“Yes, I am.” Pause. She wanted to throw her arms around her and say Congratulations!, but after carefully studying her sweet friend’s face during her entire emotional rendering, realizing how worn and torn Jessica was about the news, Katie gave herself time to consider her response. “Yes, I am going to say something, Jessica.” Katie’s tongue rolled around in her mouth finally settling between her lower gum and cheek like a wad of chewing tobacco. She mindlessly tapped her finger against the protrusion like she was checking to see if her tongue was still awake in there. “You look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Pause. “Only not as good.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. Then her bottom lip began to quiver. Then she busted out laughing so hard she nearly made herself sick and wet her pants. The laughter Katie had hoped to elicit caused her to begin laughing, too. The two of them sounded like a laugh machine, one picking up where the other left off. Every time they’d start to simmer down, one of them would burst out again. “Oh, Katie!” Jessica managed to get out between bouts. “You could not have said anything more perfect! Boy, did I need to laugh!”
“Well, that’s a happy sound!” Dorothy studied Jessica, her long slender legs stretched out in front of her on Katie’s mud-colored, kit-leather couch, tennis shoes off her feet and neatly tucked under the coffee table. Dorothy raised questioning eyebrows at Jessica, who nodded an affirmation. “Well, at least you’re finally laughing about it. I’d say that’s mighty fine progress.”
“So you know, too, Dorothy?” Katie asked.
“She kind of found out by accident when she stopped by and I had to run to the bathroom and heave. She was so kind . . .”
“Is that what you wanted me to thank her for?” Katie asked Jessica.
“Yes, but I guess I can do it myself now.”
“Pish-posh on the thank-yous. I’d say from the laughter that Katie had the better medicine anyway, whatever it was. Yes indeedy-do, laughter is always a good medicine.”
“Argh! Don’t say medicine, Dorothy!” Jessica grabbed her stomach just thinking about it, which caused Dorothy to laugh, which set them all into hysterics again.
Katie looked up and saw Josh standing in the doorway to the living room. He was leaning against the doorframe on his elbow, arms crossed in front of him. He looked puzzled and . . . for whatever reason funny to all three of them, who continued to guffaw until they were absolutely spent. Giddiness, they concluded, was a wonderful, cleansing gift.
“Oh, my sides hurt from laughing so hard,” Jessica said. “I can’t believe all that jiggling around hasn’t made me sick.”
“Give it time,” Dorothy said somewhat under her breath. And again, they laughed.
“I have a feeling I’ve missed the punch line here,” Josh said, having no idea what on earth was causing such chaotic howling.
“You missed more than that,” Katie said, sniffing through her laughter. “You missed the biggest news I’ve heard for some time!”
“And that would be . . . ?” Josh’s eyes cast from woman to woman waiting for someone to answer.
“I’m pregnant again!” Jessica blurted out in front of another hysterical laugh as though it was the funniest joke she’d ever had played on her. “Isn’t that a hoot?” And then she laughed until she broke down and cried again, not knowing which of the two felt better.
Jessie arrived home just in time to find Vera at the sink washing up the lunch dishes. Jessie was carrying a bag of potato chips in one hand and a six-pack of bottled root beer in the other. “Root beer tasted pretty good the other night,” Jessie said. “Thought we might need us some more.” Vera gave her a kind smile, then pulled the drain plug in the sink. While Jessie reconfigured the refrigerator to accommodate the six-pack, the sounds of water gulped and swirled down the drain.
“I take it you made the boys lunch.” It was a statement, not a question, and it had come out of Jessie’s mouth with an edge of sarcasm.
“It’s the least I can do to help you out while we’re staying here, Jessie. There wasn’t anything to it, you had so many nice leftovers in the fridge. Did you get lunch? I can . . .”
“Yup, I ate” was all she said, feeling no need to explain her Vienna Dog in whereverland, which now seemed more like a visit to the Twilight Zone than reality. An awkward silence hung in the air while Jessie put the chips in a cabinet. “Where are they?” She didn’t really need to ask since the television was blaring from the living room.
“The boys?”
Jessie bit her tongue, several other descriptions flying through her head. “Yes.”
“Napping in front of the TV, at least I suspect that’s what they’re doing. I haven’t heard a word since they walked in there. Herm usually shuts his eyes for a few minutes in the afternoon. Does Arthur?”
“Arthur shuts his eyes to lots of things,” she said, then was sorry for having said it. “I mean he can sleep through just about anything if he’s in that dang La-Z-Boy.”
Vera studied Jessie for a moment and looked like she was debating something. “I think I’ll go up to our room and give you a little peace and quiet. I brought a couple of magazines,” she said, folding the dishtowel over the cabinet door under the sink, just the way she’d found it. Jessie said nothing in response.
Awkward. Awkward. Pull yourself together, Jessie. Arthur isn’t her fault. “If that’s what you’d like to do,” Jessie replied. Forcing herself to brighten her tone of voice, she added, “Otherwise we could maybe play a little crazy eights.”
Vera’s eyes brightened. “Crazy eights? Why I haven’t played crazy eights for so long!” She tried to decipher if Jessie wanted to play cards or was just being obliging. Then she decided even if Jessie was just trying to cheer her own self up, a few good rounds of cards might be just the ticket. “That would be right fun!”
“I’ll get the cards. How about you pour yourself a root beer and open a bottle for me.”
“You got it.” Vera went to work on the beverages and Jessie disappeared around the corner. She kept the playing cards in the dining room buffet, same place she kept the bunco dice and score cards, poker chips and a very old game of Sorry, the box ripped at all four corners. Sorry. Exactly, she thought, as she pushed the board game aside to get to the deck of cards that had made its way to the back of the shelf. We are one sorry excuse for a couple. But right now, there’s nothing I can do about it but play crazy eights. Perfect. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Vera had everything set out, including a bowl of potato chips.
“I hope you don’t mind if I opened that bag of chips,” she said somewhat sheepishly. “I tell you, they looked so good when you brought them in that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them. Even though I am not one ounce hungry, they just seemed like the right accompaniment for a card game. I can’t remember when I last had a potato chip! Herm says it sounds like my head’s empty when I crunch, so rather than annoy him, I just stopped buying brittle snacks.”
Jessie pulled the worn-just-right deck of cards out of the box. She remembered when this deck was brand new and it was all she could do to keep them from flying this way and that, they were so slick. She lifted half the cards off the deck and began to shuffle with determined vigor, whapping the deck on the table, cutting them in half and reshuffling again and again until she set them down and scooted them in front of Vera. “Cut?”
“Nope. They’re fine,” Vera said, tapping the top of the deck with her index finger giving it the customary seal of approval.
Jessie began the deal, one to Vera, one to herself. Pause. “So let me get this straight,” Jessie said—slap of card, slap of card—“you quit eating something you like because Herm doesn’t like the way your head sounds when you chew? As though you could possibly do anything about that? As though he has a right to”—slap, slap—“keep you from”—slap, slap, slap, slap—“enjoying potato chips?”
Vera began to pick up her cards one at a time and fan them into her hand, arranging and rearranging. Jessie plunked the
rest of the deck on the table and set about fanning her own cards. Vera opened her mouth to speak but then shut it and moved one card way on the right to the far left of her fan. She stared at Jessie over the top of the five of clubs, then popped a chip in her mouth and chewed, mouth closed, as though she was proving something. As though Jessie would now see why she’d quit eating them.
Jessie didn’t look up. “Sounds fine to me.”
Vera picked up another chip and popped it into her mouth, this time chewing with her lips slightly parted. Jessie fingered through the top of the bowl until she reached the biggest chip. She popped it into her mouth and started to chew, but decided to add one more. Then she chomped. “Your play,” she said, a couple of crumbs falling out of the right side of her mouth before she swiped at them with her knuckle.
Vera stuffed two chips into her mouth and chomped. Crunchcrunchcrunch. “These are the best potato chips!” She’d chewed, swallowed and had gone for two more before she made her play.
“Euchre anyone?” Herm asked through a yawn as he walked through the doorway and noticed them playing cards. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the possibility.
Although it flicked through Jessie’s head to say NO!, we—the WOMEN—are playing cards here, suddenly the idea of her and Vera against Herm and Arthur held quite an appeal. She folded her fan and without asking snatched Vera’s cards out of her hand. She flipped through the entire deck one card at a time, removing everything but nines through aces. Then she started to shuffle. “Go get your cousin!” she demanded. “Girls against guys.” And isn’t THAT the truth? “Game on!”
“Arthur!” Herm yelled as he pulled out one of the chairs between them and seated himself. “Arthur! Get in here. Euchre!”
“Herm,” Vera said in a sterner voice than she usually used with him. She lowered her volume and softened her tone. “No need to yell.”
“You tried talkin’ to him lately? I believe ol’ Art is in need of a hearing aid.”
“You tell him that?” Jessie wanted to know.
“You tell him?” he fired back.
“About a million times.”
“What does he say?”
“He either doesn’t hear me or he just grumbles. Has a million excuses, like ‘I wasn’t listenin’ ’ or ‘you mumble,’ or my personal favorite, ‘Yur not sayin’ nothin’ I wanna hear anyway.’” She was shuffling the cards so fast it was a wonder they weren’t smoking.
“You call?” Arthur asked as he sidled up to the table scratching his right armpit.
“Sit down,” Jessie commanded. “Euchre. Vera and me against you and Herm.”
“Where’d we get the tater chips?” Arthur asked. He hadn’t seen any of those around for a good long while. He always preferred the popcorn Jessie made. Cheaper and fresher. Said he always suspected there weren’t any real potatoes in those bags of potato chips anyway—which is, of course, why she’d purchased them before her return.
“From me,” Jessie responded as she winged them each their cards, dealing in multiples of two, then three, then two . . . her fingers flying, dispensing them like she was a professional dealer, or a robot, or one who could, if she got a mind to, zing a card three feet off the table and decapitate someone like she’d seen in one of those kung fu movies on TV.
“Hmm” was all Arthur said in response, figuring getting chips was what she must have been up to with those rooster tails of dust. Maybe. But he doubted it; she was gone far too long for that.
As the rest of them studied and fanned their cards, Jessie got up and topped off the bowl of chips, scooted it right next to Vera’s elbow, then poured a second bowl full, setting this one down between her and Herm. She sat down, fanned her cards, repositioned a couple, then grabbed two chips and stuck them in her mouth, crunching down on them with unnecessary energy. She chewed and smacked. Smacked and chewed. Herm just stared at his cards. Jessie noticed Vera hadn’t touched the chips since Herm had come to the table. Jessie continued to cram one chip after another into her mouth until she finally caught Vera’s eye. Jessie opened wide her mouth and stuck a chip in, flaring her eyelids wide open and nodding her head, trying to force Vera to do the same with her chips. Which she didn’t.
When Jessie finally wiped her hands on her pants and turned the top pile card over, it was a three of hearts. “What do ya say we call clubs trump,” Arthur said to Herm rather than asked. “Let’s whip ’em good right outta the shoot.”
Jessie held back a groan, having not a single club in her hand, in fact, nothing over a ten aside from one queen of an off suit, then picked up her bowl of chips and held it across the table in front of Vera. “Here. Have a chip, Vera.” Just to be polite, which Vera always was, she took one, gave a glance to Herm, then reluctantly set it down on her napkin next to the bowl near her elbow. Jessie snorted through her nose loud and strong enough to blow out a candle, had one been burning.
Arthur led with an ace of hearts, feeling very clever since he was left holding both the right and left bower, the two highest cards impossible to beat, and the ace and king of clubs. If there’d been a television commentator giving the call, he would have said, “It’s only possible for him to lose one hand, and that’s if someone has to trump his ace. The rest are his.” Which, cutting to the chase, would mean the men would get the first point. Of course, only Arthur knew what he held at this juncture, but Jessie knew Arthur well enough to know what his grinning mug meant. He and Herm were going to take this hand, no doubt about it. And that’s just what they did in very short order. They highfived and acted like goons, repeating this childish performance the next four hands in a row. Although the cards were with the men this evening, Jessie thought, the adults lived in the female bodies.
With determination, Vera, who had been lusting for more potato chips all along and who had suddenly had it with Herm and Arthur’s smugness, picked up two chips and crammed them into her mouth. CRUNCH! Chomp-chomp. More chips. Chomp-chomp-chomp. Jessie did the same. Within a few minutes, both bowls were nearly empty. But still, the boys won. And they war-hooped now along with their high-fiving, acting plumb nuts, if Vera didn’t say so herself, which she did when the guys won the whole enchilada.
But in the end, Jessie felt victorious, even if it wasn’t for herself. “Vera,” she said, “some things matter more than who wins or loses a lousy game of cards.” She put the rest of the chips in a Zip-loc bag, retrieved the other bag of chips she’d purchased and packed them both in a grocery bag, which she handed to Vera with a triumphant smile. Although Jessie wondered if Vera would have the strength to crunch on her own once she and Herm went home, it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was that at least for a moment, she had set another captive free from an overbearing Landers man.
14
“That was a right nice picture show, don’t you think?” Edward Showalter asked his Saturday matinee date as they left the theater, the theater at which he’d used the dollar-off matinee coupon he’d won from Johnny. He held the theater door open for Nellie Ruth but not with an ounce of suave. He couldn’t remember whether you walk in front of a woman to pass through first so you can hold the door open from the outside, or just try to jostle from behind her to push it open, her leading the way—which is the route he decided to take but which was awkward at best and left her having to push it open the rest of the way, wide enough for her to actually pass through since his arm wasn’t seven feet long. He felt like a klutz (“nerves will do that to you,” Johnny later told him) and wondered how on earth they’d finagled their way into The Piece the other day without this difficulty. He managed to get the van door open and she scooted right into the front seat. “Buckle up!” he said. “Wouldn’t want a lovely lady to take any chances!” My lovely lady, he wanted to say but didn’t, the endearment feeling way too presumptuous.
New relationships, he thought, were complicated.
Although his faith and ongoing sobriety boosted his self-esteem, the constant knowledge of how quickly and how low
one can fall held its own doubled-edged sword of insecurities when it came to a relationship with someone who didn’t know firsthand the evils of addiction. Edward Showalter cringed each time he recalled some of his lowest moments involving booze and fast women. Cringed. Nellie Ruth was such a lady, a lady worthy of his best attempts at suave, no matter how bumbling they may be, so on he would charge.
He eagerly jogged around the front of the van and slid in behind the wheel to sit beside her. Twice during the movie their fingers had touched while reaching into the shared “Large Popcorn, Comes With Two Drinks” special, neither entirely sure their touch had been an accident. One or the other, and usually both, would extract their fingers like they’d been snake-bit, whispering, “Go ahead.” “Sorry!” “No, you go ahead.” But they both still remembered the tingly feeling brought on by the slightest of touches as they rode side by side in the camouflage-painted van.
Edward Showalter had spent the entire morning cleaning his van after feeling quite embarrassed about it during their last date. He’d seen Nellie Ruth cast an eye over her shoulder the first time she got in and he wondered why on earth he’d never noticed the mess before. He’d since tossed out two empty McDonald’s bags, extracted numerous rags into a pile to be washed, gathered a pair of beyond-stained painters’ pants he kept for quick-changes on extra-dirty jobs (couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed them), discovered three empty Cheetos bags, four empty Coke cans and . . . He’d have to start eating better if he was to get in tip-top shape for Nellie Ruth, he decided. And while he was at it, he’d also have to try scrubbing some of those varnish stains from his fingers and get a new razor (old single-blade just wasn’t doing the job) and spit-polish his good shoes—all of which he’d managed to accomplish before picking her up for the movie. All the activity had not only spruced him up but helped him work off some of his nerves. He was doing everything he could to make himself appear worthy.
Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?! Page 14