The Flying Cutterbucks

by Kathleen M Rodgers

  Jewel set rigid in her lawn chair and faced the sidewalk, staring down the woman with the hawkish face. After a few minutes, the woman retreated, scolding them over her shoulder, “Shame on you. You’re a bunch of traitors.”

  “Traitors, traitors,” the rest of the group chanted before they broke up and headed in different directions.

  Trudy felt like giving them the finger. Instead, she called, “Have a good weekend.” She turned to her mother. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them.”

  Jewel had her right hand over her heart, patting her chest in a continuous beat. “We’re doing the right thing being here,” she declared. “If your daddy were here, he’d be wearing a pink hat, too. So would your Grandmother Cutterbuck, for that matter. Remember that old black and white photo of her holding your daddy when he was an infant? I found it the other day when I was sorting through photos. I don’t know how she did it, being single and so young when Shep came into the world.”

  Glancing sideways, Trudy said, “I know the one. I memorized her inscription on the back of it.”

  Jewel leaned back, tilting her head. “Did you really?”

  Trudy nodded and began to recite, “My little shepherd boy, come to show me the way.” She paused. “I remember the pride in Daddy’s voice when he’d talk about how she went back to school and earned her GED.”

  The whole time they were talking, Jewel’s middle finger and ring finger kept tap-tap-tapping against her heart. Watching her mother, Trudy got the feeling Jewel was tapping some silent code to her beloved: a silent code like the ones prisoners of war tap in captivity when that’s their only means of communication.

  Even her mom’s right knee bounced up and down to the same rhythm as her fingers, along with the heel of her foot as if one side of her body was marching in place. “Daddy would be proud of you, Momma. You took charge and held our family together, even after we lost Bogey.”

  Slowly, Jewel turned, her eyes watery. “It took me a while, but I pulled myself together. And as the wife of a fallen warrior, I never thought I’d see the day when a fellow American would call me a traitor for fighting back against a bully. That woman who called us traitors, she thinks we’re the enemy. What’s wrong with people? No wonder Star is fed up and hanging her flag upside down.”

  Jewel picked up the thermos and unscrewed the lid. “And I keep thinking about that poor girl Vivian, raped at twelve. I’m sorry for what I said about her at the nursing home. Making a snap judgment like that. It’s a good thing Dub’s dead. Or I’d kill him myself.”

  Trudy almost choked as she downed the last spicy drops of cocoa and reached for the thermos. As she went to pour her mother another cup of cocoa, her mind drifted back to that cold November night two months ago when Georgia reassured her, “Sis, just ’cuz you took down a monster didn’t turn you into one.”

  Later, after the protestors left, an older Latina approached the trailer, a tote bag slung over her shoulder. “Hello, ladies. I’m Mary Ortiz.” Trudy jumped up to offer her a seat. Mary thanked her and sat down while Jewel raved about the snow cones she’d enjoyed over the years at their snow cone hut.

  Mary thanked Jewel then opened the tote bag and took a deep breath. “Several women at Our Lady of Assumption are knitters. We’ve been fighting our own causes for years, and we wanted to help out.” With a quiet smile, she began pulling out one pink hat after another.

  Trudy watched as her mother cupped her hands with reverence and received the hats like a woman taking communion.

  Mary glanced over her shoulder and gestured at something behind her. “Thank you for displaying that flag. My Albert is a Vietnam veteran. He wanted me to relay that he’s proud of you for being so brave. He drove by here earlier and saw the protestors. He said he’s sorry he didn’t stop. They reminded him too much of the antiwar protestors who spit on him when he came home.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Bullies, Bricks, and Good People

  Sunday, January 15, 2017

  TRUDY’S CELL pinged at seven a.m. She rolled over and reached for her phone on the nightstand. Zia stirred next to her, thumping her tail on the coverlet.

  Groggy from sleep, Trudy rolled back against the pillow and squinted at the screen, half expecting a text from Clay. On those mornings when they didn’t wake up together, he usually sent a text with some cheerful endearment or a photo of Hercules being goofy or something his daughter sent him that he wanted to share.

  But the text was from Lupi, not Clay, and it jostled Trudy out of bed. On wobbly feet, she began to read the message: Diner hit by vandals. Police here now. Nasty graffiti painted all over outside of my building, stuff like faggot lover, build the wall, eat at Lupi’s pussy: authentic Mexican. WTF! My grandmother doesn’t deserve this. She built this business from scratch. An editor from the Pardon Gazette called me shortly after the police arrived. Story’s already online, too late for today’s print edition. Benny posted a call for volunteers on Facebook so please share. How much you bet it was those mean girls from high school? Coffee made. Have several cases of water to pass out to whoever comes to help. Benny checked trailer. Thank God they didn’t touch it. Hell of a way to get publicity!

  Zia sneezed and rolled around on the bed, wanting to play. Trudy rubbed Zia’s belly then bent over her phone and began texting: I’m so sorry this happened to you. Sounds like something those mean girls might do, but it could be anybody pissed off by your activism. You’re working your butt off, keeping your grandmother’s legacy alive. You don’t deserve this either, Lupi. I’ll share Benny’s post. We’ll head your way shortly.

  As soon as she hit send, her mother appeared in the doorway.

  “Was that Clay? I just saw online where Lupi’s place got vandalized.” Jewel gripped the doorframe, teetering in her chenille bathrobe and slippers.

  Trudy glanced at her mother, her face etched in new worry lines. “No, Momma. It was Lupi. Police are there now. I’m forwarding her text to Georgia and Aunt Star.”

  “I’m surprised the vandals didn’t slash the tires or bash in the windows on the trailer.” Jewel scratched her brow. “I’ll go make coffee and set Zia’s food out.”

  After her mother shuffled down the hall, Trudy called to Zia. “Come on, girl. Let’s go potty.”

  Zia jumped off the bed and they cut through the breezeway filled with natural light and ceramic pots overflowing with greenery. As Zia trotted into the sunroom, Trudy glanced over her shoulder where Bogey once dreamed of flying in the dark. “You’d like my secret agent,” she whispered. “She’s yellow like the stars.”

  At the French doors, Trudy breathed in the crisp morning air and watched Zia shoot out across the yard like a rocket. Her phone pinged with a text from Georgia: Sis, that’s awful about Lupi. She’s a strong woman. She’ll bounce back. I’ll see you chicks Thursday. I’m leaving right after work. Should arrive by suppertime. Got my pink hat for the march. Gil was hoping to come, but he’s overseeing auditions for a new production at the theater. Can’t wait to meet Zia and see all the changes to the house.

  While Zia raced across the yard, Trudy snuck through the narrow archway to capture a photo of their mom admiring her updated kitchen. Coffee brewed in the same coffeepot on the Talavera tile countertop their dad installed decades ago. The conquistador and poppy-red desk guarded the east wall with its fresh coat of chalk-white paint. Bogey’s red and yellow God’s eye hung once again next to the turquoise phone because some things were meant to stay. Stainless steel appliances complemented the creamy white cabinets with new doors and hardware.

  Jewel stood at the large island, its Spanish-style wooden base painted the same red as the desk and topped by an off-white quartz counter. Two poppy-red pendant light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Running her hands over the new surface, Jewel looked up and smiled. “Hector sure brought new life to this house.”

  Zia barked at the back door.

  “He’s not the only one,” Trudy pointed out as she went to let Zia in. Tail wagging
, Zia charged through the sunroom, brushed past Jewel who was pouring coffee, and nosedived into her food dish next to the new refrigerator.

  Accepting a steaming mug of coffee from her mother, Trudy climbed onto a new barstool and savored her first hit of caffeine. Jewel joined her at the island, hitching her robe up a few inches as she scooted up against the stool’s backrest and watched Zia eat. They both listened as the big yellow dog crunched her kibble and slurped from her water dish.

  “Listening to her eat reminds me of your brother scarfing down cold cereal,” Jewel said, sipping her coffee before she turned and gazed at something on the east wall.

  Setting down her mug, Trudy smiled at the memory then sent photos of their mother to her sister, shared Benny’s Facebook post asking for volunteers, and then pulled up the online newspaper story and began reading:

  Pardon Gazette: (Note from the editor)

  Pardon police are asking for the public’s help identifying the person or persons responsible for vandalizing Lupi’s Diner, a popular eatery located on Seven Mile Road. Police are investigating the incident as a possible hate crime. The owner, Lupi Belen, a Pardon native and graduate of Yale University, reported the incident to police early this morning when she and an employee arrived at five-thirty to open in time for the Sunday breakfast crowd. They were confronted with graffiti painted on the front and west side of the building, along with broken windows and a floor strewn with bricks and shards of glass. The graffiti contained obscenities and racial slurs normally found in public restroom stalls.

  Ms. Belen returned to Pardon two years ago to run the family business after her grandmother, Guadalupe Belen, the diner’s founder, passed away from a sudden illness. As a young girl growing up in Pardon, Lupi Belen said she spent weekends washing dishes, cleaning tables, and studying her grandmother’s recipes. She is an active member of the Pardon Chamber of Commerce and supports many local and national causes.

  Two weeks ago, the Women’s March on Pardon set up headquarters in a vintage travel trailer in the parking lot, also owned by Ms. Belen, west of the diner. The march is slated for Saturday, January 21, at ten a.m. on the south lawn of the county courthouse. Complimentary pussycat hats are available at the march’s headquarters to anyone who signs up to participate. All the hats were handcrafted and donated by local knitters in New Mexico. None were factory assembled.

  This past Friday, a small group of counter protestors gathered for a peaceful demonstration in front of the headquarters. Two nights later, the vandals damaged the diner but left the travel trailer unscathed. This is the second time vandals have defaced a business in Pardon since the 2016 presidential election. Let’s not let a few troublemakers define our community.

  Volunteers are needed to help clean up a beloved diner that’s enjoyed great reviews in New Mexico Magazine and in this newspaper. Bottled water and coffee will be provided to all who donate their time. A Facebook page has been set up with more details.

  If anyone has information about this incident, please call the Pardon Police Department.

  Trudy and Lupi stood on the sidewalk chatting in front of the diner. Dozens of volunteers milled about. They stopped talking when a biker dude rumbled up on a chopper and pulled into the parking lot.

  “Be glad it was bricks and not bullets,” the burly guy growled after he climbed off his motorcycle and swaggered toward them. “I’m here to help.” He peered around at the damage, his bare arms bulging with muscles and tattoos.

  “Hey, Gabe, nice of you to stop by.” Lupi pointed him toward the front door. “Cleaning supplies and brushes are in there. Help yourself to water and coffee. Sorry I can’t offer you more.”

  Nodding politely at Trudy, Gabe shook his head and pinched at his long scraggly beard. “Ladies, I think we oughta stick it to the man at Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue. If you ask me, he’s partly responsible for this mess.” A chain dangled from his back pocket as he stepped inside, glass crunching under his black biker boots.

  “Nice guy,” Trudy said as a TV news van pulled up in front of the diner. “Looks like you’re making headlines.”

  Lupi groaned. “My fifteen minutes of fame. Ay-ay-ay.” She threw her arms in the air and went to greet the TV crew. As she walked off, she turned and called to a slim black gentleman on a stepladder with a bucket dangling in one hand. “Hello, Luther. Nice of your congregation to give you a break from preaching this morning.”

  Luther dipped a brush in a bucket of solution and started scrubbing. “Trying to remove the worst of it for you, Miss Lupi.”

  “Reverend Green, you need anything before I head nextdoor?” Trudy glanced over at the trailer where her mother was chatting with a couple of women who’d stopped by to sign up for the march. Three more women were walking toward the trailer, two of them pushing baby strollers.

  “I’m good, but thank you kindly.” Reverend Green smiled then concentrated on a lewd drawing that looked like it belonged on the back of Gabe’s biker vest and not on Lupi’s building.

  “I still say you look like an actress,” a male voice rang out behind her.

  Trudy whirled. The young guy from the bank walked out of the diner, a slight limp in his gait. He had a trash bag slung over one shoulder, one very broad shoulder she noticed again. “Thanks for coming to Lupi’s aid.”

  He paused in front of her. His blue eyes twinkled beneath his red cap. “I may not agree with Ms. Belen’s politics, but I’ll defend her right to have them.” He hiked around the corner of the building and tossed the trash bag into a dumpster next to the parking lot.

  Trudy followed him.

  After the metal lid slammed shut, he gestured toward the travel trailer. “If you ask me, it’s those women libbers stirring up trouble. Take that old lady in her silly pink hat. Bunch of snowflakes and libtards.” He cracked his knuckles. “And the POWMIA flag on the side of that trailer. That ain’t right.” He shook his head in disgust.

  His comments jarred her. She stiffened and straightened her shoulders. Scratching her nose, she said quietly, “I saw you leave the bank that day. I know you’re a wounded warrior.” She paused, waiting for him to say something, but he just stared at the trailer, a look of contempt replacing the merriment in his eyes.

  Finally she said, “That older woman in the pink hat. The one seated in the lawn chair? That’s my momma. We’re helping with the Women’s March scheduled for next Saturday.”

  The young man’s mouth fell open and he glanced away, looking embarrassed. “Oh Lord. I stepped in it.” His cheeks turned crimson to match his cap.

  She relaxed a bit and chuckled. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  Sighing, he removed his cap and brushed a hand through his short hair, his Celtic cross ring glinting in the morning sun. “Please don’t tell me y’all hung that flag?”

  Biting the side of her mouth, Trudy nodded. “My dad flew F4s in Vietnam. He’s been missing in action since nineteen seventytwo.”

  The young man sighed again. “Man, that’s tough. Air Force?”

  “Yeah. He disappeared from the radar right before my thirteenth birthday.”

  The young veteran brushed his cap back and forth against his thigh as if the action helped him clear his head. “She never remarried?”

  Trudy shook her head. “She got a call back in November. A team of investigators found a crash site on a remote hillside where they think my dad’s plane went down. They’re testing some remains. Bone fragments mostly. So now we wait for another call to see if it’s him.”

  Pursing his lips, he squinted before he stuck his cap back on. He nodded toward the diner. “That your dad’s picture in there on the wall?”

  “Yeah.” She started to back away, to head toward the trailer. A line was forming in front of her mother and she needed to go help her. “One thing my dad didn’t tolerate…bullies, especially men who push women around.”

  The combat veteran stuck out his hand. “Roger that. I’m Brian, by the way. And I still say you look like
an actress.”

  “Ha,” she laughed. “I’m Trudy. Let me know if your head gets cold. I’m sure Momma and I can rustle up an extra cap for you.”

  His blue eyes twinkled as he turned and disappeared around the corner of the building, that slight gimp not slowing him down.

  Two nights later, Trudy clopped up the hallway in her old majorette boots, her baton wedged stiffly in her fingers. Zia pranced beside her, excited by the treasures Trudy excavated moments ago.

  Her tassels swinging, she laughed as she paraded into the kitchen, her once creamy legs now encased in brown leggings, the skimpy green uniform stretched over her upper body. “Momma, look what I found in the back of my closet.”

  Jewel was lifting a chicken casserole from her new oven. Turning, her whole face crinkled in a grin as she set the dish on a hot pad on her new island. “It still fits. A bit snug, but I always loved those green sequins. Let’s get a picture.” Removing quilted oven mitts from her hands, she reached for her cellphone.

  “Oh, Momma, I look like a giant turtle in this thing,” Trudy giggled. Zia reared up on her hind legs, her front paw reaching for Trudy as Jewel captured the moment on camera.

  After Trudy clopped back to her old bedroom to change, her cellphone pinged with a text from Clay: Babe, I just cracked the case on the vandalism to Gold’s Department Store. Now I can retire. Someone else in the department will solve Lupi’s case. I’m ready to play. Check local news. I’ll call you later. And hey, you’re still the best looking twirler in the band. Your mom just sent me the photo. LOL

  Trudy rushed out of the bedroom, Zia nipping at the tassels swinging to and fro as she marched toward the kitchen. “Momma…!”

  While the casserole cooled, Jewel sat on a barstool hunched over her cellphone. “Darling, breaking news. It’s from the Pardon Gazette.” Jewel cleared her throat and began to read. “Arrests have been made in connection with the vandalism on Gold’s Department Store back in November of 2016. According to Lieutenant Clay Cordova, a detective with the Pardon Police Department, members of a hate group based in West Texas have been charged with defacing private property. Police are still asking for the public’s help in tracking down the person or persons responsible for the vandalism to Lupi’s Diner on Seven Mile Road.” She set her phone down and looked at Trudy. “Darling, are you going to eat supper in that getup?”