Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day (12 page)

Leaving Emmett in the kitchen, I walked through the dining room, across the wide hall, and into the living room. It all looked like a picture in a magazine—damask sofas, cream-colored flocked wallpaper, silk drapes with fringe on them at the windows, dark oil paintings on the walls, Persian rugs on the hardwood floors, real flowers in Chinese-looking vases—it was enough to take your breath away, like it wasn’t meant to be lived in. Mr. Howard had told me about the furnishings, as he called all the pretty things in his house, and I’d tried to learn about them.

I’d made him laugh when I’d said it didn’t look like a place to curl up in your jammies with a bowl of popcorn and a cold one.

I thought the rooms were pretty, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll have to say, if I’d had the money the first Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior’d had, I’d’ve put more comfort and color into what I bought. I mean, there wasn’t even a TV in the living room. What she’d done was real elegant, and lots of her things were cute as they could be, but it wasn’t to my taste and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to feel at home with them. They just weren’t me.

But I wouldn’t change a thing. Mr. Howard liked the decor the way it was, and I wouldn’t do anything to upset him. Maybe he’d let me do up our bedroom in my own style, you know, with a pretty white-and-gold French Provincial suite. Maybe with lavender drapes and bedspread. My stuffed animals would look so pretty against a pile of satin pillows, with maybe a glass-fronted whatnot for my Barbie collection. As I pictured it in my mind, I remembered the hospital bed Mr. Howard slept in, and wondered how that would blend in. I wasn’t sure that even I could make that work.

I wandered through those front rooms, not touching anything until I got to the long dining room table. I couldn’t help but run my hand over its smooth, shiny top that Emmett kept polished to within an inch of its life. I jerked my hand back when I saw I’d made a handprint on it. Oh, Lord, reckon I’d ruined it? I took my dress tail and smoothed it back the way it was. Time for me to get out of there before I messed something up good.

I went down the hall and turned toward the downstairs bedroom that’d been fixed up for Mr. Howard after he could no longer manage the stairs. Tapping on the door, I stuck my head in. “Mr. Howard? Hey, you ole honey, it’s me.”

He was sitting in a chair, all dressed and neat and clean, wearing a white shirt and tie and a cashmere sweater. His half-dead left hand lay in his lap, and a cotton blanket was over his knees. Old people have poor circulation, you know, and Mr. Howard suffered from it as much as anybody I’d ever seen.

He turned his head, and his bleary old eyes lit up when he saw me. To see that made everything I was planning worthwhile. I’d never had anybody depend on me, and
appreciate
me, like Mr. Howard did. He’d told me one time that just knowing I was somewhere in this world made his heart lift up and fly. A man who’d say a thing like that, and mean it, was worth taking care of. At least, that was my thinking.

I rolled a footstool beside his chair and sat down. Taking his good right hand in mine, I said, “You sure look handsome today, sweetie. Got some big plans?”

He shook his head, that lopsided smile which was all he could manage on his face. “Yoo-o,” he said. When he said, or tried to say, “You,” I knew he meant he was looking good for me, and that his big plans for the day included a visit with me. When people have strong feelings for each other, they can say a lot in a few words. And a good thing, too, because the first thing a stroke does to you is affect the way you talk, and the last thing you recover as you get well, if you do get well, is control of your mouth and your tongue. I learned that at the Abbot County Technical College, along with a lot of other useful bits of information that I used in my everyday work with senior citizens.

So Mr. Howard and I, we communicated just fine, understanding each other in shorthand, so to speak. I also depended a lot on his facial expressions. Well, half facial expressions, because the strokes had left their mark mostly on his left side from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Otherwise, he was in real good health.

“I went to see Junior over at the hospital,” I told him. Then at his frown, I hurried on. “He looks okay and the nurse said he’d be home tomorrow or the day after. I talked to him a little, and I hope you don’t mind, but I told him what you and me’ve been talking about. And, Mr. Howard, honey, he didn’t seem to mind! In fact, he smiled! What do you think of that!”

He growled deep in his throat, frowning and squeezing my hand.

“Now, don’t get yourself upset,” I said, stroking his thin arm through the layer of cashmere. “You haven’t heard it all. I know all about how Junior’s planning to move you to a Raleigh nursing home, but we can nip that in the bud. Junior was just worried about you, wanting you to have the care you need. That’s why he was going to do that, so you mustn’t be mad at him. He cares about you, and so do I.”

I put his hand beside my face and rubbed it against my cheek as I went on. “You know how you’ve been talking about me and you, you and I, getting married, and I was afraid you didn’t really mean it and that other people would think I was taking advantage? Well, I don’t think that way anymore.

“Mr. Howard, honey, if you still want to, I’ll marry you and take care of you till death do us part and I’ll never put you in a nursing home or let anybody hurt you or upset you again. If you still want to.”

“Ehra Mae, Ehra Mae.” He cupped his good hand around my face, and his old eyes filled up, the good one overflowing with tears.

“Don’t cry, honey,” I said, grabbing a Kleenex and wiping his wrinkled face. “I hope that means you’re happy.” I laughed a little, about to tear up myself. “’Cause I sure am.

“Now, listen,” I went on, “I told Junior we were getting married and he didn’t have a thing to say against it. So I don’t want you to think I’m trying to put something over on him. I don’t want to cause any problems between you and your son. But I do think we ought to go ahead with it before that wife of his changes his mind.”

He nodded his head and squeezed my hand as tight as he could manage.

“Here’s my plan,” I said, scooting closer to his chair. “In just a few minutes we’ll get you in my car, ’cause we have to be at the courthouse in Abbotsville before five o’clock to get the marriage license. Both of us have to be there and sign for it, and isn’t it lucky that you’re right-handed and won’t have any trouble signing your name? See, you can always find the bright side if you just look. Anyway, once we get the license, we can get married either at the magistrate’s office, though it might be too late for that today, or we can go to Reverend Haliday’s church and he’ll marry us this afternoon, or first thing in the morning if that’s the way it works out. Does that make you happy?”

He smiled so wide, he almost got it over to the left side of his face. He was so overcome that all he could do was nod his head up and down.

“It makes me happy, too,” I said. That’s one of the reasons I liked my job so much, making old, sad people happy. Though I’d never made one this happy before. “Now, I’m going to call Emmett to help me get you to the car. Is that all right? You feel like doing all that today?”

He tried again to speak, but the excitement made it hard for even me to understand him. He waved his good hand, still holding mine, pointing toward the closet.

“Oh, bless your sweet heart,” I said, realizing what he wanted. “You want your suit coat, don’t you? Let me get Emmett and we’ll get you fixed up for your wedding day.”

I could’ve cried with the classiness of it. Mr. Howard knew the right thing to do, and of course, he wouldn’t want to get married in a sweater. He thought too much of me not to be dressed right and proper. I couldn’t help but remember how Skip wore his letter jacket, purple and gold satin, at our ceremony, and how Bernie had worn a plaid sports jacket and tan polyester Sansabelts at the next one I went through. But Mr. Howard knew how a gentleman ought to dress.

When I called Emmett to come help us, Mr. Howard made it clear that he wanted to walk to the car. We got him up in the walker, which worried me no end because his left arm didn’t have the strength he needed to manage it very well. But with Emmett there to steady him and Mr. Howard’s determination, I figured I wasn’t going to start our marriage by telling him he couldn’t do something he wanted to do. Besides, the doctor’d said he needed excercise.

I folded the wheelchair and carried it out to the car, thinking he might be glad to have it before we got everything done. I pulled the car right up close to the kitchen door, and was waiting with the door open when Emmett and Mr. Howard got there.

While the two of us were trying to get Mr. Howard turned around so he could sit down on the front seat, I heard a motorcycle misfire out on the street. Just as Emmett swung Mr. Howard’s legs inside the car, the familiar sound of a motor with fewer cylinders working than it ought to have came from the driveway.

I looked up to see the black Low Rider barrel into the yard from the driveway, skidding to a stop in the loose gravel beside my car.
Oh, God,
I thought as the driver took off his helmet,
what have I done to deserve this aggravation right when I didn’t need any more
?

“Hey, Etta Mae,” Skip said, swinging his leg off and kicking down the kickstand. “Y’all goin’ somewhere?”

I marched over and grabbed Skip’s arm, turning him away from the car. Emmett, waiting beside it, watched this new development with a frown on his face.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, so put out with him that it was all I could do to maintain. “Skip, I swear, didn’t I tell you to stay at Lurline’s?”

“Well, dang, Etta Mae . . .” He scratched his head, his hair damp and matted from sweating under his helmet.

“You just listen to me. You know Roy and Harley’re looking for you and you know you ought to stay out of sight. Do you want to end up in the hospital like Junior Connard? Or worse? Dad blame it, where’s your brain?”

“I couldn’t help it, Etta Mae. I saw ’em. They drove up and parked across the street from Lurline’s. They knew I was there. What was I supposed to do, stay there till they came in and got me?”

I drew in a long breath, thinking it would’ve served him right. “And just how’d they know you were there? Come on, Skip, how’d they find you? They couldn’t’ve known where Lurline lived, so how’d they pick her house?”

“Well.” He scuffed the toe of his boot in the gravel, unable to meet my eyes. “Well, maybe I got a cravin’ for barbecue. You know, for lunch?” I propped my hands on my hips and glared at him. “I was careful, Etta Mae, I really was. I snuck around on back streets till I got to the Porky Park and ordered at the window. I was real careful, I promise.”

I took a deep breath. What do you do with a fool?

“Well, you weren’t careful enough. Obviously. It’s plain as day they saw you and followed you back to Lurline’s. What did you expect, Skip? It’s broad daylight and they’ve been here almost twenty-four hours. I could find anybody in Delmont in twenty minutes in the dead of the night. All you had to do was stay inside.” I could’ve shaken him, I was so put out. “Now what you’ve probably done is lead them over here.”

“Well, dang it all, I had to find you. Lurline called and said Granny’s looking for you. She’d called the office, wanting you to come see her as quick as you could, so I thought I better let you know.”

That stopped me. Granny didn’t usually call me at work, so when she did, I dropped everything and went to see about her. She’d had her phone taken out, because too many times its ringing had interrupted her stories on TV and the pro wrestling she loved. When she needed me, she’d go next door and use Boyce and Betty Sue’s, not telling them what she wanted. Boyce was her third son who looked after her, which he did fairly well when she’d let him. Nine times out of ten when she called me, it was for something like finding her glasses or helping her turn a mattress.

I always worried, though, about that one time when something might be wrong. Granny had raised me when nobody else could or would, and I thought the world of her. When she called, I went.

Going by her house, plus doing something with Skip, was going to put a crimp in the day’s activities. Well, it couldn’t be helped. I took out my list of things to do, wadded it up, and crammed it back into my purse. I’d just have to do the best I could, even if everything didn’t get done in one day.

While all this was going through my mind, Skip was standing there waiting to be told what to do next. Whirling around on him, with my hands on my hips, I said, “So what’re we gonna do if they followed you here?”

“I don’t think they did. I snuck out the back and come straight over here, hopin’ to catch you before you left.” He gave me that big, goofy grin that used to take me in every time. “An’ I did, didn’t I? Looks like just in time, too.”

I just shook my head. “Let me think a minute,” I said, biting my thumb and wondering how to get everything done in a day that was fast running out of hours. “I can take my patient out to Granny’s with me. It’ll be a nice ride for him. But you, I don’t know what to do with you. You can’t go to my trailer, and you sure can’t go back to Lurline’s. I’ve run out of hiding places. Did you call Atlanta and the airlines?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d get me something to eat first.”

“I hope you enjoyed it,” I muttered, knowing sarcasm was lost on him. Then, “How long do you have to turn that ticket in?”

“Thirty days, I think it is, so I got plenty of time to claim my winnings.”

“That’s good, I guess, but you don’t have plenty of time when Pucketts’re after you. And speaking of Pucketts, we better get moving. I swear to God, Skip, if they followed you here, I’m going to wring your neck.”

I turned to look at Mr. Howard, waiting patiently in the car. I had a quick picture of what would happen if those two maniacs came speeding up the driveway, blocking us in and doing I-didn’t-know-what to all of us, including Mr. Howard. It didn’t bear thinking about. We had to get out of there.

“Get this thing out of sight,” I said, kicking the motorcycle.

“Huh? Where? What you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to put it, let me see, behind the garage. Yes, get it around behind the garage, in the bushes, where nobody coming in can see it.”

“Okay,” he said, swinging a leg over the Low Rider. He stood, putting a foot on the starter. As he started to give it a mighty shove, I nearly swatted him off the thing.

“Dang it, Skip,
roll
the thing back there!”

“Roll it? You mean, walk it back there?”

“Yes! If the Pucketts’re out on the street looking for you, they’ll hear you start up. Use your head!” Then, at the hurt look on his face, I said, “I’m sorry, Skip, but I’m scared, too, and I have my patient to think of. Hurry up now, and get back here.”

“You got a plan, Etta Mae?” He kicked up the kickstand and aimed the bike toward the garage.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ve got a plan.”

While he headed toward the garage, I went back to the car. “Emmett,” I said, “that’s a near relation of mine who’s not too bright. We all have to look after him. You know how it is with family. If anybody comes looking for him, just say you don’t know him. Which you don’t.”

He nodded, watching Skip as he went behind the garage. “No’m,” he said. “I don’t.”

“In fact,” I went on, “why don’t you take some time off and just not answer the door if anybody comes? Unless it’s Junior’s wife, of course.”

“Yessum,” he said, still unsure about what was going on and what it had to do with him.

“We’re leaving now,” I said, opening the car door and sliding inside. “Don’t worry about Mr. Howard. You know I’ll look after him, and we’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“What I gonna tell Miss Valerie if she ax where he at?”

I switched on the ignition as I thought for a minute. “Reckon he could be asleep and not want to be disturbed?” At the look he gave me, I said, “Guess not. Well, if she asks, just say somebody’s taken him for a ride. On doctor’s orders. If she doesn’t ask, don’t say anything. How’s that?”

He nodded. “I do that. Mr. Howard,” he said, leaning in the window, “you have a good time, hear?”

I reached over and patted Mr. Howard’s half-dead hand. “I’m sorry about this, honey, but we’re going to have to help somebody in need, and go by to see my granny for a little while. We won’t stay long, and we’ll be at the courthouse by five, just like we planned.”

Skip came running up to the car. He leaned in my window, panting. “You ain’t leavin’, are you, Etta Mae? What you want me to do?”

“Get in the car, Skip,” I said, leaning over the steering wheel and pulling the back of my seat up. “Get in the back on the floor. And don’t mess with my clean clothes.”

“On the floor?”

“
On the floor,
damn it! Excuse me, Mr. Howard, I’m a little flustered.”

“Okay, okay,” Skip said, as he pushed and shoved to get in, nearly squeezing me to death against the steering wheel. Finally, he got in and tried to curl up on the floorboard. “There’s not much room down here, Etta Mae.”

“I know it. It’s a Camaro. But it’s all you’ve got, so stay down, and I mean it. Mr. Howard, that big ole boy back there is Skip Taggert, and we’re going to have to take him with us, much to my regret.”

Mr. Howard tried to turn around to see Skip, but then he shrugged his right shoulder, gave me a half smile, and said, “Frien’?”

“Yeah, an old friend I can’t seem to get rid of.”

I headed the car down the driveway and out onto the street, turning toward Abbotsville and the courthouse, by way of a Granny detour, my soon-to-be husband in the front seat and one of my exes in the back.