Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (6 page)

"Signature? What do you mean? They signed their spray-painted masterpieces?" Kari asked.

"Not exactly," I said, wishing I'd buttoned my lip.

A cell phone notification sounded and four of us checked their phones.

"It's mine," Brian said.

"Of course it is," Kari said.

Brian stared at the phone, smiled, and keystroked a text message.

"Well?" Kari said. "It's little Miss Mentee, isn't it?"

Brian shrugged and put the phone in his pocket.

"What does she want this time? More hand-holding? Or does she want you to proof her paper?"

"She has to fill out self-evaluation forms and wants me to look over the section on goals and tactics and strategies for success," Brian told his put out spouse.

"What is she trying to be successful at? Creating wedges between newlyweds? Manufacturing mentor marital strife?" Kari said, taking a long gulp of wine. "Cheers."

"For God's sake, Kari. It's my job."

"Teaching is your job. Not babysitting newbie teachers."

Brian's phone rang. He checked the display and frowned.

"Excuse me. I've got to take this," he said and left the table.

Kari's eyes may have fired invisible daggers at her husband's back, but I suspected the sudden sheen I noticed there had less to do with anger than with hurt feelings.

"Who is this Martina again?" Rick asked.

"She's a new teacher Brian's been assigned to mentor. I just met her once. She seemed very…intense."

"I'm sure she's just super anxious to do a good job," I assured my friend. "She probably doesn't want to make any mistakes."

"Too late for that," Kari said, taking another sip of wine. She shook her head. "I refuse to let my clueless husband ruin this evening. I've looked forward to the four of us getting together for ages. I'm so happy we finally made it happen. I'm thrilled the two of you are putting yourself out there as a couple. Now, what were we talking about when we were so rudely interrupted? Oh, yes. You were about to tell us about the signature that linked those property crimes."

I'd hoped Martina the mentee had distracted Kari long enough for her to forget follow-up questions about the local vandals. No such luck.

"I really shouldn't say anything—"

"Come on, Tressa. I won't say anything to anyone. Girl Scout promise."

I sighed. Kari really had been a Girl Scout. What choice did I have but to trust her?

"There were some rather unique drawings at each of the scenes," I said, lowering my voice to just above a whisper.

"Drawings? What kind of drawings?" Rick asked. "Like gang signs?"

I looked at him.

"You know about gang tags?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You pick this stuff up."

"Never mind that. What about the drawings?" Kari asked.

"Pink tornadoes," I said in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Huh?" Rick and Kari said.

"Pink spray-painted tornadoes," I repeated.

"Someone spray-painted pink tornadoes on cars and buildings?" Kari asked.

I nodded. "Big, fat, pink tornadoes."

Kari frowned. "Huh," she said. "You know. I seem to recall seeing pink tornadoes somewhere, but I can't recall where." She rubbed her forehead. "I wish I could remember where I'd seen them. Oh, don't look now, but here comes Mr. Mentor."

Brian returned to the table.

"Sorry about that," he said and picked up his beer.

"I'll just bet you are," Kari said. "What's the big emergency now? Martina can't figure out where she needs a comma, how to number pages, or how to refill a stapler?"

"Would you lay off, Kari? I'm sick and tired of your attitude," Brian said.

"So. Brian. How do you think the Hawkeyes will fare this season?" Townsend attempted an intervention.

Without success.

"Oh, really, Brian?" Kari said. "Well, I'm sick and tired of you kowtowing to some chippie with performance anxieties."

"Kowtowing? I'm doing my job, for God's sake."

"Has anyone seen a good movie lately?" I waded in, not about to let Townsend attempt this rescue mission alone.

"Your contract hours are 7:30 to 3:30, five days a week, Einstein. Not twenty-four seven."

"Oh. And I suppose you never go the extra mile—or extra hour—for your students. What about the plays? What about the writing contests? What about the endless events you've forced me to chaperone?" Brian countered.

"Forced? Forced? So all this time you only pretended to enjoy chaperoning."

"Hell yes, I pretended. What guy enjoys standing around a gym where nobody's dribbling a ball?"

I held my breath. I knew my bestie well enough to sense an impending eruption.

Stand back! She's fixin' to blow!

No sooner had that thought entered my head than I saw my bestie throw her napkin down, get to her feet, and dump what was left of her wine on her hubby of a year's head.

"Sorry, Tressa," she said and ran out of the restaurant.

Rick handed Brian his napkin.

"See ya, bud," Rick told his friend.

Brian wiped his face and head and got to his feet.

"See ya," he said and left.

We sat silent and speechless and stared at each other over wine-soiled linens and lukewarm beer. Townsend raised his glass.

"A toast. To our second date. May the third one be the charm," he said.

I clinked his glass and drained mine.

Date one had culminated in a hit and run and a missing celebrity.

Our second date had ended with newlyweds making a public scene.

Who knew the
Dating Game
could turn into
The Hunger Games
?

We'd finished our meals—changing our double dates' orders to carryouts—and were preparing to leave when I remembered Aunt Eunice's rarebit.

"Shoot!" I said. "I forgot I was supposed to place a rarebit order to go."

Rick frowned.

"You've already got baked cavatelli, teriyaki steak, and sides, T," he pointed out. "What do you need with a rarebit?"

I bit my lip, remembering the vow of secrecy Aunt Eunice had almost made me sign in blood. Mine.

"Oh. Well, I thought since you paid for the meals, you'd take them," I covered.

"Right. Like that was going to happen," my date said.

I shrugged, recognizing the validity of his statement. The clever ranger-type had a point—and a history of past conduct on his side.

Let her eat steak and pasta!

By the time we headed for the homestead, the sun had set and those last faint glimmers of light faded slowly into the horizon. Rick whistled a contented tune while the motion of the pickup and the heaviness of a full stomach lulled me into a satisfied glow. I thought about my friend's recent marriage—how insecure and unhappy she'd seemed, reflecting on Craig and Kimmie's baby battle, as well—and sighed.

Was that what marriage was these days? A constant battle to keep outside forces at bay—to prevent destructive influences from breaching the sanctity of the institution? I didn't think I could live that way—always looking for some breach—a growing gap in the relationship somebody waiting in the wings was only too happy to step in and fill.

I looked over at Townsend. Would it be that way with us, too? Was trust within a marriage a vanishing concept? Was marriage itself antiquated and old-fashioned? Faithfulness and fidelity old-style and cliché?

Maybe I was the old-fashioned one to want something solid and lasting. Maybe I was living in a fairy tale world that didn't exist any more. Maybe I was just a sappy, hopeless romantic.

I felt the sting of tears and turned my head to look out the passenger window as the pickup cruised down the county road. Townsend slowed to turn onto the gravel road by Harve Dawson's place.

Harve is a good ol' boy who is about the best horse trimmer and horse shoer in these parts. As long as we've had horses, Harry has performed their pedicures.

As we turned off, the glare of Townsend's headlamp bounced off an object next to Harry's mailbox. I frowned. It looked kind of like one of those lawn gnomes. Weird. I'd never noticed before that Harve had a gnome. I turned to look out the back of the truck as we drove away.

"Something wrong?" Townsend asked.

I shook my head.

"I guess not."

Minutes later we pulled into my driveway.

"Geez. You think you left enough lights on? I bet your folks are enjoying the view."

I turned to stare at the double-wide and groaned. Aunt Eunice had every light on—indoors and out. I could hear kilowatts clicking off.

"With all the vandalism going on, a person can't be too careful," I explained.

"Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about security tonight," Townsend said, snaking an arm across the back of the truck seat and around my shoulders. "I'd like to volunteer my services as your personal bodyguard." He held me close and kissed me softly.

I closed my eyes and, like a stick of taffy left in a car in midsummer, melted.

We kissed and kissed some more, squeezing, stroking, and caressing as things heated up.

"T?" Ranger Rick said, his lips on mine.

"Huh?"

"I think we better continue indoors."

"Uh-huh."

"Now T," Rick urged.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

The pounding on the passenger window next to me brought me up.

"Hey! You in the truck! Your windows are all fogged up. You okay in there? Helloo?"

Rick let go of me.

"What in God's name?" he said.

Bam! Bam!

The knocking came at the driver's side this time.

"Hello in there! Tressa Jayne? Is that you?"

Rick looked at me, a confused look on his face.

"Who the hell is that?"

I bit my lip. Honestly, it was anyone's guess. Behind door number one we might discover eccentric Great Aunt Eunice. On the other hand, behind door number two Eunice's male alter ego could be lurking.

Pick a door. Any door.

"Open up or I'm calling the police!"

Rick rolled down his window.

I held my breath.

"Can I help you, sir?" Rick said.

"Help me? You're the one parked out here with fogged up windows!"

I winced.

And behind door number two we have…
Mr. Bojangles
.

Rick opened his door and got out. I climbed across the seat after him.

Aunt Eunice, in old man regalia—my living room quilt thrown over his…er…her shoulders—peered at Ranger Rick over the top of a pair of reading glasses Gram had left behind when she moved.

"Are you lost, sir? Are you well? Do you need me to contact someone for you?" Rick asked, his concern for the elderly man touching, if a tad misplaced.

"No, I don't need nothing. I'm just chillin'. Know what I'm saying?" Great Aunt Eunice had obviously been practicing her old dude act. And apparently she'd been taking those lessons from
Cops Reloaded
because she sure as shoot had a bad boy thing going on.

"What are you doing out here, pardner?"

"Oh, just hangin' with my girlfriend here. Know what I'm sayin'?"

I winced.

"Girlfriend? And how do you know Tressa?" Rick asked.

"Oh, Tressa and I go way back,
pardner
. W
aa
y back. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"Not really," Rick replied. "Tressa?" He looked at me.

"Well, um, you see—"

"Tressa Jayne is my great niece," Bojangles said. "I skidded into town short on funds, but full of love for my family, and my sweet little ol' niece gave me a place to hang before the family shindig. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"You're Tressa's great uncle?" Rick said, shaking his head.

"Well, I wouldn't actually say I was all that
great
of an uncle. Hey, hey, hey."

Now Aunt Eunice, clearly enjoying her role, sounded more like
Fat Albert
.

"Uncle, er, Bo has been, um, estranged from the family." The "strange" part was definitely on the money.

"I been what you call amiss about keeping in touch with kin. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"I think he means 'remiss,'" I inserted.

"I know what he meant, Tressa. Your grandmother's side of the family, I take it."

I shrugged. How the heck did I know what backstory Aunt Bo, er, Eunice had in mind?

"I'm kinda the black sheep of the family," Uncle Bo said. "The rebel. You know what I'm sayin'?"

Townsend frowned and looked at me. "I didn't know your grandmother had a brother. The only great I know about is the great aunt your grandmother refers to as the homely Blackford sister."

I gasped. Holy sibling rivals!

"Now, now, now," Bo said, wagging a finger at Townsend. "Don't you be talkin' smack about Eunice, boy," 'Bo' said. "'Cause them be fightin' words." Aunt Eunice brought her fists up in a pugilist's stance.

I cringed when I saw the mystic mauve nail polish. I hoped to God Rick didn't notice it.

"Now Uncle…um, er, Bo," I said, cupping my hands around Aunt Eunice's balled-up fists to rein her in. "Rick here didn't mean anything. Honest. He's a good guy."

"Rick? Rick Townsend? The Rick you used to call turd muffin? A guy whose ego is only eclipsed by 'the Donald's?' The feller who, when he bends over in his Levis, gives a gal dry mouth and heart palpitations."

Rick looked at me.

"I give you palpitations?"

I shook my head.

"That was my gammy."

He blinked.

"Bo here's a halfer," Aunt Eunice said.

"A heifer?" Townsend looked at me and shook his head.

"Half bro. See Bo struck out on his own when he was a lad and never looked back. Haven't seen family since I was a strapping younker. "

Holy Hemingway! The backstory thickened.

"So your Uncle Bo is staying here with you?" Townsend asked. "How come you didn't mention it before now?"

"It was one of them surprises, sonny," Uncle Bo said. "Know what I'm sayin', Rick?"

"A surprise."

I put my hands up and stuck my foot out in my own "ta-da" pose.

"Surprise!" I said, wishing I'd let Rick in on the charade sooner and vowing to clear things up with a phone call as soon as Rick drove away.