Miss Julia to the Rescue (12 page)

We walked into what seemed to be a one-room cabin and Etta Mae dinged the bell on the counter. A thin, morose-looking man, badly in need of a shave and dressed in overalls, came out of a bathroom. I knew because the sound of flushing followed him.

“Good evening,” I said, as he approached the counter. “We’d like two cabins, please.”

“Ain’t got but one. Prob’bly the last empty ’un in the county. Number twelve, down by the creek.”

“Oh, well. Well, we’ll take it.”

“Be fifty dollars,” he said, “for one. Sixty-five for two. In advance.”

Holding my pocketbook below the counter so he couldn’t see what was in it, I handed him the exact amount. “We don’t think it’ll be necessary, but we might want to stay another night. Will that be all right?”

“Better decide early an’ get it paid for,” he said, turning a form around for me to sign. “These things go fast.”

I can’t imagine why
, I thought but didn’t say. The walls of the office were covered with signs and posters, fishing rods and mounted fish, and other piscatorial paraphernalia. I wondered if Sam, who loved to fish, would be impressed with the place. From what I’d seen so far, I wouldn’t be recommending it.

Trying to be friendly as he passed a key attached to a wooden paddle across the counter, I asked, “Does Pearl come in tomorrow?”

He stared at me. “Naw, she’s passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Been awhile, so it don’t matter. And ma’am,” he went on, as I realized he’d never given us a hint or even the pretense of a smile, “we don’t allow no cookin’ and no loud parties.” His eyes slid over to Etta Mae, then he glared at me. “And no visitors in the cabins. Just the ones paid cash on the barrelhead right here in the office.”

“Why, of course,” I said, frowning at the unusual demand. “We’re not expecting any visitors.”

I had to hurry to catch up with Etta Mae, who’d slammed out of the office and plopped herself in the car.

“I’m sorry, Etta Mae,” I said as I slid into my seat. “I wish we had better accommodations.” When she didn’t answer, I went on. “He wasn’t very friendly, was he?”

“Friendly? He was downright rude and vulgar. The idea!” she fumed as she drove past the row of cabins, which I now saw were doubles. Each had a small porch with two doors that apparently opened into two rentable rooms.

“You know what he meant, don’t you?” Etta Mae said, her temper obviously on the rise. “He thought we were here to entertain men.”

“No! How could he think such a thing?”

“Probably because he’s had the problem before.”

“Oh, Etta Mae, maybe we ought to sleep in the car.” As the full import of his implication sank in, I said, “I can see why he’d think you could do some entertaining, but
me
? Makes you wonder what kind of women have been here. Maybe I ought to be flattered, but I don’t believe I could make a living at it.”

She snorted, then began to laugh. I joined in because it was either that or cry.

Etta Mae parked in front of number twelve, then we got our bags from the trunk and walked up the one step onto the narrow porch. She unlocked the door and felt around on the wall for a light switch that turned on an overhead lightbulb. We would’ve been better off to have left the room dark. Unfinished paneling lined the walls, and one double bed took up most of the space. A small table held a one-cup coffeemaker and a few Styrofoam cups.
Two straight chairs were the only seating in the room. A lamp with a crooked shade stood on the only nightstand. The room was damp and chilly, and Etta Mae went immediately to the portable heater and turned it on.

She glanced into the bathroom and backed out with a grimace on her face. “Tee-ninesy,” she said, “and rust everywhere.” Then she turned around and took in all the amenities, or lack of same, in the room. “No television! And no telephone. Do these people live in the twenty-first century?”

My heart sank at the sight of the sad little room, especially at the one bed. I’d stayed in a similar place once before, but that had been in Florida and I’d slept in a chair by myself. Having become accustomed to sleeping alone after Wesley Lloyd Springer passed, it had taken months after Sam and I married for me to become used to sharing a bed again. Now I’d have to try to sleep with Etta Mae. Looking around at the crude accommodations, I wondered how I’d make it through the night. One thing was for sure: I was going to do all in my power to get Mr. Pickens out of that hospital tomorrow, thereby making this a one-night stand.

“Etta Mae,” I said, “I’m not as tired as I thought. Let’s go to the hospital and see what we can find out.”

“Suits me. The only way we’ll be able to sleep here is if we’re too tired to care.” She started toward the door, then turned around. “Let’s put our bags back in the car. I don’t much want to leave anything here.”

“Good idea. But leave the heater and a light on so the manager won’t think we’ve left for good. Though he probably wouldn’t care now that he’s been paid.”

“Yeah,” Etta Mae said as she held the door for me. “Except he might rent it to somebody else if he thinks we’re gone.” She giggled. “I’d hate to walk in and find a couple of strangers in our bed.”

Driving back toward town, I realized that the rain had stopped, although the street was still wet and the occasional passing truck
splashed water up on the car. We both were silent while we looked for the small sign that had indicated the location of the hospital. It was full dark by this time, but I caught occasional glimpses of other signs, mostly for churches that were apparently set too far off the highway to be seen.
SHILOH MISSIONARY BAPTIST
was one,
HOLY GHOST REVIVAL
another and
CHURCH OF GOD WITH
… was one I didn’t quite catch. We passed the gas station and saw Junior busily cleaning the windshield of a pickup.

“Turn around, Etta Mae,” I said. “We saw that hospital sign when we were at the gas station, so we’ve passed it.”

“Dang it,” she said, “I thought I knew where it was. Okay, I’ll turn around here.” And she pulled into a lot that faced a string of open-sided sheds with a large sign above them reading luther’s flea market open daily except sunday. She drove back the way we’d come, passed Junior’s again, then turned left onto an even narrower blacktop street. We climbed steadily, went around two shallow curves and came out onto a flat area with a long white two-story building on our right.

“This is it,” I said, “though it looks more like a nursing home than a hospital. Turn in here, Etta Mae.”

“That’s the emergency entrance,” she said. “I see the visitors’ lot farther down.”

As we parked and got out, I looked around at the well-kept grounds, the lights glowing from the windows, many revealing patients propped up in bed. Groups of visitors were coming and going through the lobby doors. We got out of the car and followed one group, overhearing talk about Grandma and how much longer each of them reckoned she would last. One man said, “I’m gittin’ tired of comin’ up here ev’ry night that rolls around. An’ I’ll tell you this—I don’t mean to miss
Dancin’ with the Stars
another time.”

The lobby was full—men, women, teenagers, children and babies—and I think every last one of them was wearing some kind of denim: flat front, pleated, hip-huggers, waist high, boot cut, straight leg, full legged, and bib. Etta Mae fit right in. I
thought to myself that I would tell Binkie to put me in some denim stock when I got home. Binkie and Sam, both lawyers, managed my estate, but I occasionally offered some useful advice.

There was a shoulder-high counter at the back of the lobby, so we headed toward that. Able to see only the top of a beehive hairdo with a headset running across it, I stood on my tiptoes to get the attention of the operator.

“Good evening,” I said. “We’d like to see Mr. J. D. Pickens. What room is he in, please?”

The woman looked up from her console, smiled in a friendly manner, and said, “I don’t recognize the name, but let me check.” Her lipstick was mostly eaten off, but otherwise she was an attractive middle-aged woman. I wondered if she’d been the one who’d tried to be helpful to me on the telephone.

She flipped through several pages, frowned, then said, “We don’t have a patient by that name.”

“Oh, well, I expect the word hasn’t gotten to you. He may still be listed as Mr. John Doe.”

Her eyes widened as she gave me—and would’ve given Etta Mae if Etta Mae had been tall enough for her to see—an inquiring look. “Well, we do have a John Doe, but, honey, he can’t have visitors. Says so right here, by order of the sheriff.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, trying for pathetic, “we’ve come so far to see how he is. We’ve been driving all day. Can’t we just peek in and let him know we’re here?”

“I’m real sorry,” she said, and truly looked as if she were, “but I can’t let you do that. It’d mean my job and who knows what else. But tell you what. You go talk to the sheriff in the morning and see what he says. I bet he’ll let you in, seein’ as how you’ve come such a long way.”

There was no use begging or flying off the handle, which I was tempted to do until Etta Mae tugged at my sleeve and pointed toward the door. So against my inclination, I thanked the operator and with Etta Mae in tow, left the lobby and walked out toward the parking lot.

“I didn’t expect it to be easy,” I said, fuming, “but I’m so frustrated and disappointed I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell you what,” Etta Mae said, sounding exactly like the operator. “You go on to the car—here’s the key—and wait for me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where’re you going?” I asked, thinking that if she was headed for a ladies’ room, I’d go with her.

“To look around,” she said, and before I could say a word she was up the steps, dodging departing visitors, and through the door into the lobby.

“Well, for goodness sakes,” I said, done in that she would just up and leave me stranded on the walk. I started to follow her, but fatique and my aching back stopped me, so I walked to the car. Sitting with the doors locked, wondering what Etta Mae was doing and feeling uneasy at being alone in the sparsely lit parking lot, I began to feel put upon. Etta Mae had gone off on a tangent, nobody in this town was helping us and we were going to have to sleep in a cabin by a creek. It’d been so long since Coleman had awakened me at five-thirty that morning and we were so far from home that I felt blue and depressed. Stiff, too, from sitting all day.

Etta Mae had parked under a rain-soaked tree that was dripping rainwater over the car, so it was difficult to see out as I waited. I could hear the crunching of feet on the gravel as the occasional visitor left the hospital and walked past the car. I was tempted each time to scoot down in the seat so they wouldn’t wonder why I was just sitting there.

I was doing some wondering myself: Why was it taking Etta Mae so long? Where was she and what was she doing? Should I go look for her? But what if she came back and found me gone?

I didn’t know what to do, but a sharp rap on the driver’s side window nearly gave me a heart attack. “Hey, it’s me,” Etta Mae whispered. “Open up.”

I did and she scooted in, raindrops glinting in her curly hair.
Her shirt was damp on the shoulders and back. “Whoo,” she said, cranking the car, “let’s get out of here. I’m about soaked.”

“Where’ve you been, Etta Mae? What’d you do?”

She giggled, as she turned us onto the road that led to the highway. “I went back in and walked down the hall along with some visitors. When they stopped at a room, I kept on going just like I had good sense. There’re only about a dozen or so rooms, and all the doors were open except the last two at the end of the hall. I’ll bet you money that J.D.’s in one of ’em. In fact, he must be because the one on the right had a
NO VISITORS
sign.” She giggled again and slowed the car on the wet road. “Anyway, I turned the knob to peek in to make sure and almost made it, but before I could push the door open a nurse came out of the room across the hall and asked what I was doing. Well, she
demanded
it, and wasn’t too nice about it, either. Scared me so bad I said the first thing that popped into my head. I said, ‘Looking for the ladies’,’ and she walked me all the way back to the restroom in the lobby, so I had to go in and go.”