Her aunt joked, but Edie knew what she wanted to hear. She looked better than she felt. She still had a way about her.
Edie kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“Very nice.”
“I see you brought Bob home. What can I tell you? Bob’s dumb as dirt.” Leona took a quick peek at the television screen. “Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?”
“The guy just hollering your name out the truck window. Sounded like a mating call to me.”
Edie grinned.
“He’s just a guy from the Do.”
“I hope he showed you an extra special time if you know what I mean.”
Her aunt cackled. She was always this direct, but Edie was used to her ways. She lived next to Leona, her father’s only sister, most of her life, and after Ma died, she took over those womanly things Edie needed. Leona was good to Amber, too, never minding she came over when Edie wanted to go out. Truthfully, she enjoyed the girl’s company since she never had children, or as Leona put it, “Something’s wrong with my plumbing.”
When Edie came to visit, she and her aunt played cards. Leona kept a tumbler of something dark and sweet beside her as she gabbed through games of cribbage and gin. Edie stuck to beer.
Her aunt was alone, and she was not the type to be a part of what went on in town, the granny groups, she called them. She liked going to the Do-Si-Do, especially when it had a band, and to bingo at the American Legion in Tyler. She spent the worst months of winter at a trailer park in Florida.
“I’ve got some news,” Edie said. “My first game’s Friday. It’s in Tyler.”
“Hell, it’s about time.”
Edie shrugged.
“It’s not gonna be the same without Birdie coaching.”
“Too bad about his ticker. Clean living can kill you.”
“Aunt Leona.”
Leona pawed the air.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. He was a good man.”
“Still is. His doctor says he just can’t coach anymore.”
“Then they might as well stick Birdie in the ground.”
Edie played on the Conwell Women’s Softball Team since high school, except for a couple of years when she was pregnant and right after Gil died. The team was in a slow-pitch league, and Birdie, who coached for over two decades, had the right attitude. He never got worked up about a lousy call, and everyone got a chance to play. His wife kept score, and their daughter, a good bat, played right. His son coached third and helped with the field.
Leona’s eyes squeezed nearly closed.
“And now we have Vera,” she said.
Edie sighed. Vera, who worked part-time at her in-laws’ general store, was the older sister of Sharon St. Claire, Walker’s wife.
“I hope it’s still fun with her,” Edie said.
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough. I’m betting it won’t. The woman’s a real pill. You should know. You work with her.”
The other week, Vera came up to Edie in the store and said, “Birdie had you down for third. You still with us?”
It was a fair question. Between September and May, a lot can happen to a group of women who live in the same town. Someone could get pregnant or divorced, or sign up with another team, usually over some slight, or in the case of one player last year, kicked out for making off with another player’s husband. But Edie got the feeling Vera hoped she wasn’t coming back.
“It’ll be nice seeing the girls all together,” Edie told her aunt.
“Yes, it will.”
Leona’s interest waned. She watched the TV again. She frowned when Edie said her name.
“Wanna come to my in-laws’ with me?” Edie asked.
“I forgot.” Leona swiveled to face her. “How was it today?”
Edie smiled sadly.
“The same, but I’m glad people remember Gil.”
Her aunt’s head rocked slightly.
“They should. Gil was a great guy. The best. I should know. I was married to three bums who weren’t.”
“He was the best all right,” Edie said, her head tucked down.
Her aunt’s face softened. Edie hadn’t felt this low in a long time, and it was hard shaking it.
“Aw, honey, it can be real tough,” Leona said, and she kept repeating, “Now, now, Edie, now, now.”
Prove Himself
Edie headed to the beer cooler in her in-laws’ back yard after she brought the potato salad into the kitchen, where Marie made it clear she was not needed. She plunged a hand through the cooler’s watery ice for a beer. The headache was long gone, but the cold helped revive her.
She popped the top and looked around. Her in-laws had a nice house that’s been in Fred’s family forever. They could afford to take care of a large place like this since they owned the town’s only store. Edie worked for them. Her in-laws were generous, and that helped along with the check she got from the government because of Gil dying in Vietnam.
Most of the town, it seemed, was gathered in Fred and Marie’s yard for the barbecue. Besides family, old friends from town, loyal customers, and even newcomers came. Leona was invited, but she always begged off. Too much family, she said, and they weren’t her family. Pop wasn’t welcome. He blew it a few years ago after he got stinking drunk and insulted one of Marie’s sisters. Edie had to drive him home.
Walker and his wife, Sharon, stood on the house’s stone patio a few feet apart as if they were strangers. Their twin boys, Shane and Randy, charged past them into the crowd. Sharon was a large woman although she wasn’t when Walker married her. She was one of those women who got fat being pregnant and didn’t go back to the body she had before. Edie was surprised when she heard Walker and Sharon were going out, and then when they got married, but she didn’t see much of him during those days. Amber took all of her time.
Walker left Sharon and crossed the lawn to a group of men standing near the barbecue grill. His wife stayed back, a sour expression on her face. Walker didn’t say a thing when he left her behind, and it wasn’t long before he was the center of the group’s attention, the men laughing at something he said. Walker told the kind of jokes men liked, dirty and with a good punch line. Their heads tipped back as they barked.
Edie knew some in Conwell didn’t like Walker because they thought he was too cocky, that he had too much, but he worked harder than most. He was at the job site before the first man showed and usually was the last to leave. He built his construction business from nothing. Fred and Marie didn’t lift a finger or offer him money. Then again, he didn’t ask for their help. Walker wanted to prove himself. Edie knew because he said it many times in bed.
Fred stood on the edge of the patio. He rang a cowbell to announce the food was ready. People began lining up.
Amber was on the far end of the yard. She hung to the edge, watching the other kids joke and tag each other. She raised a hand when Amber spotted her, and before Edie knew the beer was done, so she got another. She tossed the empty in a pail.
Amber came beside her mother.
“Hey, there, who’re your friends?” Edie asked.
Amber chewed her lip.
“They’re not my friends.”
“I could tell. I see your cousins are here.”
Amber made a face.
“Shane and Randy are brats,” she said.
“Brats.”
“They fight over the stupidest things.”
Marie waved from the patio. She tried to get Amber’s attention.
Edie sighed.
“I believe you’re wanted over there,” she said.
Her daughter nodded.
“Where’s Aunt Leona?”
“She wasn’t up for it,” Edie said. “Tell me. What did you two do last night?”
“We watched shows and played cards.” Ambe
r screwed up her nose. “She cheats.”
Edie laughed.
“She does it to me, too. You must be getting better. Aunt Leona doesn’t like to lose.”
From the patio, Marie called Amber’s name and waved again.
“I better see what Grandma wants. You coming?”
“In a while. Go ahead. Make her happy.”
Later, Edie gnawed on a chicken bone while Gil’s great-uncle napped beside her in his wheelchair. He had a smile on his sleeping face. Gil loved the man, and she was content watching him while she tried to build a buzz from the weak beer her in-laws bought.
Marie took the chair next to hers. Her face was flushed.
“Edie, I don’t know why I do this every year,” she spoke loudly. “It’s getting to be too much.”
Edie closed her eyes briefly. She smiled at her mother-in-law. Women who didn’t drink for fun got so sloppy when they do to forget. She didn’t blame Marie. This was tough day for her. So was Gil’s birthday, Christmas, or any day that reminded her she was a mother to a good son who died young.
“You don’t have to, Marie,” Edie told her. “People would understand.”
Edie knew her mother-in-law wanted to talk about Gil. It wasn’t always this way between them. She remembered how much Fred and Marie disliked her when she and Gil went out in high school. Their Gil loved Benny Sweet’s daughter, the girl who used to go with her father when he worked at the town dump. They were too polite to say it directly to her, but Edie knew by their stiff comments and the way they checked the clothes she wore. Both wanted another girl to marry their son, someone who went to church and whose father had a respectable job. But it was behind them now.
She only had to glance at Marie, and the woman began blubbering about Gil.
“I was so scared when he went.” Marie’s brown eyes, like Gil’s, dug into her. “I knew something terrible was going to happen to my Gil. I just knew it.”
She could finish her mother-in-law’s sentences. Gil didn’t deserve to die. He would have been a wonderful father to Amber. She was grateful Edie made him so happy.
Marie grasped Edie’s hand.
“Edie, Edie, what am I going to do?”
“Marie, you’re gonna be okay.”
“No, I’m not. Sometimes when I see men Gil’s age come into the store, I wish they were dead instead of him.” Marie’s hand wound around Edie’s as if it grew there. She whispered, “I feel wicked saying it, but I can’t help it.”
Edie sniffled.
“Marie, it’s not gonna change a thing. Gil’s never coming back. Never.” She slipped her hand from Marie’s and stood. “And you’re sure not making me feel any better.”
Edie went through the door of her in-laws’ garage and between their cars to the workbench, where the cases of beer were stacked. The cooler was getting low. Through the walls she heard the voices of people still at the barbecue. It sounded as if they were having a good time.
She jumped when the garage’s side door shut, and Walker, wearing a sly grin, came toward her.
“Walker, you scared the shit outta me.”
“You should’ve seen your face. I think I’ll go back out and do it again.”
“Go ahead. I’ll lock it this time.”
He laughed.
“I already did.”
She gestured toward the corner.
“I’m just getting more beer.”
“Let me help you.”
Edie glanced out the dusty window.
“Walker, you sure no one saw you follow me?”
“Stop worrying, sweetheart.”
“I can’t help it,” she said.
For the past two years, they did a good job hiding what they were doing from everyone, except Aunt Leona, who was too nosy not to know, and Pop, who said she could do a lot better. What did he say the last time? “You get found out, and who’s the one who’ll catch hell? It’ll be Edie Sweet, the dump guy’s daughter.”
Walker pulled her to him, calling her his pet names, kissing her.
“Were you a good girl last night?”
His words were warm and low, but Edie knew better.
“I’m always good, Walker.”
She smiled, keeping her voice light.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
She pressed herself against Walker, distracting him with a kiss and another as she leaned back against the hood of her mother-in-law’s Thunderbird. Walker’s hand was up her blouse, touching her breasts. He moaned.
“Edie.”
She froze when a group of kids ran by the door. Their feet thudded against the ground. There was a shout, and someone pulled at the knob, but Walker smiled as if he were drunk. The doorknob rattled again. Edie pushed at Walker’s chest until he let her go.
“This isn’t a good idea.” She fixed her clothes. “It’s too dangerous. We could get caught.”
Walker chuckled.
“That’s what makes it fun, baby.”
“Walker, I gotta go.”
“Hey, hey, don’t leave.”
Edie hurried past to grab a case of beer. She shifted the box’s edge onto her right hip and unlocked the door. She let it close behind her.
Walker’s wife, Sharon, came toward the garage. She scowled and pumped her arms. Edie’s heart ticked harder.
“Edie, you see Walker anywhere?”
The bottles clinked inside the case.
“Did you check the house, Sharon?”
“He wasn’t there. Somebody said they saw him heading this way.”
Edie shook her head.
“I dunno.”
Sharon squinted at Edie. Then she was at the garage door, peeking through the dusty glass of its window. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“If you see Walker, tell him I’m lookin’ for him. Will ya?”
Edie adjusted her hands on the case before she began moving. All she said was, “Yeah.”
A Great Find
Edie, with Amber in tow, carried a plate covered with foil into Pop’s place. Pop sat in his recliner in front of the TV. The picture was so poor that if it weren’t for the sound, she wouldn’t know he was watching a baseball game. The antenna came loose during a storm this spring, and Pop had yet to go on the roof to fix it although he mentioned it every time he turned on the set.
“We brought you dinner,” Edie said.
She set the plate on the end table.
“Such good girls,” he said.
Pop squeezed his blue eyes closed and rubbed his days-old whiskers. His white t-shirt had an oil stain down the front. He grinned at Amber.
“Hey, there, sweetie pie.”
“Hey, there, Poppy.”
“What’d you bring me?” He peeked beneath the foil. “Uh-huh. Appears Marie went whole-hog again. Funny, didn’t see an invitation with the name Alban Sweet in our mailbox. Did ya? Must’ve got lost in the mail again.”
Her father chuckled. Edie ignored him as she sank into the upholstered chair next to his. Pop’s legal name was Alban Sweet, but everyone called him Benny, except her late mother, his sister, Leona, and a few of the old-timers. Besides being the town’s dump attendant, he worked as a handyman, two jobs that gave him a bum back. When he wasn’t sitting in his recliner, Pop lay flat on the floor trying to soothe his muscles.
Edie poked at the beige cotton batting sticking through a cigarette burn in the arm of the chair.
“Pop, you know why,” she said.
He made sucking noises in the back of his teeth.
“Guess I’m too much fun for that crowd.”
Pop pulled the plate onto his lap. He picked at the greasy skin of the chicken and wiped his hand across his shirt. His head rested against the tape patching a
hole made when a guy killed himself with a shotgun. It happened when Edie was a little older than Amber, and Pop hauled the chair home after the dead man’s family brought it to the dump. Pop asked the tenant next door, one of his drinking buddies, to help him bring the chair into the living room.
“What do ya think? Real leather,” he told Edie’s mother when she came from the kitchen.
Ma stuck her finger in the bullet hole.
“What happened here, Alban?” she asked, and as Pop began his story, Ma’s head moved in sharp, little jerks. “That’s it. I’ve had it. Our house is full of other people’s junk, but a dead man’s chair?”
“Lucy, it’s a great find. It’s real comfy. I tried it out already at the dump. It’s gonna be so good for my back. You know how sore it gets.” He patted the chair. “Don’t you worry none, honey. I’m gonna patch this hole, and nobody’ll ever know a bullet went through it.”
Ma glared at this man she married in a hard-sprung love that got her pregnant and hitched within months. She went into their bedroom then Edie’s to pack. Ma phoned her sister to pick them up.
Her parents had loud rows before, but Ma’s silence frightened Pop. He begged her to stay and got angry when she wouldn’t. He cursed as Ma loaded their bags into the car’s trunk. Ma’s sister yelled back at Pop. The car sped off, and Edie remembered her father chucking beer cans and rocks against the bumper and back window. Her mother’s head was down. Her shoulders shook.
They returned a few weeks later after Ma and Pop made up. Edie was glad. She missed Pop. Her mother did, too. Pop may be a crusty so-and-so, but there was something true about him. He loved them, and they knew it.
About a year later, Ma discovered she had cancer, a sickness so fierce the doctors gave no chance of curing it. Pop, bless him, was good to the end. He sat next to Ma when she took to her bed, feeding and washing her. In the hospital, he stayed by her side. He cried horribly when she died and went on a bender that lasted two weeks. Her two older sisters, long out of the house, hated him for it, but Edie understood. Pop needed to get away from so large a dose of pain.
The Sweet Spot Page 2
