Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good (35 page)

‘I’d like to wait ’til after Christmas. But my vision in that eye is going fast, it’s decreased from twenty/forty to twenty/one hundred. I may have to shut down the book ’til this is behind me.’

‘What will it be after the procedure? Good as new?’

‘It takes about six months to regain full vision.’

He found the whole prospect gruesome. He declined to ask how she would lie facedown on the post-op trek from Winston, much less at home.

Around seven, he laid out her new robe and ran her bath, then made a simple dinner, which he carried upstairs.

‘The good news,’ she said, ‘is that Irene isn’t going back to Florida for the winter. Except for Christmas, she’s staying here and painting.’

It was rare for any of the Florida crowd to spend a winter in these parts. To them, snow was good only for Christmas card scenes, and ice storms were good for nothing.

‘She invited me to paint with her in her studio—I’ll do several pieces for the auction.’ A small light in his wife’s eyes. ‘We can have her over for dinner and a movie!’

‘What does she hear from Kim?’

‘Irene will take several of her grandchildren out to Los Angeles in March. Kim is thrilled about having all these nieces and nephews. Okay, your turn,’ she said, ready for his gazette.

Esther had suffered a stroke which affected her left side—droopy eye, some temporary speech impairment, arm movement disabled. This hateful circumstance was accompanied by the early stages of pneumonia.

Ray had been located at Wesley’s big-box home improvement store and summoned to the hospital, where he said repeatedly to the nurses, I tried to tell her; we all tried to tell her. Wilson wrote a prescription for Ray. The daughters showed up, saying in chorus, We tried to tell her; Mama never listens.

To add to the shopping cart of health issues, Wilson suspected artery blockage, possibly valve stenosis, but these tests could not be done until tomorrow. There was a distinct possibility that Esther would be ferried to Charlotte via the copter service.

On his way off the floor, the charge nurse had caught up with him. ‘She said tell you or somebody to be sure that big bag of Snickers behind th’ TV in her den makes it to the swearin’-in. She wants th’ kids to have that candy.’ The nurse gave him a meaningful look. ‘Super important, she said.’

‘The swearing-in is more than a week away. Will she still be in the hospital?’

‘Probably not, but she said if I don’t pass that message along, I’ll get plenty of time to think about where I went wrong.’ The nurse thought this was hilarious, but also true.

Esther’s famous candy giveaway. Even on her deathbed—and he hoped this wasn’t it—Esther would be in campaign mode.

As for life closer to home, he reported that Dooley was getting in late tonight, and would visit next door before coming over around eleven. He would stay up to greet him. And here was some good news: Dooley was requesting only one family dinner, not two, hoping that tomorrow night might be good for Cynthia.

‘He’ll be spending time with Kenny and Sammy, anyway, so maybe tomorrow is a good night for Buck and Pauline and Jessie and Pooh—if that works. We’ll make it easy.’

He was accustomed to his wife being up for anything; it was unsettling to see her drained of the energy he unfairly relied upon.

‘You’ll be able to see better after the surgery,’ he said. ‘But there is a downside. You’ve always told me I’m pretty good-looking, and now you’ll know the bitter truth.’

She laughed a little.

He tucked her in with a quote from Victor Hugo.

‘“Sleep in peace, God is awake.”’

•   •   •

T
HE
FIRE
HAD
DIED
DOWN
and he didn’t poke it up. The room was warm against the October night.

‘Can you use a snack?’ he asked Dooley.

‘What is it?’

‘Cynthia’s egg salad, made this morning, with extra mayo on whole wheat from Winnie.’

‘I could use a snack.’

He opened the container of egg salad, gave Dooley a root beer. ‘Cynthia turned your bed down.’

‘Five-star,’ said Dooley. ‘Thanks a lot. Has Sammy been nicer to you?’

‘I haven’t seen him since Saturday.’

‘He was different tonight.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He didn’t try to pick a fight. Harley and Kenny say he’s doing better.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘So something you did must have worked.’

‘Time will tell,’ he said, pouring himself a glass of water. ‘I missed my trip to see the truck because of the funeral.’

‘I’ll run you down Saturday, it’s only two hours. I’ll kick the tires for you.’

He laughed. ‘You’re a good guy.’

‘You, too, Dad. Cheers.’

I
n all his days in ministry, he couldn’t remember fixing anybody up. Not directly, anyway. He had prayed for Puny to find a husband and she did, but he hadn’t exactly brokered the deal.

‘I suppose we could have them over for dinner and a movie,’ said his wife.

He measured out a spoonful of honey for his oatmeal. ‘What if it doesn’t work?’

‘They could just be friends.’

‘What would I say to Omer?’

‘That you’d like him to meet someone who loves Scrabble.’

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘But dinner and a movie? That’s four hours. Shouldn’t it be just coffee? I read that somewhere. Or maybe lunch at the Feel Good?’

‘Lunch. I’ll join you.’

His wife didn’t often join him for lunch. ‘Yay-y!’ he said.

•   •   •

B
EFORE
STRAPPING
ON
HIS
BACKPACK
, he made a call.

‘Add this to my tab, please. As soon as you can, take an extension
ladder to the Woolen Shop and remove the plastic bag that’s caught on the awning thingamajig.’

‘That’d be y’r retractable lateral arm,’ said Harley.

•   •   •

I
T
WAS
T
EACHER
’
S
W
ORKDAY
at Mitford School; Miss Mooney arrived at Happy Endings at ten sharp.

‘I need a great audio book,’ she said. ‘I have only fifteen minutes of wild liberty.’

‘
Out of Africa!
’ he said, trying to give her a break on an
O
title.

‘Already have it; I’ll take a quick look. If its okay, I’ll be here at three o’clock sharp. Coot’s reading lesson.’

‘How are the lessons coming?’

‘He’s very eager and hardworking. I dislike asking, but you could give a hand.’

‘In what way?’

‘He needs someone to read to him on occasion, it would be a great help.’

‘I can do that,’ he said.

‘And it would be wonderful if you could ask for something in return. Something he could teach you.’

Coot’s ancestor, Hezekiah Hendrick, had founded the town. He had always wanted more understanding of that family lore.

Abe jangled in around ten-thirty.

‘I’m here to buy a book.’

‘It’s about time, buddy.’

‘But only with a free coffee.’

‘Always available.’

‘I’ve just realized my cell phone is bigger than my bookcase.’

‘Oy!’ he said.

Abe had a laugh, poured himself a cup. ‘So what’s left in the O Sale? October is toast, there should be a big markdown.’

‘We started with a big markdown.’

‘Right. But the markdown of the markdown adds a little pizzazz in the home stretch.’

He had discussed the notion with Hope, who hadn’t been averse to another five percent off a few titles at the end. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’ He scrolled their
O
inventory on the computer.

‘
Othello
. The play.’

‘No Shakespeare,’ said Abe.

‘Of Mice and Men.’

‘I have mice already.’

‘Old Man and the Sea.’

‘Not into fishing.’

‘That’s my best offer on markdowns.’

‘Great,’ said Abe. ‘I’m off the hook ’til November. I’ve been meaning to ask, why do you think gentiles were invented?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Somebody has to pay retail.’

Winnie arrived with a bakery box.

‘What are y’all laughin’ about?’

‘Not much,’ said Abe.

‘Chocolate donuts!’ Winnie lifted the box lid. ‘Two days old, but still good.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I pass.’

‘I’m in,’ said Abe. ‘Why us?’

‘Overstock,’ said Winnie. ‘It’s turned too cold for tourists, we have to get rid of ’em somehow. Where’s Coot? He likes chocolate.’

‘Buying supplies.’

The door opening, a blast of frigid air. ‘I love chocolate!’ said Shirlene, shucking out of her coat.

‘Help yourself,’ said Winnie, ‘but th’ one with sprinkles is for Coot.’

‘What brings you three doors north?’ He got an eyeful of the caftan-of-the-day: Palm trees. Monkeys. Distant islands.

‘I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ a dog and wanted your advice. I see you out with your dog all th’ time and figured you would know.’

‘Here’s my advice,’ said Abe. ‘Don’t get a dog.’

‘Why not?’

‘Vet bills through the roof.’

‘Get a cat,’ said Winnie. ‘You won’t have to walk your legs off, go out in th’ rain, or carry a poop bag in your pocket.’

‘I’m single, I think I should get a dog.’

‘What breed?’ he said.

‘I have no idea, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Not th’ breed of your dog, I can tell you that, he’s bigger than my sofa.’

‘You definitely want a barkin’ dog,’ said Winnie. ‘But not a yappin’ dog. An’ somethin’ small enough to sleep with, to keep you company.’

‘Ooh,’ said Shirlene, ‘I don’t think so. Where I come from, we don’t sleep with dogs.’

‘Me, either,’ said Abe.

‘Dogs are always after somethin’,’ said Winnie. ‘Sittin’ by th’ table, starin’ at you ’til you could keel over. I mean, dogs are so—’

‘Earnest!’ he said as his dog parked himself in front of Winnie and stared at the bakery box.

‘See?’ said Winnie. ‘Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life?’

‘That is th’ biggest dog I ever saw,’ said Shirlene, stepping back. ‘Did you adopt him?’

‘He adopted me.’

‘So what do you have?’ Shirlene asked Winnie. ‘A dog or a cat?

‘Goldfish. Two, actually.’

‘Not much good against intruders,’ said Abe.

‘A golden is a fine dog,’ he said. ‘Very noble and socially agreeable.’

‘Could I take it to th’ salon with me?’

‘You could,’ said Winnie, ‘’til it got hip dysplasia and could not climb the stairs.’

‘As for a cat,’ said Abe, ‘if it knew you wanted it to go with you to the salon, it would not go.’

‘Right,’ said Winnie. ‘You could not let it
know
you wanted it to go, and then maybe it would go.’

‘Somebody buy a book,’ he said. For Pete’s sake.

‘I could buy a book on dog breeds,’ said Shirlene. ‘What a fun idea!’

‘Right this way,’ he said.

‘Three great books on dog breeds.’ He placed them on the table next to the rubber plant. ‘See what you think.’

Shirlene chose a book, thumped into a wing chair. He stood on one foot, then the other.

‘Shirlene. Cynthia and I would like you to meet someone who loves Scrabble.’ He was relieved to drag his wife into this.

‘Really? Who?’

‘Just, you know, a friend. Very nice. Has a garden. Potatoes, mostly.’

‘But who?’

‘You don’t know this person.’

‘Is it a man, is it a woman? Scrabble is totally unisex.’

‘A man.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Omer.’

‘Homer?’

‘Omer. No
H
.’

‘Are you tryin’ to fix me up?’

‘Well . . .’

‘You are so cute to do this!’ She sat forward in the chair. ‘What does he look like?’

‘Big. Great smile.’

‘Wait a minute. Big. How big?’

‘Maybe six-two.’

‘Toned?’

‘Um. I don’t know about toned. Trim, for sure.’

‘Trim is great! Handsome?’

‘That’s a judgment you’d have to make for yourself.’

‘Okay, but I mean
really
—is he handsome?’

‘Shirlene, Shirlene. Are you in?’

She pondered this. ‘Big. Nice. Great smile.’

‘Trim,’ he said, to reprise. ‘Has a garden. Loves Scrabble.’

‘Wow. So, yes! Wow! I’m in!’

Lord help, he was glad to be done with it.

‘You are really cute to do this, Father. I am so excited. Maybe I don’t need to get a dog.’

‘Time will tell,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to put together a lunch before long. At the Feel Good, okay?’

‘How’s my tan?’

‘Your tan?’

‘Do I need a refresher? What do you think?’

‘Talk to your sister,’ he said.

It was sort of a cool thing to get people together, albeit a little scary. Compared, however, to the apprehension of arranging the Kim and Irene meeting, this should be a piece of cake.

•   •   •

D
OOLEY
, S
AMMY
, P
OOH
,
AND
J
ESSIE
blew in after lunch, smelling distinctly of pepperoni. Jessie’s dog, Bouncer, brought up the rear.

Jessie was a plump, rosy-cheeked thirteen-year-old with a mane of chestnut hair and a good bit of makeup. Outgoing, loud, affectionate. A few years ago, he and Cynthia and Pauline had driven to Lakeland, Florida, and rescued Jessie from a dire situation with a relative. Pooh, sometimes plain Poo, and recently turned fifteen, had been with his mother all along. Pooh was nuts for his older brothers, and for baseball, softball, most any ball—from whence sprang the original nickname, Poobaw, after the pool ball he lugged around as a toddler.

‘Buck has bronchitis,’ said Jessie. ‘He’s pitiful.’

‘So we can’t come to your house to eat,’ said Pooh. ‘Can we come another time?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘We’re goin’ out to Kenny’s restaurant tonight,’ said Dooley, ‘and a movie after.’

‘Me an’ Jess are ridin’ in th’ crew cab,’ said Pooh. ‘Mama says she’s sorry.’

‘We’ll pray for Buck,’ he said. ‘Hey, Sam.’

‘Hey. Your plastic b-bag’s down.’

‘Wonderful. Who got up there?’

‘Me,’ said Sammy.

Bouncer sniffed Barnabas; Sammy, Jessie, and Pooh vanished into the books.

‘I checked with the trust people this morning,’ said Dooley. ‘Man.’

‘What’s up?’

‘A lot. Buying out the practice, paying for college, and on top of that looking at four years of vet school. Huge. There won’t be much left.’

Growing up. No wonder so many people resisted it.

Dooley stared at the floor for a time, pensive.

‘There’s no way we should get married ’til after vet school. Sometimes I feel like you and Cynthia want us to . . . you know . . . sooner.’ Dooley’s face flushed.

‘We don’t. Not at all. We hope you’ll marry—but only if it’s the best thing for you both. We agree that you should wait for the right time. We’re completely with you on this.’

‘Lots of people get married in vet school, then split. It’s a really tough ride, a lot of work. I don’t even know if I’ll be accepted—sixty-five percent of applicants don’t make it. I mean, think about it, Dad. Six more years of school. Man.’

Laughter in the stacks—a good sound.

‘Lace and I have some stuff to work out.’

‘I understand.’

‘Did you have stuff to work out?’

‘Did I ever. I’ll tell you sometime.’

He pulled out his wallet; removed a twenty. Dooley watched him fold it as many times as the currency would allow.

As on Dooley’s birthday more than eleven years ago, he placed it in his son’s outstretched palm.

Dooley’s cackling laugh.

‘Don’t spend it all in one place,’ he said.

‘Thanks. I’ll need it. Meant to tell you, th’ thing about Sammy’s teeth is goin’ nowhere.’

‘Gunpoint. That’s our only hope.’

Sammy came to the counter, book in hand.

‘How much is this?’

‘Sammy wants to garden with cow poop,’ said Jessie.

‘It ain’t n-nothin’ but grass that’s gone through th’ digestive system.’

‘Grass and
bugs
,’ said Jessie. ‘Besides, where are you goin’ to get cows?’

‘Let’s see,’ he said. ‘This book is twenty dollars. Less fifteen percent because the title begins with
O
for
Organic
.’

‘Seventeen dollars!’ said Jessie. ‘I’m good at math.’

He added the tax; Sammy laid several bills and change on the counter, took the book, and headed to the door.

‘Thanks for your business!’ he called after Sammy.

‘That’s a lot of money for a book,’ said Pooh.

Dooley pocketed the folded twenty; dug in his wallet and gave a twenty to Jessie. ‘For ice cream.’

‘Thanks, Dools!’

‘See y’all back here in twenty minutes, and I’m totally lookin’ for change.’

‘In one pocket and out the other,’ he said. ‘Just what you were talking about with the trust.’

‘What are you going to do, Dad?’

‘About what?’

‘About Miss Pringle. About Sammy.’

He was fed up with being asked what he was going to do about Sammy.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Could he live with . . . ?’

‘No.’ No explanation necessary. ‘But here’s what we must all do. Pray. Are you praying?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Your brother needs full-time,’ he said.

‘He’s doin’ better.’

‘Miss Pringle is looking for much better. We have her to thank that he’s still there at all. In fact, you might thank her next time you see her. Take flowers.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Remember your trip to New York with Cynthia? Remember I gave you money just for flowers?’

‘I was buyin’ flowers all over th’ place.’

‘Remember the look on her face when you gave her the flowers? Any happiness there, any delight?’

‘Really. Big time.’

‘Flowers don’t solve anything, but they can improve most everything. Whether Sammy gets to stay is up to him. Either way, Miss Pringle has been a saint.’

‘Got it.’

‘Ask Jena Ivey to tie a few stems together with a ribbon, and deliver them by your own hand. Twenty bucks and not a penny less.’

‘In one pocket and out the other.’ Dooley hoisted himself onto the counter. ‘So, Dad. I’ve been thinking. How about a truck better than the one in Hendersonville? Long bed, stick shift, leather seats, red. It
has a couple of features you aren’t lookin’ for, but you can’t be too choosy with used. Local owner, no traveling to pick it up.’

‘How local?’

‘I’ll make you a really good deal.’

‘Your truck?’

‘It’s too much truck for me. I was wrong; I hate t’ say it. I don’t need that much truck right now, not ’til I get th’ practice. But you do, Dad. You need a truck to do your landscape stuff with. It’s perfect. Crew cab for Harley and Sammy, the whole deal.

‘And when I hang out my shingle, I’ll buy it back. You won’t put many miles on it, you’ll take good care of it, and it’ll be broken in for th’ practice.’