July 7th

by Jill McCorkle

  “You must be her father,” she says and he nods. “I knew that the bride’s parents would be the two people that I didn’t know! Makes it easy to spot you, you know?” Now Mrs. Stubbs goes and gets her husband and leads him to the head seat. “Please, find your places,” she calls. “Ernie is going to serve as host until Dave comes back, right, love?” Mr. Stubbs nods, raises his hands and says a long prayer that near about puts Fannie to sleep; he’s thankful for friends and sunshine and grandbabies and brides and grooms and parties and land and salads and just about everything but the kitchen sink. People snicker all the way through that prayer, but Fannie waits for them to be seated and to make certain that everything is going smooth. Now she can give them at least fifteen minutes before the meal.

  When she gets back in the kitchen, Mr. Foster is hanging up the phone and Billy and Mrs. Foster are sitting at the table. Mr. Foster claps his hands once and then squeezes his lips together in a thin straight line. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to get Ronnie’s father up from that table and have him come in here. He’s got to know, too.” Mr. Foster starts to go to the door and then stops. “Better than that, Fannie, you go and tell Dr. Booth that I need to see him. They’ll just think that I want some medical advice about Helena’s father.”

  “What?” Mrs. Foster asks.

  “Your father has just had a stroke, okay?” Mr. Foster waves his hand to shoo Fannie like she might be a fly. She goes out there and excuses herself, gets Dr. Booth and tells him that Mr. Foster needs to speak to him. While she’s out there, Fannie goes over to tidy up the bar, and already people are moving around, getting up for another drink or a cigarette. Fannie goes and starts picking up those picks that have been dropped all over the top of that bar, some of them with the olive still on the end. That Mrs. Miller is standing there talking to a woman that Fannie has never met.

  “Can you believe her?” Mrs. Miller asks and giggles. She leans her head closer to the other woman. “Nobody but Helena is even nice to her, because no one can stand to be around her.”

  “What a shame, because I really like Ernie,” the other woman says. “He got us such a good deal on our house.”

  “Oh, he’s a doll! Getting a little pudgy but he’s really a sweetie!” Mrs. Miller says and giggles again. High as a kite, Fannie figures, and gossiping up a storm. She sure would hate to be the poor soul whose ears are burning up.

  “What’s her problem?” the other woman asks and leans closer to get the answer. Fannie just keeps right on picking up picks and wiping off the bar. They don’t even know that she’s there.

  “Who knows? She’s just one of those people that is desperate for everyone to like her. You know, if you do something in your house, she’ll turn right around and do the exact same thing to her own, except that she has to make hers a speck better. For instance,” the woman leans closer. “When Dave and Helena put in their pool, they immediately got one and they went all out for one bigger and better. I mean, if you’re going to get right down to it, Ted and I had about the first pool in town.”

  “Do you think Helena copied you?” The woman asks. She’s got enough gold on those wrists to start her own jewelry store.

  “Oh no, Helena’s not that way.” Mrs. Miller waves to someone across the room. “Oh, God, here she comes now. I hate to be cornered by her.”

  “Hi, girls!” Mrs. Stubbs walks up. “Why Nancy, I’ve been meaning to compliment your hair all night long. Who cuts it for you?”

  “I had it cut in New York,” Mrs. Miller says and then turns right back to that other woman. “Now as I was saying, I go over to the antique shops in Newton quite often, if you’d like to ride some time.”

  “Oh Nancy, that would be super!”

  “I’ve never been to any antique shops in Newton,” Mrs. Stubbs says. “Do they have some pretty things?”

  “They have marvelous things, all kinds of small accessory pieces as well that can just make a room.” Mrs. Miller and the other woman are talking among themselves again, with Mrs. Stubbs standing there on the outside of the circle, like children in a schoolyard. It’s almost as pitiful as Helena Foster is right now, and Fannie wants to get back in the kitchen, to help Mrs. Foster if she can, but now she’s afraid to move from behind the bar. She hates to own up to it, but she doesn’t want to talk to Mrs. Stubbs any more, either.

  “Well, I’ll just have to go sometime,” Mrs. Stubbs says, and smiles. She isn’t acting near as silly as she was a while ago. “You know there are some nice shops in South Cross and I go rather often. If either of you would ever …”

  “I used to go over there all the time, and then it seemed to me that they simply did not have as much to offer, at least not to my taste.” Mrs. Miller drops her pick right where Fannie has just wiped.

  “Oh, there’s Betty Booth,” Mrs. Stubbs says. “You girls will have to excuse me. I haven’t talked to Betty all evening and I’ve simply got to swap some grandparent stories with her. I can’t wait for you girls to have grandchildren. It’s so fantastic, just super!” Mrs. Stubbs squeezes both of those women’s hands and then hurries off across the room. “I’m getting a little hungry,” Mrs. Miller whispers.

  “I’m getting a little drunk,” the other one says. “I certainly hope we eat soon, I mean, emergency or not, they should either have the party or call it off.” Mrs. Miller nods to that woman and Fannie hurries back to the kitchen. She is so tempted to tell everybody that the party is over and that they should just go on home or to McDonald’s or wherever they please.

  When she gets in the kitchen, Dr. Booth’s boy Ronnie is sitting at the table as well, and Mr. Foster is back on the phone. “Will do, buddy, I appreciate it,” Mr. Foster says. “Well have him there tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to go to Montana!” Billy cries and puts his head down on the table.

  “It’s better than the reformatory in Raleigh, isn’t it?” Dr. Booth asks, and then looks at Fannie. He stops abruptly.

  “She already knows,” Mr. Foster says. “Billy gave his full confession with an audience.” Mr. Foster leans against the counter. “She won’t say anything, we’ve covered that.” He eyes Fannie but she looks away; she goes over to the oven to check the mariner casseroles. She’s had them on warm forever now; those crab legs are probably tough as leather, and the shrimps curled up to nothing.

  “We had thought about sending Ronnie off to that school in Denver, anyway. He may as well start a little early,” Dr. Booth says.

  “Won’t it look funny for them both to leave at the same time?” Mrs. Foster asks, her smooth fair brow all wrinkled up.

  “Nah, they’re going two different ways. Billy’s going for some summer vacation on a dude ranch, and Ronnie’s going away to school,” Mr. Foster says and lifts his hands, shrugs. “Last night they were both right here in this house, popping popcorn and discussing their upcoming trips with us.”

  “Did you call everyone?” Dr. Booth asks, and Mr. Foster nods. Fannie has heard all that she wants to hear. She starts putting the small casseroles on trays. It’s a blessing that these were done individually as well. It’s almost as if Fannie foresaw it all.

  “I think you boys better get packing. Ronnie, go on home. We’ll talk some more when I get there. This is going to kill your mother.” He looks that big boy up and down, and who would think from looking at that large boy, that round face with teen acne and those large brown eyes, that he would have been a part of it all? “Dave, can I tell everyone that Helena’s father is fine and that we’ll all eat together?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” He takes Mrs. Foster by the arm. “Are you going to be all right, honey?” he asks and she nods, wipes her eyes again.

  “What about me? You guess I’m going to be okay?” Billy asks after Ronnie has gone outside.

  “You sure as hell better be, after I’ve stuck my neck on the line for you!”

  “So why’d you do it? Why didn’t you turn me in? Why don’t you get them to gas me? to fry me?”

  �
��Because I love you, Billy.” Mr. Foster leaves the room and Billy breaks down all over again. He just slumps right there on the floor, curls up like a baby and cries. He cries and cries, sniffs and beats his hands against the floor the whole time that Fannie counts and arranges the casseroles. Those people out there are so drunk by this time, she could feed them cat-food tuna and they wouldn’t even know the difference.

  Corky is squatted outside on the window ledge where the roof slopes out over the porch. It is nice this time of day when the lights in the downtown businesses begin to go out and those in the hotel and the homes further down Main Street begin to come on. The breeze has picked up and the leaves of the large oak tree out front are rustling; that damp fresh smell that promises rain mingling with the scent of wisteria. She leans inside the window and watches Sam Swett sleeping on her bed, one foot dangling off the edge, one arm crossed over his eyes. “Hey, wake up.” She shakes his leg and he rolls toward her, rubs his face up and down on her pillow. “Sam, dinner’s almost done.”

  “Huh?” He opens one eye and sees her there, that pale hair blown back from her face, her hand on his leg. “Did I doze off?” He rubs his hand over his eyes and props up on one arm. The last thing that he remembers, she was here beside him, no, she was under him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his.

  “I’ll say.” She laughs. “Hey, if you still feel bad, there’s some aspirin in the bathroom.” She props her elbows on the sill and cups her face in her hands. “Hamburgers are almost done.”

  “What are you doing out there?” He sits up now, stretches.

  “Cooking the hamburgers. How about getting that plate off the table and handing it to me?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  He gets off the bed and feels his way to the table.

  “There’s a light right over you if you’ll pull that string,” she says and laughs again. He pulls the string and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. That big doll that had been in the window is now over on the counter. It is hard to believe that there is someone that sits and makes those dolls all day long. He gets the plate and goes back over to the bed.

  “Hey, come on out,” she says and moves away from the window. “The fresh air will wake you up.” He hands the plate to her and then crawls through. The tar shingles are still warm from the afternoon. He slides over closer to where Corky is standing.

  “Where are the hamburgers?” he asks, and she crooks her finger and walks up the slope to the top eave of the roof. Sam Swett doesn’t stand up; he keeps sliding, inching himself with his hands and feet until he is at the top and can swing his other leg over and straddle the roofline. It feels safer that way.

  “See, here’s the barbecue.” She points to a small flat area where the eave hangs over enough to break the wind. There is a sterno stove there, two hamburgers cooking and dripping into a can of sterno. “I hope you like yours done. I can’t stand bloody meat, you know? Some people think it’s not good unless you can see some blood, but I don’t.”

  “I like mine done,” he says and watches her carefully flip the burgers on that tiny stove. “Did I miss something?” he asks, his head cocked to one side. “I mean, you know, when we were in bed?”

  “Like what?” She smiles at him, bats those long lashes.

  “Well, did we?” He looks away, the streetlights getting smaller and smaller as he looks down Main Street.

  “You mean that you don’t remember?” She sits down in front of the stove and pulls her knees up to her chest. It makes him nervous for her to do that, just the thought of her suddenly tumbling over backwards. “I can’t believe that you don’t!”

  “I’m sorry, really.” He slides closer and puts his arm out behind her, lets it drop behind her back. “I must be crazy, God, I must be.”

  She nods her head slowly and then faces him, leans closer. “I would be so mad if we had’ve and you didn’t even remember!”

  “You mean we didn’t?” He feels a sudden relief. Maybe he’s not so crazy after all.

  “Nah” she shakes her head and stares down at her feet, those small dirty tennis shoes with the bright red strings. “We were lying there kissing and the next thing that I knew, you were snoring into my neck.”

  “Not snoring.”

  “Honest to God you were.” She holds up one hand. “You sounded like a chain saw.”

  “I’m sorry, really.” He moves his hand up her back, slowly, as if she won’t notice. “Forgive me?”

  “I reckon I do. I’ve been out here cooking you a hamburger, haven’t I?” She hugs her knees closer and leans into him. “Feels nice out here, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you think that maybe we can try again?”

  “Maybe.” She picks up a small pebble from the roof and tosses it out to where it disappears in the dusk. “Look at those trees over there,” she says and points in the direction of the highway. “I love those trees in the wintertime. I love the way those bare limbs curl and wrap around one another like a piece of black lace this time of day. They don’t even look real when they’re that way.” She picks up another pebble and tosses it. “Tell me about your family.”

  “There isn’t much to tell, just me and my parents.”

  “So, what are they like? Must have money to have sent you to Europe and New York and all those places.” She leans away and pulls the can of sterno out from under the burgers. “Let’s sit here another minute, okay?” She squeezes his hand and he nods. “Now, tell me.”

  “They’re real nice people.” He shrugs. Suddenly, he feels a little twinge of guilt, of homesickness. They would be worried sick if they had tried to call his number in New York. She is waiting for him to tell more. “They both work, always have; they’ve done all right for themselves.”

  “You sure don’t tell much,” she says. “I bet your Mama is about seven feet tall and four hundred pounds and eats raw snakes, and your Daddy is ...” He puts his hand over her mouth and pulls her closer, kisses her.

  “No, my Mom is about your height but she’s got more meat right here.” He moves his hand to her hips. “She’s a secretary and she’s got the prettiest clear blue eyes. Her name is Shirley.”

  “So why did you run away from home?”

  “I didn’t run away. I just wanted to find out what I want to do, you know?”

  “I know, finding yourself. That’s what people always say on the soaps, and that’s what my brother Chip used to say back when his hair was so long.” She laughs. “My Daddy said, ‘Chipper, if you’ll take your hands and grab a hold of what’s in between ’em, you might just find yourself.’” She laughs louder now, louder than he has heard her laugh before. “I thought it was funny, even if Daddy was a little out of his mind when he said it. I mean, it is sort of dumb to have to go off somewhere to find yourself when you’ve got to go with yourself to get there, you know?”

  “I guess I just wanted to be alone,” he says and she stops laughing and looks away from him.

  “Maybe you felt like you were different, maybe you felt like you were a little better.”

  “No, no that’s not true, really. It’s just that there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know what I want. After all of that, I should know.” He reaches over and grabs her hand but she doesn’t squeeze back.

  “You’re still doing it,” she says and pulls away, “still acting like you’re the only person who’s ever felt that way.” She laughs what sounds like a forced laugh, shakes her head. “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places. Maybe you need to take your hands and feel what’s in between.” She glances down at his hands resting on his thighs, what’s in between them, and smiles. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says and laughs again, but he doesn’t.

  “Don’t you see? Everything that my parents have done, they’ve done for me, for Sam Swett.” He puts his hand up to his chest. “And they’ve never had all the doubts and questions like I do.”

  “Did they get married because of you? Did they hold hands for t
he first time because of you?”

  “No, but you know what I mean. You can see it, can’t you?” He puts his hands up over his face now, and Corky can’t tell if he’s crying or what.

  “They must have done what they wanted to do, got brains, don’t they?” She reaches over and pulls his hands away, and he stares back with this blank watery stare. “I mean they cared enough to use their brains to decide what to do instead of blowing them all over a bedroom, didn’t they?” She picks up the plate and scoops the burgers onto it. “These damn things are cold as ice.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t even thinking, I mean.”

  “It isn’t your fault!” She shakes her head. “It’s nobody’s fault but his own. It’s just that me and you think a whole lot different from one another. You see I’d give anything if I could say that somebody cared so much for me that every thought in their head near about went in my direction, or if I could say that I had a home and family where I could go when I pleased and never be alone. You say that you want to be alone and all I know is that you must not have ever really been that way.” She inches away from him. “I reckon we better go in.”

  “No wait.” He grabs her hand. “You see they did all of this so that I would have things better than what they’ve had. I don’t think I could stand it if I ever did do better than them, though.”

  “So you’re gonna do nothing and then they’ll feel like they’ve done nothing.”

  “You know, you’re right.” He lets go of her hand and swings his leg over and inches down beside her. “How’d you get so smart?” He slides down behind her and wraps his legs around her waist, presses his face into her hair.

  “Don’t you make me drop this meat!” she screams, and then stops suddenly, slowly leans her head back against his. “I got brains. Nobody believes it but I do. Nobody thinks that some waitress in a coffee shop can use her brain. You said it yourself, said I’d get like Sandra.”

  “I didn’t know what I was saying,” he whispers and kisses her forehead. “Hey, where’s the kid?”