January 21, 2017
On Saturday evening, hours after the Women’s March on Pardon, Trudy and Clay linked fingers and cuddled in front of a blazing fire. When Trudy had left her mom’s house thirty minutes earlier with an overnight bag packed for two, Georgia was sorting through her things, tossing stuff left and right, while Jewel conked out on the gold velvet sofa, the television murmuring in the background.
Zia had chased Hercules around the room since they arrived. After a while, he jumped up on the couch next to Clay and began panting. “She wearing you out, Little Man?” Clay laughed and nudged Trudy on the chin. Zia plopped down on the floor at Trudy’s feet and sighed.
Reeling back, Trudy punched Clay playfully on the arm and they started wrestling like teenagers. Because they both knew one thing would lead to another and another…right when Clay went to kiss her, Trudy’s phone pinged with a Facebook notification from Lupi: “The Women’s March on Pardon drew an estimated crowd of two hundred people, many wearing a variety of pussy hats and matching attire. We created a sea of pink in downtown Pardon. For a small conservative town, the turnout of two hundred women, men, children, and dogs (most on leashes) was a sight to see. According to Benny Trujillo, former mayor of Pardon and one of the cofounders of the march, the crowd size was not exaggerated. We gathered on the courthouse lawn, sang songs, chanted prayers, and held up signs demanding for women’s rights and human rights for our generation and future generations to come. We listened to a variety of speakers, held hands, and pledged our allegiance to stand against oppression. Stay strong, everybody! Things may get worse before they get better. But take heart, We Shall Overcome!”
CHAPTER 30
Flying West
Monday, January 23, 2017
DUSK SETTLED around them as Trudy, Georgia, and Clay gathered at the patio table before dinner. Moments earlier, Lupi phoned both sisters on a three-way call to share that a reporter from the Washington Post called to interview her for a story she was writing about the sister marches held around the country in conjunction with the Women’s March on Washington, D.C. After reading online about the vandalism to Lupi’s Diner days before the Women’s March on Pardon, the reporter was curious why the vandals didn’t strike the vintage travel trailer parked next door that served as Pussycat Hat Headquarters.
Lupi told the reporter that although it was purely speculation on her part, she figured the vandals knew the camper belonged to the wife of a fighter pilot missing in action in Vietnam and that some things were off limits, even for thugs. Lupi mentioned the encouragement she received from good people in her community who rallied to clean up and repair the damage to her business, regardless of their political views. Not only that, the buildup to the Women’s March helped generate new interest in establishing a women’s shelter and outreach center in Pardon. A handful of anonymous donors had come forward and contributed a large sum of money to build the facility.
Trudy was grateful her daughter’s name would live on. The shelter would be christened Sarah Jewel’s Place. Hector Cordova would serve as general contractor for construction. Rumors had it that one of the donors was a wealthy businesswoman from Texas who’d recently lost her mother. Trudy wondered if it was Madeline T.
Moments after they hung up with Lupi, a freight train rumbled past on its way into the station a few miles to the east. Zia scrambled to race it, and now she trotted along the fence line, sniffing for new treasures. Mouthwatering aromas from the kitchen wafted through the cool air where Jewel had propped open the window over her new stainless steel sink.
“Smells good,” Clay said, nursing a longneck beer. His left hand rested on Trudy’s knee.
Her gaze shifted from Clay to the travel trailer. After the march on Saturday, he’d moved it back to its place behind the carport. “Mom’s making green chile cheese grits and Frito salad.”
Georgia stared absently at her cellphone. “I offered to help Mom prepare dinner but she shooed me away. I think she wants to luxuriate in her new kitchen. She’s enjoying her new island.”
“I overheard her thanking Aunt Star for suggesting the update,” Trudy chuckled. “Like it was all Aunt Star’s idea.”
“Hah,” Georgia snorted. “And here we’ve been bugging her for years.”
Trudy glanced at the kitchen window. Her mother’s face appeared briefly, the pointy tips of her pink cap sticking up like kitty ears. “At least she’s preparing something easy. I haven’t had Frito salad since we were kids. Remember how Bogey always picked out the avocado?”
The two sisters grinned at the shared memory. Georgia set her phone down and lifted her glass. “To our little brother. Avocado hater and walking encyclopedia.”
“And don’t forget, fierce hunter of Pecos diamonds,” Trudy sighed, twirling the stem of her wine glass before she raised it in a toast. “Remember how he’d pick through the gravel in the driveway looking for those little quartz crystals?”
Georgia rubbed at something in the corner of her eye. “Yeah, and he insisted on calling them fakeous diamonds, even when we tried to correct him.”
Trudy smiled into her wine glass. “He was a smart little booger. A lot smarter than me.” She glanced up at her sister. “You heading back in the morning?”
Georgia didn’t look up. She was texting like a mad woman, a sly look on her face. “Yeah, I need to check on Aunt Star and get organized for class.”
Trudy leaned into Clay. “Liar,” she teased. “We all know the real reason you can’t wait to get back.”
Georgia tilted her head and offered a coy smile. “Gil wants me to teach dance at the theater. He’s says lots of underprivileged kids in town could benefit from dance lessons.”
“That’s wonderful, sis. You’re livin’ your dream.” When Georgia didn’t elaborate on whether she would get paid, Trudy realized her sister would do it for free…just for the chance to dance and help others.
Resting against Clay, Trudy felt the sudden urge to unpack her burden…or part of it at least. Maybe the part how they fought off Dub, not the part how he ended up on the tracks. That part would remain forever tucked inside of her. “Georgia and I have something we need to tell you.” She kicked her sister under the table.
Georgia looked up from her phone, a quizzical expression on her face. “We do?”
Trudy narrowed her eyes and gave her sister a slight nod. “Sis, it’s time. I can’t live with the deception any longer.”
Grinding her foot into Trudy’s shin, Georgia stared at her bug-eyed over the rim of her spectacles, slowly shaking her head. Don’t do it, her look implored.
Clay leaned back, a lazy grin exposing his dimples. “So you’re both madly in love with me, is that it? I’ve known all along.” His eyes danced with mischief as he gazed back and forth between the sisters.
Georgia snorted. “Hah! You’re a great catch, Clay Cordova, but I’ve already got one hot-blooded man to deal with. I don’t have the energy for two.” Her foot dug deeper into Trudy’s shin.
Laughing, Clay folded his hands across his midsection and continued to smirk.
Trudy tossed back the last of her wine and set her glass down. Her fingers tap-danced on the patio table as she worked up the courage to try again. She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “Clay, a long time ago, right before we started dating —”
Before she could spit it out, the doors to the sunroom flung open. Jewel appeared, capless, waving her cellphone in the air. “Girls!” she bellowed, her voice thin and shrill. “It’s the Air Force. The DNA matches your daddy’s. He’s coming home.”
Georgia jolted up, knocking over her lawn chair as she charged toward their mother and grabbed the phone from her hands. “Hello, hello,” she gasped. “This is Georgia Cutterbuck speaking. I’m Major Cutterbuck’s youngest daughter. Is it true my daddy’s coming home? I’m standing here with my mother, Jewel, and my sister.”
By now, Trudy had scrambled to her feet and stood frozen in place. Clay wrapped his arm around her waist and she
leaned into him, not quite breathing, not quite believing what she was hearing: her father’s remains had finally been recovered and identified.
With her eyes trained on her sister, Trudy watched Georgia’s head bob up and down, nodding as she listened intently to the person on the other end of the line. After what seemed like forever, Georgia proclaimed, “Outstanding!” sounding like their father when he heard good news. After a pause, she passed the phone back to their mother.
Seconds later, Jewel hung up and stepped out onto the patio, leaving the French doors wide open behind her.
Without warning, clouds roiled in, bringing the scent of rain. Lightning cracked and a rumble exploded in the atmosphere. Zia galloped across the yard toward them, going ninety to nothing, all three legs in fluid motion.
Thunder continued to roll in. The temperature dropped drastically and they all craned their necks skyward as the dark shadow of a pointy-nosed F-4 Phantom II roared overhead, both engines in full afterburner.
Zia yodeled and yelped and howled like a coyote.
Clay yelled over the sound of thunder, “What the heck was that?”
From the corner of her eye, Trudy saw her mother grope toward her sister for support. With tears rolling down her cheeks, Georgia took their mother in her arms and held her tight. Even in the waning light, Trudy could see the wide-eyed excitement in her mother’s soft blue eyes as Jewel cried out into the night, “It’s Shep Cutterbuck, flying west.”
Gulping back the knot caught in her throat, Trudy followed the shadow until it went out of sight. There was no doubt in her mind what they’d all witnessed: her daddy’s spirit soaring free.
Flashes of lightning lit up the sky over the airfield as they all gaped in wonder. When the thunder faded, the brassy notes of Herb Alpert’s mega hit, “Rise,” exploded from the pocket of Trudy’s cardigan. Fumbling for her phone, she realized she must’ve hit the playlist button on her cell in her excitement.
Grabbing her phone, she waved it high in the air as every cell in her body came alive. Clay kissed her forehead, and they danced around the patio with her mother and sister, their bodies swaying in rhythm to the music. Jewel pumped her fist in the air, a sign of victory.
Trudy glanced down long enough to see Zia worm her way in, her lips peeled back in a doggy grin as if she’d been in on some cosmic secret the whole time.
Pardon Gazette
Pardon, NM — Major Shepard Cutterbuck, USAF, went missing in action on October 2, 1972 when his F-4 was shot down over North Vietnam. His remains have been recovered and positively identified through DNA. He will be repatriated with full military honors in a private ceremony at Pardon Cemetery at an undisclosed time. His ashes will be interred next to his only son, Shepard “Bogey” Cutterbuck (age 11) who died of brain cancer a year and a half after Major Cutterbuck was declared missing. Major Cutterbuck’s mother, Georgia Anne Cutterbuck, died never knowing what happened to her son.
Born and raised in Kentucky, Major Cutterbuck was the first person in his family to attend college. After graduating from pilot school at Reese AFB, Texas (closed in 1997), he married the love of his life, Jewel Hurn, a former beauty queen and Pardon native. Survivors include his wife, Jewel, of Pardon; his daughters, Gertrude Cutterbuck of Pardon, Georgia Cutterbuck of Las Vegas, NM; sister-in-law Star Hurn of Las Vegas, NM; and special family friend, Clay Cordova, recently retired from the Pardon PD.
The public is invited to an informal gathering at ten a.m. on 6 February at the former Pardon Air Force Base airfield to honor Major Cutterbuck’s service and sacrifice to his country. A color guard from Pardon High School’s ROTC will be on hand to post the colors. Those who wish to pay their respects are asked to arrive at least thirty minutes early to allow time to walk onto the runway where Major Cutterbuck took off in an F-4 and headed to war. Two golf carts from the Pardon Country Club will shuttle those who need special assistance.
Dress accordingly. Mother Nature is expected to arrive on a stiff wind sweeping down the High Plains.
CHAPTER 31
Three Years Later
“STAR, IN my eighty-three years on Earth, this is the first time I’ve been without a big sister to boss me around. It’s also the first time I’ve felt like an orphan.” Jewel paused to swipe a hanky over her nose and dab her watery eyes.
Under a deep blue New Mexico sky speckled with puffy white clouds — the kind Trudy once imagined she could tie a string to and float away — a small crowd had gathered to pay their respects to Star Hurn, the longtime activist, retired nurse, and graduate of Pardon High. Although a few men were present, the crowd consisted mostly of women. Some wore pink hats left over from the 2017 Women’s March. Benny Trujillo passed out white carnations in honor of all the suffragettes who fought for women’s voting rights. The flowers were Lupi’s idea.
Rocking back on the heels of her leather boots, Trudy breathed in the crisp November air and gazed at her mother in gold ballet flats and navy slacks. Jewel stood in front of Bogey’s tombstone and tugged at her flimsy knit cap. The first cap Star made when she took up knitting after she retired.
Star didn’t want a funeral; she wanted a rally for everything she stood for.
Her wishes were to be cremated and a handful of her ashes sprinkled over her nephew’s grave, the remainder over Bernie’s final resting place in West Texas. Trudy and Clay would scatter “stardust” in a small town where Bernie took care of everyone’s critters for decades.
Plunging her hands into the pockets of a dark wool peacoat, Jewel continued. “I’ll miss your daily phone calls to check on me. Your constant grumbling about the Orange Cheese Puff you later referred to as the traitor. The nasty man who separates families and locks kids in cages. Every time you thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.” Jewel stopped to catch her breath. “I’ll never forget the night you called me, crying, ‘He’s gone too far, Sister. He’s abandoned our allies to our enemies. Bribed and extorted another country to try and get dirt on a political opponent.’”
Closing her eyes, Jewel craned her neck skyward. “Keep shining your light over all of us, Star, especially in these uncertain times. And when you bump into Bogey and Shep, tell them I’m not far behind. I love you, my sister, my friend.”
The back of Trudy’s throat ached at the mention of her little brother and dad. Silently, she added, if you see my baby girl, rock her for me.
Jewel started to wobble, exhaustion setting in. Gil offered Jewel his arm. Trudy was grateful for her brother-in-law’s willingness to help anyone he saw struggling, from the elderly to disadvantaged kids. No wonder Georgia fell for him the first time they met.
Tires crunched on the gravel road beside them. Trudy looked over to see a familiar face peering out the driver’s side window of a late model Lexus. Madeline T. She must’ve read about Aunt Star’s death in the Pardon Gazette and come to pay her respects to a cousin she’d never met.
The car idled a moment as Trudy and Madeline exchanged glances. As Trudy went to motion her over, Madeline gave a polite nod and the Lexus crept forward, kicking up little puffs of caliche.
Maybe one day Madeline would change her mind about meeting them, but for now this brief exchange felt like a start. Trudy wanted to tell her sister and mother they’d had a special visitor, but Georgia was speaking now.
“Aunt Star never gave up hope that our nation would heal despite the chaos of the last four years. None of us knows what tomorrow may bring or who will be our next president. But on the eve of this 2020 election”— she stopped to fling one end of her wooly scarf over her left shoulder and pull a blue sticky note out of her pocket — “I’d like to read a quote from former President Jimmy Carter. ‘Our country has lived through a time of torment. It is now a time for healing. We want to have faith again. We want to be proud again. We just want the truth again.’” Georgia looked up from her note, her fingers curling around the little square of paper.
Catching her breath, Trudy stared at the ground, at the patches of yel
low grass mixed with faded weeds. It was the word truth that set off the tiny quake in her heart.
Clay reached for her hand, his fingers lingering a moment on the turquoise wedding band that matched his. He’d noticed her tremor.
From the moment he’d walked back into her life in 2016, part of her wanted to confess she’d been lying to him since they were teenagers. She almost told him about Dub the night Clay proposed two years ago, and later on a flight to Seattle to meet Cinda and Roxy. But every time Trudy felt the dam start to break, she thought about Aunt Star and their code of silence. But Aunt Star was gone now, and…
Her mouth dry, Trudy licked her lips and stepped forward. It was her turn to say a few words. Her mind flashed to the photo of Aunt Star and Bernie on a camping trip to the mountains.
Twirling the carnation in her right hand, she began. “I used to feel sorry for Aunt Star because she never married or had kids. I thought her whole purpose in life was to patch everybody up. Our daddy liked to call her Florence Nightingale, our family’s own personal nurse. Before she started wearing scrubs, her uniform reminded me of clean sheets hanging from a clothesline, her soft embrace a cushion against pain and fear. But on her death bed, Aunt Star reminded us of the sacrifices she made to protect herself from being shunned. She hid her sexual orientation for fear she’d lose her job, her standing in the community. She told us how she and Bernice had to hide their love for each other from most people. They had to pretend they were nothing more than best friends and traveling companions.”
The Flying Cutterbucks Page 29