Miss Julia to the Rescue (27 page)

“I don’t know what to tell you, Julia,” Mildred responded. “It’s not like Adam to walk off a job. So if it is Agnes, he must feel obligated to her in some way. Maybe he made her a promise, and she called him on it sooner than he expected.” Mildred paused as we both thought about it. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve a good mind to fire him. Except I don’t know who to get in his place. Not many people want to come in and complete a job somebody else has started. But, Mildred, Sam’ll be home in less than a week and I just hate for him to come back to the mess this house is in. He might talk the pastor into jumping on another plane and going to Africa.”

Mildred laughed. “Oh, I doubt that. Did Adam tell Lillian when he’d be back?”

“No, just said as soon as he could, which could be weeks, for all I know.”

“That is strange. It’s just not like him at all. You know he’s so religious, and I’m not talking about
talking
about it. He tries to live it, too. He once told me that he dedicates every job he does
to the Lord. I think something’s going on that we don’t know about.”

“You may be right,” I said, calming down a little as I thought about Adam Waites and what might be happening in his life. “I tell you, Mildred, it’s like he hasn’t had his mind on what he’s doing from day one. I gave him specific instructions, all written out and everything, and still he was going off on tangents, planning to stain instead of paint and make a built-in desk when a built-in desk is not on the plan. I asked if he was having trouble at home, but he said no and shrugged it off. But the whole thing put me on alert. I figured I’d have to watch him closely, but now I can’t even do that.”

“Well, speaking of trouble at home, that daddy of his keeps all those boys on a tight rein. They’re all super religious—I mean that’s how they were raised—very fundamentalist with no television or movies or parties or anything like that. But the interesting thing about those boys—the ones I’ve met, that is—is that none of them are rebellious. They’re just as happy as they can be.” Mildred stopped again, then said as if it were hard to believe, “joyful, even.”

After a little more back and forth that produced no answers for my problem, we hung up, leaving me still fuming. I immediately dialed Adam’s home number, determined to demand that he return to work and finish what he’d been hired to do. His mother, however, answered the phone and told me that he was working late, which almost sent me into orbit because he wasn’t working late at my house. She was so pleasant, though, that I had to be satisfied with leaving a message.

“Please tell him that I am expecting him to be here in the morning,” I said as calmly as I could under the circumstances, considering that I was speaking with his mother.

“Lillian,” I said as she prepared to leave after cleaning the kitchen, “would you believe that Adam is working late? But it’s a settled fact that he’s not doing it where he’s supposed to be doing it.”

“He put in a good long day here,” she said. “Wonder where else he’s workin’.”

“I can guess,” I said bitterly. “He’s at that Whitman woman’s house, I just know it, working night and day for
her
.”

“Yes’m, maybe so, but ’member he been workin’ Saturdays for you an’ not many folks do that.”

“You’re right,” I conceded, trying to be fair about it. “Maybe he’s working tonight so he can finish her job and be back here in the morning.”

With that hope, I joined Lloyd on the front porch, where we waved to Lillian as she left. It was still hot, but a nice breeze had come up and as dusk settled in, I settled myself in a wicker rocker. Lloyd, wearing a polo shirt and khaki long shorts, was sitting on the front steps so he could take note of the few cars passing along the street. My view was partly blocked by the wisteria vine that grew around the porch.

We’d often spent the last hours of the day on the porch, enjoying the company of each other and discussing whatever came to mind or whoever happened to pass by.

“Remind me, Lloyd,” I said, “to have those crepe myrtles trimmed back this winter. They’re about to take over.”

“Okay. They sure filled out this year, didn’t they?”

“Yes, and the boxwoods ought to be pruned, too.” That was the kind of thing we talked about as I gently rocked on the porch and he stretched out his skinny legs. Unless, of course, there was some worrisome matter that was weighing on our minds.

“Mr. Sam’ll be back in about a week?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Yes, and I’m counting the days. I can’t wait to hear all about the trip and, well, just have him back again. I miss him.”

Lloyd nodded. “I do, too. But I was wonderin’, I mean I kinda thought I’d stay on here while he’s gone. You know, not move to Mama’s yet.”

“Why, Lloyd, that would be fine,” I said, thinking,
More than fine
.

“Well, Mama doesn’t like to stay by herself at night, so I thought you might not, either.”

“Well, I don’t. I’ll certainly sleep better with you here, if it’s all right with your mother.”

“Oh, it is. When I told her I was gonna stay on till he gets back, she said she should’ve thought of it herself.”

I rested my head against the rocker, a smile on my face as I thought that maybe Lloyd was having a problem with his move, just as I was. I certainly wanted what was best for him, but what was best for me kept getting in the way. It wasn’t that I was glad the boy might have a troubled mind about where he should live, I was just grateful to have him a few more days.

We both looked up as a little red car slowed at the stop sign on the corner, hesitated for a minute, then reversed itself to park at our curb.

“That’s Etta Mae,” Lloyd said, standing up and waving as she got out of the car.

Still in one of her colorful scrub suits, she came bouncing up the walk. “Hey, Lloyd,” she called, then as she approached the steps and saw me, “And Miss Julia. I was just passing by and saw y’all sittin’ out here and thought I’d stop and see how you’re doing.”

“Come on up and have a seat,” I said. “We’re glad to see you.”

“I’ll just sit here with Lloyd.” She sat down on the top step, then swung around to lean against one of the pillars on the porch. “I had to be over this way today, so I stopped by to see how J.D.’s getting along. I could tell he’s a whole lot better, because he wouldn’t let me check his bandage.” She threw back her curly head and laughed. “He is so modest.”

Lloyd began telling her how Mr. Pickens couldn’t walk, sit or lie on his back and how Hazel Marie kept trying to rub his back to keep him still. “I’m just gonna stay with Miss Julia till things calm down over there.”

“I don’t blame you,” Etta Mae said, and they laughed together. “So school’s out for the summer? You going to be doing anything special?”

“Just a lot of tennis, I expect,” he said. “I think they want me to help with some clinics again this year. You know, with the little guys.”

They went on talking in this manner for some while, and even though it was pleasant to sit in the lengthening dusk and listen to them, I had noticed something that was unsettling me.

Etta Mae, as long as I’d known her, had had pierced ears, always adorned with earrings of various sizes and designs. She usually wore fairly simple ones—small hoops or studs—when she was working, but I realized that she’d begun to branch out a little with things that dangled or sparkled. I’d often looked askance, though I would never have said anything, at the little bells or stars or reindeer that she wore on her ears around Christmas. More recently, though, she seemed to have earrings that celebrated every holiday that rolled around—dangling hearts on Valentine’s Day, shamrocks on St. Patrick’s Day, and once, when we were in Florida, she’d come out with little green frogs on lily pads. Her patients, she’d told me, those shut-ins that she took care of, enjoyed seeing what she’d have stuck in her ears each time she visited.

“They’ll say,” Etta Mae had said, “ ‘Turn this way, Etta Mae, and let me see what you have on today.’ It’s something they look forward to, so I try to come up with the cutest earrings I can find.”

Hazel Marie loved earrings, too, and she had a number of nice gold ones and some pearl ones as well as a pair of diamond studs. Hazel Marie wasn’t given to wearing anything outrageous, except when it came to the length of her skirts.

But here we were resting at the end of a busy day, conversing and enjoying one another’s company, while I grasped the arms of my rocker tighter and tighter, and tried to calm the dreadful fear that Etta Mae somehow had gotten mixed up with that bunch of body alterers I’d met that afternoon. For not only was she wearing a little silver crescent moon in each lobe, but she also had tiny stars stuck in three separate holes running up the curve of her right ear.

Now, I am not against piercing one’s ears for decorative purposes. Obviously, because my own were pierced, but only once to a side. I think that when you go beyond one hole in each ear, you’re teetering on the edge. On the edge of what, you may ask, and I say on the edge of too much, which is my opinion and my right to hold it.

Still, I probably wouldn’t have had such a reaction to Etta Mae’s superfluity of holes if I had not seen those prolifically perforated employees of Agnes Whitman, and Agnes Whitman herself.

The fact of the matter was I was worried about Etta Mae. I didn’t want to see her mixed up with some outlandish cult and end up with a safety pin in her eyebrow or with her beautiful skin covered with hearts and flowers and Harley-Davidson insignia. But even as I told myself that the posssibility of that happening was just too far-fetched, especially to someone as levelheaded as Etta Mae Wiggins, the thought of staid, reliable Adam Waites being lured away from his job sprang to mind. I came to the realization that Agnes Whitman was a force that would have to be reckoned with.

Which immediately reminded me of another force—Sheriff Ardis McAfee—who sooner or later would also have to be reckoned with.

“Well,” Etta Mae said, standing and reaching over to ruffle Lloyd’s hair, “this is nice, but I better be going. Been a long day.”

“Oh, Etta Mae,” I said, walking over to her, “I haven’t even offered you anything. Have you had supper?”

“Yes’m, I had something at McDonald’s between patients. I usually get through in time to fix a decent meal, but today’s been busy.”

“Yes, and you went out of your way to see about Mr. Pickens, which was thoughtful of you. But you need to take care of yourself and eat right so you can fight off viruses and flu bugs and bad influences.”

She glanced at me with a quizzical expression, but then laughed and said, “I probably need a keeper. See y’all later.” And she walked out to her car.

As we watched her drive away, Lloyd asked, “What kind of bad influences?”

“Oh, you never know what you’ll come up against. There’re people who’ll talk you into anything if you’re not strong enough to resist.” I was going to leave it at that, but decided to ask his opinion. “Did you see those extra earrings Etta Mae was wearing?”

“Yeah, they looked pretty cute, didn’t they?”

My word, I thought as I sank back onto the rocking chair, bad influences just kept rippling on and no telling how far they’d go.

I rocked for a while without answering, then said, “When Etta Mae and I found ourselves in a snake-handling service, I noticed that those snakes were left alone until just one person got the nerve to pick one up. Then everybody else began to crowd around to get one, too. What I’m saying, Lloyd, is that most people don’t think for themselves. They simply follow a leader or a fad or what have you. And along those lines, have you seen the girl who runs the cash register at the drugstore? I was in there last week, and I couldn’t understand a word she said.”

“Oh, you mean the one with a stud in her tongue?” Lloyd said, and then laughed. “I’ve seen her, and she does lisp pretty bad.”

“I don’t know what comes over people to make them do a thing like that, and I hope Etta Mae stops with what she has. Enough is enough, I always say. But at least she hasn’t marked herself up for life with tattoos.”

“I kinda hate to tell you this, Miss Julia, but Etta Mae already has a tattoo. Just a little one, though. At least that’s all I’ve seen.”

I stopped rocking. “Where does she have a tattoo? I’ve never seen it.”

“Well, it’s on her back, kinda.”

“You must be mistaken, Lloyd. I’ve seen her in sundresses and there’s nothing on her back.”

He squinched up his face, then mumbled, “It’s lower than that. Hardly anybody would ever see it.”

“So when did you?”

“Remember when we went to Florida that time? I went swimming with Etta Mae in the hotel pool and I saw it then. It’s just a little tiny butterfly nobody’d ever see unless she had on a bikini. Which she did.”

“Well,” I said, dismayed at learning what was under Etta Mae’s clothes. But if she’d had it when we were in Florida, it couldn’t be the handiwork of Agnes Whitman. Which gave me some comfort. “Well, maybe she was young and didn’t know it wouldn’t come off. Maybe she regrets it now, and maybe she ought to wear a one-piece bathing suit from now on.”