Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah

by Welch, Annie Rose

  Delilah howled with laughter, while Hank felt like he was going to be sick. Freud covered his eyes and whined.

  “It’s all right, Freud,” Delilah said to the back seat. “It was impolite, but it happens. We’ll stop soon, if you have to go.” Then she looked at Hank with a big smile on her face. “Like Uncle Hennessey always says, you should never go sniffin’ around a crawfish hole ’cause you never know when you’re going to pull back a nub!” She laughed again.

  Hank looked in the rearview mirror. The Ford was still there. If she switched lanes, it would switch. It was staying close and going move for move.

  “Trouble findin’ you again, Hank?”

  “Well, Delilah, I don’t want you to panic, but I think we’re being followed.”

  “Oh, I know we are.”

  “You do? For how long?”

  “Since we left the bar.”

  “What are we going to do?” Hank turned his body, so he was facing behind.

  “I wasn’t going to do anything, but since you’re sweatin’ so badly, I figure we better do somethin’.”

  Delilah whistled. Freud pulled out a diamond-studded strap that was attached to a phone. Delilah punched in a number without even looking. After a few rings, what sounded like a young man answered, calling her Sweet Cheeks. Hank could hear him flirting over the phone.

  “Listen, Joe Cracker,” Delilah said, interrupting him. “I have me a little situation out on the road. What does the weatherman say? The weather is going to be clear? Oh, that’s real good.” She told him just about their whereabouts. “All right then, I think it’s wiggle time. Uh, huh, all right then, bye, bye.” She threw the phone behind her. “Hey, Hank, you ready to haul some tail, baby?”

  Delilah’s foot went heavier on the gas, giving full throttle. The Ford went heavier. They drove on for another fifteen minutes or so. They met up with six big rigs in row, all bumping steady in the slow lane. She passed the sixth one, the fifth, and then the fifth switched lanes, almost clipping them from behind. The sixth sped up, switched back into the slow lane, and side-by-side, they created a barrier in front of the Ford.

  Delilah took the space between the fourth and sixth rig, deftly maneuvering the fast car until it was riding the emergency lane. The fifth rig took back its position, and the sixth moved over a bit, just a little of its wide statue creeping over the white line. Just enough to cover the tail end of the Porsche. They covered Hank and Delilah from every angle. Freud howled and slapped his ears, like this was just a good-timing party for all. Sometime later the line broke, and Delilah was back in the fast lane.

  She was now trailing the trailer. She weaved in and out of traffic like a bird in the sky. She rode the Ford’s bumper so close, Hank was afraid if they stopped short, they’d be in the car with whomever it was that was following them. But Delilah was one pepper of a good driver. She was quick and able. When they wouldn’t move, Delilah flashed her lights at them. Finally, they moved it on over.

  Hank could see it was two men when they were car to car. Their faces were pale white in the cover of the darkened car.

  They shook their heads, probably in shock at being had by a woman.

  “Uncle Hennessey always says, you should never go looking for trouble because enough of it will try to find you. Looks like those boys have the trouble following them now, ain’t that right, Hank?”

  “Poor fellas.” Hank waved at those two shocked boys as she passed them with ease. “They never saw you coming, Delilah.”

  Delilah threw her head back and bayed like Freud would. Hank felt damn good about that. He continued to make her laugh, all the way to Magnolia Springs. He turned the music up again and sang to her. He took the guy parts, had her take the women’s. He was feeding her all that cheese she loved. He was determined to erase those scowl lines from her face.

  They finally arrived in Magnolia Springs around three a.m. The town was closed down, but from what Hank could tell, it was quaint. Right at the headwaters of the Magnolia River, it was picturesque, with its live oaks and bright azaleas lining the streets. At its center was a vintage-looking downtown.

  They drove until they came to a more secluded area, where they turned down a road sort of hidden behind bushes and wild trees.

  A line of grass grew straight down the middle of the road, leaving two well-worn dirt patches on either side for the tires to roll on. The car rocked a bit as Delilah sped down it. The brights were on and bugs were hypnotized by their glare. The road seemed to be around two miles long, Hank guessed, and finally he saw an opening in the forested area leading them to her home.

  The property opened up. At its heart was a two-story, buttercup-yellow house with green steps that led to a white wrap-around porch. Two majestic oak trees created a leafy archway over the slanted roof. Neon-pink and red azalea bushes lined the porch and most of the yard. Ferns dangled in the breeze. The lights inside made the house seem dreamy, like the place was lit by the soft glow of candles instead of harsh electricity.

  A peacock darted across the yard. Freud bayed and jumped out of the car.

  “He sees a peafowl and all manners go straight out the window,” Delilah said, stepping out into the sultry night.

  Hank followed and stretched. Then he turned around and took their bags, slinging them over his shoulder. Delilah met him and took his hand in hers. The screen door creaked, and a woman in a white nightgown stepped out of the shadows. Her hair was up in curlers. She was wearing slippers, and when she spotted them, she waved.

  Hank waved back with his free hand. The woman met them at the steps, and when she noticed Hank, her eyes gave her away—she was shocked. Hank didn’t know why she should be, but it was still a normal reaction. Normal would be good for a while, he thought.

  Delilah let Hank’s hand go and hugged the woman. They stood above him, wrapped in each other’s arms. The woman smiled at him, her teeth gleaming in the light.

  “Delilah, you didn’t tell me you were bringin’ a boy home!” the lady said, pulling Delilah’s hand to her mouth, giving it a sweet kiss. “I swear to sweet Jesus above, if I didn’t believe in miracles, I’d swear I was dreamin’.”

  “’Cause he ain’t no boy, Pepsi. This here’s Hank Rivers. He’s from Tupelo. Hank, this is Pepsi Shuger. And Pepsi, you ain’t dreaming. You wide awake in your curlers and slippers.”

  Pepsi moved away from Delilah and hugged him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hank. A real fine pleasure.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am,” Hank said, warmed at her sincere welcome. “I’ve never met anyone named Pepsi before.”

  “My mama had a real hankering for Pepsi when she was pregnant for me. She told me she drank so much of it the color dyed my skin. See. I’m the same color as Pepsi. I think she was just kiddin’ around with me, but you just never know. People were more serious back then. Hank, did your mama name you after any famous Hanks? Did she listen to a lot of Hank Williams, and when you came out, she thought, ‘Well, I listened to him enough, now I popped one out?’”

  “No, ma’am, not that I’m aware of.”

  “Oh, well, maybe she just favored the name Hank then.” Pepsi slapped the air as Freud went howling by. “Hank, they didn’t make you sit in the back, did they, baby? That damn dog is too spoiled. He thinks he’s human. Scares me senseless when an animal looks at you like he knows what you thinkin’ all the time. Come on, you two. Let’s get inside. The mosquita-bats are going to carry us away if we don’t. Should be the damn bird for all the south.”

  They followed Pepsi into the house. Delilah grabbed Hank’s hand again, and he thrilled at the touch. The air was cool inside, and Hank felt a little feverish at first. The screen door slapped shut. The wooden floors creaked under their weight. Hank wasn’t sure if there was anyone else in the house, so he walked gently, just in case they were asleep.

  The house was all beige walls, light browns, and white trimmings. Black and white hand-drawn art, mostly flowers, especially roses and cotton plants,
decorated the walls. A few of Freud the gentleman dog were framed here and there. It smelled like honeysuckle, magnolia, gardenia, and Georgia pine, the unique perfume strong, like a window was open and the breeze swept it in.

  It felt like home, Hank thought.

  A woman decorated it, Hank could tell, but it was also a place a man could be proud to call his. It wasn’t demeaning in any way. It somehow incorporated the best of both worlds. The kitchen was a step back in time—the stoves, the counters, even the decorations lining the shelves: an old weight, the kind used for weighing produce and meat, and ceramic dishes that looked homemade. More of those pictures decorated the space, all of cotton plants. There was even a jar with cotton plants in it. Somebody had a thing for cotton.

  Hank stared at the enclosed shelves that were built into an entire wall. It was filled with nothing but dishes. They were proudly displayed, all different colors, all different shapes and sizes, some fancy, some chipped and vintage. The counter underneath was lined with candles in the shapes of old glass milk bottles. Their stems were lit and burning dimly, providing the only light in the room. A moth flew too close and was singed, sending a small puff of smoke into the air.

  “Have a seat, Hank.” Pepsi motioned to one of the chairs around the table. “Ya’ll must be so tired. Delilah can drive for days, but I fall asleep in cars.”

  Delilah started pulling out drawers, taking pots and pans and bowls and silverware out, setting them up on the counter. “Hank’s good company, Pepsi. He kept me awake. And thank Jesus he wasn’t howling the entire time.”

  “That girl is just silly.” Pepsi slapped the air as though she was slapping away the moth.

  “Hank, you hungry?” Delilah set a hefty iron skillet on the stove, not the slightest bit of noise from the motion. “I’m fixin’ breakfast, if you’re interested.”

  “Breakfast for dinner?” Hank smiled.

  That caused Delilah to slow down a bit. He heard her whisper “Dear Lord” before she went back to pulling again. “I love breakfast for dinner. I like it better than for breakfast.”

  “She’s twisted, that’s why.” Pepsi closed her eyes tight. “She always had her nights and days mixed up. Couldn’t get that child to sleep normally for nothing in this world. She’d sleep all day, wanting to be sung to at night. Her Mama used to have to take her on the porch, freezing cold or hell hot, and rock her just to get her to close her eyes. Then they’d open right back up as soon as the song was done.” Her eyes popped open in shock, and she shook her head.

  “You want breakfast, Pepsi?” Delilah said.

  “No, baby.” She walked over to Delilah and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m turning in. I had a long day. I spent it with Pearle, and that woman can shop a bunion off anybody.” She walked over and kissed Hank on the cheek. “Night, Hank. Don’t let Delilah twist you up or cut your hair.”

  Hank laughed when he caught the joke. Then he turned to Delilah, “Can I help you make breakfast for dinner?”

  “I have it. Can you just grab some plates out of the cabinet for me?” She had flour on her hands, and she wiped them on a dishrag as she stood with her back against the counter, watching him.

  “Any set? There are so many.”

  “You pick.”

  Hank could feel her eyes move with him. She was carrying him in that way she had. He searched for a while. He’d never picked out plates before. It didn’t matter much to him, but he figured since they were having breakfast for dinner, why not make it a party and use the real fancy ones? They were white with a creamy brown border, shaped sort of like a cotton flower. He started placing them around the table.

  Delilah nodded, turning back around. “Good choice, Hank. Real good.”

  That was the first time Hank had ever heard Delilah’s voice break. Something told him then, her voice wasn’t the only thing broken.

  “Hank loves my pancakes, pancakes, pancakes…Hank loves my pancakes, pancakes, pancakes…yes, he do!” Delilah sang, and then flipped another pancake in the air.

  The air was full of the heavy smell of breakfast for dinner. Hank had already eaten five eggs, three buttermilk biscuits, six slices of applewood-smoked bacon, a bowl of grits, and he was working on his second cup of coffee, along with one more pancake.

  Outside the earth was still hiding in the safety of darkness, a million stars twinkling above like those diamonds in Delilah’s ears. The radio on the shelf with a bent antenna played old songs in the background. Hot summer nights like these, the food wasn’t the only thing cooking in the kitchen.

  Hank took a deep breath in, appreciating the air in that moment like he’d never appreciated the air before. It was like gold to a miner; a heart to a lover; a mind to a thinker. Hank knew it was love at first sight with Delilah, but in that moment—there was more. He couldn’t live one day without her, of this he was positive. The notion seemed to be moving with the oncoming day, brightening his life the same way the sun would be doing to the earth shortly.

  He grabbed for the sugar on the table, shaking it into his cup. Delilah smiled and flipped the pancake. She didn’t even have to look. She just flipped and caught.

  She laughed and Hank smiled. She turned around and started fiddling with things.

  Hank grinned to himself. “What’s the secret to your pancakes? I never remember my mother making them this good.”

  “It’s not the pancake. The secret is in the syrup. Pepsi’s won awards with that blackberry syrup. I think she might put Pepsi in it, but I’m not too sure. She swears she’s going to the grave with that recipe.”

  “Pepsi, she lives with you?”

  Delilah slid Hank’s plate in front him, the pancake still steaming hot, and he started adding his fixings—butter and syrup. She sat across from him, leaning toward him, tucking one leg underneath her bottom.

  “Most of the time. She likes it out here. It’s peaceful and quiet. She keeps me company, too.”

  “Is she a family friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good that she stays with you out here. I’m surprised none of your sisters do.”

  “They all have their own places. They think this is too fancy.” Delilah tapped her finger on the table. A few beats went by before she spoke again. “Hank, I know what you think about my sisters. Curly feels the same way, I can tell. You both think we’re gold diggers. I’m not too sure why. They buy everything they have. They depend on no one but themselves. Myself included. My family is not always wrong when they’re right.”

  Hank felt like he was losing his mind. Everything was kind of fuzzy and floating around him. He was tired, and eating too much always helped lull him into a good sleep. Hank knew it wasn’t just the food and the lack of sleep that was making him levitate in his seat. It was Delilah. Her proximity, the way she spoke her words, the way she moved. He was hungry for her love. She seemed to want conversation. He wanted action. He just wanted to kiss her lips and hold her close before he fell asleep.

  “Gillian, I know she has those places. And sometimes she can’t remember who gave them to her. That’s why, because she doesn’t depend on them. They’re just gifts. Men have been doing the same thing for years—using women. Money is important to men, and it has the potential to be turned into control. We take care of ourselves.”

  Hank couldn’t help but wonder what on earth she was talking about. Still, he joined in, putting his fork down. “Not all men, Delilah.”

  “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I guess I’m just full and rambling out of my head.”

  Hank smiled and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted off. Real tangy like. Delilah started laughing.

  “What? Did you do something to my coffee?”

  “No, you did. You put salt in your coffee when you thought you were putting sugar.”

  “And you didn’t even tell me. You do have wicked ways.”

  Delilah gazed out of the window, her voice turning soft. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”
>
  Hank looked out the window with her. They watched as the sun was born again, the first light of day touching earth. There was something Hank always liked about sunrises. Now with Delilah, he seemed to fall in love with them.

  She went to stand from the table, taking his plate, but he put his hand over hers. He looked up at her and everything seemed to still—even their breathing, for just a few moments in time. Then she moved her hand and everything started again.

  “I have to work a bit.” She blinked, once, twice, three times.

  “You haven’t even slept.”

  “It’s just for a little while.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you? The deal was—any time we spend apart…I get that extra time. Molasses disappears when we’re apart. Those are my rules, take ’em or leave ’em.” Hank moved his eyebrows up and down, a smile on his face.

  “One more day, Hank. One. More. Day. Good God.”

  The old radio started playing a slow-moving Elvis tune. He knew she loved old music like this. He took his chance then.

  “Delilah, will you dance with me?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before she agreed. Hank pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his chest, right over the beating of his heart. She stared up at him as they moved in a slow burning circle.

  Hank wanted to tell her a million things. He wanted to forget about the issues, and for once since he met her, just fall freely in love. Without the chains, without the ghosts and secrets, without the insurmountable amount of want he had for her, and for another he could only speculate was her.

  Instead, he kept quiet, letting the song do the talking, and his feet do the moving.

  Hank lay in bed, wanting to shower but too tired to. He would have fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the soft pillow, his body worn and a tad bit shaky, but love continued to stir something inside of him.