“Both, I guess,” Dymphna said with a small smile.
“Well?” Titan asked, looking at her. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Clear your head? Are you happy you came back?”
“I am glad I came back,” Dymphna said, realizing for the first time that she was. “As far as clearing my head, I don’t know.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Titan said.
Dymphna wasn’t sure where to begin. So she’d simply said, “I do. I have a sister.”
“She isn’t like you at all.”
“Thank you,” Dymphna said, then realized that was an extremely unkind thing to say. “I mean, I know. We’re very different people.”
“When my mother died,” Titan said, looking down at Thud and rubbing the bloodhound’s fur in long, absentminded strokes, “I didn’t have anybody. I would have given anything to have a sister. We could have shared everything. I wouldn’t have had to be so alone.”
Dymphna had known that it was not the time to burden Titan with the story of Maggie. Titan had got one thing right: Maggie was the queen of sharing. She shared Dymphna’s clothes, her toys, and when they got older, her men. Sharing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be as far as Dymphna was concerned. “Sharing” in Dymphna’s mind meant “taking.”
Professor Johnson was suddenly in the porch doorway, holding a pile of faded cloth.
“What do you know?” he said. “We do have towels.”
Now, in the early morning light, Dymphna blushed as she pulled on a robe and tied it at the waist. It had been a strange homecoming for Dymphna and Professor Johnson with Erinn in the guestroom, but they’d managed. She looked over at him, sound asleep with one arm flung over his eyes. Her soft smile hardened as she thought of her sister, encamped at the Creakside Inn. Why was Maggie in Fat Chance? What did she want?
Maggie always wanted something.
Dymphna lifted the ends of the towels and checked on the rabbits. She reached in each cage and scratched each one of the rabbits in turn. While they were quiet, she sensed their tension. Was it the new surroundings? Fatigue from the trip? In the next room Thud let out a loud crescendo of a yawn and she felt Blanche skittle away from her touch to the edge of her cage.
“It’s OK, Blanche,” Dymphna whispered. “Thud would never hurt you.”
Was that true? He was a bloodhound, after all. She didn’t want to assume that Thud would overcome his baser instincts. Suddenly Maggie crossed her mind again.
Never assume someone will overcome her baser instincts, Dymphna thought.
She covered the rabbits back up, opened the bedroom door carefully, and signaled Thud to follow her to the kitchen.
Erinn straggled out of the guest room, rubbing her back. Dymphna winced.
“I know that bed isn’t very comfortable,” Dymphna said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Erinn said, bending down to pat Thud. “At least not for the condition of the mattress.”
Dymphna was watering an assortment of herbs in the windowsill. She stopped short.
“Is there something else I should be apologizing for?” Dymphna remembered to whom she was speaking and corrected herself. “Is there something else for which I should be apologizing?”
Was that right?
“I thought we knew each other,” Erinn said.
“We do know each other.” Dymphna suspected where the conversation was going and went back to watering her plants. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you never happened to mention you had a sister,” Erinn said, sitting grumpily at the rickety table. “When I saw you two together last night I thought I must be hallucinating from fatigue.”
“You know now,” Dymphna said lamely. “Besides, don’t you have things you don’t talk about?”
“Many things,” Erinn said. “We’re not talking about me.”
Professor Johnson peeked around the door. The two women looked at him. He gave a brief wave and headed to the shower.
“He seems like a very nice man,” Erinn said.
“He is,” Dymphna said.
Erinn seemed to be waiting for more, so Dymphna went on.
“He’s very calm,” she said. “And smart. And a godsend to have around the farm. Sometimes I don’t think I could have kept the farm going without him.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could have,” Erinn said. “As Cher once said, ‘Men are not necessities, they’re luxuries.’”
“I don’t believe it,” Dymphna said.
“I didn’t say it. I’m merely quoting.”
“I know,” Dymphna said, “That’s what I can’t believe—you quoting Cher.”
Erinn sighed. “A life in reality TV will do that to a person. Next I’ll be quoting Kathy Griffin. Let’s hope this documentary saves me from a life of quoting the D-listers.”
* * *
Someone had added a lopsided addition to the regular table in the center of the café to accommodate the troop from Los Angeles. Wesley, Titan, Jeffries, Cleo, and Powderkeg were already seated at the table. Polly had started making the rounds of the café with a pot of coffee, but had been sidetracked. She was standing at one of the smaller tables, chatting with a lanky young man with a ponytail and eyes so soulful, you could see them from the middle of the room.
“That’s Polly’s latest conquest,” Powderkeg said to Cleo. “His name is Poet.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Cleo said.
“How do you like our town?” Titan asked Erinn.
“In a word,” Erinn said, “unusual.”
“That’s a good word for it,” Maggie said, coming in from the archway that separated the Boozehound from the café. “I mean, wouldn’t you say it’s unusual when someone doesn’t have space for her own sister, but a friend can waltz right into the guest room at a moment’s notice?”
“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question?” Erinn asked.
“Is it possible to get some coffee?” Wesley asked, looking around the café. He signaled Polly, “Oh, waitress . . .”
“Forget it,” Titan said, getting up from the table. “I’ll get us coffee. She’s in love.”
“Do they need to be mutually exclusive?” Wesley asked. “Coffee and love?”
“Here she comes,” Cleo said, putting her hand on Titan’s forearm and pulling him back down.
“Coffee, anyone?” Polly said, wagging the pot in the air.
Everyone held up their cups.
Cleo turned her gaze on Jeffries, who was holding out a chipped mug. “Jeffries, as soon as I find decent cell phone reception, I’ll have the jet sent to pick you up.”
“That would be fine, ma’am,” Jeffries said, looking a little less confident as to his place at the table.
“Is Jeffries needed at home?” Erinn asked.
Dymphna could read the annoyance on Cleo’s face.
“Is he needed here?” Cleo countered.
“I’m working on a documentary, as you know,” Erinn said.
“Yes,” Cleo said. “I believe that’s why we’re here.”
“You’re doing a documentary?” Titan asked, eyes widening. “On Texas?”
“On Fat Chance,” Erinn said. “On Cutthroat Clarence and how you all have managed to exceed his expectations here.”
“My grandfather was a multibillionaire,” Professor Johnson said. “We’ve just started to make ends meet. I would hardly say we exceeded his expectations.”
“You wouldn’t say it,” Erinn said. “But I would.”
Cleo dipped her head modestly, as if Erinn was speaking about her specifically.
“I’ve got a show to sell,” Erinn continued. “ ‘Making ends meet’ doesn’t really sing, if you get my drift.”
“What does any of this have to do with Jeffries?” Cleo asked.
“I could use some help,” Erinn said. “He could be my assistant.”
Everyone at the table suddenly added cream and sugar to their coffee at half speed, t
rying to casually listen in on the conversation. Dymphna looked around. The entire restaurant seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at the center table, but the crowd’s collective body language made it evident everyone was paying attention to the newcomers’ conversation.
“Why would Jeffries want to be your assistant?” Cleo asked, as if Jeffries wasn’t there.
“Here’s a crazy idea,” Powderkeg suggested. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Jeffries,” Cleo said, putting her coffee cup down on the table. “You don’t want to stay here in Fat Chance.”
“Cleo,” Titan said, “that wasn’t a question.”
“He knows what I mean.”
Dymphna thought back to when she and Maggie were kids, when the two of them would find themselves witnessing something funny or scary. They would exchange a look, almost involuntarily. Dymphna found herself looking right at Maggie without realizing it—and Maggie was looking right back. They both shifted their gaze immediately.
“I really don’t need to return to the house, as long as you’re in Fat Chance, ma’am,” Jeffries said. “I’d be happy to stay, if I can be of use.”
“Then it’s settled,” Erinn said.
“It is not settled,” Cleo said. “I haven’t given my permission!”
Everyone stared at her. She seemed to be holding her breath. She exhaled.
“Fine,” Cleo said. “If you want to stay, stay.”
“May we order?” Wesley asked.
“Order?” Polly rolled the word around in her mouth. “Order what?”
“Breakfast?” Cleo said through gritted teeth.
Dymphna snuck a look at Cleo. She wondered if Cleo was embarrassed by the weirdness of Fat Chance, looking at the town through Wesley’s eyes. Dymphna shifted her gaze to Wesley, who seemed amused by the fits and starts of breakfast at the Cowboy Food Café.
“Nobody orders here,” Maggie offered, proud that she was not one of the newbies. “Fernando just brings whatever he wants to serve.”
“How novel,” Wesley said. “All right, I look forward to chef’s choice.”
Cleo let out a sigh.
“Is there a problem?” Wesley asked Cleo.
“I was just wondering when you got so relentlessly cheerful,” she replied.
Fernando burst through the kitchen door, carrying a tower of French toast in one hand, a platter of bacon in the other. Jeffries leapt to his feet.
“Allow me to help you with that, sir,” Jeffries said.
“Sir?” Fernando said. “Better get over that notion, my friend. We’re all the same in Fat Chance.”
“Except Pappy,” Powderkeg said. “He’s the mayor.”
“He is not the mayor,” Professor Johnson said.
“Where is this Pappy?” Wesley asked. “I’ve heard so much about him. I’d like to meet the man.”
“Where is Pappy?” Dymphna asked. “And Old Bertha? They’re usually the first people at the table.”
“Now that you mention it,” Cleo said, “I didn’t see either one of them this morning at the inn.”
Old Bertha suddenly burst through the front door. Everyone in the café, regulars and visitors alike, looked up.
“Pappy’s gone!” Old Bertha said. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
Dymphna wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Wesley whisper “shit” under his breath.
Old Bertha threw herself into a chair and wailed.
Chapter 13
When cowboys gathered in a circle on the street, it was usually to look over a new horse, truck, or all-terrain vehicle. But after breakfast, the ranch hands from the Rolling Fork Ranch gathered around the limousine, still pointing up the hill toward Dymphna’s farm. It was a testament to Fernando’s cooking that even a stretch limousine in the middle of town wasn’t more interesting than his French toast. Now Jeffries was at the wheel, but the wheels simply spun up dust when he pressed the accelerator. He refused to open the windows.
“What’s your plan for her, ma’am?” one of them asked Cleo as she walked past the crowd on her way back to the inn.
“Talk to my lawyer,” Cleo said, jerking a thumb toward Wesley.
The men turned to Wesley, who was sitting on a bench on Main Street. Although he was casually attired in jeans, a plaid shirt, and perfectly worn-in cowboy boots, Wesley looked more like an ad for a new Ralph Lauren line than one of the guys. He made his way to the stretch. Jeffries exited the driver’s seat and stood by Wesley.
“I guess we’ll have to find a way to move it . . . her,” Wesley said. He looked toward the paved trail. “Do you gentlemen think a Triple-A tow truck can make it down that hill?”
The men guffawed.
“You don’t need no tow truck,” one of the men said, climbing under the limo. “We can move this baby ourselves.”
“Really?” Wesley asked.
“Sure,” the man’s muffled voice could be heard from under the limo. “She’s just stuck in a little ditch. My truck can pull her right out.”
Jeffries almost collided with the man emerging from under the limo.
“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Jeffries said in a hushed voice to Wesley.
“It’ll be fine, Jeffries,” Wesley said. “This is a Texas version of a neighborhood activity.”
Wesley gave the ranch hands the go-ahead. Seven men raced to the beat-up Ford truck parked in front of the café. Out came ropes and chains. By the time they had the chassis hooked to the back of the truck, a crowd, including Dymphna, Professor Johnson, Maggie, Erinn, and Powderkeg were watching from the boardwalk. Dymphna and Maggie stood as far apart as possible.
“Perhaps I should drive,” Jeffries offered.
“We got this. Maybe you should wait up on the boardwalk,” the man in the plaid shirt said. He turned to Wesley. “You too. Too many cooks.”
“I haven’t cooked in years,” Wesley said, but he turned and followed Jeffries away from the fray.
“Isn’t that Poet?” Dymphna asked Powderkeg, as she watched Poet blink his enormous eyes and jump in the driver’s seat. “Polly’s boyfriend?”
“Ah yes, the poet of few words,” Powderkeg said. “He’s the one.”
“Where is Polly?” Dymphna said.
“She took Old Bertha back to the inn.” Fernando’s voice came from the doorway of the café. “Old Bertha is pretty upset.”
“Well, I would be too,” Maggie said. “I don’t see why the rest of you aren’t worried about Pappy. You seem more worried about that stupid bird.”
The regulars looked around to make sure Titan was nowhere to be found. He would not take kindly to hearing Fancy referred to as “stupid.”
“This isn’t the first time Pappy has left without warning,” Professor Johnson answered.
“You mean he just gets up and goes?” Maggie said, her eyes big as saucers. “Like Dymphna?”
Dymphna reddened, but the noise in the street diverted everyone’s attention. The men were yelling in different directions, gesturing wildly with their arms, some pointing left, some right, some indicating that the limo should go straight back.
“I can’t look,” Maggie said to Powderkeg as she hid her eyes.
“Me either,” Powderkeg said, pulling his cowboy hat over his eyes. “And I was in Vietnam.”
“You were?” Maggie asked. “You look awfully young.”
Powderkeg lifted his hat back into place and looked directly at Maggie. “Last—and youngest—recruit in the war,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “So don’t erase me from your list just yet.”
“Who says you were on my list?” Maggie asked with a little smile.
Dymphna rolled her eyes at Professor Johnson. Maggie was as shameless as ever.
“You might have been right about this,” Wesley said to Jeffries.
“Thank you, sir,” Jeffries replied.
Erinn raced past Fernando into the café and returned with her camera. She focused her lens on the scene in the street. The truck heaved. The
wheels of the limo spun. Dust spread across Main Street like a curtain. The people on the boardwalk could see nothing but particles of street dirt flying so fast it was as if they were running for cover.
“I can’t see a damn thing,” Erinn said, covering her lens. “This dirt is murder on the camera.”
“If we paved Main Street—” Professor Johnson began, but stopped when he caught Powderkeg’s brief shake of the head.
Slicing through the dust, the truck suddenly shot into view, followed by the limousine.
“Holy hell,” Powderkeg said. “It worked!”
“Awesome!” Maggie cheered.
She jumped into Powderkeg’s arms. Powderkeg looked at Dymphna with startled eyes. Dymphna turned away.
Poet leapt out of the limo and joined the other ranch hands, who were all slapping each other on the back and shaking hands as if they’d won a lottery.
“I didn’t think that monster was ever gonna budge,” the leader of the effort said.
“Hey,” someone else called out. “Look at that!”
The dust started to clear and the vague outline of a man stood where the limousine used to be.
“Titan?” Fernando said, straightening up in the doorway.
“What the . . .” one of the men said. “Did you push the limo?” A chorus of praise came from the assembled ranch hands.
“You’re a mountain!”
“You’re a forklift!”
“You’re a monster truck!”
Titan stood, his brown skin covered in dust, muscles glistening with sweat. He was breathing heavily. As the men surged toward him, he turned and walked back to the forge. Everyone stopped and watched him go.
“That was impressive,” Wesley said as he watched Titan recede.
“He’s an impressive man,” Jeffries added.
“I missed the whole damn thing,” Erinn said, staring accusingly at her camera. She turned to Dymphna. “You know, if you just paved this street . . .”
* * *
Cleo couldn’t help herself. She stood outside the kitchen of the Creakside Inn listening to Old Bertha sniffling while Polly tried to comfort her. She wasn’t proud of herself for listening to a private conversation, but what else was there to do in this town?
“Don’t you remember when Pappy left before?” Polly said.
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 9
