The Sisters Café

by Carolyn Brown

  “Trust me, Cathy, darlin’, it is.”

  “Can we stay here all night?”

  “Oh, yeah!”

  * * *

  It was late when Marty got back to Clawdy’s. She stopped in the kitchen long enough to grab a cold can of Pepsi and carried it with her up to her room. Light filtered out into the landing from under her door and Cathy sat in the middle of her bed. She wore a pink terry-cloth robe, wet hair, and twinkling eyes.

  It was a good thing she didn’t have tears in her eyes or someone would be headed for a good solid ass whipping. Marty wasn’t putting up with another thing that would cause her sister to worry.

  “Are we having a slumber party?” Marty asked.

  “I’m ready to toss my e-reader,” Cathy blurted out.

  Marty kicked off her shoes, opened the beer, and joined Cathy on the bed, sitting cross-legged. “So John is as good as the heroes and the best you ever had.”

  “No details, but yes and yes.”

  “Why no details?”

  “Because it’s too new and too important to talk about,” Cathy said.

  Marty smiled.

  Trixie poked her head in the door. “I thought I heard voices. Private or open to the public?”

  “Come on in. We’re too late for the bra-burning days, but we’re thinking of burning an e-reader,” Marty said.

  “Wow! Tell me all about it.” Trixie padded barefoot across the room, leaving a string of paper bits falling off her clothes.

  Cathy shook her head. “I’m not jinxing this. It feels right so I’m not talking.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. I never did hear you say that it felt right with Ethan. You just said that it would all work out. I don’t believe it.”

  Marty looked at Trixie. “How about you? Burning books or keeping them?”

  “Oh, I’m not nearly ready to trade in my hot romances, but I’ve got a great story to tell you about what happened today. Darla Jean is a saint, and I’ve got a feeling this is just the beginning. I took an abused girl with a two-year-old baby to her, and she’s on her way to her sister’s.”

  Tears flowed down Marty’s cheeks as Trixie told the story, and for the first time, there was something akin to forgiveness in Trixie’s heart.

  Chapter 17

  “I need help,” Cathy said.

  “With what?” Agnes asked. Chocolate cake icing was smeared into the wrinkles around her mouth like mocha-colored lipstick.

  Cathy laid a notebook on the table. “I’m listing the wedding dress in a small ad in the Denison and Sherman papers for a month. Help me describe it.”

  “Never been worn,” Trixie said.

  “Jackass fiancé. Dress not needed.” Agnes put in her two cents.

  “Didn’t it come with a description for when you put the wedding announcement in the newspaper?” Marty asked.

  “I’d forgotten about that. I’ve taken a picture already so folks won’t be calling that wanting something else. That brochure is upstairs. I’m off to get it sent in.”

  “Sure you don’t want to keep the thing for when you do get married? You won’t get nearly what you paid for it,” Agnes said.

  Cathy frowned. “It was bought for Ethan. I could never wear it for another man, and besides, if I ever get married I’m going to the courthouse barefoot and in my jeans.”

  “Well, then sell the damn thing. If nobody wants it, I’ll take it out to Violet’s house and drag it behind my car round and round in her circle drive until it’s nothing but tatters. One thing for sure, Marty ain’t never goin’ to need it and she’s the only other person in the county tall enough to wear it. Besides, it’s white and God knows there’s enough cowboys in this state to testify to the fact she don’t need to get married in white.”

  “Well, thanks a lot, Aunt Agnes,” Marty huffed.

  “Truth is truth, darlin’.”

  * * *

  Trixie had been good. She’d helped Misty and Layla get out of an abusive situation. She’d watched I Dream of Jeannie with her mother. She deserved a night at scrapbooking without having to look at Anna Ruth. Cathy felt sorry for her; Trixie didn’t. So maybe, just maybe, Anna Ruth would stay home and help her Aunt Annabel dust off that cake book that Cathy talked about.

  Molly was already set up at the end of a long table. She barely looked up but started talking the minute she noticed Trixie. “This paper you bought last time has worked into my scrapbook so pretty. Look, the pink checks match the little dress she’s wearing.”

  “I brought a box of buttons tonight, Molly. Mamma had them in her things and I’ll never use them all up. What do you think of this one in the corner?”

  “Perfect,” Molly said. “Put some of those in your book. Your mamma, bless her heart, might recognize some of them and have a good moment.”

  “Hell-lo, everyone. I’m here!” Anna Ruth singsonged.

  Shit! Some days God had his hearing aid turned completely off.

  “What are you working on?” Molly asked.

  “A scrapbook of my life. I bought this cute one at the Hobby Lobby this week.” She held up a bright blue book at least an inch thick.

  She must’ve had an exciting eventful life if she intended to fill that book completely up.

  Anna Ruth set a new scrapbooking case on the table and folded back two sides to reveal paper, ribbons, scissors, and everything an advanced scrapbooker would need. It was arranged so neatly that Trixie shivered.

  OCD and scrapbooking in the same house? What a nightmare. No more hoping that Anna Ruth would get bored and stop. It wouldn’t happen. She’d sunk too much money into that kit.

  “Aunt Annabel had this cute little shower invitation that she sent out when she gave Mother a baby shower so it goes on the front page.” She took out a ruler and measured to get the invitation smack in the middle of the page.

  “That’s sweet,” Molly said. “Trixie has been kind enough to bring buttons this week. Why don’t we pour them out in the middle of the table so everyone can sort through them? I’ll help you get them put back in the jar after we’re done tonight.”

  Trixie poured out a long line of multicolored and various shaped buttons. Anna Ruth ignored them and carefully pasted her invitation to the middle of the page.

  “Now what to put around it.” She tapped her cheek with a forefinger. “Have you all heard that Cathy isn’t interested in Andy after all?”

  Trixie giggled.

  “Oh, dear,” Molly said. “We only talk about scrapbooking when we are working. That’s the joy of the business. It takes our minds completely off everything else.”

  Anna Ruth shot a dirty look across the table.

  Trixie ignored her.

  “Trixie, you are the expert at this. Come see what I need. A little bit of ribbon or maybe a touch of eyelet lace,” Molly said.

  Trixie helped her decide on the lace while Anna Ruth pondered over which paper to start with on her first page.

  Luck was not with Trixie that night. She, Molly, and Anna Ruth were the only members to show up. Molly and Trixie made a mess that took half an hour to clean up. Anna Ruth was able to shove her book back into her kit at the end of the evening in two minutes.

  “Ta-da! See y’all next time,” she said as she rushed outside into the hot night air.

  “Think she’ll ever learn to love the art?” Molly asked.

  “She’ll have to loosen up,” Trixie answered. “I’ll sweep and lock up this time. It’s my turn.”

  “No it’s not, but I’ll let you. Sweeping hurts my back.”

  “Then let me carry your kit out to the car. You don’t need to lift something that heavy.”

  “Thanks, honey. I sure will take you up on that too. And thanks for the buttons. Bring them back next week,” Molly said.

  * * *

 
Something damn sure did not feel right in her car. The seat leaned toward the door and the seat belt didn’t want to reach.

  “Well, shit!” Trixie slapped the steering wheel.

  She had a flat tire. Before she was allowed to drive at the age of sixteen, her mother insisted that she know how to change a tire and change oil.

  She’d never learned to like doing either one.

  The steering wheel couldn’t whine or fight back so she slapped it one more time before she crawled out of the car. Sure enough, it was flat as a flitter, however damn flat that was, with nothing between the rim and the street but rubber.

  “Hey, got a problem?” a deep voice said from a car driving past.

  “Flat tire,” she said without looking.

  “I’ll fix it for you, Trixie,” Jack said.

  She whipped around when she recognized his voice. “You are a lifesaver. I mean it. I’ve never had to change a tire on this car. I guess it’s all basic, but I’m not even sure where the jack is located. That’s funny. Jack is located right in front of me.”

  Jack laughed. “Yes he is, and he can change a tire on this faster than you could get the lug nuts off. So pop the trunk and I’ll get it done, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “Uh-oh! What are you doing in this part of town, anyway? Oh, I forgot. You bought that house. Isn’t it right around here? And Cathy got to see it first. What’s up with that?” She looked around.

  “Right across the street. I was over there measuring for the tile layers. Was just locking up to leave when I noticed your car. Open the trunk and I’ll have the spare on in no time. You can take it down to the garage tomorrow and they’ll fix it. Might have a nail in it. Nope, looks like someone removed the valve and let the air out on purpose. I hope it’s not neighborhood kids.”

  Anna Ruth did it. Did Trixie ignore it, confront her, or tell Agnes? The latter sounded like a helluva lot more fun.

  “This really is going to cost you dearly,” Jack said as he jacked the car up slightly and loosened the lug nuts.

  “One free breakfast coming right up,” Trixie said.

  “That sounds pretty good, but I had something else in mind.” He backed the lug nuts off the rest of the way and slid the flat tire away.

  “Lunch too? Come on, Jack, this is getting expensive,” Trixie teased.

  “No, ma’am. Even a bigger favor than that.” He put on the spare and replaced the lug nuts.

  “Okay, I’ll help you in the garage all week, and I won’t even start a fight with Marty over the vote she threw in the pot for Anna Ruth. It’s got something to do with Agnes killing Violet, but I can’t figure it out and Marty ain’t talkin’,” Trixie said.

  “I’ll take that, but I want one more thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “Would you come into my house and give me your honest opinion of what color tile I should put in? I’ve never done this kind of thing and I need help. Mamma is pouting because I’m moving out, but hell’s bells, Trixie, I’ve been home ever since Dad died, and we all know it’s time for me to get my own place,” he said.

  “I’d love to. Why aren’t you using carpet?”

  “I hate to vacuum. A broom and a little mopping once a week will take care of tile. Besides, I want a dog, and carpet is a magnet for dog hair.”

  He finished the job, slammed the trunk shut, and together they crossed the street and walked up on the porch. He’d already locked up so he fished a key from his pocket, opened the door, and flipped on the living room light.

  “Just go on through the house and get a feel for the rooms, then come back to the kitchen and look at the samples.”

  Trixie wandered from room to room. There were plenty of windows for light. The walls had been repainted in a light sand color, and the oak woodwork had gotten a fresh coat of varnish. The whole place smelled clean and wonderful.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Something just a little darker than the walls. It won’t show dirt or dog hair, and it’ll blend with the walls and the woodwork. It’s going to be beautiful, Jack.”

  “Tile next week and furniture after that. I’ll fix your flat tires forever if all three of you girls will go to Sherman to pick out the stuff to go in this place,” he said.

  “Oil changes too?” she asked.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Trixie, but I’ll do it if you can talk Cathy and Marty into going with us.”

  She stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal. Next Sunday I’ve got to go see Mamma in the nursing home, and afterward we should have time to look through two or three stores before they close.”

  He shook it. “I’ll go with you to the nursing home. I haven’t seen Janie in six months. I know. Shame on me. She was so good to us kids when we were growing up. I can’t remember a time she yelled at us for tracking mud in the house or messing up the kitchen.”

  Trixie smiled. “She was a lot of fun. I hear you are buying this house so you can ask Cathy to marry you. That right?”

  Jack sputtered and stammered before he finally got a whole word to come out of his mouth. “Hell no! Whatever gave you that idea? You and Marty and Cathy are like sisters to me. I love you all too much to ruin our friendship with marriage.”

  Trixie giggled.

  “What?”

  “Did you know that Beulah was scared you were going to marry Cathy and Violet would be furious that she tossed Ethan out the door for you?”

  Jack chuckled. “Club! It’s worse than trying to understand women.”

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday nights!

  They’d changed.

  Now Cathy went to the Rib Joint and didn’t even come home until Thursday morning. Marty went to class, came right home, and since the cat was out of the bag about her writing, often as not, she took to her room to work on her books. If the stars were aligned right, Agnes stayed across the street and did not get into the steamer trunk for costumes that smelled like mothballs. Darla Jean had midweek Bible study with her growing flock.

  And Trixie did not have sex with Andy. She still hadn’t come clean about having wild Wednesdays in the past, but since the night Agnes showed up with the shotgun, everything had been crazy. There was the thing about the vote, Darla Jean’s new mission, and now Jack was moving into his own house. The time had not been right; when it was, she’d confess just like Cathy had done about reading hot romance.

  “Where is your mind, Trixie?” Jack asked.

  “I was thinking about changes in our lives. What did I miss?”

  “Nothing. I asked for a ratchet and you handed me a Phillips head screwdriver.” Jack chuckled. “Want to talk about it?”

  “It’s all Agnes’s fault.”

  “She caught you with Andy that night, didn’t she?”

  “How did you know?”

  “His unmarked car was sitting in the parking lot when we arrived on the scene. He said later that he’d just pulled up to see what was going on. Didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

  Trixie’s face burned. “Guess not.”

  “Marty know?”

  Trixie shook her head.

  “Is it still going on?”

  She wiped her hands on a grease rag. “I’m out here on Wednesday nights these days.”

  “You deserve better. You always have.”

  “Thanks, Jack. And here is the ratchet.”

  “It’s the truth, Trixie. You deserve the very best.”

  * * *

  “Well, hello, Miss Andrews,” Lynn Woodson said from behind her desk. “I’m just finishing up here and you can have it. I was trying to get the last of this week’s assignments graded.” She snapped her laptop shut and shoved it into a tote bag with Ethan Prescott for State Representative printed on the side.

  Marty looked down at the tote bag. “You helping with his camp
aign?”

  “Yes, I am, but I don’t guess you’ll be voting for Ethan?” She picked up the bag and headed toward the door.

  “Probably not. I guess you are?”

  “Of course I am. We are dating, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “We had broken up when he started seeing Catherine. I was heartbroken when he proposed to her, and even though she is your sister, I’m glad it didn’t work out.”

  “Me too,” Marty said.

  Lynn was an outspoken political science professor at the college. Violet Prescott was about to wish she’d never pushed that prenup in Cathy’s face.

  Students began to arrive at the same time Lynn left the room. Marty passed out the next lesson booklet in the study. If they had problems with any part of it, they were to raise their hand and she’d come to their desk. As they started, Marty looked out over the crowd and located Derek. He was a bright young man, and with the GED, he hoped to start college in January.

  When classes ended, she shut her laptop, happy with the first chapter of the book, switched off the lights, and locked the door to her classroom. The temperature dropped several degrees when she went outside. It seldom ever snowed in Cadillac, but there was that kind of feel to the night air. Thank goodness they weren’t still planning a wedding in December. Not unless Lynn and Ethan decided to get married real fast. In which case, Agnes might try to sell them a morning glory wedding cake.

  With Violet in the picture, Marty could easily see Lynn and Ethan having a private ceremony at some chapel in Vegas or else going to Cancun after the election. No, sir, Lynn would not be buying a cake that looked like it was oozing the bride and groom’s blood.

  The parking lot at the Rib Joint was crowded, but she did find a place out near the road. The noise was close to pollution level and got louder when she was inside. A line dance was going on, and the stomping on the wood floor jarred the walls.

  Cathy was behind the counter, drawing beers and taking money for orders. She looked happier than Marty had ever seen her.

  “Hey!” She waved.

  Marty made her way around the end of the dancers who were slapping their hips and yelling, “Hell yeah!”