Mama Rides Shotgun (15 page)

“What do you remember
before you saw the bees?’’

Mama and I sat in Sal’s big Cadillac, alone at the spot they’d chosen for their camp. My sisters were off tending the horses. Sal had gone to find someone to help him with Maddie’s tent. Carlos had remained scarce since our ridiculous spat over who’d rescue Mama.

“I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary, Mace. If I’d known I was going on a death ride, I might have paid more attention.’’

She sat in the front seat with her ankle on her pillows. I was stretched out in the back.

“Mama, there has to be something. Sounds? Sights? Just be quiet for a minute and try to think.’’

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the driver’s window.

Willie Nelson’s “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” drifted over from the speakers of someone’s CD player. The crack of a cow whip rang out. Cheers and whistles came from a makeshift barrel-racing course on the far edge of camp.

“I’m sorry, Mace,’’ Mama finally said. “When I shut my eyes, all I can see is a maze of tree limbs and the ground coming at me.’’

I felt for her. She wasn’t shying from the attention she was getting now, but she must have been awfully scared in those woods on the runaway Shotgun.

“All right, did you notice any people, then? You weren’t too far from the cook site. Did you see Johnny Adams, for example?’’

She shook her head.

“How about anyone in the Bramble family? Wynonna was in that crowd of people that gathered around where you fell off.’’

“Jumped off, Mace.’’ She turned sideways to glare at me. “I jumped off on purpose.’’

“Whatever, Mama. Did you see Wynonna before you saw the bees?’’

She started to say no, and then clapped a hand to her cheek. “Wait! When I was riding through the woods to holler to y’all, I saw Trey! He was half-hidden in some trees. And Mace, I think he’s drinking again.’’

I felt my heart sink.

“He pulled a silver flask out of his pocket, and poured half of it into a plastic cup from the lunch wagon. He looked around, real sneaky-like, and then took a big swallow.’’

“Maybe it was vitamin water, or something like that,’’ I said lamely.

She looked at me with pity. “Oh, honey, don’t do that.’’ We both remembered her Husband No. 2.

“And then Belle walked up to him,’’ Mama continued, sounding more certain as her memory filled in the blanks. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Belle looked upset. When Trey took out the flask again, she put her hand on his arm to stop him. But he shook her off and poured in the rest of it anyway.’’

“What’d Belle do?’’

“She turned and ran off into the trees. She had a camera case around her neck.’’

“What about Trey?”

“No, he didn’t have a camera.’’

I stopped my eye-roll before it started. “I meant, what’d Trey do next?’’

“Oh. Nothing. He just slid his back down the tree, swayed onto the ground, and took another big gulp from his drink. I’m sorry to have seen that, Mace.’’

“That’s okay, Mama.” I leaned over the seat and patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve done real well in remembering. How long was all this before the bees?’’

“I’d say five or ten minutes, maybe a little more. After I saw the two of them, I stopped to talk to that nice gal that Maddie knows from teaching school. She and her husband were sitting on a log, sharing their lunch. Sharon’s her name. Or maybe it was Karen,’’ Mama’s eyes rolled toward the car’s roof, like the name might be up there. “They both got cherry pie for dessert.’’

I knew I’d better lasso her back to the point, or I’d soon know how they liked their pie along with Sharon or Karen’s life history.

“What about noises, Mama? Did you hear anything unusual?’’

“You mean beside a swarm of bees?’’

She closed her eyes again, trying to remember. When she opened them, they were wide.

“Right before the bees, I did hear a funny noise. It was a slapping, like someone hitting their horse with a riding crop. I remember thinking no one should have to beat on an animal like that. It was loud, like this.’’ Just as she struck Sal’s leather seat hard with her hand, a rapping on the back windshield made both of us jump.

“Sorry.’’ Doc Abel leaned his head into the open window across from Mama. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just came to see how my patient is doing.’’

Mama waved her hand. “I’m fine, Doc. I sure do hate for anyone to make a fuss.’’

Yeah, Mama hates a fuss like Paris Hilton hates a party.

After Doc did a quick check of Mama’s ankle, I said, “C’mon in and have a seat.’’ I opened the car’s door and scooted over.

“Don’t mind if I do.’’ He thudded onto the back seat, and the Caddy seesawed with his weight. “The older I get, the more it takes out of me to go traipsing around in the woods. I don’t think I’ll make this ride again next year.’’

“Nonsense, Doc,’’ Mama said. “You’re still in fine shape.’’

I wondered if her fall had knocked Mama’s eyeballs loose.

“Well, thank you, Rosalee. But I’m fifty pounds too fat and twenty years too old. I’ll be seventy-nine on my next birthday, you know.’’

“I hope you plan something special. Tell me, does Mrs. Abel make a big deal out of your birthdays?’’

I had to admire her technique. Mama probably had Doc in mind for one of her bingo buddies, if he wasn’t married.

“My wife died many years ago,’’ Doc said. “In the year or two after I lost her, I didn’t have the heart to take up with someone else. But the more time that passed, the harder it got to imagine going out and starting all over again with dating and the like. I always kept busy with my work. Now, at my age, who the hell would want me?’’ He chuckled, but his eyes looked sad.

“Didn’t you have any kids? No grandkids?’’ Mama asked.

“My wife and I only had one child. A girl. She died in a car crash up near Holopaw when she was in her twenties. It was such a senseless loss. My wife never really got over it. She got sick herself within eighteen months of our daughter’s death. Cancer. She just didn’t seem to have the desire or the will to fight for her life,’’ he said.

Mama reached over the seat and put a gentle hand on his cheek. Her own cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh, you poor thing. I am so sorry.’’

My eyes felt hot. You never imagine when you meet somebody what kind of private heartache they’ve endured. I wished I could cry, or offer comfort, as naturally as Mama does.

“What was your daughter like, Doc?’’ I questioned him, staying in my emotional safety zone.

A smile lit his face. “She was lovely. And smart, too. She’d just finished college, and planned to follow my footsteps into medical school. She looked a little like Belle Bramble, that same fiery hair. She was just about Belle’s present age when she died. I think that’s why I’ve always been so fond of Belle. She reminds me of my girl, Lilly.’’

Doc seemed happy talking about his daughter. I was just about to ask him another question, when we heard a Bronx honk across the campsite.

“I’m back, Rosie! Maddie’s tent is up and I’ve got just the thing for a pre-dinner snack,’’ Sal yelled, holding up a foil-wrapped paper plate like a trophy. “This coconut cream pie’s got your name on it.’’

Doc opened the car door and eased his bulk outside. “I’ll be on my way, ladies. Maybe I’ll see y’all at dinner. Rosalee, stay off that ankle as much as you can, hear?’’

Sal, eyes twinkling at Mama, said, “Guess that means no dancing tonight, huh Doc? Me and Rosie won’t be cuttin’ a rug?’’

“Not unless you’re doing it with a pair of scissors,’’ Doc laughed.

As he walked away, he whistled that now-familiar tune. Off-key, of course. But as sad as Doc had seemed, it still sounded good.

I watched Sal—plumping Mama’s pillows, replacing her melted ice with a fresh supply. He unwrapped the pie and loaded a bite onto a plastic fork. Then he started feeding her, as if she’d wrenched her wrist and not her foot. It was kind of nauseating, but also sweet.

We’d had our differences, Sal and I. And the sound of that New Yawk accent still grated on my Southern ears. But he took such good care of Mama, treating her as if she were a pack of precious jewels. And Mama clearly loved being cosseted. Between bites, she beamed at Sal as if he were George Clooney and Brad Pitt rolled into one. And he beamed right back.

I wondered if I’d ever find someone who cared for me like that? And if I did, would I ever let him show it?

Mama’s accident, or her
pre-dinner snack, didn’t ruin her appetite.

All that was left from her fried catfish was a pile of bones. She’d plowed through grits, coleslaw, and hush puppies, too. Now, she tucked into her first slice of after-dinner pie. A second slice waited on deck. With her fork almost to her mouth, the morsel stalled in midair.

“Well, look at you! Aren’t you sweet.’’ She smiled at the big-bottomed cowgirl, who had come bearing more dessert.

“I thought this might make you feel better after that awful spill you took.’’ The cowgirl glanced uncertainly at the brownie she was carrying.

“Well, honey, sweets are just the ticket when you’ve had the kind of day I had. You never can have too many, that’s what I always say,’’ Mama reassured her.

Putting down her fork, she grabbed the brownie and plate from the cowgirl. She slid it onto an upended log beside her, next to the pie and three homemade chocolate chip cookies. If folks kept bringing treats, Mama could open a bakery right here in the woods.

Visitors had streamed by continuously. Some cared; most were just curious to see how she’d fared in her ill-fated race on Shotgun. We heard the horse was okay, except for a few bee stings.

Later, a songwriter who bills himself as a performer of Florida Cracker Soul was slated to sing and play guitar. Sal and my sisters had gone to scope out seats. I was keeping Mama company until she finished eating—which, at this rate, might be at midnight.

She invited her latest well-wisher to sit with us by the fire in Sal’s vacant camp chair.

“I hate to be nosy.’’ The cowgirl settled into the seat. “But we’ve been hearing all sorts of awful things about what’s been happening to you or your daughters.’’

She glanced at me. I made my face a mask. I wasn’t about to discuss our business with this stranger. Mama, of course, had no such reluctance.

“Oh, my yes!’’ she said, taking a quick swallow of pie. “It’s been one strange thing after another ever since my middle daughter Mace and I found poor Lawton’s body. This here is Mace.’’ Mama leaned over to brush my bangs out of my eyes.

I jerked away, and then exchanged a nod with the cowgirl.

Mama began to tick off the events of the past few days on her fingers: “First, someone takes a knife and shreds poor Mace’s sleeping bag and her tent.’’

The cowgirl looked at me and gasped. I stared into the fire.

“Oh, don’t worry, honey. Mace wasn’t in it at the time.’’ Mama held up another finger.

“Second, Mace’s horse got hit with a cow whip, and ran her right into the path of a semi-truck hauling grapefruit.’’

“Oranges, Mama,’’ I corrected.

The woman looked at me, eyes as round as silver dollars. “I heard it was Trey Bramble’s girlfriend that did that,’’ she said.

When I didn’t reply, Mama cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Ex-girlfriend, honey. Her name’s Austin. And that little tramp claims it was an accident.’’

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Mama. She ignored me. I knew it was useless to ask her to stop. She’s the Niagara Falls of gossip.

Just then, I saw Sal, Marty, and Maddie heading our way from the other side of the fire. Happily, I’d be relieved of my nursemaid duties. I pushed myself up from the ground. “I’m going for a walk.’’

Mama gave me a small wave, and then raised another finger for the cowgirl. “Third, my youngest, Marty, nearly got bitten by a rattlesnake.’’

The cowgirl got closer, eyes gleaming. “And that good-looking guy from Miamuh killed it just in the nick of time, right?’’ she asked.

I tried so hard to keep my mouth shut, I bit a chunk out of the inside of my jaw.

“Oh, heavens no, honey,’’ I heard Mama saying as I stalked away from the fire. “Carlos is afraid of snakes.’’

At least she didn’t give him the credit. I paused to see what she’d say next.

“And then No. 4, as you know, was that terrifying ride I took today on Shotgun.’’ Lowering her voice dramatically, she launched into her well-rehearsed monologue. “That horse and I were just standing there as pretty as you please, when all of a sudden . . .’’

I kicked a rotten log as I left. It felt good to see it shatter into bits.

“Where you going, Mace?’’ Marty called after me.

“Oh, let her go, honey. She’s been in a sour mood all night,’’ Mama said, raising her voice to carry my way. “I mean, really. I’m the one who should be cranky. I’m the one nursing cuts and bruises and a broken ankle.’’

“
Sprained
ankle!’’ I yelled over my shoulder.

The night was clear and getting colder. I zipped my fleece vest over my long-sleeved turtleneck. The temperature wasn’t expected to plummet like it had earlier in the week, but the air still had a nip. I might be grateful for our crowded tent tonight, even if Maddie did snore like a diesel engine.

Using my flashlight, I collected some small rocks and found a log to sit on by a cow pond. Stars twinkled. A night hawk swooped low in search of prey. I started tossing the pebbles into the water. With each
plopp,
I counted another reason I had to be pissed off. The biggest reason, of course, was that my family and I had somehow become targets. That was the hardest one to understand. I didn’t know who was after us. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t know how to stop them.

But I had plenty more reasons to be upset, and plenty more rocks.

Plopp
: My inability to say or do the right thing around Carlos.
Plopp
: Mama’s compulsion to tell our family business to anyone with ears.
Plopp
: My perverse desire to keep things private, but to get the credit due me as long as Mama was going to blab.

Everyone assumed Carlos had rescued Marty, which pissed me off. The man had never even seen a Florida Cracker cow whip before this trip. Then he compounded his offense by trying to push me out of the way when Mama got hurt. Of course, most normal women would be grateful for the help of a man who seemed to care about her family. Most women, that is, who aren’t crazy control freaks. I hated the way he always took over, like I was some weakling.

Wrapped up in a self-righteous funk, I didn’t hear someone approaching until a voice made me jump.

“Now, there’s what I always loved about you, Mace: That sunny smile.’’

“Very funny, Carlos.’’ I could feel the frown wrinkling my brow.

“Your mother told me you’d gone off to sulk in the woods. She told me to look for water, and I’d find you.’’ He cupped my chin and tipped my face up to his. “C’mon,
niña
, it can’t be that bad.’’

“Oh, it’s bad all right.’’ I knocked his hand away. “And don’t call me
niña
.’’

He lowered himself to the log beside me. “Okay, I’ll call you
niño
, then. But anyone who speaks Spanish is going to wonder why I’m calling you
boy
instead of
girl
.’’ He brought his face close to mine, breath warm on my cheek. “No one would ever mistake you for a boy,’’ he whispered.

A shudder of desire nearly knocked me off the log. My skin burned where the side of his thigh touched mine. My mind spun with fantasies of me tearing off his clothes; of him pushing me onto the ground and having his way. For a control freak, I had an appalling lack of control over how much I wanted him. I felt like I was on fire. I lowered the zipper on my vest.

Plopp.