Cold Tea on a Hot Day (33 page)

Watching the black Lincoln more or less crawl along the street at an incredibly slow pace, however, she squashed that fantasy down in the manner of swatting a fly. Get real, Vella. The black Lincoln turned into the driveway so slowly that it looked like it might just roll back out again. Vella found herself tensing, as if trying to give the car a helping hand. Somebody needed to tell Perry that if he couldn’t drive with more conviction, he needed to get off the road.

When he got out of the car, he hitched up his pants and gave a look around, then started up the walk. About halfway along, his head came up and he saw her for the first time. He sort of jumped, his eyes widening.

“It’s me,” she said. Who in the world did he expect to find here?

He did not reply, and she might have known he would not.

He came up the walk and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Lord, he looked awful. Her gaze moved back and forth from her husband to his car, which she noticed had stuff piled inside it at the same time that she took note that his shirt looked as if he had deliberately squashed it into
a ball before putting it on. He needed a haircut, and his pants were sagging. He looked generally wrung out. How would anyone confidently accept a prescription filled by this man?

“My television took out down at the store.” He squinted at her. “I came for the one in the kitchen.” He squinted at her.

“It isn’t in the kitchen anymore. I put it in the closet under the stairs. You’re welcome to it.”

He stood there a moment more, then started up the stairs, holding to the handrail, his head bent, as if to watch carefully his footsteps that trudged.

Oh, Lord, oh, Lord. Vella felt emotions, like bubbles, erupt from deep within her and move upward: pity, resentment, regret, guilt.

She sat very still. Perry opened the door and went inside. The storm door closed after him. Shifting her gaze to his car, she saw shirts hanging at the back window. It looked like clothes were lying over the front seat. Panic mounted. Was he living in his car? Had he come to this? Whatever would she do?

She was not responsible for him; he was a man grown. If he could not take the initiative to go to a motel or do his laundry, so be it. She was not his mother. She picked up her glass of tea, drank deeply and wrestled with her demons, trying to bring out her better self, but uncertain as to just what that entailed. She had been uncertain about this for some time.
Lord, help!

Perry, standing with the door of the closet open, cocked his head, listening for his wife to come inside. He wished she would come inside and start a conversation.

Moving slowly, still listening, he bent into the closet and hefted out the television; it was a little heavier than he had anticipated. He wondered at Vella having hauled it into the closet. He felt like a wimp, and he jerked it up, got it out of the closet, and then he felt stuck with a kink in his back. He had the fleeting thought that maybe in carrying it he would suffer a heart attack. Vella would not be able to boot him out then.

Pretending to be ill had been Winston’s suggestion, as if that were the only way he could get his foot back in his own house. Truth was, he had been thinking along the same lines, and then Winston had gone and suggested it, which made Perry furious. He could not go and follow a suggestion from Winston.

It did not appear that Vella was going to come in to see what was taking him so long, and the television was getting heavy, just standing there holding it. He went to the door and realized he could not open it and carry the television at the same time. He banged on the door.

“All you had to do was ask,” Vella said, opening the door for him. “You don’t have to bang down the house.”

“Open the dang door wider, then.”

He got out on the front porch and with sudden decision veered over to the porch rail, where he set the television. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to mop his face.

“How did you get this dang thing in the closet?” he had to ask.

“I put it on the towel it was sittin’ on and dragged it in there. I couldn’t carry it.”

He felt silly. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to
drag it across the living room carpet. And he felt good that he had carried it.

“Are you livin’ in your car?” Vella asked.

“My wife threw me out of my house.” She ought to know what she was putting him through. “And there ain’t room at Belinda’s for my clothes.”

“Don’t you know how to go on out to the Motel 6 and get yourself a room? Don’t you know how to find an apartment?”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” That answer did not suffice. He felt he had never been clever with words.

He had sat down before he knew he was going to. Suddenly his legs would not carry him farther. The thought of leaving the porch made him feel that all would be lost.

And unless he asked Vella to go down there ahead of him and open the door, he would have to go down there, set the television on the hood, open the door and scoot clothes out of the way to make room for it. If she did go down there and open the door, she would see the mess of his car, and she would have a great comment on that. He did not think he could stand up under her comments.

Vella sat down in the other chair, on the other side of the door. She kept looking at the car and feeling guilty, mad at herself for it, and mad at Perry.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Perry asked. “I thought you two were a hot combo?”

“If you mean Winston, he is where he is every afternoon, at home takin’ a nap. And no, we are not a hot combo…except maybe compared to you and I. Two dead people are a hot combo compared to us. And Winston and
I do converse. We have not burned our brains away with the television.”

The truth was that Winston had proved a disappointment to Vella. She had gotten carried away with a fantasy there. Winston was not up to her fantasy. It could very well be that
she
was not up to her fantasy.

Just then, at the same instant, they each let out great sighs. Vella looked over at Perry, and he looked over at her.

“I’m not up to this, Vella.”

That his words so closely mirrored her thoughts startled her.

“I’ll help you carry the television,” she told him, and slid to the edge of the wicker chair.

“No, I don’t mean that…I mean startin’ a new life somewheres besides here. I’m not up to gettin’ out there by myself, and I don’t think I’m up to anything you want from me, either.” His voice cracked, bless his heart. And then he said in a worn-out tone, “I think the only thing I am up to is sittin’ on this porch.”

The idea came to him that he was going to sit on the porch and not leave. Vella would have to call the police, and they would have to forcibly remove him. Sitting still was one thing he could darn well do.

He realized just then that the chair was brand-new. “I like this chair.” He had always found fancy outdoor chairs lacking in strength to hold his big frame, but this one felt solid.

“I bought it this week up at Home Depot.”

“Well, I like it. I could enjoy sittin’ here.”

“You always enjoyed sittin’,” she said, then added, “but I’m not havin’ a television on my porch.”

“I don’t think I’d need one here. It’s nice just to watch the street and things around.”

They sat there in silence, Perry halfway waiting for Vella to tell him to leave. He was a little disappointed that she did not, and that it was unlikely the police would be called to break him out of his sit-in. The entire idea had enthused him, and now, knowing it wouldn’t happen, he dipped deeper into discouragement.

After about fifteen minutes, Perry said he could use a glass of something cold to drink.

“Go get it, then,” Vella told him. He needed to realize that she was not his maid. “There’s Coke and iced tea in the refrigerator.”

After a minute, he got up. He extended his hand, and she wondered what in the world.

He said, “Would you like me to freshen yours?”

Could have knocked her over with a feather, but she refused to let on. “Yes, thank you.” She handed up her glass.

He went inside and was gone so long that she was just about to go in and see what had happened when he came out with two full glasses. He handed her one and sat back down in his chair.

Vella thought how it really didn’t matter whether he was in the house or not. She did not need to kick him out to have her life. The only thing stopping her from having the life she chose was her own choices. She could only find another man without Perry hanging on to her, but maybe the most startling thing she had come to know was that any man her own age would be unable to keep up with her, and she did not have the constitution, nor the opportunity, to take up a man fifteen years younger.

“Could you look at me in the mornings and thank me for your coffee?” she asked, without looking at him.

“I could do that.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “And I could take you out to dinner once a week.”

Knock her over again.

“No more television in the kitchen. We will talk while we eat.”

There was a long pause, and Vella felt her fury rising. She was just about to whip around and give Perry a what-for about the television when suddenly he was on his feet, and he leaned over and gave the television a shove off the railing. It landed on the ground with a loud crash.

Vella, who had involuntarily gotten to her feet, stared at him. Slowly, stunned, she moved backward and sat down.

“I still want my one in the living room, though,” said Perry, who was pleased to have shocked her as she had shocked him the day she had left him with half her clothes hanging open.

He sat back down and mused, in the silence between them, that knowing he had shocked her really seemed to get his blood pumping, and he had the most surprising thoughts to follow. Thoughts of a sensual nature.

Vella, after some twenty minutes of silence, said, “I guess we’d better get your clothes inside. I’m not doin’ them all up, though. We can send them to the laundry. I have lots of other things I want to do.”

The sun shone far from the west, casting long shadows, when Marilee looked up from the book she was reading about learning disabled children to see it was
past their normal supper time. Then her gaze fell on a clay giraffe Willie Lee had fashioned. She picked it up and looked at it, marveling at the craftsmanship. There was a part of Willie Lee that excelled.

The children’s shouts and laughter floated in from the backyard. She got up from her desk and went to the back door, looking through the screen. Corrine and Willie Lee were playing tag with Munro again. The dog would chase them, pulling on their shorts, tripping them, and children and dog rolled across the grass.

Since her mother’s visit, Corrine had been withdrawn again, no laughter, nor even much of a smile. Now, thanks to the dog, Corrine was running and jumping and laughing. Surely the dog was a gift from God, healing the child where Marilee could not.

Both children were sprawled in the grass now, exhausted. Marilee opened the door and hollered for them to come help her with supper. In they came, running again, Munro bringing up the rear. It was fruit drinks for the children and a fresh bowl of water for the dog.

It was pleasant, all of them in the kitchen together. While she put spaghetti noodles and canned sauce on the stove, Corrine and Willie Lee set the table.

“Summertime, and the livin’ is easy,” Marilee began to sing, and the children joined in. They repeated the verse over and over, as it was all any of them knew.

The doorbell rang out, loudly, as if someone might have pushed it more than once before they could hear it over their rather raucous singing. Corrine went to see who it was, and when Marilee turned around again, there stood Parker in the kitchen doorway, looking both hesitant and hopeful.

“Hello, Parker.”

“Hi.” And then, “I wondered if there might be a place for a friend for supper.”

Marilee smiled. “Set another place, Corrine.”

Parker went to the sink to wash his hands. He said with feeling, “A person can get tired of eating out, or cookin’ just for himself.”

Opening Doors

T
ate came hauling down the state highway past the Welcome to Valentine sign, and suddenly he saw red blinking lights behind him. As he pulled off the road, he recognized Lyle Midgett’s wide-brimmed hat behind the windshield of the patrol car.

“You need to slow down, Editor.”

“Well, yes, I guess I do. I’m a little anxious to get home.” Sitting at the top of a hill, he saw Valentine in the valley, washed in the golden glow of a setting sun.

“I thought I’d missed seein’ you around.” The deputy propped himself on the windshield frame. “Where you been?”

“Galveston. I went down to see my mother for a couple days.”

“Your mother lives there? My uncle lives in Galveston. Isn’t that a coincidence? I haven’t seen my uncle in years, since he moved down there.” The young man
wanted to chat. Tate, one hand on the wheel, one on the stick shift, kept himself from running out from beneath him.

The deputy was saying, “The fartherest I’ve been from Valentine is up to Oklahoma City and down to Dallas. Ever’ body goes to Dallas. I’m thinkin’ about goin’ over to Tunica for my vacation this fall, though. You know, to those gambling casinos. The sheriff and his wife go over there least once a year. He says you don’t have to pay for any food.”

“It’s good seein’ you, Deputy,” Tate stuck in, “but I need to get home. This cat has had about all the travelin’ he wants.”

“Oh…sure. He is startin’ to growl pretty loud, isn’t he?”

“Do you want to give me a ticket?”

“What? Oh, naw. Just don’t you be—”

But Tate was already away, and the deputy’s words were snatched by the wind.

He came down Main Street and then turned up First and onto Porter, to pass by Marilee’s house.

Right there in her driveway sat Parker Lindsey’s blue pickup truck, big as life on a bad day.

She had just served up four plates of spaghetti and sauce when the back door opened and in came Tate.

“Hi, I’m back,” he said immediately.

Marilee was so surprised that she stood there holding the empty saucepan in one hand and the spoon in the other. She was alone in the room, the others having gone to watch television until she served.

He came forward. “I’ve brought iced tea.” Ice cubes clinked as he lifted the colorful pitcher.

“Uh…thank you.”

Then they were face-to-face, Tate having come along the counter and set the pitcher down next to the lineup of glasses. Marilee set the pan and spoon aside.

“I heard that you and Lindsey were no longer engaged.” He spoke in a manner she did not quite appreciate.

“Yes.” She was annoyed at herself. He did not need to know her business. But she wanted him to know.

“Yes, you are not, or yes, you are?”

“Yes, we have broken our engagement, if it is necessary for you to know,” said Marilee, who thought he just had to twist everything that was said.

“Good.”

She did not respond to that. In fact, her attention was tuned to the other room and listening for footsteps coming this way. For some reason she felt acutely self-conscious at the thought that at any moment the children or Parker could walk in.

“Parker is here, but just for supper.” She felt the need to tell him that, and the inclination annoyed her.

“I’d sure like supper, too. I’ve been drivin’ all day. I’m starved.”

He gave her a provocative look. How could she have forgotten how luminous his eyes were?

“I guess I could stretch it,” she said. She looked at the plates wondering how in the world she would do that, and at the same time knowing she was darn well going to accomplish it.

“Great. I’ll fill the glasses.”

It was only supper, she told herself, as she stole part
of Parker’s spaghetti. This made her think of her mother, stealing money from Carl’s pockets. Not the same, she told herself, and took some from her own plate, and then a little from Willie Lee’s. He never ate all of his. And she could make more garlic bread; she had another small loaf in the freezer. Only supper. That was all. No need to make a big deal out of it.

Parker came in, and immediately Tate said, “Hey, buddy, how are you tonight?” There never was anything subdued about Tate Holloway.

“Hey, Editor,” Parker responded in a flat tone of voice.

Tate said an effusive hello to the children, who responded in kind.

Willie Lee said a very curious thing. “I am glad you are not the dogcatcher.”

“I’m glad, too.” Tate said, setting himself down at the place Parker usually took at the table. “Why would you think I was the dogcatcher?”

“You might be,” Willie Lee said, quite logically. “But you are not.”

Parker stared down at the plate she put in front of him. She had tried to disguise stealing from it, but her efforts could not fully be concealed.

“Here’s the Italian bread,” she said, setting the basket on the table. “There’ll be more in a few minutes.

She saw Parker looking from his plate to Tate’s.

Marilee said, “Shall we bow our heads for grace?”

“I like the end of Italian bread,” said Tate, taking up the end slice.

“A lot of people use the ends of the loaf to feed the
birds, or as fish bait,” said Parker, taking a slice from the middle.

“Then I’m easily caught,” Tate said, “because these hard ends suit me.”

“I guess I have a taste for the finer things in life.” Parker smiled as he tore his bread in half.

Marilee, her gaze going back and forth between the two men, felt a food fight might be imminent. Further, Corrine was closely observing both men.

“Does anyone need a refill of tea?” Marilee asked, getting to her feet, which seemed to be required. She felt more in command on her feet. And, in fact, the two men looked up at her, and she gave them her best stop-it-this-instant-you-are-not-fooling-anyone expression.

As she sat down, it occurred to her that she should be flattered, two men fighting over her. Although, on second, deeper thought, it had little to do with her and was about the men themselves. When the two came together, it was like flint hitting a rock.

Willie Lee, who was busy passing pieces of bread underneath the table, said, “Mun-ro likes the end
and
the middle.”

“Well-rounded dog,” Tate commented. He was a man to have the last word.

He was more the rock, Marilee thought.

Tate found himself left with Parker. That was how he thought of it, as if left with a difficulty. Marilee was getting the children bathed and ready for bed. In his estimation, she had thrown herself into that activity to avoid him and Lindsey. He wasn’t certain what he had expected
when he got back to town, but he had not expected to drive six hours and have Marilee avoid him. The least she could have done was tell Lindsey to go home.

“You had your meal,” he said to Lindsey, who had taken root on the sofa, remote control in hand, watching the news. “You can go on home now.”

Lindsey looked up at him. “
You
can go on home. Don’t let me stop you.”

Realizing then that he was the one on his feet and therefore in a less-rooted position, Tate went over and sat himself at Marilee’s desk, definitely a more solid position than Lindsey on the sofa. He looked over her desk, which was neat as always. There was a small clay giraffe. He picked it up and looked it over, and then looked over at the stack of books to the side, all which appeared to be on children and learning disabilities. Hmmm.

His gaze slipped to the telephone, and he looked from it to Lindsey, who was staring at the nightly news. He experienced possibly the greatest idea of his life, and he got so enthused in thinking of it that he had to force himself not to chuckle out loud.

“Well, I need something to drink,” he said, speaking a little loudly and toning himself down. “Would you like something—tea or cola?”

Lindsey looked over with a frown. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Tate shrugged and went into the kitchen. Immediately through the door, he slipped to the side and over to the phone on the wall. His heart beat rapidly. Did Marilee have the number on her speed dial? There it was. Yes! Thank you, God!

He experienced an instant where he questioned God’s
part in this, but quickly put the thought aside, punched the number and listened to the ringing come over the line.

“Lindsey Veterinary Clinic. This is the answering service.”

Answering service. Hallelujah! He cupped the speaker. “Hey, this is Sheriff Oakes, and we got an emergency out here. A horse has been hit by a car—out on Highway Six, a mile north of Rodeo Rio’s. Tell the doc to get out here pronto and I think we can save him.” Tate thought he imitated the sheriff quite well.

“Can you give me your number, Sheriff?”

“I got a situation here. Just tell the doc to get out here.”

He hung up and moved quickly from the phone. He should be ashamed of being so pleased. But he wasn’t.

As he poured his glass of tea, he heard Lindsey’s mobile phone go off. He heard the veterinarian’s terse tone, if not the exact words.

Tate, seeing Marilee’s reflection in the kitchen window as she entered the living room, went to the doorway. Lindsey was on his feet and talking into the telephone.

“Yeah, I got it. I’m on my way.”

He snapped off his phone and told Marilee, “I got an emergency. Horse hit by a car on Highway Six.”

“Oh…my.”

He kissed her cheek and thanked her for supper, and headed for the door.

Marilee followed and called after him, “I hope it goes well.”

She shut the door and turned to look at Tate across the low-lit room. She looked so worried that he felt a stab of guilt.

“I hope the horse isn’t hurt too badly,” she said and then continued on about how Parker had such a hard time whenever he lost a patient. “And it is even worse on him when he has to put one down.”

“Ah…” He wrestled with his conscience. “There isn’t really an injured horse.”

“What?” She cocked her head to the side, regarding him.

He felt quicksand beneath his feet. “Well, I put in the call to his answering service. I pretended to be the sheriff and said there was a horse…hit by a car,” he finished slowly as he saw his own image reflected in her incredulous expression.

“How could you do that? Parker—” she was getting wrought up and gestured with her arm swinging out “—is fully committed to saving animals’ lives. He is racin’ out there now, committed to doing all that he can to save a horse. He could be in a wreck because he’s hurryin’ out there to save a horse that isn’t even there!”

Tate had no answer to that. The full import of his actions came to him, although he did not see them in quite the disreputable light Marilee painted. Obviously she believed he had crossed over the line of integrity.

“I wanted time with you,” he said. “Lindsey is a big boy, and he will deal with this.”

Marilee heard what he said but could not absorb it. She was too taken up with hurt for Parker. She felt horribly guilty, knowing she was the cause of him being falsely called out.

“He can’t stand to see an animal die,” she told Tate, as she went to the phone on her desk and snatched up the
receiver. “He will go to great lengths to prevent that.” In her mind, she saw him colliding with another vehicle in his race to get out to find and save the injured horse.

“Marilee—” he took hold of her forearm “—he will get there and realize what happened. He does not need you to be his mother.”

She looked at him. “You have sent him off on a fool’s errand. I can’t let him be drivin’ all over creation, lookin’ for a horse that isn’t there. He’ll feel a fool when he realizes what you’ve done.”

“That’s it.” Suddenly she was facing Tate’s fury. “Focus on Parker, mother Parker, because you can’t face your own life as a woman. When I found out you had broken off with Parker, I came drivin’ up here at breakneck speed for six hours to see you. I don’t see you getting all worked up about my welfare. I’m tired and lonely and wearin’ my heart on my sleeve here. What are you gonna do about that? About this man—” he jabbed his chest “—not a boy, who is crazy about you.”

Marilee stared at him and felt a type of paralysis come over her emotions and her body. She could not seem to put down the phone. She could not seem to stop her course, even if she wanted to.

“I have to call him. You don’t know how these things hurt.” She did not think she could bear the consequences of not calling Parker, not that she knew what those consequences would be, just that she needed to cling to making the call. She felt compelled to cling to the course she knew, because to abandon it would mean she would be lost.

“Do you think he is too stupid to figure out what happened when he gets out there and there isn’t any horse,
nor any police cars?” He flung her arm away in disgust. “Do you have such a low opinion of his coping powers? He’ll figure it out, and he’ll be mad as hell, but he’ll be wiser, and someday he’ll use this same little trick on somebody else. That’s how I learned it—it was played on me, to get me out of the way of somewhere I never belonged in the first place.”