side.
Step 4: Get on the good side of the law in the junction.
Step 5: Woo Martha Maye.
Step 6: Play the devoted family man.
Step 7: Move in and reclaim rightful place as head of the household.
Step 8: Make Martha Maye pay for what she did.
There is much that cannot be understood by the poor soul who thinks words are the same as thoughts.
~Southern Proverb
Lenny slicked back his dark brown hair and pushed his fake Ray-Bans up to rest on top of his head. He pulled at his shirt slightly in an attempt to lessen the strain his beer belly put on the middle buttons. It didn’t work.
He flexed his neck like a fighter going into the ring and walked into Goose Pimple Junction’s Car Country Auto Sales, confident and ready to schmooze. He was on a mission: to win back his wife and child. Step one was getting a job in their new town, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
Not the kind of man to be put off, and used to getting what he wanted, he wasn’t going to wait any longer for Martha Maye to let him come for a visit. Just watch her try to avoid me now, he thought with a smirk.
Lenny’s cheap brown ankle boots clacked on the floor, making him seem more important than he was. He strode up to the used-car salesman, Darryl Daigle—“Big Darryl D”—as the sign said out front. He was as tall as a redwood and weighed more than Lenny cared to guess. They don’t call him “Big” Darryl D for nothing, Lenny thought. He stuck out his hand.
Big Darryl shook his hand with a vise-like grip. “What can I put you in today, my good man?”
“You can put me in that there office.” Lenny pointed toward one of the small cubicle offices belonging to the salesmen.
“Zat right?” Darryl D sized him up. Lenny could tell he was ready to give him a hard time and send him on his way. But Darryl was putty in his hands, and thirty minutes later, Lenny had been hired. Darryl said he was impressed with Lenny’s confidence, was sure that his good looks would be a hit among the ladies, and thought his outgoing personality would win over the men.
“My intuition tells me you are whatcha call a natural used-car salesman,” Big Darryl D said.
Lenny assured him he was.
“So that’s pretty much it,” Big Darryl D finally said after showing him around. “Our little corner of the world.” He nudged Lenny in the stomach with his elbow. “Oh, and you can help yourself to any of the cars on the lot. Sign them out over there; the keys are on the pegboard above the sign-out sheet. Just make sure you log a car out each night you take one home and keep them neat and clean. I don’t care what you do in them, just keep them clean.” Darryl D winked at Lenny. “Welcome to Car Country,” he said, pumping Lenny’s hand.
“Glad to be here.” Lenny flashed a smile full of teeth and added, “More’n you know.”
“I like your new clothes, Martha Maye, but I think it’s time we get you a whole new wardrobe.” Honey gripped Martha Maye’s arm lightly as they walked down the sidewalk under the canopy of decades-old trees with leaves just starting to turn colors. “You need to show off that new figure of yours, and it’s time to get fall clothes anyway. Half of your things hang off you like a scarecrow. Let’s go shopping!”
Martha Maye was taking Butterbean, Honey, and her daughter, Maddy Mack, to her mother’s house for dinner. The two ladies lagged behind the little girls, who skipped merrily down the uneven sidewalk, which had buckled with the huge tree roots.
“I can’t really afford much right now.” Martha Maye waved to Paprika Honeywell. “Butterbean needs new school clothes, and I have the rent, utilities, and food. I’m a single mom now, you know.”
“And you’re gonna set aside some money for yourself, too, sugar. You gotta.”
Martha Maye wanted to get Honey off a subject that had been coming up all too often lately, so she said, “Listen, when we get to Mama’s, just talk to Aunt Imy like normal, but don’t be surprised if some crazy talk comes out of her mouth.”
“Crazy talk? Like what?” Honey dodged an anthill on a crack in the sidewalk.
“Since she had the stroke, she comes out with commercial slogans every now and then. Sometimes it’s funny, but try not to laugh. I don’t know what goes on in her head, but she doesn’t realize she’s said anything weird. She’s got that Altenheimer’s disease, too.”
“You mean Alzheimer’s?” Honey hooked her arm with Martha Maye’s.
“Yeah, that’s it. So just try to act normal around her.”
“Alrighty dighty. I won’t laugh. Do the doctors think the commercial lingo will go away?”
“They don’t know. But even if it does, she’ll still have Alten . . . Altzey…”
“Alzheimer’s.”
“Yeah, that.”
“And who else did you say is living with your mama?”
“That’s kind of a long story,” Martha Maye said. “Mama took Charlotte Price in about two months ago. She’s Henry Clay’s daughter.”
“The Henry Clay? Your mama took his daughter in?”
“Yeah. Charlotte’s mama ran off a while ago, and her daddy’s . . . uh, he’s a little too busy for parenthood right now.” They both chuckled. “She didn’t have anyone to turn to. Mama is good people, but I think she figures she’s been given a sort of gift with Charlotte coming to live with her. It’s almost like she has another daughter. And Lord knows, that girl needed a mama.”
“No wonder you wanted a place of your own. Charlotte and your aunt living with your mama—whew! That’s a full house. I expect you were a might crowded.”
They walked for a bit, commenting on the flower gardens they passed, the beautiful hundred-year-old houses, the smell of someone grilling steak, and the cooler nights they were having now that October had arrived.
As they approached Louetta’s house, Honey said, “Good job changing the subject, but don’t think you can get me off the topic of new clothes forever, missy.”
Martha Maye made a face as she followed the girls up Lou’s front walk.
They reached the door, knocked once, and went in. Louetta came running to greet them wearing lime-green pants and a hot-pink blouse. Her brassy red hair was in the usual bouffant style, and her makeup was applied perfectly, if not a little heavy. It clashed slightly with the bold cabbage rose wallpaper behind her. At nearly eighty, Louetta was definitely still alive and kicking. She was a stout, hefty woman and a whirlwind of perpetual energy.
“My babies! Come on in, y’all,” Lou gushed, hugging them all. “I hope you brought your appetites,” she said, ushering them into the kitchen that wafted of heavenly smells of fried chicken and hot yeast rolls. Lids jiggled on boiling pots on the stove, chicken fried in an old cast-iron skillet, and dirty dishes filled the sink.
“Hi, Aunt Imy, hireyew?” Martha Maye leaned down to hug the frail old lady in the chair. She had on a blue flowered housecoat, stockings that were rolled down to her ankles, and loosely tied white Keds tennis shoes. The side of her left shoe was cut at the big toe to ease the pressure on her bunion. Her short brown hair was set in tight curls, making it look kind of like she had a Brillo pad for hair. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-eight pounds wet.
“I’d walk a mile for a Camel.” Aunt Ima Jean sat sideways with her legs spread out, like a man would sit, with her knobby knees protruding through the housecoat that hung over them, maintaining her modesty.
“Who wouldn’t?” Honey said with a big smile.
“Aunt Ima Jean, this is Honey Winchester and her daughter Madison Mackenzie. Folks call her Maddy Mack.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Honey said, reaching out to shake hands.
“Ow!” Ima Jean pulled her ha
nd from Honey’s.
“Honey’s a personal trainer and a PE teacher,” Martha Maye interjected. “She doesn’t know her own strength.” She patted her aunt on the shoulder, while Ima Jean rubbed her hand dramatically.
“What’s doing up at Robert E. Lee Elementary?” Louetta asked.
“We’re humming right along,” Martha Maye said. “I’ve got some rowdy ones and some sweet ones, too.”
“Oh, in first grade every one of them’s sweet,” Honey said. “Try teaching all the grades. Then you get a taste of rowdy. How many love notes do you get a day, Martha Maye?”
“Hmm. About two or three. Some of my little boys are smitten, or so they think.”
“Just wait until you give them their first report card. That’ll bring their little heads down to earth,” Lou said.
“Where’s Charlotte?” Butterbean asked.
“She’s out with Pickle, as usual. They’ll be here in a little while, I expect he won’t pass up pie.”
An hour later, after finishing a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, sliced tomatoes, and hot rolls, the doorbell rang. Butterbean ran to answer it and came bouncing back with a huge bouquet of roses.
“Ooh law, Buttabean, who are those for?” Lou asked.
“They’re for Mama,” she said, handing the bouquet to her mother and opening the card that came with it.
“Oh my stars, who are they from, Butterbean?” Martha Maye tried to grab the card from her daughter.
Butterbean, looking confused, read: “It says, ‘From your secret admirer.’“
Honey squealed and clapped her hands. “You have a secret admirer? How exciting! I’ll bet it’s Wally, the fifth-grade teacher up at school. No, maybe it’s Henry Clay . No, I’ve got it! Maybe it’s Johhhnnnny,” she said, drawing out the name.
“But why would they be delivered to Mama’s house?” Martha Maye’s forehead was scrunched in a wrinkle.
“Maybe whoever it is thinks you still live here,” Honey suggested. “After all, y’all moved out not long ago.”