Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (4 page)

"Criminy," Ruth said. "I didn't even think about that. Maybe we can do something."

"Don't know what. She's not ready to ride in the truck yet."

"The forklift?"

"She swore she would never be driven down the road on a forklift again."

"Then we'll bring the party to her," Ruth said.

"Oh, I don't see how. I thought we'd make a plate up for her. You know, pile it up with everything—maybe make two plates and some pie and bring that to her."

"I guess that makes more sense."

"Sure. That way not everyone has to go. Maybe just you and me and Stu if he wants."

"You're a good sister," Ruth said.

I looked down the road. "No, I don't think so. Sometimes I think if I was really a good sister Agnes wouldn't be in the predicament she's in."

"Now you stop that talk," Ruth said. "You did what you had to do. Agnes let you . . . she let everybody feed her and mollycoddle her. It's not your fault."

I drove a little farther before speaking again. "Thanks, Ruth. But it's still hard to let go of those feelings. Maybe that's why Zeb and me never got married and keep breaking up."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'm not my own person—like Zeb says. I spent my whole life catering to Agnes so much that I got lost along the way."

"Well, look at you now. You're flying an airplane, living alone, running the library. You'll see, God will help you make up for whatever time you lost."

I helped Ruth with the groceries and then headed over to the café. Even though Zeb was not speaking to me, I still wanted to see him. After what Ruth said I was hoping he'd want to talk and see if we could work out our differences. Maybe I did let Agnes get between us.

It was by now nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. The café would not be busy this time of day, but Zeb was probably busy getting ready for the dinner rush.

Dot was wiping down tables as only one customer—a truck driver from the look of him—was chomping down a fried baloney sandwich with a piece of Full Moon Pie waiting in the wings. Dot Handy was a good egg. She took over the waitress job after Cora passed away. Dot was a skinny woman, maybe not as skinny as Cora was but skinny nonetheless. Besides her work at the Café, Dot also took the minutes at all the town meetings—a job she took very seriously, carefully writing every word, rushing home to her IBM Selectric, typing it all up, and snapping it into a blue binder she kept under lock and key like she held the secret formula for Pepsi. I suppose it was her jobs that made her a natural busybody. She knew everyone's business.

"Hey, Dot." I sat at the counter so I could snag a glimpse of Zeb in the kitchen.

"Hey, Griselda," Dot said between swipes. "Zeb ain't here, if you come to see him."

"He's not? Where is he?"

"Not sure. Just said he had something to do and that he should be back in plenty of time for dinner. But he also told me to start cooking if he didn't make it. I hate cooking on the grill, so he better get back." Dot tossed her wet rag in a bucket of water under the counter. "Can I get you anything, or you just come in to make yourself feel bad?"

"No. I don't want anything. I didn't come to make myself feel bad, either. I was hoping to talk to Zeb a minute."

"He's still pretty sore at you, you know. How come you went and broke up with him anyway?"

I fiddled with a saltshaker. "Oh, I don't know. I never know. Sometimes it's me. Sometimes it's him. Guess it was my turn. I needed some space and time. It's been different since Agnes left. I kind of like having no ties, well, at least such tight ties."

"Freedom," Dot said. "Well, saying that won't make Zeb feel good. He misses you. The boy loves you, you know."

I looked past Dot out the café window. "I know he does."

"Do you love him?"

That was a question I couldn't answer. I thought I loved Zeb, but lately I had been feeling a bit mixed up.

"Well?" Dot said. "Because if you don't, then you better let Zeb know for certain, one way or the other, so he can move on with his life." She looked into my eyes. "Although to tell the God's honest truth, I can't imagine Zeb with any other woman."

I nodded.

"And you got to admit," Dot said. "The pickins are slim around here. Least you got Cliff Cardwell to turn your head."

"How many times do I have to say there's nothing going on between Cliff and me?"

"Don't tell lies, Griselda. You might not be doing anything about it, but you're attracted to more than just his air-o-plane, and it don't take a brain surgeon to see he likes you. Zeb is off in the distance somewhere."

I nodded again. "I guess I need to figure this out."

"You ain't getting any younger, Griselda. How old are you anyway, forty-one, -two?"

"Three. I'm forty-three."

"Old enough to make up your mind—and fast. Zeb or Cliff."

"Thanks, Dot. Tell Zeb I stopped by—"

"No. Not me. This is between you two."

"OK, OK. Then I'll stop by later."

I left the truck parked at the café and walked toward home. I will admit that sadness had been creeping into my spirit since Zeb stopped talking to me. The town, now in its autumn best, usually cheered me but not that day. I usually enjoyed the crisp air and the smell of wood smoke wafting through the streets. The crunch of leaves underfoot was always so playful and reminded me of my childhood. But not that day. That day the sadness I carried suddenly trumped anything that even smacked of joy. I wanted Zeb to understand that I only needed time. But he was in a hurry—a hurry that took him the better part of a quarter century to work up to.

We had been what you would call an item since our junior year of high school, but every time we even thought about marriage, something got in the way—usually it was Zeb's great big cold feet or Agnes's great big behind. This was not the first time I had called things off for some reason or other. Maybe there was some truth to what Dot said about me and Cliff Cardwell.

The dark clouds that threatened earlier had moved on leaving a brilliant cerulean sky—the kind I usually enjoyed, with wispy, wind-tussled clouds that moved like lace through the sky.

I walked on until I saw Cliff Cardwell strolling down the street. He wore his leather bomber jacket and blue jeans. He was tall, handsome and had shoulders that I would have to be dead not to admit I found . . . nice. His timing was impeccable. My knees went a little rubbery when he got closer, and I could smell his aftershave.

"Hi, Griselda," he said.

I needed to catch my breath. "Hey, Cliff. What's up?"

"I'm glad I found you. I haven't seen you in a few days. We need to talk about your pilot's test."

"I know." I looked at the ground. "I guess I'm a little nervous about taking it."

Cliff draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, but not like boyfriend and girlfriend. More like chums. "Ah, you'll do great. You are my best student."

"I'm your only student, Cliff."

Cliff Cardwell had made an emergency landing on Hector's Hill several months ago. He only needed some repairs. But as it turned out, he liked Bright's Pond so much he stayed, and now he keeps his plane parked on Hector's Hill and makes deliveries for folks. I fell in love that day—instantly. Not with him, but with his plane, a cute little blue and white airplane. Cliff had been giving me flying lessons and that, I suppose, is what had started the latest problem with Zeb and me. Zeb had a jealous streak (the color of a gherkin) running down his back. I didn't know if I should have been flattered or angry.

"I can reserve a place for you at the Scranton airport," Cliff said. "Just let me know."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I should take a couple more pretest test flights."

"I don't think you need it. But we can do that if it'll make you more comfortable. We can go up right now if you want. I was just heading down to the Full Moon for a sandwich, but I can eat later."

I looked back toward the café, and a feeling burbled up inside me. Zeb had brought this on himself. I might have been with him right now if he wasn't acting like such a jerk.

"Fine. Let's go."

The walk to Hector's Hill was not long, but it was uphill and by the time we got there, I was huffing and puffing a little. The plane looked great. It had been a week or more since I had flown and just seeing her there made all the sadness of the day drain right out of me.

"Matilda looks great," I said. Just seeing her helped me forget my trouble with Zeb. "Did you wash her or something?"

"Yep, and I even touched up the paint."

I walked toward the plane. I ran my hand over her wing. It was cold and smooth.

"You might as well take her up," Cliff said. "I wish you could just fly her yourself, but rules are rules."

"I know. That's fine. I'm just eager to get behind the stick."

After going through the preflight checklist I started Matilda down the small makeshift runway, and just before the ground ended at the edge of the cliff, I pulled back on the stick and in seconds we were off and climbing into the wispy clouds. There was no feeling in the world like it when the plane left the ground.

"Why not head over to Greenbrier?" Cliff said. "You can tip your wings to Agnes."

"Ha, sounds good. Even if she'll never see me."

"Maybe someday she'll see you fly."

I had to bank just slightly north, then east, and then straighten her out for a direct shot to the nursing home. We flew over the Paradise Trailer Park first. "Hey, look," I said. "What's that in the middle of all those trailers?"

"Looks like a fountain of some sort."

"No kidding? I think you're right." I took Matilda around for another look. "I can't believe it. They got that old fountain up and pumping again. It's been years since water has flowed through those old pipes."

"It's pretty," Cliff said. "All trailer parks should have a fountain."

I had heard that Charlotte Figg and that Rose Tattoo woman had started to make some important changes in Paradise. And now that Studebaker's cousin, Asa, was the new manager, it looks like they had started to accomplish a few things. It made my heart glad to see some more bright spots in Bright's Pond.

"Next stop, or next flyover, I should say, is Greenbrier," I said.

From the air, the nursing home complex looked like a military installation with scattered flat-top buildings and clumps of trees and the flagpole in the center of the complex.

"Thar she blows," Cliff said.

For a second I didn't know if he was making a nasty reference to Agnes or just being silly. I figured silly. It was just my mood that translated even innocent things into sarcasm.

"I guess you haven't been inside Greenbrier recently," I said.

"Nah, not since that whole debacle a few months ago."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad that's cleared up, but I was there earlier today and there are some strange things happening."

"Like what?"

"Well, old people riding tricycles up and down the hallways and even older people making out in the gazebo."

"Making out? You mean like kissing and stuff?"

"Well, I don't know about the stuff but definitely kissing."

"Ah, it's OK. Old people are just old, not dead."

"I know but it's weird in there. It's like some kind of spell has fallen over them."

"Now you're talking weird. No spell has overtaken the nursing home. Oh, watch your airspeed."

"Right, sorry. I know, but it is weird over there. Agnes said she'll keep an eye on things and let me know if she sees anything else unusual."

I banked the plane and headed back for Hector's Hill.

"How is your sister?" Cliff asked.

"She's OK. They got her on that diet, so she feels a little deprived."

"I'll bet. But is it working?"

"Yeah, I believe it is. Whether she likes it or not, she's losing weight. But the doctor said she'll lose quickly at first and then start to have plateaus when it gets harder."

"I really do hope she gets it under control. It can't be healthy. Doesn't she miss being part of the world—going out, doing things?"

"That's something I never understood. She was always just so content to sit home and pray, watch TV. It was like she wanted to hide from the world."

Minutes later, Hector's Hill was in sight and I lined Matilda up for a landing.

"So what do you say? How about we schedule your pilot's test for next week?"

"Next week is Thanksgiving."

"Oh, that's right. Then the week after."

"I guess. Are you sure I'm ready?"

"I am, but how do you feel? Are you ready?"

The feel of the stick and foot pedals was secure, certain. I enjoyed the way my back pressed against the seat and the sounds inside the plane. Everything about it felt right and good.

"I am," I said. "I'm ready."

I landed the plane perfectly, smooth as butter on toast. Maybe even the best landing of my career.

"Good job, Griselda," Cliff said.

After securing Matilda, Cliff and I headed back to town.

"Are you having Thanksgiving with Nate and Stella?" I asked. Cliff had been living with them until he found a place of his own. But to be honest, I think Cliff enjoyed it on the farm, and Nate liked having Cliff around to help with chores and to have someone other than Stella to talk to.

"No, they're going out of town. Stella's brother is taking them to Bermuda. Must be nice having a rich brother."

"Oh, wow, that will be nice. Looks like we'll all have exotic Thanksgivings."

Cliff walked on ahead and then stopped short. "A what Thanksgiving?"

"Exotic. Ruth is planning a Hawaiian Thanksgiving. That's where I'll be, I'm sure you'd be welcome if you want to come."

"Will Zeb be there?"

"He's supposed to be, but who knows, Cliff? He's acting like a baby. We broke up again."

"Then I'll be there. I mean, that is to say, I'm sorry, Griselda."

"Oh, it's OK. Maybe it's for the best this time. Maybe it'll stick. We've broken up so many times I lose count."

We walked a few more paces as dusk settled over town. "Hawaiian Thanksgiving? What the heck is that?"

"Ruth's idea. It sounds like fun, actually. She saw a picture in a magazine of a pineapple and mango glazed turkey. Started the whole thing. "

"Hey, that does sound interesting."

We stopped outside of the Kincaid's farm. The sun was low at the horizon and looked like a giant nectarine with ribbons of purple and red in front of it.

"The sunset is nice," I said.

"Sure is." He looked into my eyes. "So, OK, I guess I'll see you later."