The Flying Cutterbucks

by Kathleen M Rodgers

  Passengers over the years occasionally asked Trudy where she was from. When she responded, “Ever heard of Pardon, New Mexico?” their faces always lit up. But then they’d proclaim (as if they hadn’t heard the first part) how much they loved visiting Santa Fe, Taos, Albuquerque, Los Alamos, and Gallup, totally leaving out the east side. And Trudy would nod politely and say, “Yes, but where I’m from, there’s no mountains or red mesas. It’s just flat.”

  To Trudy, it seemed as if someone in every other car waved to Clay. When she mentioned it, he shrugged and said, “When you’re a cop, people either go out of their way to be nice to you or they get out of your way.”

  They both laughed, caught up in the moment. There was both the unknown and the all-too-familiar between them.

  Clay fiddled with the radio dial until he found a station that played seventies and eighties rock. Peter Frampton’s “Show Me the Way” came on and she sipped her Coke and slipped into the past while being in the present.

  Clay grooved to the music, tapping his fingers and swaying his head and shoulders while she patted her hands against her thighs, one beat off as usual.

  Aerosmith blasted out “Big Ten Inch” and she felt as if he could read her mind. How was it they could listen to such suggestive tunes years ago and only flirt on the edges of sex? For they’d never gone all the way. But now in their late fifties with years of experience and God knows how many partners between them...

  But wait...she was getting ahead of herself.

  “Clay, I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

  He smiled. “I know, lady-girl, me, too.”

  Lady-girl!

  She paused and glanced at his profile. The decades had been good to him. “Why did you call me that?”

  He took a deep breath and looked straight ahead, keeping both hands on the steering wheel. “Because when I look at you, I see the teenage girl I fell in love with and the woman you are now.”

  She swallowed and played with her straw and glanced out the passenger window. After a moment she said, “Clay, I don’t want to rush into anything, okay? Can we just take this slow?”

  He glanced sideways at her and winked. “Yes, ma’am. For now, let’s enjoy the ride.”

  She reached across the console and patted his thigh. “Thanks, Clay. I knew you would understand.”

  He laughed and flashed his boyish grin. “You better remove your hand, Miss Gertrude. Despite my old-timer appearance, I’m still a teenage boy at heart.”

  Two hours later, they headed back toward Jewel’s place. The western sun blazed hot pink and psychedelic orange as it sank on the horizon. Leaning forward in her seat, she gazed out the windshield.

  “There’s nothing like a New Mexico sunset out here on the high plains. No skyscrapers or mountains or trees to encumber the view.”

  Clay didn’t say anything as he pulled the Tahoe into the long driveway and parked, letting the engine idle. He turned the volume down on the radio just enough where music played softly in the background.

  She went to shrug out of his jacket when she felt his hand brush against the side of her face. “Trudy?”

  She turned, their eyes meeting. “Yeah?” Her heart thudded wildly and something deep and electrifying stirred within her.

  “It’s been a great afternoon.” He started to say something else but stopped.

  Gulping, she reached up and pressed his hand against her cheek. “I have to go back to Texas in a couple of weeks. There’s some things I need to do.”

  He removed his hand, but not before nudging her nose with his thumb. “Last time you told me you were going to Texas, I didn’t see you for forty years.”

  She reached for the handle to let herself out. “I won’t be gone long. I promise.”

  He pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card. “Give me a call when you get back in town. I’m trying to wrap up a case anyway so I’ll be pretty busy the next couple of weeks.”

  After running her finger over his name, she tucked the card in her palm. “Don’t forget, my treat next time.”

  He chuckled softly. “I’ll take a ride in your fancy Camaro.”

  After she closed the door and waved, she watched him back down the driveway. Right before he headed east into town, the passenger window slid down and Clay called out, “Hey Trud, guess what just came on the radio?”

  Hugging herself in the late afternoon air, she moved toward him as if pulled by an invisible force. Clay had the volume cranked up high.

  Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” blasted from the speakers of the Tahoe.

  Before he took off, he hollered through the open window, “Fly back to me, lady-girl.”

  Lady-girl. She could get used to that.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Blue Door

  THE NEXT morning, Trudy stood at the end of the driveway and breathed in the cool dry air of autumn on the high plains. A scent she associated with hayrides, fall festivals, and pumpkins ripening on the vine. For now, there was no hint of the stockyards south of town or the dairy farms that dotted the land around Pardon, but if the breeze shifted, the sweet smell could turn foul in an instant. For once, the whistle of an approaching freight train sounded more like a welcome than a warning.

  With the morning paper clutched under her arm, she belted her robe against the chill and ambled toward the house. Momma’s blue front door caught her attention behind the solid glass storm door. This was Jewel’s attempt for her “casa” to resemble the blue doors seen on dwellings in other regions of New Mexico. Legend says blue paint on doors and windowsills is meant to ward off evil spirits. Too bad the carport door leading into the kitchen wasn’t painted blue back in 1974.

  Fingering a broken wind chime dangling from a small tree where a giant sycamore once reigned over the place, Trudy thought about Clay and her shock at seeing him on her mother’s porch. Last night as she prepared for bed, she thought of him again when she slipped into her satiny pajamas and how his name reminded her of the earth itself and his eyes mirrored the sky. In the middle of the night, she rolled over and hugged the pillow next to her and wondered what it would be like to reach over and touch him, to whisper his name in the dark and hear him whisper back.

  She moved toward the long covered porch supported by thick pine posts with corbels and beams. The house she’d once dismissed as primitive after she first moved to Dallas and left behind her New Mexico ways. This morning the house’s simple lines and earth tones called to her, forgiving her youthful snub. A creaking noise caught her attention, and she followed the source to the black wrought-iron sign that swung from the eaves. A sign made as a joke shortly after her parents’ wedding announcement ran in the Pardon Gazette with their last name misspelled. A sign her momma refused to part with and proved a source of embarrassment to Trudy when she was younger.

  Welcome to the CLUTTERBUCKS, it said.

  Looking around the property, it seemed to Trudy that her mother had spent the last forty-some years trying to live up to a typo in the newspaper.

  Pulling open the front door, Trudy recalled a time when the house bulged with the busy lives of a young family instead of relics from the past. She shuffled inside, pushing against that claustrophobic sensation whenever she first walked into Momma’s house. Once inside, she didn’t notice it as much. A body had a way of adjusting and adapting, and Trudy tried to go with the flow. But she was also prepared to do battle with her mother when it came time to start pitching stuff.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the house. Jewel stood at the avocado-green stove scrambling eggs in an old cast-iron skillet. Trudy froze. “It’s just a tool to cook with,” Aunt Star had chirped that night years ago in an odd voice that sounded too upbeat for the occasion.

  Jewel motioned for Trudy to set out plates. “I thought we’d have something besides granola and fruit. I already poured you a glass of orange juice. Why don’t you pop some English muffins into the toaster?” She pushed back a loose strand of silver hair that
had slipped out of one of Aunt Star’s knit caps. “They’re whole grain. I know how you like to eat healthy.”

  Trudy kept her voice even. “Momma, is that the same castiron skillet you had when we were kids?”

  “Yep, old faithful. It didn’t take me long to season it either. My nonstick finally bit the dust.”

  Trudy reached into the cupboard and pulled out two Fiesta Rose dinner plates from Grandma Lily’s pottery collection and set them on the counter. She tried to conceal the disgust she felt at seeing the skillet after all these years. They should’ve gotten rid of it a long time ago. “That thing’s ancient. Why don’t you let me buy you a nonstick frying pan?” She opened the breadbox and found two English muffins. She checked for mold and plopped them into the toaster.

  Natural light spilled into the kitchen from the narrow archway on the east wall that led into the sunroom, the spacious addition her father had built with help from a fellow pilot right after they moved in. While Trudy waited on the muffins, she admired the Mexican tile countertop. Why had she ever thought the vibrant colors and mosaic patterns of the Talavera tiles were too busy? A couple of tiles were chipped and scratched in places, but overall they’d held up. A bit of elbow grease and grout cleaner and Trudy could have them restored in no time. A few years ago she’d tried to talk her mother into ripping them out and getting granite. In a rather shrill tone that put Trudy in her place, Jewel had fired away, “Your daddy special ordered these from Mexico and installed them himself. You rip ’em out, you might as well rip my heart out while you’re at it.”

  Jewel grabbed a potholder and slid the black skillet off the heat. “I’ll give you some money. You might check Dollar General.”

  Trudy went to the fridge to get margarine. “How ’bout we go tomorrow? We can stop by Lupi’s for breakfast and then check the new kitchen store across from State Theater? I spotted it when Clay and I were dragging Main.”

  Reaching for a spatula, Jewel spooned scrambled eggs onto each plate and waited for Trudy to butter the muffins. “Sounds like a plan. How is that handsome devil? I swear, that boy gets finer every year.”

  Trudy set the plates on the table and pulled out a chair for Jewel. “That boy is my age, Momma.”

  Before Trudy had gone outside to get the paper moments earlier, she’d weaved her way through the darkened sunroom and rolled up every shade on every window that had been shutting out light for years. Then she’d cleared off the kitchen table so people could sit there to eat. Her mother had resorted to eating off TV trays.

  Jewel untied her apron and hung it over the back of the pantry door and took her seat. “Wait till you get to be my age. Y’all are youngsters.” She eyed Trudy over her black spectacles.

  “Now, tell me all about your date.”

  Trudy ignored her and went to pour their coffee. “I’m going back to Texas in a couple of weeks. I left town without taking care of some stuff.”

  Her momma looked stricken. “What stuff? You just got here.”

  “Early voting opens on the twenty-fourth. I wanna get it out of the way, and…” Something caught in her throat. “I need to check on Sarah Jewel’s grave. I left town without stopping by there.”

  Jewel’s expression softened. She took a bite of food and chewed thoughtfully. “You could bring her here. There might be a spot next to your brother.”

  Trudy tore off a section of English muffin and popped it in her mouth. A painful knot lodged in her throat when she tried to swallow.

  Jewel looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry, honey. Maybe that was a bad idea on my part.”

  Trudy reached over and patted her mother on the arm, alarmed at how frail her forearms appeared. “It’s okay, Momma. It’s not like she ever lived.”

  For a moment, the only sound in the room was their cutlery scraping against their plates.

  Always the lady, Jewel picked up a paper napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “So…tell me about Clay.”

  Trudy dangled her fork in the air before taking a stab at the eggs. “He’s still with the PD, and he volunteers his time with atrisk youth.”

  Jewel picked up her mug. “I hear he went through a painful divorce. Never remarried to my knowledge.”

  Sounds like me, Trudy thought. “Do you know how long he’s been divorced?”

  Between sips of coffee, Jewel said with a lighthearted sigh, “Oh, it’s been a few years I guess.”

  Trudy leaned back in her chair. “Momma, all you have to do is pick up the phone and the gossips in town will give you the scoop.”

  Jewel raised an eyebrow. “Then the next thing I know they’ll be talking about me. That’s one of the reasons I like living on the outskirts.”

  Trudy pushed her plate aside. “Georgia and I’ve been talking. Maybe it’s time you start thinking about selling this place…you know, after we get it all cleaned up…and move into town.”

  Jewel rose from the table and started clearing the dishes. “What, so you girls can pack me off to the nursing home? No way, José! I’m not giving up my independence or this house. Besides,” she paused at the kitchen sink and stared out the window that faced south in the direction of the old airfield.

  Trudy came up behind her and placed a hand on her bony shoulder. “Momma, no one said anything about a nursing home. Georgia and I were thinking more like a nice retirement community where they have all kinds of activities. But I get it. I think a part of you is still holding out that Daddy will come swooping in over the house and wag his wings before landing.”

  A funny sound erupted from Jewel’s throat. “Well, someone needs to keep the home fires burning until I know for a fact Shep is dead.”

  Over the years, Trudy had tried to imagine him being held against his will in a country where the war had been over for decades. If he had lived, he’d be an old man now, whittled down to nothing but skin and bones in a pair of prisoner pajamas. But the truth was, he probably died when his jet got shot down. And so he remained forever young in her mind.

  Jewel turned to Trudy. “Call me loco, honey, but I thought I heard your daddy’s voice last night.”

  I’ve been hearing his voice for years, Trudy wanted to tell her. Does that make me loco, too? Or does it mean I can’t let him go?

  Jewel gestured with her chin toward the archway on the east wall. “It sounded like it came from in there…from the room Shep built.”

  All the hairs on Trudy’s neck and arms stood on end. The shaft of sunlight beaming in from the sunroom caused the gold in the Talavera tile to glow. “What did he say?”

  “Bogey. I heard him calling for Bogey,” Jewel’s voice trembled.

  CHAPTER 9

  Skillet Shopping

  “HAVE YOU girls seen this morning’s paper?” Lupi placed two tall glasses of orange juice in front of Trudy and Jewel and then handed them menus.

  “What now?” Jewel picked up her juice and took a sip. “If it’s about the Russians…”

  Trudy yawned and savored her first cup of coffee. “Who knows what’s real and what’s fake news these days?” Instead of scooting into one of four padded booths in the small diner, they opted once again to sit at the counter. For customers who knew Lupi, part of the fun was chatting with her while she prepared their meals and dished out local gossip.

  Lupi ducked behind the counter and pulled out the Pardon Gazette dated Wednesday, October 12, 2016. “No, I’m talking about local news.” She thumbed through the paper and flattened it against the countertop and pointed to a black and white photograph. “A groundskeeper stumbled across this yesterday at the cemetery.” Lupi tapped her finger on the newsprint. “The caption doesn’t say much, except that the cemetery removed the offensive word, whatever it was. It must be bad if the paper didn’t show the full photograph.”

  The ex-mayor sat in his usual spot at the far end of the counter. For a few seconds, the only sound in the small diner was the clink of his coffee cup as he placed it in his saucer and cleared his throat. “I saw that earlier. P
robably kids. At least they didn’t knock over any gravestones this time. That happened on my watch a few years back. Perps were never caught.”

  Trudy’s stomach flip-flopped at the sight of the photo. She and Jewel had left the house earlier without reading the paper. She hoped her eyes weren’t bulging from their sockets as she stared at the image and tried to hide her reaction. At least most of the headstone and word had been cropped out of the photo. The only legible letter was a giant R.

  Jewel put on her reading glasses and leaned closer to scan the page. “What an awful prank.”

  “Yeah, and it’s not even Halloween yet,” Lupi said, picking up the coffeepot to go refill Mayor Trujillo’s cup. Propping her left hand on her slim hip, she poured his coffee.

  “That was my thought as well,” Mayor Trujillo smiled up at Lupi and tipped his head in thanks for the refill.

  Jewel looked up from the paper. She was about to say something but then stopped, as if she’d changed her mind. She folded the paper and pushed it off to the side. Trudy refocused on the menu as if breakfast took precedence over anything in the news.

  Lupi sashayed back toward Trudy and Jewel. “You girls ready to order?”

  Gulping a swig of orange juice, Trudy held it in her mouth a moment as if she’d forgotten how to swallow. “Uh, I’d like your Spanish omelet. But go easy on the ham. Can I have whole wheat toast with that?”