The Flying Cutterbucks

by Kathleen M Rodgers

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lupi smiled, taking the menu from Trudy. “I can switch the ham for Canadian bacon if you’d like. Less fat.”

  “Perfect.” Trudy gave a thumbs-up and took another swallow of orange juice.

  Lupi turned to Jewel. “How ’bout you, Miss Pardon, New Mexico? What’ll you have?”

  Jewel removed her spectacles. “I’ll have the same thing Trudy’s having, except go heavy on the ham. At my age, I think I can afford to go whole hog.” She handed Lupi the menu and spread a napkin on her lap. “Not that I’m bragging, but I was also crowned Miss Eastern New Mexico before I left to attend Texas Tech.”

  “Brag away, Miss Jewel. Seriously, next time you come in, bring one of your old beauty pageant photos. I’ll hang it up here in the diner.”

  Jewel swiveled on her stool and whispered out the side of her mouth, “Trudy, help me remember to do that when we start going through the photos.”

  “Absolutely, Mom.” She patted her shoulder and picked up her coffee cup.

  Lupi stashed the menus in a slot next to the counter, removed the paper, turned and cracked eggs, then whisked them in a bowl. “You should’ve been here an hour ago. I was running around like Chicken Little.”

  Trudy set her cup down and propped her elbows on the counter, relieved at the change of subject. “I haven’t thought of that nursery rhyme in years. Sounds like you were busy.”

  Facing away from them, Lupi chatted over her shoulder while she prepared the food. “Benny saved the day though —” She flicked her head in the direction of the ex-mayor.

  So it’s Benny now. Trudy caught herself smiling.

  “A bunch of bikers pulled up, what, Benny, about a dozen?” Lupi glanced over her shoulder again. “They were gunning their engines like boys flexing their muscles. I thought the roof was going to cave in.”

  “Oh, I’d say it was more like a half dozen.” Benny Trujillo pushed his plate back and crossed his arms.

  Lupi flashed him a look. “Well, it felt like a dozen by the time they staggered in. But those dudes, they turned out to be so polite. Left me a hundred-dollar tip.”

  “Were they a biker gang?” Jewel asked, tapping her nails against her mug. “I see them sometimes riding two abreast. I always wonder where they’re headed.”

  Benny Trujillo rubbed the side of his face. “They were a bunch of veterans. Said they were headed to Angel Fire to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.”

  Jewel reached her hand toward Trudy and patted her leg. “We should go there sometime. I think your sister’s been there.”

  The ex-mayor rose and carried his plate and coffee cup around the counter and loaded them in the dishwasher. “Ring me up when you’re ready.” He walked back over to retrieve his hat and jacket.

  Lupi winked at Trudy and Jewel. “Benny would make a good busboy, don’t you ladies agree?”

  “Hey, I don’t know about that, but I have offered to keep your books,” he chuckled in a voice that went from tenor to soprano in an instant.

  Jewel turned to Trudy. “Mayor Trujillo is a retired accountant.”

  He gave a mock bow. “But I would come out of retirement if my services were needed,” he added with a mischievous grin aimed at Lupi.

  Good thing Trudy had sat her cup back down or she would’ve slurped coffee up her nose again.

  Lupi turned the heat up on a burner and set an omelet pan on top. “I’ll be right with you, Benny.”

  After Benny paid for his breakfast and left the diner, Lupi set their plates in front of them. “Okay, ladies, be honest. Do you think he’s too old for me?”

  Jewel picked up her fork. “As long as his noggin’s still working, what’s age got to do with it?”

  Lupi and Trudy peeled with laughter.

  “Miss Jewel, I’m hoping more than his noggin is still working.”

  The bell dinged and two middle-aged cowboys strolled in along with an older woman who looked like she’d worked on a ranch her whole life. “Be right with you, folks,” Lupi called. “Pick wherever you’d like to sit.”

  Both men removed their cowboy hats and hung them on a rack by the door. The taller of the two men ushered the woman to a booth near the back. “Watch your step, Mother,” Trudy heard him say.

  Trying not to appear conspicuous, Trudy peeked at them over her shoulder. The shorter cowboy with a receding hairline scooted into the booth across from the woman while the other man who was completely bald helped his mother into the booth. After he set her purse down, he scooted in next to the other cowboy and they held hands under the table.

  Pardon has come a long way, Trudy thought, realizing they weren’t brothers. It’s about time, too. In the old days, the men would have had to play along as if they were just friends.

  The woman looked tough as saddle leather. She clasped her hands on the table and pursed her lips. Trudy overheard her say, “So how you boys been gettin’ along?”

  An elbow jabbed in her side drew Trudy’s attention, and she twisted around to find her mother mouthing, “Quit gawking.”

  Picking up her fork, Trudy speared a chunk of omelet. “Sorry. I’m not used to seeing things out in the open in Pardon. It’s nice to see the town making progress.” Trudy took a bite of food and savored the flavors of cilantro, Canadian bacon, and onions.

  Later, after Lupi rang up their order, Trudy handed her a credit card.

  “Where you ladies off to?” Lupi asked, swiping the card and handing it back to Trudy.

  “Skillet shopping,” Jewel piped up. “Trudy doesn’t like my old cast-iron skillet.”

  “You can’t beat it for making cornbread,” Lupi added. “Heat a bit of oil in the bottom of the pan before you add the batter and bake it. Stop in for lunch sometime. I make the best corn bread this side of the Pecos River.”

  On their way out the door, Lupi called as she was going to wait on the two cowboys and the woman, “By the way, Miss Jewel, if you have a spare photo of Major Cutterbuck in uniform, I’d love to hang it on the wall. I’ve been wanting to come up with a way to honor our local heroes.”

  “Will do,” Jewel turned and waved.

  “Oh, and Trudy,” Lupi’s voice rang out again right before the door closed behind them, “you’ll have to tell me how it went with Clay.”

  At the new kitchen store across from State Theater, Jewel chatted up a clerk about skillet options. Trudy walked a few aisles over, lowered her voice, and called Georgia. When the call went straight to voicemail, she left a message: “You’re probably in class. When you get a chance, go online, and pull up today’s Pardon Gazette. There’s a photo I think you’ll find interesting. You’ll know it when you see it.”

  As Trudy approached the front of the store to pay for her mother’s new skillet, along with two new spatulas, she thought about the two women in the Lexus. Had they’d seen today’s newspaper and who were they?

  After Trudy and her mom left the kitchen store, they climbed back into the Camaro and ran a few more errands around town. Before they headed west on Seven Mile Road, Trudy kept her eyes open for a champagne-colored Lexus and an unmarked cop car, the kind a detective might drive. Her heart pumped faster at the thought of bumping into Clay unexpectedly. Several times she’d started to call his number, but she changed her mind. Why hadn’t he asked for her number instead of handing her his business card? Then again, all he had to do was pick up the phone and call her mom’s house phone. There was a time when he had her number memorized. They’d been apart for forty years. What was two weeks?

  Jewel twisted in her seat, her face crinkled in worry. “I hope no one ever vandalizes Bogey’s grave.”

  Glancing sideways, Trudy tried to reassure her mother. “They don’t stand a chance against those guards you’ve posted twenty-four hours a day.”

  Jewel covered her mouth with both hands. “Do you think I’m crazy for posting little toy soldiers on your brother’s grave?”

  Trudy swallowed, caught off guard by the unexpected lump in her throat. “N
ope, absolutely not. Some people might see them as inanimate objects, but I’d like to believe they have super powers.”

  Crossing her ankles, Jewel turned and looked out her window. “Me, too. Like that statue of Jesus missing a hand. To some, he’s just a figure made out of cement. But to others, he might stand for the real thing.”

  They drove in silence all the way home.

  As Trudy pulled the Camaro into the driveway and parked behind the minivan, Jewel twisted in her seat. “And another thing...”

  Trudy cut the engine and extracted the keys from the ignition. “Did we forget something in town?”

  Jewel’s voice scraped with irritation. “That woman at the cemetery…I didn’t get a good look at her. She was too far away. But she wasn’t spraying ant killer, was she?”

  Before Trudy could respond, her phone pinged with a text from Georgia: Pulled up newspaper. At least it didn’t identify grave. Told Aunt Star about photo and lady at cemetery. She hyperventilated. Said to drop it now! It’ll only stir up trouble.

  Staring at her phone screen, Trudy jumped when she heard her mother unbuckle her seatbelt and hoist her thin frame out of the car. “Hang on, Momma, let me help you.”

  Clutching her purse and the shopping bag, Jewel closed the door with her hip and shuffled on unsteady feet toward the side door. “Was that your sister? What are you two gossiping about?”

  Trudy caught up with her and gripped her by the elbow to steady her. “Georgia was checking in. Here, let’s get you inside and I’ll make us some tea.”

  Jewel’s hands shook as she tried to push Trudy away and insert the key. “I am not an invalid.” Gently, Trudy took the keys and unlocked the door.

  Once inside, Jewel gripped the edge of the countertop and eased herself into a kitchen chair. Her blue eyes blazed as she looked around the room then up at Trudy. “Maybe your Aunt Star’s right. Maybe we should torch this place. Light it up with me in it. That would make a hell of a bonfire.”

  Trudy shuddered and went to heat up water for tea. Her mother hadn’t talked this way in years. Not since right after Bogey died.

  Jewel tore off her knit cap and ran a hand through her thinning hair. “That was Dub’s grave wasn’t it?” She spit the words out as if she’d bitten into poison. “And I bet it didn’t say rest in peace. More like rot in hell.”

  Breathing deeply, Trudy filled a Pyrex pitcher with tap water and placed it in the microwave and hit the start button. Averting her eyes from her mother, Trudy let out a heavy sigh and stared at the pitcher of water spinning in the microwave. Her stomach began to churn while she waited for the water to boil. She reached into the cupboard for two mugs and the box of orange spice tea.

  “Dub died while I was away,” Jewel said, pounding her fist on the table. “Every time I visit Uncle Manifred at the nursing home, he brings it up. He asks me if I think Dub committed suicide because he got fired for the umpteenth time or if he fell down drunk and got run over by a train. Like I’m supposed to know what happened. I wasn’t even here.”

  Turning to face her mother, Trudy’s dull voice vibrated in her chest when she spoke. “You heard Aunt Star. Karma caught up with him.”

  Jewel pushed up from the chair, her fist raised in the air like she was ready to punch someone. “Your daddy never did like Dub and said he’d kill him if he ever laid a hand on one of you girls. He hated that Dub lived within walking distance of us.”

  Trudy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. How could she tell her mother she’d felt her daddy’s presence that day long ago? Heard his voice guiding her what to do next.

  The microwave dinged and Trudy opened her eyes.

  Jewel moved to the kitchen window and stared out at the railroad tracks as a freight train blasted past. The dishes in the cupboard rattled. “Uncle Manifred’s mortgage company held the deed to this house until I was able to pay off the balance years later once my business took off. When I got out of the hospital months after Bogey died, Uncle Manifred cosigned on the loan that helped me start my business. He’ll be a hundred in December. He may be confined to a wheelchair, but all his faculties are working. He mustn’t know about the vandalism at the cemetery.”

  Steam from the scalding water burned Trudy’s face as she filled each mug and waited for the tea bags to steep. Aunt Star’s warning from long ago clanged in her head: “You must never tell what happened here. Your mother could lose the house and I would go to jail.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Face Mask and Latex Gloves

  “WHY THE face mask and latex gloves?” Jewel raised an eyebrow and frowned at Trudy. “This isn’t a leper colony.”

  Breathing through her mask, Trudy hoisted another trash bag over her shoulder and tromped past her mother who stood wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “To protect myself against dust mites and not having to stop and wash my hands every five minutes,” she replied, her voice muffled behind the mask.

  Jewel followed her. “My employees never wore masks or latex gloves.”

  “Mom, don’t take it personally. I’m allergic to dust mites, that’s all.”

  “Since when? I never knew that.”

  Since I came home to clean your house, Trudy thought.

  Ignoring her mother’s question, Trudy navigated through the narrow archway that led from the sunroom into the kitchen. Hunched over from the weight of the bag, she plodded past the sink and stovetop on her left and through the carport door. Already winded, she vowed she needed to start speed-walking again as she went to the back of the minivan and tossed the bag on top of several others destined for the city dump. That last bag was full of dead plants and other sordid items that had accumulated like layers in an archeological dig.

  Over time, the sunroom had become another repository for the things Jewel didn’t want to deal with. The house had once been a showplace for squadron parties, and the sunroom, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and slanted beam ceiling, served as a favorite gathering spot when guests weren’t mingling on the back patio where Shep would fire up the grill and “burn meat.”

  As she reentered the house, Trudy reflected on her own habit of tossing stuff on a regular basis. Was it because she’d lived out of a suitcase for so long, or had she become a minimalist to counterbalance her mother’s tendency to hoard? Tramping back through the kitchen, she ran her hand over the Mexican tile countertop before she passed through the archway. Her father’s hands had touched each tile, and once again she admired the fiesta of gold, red, orange, blue, and green that swirled through each square. What was he thinking as he laid the tile? Was he thinking he might have to go to war? They’d only been in the house two years when he got orders to Vietnam.

  Back in the sunroom, she tied up another bag that bulged with yellowed newspapers and magazines she planned to drop off at the city’s community recycling center. Lifting her mask, she said to her mother, “Remind me why Pardon doesn’t offer a citywide recycling program as part of the weekly garbage pickup?”

  “Beats the heck out of me” — Jewel stepped out of her way — “but you’re welcome to take it up at the next city council meeting. Maybe you can help bring Pardon out of the Stone Age.”

  Sometimes Trudy couldn’t tell if her mother was being serious or snarky. Earlier that morning over bowls of steel-cut oatmeal and blueberries, Trudy had informed Jewel, “We’ll start at the back of the house and work our way forward.”

  Jewel had twirled her spoon in the air and peeked up at the ceiling before she eyeballed her daughter. “Soooo… do the cleaning crews on an airplane always start at the back of the cabin and work their way forward?”

  Clearly, Trudy’s instructions had irked her mother, longtime owner of Jewel’s Cleaning Service, Commercial & Residential. “I’ve seen them start at both ends,” Trudy informed her, letting her mother’s snippy comment slide.

  That conversation had taken place three hours earlier, and Trudy had been working nonstop since then.

  Easing into an upholstered rock
er that had belonged to Grandma Lily, Jewel looked around as if shocked to see the sunroom’s terra-cotta floor for the first time in years. “This used to be my favorite room in the house. I loved to sit here and read and watch the airplanes fly over on their final approach into base. But then...” Her voice cracked and broke off.

  The telegram came and it was never the same, her mother’s unspoken words hung in the air like dust particles caught in the sunlight streaming in from the windows facing east.

  Wiping sweat from her brow, Trudy blew hair out of her face and tied up another bag. “And that’s why we’re going to return this room to its former glory. Then we’ll start on the kitchen.” She walked over and unlocked two screened windows and raised them several inches to let in fresh air. Birdsong came in on a cool breeze, and Trudy gazed out at the brick patio skirted by a low plastered wall with two built-in bancos, benches. The patio furniture could use a pressure wash, and she made a mental note to pick up a power washer at the hardware store along with window cleaning supplies.

  “I feel bad you’re doing all the heavy lifting.” Jewel swayed to and fro in the rocker that only moments ago had been covered in stuff.

  Turning away from the wall of windows, Trudy said, “Nonsense, Mom. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I know, but what can I do to help?”

  “How ’bout you make me a pot of your homemade vegetable soup with extra bell pepper? I’ll grab the ingredients on my way back from the dump.”

  “Don’t you want me to ride with you? You never know what unsavory characters might be hanging around that place.”

  “I’m a big girl, Mom. It’s city property. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later, Trudy unearthed a pile of dead bugs, mostly dried up roly-polies and spiders in the northeast corner of the sunroom. “Momma, can you plug in the vacuum? We’ve got a pile of dead bugs over here.”

  Jewel pitched forward and pushed out of the rocker. She grabbed the end of the power cord to the new upright vacuum that Trudy had purchased the day before, along with cleaning supplies, and plugged it into a socket. With a glint in her eyes, she eased back into the rocking chair and launched into a story about a game fighter pilots used to play at the O’Club on Friday nights. “After some fighter pilot would yell ‘dead bug,’ all the other pilots would drop to the floor and roll over on their backs and stick their legs in the air. The last pilot standing had to buy the next round.”