Of course, Dymphna thought, for Maggie, it was the most natural thing in the world.
Professor Johnson looked up when he saw Dymphna standing in the doorway. She worried she was going to have to explain why she’d barged in on them and was hoping to come up with something better than “I saw you two together and it sent me into a jealous fit.” Professor Johnson spoke first.
“Maggie noticed a bug on the grapes and wanted to alert me,” he said. “In case it’s some sort of epidemic.”
The three of them stared up at the grape arbor as if waiting for it to impart its wisdom. Dymphna noticed that Professor Johnson was holding a cluster of red mustang grapes in his hands.
“Is it some sort of epidemic?” Dymphna asked, although she already knew the answer.
This was just one of Maggie’s ploys: pretending to be interested in Dymphna’s boyfriend’s passion. Dymphna flashed back to middle school, when Maggie suddenly took an interest in college football, which happened to be Dymphna’s crush’s favorite sport. Or in high school, when Maggie suddenly started learning how to play the guitar and ended up in Dymphna’s boyfriend’s band—and bed. By college, Maggie had taken up knitting and was presenting sweaters and scarves to anyone in whom Dymphna seemed to have a remote interest. Dymphna steamed inwardly, but had to hand it to Maggie; it was a damn good tactic. It had worked then and was apparently working now.
Maggie giggled. “I think I jumped the gun.”
“Oh?” Dymphna said.
“Professor Johnson said it was just an ant.”
“An ant,” Dymphna said, as if she’d never heard of one before.
“Yes,” Professor Johnson said. “Crisis averted.”
Chapter 23
Dymphna loved Professor Johnson’s naïveté. As they climbed the hill to the farm, he told Dymphna how Maggie had stopped him on his way out the door, sure there was a pest invading the grapes on Pappy’s arbor. She said she’d heard about the brown marmorated stinkbug invading vineyards in the East and South and was afraid that if there were bugs on the arbor, they were probably on the vines as well.
“Of course, there hasn’t been an outbreak of stinkbugs anywhere near Texas, but I was curious,” Professor Johnson said. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dymphna said grimly.
“Your sister is a very smart woman.”
“Oh, I know that,” Dymphna said. “Believe me.”
Thud was already at the gate when they arrived hand in hand. Professor Johnson opened the gate and the three of them walked to the farmhouse, illuminated by one light glowing from the kitchen. Dymphna loved the sight of the farmhouse. It was tiny and misshapen, but in her eyes, it was perfect. She thought back to the day she arrived in Fat Chance and Pappy announced that Cutthroat Clarence had left her a real, working farm, with Angora goats, chickens, and fruit trees. She never knew Professor Johnson’s grandfather, but he certainly knew her. She put her arms around Professor Johnson as she stood, taking in the beauty that was her home.
“By the way,” Professor Johnson said, stopping in the quiet barnyard. “What brought you to town? I wasn’t late, was I? You weren’t worried about me, were you?”
“No, you weren’t late,” she said. “But, yes, I was worried about you.”
They fell into their comfortable routine, Professor Johnson checking on the animals and Dymphna starting dinner. Thud was the only one without a pattern. He sometimes followed Professor Johnson around the farm, but was just as likely to stay in the kitchen with Dymphna.
Thud is quite the goodwill ambassador, Dymphna thought as she reached down to give his head a pat, happy that the bloodhound had favored her this evening.
Dymphna put last night’s rice and vegetables in a bowl for Thud on the floor. The dog pounced. Dymphna loved Thud’s appreciation of leftovers. She served stuffed cabbage for the professor and herself, and they ate quietly.
Dymphna rested her hand on Professor Johnson’s arm.
It’s a perfect night, Dymphna thought. I need to remember times like this.
After dinner, they sat on the porch, taking in the night sky. Dymphna was curled in Professor Johnson’s arms. She looked at the house. Although it still looked remarkably like it had when she first saw it, she and Professor Johnson had made enough improvements to make it theirs. Professor Johnson had put new screens in the doors and made screen frames for the windows. Each window was slightly different, so the frames had to be custom built. Dymphna had scrubbed the porch, and Polly came up one summer evening and painted a “welcome mat” in front of the door. Dymphna had also hauled out an old chest she’d found in the barn and dragged it onto the porch. She’d filled it with various afghans. No matter what the weather, one of her knitted mohair afghans would be perfect. She was currently wrapped up in one of the first blankets she’d knitted from her goats’ wool. It was whisper soft and almost snowy white. She sighed contentedly. The porch swing creaked softly.
“I should oil those,” Professor Johnson said, looking up at the rusty chains that held the swing.
He started to rise, but Dymphna pulled him back down.
“Just leave it,” she said. “Who cares if it creaks? Everything creaks here. You just have to listen in a different way. Hear each creak and groan as a song from another era. It’s part of the history of the place.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Professor Johnson said.
Dymphna sensed he was not convinced. But there wasn’t any way to get all the creaks out of Fat Chance. And to her mind, you shouldn’t want to. She looked up at him.
“I want to know more about the grapes,” she said.
“What do you want to know?”
She felt terrible when she heard the guarded tone in his voice.
“Anything,” she said. “Everything. I think I got tired of fighting you about Main Street being paved and kind of shut down by the time the great grape debate started. That wasn’t fair of me. I want to correct that.”
“I know I can be dry.”
“You mean boring? You’re not!”
“I am. In my student reviews, all the kids said so.”
“Well, you don’t thump your chest getting a point across. But you certainly make yourself understood.”
Professor Johnson took her face in his hands and kissed her. She snuggled closer.
Maggie is not getting this one, if I have to hear every grape statistic in Texas, thought Dymphna.
Thud, who was lying at their feet, lifted his head. Erinn struggled up the front stairs with her camera and tripod. Dymphna and Professor Johnson straightened up. Professor Johnson leapt up and grabbed the tripod from her.
“Let me help you with that,” he said.
Dymphna noticed that Erinn relinquished it gratefully.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Erinn said.
“I was just about to explain to Dymphna why Fernando and I have differing views on how the wine should be handled,” Professor Johnson said.
“But I thought there wasn’t going to be any wine for at least one, maybe two years,” Erinn said, leaning against the railing to catch her breath. “I don’t quite understand why you’re fighting about it now.”
“The business plan has to be hammered out long before the first grape ripens,” Professor Johnson said.
Dymphna smiled. Professor Johnson might be the only man in the world who could sound poetic while explaining a business plan.
“I made stuffed cabbage. Just picked the cabbage today,” Dymphna said. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving, now that you mention it,” Erinn said.
“I’ll heat it up,” Dymphna said, realizing that the prospect of a romantic evening had been killed with the first squeak of the gate.
Erinn sat on the rail with her legs crossed in front of her. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. In the fading light, Dymphna could see the panic in Professor Johnson’s eyes. If Dymphna left the porch, he would be
obliged to make small talk. He was terrible at small talk. But so was Erinn. Dymphna hurriedly prepared the cabbage, in order to return and relieve Erinn and Professor Johnson of the burden of conversation.
She came back with a steaming plate of stuffed cabbage, pushing the screen door open with her backside. Erinn was no longer languidly relaxing on the porch railing. She was sitting bolt upright, tensed and ready for verbal battle. Dymphna had seen that body language before.
“If Theophilus hadn’t died in 842, there wouldn’t be an Iconoclastic Controversy,” Erinn said.
“Because his widow restored icon veneration in 843?” Professor Johnson parried. “You can’t seriously make that claim. Who knows what else might have transpired?”
Erinn counter-parried by dragging Dymphna into the conversation. “Dymphna, the Iconoclastic Controversy. Thoughts?”
Dymphna hated it when Erinn asked for her thoughts.
“There’s no denying it’s controversial,” Dymphna said, calculating that the dates they were speaking of meant the whole thing took place in the ninth century. “But it seems as if that’s old news. It is what it is.”
Both Professor Johnson and Erinn looked pleased, as if Dymphna had come down firmly on both their sides. Dymphna handed over the cabbage and sat back on the swing with Professor Johnson.
“How was your day?” Dymphna asked, stuffing Erinn and Professor Johnson into a time machine and bringing them back from the Byzantine Empire.
“Exhausting. Slow going, with all the drama in this town. But that’s good,” Erinn said. She waved a fork of cabbage at Dymphna. “This is amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Dymphna said, glad the night sky was dark and hid her flushed face. She loved compliments from Erinn, who only doled them out when she really meant them. “Is Jeffries back as your PA?”
“No,” Erinn said. She stopped eating and put her fork down. “Professor Johnson, I know Wesley is a friend of your family’s, but he is just impossible. I hope I’m not offending anyone.”
“If by ‘anyone’ you mean me, then no,” Professor Johnson said. “I hardly know the man.”
“He insists on being my production assistant. I can’t get rid of him.”
“You’re in charge,” Professor Johnson said. “It’s within your power to fire him.”
“I can’t fire him. I need someone to help, and he keeps sending Jeffries on errands. Tomorrow Jeffries is driving Polly to Galveston.”
“In the limo?” Professor Johnson asked.
“Of course in the limo,” Erinn replied. “It’s the only car in town.”
Dymphna and Professor Johnson became very quiet, missing Pappy and his Covered Volkswagen.
“Did you learn anything interesting?” Dymphna asked.
“Yes. It’s been . . . actually, it’s been fascinating getting information from those of you who were chosen to come here,” Erinn said. “Although I’m only halfway through the interviews.”
“That’s right,” Dymphna said. “You haven’t interviewed me yet.”
“But you guys are only half the story,” Erinn said. “The scheme of getting you guys to Fat Chance must have taken Cutthroat months to formulate. That’s a huge part of the story I want to tell and, as far as I can see, there’s no way to tell it.”
“He didn’t do it alone,” Professor Johnson said. “I mean, Wesley was the one who contacted all of us. He must have had a hand in it.”
“Regardless,” Erinn said, “Cutthroat was the mastermind. He’s the one with the answers I want. And that Sebastian Pennyfeather, he could have answered all of my questions. Those two were the heavy hitters. And they’re both gone. All I’ve got is Wesley. And, boy, do I have Wesley.”
“You know, I just remembered something,” Professor Johnson said. “Pappy knew Cutthroat, too.”
“Oh, great,” Erinn said. “I’m just batting a thousand.”
Chapter 24
Dymphna couldn’t sleep. She squinted at the clock on the side table. It was four o’clock—still several hours before dawn. She wondered if it was possible to get out of bed without waking Professor Johnson or Thud. She scooted sideways. Professor Johnson stirred briefly, rolled on his side, and settled back down. Thud let out a low moan, which morphed into a yowl. Dymphna put her fingers to her lips. The dog focused his rheumy eyes on her as she stood up, then flopped back to sleep.
Erinn was sitting in the living room, staring into the LCD screen hinged to her camera. She was frowning, but Dymphna couldn’t tell if it was from concentration or consternation. Dymphna tried not to make any noise as she came into the room, but the floorboards would have none of it and sang out her arrival. Erinn looked up.
When did Erinn start wearing reading glasses? Dymphna wondered.
“Everything OK?” Dymphna asked as she went into the kitchen.
“Fine, I suppose,” Erinn said. “I made some tea. Feel free to have some.”
“Thanks.” Dymphna took a mug from the shelf and poured herself some strong mint tea.
“Don’t thank me,” Erinn said absently. “It’s your tea.”
Dymphna came into the living room. She sat, silently watching Erinn’s eyes move back and forth over the screen, the hum of the interviews too low to decipher. Erinn clicked off the camera and rubbed her eyes.
“I should have brought my F55,” Erinn said.
“Oh?” Dymphna offered.
Dymphna worried that Erinn was about to mount a technological version of the obscure Iconoclastic Controversy discussion. Dymphna knew nothing about cameras.
“I didn’t want to bring my expensive camera to a dusty old ghost town,” Erinn said, pointing to the camera on the coffee table. “And now I’m paying the price.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Dymphna said. “Your work is always wonderful.”
Erinn took a tiny chip out of the camera and slipped it into a slot on her laptop, which had been sitting beside her.
“What are you doing?” Dymphna asked.
“Remember when I used to shoot on digital tape?” Erinn asked, perking up at the prospect of camera talk. “Well, now all the media is on a little memory card. I just download it onto the laptop, delete what I’ve shot, and start over. Saves me from carrying boxes of tapes everywhere I go.”
“What happens if you lose your laptop?”
“Don’t even put that into the universe.”
Since Erinn didn’t believe in help or hindrance from the universe, Dymphna knew a lost computer would be a very serious consequence.
“Do I seem happy to you?” Erinn suddenly blurted.
“Happy?” Dymphna asked, startled by the randomness of the question. “I don’t think ‘happy’ would be the first word that comes to mind when I think of you.”
Dymphna saw a shadow pass across Erinn’s eyes. Dymphna had learned over the years that, for all her bravado, Erinn was as insecure as everyone else. Dymphna hurried on.
“I would say ‘brilliant,’ ‘motivated,’ ‘curious,’” Dymphna said. “And by ‘curious,’ I mean you have a lot of curiosity, not ‘curious’ like you’re weird.”
“I probably fit both descriptions,” Erinn said, raising her mug of tea.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just been thinking a lot about happiness since I started these interviews. As I’m going through this footage, it occurs to me that all of you came to Fat Chance not for the money but for a chance to be happy. None of you, except for Cutthroat’s family—”
“You mean Cleo and Professor Johnson.”
“Yes. Except for them, none of you had really landed anywhere.”
Dymphna lowered her eyes. She thought she had landed in Santa Monica with Erinn’s family. Erinn’s family thought so, too.
Did they feel betrayed when I told them I wasn’t coming back? Did all the people I’ve run from my whole life feel betrayed or abandoned?
Did Maggie?
Dymphna shook her head. Her pattern of skipping town when things got
tough may have started with Maggie. But Maggie deserved it. When she looked up again, Erinn was tapping on her computer. She pulled the chip out of the computer and reinserted it into the camera.
“I want this to be a hard-hitting documentary,” Erinn said. “But I’m beginning to worry that I’ve got a nonfiction Wizard of Oz.”
“ ‘There’s no place like home’?”
“Exactly,” Erinn said dismally. “Not exactly award-winning stuff.”
“You still have a lot more to shoot,” Dymphna said, feeling defensive that Fat Chance wasn’t proving to be more exciting. “You might still find the wizard who holds all the secrets.”
“The way this is going, I’ll find the wizard,” Erinn said, “and he’ll be dead.”
“Is this you starting to work on being happy?”
Erinn snorted.
“As long as we’re both awake, do you want to do my interview?” Dymphna asked, happy to change the subject.
“Won’t we wake the gentlemen?” Erinn nodded to the bedroom. Dymphna assumed she meant Professor Johnson and Thud.
“I think we’ll be fine.”
“OK, good idea,” Erinn said. “Let me start setting up and you go brush your hair. And change your T-shirt. Do you have anything light blue?”
“I do . . . not sure if it’s clean though,” Dymphna said.
“Don’t worry about that,” Erinn said. “Just put it on. If it’s clean to your shoulders, we’re good to go.”
Dymphna got up, realizing she and Erinn were both more comfortable when Erinn was in control of the situation. When Dymphna returned in a wrinkled shirt and smoothed hair, Erinn had already set up two chairs, a tripod, and a light bar in the kitchen. Thud followed Dymphna as far as the living room and curled up in the only darkened corner he could find. Erinn’s light bar had the kitchen looking as bright as daylight; the light was so strong that it lit the living room as well. Dymphna tiptoed back to the bedroom door and stuffed a towel under it. It wasn’t an effective solution, as there were so many cracks in the door and gaps in the doorframe. However, Dymphna suspected that after years of trying to stay asleep while Thud moved around on the bed, pawed at him and barked for breakfast, Professor Johnson would most likely just pull the covers over his head and stay asleep.
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 16
