The Sisters Café

by Carolyn Brown

  “And you are still angry with Marty over that club stuff and no one is home.”

  “You got it.”

  “Be right there.”

  She waited until Darla Jean was crossing the yard to get out of her car. Trixie opened the door and flipped the light switch. Darla Jean sat down at the table.

  She took a deep breath. “Were you busy?”

  Darla Jean shook her head. “I’m never too busy for friends. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

  Trixie sat down beside Darla Jean. “Your news first?”

  “I went to see Lindsey. Betty got her a job at the school. She’s on the maintenance crew this summer but come fall she’ll be a teacher’s aide to the kindergarten teacher. She’s so happy that I could just shout. I wanted someone to tell all about it, but everyone was gone. I’m thinking that God sent this child to me as a test to see if I could help more abused women. It’s drawing me and my sister closer together than we’ve been in years and it’s a good feeling to get someone out of a hopeless mess. Now your news.”

  “I saw Mamma.” Trixie wiped a fresh batch of tears from her cheeks. “It’s getting worse.”

  Darla Jean put her arm around her shoulders. “That’s the way it happens. You are going mostly for you now, Trixie, not for her. She’s locked away in the fog. Just spend time with her so there won’t be regrets when the end comes.”

  The front door opened and Cathy yelled, “Trixie?”

  “Looks like it’s a group session. We’re in the kitchen.” Darla Jean raised her voice.

  “I’m so glad you are home. Anna Ruth came and the rumors…” Cathy stopped in the middle of the sentence. “Did Janie die?”

  “No, but it’s getting worse and worse and she asked for the black crayon right away today,” Trixie said.

  “Well, I’m sleeping with Andy,” Cathy said bluntly.

  Trixie shook her head slightly. Was she truly hearing voices? “Would you repeat that?”

  Cathy told the story of sitting on the porch and wishing they had a living room and Anna Ruth coming and what all she’d said.

  By the time she finished her tale, Trixie was laughing harder than she had when Anna Ruth had burst into the kitchen wanting to forgive her. “That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “And you are quitting the club? I can’t believe it,” Darla Jean said.

  “You will make history by being the first woman to quit,” Trixie said.

  Marty opened the kitchen door. “Hey, am I the last one at the party?”

  “Group session,” Darla Jean said. “Come in and bare your soul.”

  “I just found out that Jack bought his house so he can ask Cathy to marry him. And Violet is going to be furious because you threw over Ethan for Jack,” Marty said.

  “Jack is our friend. Who said that?”

  “His mamma. Are you keeping secrets other than reading sexy books?”

  “I am not! Is there not one thing sacred in this town? Gossip flows like a raging river,” Cathy moaned.

  “Couple of things must be secrets, like why you’d vote for Anna Ruth, right, Marty?” Trixie asked.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?

  “Mamma had about fifteen seconds of lucid tonight. She said I’m not supposed to hold it against you that you voted for Anna Ruth because you were voting against Agnes, not for Anna Ruth. But she went dark again before she could tell me why.”

  Marty slowly shook her head. “I cannot say a word.”

  “Why?” Cathy asked.

  “Agnes would kill Violet and that’s all I can say.”

  “That is exactly what Mamma said.”

  Darla Jean held up a palm. “We are not going to think about this problem between you two this night. Marty has her reasons, and you have a hurt in your heart. You both need time to work it out. And now we are changing the subject. I still can’t believe that you are writing hot romance and Cathy and Trixie are reading it. I’m not totally sure St. Peter is going to unlock the doors for any of you.”

  “Funny as hell, ain’t it?” Trixie said.

  “Hell ain’t funny,” Darla Jean declared.

  Cathy snickered and pretty soon they were all laughing so hard that it echoed off the walls in Miss Clawdy’s Café.

  Trixie wondered how she’d ever survive without her three friends. Divorce, PMS, teenagers, crazy people who thought they were your friend—all of it wouldn’t be bearable without friendship.

  Chapter 16

  Janie didn’t want to color that day and she snarled her nose at the beans and greens. She did eat every bite of the pecan cobbler but she wouldn’t even touch the fish. She wanted to watch reruns of I Dream of Jeannie so Trixie sat beside her and laughed with her at all the right places. If she had a genie of her very own, what would she ask for?

  That was easy.

  Number One: that her mother was lucid and living in her own little house again.

  Number Two: that Andy hadn’t cheated on her and her marriage hadn’t fallen apart.

  And Number Three: that the awkward feeling between her and Marty would go away.

  But genies didn’t exist and Janie proved it when she leaned over and whispered, “You must go home now. My mamma will be calling me in to supper soon, but you can come back and play again another day. Maybe we’ll cut out paper dolls. I have a friend named Clawdy and sometimes we play in her room. She has amazing things in her room. There’s an old trunk in the attic and we play dress-up.”

  “I’d like that. I have a book that hasn’t been cut out yet. Can you cut good?” Trixie asked.

  “Of course, I’m not a baby!” Janie huffed.

  Trixie was on her way to her car when one of the girls that kept her mother’s room clean stepped out from behind a tree. She had a baby on her hip and a diaper bag thrown over her shoulder.

  “Miss Trixie, I need help. And…”

  “What is it, Misty?” Trixie remembered her name because the girl was a sweetheart and never agitated Janie.

  The girl hung her head and wouldn’t look up.

  “Are you in trouble, honey?” Trixie asked. “Can I help?”

  “He got mad at Layla and lit into her with a belt. She’s gonna have bruises and I could go to the police but last time he broke the restrainin’ order and beat me hard with that belt. I’m afraid of him and he’s lookin’ for us.”

  “How long have you been gone from the house?”

  “Thirty minutes. He’s already driven past here two times, but I hid in the backseat of your car. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Get back in my car. I know just exactly where to take you.” Trixie removed the scarf she’d worn to church that morning. “Put this on your head to cover up that red hair and keep Layla in your lap.”

  “Where are we going? He’s real mean and he’ll be mad. I took Layla away from him after he hit her and then he whooped me.”

  “And then he left?”

  “Went for more beer,” Misty said. “I’m scared of him. Payday was Friday. He’s always mean on the weekends after I get paid.”

  Trixie backed out of the parking lot and drove away. “You got family?”

  “Mamma died two years ago, and Daddy went to California. Last I heard he’s married again. He’s got a new baby of his own.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty last month.”

  “And Layla?”

  “She’s two. We never did marry. We was just living together. I don’t care where you take me. I just want to get away.”

  “You will. I’ve got a friend who’ll help you. She’s a preacher and she knows exactly what to do. You’ll have to promise her that you won’t make phone calls to him or anyone that knows him.”

  “I’d promise anything.”

  Trixie found Darla Jean in
the kitchen at Clawdy’s with Agnes and told her the story while Misty and Layla waited in the car.

  “Sorry sumbitch. Men like that ought to be shot down like rabid skunks,” Agnes said. “You takin’ her to Betty?”

  Darla Jean nodded. “You want to come along?”

  Agnes shook her head. “Girl don’t need so many people all around her tonight. I’ll go with you next Thursday. Looks like you just fell into runnin’ an underground for abused girls. Maybe God will learn to like you after all.”

  Darla Jean smiled. “I hope so. Bring her around to the back door of the church and put her in my truck. It’s still light so that’ll keep things simple. I’ll call Betty on the way. Lindsey will be glad for the company and Betty is going to dance a jig over having a baby in the house. I’m wonderin’ if God ain’t called me for something even more important than bringin’ sinners to their knees.”

  Agnes shook her head. “Girl, I’m still wonderin’ if God didn’t understand what it was you wanted to do with that old service station. I think he thought you said you wanted to turn it into a Christmas store, not a Christian church.”

  Darla Jean patted her on the shoulder. “Agnes, God don’t need no hearin’ aid. He understood me perfectly when I asked him which road I was supposed to take. Maybe if he don’t hear your prayers, it’s because you ain’t prayin’ long enough or hard enough.”

  Agnes shrugged. “Get on out of here. I don’t need a sermon out of you!”

  Darla Jean smiled and followed Trixie out of the shop.

  * * *

  Misty didn’t look quite as bad as Lindsey had. She had limp red hair hanging to her shoulders and a big bruise on her cheekbone. Darla Jean didn’t even want to see her back and legs. Tears, both dried and fresh, were still on her cheeks, but when the baby whimpered, she hushed her with lullabies sung in a beautiful soprano voice.

  “Why do you help people like me?” Misty finally asked.

  “Because you need someone to help you, and God told me to help those in need.” Darla Jean left Cadillac behind and headed toward Tom Bean.

  “How far is it?” Misty asked when Layla was quiet.

  “Ever heard of a little place called Blue Ridge?”

  Misty shook her head.

  “An hour at the most from Cadillac.”

  “That’s not far enough,” Misty fretted. “He’ll find us, and it’ll be bad.”

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Misty Waldon.”

  “You are now Misty Jean. There are lots of girls named Misty, and he sure won’t think about you changing your name. When it’s all finished, you and Layla will both have new names, new birth certificates, and new social security numbers. I can make that happen.”

  “God must like you a whole lot,” Misty said.

  Darla Jean smiled. “There’s those who doubt God even knows me, but I hope you are the one who is right.” She made the phone call and when they reached Betty’s, Lindsey was waiting on the porch with a kitten in her arms.

  “You and Layla are safe here. Go on and get out,” Darla Jean said.

  “Will you come in with me?” Misty said.

  “Of course I will. My sister lives here, and that’s Lindsey Jean on the porch.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Just like you are.” Darla Jean smiled.

  Lindsey opened the truck door. “Hello. Welcome to a brand new life.”

  She held up an orange kitten. “Look at what Betty got for me, Darla Jean.”

  “A kitten. Layla loves kittens, but we couldn’t have one after the last one. He ran over it and she cried so I wouldn’t get her any more. He gets real mad when she cries. Can we pet it?” Misty asked.

  “You sure can. Bring the baby on inside and let’s get y’all settled.”

  “Where is Betty?” Darla Jean asked.

  “She ran down to the church clothes bank to pick up a few things and to the grocery store for an extra gallon of milk. Is she still on the bottle?” Lindsey asked.

  “No. I brought her sippy cup,” Misty said.

  “I’m supposed to call Betty if we need diapers.”

  “I got enough for the night.”

  Lindsey gently laid a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “You will think you have died and gone to heaven. Trust me.”

  * * *

  Cathy should have gone with Marty. She loved to shop and running through clothes shops would have been so much fun, but she hadn’t wanted to at the time and now it was too late.

  Trixie had gone to see her mother again. Agnes was nowhere in sight. Darla Jean had said she was going to take a nap and she might be over later. Cathy had had a long bubble bath. She removed all the polish from her fingernails and toenails and redid them in bright red. While they dried, she turned on the television in her room, but that bored her. She picked up her e-reader, and even the hot sex scenes couldn’t keep her attention.

  Finally, she slipped on a jacket, grabbed her car keys, and left the house before the walls came crashing down on her head. She wound up at the Rib Joint, parked the car, and got out.

  The shade of the porch roof offered little relief from the chilly fall wind, but she sat down anyway and drew her knees up to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and laced her fingers together and sighed. Too bad John didn’t open the place on Sunday. He could make a fortune with the after-church crowd.

  “Hey, girl, think this norther is bringing winter or just teasing us?” John asked from the other end of the porch.

  Maggie Rose ran around the end of the café, her little pink tongue hanging out and her long fur waving like a wheat field in the wind.

  “I got bored and went for a drive.” Cathy straightened out her legs so Maggie Rose could hop up in her lap.

  “I got writer’s block and thought fresh air might force me to think.”

  “Writer’s block?” Cathy asked.

  “I write mystery novels. I’ve sold two.”

  “That’s great. My sister writes books too.”

  “What does she write?”

  “Erotic romance.”

  “Do you write?”

  “Oh, no! Not me. I was a teacher, but I don’t have the patience to write books,” she said.

  His jeans were faded, his denim jacket worn at the seams. The wind blew his blond hair every which way. Cathy thought he was sexy as hell.

  Cathy started to say something at the same time he did.

  “You go first,” John said.

  “I was just making conversation because I don’t want to go home,” she said honestly.

  “Come on out to the trailer. I’ve got cold beers in the fridge. Be a little more comfortable,” he said.

  She put Maggie Rose on the ground. She looked like a windup toy as she ran along in front of them.

  The trailer was a long, skinny one with fading blue paint, an unpainted wood porch with no rails, and no flowers or shrubs. He held the door for her and shut it as soon as Maggie Rose finished making a wet spot in the sparse grass.

  His living room was cozy with throw pillows tossed helter-skelter on the sofa and books stacked everywhere from built-in shelves to under the coffee table. Two matted and framed covers hung on the wall behind the sofa and she took a step forward to see them better.

  “Yours?” she asked.

  “They are. Want a beer?”

  “Love one. These are very nice. Love the color in the covers. It really pops out,” she said.

  He opened two beers and motioned for her to sit on the sofa as he plopped down and sighed. “I signed a contract for a three-book deal, and I’m stuck on number three.”

  “Don’t try to force it. Think about something else. Maybe that will help,” she said.

  She turned up the beer and swallowed twice. Any more and she’d do one of those unladyli
ke burps. When she set the beer on the coffee table, she looked back to see his lips parting slightly as they moved toward her. The closer he came, the bigger his eyes got through those thick lenses.

  It was downright sexy when his eyelids shut and the lashes fanned out on his cheekbones. His lips brushed against hers and heat shot through her body. One arm tangled up in her hair and the other snaked its way around her midriff. His tongue gently parted her lips and he made love to her mouth.

  So that’s what Candy Parker was talking about in her books.

  “I wanted to do that since the first night you came here,” he said.

  “But you thought I wasn’t old enough, right?” Cathy asked.

  “Well, there was the possibility that you were jailbait.” He chuckled.

  Before she could say a word, he tucked a fist under her chin and kissed her again.

  “Wow!” he said.

  “I agree,” she whispered.

  The dimple in his cheek deepened when he smiled and made that little brown soul patch even sexier. He laid his glasses aside and drew her closer to him.

  Cathy could have said no, but she didn’t want to.

  “You are downright hot,” he muttered between kisses.

  Cathy knew exactly what she was doing. There was only one way to put out the fire he’d started.

  He kissed her again and she arched against him.

  “Please,” she murmured.

  “Cathy, are you sure?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she said.

  When it was over, he propped up on an elbow on the narrow sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

  She laid her fingers on her lips again. “It’s not important.”

  Books had been written about it. Marty discussed it at great lengths. She even wrote about it. The movie industry made millions on it. But not a one of them could describe the way Cathy felt when John held her in the afterglow.

  “Seconds are always better,” he said.

  “Nothing could be better than that,” she argued.