Edward Showalter backed away just enough to see Nellie Ruth’s eyes opening. They stared at each other for a moment, hearts beating. “Thank you,” she whispered, drawing herself back and once again cradling the kitten close up under her beet-red face.
“For the kittens?”
“No, silly. They’re your kittens. I mean for the kiss.” Her neck was so red it looked to be on fire. The blush continued to grow, then tears filled her eyes. She could hardly believe the words came out of her mouth and yet she could do nothing but say them, so grateful was she to, for the first time in her life, have been properly, tenderly and sweetly kissed.
“I assure you, it was my pleasure, Nellie Ruth,” he said, his eyes twinkling. Although he certainly wanted to kiss her again, he knew better. This was enough for today. Oh, aside from telling her about the kittens. “And by the way, Nellie Ruth, you can thank me for the kittens, too, since they are yours. That is, if you want them.” Her eyebrows flew up.
“But Bernice might . . .”
“I’ve already talked to Bernice. She said the way you took to her cats, she’d always wondered why you hadn’t gotten some of your own.”
“But I don’t have any food or litter for them.”
“Kornflake is standing guard over them in my camy-van.” She smiled. “Got you everything you need. But Nellie Ruth, if you really don’t want these kittens, or you decide after a day or two they are just not for you, please let me know and they’ll be gone in a jiffy. I realize this gift was a little bold on my part.”
“Don’t you dare think about taking them away from me, ES, especially not now that we’ve . . . well, sealed the deal with a kiss,” she said with a shy smile.
Jacob looked at his desk clock. 9:20 P.M. Most of the people in his high-rise office building were long gone for the night, save the custodians and a couple other workaholic diehards like himself who often burned the late-night oil. He was exhausted but determined to finish the task at hand before heading out. Yes, he could have worked at home, but he felt jittery or something, unsettled. Like he was forgetting something important and had to wait here until he remembered it. That niggling feeling that made him nuts, and it seemed to nag at him constantly since his return from Partonville.
He looked at the blinking cursor on his laptop, something else he’d have to cram in his briefcase when he packed up for the night. He noticed he’d stopped typing mid-sentence, having been distracted by . . . what? The memory of his mother licking that frosting off her little finger. Yes, she was sadly slowing down, he thought, but she was still as feisty as ever. He recalled Helen’s tears when she handed over Rick’s office keys. He pictured Caroline’s glass bird ornament nestled near the top of his mom’s tree, and laughed picturing his mother hammering a three-penny nail through a bedpan in the middle of the night. He wished he had a piece of May Belle’s custard pie and somebody to share it with. His only consolation was that he’d be going back again in less than a week if all went well on Friday. Funny how a week and a half near family reminded him there was more to life than work and made him long for his roots, his hometown, what suddenly felt to be his own lost soul.
No wonder I work so late every night.
The alert on his computer let him know he’d just received an e-mail, so he clicked to his inbox. Something from Joshmeister, which made him smile. What a great kid, he thought. The subject line said “Wheels report.” All the e-mail said, however, was “None yet. Just thought your inquiring mind would want to know. Test tomorrow so that’s it for now. JM.” JM? Must be for Joshmeister. He must really have to study. Jacob wondered if Josh had even looked at any other cars yet, if he was still giving it a full-court press with his mom, and how Katie’s project was coming along. Maybe he should call her and find out. As he reached for his phone, his e-mail alert came on again. His partner took her work home and knew he’d still be sitting at his desk. She had one quick question about Friday’s case.
Back to work.
Josh got off the bus on Friday and started his long walk up the drive. What a pathetic week, he thought. His mom told him to stop whining about a car or guaranteed him he wouldn’t get one. Alex had sent an e-mail every day asking about it, which only fueled Josh’s frustration. Even Dorothy said it was always good to know when to leave well enough alone and trust the process. Whatever. She’s the one who’d gotten Arthur Landers involved, and that had slammed the brakes to the whole process. He adored Dorothy, but this time she’d stepped into his life a little too far.
By the time he got to the end of the lane he noticed a Ford pickup truck parked next to the SUV, and wondered who was visiting. He’d seen that truck before. . . . Oh, Challie Carter, the guy who leases some of our land. I suppose Mom’s trying to finagle him out of more per acre, now that she’s all about her projects. A couple kids at school had chided him this week about Partonville becoming Durbinville. It was the first time he was glad he didn’t share his mother’s last name. Joshua Matthew Kinney suited him just fine.
He started to open the door to the back porch but decided to go to the barn first to shoot a couple hoops and stare out at the open fields. He didn’t feel like chatting with Challie, and he felt even less like talking to his mom. He’d met Challie at Rick’s funeral dinner, and a couple times before when he’d stopped by to give his mom a check. Nice enough, just not as interesting a guy as say, his Uncle Delbert, who could at least preach a whale of a sermon, as Dorothy said, or Jacob, who could do almost everything. Yup, he’d hang out in the barn till the old guy was gone.
But after an hour’s stalling the truck was still there and Josh was cold and starving. Might as well just go on in, say his hello, grab a snack and head to his room, he decided. He entered the back porch and cruised up the stairs into the kitchen, surprised not to find his mom and Challie sitting at the kitchen table, which is where most visitors plunked themselves. He poked his head into the living room but nobody was there either. Odd. Maybe his mom and Challie had walked out toward the fields? But he’d have seen them from that upper barn door. Then he heard footsteps upstairs.
“Mom?” he yelled up the stairway.
“Josh! You startled me! Where have you been?” she said from the top of the stairway. “Why didn’t you call and tell me you were going to be late?”
“I’ve been home for an hour. I was just out in the barn,” he said as she huffed past him toward the kitchen, clearly upset with him. But then what was new? “Where’s Mr. Carter?”
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yeah. That’s his truck out back, isn’t it?”
They were now in the kitchen, Josh having followed behind her. She stopped near the refrigerator, whirled and leaned back against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “Not exactly,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Who’s truck is it then?”
“It was his truck,” she said.
“Mom, speak English here. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“This isn’t the happy moment I was hoping we’d share after a week of cranking around.” She looked oddly disappointed about something.
“What happy moment?”
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtains until her SUV and the truck were in view. “Come here and look at this,” she said. Josh sidled up behind her and looked over her shoulder. She turned to face him, shocked to realize he’d grown another inch or so. How does that happen? she wondered, but she snapped her mind back to the business at hand.
“What am I looking at here, Mom?”
“The truck.”
“I see it.”
“Merry Christmas, Josh.”
It took a few seconds to sink in. “You’re not telling me that old truck is my new wheels, are you?” He sounded disgusted rather than grateful.
She rested her palm on his chest and gently pushed him back out of her way so she could get past him to sit down at the table and collect herself before she spewed a lecture on gratitude. She
laced her fingers in front of her on the table and stared at him. Yes, he had grown. It was even more obvious as he stood next to the refrigerator. She’d been told by many in Partonville what a handsome son she had, what a “nice boy” he was. She stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. He was nearly the spitting image of his father, who, when she’d called him to ask what he thought about a car for Josh, wondered what had taken her so long. “Of course the boy needs transportation, Kate.” She hated when he called her that. “You’ve moved him out into the middle of nowhere.” She shook her head, erasing Bruce’s voice from her mind. This child . . . this growing man standing before her, was not his father. He was his own person, struggling to find his way—just like his mother. Patience, Katie, patience.
“I am telling you that truck is your new transportation, Joshua. Arthur phoned me yesterday and said he’d heard Challie was going to sell his truck. Arthur’s personally worked on that truck, Josh. It only has about thirty-two thousand miles on it, and to be honest, Josh, I do think that truck has an element of the ‘cool factor’ you’re looking for.” Josh rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not a racing car with leather seats, but Arthur said it has an engine big enough to get you in trouble.” She stopped here, hoping this would elicit a smile from Josh, which it did not. “It’s only eight years old, and it’s big enough to seat two passengers in the front with you. And there’s a bed liner and. . . .”
“Mom. It’s a pickup truck,” Josh said as though that was that.
Katie pursed her lips. This was not going the way she’d pictured it. “Yes, but it is your pickup truck, Joshua Matthew Kinney, which you have done nothing to deserve, and I am now beginning to think it was a huge mistake.” She stood up from the table and turned her back on him. “Perhaps I should have made you get a job and save your own money to buy a car,” she said, turning back to face him.
They stood staring at one another, her words filling the space between them. It would probably take Josh years to save up enough for a semi-cool car, let alone a cool one.
“So,” he said reluctantly, “you’ve already paid for it. This isn’t just a check-it-out scenario, right?”
“Yes. I have already paid for it.” She retrieved her handbag and rifled through it until she found the keys. She’d made a special trip to Hethrow to find Josh a unique key-chain, something to present him with for her fun surprise. Right. She tossed the set of keys onto the table. “If you don’t want the truck, Josh, I’ll just go ahead and use it for the mini mall. It’ll be perfect for hauling whatever around, since I’m sure I’ll need to be doing some of that anyway.”
“So that’s why you bought me a truck instead of a car? So you can use it for your precious mini mall?”
To be honest, it was a half-truth. When Arthur first called about the truck, Katie said she didn’t think Josh would be interested in a pickup. But the more Arthur carried on about it, the more she began to reconsider. Arthur assured her it was safe, Josh could use it for transportation, and she and Edward Showalter could use it should they need to haul more than his van could hold. “I bought it for you, Josh. True, it might serve an occasional double duty, but I was not shopping for me, I bought it for you. As your parent, my first priority is to make sure it could safely and reliably get you from here to there.
“Here’s the deal, Josh. You can either take it or leave it. You can either take what I bought for you or find a job and start saving up.”
Josh’s eyes flashed to the keys on the table. They splayed out so he could see the fob, a miniature Illinois license plate. He leaned in ever so slightly to see what it said. JOSHMEISTER. He looked up at his mom, who appeared both angry and wounded. She’d gone to an engraver! A surge of guilt ran through him. He hated when that happened, so he tried to swallow it down—at least for the most part. He picked up the keys and couldn’t help but give his mom a halfhearted grin. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I accept. And thanks, Mom,” he added, giving her a quick hug. He shuffled his feet, looked at the keys, then out the window. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Katie audibly exhaled. Parenting was hard, hard, hard. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve got some work to do, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now. How about you just run me up and down the road where nobody in town can see you schlepping your mom around, then you can drop me off and go take Shelby for a spin. After all, it’s Friday night, date night.” She smiled a genuine smile, a surprise tear actually pooling in the corner of her eye. “But don’t think for a moment we’re not going to be talking about gas and insurance money tomorrow,” she said, making it clear that with the truck came responsibility.
Her baby was growing up, and so, she hoped, was she.
23
The Piece was jam-packed. Edward Showalter had invited Nellie Ruth to “The Great Unveiling of the NYC Dish,” as it had come to be known around these parts, so they could officially celebrate her beautiful Splendid Rose living room, which, between bouts of corralling, sequestering and playing with Morning and Midnight, he’d finished painting just in time to get home, clean up and zing back around to pick her up. He promised Nellie Ruth he’d bring her by his house on their way home so she could meet Kornflake, Morning and Midnight’s cousin. “And by golly, you surely did give those kittens the perfect names!” he’d told her.
Mary Mathis had seated herself at Edward Showalter and Nellie Ruth’s table, anxious to get to know the “Vision Herself” as Johnny kept referring to Nellie Ruth. Thus far, Mary hadn’t managed to learn much about Nellie Ruth since all she could talk about was Morning and Midnight and the “sunbeam of a man” who had given them to her. Josh’s new truck—which he’d decided was “way cooler” than he’d first thought—was parked out front. He and Shelby shared a corner booth, both taking note that Deb Arnold had just arrived with her new flame Kirk Webster from the debate team. Even Jessica, Paul and Sarah Sue had made the journey, as well as Pastor Delbert’s family, all of whom were looking for Challie Carter when they walked in since they’d seen his truck outside. Josh had learned from his first trip out with his new wheels that this was going to happen about a gabillion times before the minds of the townspeople grasped that Challie’s old truck had become Josh’s. He and his Uncle Delbert had a good laugh speculating how long it would take people to recognize Challie’s new truck lest they start wondering whatever happened to him.
All in all, the restaurant was buzzing with excitement, filled with local-locals, as they were referred to, from Partonville and Yorkville. Yes, it was a packed house. Johnny told ES to spread the word that he would serve the now infamous New York City Dish free as a side dish to anyone who was in the place at 12:30 eating at least one paid-for lunch per table. A week ago he’d also posted notice of the same on his front door and added one-sheet flyers in the menus. He was no dummy: word of free food had spread like wildfire and he hadn’t even had to buy an ad in the Partonville Press. And now at long last the moment had arrived. He’d asked ES to pay attention to his wristwatch and at the crack of 12:30 to stand and make a “booming announcement” that the New York City Dish was about to be unveiled. In his best and deepest voice and at precisely 12:30, Edward Showalter stood and let it be known that all eyes should turn toward the kitchen. Johnny was standing behind the door, a giant tray loaded with the NYC Dish samplers balanced on his right hand, wrist cocked back shoulder high, just waiting for the cue. He was positively beaming, he was so proud of his Diversity Stew that boldly encapsulated the entire “ethnic flavor” of New York City.
As soon as his best buddy ES sat down, Johnny kicked the swinging door open to clear his way. He was so excited that he’d given the kick-open a bit more gusto than he intended, and the door flew back so fast that before he could stretch his left arm out far enough to stop it, the door crashed into the edge of the tray, sending it first toppling (eliciting a collective gasp), then crashing to the floor behind his back, pieces of kosher sausage, smears of fried onions, green and banana and jalapeño pepper
s, sauerkraut, pasta and black-eyed peas spewing this way and that. Mouth agape, Johnny stood frozen in the middle of the mess staring at what was around and on him, his wife now standing just outside the circle of food on the floor afraid she’d slip and fall if she moved a step closer to help. Thankfully he’d used Styrofoam cups to pass out the samplers, the amount of people who showed up far outnumbering his bowls.
Nobody knew what to do or say, they felt so aghast and sorry for him. The place was bone silent. Suddenly Father O’Sullivan, priest at Partonville’s St. Augustine church, stood up and in his wonderful, grace-filled jovial way said, “Johnny Mathis! I baptize you not only in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, but with the sauerkraut, the sausage and the . . . ,” his eyes searched through the mess, “green peppers and in the name of the entire of New York City. Believe you me, we shall never, ever, forget the grand unveiling of your New York City Dish. AMEN!”
Edward Showalter stood and started clapping. One by one, everyone followed suit until the place became a cacophony of merriment, despite the fact that the New York City Dish of Diversity Stew was, for now, still to remain a mystery to their palates.
Right after Edward Showalter closed Nellie Ruth’s door, and after he apologized for the dog hair on her seat, his new cell phone rang. (He made a mental note to put a blanket on that front seat when Kornflake was riding shotgun.) Nobody but Nellie Ruth and Katie Durbin had his number, so he knew who it had to be before he even looked at the caller I.D. “Excuse me, Nellie Ruth,” he said as he un-clipped the phone from his belt. “My new boss is calling.”
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 20