When I finished, I opened my eyes and glanced down at the audience. “Thank you,” I said, and tried to smile, but my dry lips were stuck to my teeth. Clapping thundered in my ears. It wasn’t whistling and screaming my name the way they’d done for Lindy, but at least they’d been listening, and I was pretty sure they liked what they heard.
My knees buckled slightly when I stepped down. “Hey there!” said the stagehand, grabbing onto my waist. “Watch your step.”
“Boy, I’m glad that’s over,” I said, and let out the breath I’d been holding.
“You were good,” he said and squeezed my shoulder. His cologne was overpowering, like that cheater in the Carrie Underwood song.
“Not as good as Lindy,” I replied, and stifled a sneeze.
“Just different, that’s all. I’m Dixon,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
“Retta,” I replied, and shook it. “Thanks for taking care of that stool issue.”
“Not a problem,” Dixon replied, and smiled at me. He was still holding my hand. “It was my pleasure.”
His smell was making my eyes water, so I slipped away then headed to the bar for a Sundrop, hung around for a minute, just in case any leftover record executives wanted to offer me a contract, but nobody appeared with complicated legal documents and shiny gold pens. Suddenly I was tired, too tired to stand there another second. “Can I get you another Sundrop?” the waitress asked.
“No thanks,” I said, and headed out into the summer air. Off in the distance, I could see fireworks. Independence Day—almost. There was a big celebration on the Cumberland River—bands, food, crafts, but I didn’t feel like going. It wouldn’t be much fun alone. Instead, I hopped in Goggy’s car and retrieved my messages.
“Hey, Retta. It’s Daddy. I got somethin’ to tell you, sugar. It don’t matter what time you get this. Just call me, okay.”
I pressed speed dial and waited.
“Hello.” It was Daddy, and he sounded like he’d swallowed broken glass.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. He cleared his throat noisily. I waited. “Daddy? What’s the matter? Is it your back again?”
“I come home today, and everything was gone, Ree Ree.”
“What do you mean everything was gone?” I had visions of the repo man hauling all our crummy furniture away.
“She’s done run off with King Wilmsteed.”
“Who ran off? Who’s King—”
“Amos King Wilmsteed! The Dollar King! Oh, Retta, what am I gonna do? She packed up all her belongings, left her key in the door, and disappeared. No note. No message. Just gone. I called the Dollar King looking for her, and some girl that works there told me what she’d done. A stranger, Retta, tellin’ me about my own marriage.”
Suddenly my whole body went numb, and an odd kind of humming noise filled my ears, like a fluorescent light buzzing, or the sound an electric fence makes if you stand real close and listen. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, even though I already knew what his answer would be.
holly dunn
BORN: August 22, 1957; San Antonio, Texas
JOB:While trying to get a job in the music industry, Dunn worked as a bookstore clerk and a travel agent.
BIG BREAK: Dunn was a demo singer and staff songwriter for CBS Records. Eventually, she moved over to MTM Music Group and wrote the song “I’m Not Through with You Yet,” which was recorded by Louise Mandrell. After the song rocketed to the Top Ten, MTM offered Dunn a record deal of her very own.
LIFE EVENTS: After a long and successful career in the music business, Dunn decided it was time to pursue a full-time career in art. Her works have been on display at the Peña Studio & Gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and she has served as the publicist for the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, also in Santa Fe.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
daddy’s hands
IT WAS NEARLY TWO A.M. WHEN I PULLED INTO STARLING, and even though it was under the worst kind of circumstances, I felt a twinge of happiness to be home. I drove past Bluebell’s. It was closed, of course, but the marquee read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ESTELLE, and I couldn’t help but smile. I knew Estelle had put up those letters herself. With no kids and no husband, she relied on her customers to make her day special, and they did—extra tips, flowers, cards, homemade cakes. Every year that sign stayed up a little longer.
I fl icked off the headlights once I got onto Polk Road. I’ve always liked the way things look in the dark, so I drove along in the dim moonlight. Half a mile or so from home, I stopped Goggy’s car and got out, tramped through the tall weeds and down the steep bank to the river. Tercell makes such a big deal about her riverfront home, but technically, our house is riverfront, too. You just can’t see the water on account of the giant trees and thick brush. According to Tercell, her daddy spent fifty thousand dollars on their pristine view, but I’m not sure I’d appreciate the river as much if I could see it anytime I glanced out the window.
The wind rippled across the black water’s surface, and chill bumps raised up on my bare arms. A storm was coming. I could smell it on the air, hear it in the rustling leaves that flashed their silver underbellies. Just a couple of hours ago, I’d been standing on that Mockingbird stage, but now that moment seemed like a part of my distant past. I was home again, all the strides I’d made in Nashville lost to me now.
I took one last look at the water then headed up the bank again. Got into Goggy’s car and drove home.
Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a beer but not drinking it. “Hi, Ree Ree,” he said, groaning as he rose to his feet. “Sure is good to see you.” He squeezed me tight, and it did feel good. My daddy hugs with his heart, too.
“Let’s go get your boxes out of the car, then we’ll take a ride over to Milldale.”
“You’re not lifting a thing,” I replied, and nudged him to sit down again. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“But what about your mama?”
“Daddy, it’s two o’clock in the morning.”
“But she’s with him! Probably breaking the Seventh Commandment as we speak!”
“Daddy, she probably broke the Seventh Commandment hours ago.” It was a reply I regretted the second it flew out of my mouth. Daddy’s face darkened with anger.
“You can set here all you want to, but I’m going over there,” he said in his I-mean-business tone. “I think maybe if you came, too, we could talk some sense into her.” He snatched the keys off the counter and slid his feet into muddy work boots.
The whole ride to Milldale, we were quiet. Every once in a while, I’d glance over at Daddy’s hands. He gripped the steering wheel like it was the Dollar King’s neck, and I tried not to think about what he might do to the man himself when we got there.
The Dollar King owned stores all over Percy County, and you couldn’t turn a corner in any speck-size town without being assaulted by one of his big yellow signs. They were shaped like crowns, of course, with a logo that read A DEAL EVERYDAY! It drove the Starling High School English department crazy, and they’d written countless letters over the years, complaining that the signs were grammatically incorrect. Everyday should’ve been two words instead of one.
The Dollar King lived on the outskirts of town in a fancy brick house with big white columns and shutters and a mile-long paved driveway. The second I saw that driveway I knew Mama wouldn’t be coming home with us, and I think Daddy knew it, too; he just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Every light was off except for the one on the front porch. Dogs barked, but none of them came up to the car, which meant they were probably hunting dogs and penned up somewhere out back. “I’ll be right back, Retta.”
“I’m going with you,” I replied, and hopped out of the truck before he could protest. My heart hammered inside my chest, and my hands had gone all clammy and cold. Daddy rang the bell (at least he didn’t bust the door down), and I took a shaky breath. No one answered. After several minutes, he rang it again. Still no answer.
“
Renatta! Get out here!” Daddy called. He was losing patience, I could tell.
“Mama! It’s me!” I shouted. “Retta!” I added, like she might’ve forgotten my name already. I turned to Daddy. “Maybe this house is so big they can’t even hear us. We should just go home. You can talk to her in the morning.”
“Oh, they can hear us!” Daddy thundered. “They’ll hear this!” Before I could stop him, he picked up a fistful of rocks and hurled them at the house. It was too dark to tell if he’d broken any windows. “Open the goddamned door, Amos! Get out here so I can beat your sorry ass! I know y’all can hear me!” The dogs went crazy, and Daddy started kicking the door—so hard I thought he really would knock it down—and I just stood there, hoping his back wouldn’t go out again.
A light went on upstairs, and Daddy stopped. We could hear voices and footsteps. Finally, the door creaked open, and Mama stood in the porch light, wearing a robe I didn’t recognize. It was a soft shade of green with embroidered flowers. For all I knew, it was real silk even. “Retta,” she said, and folded her arms across her chest. Even without makeup she was lovely. Her dark hair down around her shoulders, her face shiny with night cream, a detail that sent a wave of panic through me. She’s comfortable enough with this man to wear night cream? I could tell she wanted to hug me, but for Daddy’s sake, I kept my distance.
“Renatta, I want you to come on home,” Daddy ordered. “This is sinful. It’s just shameful you carryin’ on thisaway. Now go get your things.” He was trying to sound forceful, but his words came off as scared shitless.
“Lyle, we had nearly twenty years of marriage, and I haven’t been happy in a long time. I suspect you haven’t been too happy either. I’ll be filing papers, and I don’t need a thing from you except a signature.” She glanced at me when she said this.
“You’re divorcin’ me?”
“I’m sorry, Retta. I didn’t intend to have this discussion with you here, but there’s not much choice now.”
“After all we been through!” Daddy was shouting again. “I work like a dog my whole life and you. . . you don’t do nothin’ but sit on your Jane Fonda ass and watch them stories, and now you’re just gonna leave? Desert your husband and child?”
“Retta’s grown, Lyle. She’s got her own life, and I want my chance.”
“Chance at what? Being the town tramp!”
Mama slapped Daddy so hard I could hear his ears ringing. “Now you go on home before King comes out here,” Mama warned, and looked at me as if she wasn’t sure where to tell me to go.
The house was eerily quiet the next morning, like Mama had died instead of just moved out—no radio playing or pots and pans banging around. No fussing, either. I tugged on my ratty bathrobe, and went into the kitchen. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, and I noticed Mama’s knickknacks were gone from the tiny shelves that flanked the sink window—the glass cows and roosters and tiny decorative bottles had all disappeared. Even her fancy cross-stitched tea towels that nobody ever used were missing. Knowing Mama, everything was already neatly arranged in Amos King Wilmsteed’s kitchen.
For a second, I wondered if I should pinch-hit, make some breakfast, start up the coffeepot, face the day. Instead, I headed back to bed.
Around noon, I heard Daddy foraging in the kitchen. I debated on whether or not to get up and help him or let him fend for himself. After the cabinet door slammed for the tenth time, I got up.
“Where the hell does she keep the bread?” Daddy grumbled.
“In there.” I yawned and pointed to a large tin container with the letters B-R-E-A-D on the front. Daddy ripped open the door, yanked out a loaf of Sunbeam, and hurled the bread box toward the trash can.
“Girlie shit. From now on, this is a man’s house!” he declared.
“O-kay,” I said, and grabbed a Sundrop out of the fridge. I twisted it open and sat down at the table. Daddy slung a package of bologna across the counter and rummaged through the junk drawer in search of a knife.
“Daddy, the knives are in that drawer over there. Are you doing anything for the Fourth?” I asked. God, I really hope you’re going fishing.
“Yeah. I’m working,” he grumbled.
“On the Fourth of July?” It was also a Sunday, but I didn’t point this out. Daddy only went to church because Mama made him. Besides that, the service was over by now anyway.
“Like Hawkins gives a damn about freedom, the old draft dodger. It’s not a very big job anyhow. Just some office furniture. I’ll get time-and-a-half.” Quickly, he slapped together a sandwich then tossed the mustard-smudged utensil into the sink. I watched as he took a halfhearted bite. “That don’t taste right.”
“Mama uses mayonnaise,” I said.
“Well, I use mustard,” he grumbled, and shoved half the sandwich down his throat. I could tell by the look on his face he’d go back to mayonnaise whenever I wasn’t around. A car rumbled up Polk Road, and Daddy glanced out the window, watched until it drove on by. “Reckon you’ll be here when I get home?”
“I’ll be here,” I replied, even though the Gold Watchers would be expecting me at the Jackson tonight, especially since I hadn’t performed last night. And I hadn’t said good-bye to Riley. I’d just packed up my boom box and CDs and songwriting journals and photos and clothes and Brenda’s handpainted hurricane glass and bolted. Room 203 was so bare the first night I stayed there, but gradually I’d moved all my things in. It was beginning to look sort of cozy even. I’d have to remember to call Riley and let him know I was okay.
Daddy reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Maybe you can pick us up something for supper?”
After Daddy was gone, I kept noticing things. There were no paper towels left on the roll, just the glue-coated cardboard tube. The coffee was left over from yesterday. Mama had scooped that Folgers into the paper filter, knowing later she would pack up and leave. The trash can was full. The floor needed sweeping.
Somehow I’d expected Starling, Tennessee, to stand still while I was gone. It hadn’t.
Estelle’s familiar Mustang sat in the parking lot right next to Stinky Stan’s dirty Buick. Normally, Estelle doesn’t work weekends, but I knew she’d be at the diner today on account of all the holiday river traffic. This evening there’d be tons of customers and all of them sunburned and beer-buzzed and starving. As much as I hated to lay eyes on Stan, I was eager to see my old friend, so I hurried inside. “Boo!” I said, sneaking up behind her.
Estelle whirled around. “Oh, good Lord! Retta!” she cried. “You scared me to death. How are you?” She shoved a spray bottle of disinfectant into her oversized pocket and squeezed me tight. “I’ve sure missed you. This is the best birthday surprise I could’ve asked for.” Her smile faded suddenly. “Your daddy. You came home early on account of him, didn’t you?”
I blinked at her. So it was common knowledge now.
“No secrets in Starling, honey. I just cain’t believe your mama did something like this. I mean, it just ain’t like her.” Suddenly the fluorescent-light-electric-fence hum was buzzing in my ears again. “It’s just a shame,” Estelle went on. “Just a crying shame. I always hate to hear about couples breakin’ up thataway. Especially when they been together so long. Speaking of couples, did you hear about Tercell and Bobby?”
“Brenda told me,” I said.
“That girl has liked to lost her mind. I never did care for her much, not even when she was a little bitty thing. She’s so spoiled it ain’t funny, but she’s been driving that poor boy crazy, I heard. She wrecked her Cadillac, too.”
“Really?” I asked. Normally, this was the sort of juicy conversation I loved, but it all seemed so distant now, like it had nothing to do with me.
“Apparently, she thought Bobby was slipping around with somebody else, and she was following him and ran off into a ditch. Totaled that car and broke her leg. Maybe it’ll teach her a lesson. You can’t hold on to nothing that don’t want to be held on to.”
&nbs
p; “Right,” I said, thinking of Daddy and the way his hands had gripped that steering wheel all the way to the Dollar King’s house, and how they’d trembled the whole way home.
“I ain’t paying you to run your mouth!” Stinky Stan blasted from the kitchen. I glanced up to see him peering through the order window.
“Shut up or I’ll get Retta after you with that spatula again!” Estelle yelled back. Stan gave us the bird and slammed the order window shut. “I have teased him relentlessly, I want you to know. So has everybody else in town. Your daddy had a talk with him, too, a stern one from what I understand.” Estelle smiled at me and patted my arm gently. “Everything will be all right, hon. Don’t you worry.”
“So, I came to wish you a happy birthday,” I said, and handed her a card I’d picked up over at the gas station. “I know it’s belated, but . . . well, things were kinda busy in Nashville. I sang at the Mockingbird.”
“You did not!”
“I did. Last night,” I said. It seemed like six months ago now. Several cars pulled into the Bluebell’s parking lot.
“Kiwanis,” Estelle explained before I could even ask. “They’re getting ready for a fish fry tonight over at the American Legion building. They called a few minutes ago to let us know they’d be coming to grab a quick bite. They cook all that good food, but never do get a chance to eat any themselves. Retta, I think it’s just great that you got to sing at the Mockingbird. I bet if you’d stayed you’da been a big star. I’m glad you’re home, though. I know your daddy is, too.”
A crowd of red-faced, middle-aged men shuffled through the door. “Stell-aaa!” one of them bellowed, and they all laughed.
“Oh, Lordy. You see what all I got to put up with,” she mumbled under her breath. “You ain’t no Marlon Brando, Henry!” she shouted back, and the men laughed again. Estelle hugged me tightly. “I’m here if you need anything, you know that,” she said, and hurried off to tend to the Kiwanis.
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