by Amy Metz
“Remember us?” Eyebrows said, shaking the pain out of his hand.
Lenny moaned, but a fist landed in his midsection, knocking the air out of him.
“You thought you could run from Solly? Solly gives you a loan outta the goodness of his heart, and you skip out on him?” Eyebrows stood over Lenny. “Ha,” he said as he kicked him in the ribs.
“Ha!” Joey echoed.
“Listen, listen, listen, dude, I can make a payment. I been gainfully employed,” Lenny rasped.
“Yeah, dude, we’re gonna take your payment. But first we’re gonna take a chunk outta your hide.”
“A chunk,” Joey said.
They were between cars, but Lenny could hear voices as people came out of the bar. He opened his mouth to yell, but Eyebrows stepped on his stomach, and he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
The couple passed, got into their car, and drove away. Eyebrows, finally lifting his foot off of Lenny, turned to Joey and said, “Scalpel, please, nurse.”
“Scalpel,” Joey said, handing him a Louisville Slugger.
Lenny began begging. “Wait, wait! I’m trying to tell y’all, I can literally give y’all two thousand right now. You d—”
“Give it,” the man grunted.
Lenny dug in his pocket and came up with a wad of bills.
Eyebrows quickly counted the cash. “That’s just a drop in the bucket, Len. Sol said to give you a message you wouldn’t soon forget.” He softly tapped the bat against his leg. “So here it is: You run again, and you’re a dead man. You skip a payment again, and I’ma break both your legs.”
“Both your legs.” Joey stepped forward and nodded once to emphasize the threat.
“And here’s some punctuation on that there statement.”
As Eyebrows brought the bat up over his head, some people came out of the bar. Lenny made his move. He rolled under the car and began screaming his head off. Eyebrows swore and said, “We’re not done with you, Applewhite,” then they beat feet to get away from the onlookers.
The next day, Johnny pulled in front of the school right at dismissal time. He parked, put on his GPJPD baseball cap, and walked through the crowd of kids and parents outside, speaking to everyone he could. But instead of the usual “Howdy, Chief,” today he was met with “Chief, did you catch that good-for-nothin’ so-and-so who’s taking our punkins?” and “Chief, someone picked all the apples off my apple tree. Whatchew gonna do about that?” And so on.
Johnny saw Martha Maye hand over her last student to his parent and turn to go inside. He quickly followed, excusing himself as he squeezed past people.
“Martha Maye!” he called down the hall, hurrying inside. She was halfway down the long hallway but turned when she heard his voice.
“Johnny! What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by and see if you and Butterbean needed a ride home.”
“Johnny.” She crossed her arms. “You promised you wouldn’t worry about me.”
“And you promised you wouldn’t walk to school, but I don’t see your car in the parking lot.” She had a guilty look on her face, and he smiled as he pointed his finger at her. “Busted.”
“You’re not gonna arrest me, are you, Chief?”
They laughed, but Johnny raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer.
“Oh, all right. Come on back to my room with me and let me get my stuff. But hey, aren’t you on duty? You don’t have time to be taking women home for no good reason.” She looked over at him and narrowed her eyes. “Or is this kinda like helping an old lady across the street? Is it your good deed for the day?” She led him into her room, then immediately stopped her babbling and froze.
The row of windows that lined the back wall of her classroom caught her eye. The bottom pane of each one had a newly spray-painted heart. Something had smashed into the middle of each heart, causing cracks to emanate from the point of impact.
Johnny drew his service revolver from its holster and stormed through the room, looking into every nook and cranny.
Martha Maye lifted her arms and then dropped them. “Johnny, for heaven’s sake.”
When your heart speaks, take good notes.
~Southern Proverb
Johnny strode with purpose toward the door leading directly outside and barreled through it with Martha Maye at his heels, but the schoolyard was empty. He scanned the houses that backed up to the school to see if anyone was outside, anyone who might have seen someone vandalizing the classroom windows. He saw no one. He put his gun back in its holster, and they both walked back into the classroom in silence.
“Were you going to actually shoot a vandal? He was probably only armed with a can of spray paint.”
“Just a cop-ly reflex, as Jesse Stone would say. Can’t help it. Besides, he could very well have been carrying.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m assuming the windows didn’t look like that when you left the room. Ten to one it’s Lenny’s work, and the way I’m feeling toward him right now, it wouldn’t take much for me to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. You wouldn’t hurt a fly on purpose.”
“Maybe not a fly, but certainly a roach.”
“You really think Lenny did this?”
“Don’t you?”
She thought for a minute while she moved around the room straightening desks. “I really don’t think so. But I could be wrong. It just doesn’t seem his style. If he has something to say, he says it. Like I told you, if he gives a gift, I’ve never known him to do it anonymously. Now the last little present that was left in my kitchen. . .” She blushed thinking about the skimpy lingerie someone had left on her kitchen table, “ . . . that could be him, but I think if he were going to insult me or try to scare me, he’d do it in person.” She went to her desk and shuffled papers, putting things in her tote bag to take home. “It’s like he feeds off the reaction. If I’m pleased, then he feels like a hero. If I’m mad, then he revels in the fact that he can punch my buttons. I just don’t see this as Lenny.”
“Then who’s doing this crap?” Johnny brought a handful of crayons that had been left on a table to Martha Maye.
“Thanks, Johnny.” She took the crayons and put them in the orphaned crayon basket. “If I knew, I’d tell you, believe you me.”
She sat down in her desk chair and saw an apple on her desk. It had a bite out of it, and a small note underneath.
I’d like to take a bite out of you.
Martha Maye pointed at it as if it were a snake, and Johnny examined it and carefully put it inside his notebook.
“Evidence,” he said. “You got a paper bag anywhere? I’ll take that apple, too. Send them both to a lab.”
She carefully pulled a lunch bag from her desk and dropped the apple inside by the stem, while he looked around for a chair he could sit in. The only chairs in the room were for little people. She sensed his dilemma.
“Here, Johnny, you take my seat. I’m happy to say I can fit into these little seats just fine now.”
“Thank you. If I managed to somehow get my butt into one of those, I don’t think I’d get out of it without a surgical procedure. Assuming I didn’t break it into toothpicks first.”
Butterbean came into the classroom just then, and while she gaped at the broken windows, Martha Maye gave the bag with the apple to Johnny.
“Who did this, Mama?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I should call the office and tell them what’s going on, or maybe I’ll speak to them on the way out. They’ll have to get someone to fix the windows.”
“Is that why the chief’s here?” Butterbean walked up to Johnny, studying the sack. “What’s that?”
“Just a snack, nosy Rosey.” Martha Maye turned her daughter toward the blackboard, kissing the top of her head. “Now get going on your chore.”
“Can I have a snack?” Butterbean asked, turning to start her daily chore.
“After while.”
Butterbean started on her job of erasing the blackboard and washing it with a wet rag.
Martha Maye turned to Johnny. “Since you’re here, could I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you help me hang these paper witches the students made? You’re tall and can reach up high better than Butterbean or me. I can hand them to you, and it’ll get done in a jiffy.”
While Butterbean worked on the chalkboard, Johnny and Martha Maye hung the construction paper witches on strings from the ceiling lights. When they were done, they stood back and looked at all of the colorful witches on broomsticks. They looked like they were flying around the room.
“I love it! Doesn’t it look wonderful?” Martha Maye said gleefully. “Thank you, Johnny. That took just a fraction of the time it would have taken Butterbean and me to do it. Handing me the artwork while I hop on and off of chairs isn’t her idea of a fun afternoon.”
“I’m happy as all get out to help, Mart.”
She cleared her throat and looked around the room. “All right then, I’m ready to go if y’all are. I just need to stop in the office and report the windows.”
They walked to the front of the school, and Martha Maye turned for the office, while Butterbean and Johnny went outside to wait.
When Martha Maye came out of the building a few minutes later, she saw Johnny and Butterbean on the sidewalk talking to someone. It took her about two seconds to realize who it was. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the day of the kidnapping. An older man, he was short and fat, and looked kind of like a bulldog.
“Mr. Price. Hello. I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said haltingly to John Ed, the former police chief. “Are you back in town for good?” she asked, trying to be tactful, and trying to hide the anxiety she felt.
“Yep. Never really left. I just moved out to the country. I try to keep to myself. Folks around here don’t cotton to me much.”
Martha Maye made a sympathetic sound, and she was empathetic to his plight, but a part of her felt he deserved the treatment he was getting, and then she felt guilty for thinking that.
“‘Course I can’t say I blame them,” John Ed continued. “I let everybody down by trying to protect my boy. I was derelecting my duty, I know that, although it does seem like some people would have a Christian attitude and forgiveness in their heart.”
“That’s all water under the bridge now, Mr. Price. Folks will come around. Just give them some time.”
He looked at the ground for a moment and then up at Martha Maye. “How’s my granddaughter?”
“Charlotte’s real fine, Mr. Price. She’s getting along real nice.”
“Yeah,” Butterbean piped up. “She plays with me sometimes. I like her living with Granny.”
“Do you . . . do you think she’d see me?” he asked, the hurt evident on his face.
“I think she’d like that. You’re still kin, no matter what. Why don’t you give her a call? Ask her to meet you at the diner or something? It’s probably best not to go to Mama’s house, at least for a while.”
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will call Charlotte. Doubt we’ll go to the diner. I’m not much welcome there, either. But I understand about your mama and them.”
“Well . . .” Martha Maye hemmed.
“I won’t keep y’all. I’m just out for a quick stroll. Y’all behave.” He waved and shuffled on down the sidewalk.
Johnny drove them home and insisted on going inside to check things out before he left. When he’d made sure the house was safe, he walked outside and Martha Maye followed, wondering if they were ever going to go on a real date.
As they walked to his car he said, “Um, I don’t suppose, uh, would you. . . ”
Martha Maye cocked her head and looked up into his eyes. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.
“I’d like that, Johnny,” she squeaked out. “When did you have in mind?”
Johnny let out a relieved sigh, which made her smile on the inside, knowing he’d been holding his breath, too. “I’m on duty this weekend. How about next Saturday night?” he said, putting his hat on and grinning like a fool.
“Sounds great, but …” she paused a moment, feeling embarrassed about what she was going to say. “Why don’t I meet you there? I’m not exactly a free woman yet, and I don’t want people to talk.”
“Sure. I understand.” Johnny nodded his head. He opened the car door, turned, and looked at her. “How about we meet at the restaurant in the Buttermilk Hill Inn? You know, that country inn about thirty miles out of town? Is that too far for you to go? I just thought maybe we wouldn’t run into too many people we know, is all.”
“That would be lovely. Seven o’clock?”
He got into the car. “See you then.”
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. His wide smile pleased Martha Maye. She hoped she hadn’t sounded too needy when she accepted his invitation practically before he got it out of his mouth. Then a thought struck her.
What in the world am I gonna wear?
“She is literally clueless,” Lenny said to himself. He sat in his usual surveillance spot just around the corner from his wife’s house. “But then again, maybe she doesn’t see me because she only has eyes for Johnny,” he said “Johnny” with a high-pitched love-struck voice and then blew a loud, wet raspberry.
His cell phone rang, and he answered it. “Yes, Big Darryl. I’m just filling the car up. I’ll be right back to the store.”
He hung up and muttered, “Don’t get your tighty-whities in a wad.” Starting the car, he continued talking to himself. “I need to get outta here anyway before that crazy witch spots me again. That woman scares me. She must be outta her ever-loving mind.” He drove slowly past Martha Maye’s house. But I’ll be back, Martha Maye, darlin’, count on it, just as sure as God made them little green apples.
Lenny drove off toward Big Darryl D’s Car Country singing off-key, “‘Cause God didn’t make little green apples, and it don’t somethin’ in somethin’ somethin’ in the summertime.”
It’s easy to get off a bucking mule.
~Southern Proverb
Lenny cupped his hand around his mouth and called to his daughter, “You’re literally slower than molasses running uphill in January.” She stood in the field looking for the perfect pumpkin. “You don’t have to get the biggest one out here, you know.”
Martha Maye, Butterbean, and Lenny were at the Spurlock Farm U-pick pumpkin patch just outside Goose Pimple Junction. It was a perfect fall Sunday afternoon. The sun was high in the blue sky, with the temperature in the seventies. The trees were brilliant with yellow, red, and orange leaves that fluttered to the ground with a light breeze. Pumpkins dotted the field for acres. Butterbean was examining every one in the patch—and some of them twice.
“What’s wrong with the first seven you picked out? You got a whole row here that look fine to me,” Lenny grumped, pointing to the row of pumpkins lined up beside each other on a dirt path running alongside the pumpkin patch.
“Oh, now don’t get riled up over nothing. She likes to narrow it down, you know that. We go through this every year,” Martha Maye told him. “When she sees one she likes, she adds it to the lineup. Then, when she’s ready, she’ll stand back, look at them all, and make her decision.” Martha Maye broke away from Lenny and joined Butterbean in the search for the perfect pumpkin.
Butterbean eventually had fifteen pumpkins lined up, and she picked the biggest, fattest, heaviest one of them all. Lenny picked it up, and they rode the hay wagon back from the fields, paid for Butterbean’s twenty-two-pound choice, and Martha Maye’s sixteen-pounder, and took them to the car. Then they headed to the petting zoo. Lenny exhibited more patience with his daughter there, going from pen to pen, talking to and petting the animals with her. He made up little stories to tell her as they visited the pigs, goats, and rabbits, and Martha Maye could see Butterbean wa
s having fun. She wished she could say the same for herself. She couldn’t get Johnny out of her mind, and she couldn’t help but notice that even though Lenny was being sweet with Butterbean, he was checking out every woman in the vicinity.
“Can we go up to the restaurant and eat fried chicken, Daddy?”
“I reckon so.” Lenny reached for his daughter’s hand.
“And mashed taters with gravy and hot rolls?”
“You know it.” He held his daughter’s hand and put his arm around Martha Maye. They walked past the lake, squinting from the sunlight reflecting off the surface of the water. What a perfect day, Martha Maye thought. Or would be if . . . she sighed out loud. She wished she could keep her mind off Johnny.
It was dark when Lenny pulled into the driveway. The three of them were drained after an afternoon and evening at the pumpkin farm.
Martha Maye kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Butterbean, it’s a school night. Go in and get ready for bed, while your daddy and I unload the car.”
“Okay, Mama.”
After Lenny and Martha Maye unloaded pumpkins, gourds, and apples, she stood outside, propped her hands at the back of her waist, and lifted her nose into the air, breathing in the woodburning scents from someone’s fireplace.
Lenny turned to her. “We had a nice day, Marty. It was nice being a family again.” He walked up and wrapped his arms around her. She let him, until she felt his hands going south, then she pulled away.
“I’d better go see about Butterbean.”
Lenny followed her inside.
“Baby, you’re killing me. Why you always pull away like that? It’s been too long. Come on, baby,” Lenny pleaded, trying to pull her to him again, but she broke free.
“Lenny, it’s been a nice day. Don’t spoil it. I’m going to kiss Butterbean goodnight.” He followed her upstairs and into Butterbean’s room. Their daughter’s face was shiny clean, her long brown hair brushed smooth, her pink nightgown the pinkest of pink.
“Is Daddy spending the night?” she asked, bouncing on her knees on the bed.