Why Sarah Ran Away with the Veterinarian (2 page)

“I hope he doesn't spit!”

We broke in to semi-hysterics and I was so glad Mama and Daddy weren't nearby to hear us.

Every time it was Johnny's turn, Sarah would get real quiet, hold her breath, and squeeze my wrist, like somehow the both of us could pull him through. As soon as his ride was over, Sarah would kind of yelp and shake the whole bench again.

In between rodeo nights, Johnny kept coming through Sarah's checkout line. By the end of the third night, Sarah was in love. Johnny talked her into leaving with him for Charlotte the next day. It was all so romantic that I was wishing I had somebody to run away with too. When you're fifteen even sawdust seems romantic. But I should have known how upset Mama and Daddy would be, with Sarah all set to enter college in the fall.

I guess Sarah and I both acted a little giddy the day she was to leave, humming that “Bonanza” tune, because Mama figured something was going on. As soon as Sarah went to work, Mama grilled me and I told. Just like that. Somehow I thought she'd be impressed with the romance of it all. But she grew as pale as Sarah had with the ice pick in her leg. And she wailed in that Godawful ice-pick voice, “RODEO!” Then she told Daddy. Daddy headed straight for the rodeo camp and I still don't know what he said or did, but by the time Sarah left work Johnny was gone.

She kept to herself the rest of the summer, mostly reading when she wasn't working, but by the time college started she seemed over the rodeo thing. And she didn't even seem to hold it against me for telling. But we never talked about the rodeo again.

When Sarah started college, Daddy said it was like she “gained a new lease on life.” Aunt Kate said, “more likely, it was something she lost that had her smiling.” Either way she was a whole lot happier. The main source—Jack Brighton. The rest of us met Jack at Sunday dinner. Mama was having baked ham and Daddy cut it like he always did, putting some crusty outside slices to one side for me. But Jack found them first, and forked up all three pieces. We were all sitting there eating except Mama, who was up and down seeing about more rolls, more ice, the usual, when Daddy casually started asking questions.

Daddy said, “Jack, what're you majoring in?”

“Majoring in business, minoring in Sarah,” he said without batting an eye. Then he cut his eyes at Sarah and said, “Or is it the other way around?” Sarah blushed and giggled.

Daddy looked like he forgot what he was going to say. Jack went straight into talking about marketing and consumer index. I think he was trying to impress Daddy but Daddy couldn't keep up. I tell you, I thought Jack had cut his own throat with a dinner knife. But then Daddy coughed a couple of times and said, “I'm in the market myself for a pick-up truck.”

“New or used?” Jack said, laying down his fork.

“Broke in good,” Daddy said.

“Anything to trade in?” Jack asked.

“My old Chevy,” Daddy said, wiping his mouth.

“Condition?”

“Fair.”

“Tires?”

“Four round ones.”

And on they went until Jack had narrowed the field to a few dealerships and they set a date to go truck hunting. Then Jack finished off with two pieces of Mama's peach pie. And in one Sunday dinner Jack had the whole family sliced, wrapped, and ready to go. Everybody but me. Aunt Kate wouldn't have fallen for it either if she'd been there. But she was off hiking with her new boyfriend.

Jack was already a junior in college and as soon as he graduated he and Sarah got married. Mama wanted the ceremony at Beulah Land Baptist Church, where I got married later, but Sarah insisted on it being outside in Aunt Kate's pasture. There was a real pretty spot near an old tenant shack. Sarah said, “I want it right by the old house, Mama. It'll be so romantic!” Mama got that ice-pick look. Sarah and I thought it was kind of strange, but Mama didn't explain or stop Sarah from having it there. Aunt Kate had to keep the horses off the lot for a week and it took that long for Daddy and Jack and Aunt Kate's boyfriend at the time, not the hiking one, to clear out the horse biscuits. They got most of them.

On the day of the wedding, buttercups and little white daisies were in bloom all over the place. Sarah wore Mama's wedding dress. It was so pretty, maybe just a little yellow up real close, but Sarah wanted to wear it no matter what. It had mutton sleeves that looked like something out of old England and lace that went clear up to Sarah's chin.

Sarah made the wedding cake herself. It was flat and shaped like a heart. The inside was pink and tasted sort of like strawberries. She made it from a mix but everybody said they couldn't tell. The wedding went well until the end when Aunt Kate decided to throw oats instead of rice. Daddy said, “These must be Kate's wild oats.” Kate said something back which I didn't hear. Daddy turned red but he was laughing.

We all started scooping double handfuls out of this huge burlap bag and throwing oats like crazy. We caught Sarah and Jack coming through the gate. They were laughing and throwing up their hands. At least Sarah was laughing. Jack kept covering his face and making funny noises so we really bombed him. Then he started running. But we had him surrounded—me and Kate on one side and Daddy and even Mama on the other. Finally he stopped running and just stood there wheezing and sniffling and rubbing his eyes. That's when we found out Jack was allergic to oats. Still is, I guess. His eyes turned puffy red and he was sneezing so hard he could barely feed Sarah cake for the wedding picture. But he didn't complain or get mad or anything. At least he didn't say so. By the time they left for the honeymoon, he was better and everyone agreed they made a nice couple riding away.

When they got back, they seemed real happy. They'd laugh and cut their eyes at each other sort of in secret signals even at Sunday dinner with Mama and Daddy watching. And you could tell they were rubbing each other under the table. It got to be a little annoying, not that I was jealous or anything. It's just that I'd always been what Aunt Kate called, “Sarah's chief confidant and giggle partner.” Now Jack was. I knew love was supposed to be that way and it's not that I didn't like Jack. I just missed Sarah so much, even though she was still here.

That was before I met Andrew. The first thing he ever said to me was, “I'm Andrew and you're Beautiful.” He sounded just like one of the Kennedys, his accent and all. We were in the college auditorium and I'll never forget. We had to sneak around at first to date, him being an instructor and me being a freshman. But I finally brought him home to meet everybody at Sunday dinner. I was nervous but he acted real calm. He taught psychology, still does, so he knew how to calm himself. Everybody was there. Mama, Daddy, Sarah, Jack, and even Aunt Kate. She was between boyfriends. We could always tell because she'd show up for Sunday dinner saturated in Virginia Slims and acting real restless, “like a worm in ashes,” Daddy would say. Mama had fried chicken. That was when it was still okay to fry things. I remember it was chicken because somebody said “You are what you eat.” Then Aunt Kate said, “Maybe that's why I feel mad as an old wet hen.” Not even Daddy would mess with Kate in a mood like that but Andrew didn't know.

He spoke up and said, “It's been scientifically proven that wet hens don't exhibit temper.” I don't know if it was his accent or what he said but Kate's mouth fell open. I was just glad she wasn't chewing. Andrew didn't seem to notice. I guess he thought he was impressing the family because everybody was staring at him. He took a sip of tea and said, “Kate,” which seemed kind of familiar just having met her, “do you mean ‘mad' as in ‘angry' or ‘mad' as in ‘crazy'? If it's crazy, then you may be right. A wet hen might show psychotic tendencies. I don't think there's been a study on that.” He pushed his sweater sleeves up a notch like he'd made a point.

Kate leaned forward and said, “What I mean is I'm mad as hell, pissed off, fucking angry!” Andrew reared back like he'd been singed. Mama jumped up to get more tea. Sarah and Jack quit rubbing each other under the table. Daddy looked like he might laugh. I thought for sure Kate would leave the table, but she sat right there gnawing her chicken down to the pully bone.

I just wanted to die, but after dinner things got a little better. Kate went home to smoke, Sarah and Jack went home to finish what they started under the table, and Daddy and Andrew went in the living room to talk. I stayed in the kitchen with Mama. When Andrew left he thanked Mama for dinner and Daddy for all the gardening tidbits—“tidbits” was Andrew's word—and he left. I didn't see him for about a month after that, and I got to wondering if I ever would again.

But he showed up pretty soon all love sick, saying, “Donna, I can't live without you even if … even if …” He never did say “even if” what. We got married at Beulah Land. It was a pretty wedding. I can see the front pew now. Mama was sitting there in ice-blue chiffon kind of dazed-like, tired I guess, but Daddy was crying. He was slumped over, trying to hide it, but I could tell. Heck, everybody could. His shoulders were heaving and he'd let out a snort ever so often. At first it looked like he was snoring or laughing. But he looked up once and his face was as wet as Jack's had been the day we pelted him with oats. Sarah was crying too. She was my matron of honor. She had on a long blue gown, about two shades deeper than Mama's but they didn't clash or anything. It had a full skirt and tiny waist and short puffy sleeves like Cinderella's ball gown. She kept saying stuff like, “Oh, Nonna, you're so pretty!” and “Oh, Nonna, are you sure he's it?” She cried too. Not many of Andrew's relatives came, being so far and all, but he didn't care and neither did I. It's funny how you get kind of selfish when you're in love. You know other people are caring about you but all you can think about is each other. It was a nice wedding.

About the time I got married, Sarah and Jack started trying to have babies. They tried for a long time but Sarah kept miscarrying, one after the other. It seemed like every year she'd get pregnant and a few months later she'd miscarry. She kept getting thinner and thinner. Dr. Sams, he was our family doctor, he finally told her and Jack not to try anymore, another miscarriage could kill her. But Sarah kept on. She tricked Jack into two more pregnancies before he wised up and got a vasectomy. We're not supposed to know about the vasectomy but Sarah told me and I told Andrew. That was four years ago. Or five, I guess, counting the year she's been gone.

What I can't understand is why Sarah didn't tell me she was taking off. I mean, good Lord, I'm her sister! She did mention the vet a time or two. Michael was his name. “Nonna,” she said, “you should see his eyes. They're dark as night.” But the few times I saw him, he was wearing a cowboy hat pulled down so low I couldn't even tell if he had eyes, much less what color they were. I guess Sarah got a lot closer. But she never said anything about leaving, not to me. That's what hurts. That and missing her so much.

JACK

It's not like I didn't love her or take care of her. Twenty years of paying Duke Power bills, good God, that ought to count for something.

Tommy told me I'd been warned. He told me the first time I brought Sarah home, she had the same look as my mother. I couldn't even remember my mother's face, but Tommy said, “Cat eyes. Watch out.” Just before Sarah left, her eyes kept reminding me of something way back in my brain, maybe it was my mother. Guess that's what attracted me to her in the first place. Those green eyes, like marbles. And a mass of auburn hair. Sarah wore it longish and pulled back with one of those ponytail bands. But when she took the band off, her hair would leap out like a wild animal. The first time I saw her hair fly out like that, I wanted to grab it all up in my hands and just hold on to it. Andrew would probably call that primitive instinct. Maybe so. But I miss her hair, smelling like wild flowers, soft against my chest.

The things we've been through in twenty years. Like starting out at Mimosa Trailer Park. I was a rookie salesman at Jimmy Whittaker's Auto-Rama then. I got the customers nobody else wanted. The tire kickers, the be-backers, the half deaf, the
Consumer Guide
experts. The boys would say, “Go get 'em, Jack!” and I'd know I had a challenge on my hands. That's when we were living at Mimosa, Trailer #17. God, I hate mimosa trees. There were five of them. Sarah thought they were pretty with that little pink, puffy stuff that blew all over everything. Trash trees. That's what they are to most everybody except a few Southern romantics. What I hated was the way they messed up my car. I was driving a Karman Ghia at the time. Nothing expensive but it looked classy. Except with that pink crap plastered all over it. No matter where I parked, that stuff would get on it. I'd have to cover up the car every night or wash it off every morning when those mimosas were in heat.

But Sarah liked it there. Women are supposed to hate living in trailers. Not Sarah. Said it made her “feel like a gypsy.” She liked the people too. Most of our neighbors were either young couples—some married, some shacked up—or old retired folks. I remember one couple, Judy and Roy, I never did get their last names. They weren't married. The girl worked for the Outside Inn and she always wore a tight red sweater and a short little black skirt, the kind you keep hoping they'll bend over in. I guess she wore something different on the weekends or on her day off but I didn't see her much then. Roy thought he was Super Salesman. He was always pushing something—World Book, club aluminum, knives.

One time he demonstrated this cutlery set for Sarah and me. Some steak knives, a butcher knife, a paring knife, an ice pick, a pair of super-duper scissors. We couldn't afford them but he said he got credit just for showing us. Sarah said she didn't much like looking at “all those weapons,” but she kept stroking the handles, touching the blades, pressing her fingers against the points until one of them drew blood. She tried to hide it, but I saw her flinch, saw the blood pool up. Roy apologized for them being so sharp, but you could tell he thought it was a selling point. Then he took two quarters and cut them almost in half with the super-duper scissors. He bent them out like butterflies and stuck a little hole in each quarter with the ice pick. Sarah ran wire through the hole and made earrings. Those were her favorite for I don't know how long. But everytime she wore them, in my mind I could see her fingers dripping red. I can't remember when she stopped wearing them. Last I heard Roy was selling Amway, and Judy was selling real estate. Sarah still writes Judy, or did. Don't know if they ever got married.