Eat, Drink, and Be From Mississippi

by Nanci Kincaid

  “Two very different women,” Bobby said. “Lillian was a quiet woman who loved books and music. Every year she knit a sweater for every member of the family. It took her all year. She always liked to refer to herself as a mousewife. She thought she was a wallflower, but she wasn’t. She was a really beautiful person. She was just a homebody, you know. But, man, she loved Courtney. They were in book club together for a while, you know. Lillian would come home talking about what Courtney Littleton had to say about this or that. They hit it off. In the last months of Lillian’s life Courtney used to come over to the house and just sit in Lillian’s room while she slept. She’d bring a book and read — not try to talk or do anything, really. Just be there. That was enough too. Courtney was one of the few people outside the family that Lillian wanted to see right up until the end.”

  “Guess it’s been really hard, losing your wife.”

  “It was hell at first. Even though I saw it coming — I was lost. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. But my girls — you know — they sort of guided me through the grief. Three daughters. A guy doesn’t have much chance to go under with three women on board.”

  “They’re lovely,” Truely said, “your daughters.”

  “I’m a lucky man,” Bobby said. “Double lucky — now that Courtney has come into my life. All the years she was married to Hastings, you know, I always thought she stood apart. She was special. I thought Hastings was one of the luckiest guys around.”

  “And now what do you think?”

  “About Hastings?” Bobby chuckled. “Look, Hastings is all right. I don’t judge him harshly. You live as long as I have and you learn not to judge people. Most people are doing the best they can. Besides, if Hastings was smart enough to hang on to Courtney — then I wouldn’t be here with her today. His foolishness is my good fortune. And I’d hate to miss out on this.”

  Truely really had no idea what Courtney was feeling about Bobby Gavin. She seemed to like him. She spoke fondly of him. She loved his grandchildren and was always happy to have them galloping through her house — the more rambunctious the better. “Just because I never was a mother,” she told Truely, “doesn’t mean I can’t be a doting grandmother. Right?”

  She had the talent for it — if that was what it was, talent. Truely had seen that himself when he had watched Courtney with Arnold. She was maybe the most overbearing mother Arnold had ever really had. For better or worse.

  Later when Truely was in the kitchen talking with Myra, she said, “Mr. Bobby Gavin is good for Courtney. You ask me, he can do anything Hastings can do, plus some.”

  “You think so?” Truely asked.

  “He bring these nice children and grandchildren into Courtney’s life. Do Hastings do that?”

  “No,” Truely admitted.

  “And he got that airplane. He fly her all over the place. Do Hastings own his own plane?”

  “No,” Truely said.

  “So, see there. That’s what I mean.”

  COURTNEY HAD TRIED to invite Coletta and Vonnie for Christmas dinner too, and as was predictable Vonnie begged to come, but Coletta refused. She insisted that her sister was coming from El Cajon with her kids and stepkids and all their kids and they were going to cook all day. They would need Vonnie’s help, she insisted. And so Coletta declined the invitation.

  Vonnie was sorely disappointed and let it be known. “Grandmama is just worried because she don’t like to mix it up with too many white people at one time. White people make her nervous. Even y’all do. Plus she don’t want to fly on any little airplane either.”

  “We understand that,” Truely reassured her.

  “But just because she never want to do nothing — do that mean I never get to do nothing either?”

  “Of course not,” Courtney had said. Truely was pretty sure Courtney had comforted Vonnie with some promises, but he didn’t know what they were.

  IT WAS THE FIRST YEAR Truely had been a lax gift giver. His obsession with Arnold and his circumstances had so overtaken him that he had done virtually no Christmas shopping and in the end had given cash stuffed into envelopes as a last resort. By all accounts it was tacky, but no one complained, of course.

  The highlight of Christmas dinner, as Truely saw it, was when Bobby Gavin raised a glass and said, “Let’s all remember a special young man today. Courtney’s and Truely’s young friend Arnold Carter, who is spending this day in anything but joyful circumstances. Let’s offer a prayer for Arnold’s speedy release back into the lives of the people who love him.”

  They all lifted their glasses then, all those good people who did not know Arnold, but by now knew of him. Truely had seen that Courtney, upon witnessing all the collective goodwill, had tears in her eyes. She dabbed at them with her cocktail napkin. Truely understood that her tears were for Arnold of course — but also, no doubt, to some extent for Hastings too.

  Truely flew back to San Diego the next morning and continued his vigil at the Hyatt. The waiting was grueling. According to Mike, Arnold’s release papers were being processed — a slow, tedious tangle of red tape. One afternoon while Truely was distracting himself with some tChair promo material, the phone rang. It was Arnold. “Is Courtney around?” he asked.

  “She’s still up in Saratoga,” Truely said. “Be back tomorrow. Anything I can do for you?”

  “They telling me you can bring me some street clothes, you know, for when I get out.”

  “Sure,” Truely said.

  “I was thinking maybe Courtney could get me some clothes together. I don’t want none that old stuff I wore in here. I’m needing to start out new.”

  “I see.”

  “You think she put me some clothes together? They got a jail Web site that lays out what you can bring in. She could read it.”

  “Of course.”

  “I pay her back when I get back to work, get my money right. Tell her that, okay?”

  “I’ll tell her. Courtney would love to do a GQ number on you — no question.”

  “Well, thanks then, man.”

  “Sure.”

  “And Truely? One more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think she get me some shoes, eleven-D? I been wearing that old pair of yours — remember? They never did fit me right.”

  “Courtney will get you set up, man. You can count on it.”

  “Good then,” Arnold said. “And you can tell her I finished all these books she sent in here.”

  “Really?”

  “Wasn’t nothing else to do.”

  “I’ll tell her. She’ll be glad.”

  “And Truely, thank you, man. For — you know — everything.”

  “Time and money well spent,” Truely said.

  “You mean that, man?”

  “I mean it.”

  THE DAY ARNOLD WALKED OUT of San Diego jail a free man his hair was shaved so close he was nearly bald and he was wearing expensive new clothes that Courtney had selected for him, using the jail Web site as her fashion guide. They looked a little big on him, but it didn’t matter. He had on pricey new shoes and a leather jacket and a new wristwatch and everything. Truely, Courtney, Coletta and Vonnie were all waiting outside for him. Arnold had lost maybe fifteen pounds and was looking drawn — but he smiled his best smile when he saw them all standing on the sidewalk waving and calling his name. The tears came then. Everybody got a good cry out of seeing Arnold walk outside the jail into the sunny world where they stood together on the sidewalk, ready to welcome him. Truely realized clearly now how absolutely terrified he had been that this day might never come. Seeing Arnold get his second chance was enough to nearly break him down.

  The idea was to whisk Arnold away to a fabulous dinner to celebrate his release. Courtney had made a first-class reservation down in the Gas Light District, but right away Arnold nixed that. All he wanted was an In-N-Out burger. So they changed the plan and all loaded up and drove to the In-N-Out and ate themselves nearly sick. They toasted Arnold with milkshakes. Th
ey were a little loud and emotional and the other In-N-Out diners definitely noticed the unusual group of celebrants who hugged Arnold and hugged him again and again.

  “It his birthday?” somebody asked.

  “In a way it is,” Truely answered. Courtney and Coletta kissed him every time they could. Even Vonnie was adoring.

  The holiday season had come and gone virtually unnoticed. It wasn’t until now that Arnold was back among them that they finally experienced the true meaning of peace on earth and goodwill toward men. Truely got bold and tried to express that with his chocolate shake lifted high, but got choked up and lost his voice. His gratitude nearly overtook him in the form of raw emotion. The others almost cried too, as if on cue — and then they all laughed. He realized that words were inadequate to express what all of them were experiencing. One life saved. The resurgence of collective possibility.

  Somewhere between Arnold’s third Double-Double and second large fries he leaned over, put his arm around Truely’s shoulders and asked, “So, when me and you going home, man?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AS ALWAYS I want to thank Betsy Lerner for her wise counsel and encouragement. My thanks too to Judy Clain, my editor, and her assistant, Nathan Rostron, for their valuable help with this book. Special thanks to Arnold Carter, who forced his way into this story when I had other ideas. My deep appreciation to the young men whom I have witnessed overcoming accidents of birth, catastrophes of circumstance, and the relentless prophecies of doom. I marvel. I celebrate. To Dimitrous, who helped me with place names. To Southerners outside the South, who never forget where they come from — or why they left. To the No-Pressure Book Club of Austin, Texas, who helped me see the novel inside a short story. To Dick Tomey, my true companion. And to Caid, Coby and Carleigh Bergthold and Taylor and Ryan Tomey, who make this world a better place — and keep the rest of us trying.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NANCI KINCAID is the author of Crossing Blood, Balls, Pretending the Bed Is a Raft (made into the feature film My Life Without Me), Verbena, and As Hot As It Was You Ought to Thank Me. She divides her time between San Jose, California, and Honolulu.