Erinn motioned for Dymphna to take a seat.
“Please say your name and spell it,” Erinn began.
“Dymphna Pearl. D-Y-M-P-H-N-A, like the saint, and P-E-A-R-L, like the oyster.”
“Thank you.”
“I was named after the patron saint of the insane,” Dymphna offered, looking right into the camera.
She knew Erinn already was aware of this little factoid, but Dymphna was always asked “What kind of name is that?” so she decided to clarify.
“Don’t look in the lens,” Erinn said. “Talk to me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Not a problem. OK, tell me about your experience with Cutthroat Clarence.”
“I didn’t have one.”
“That is less than helpful, Dymphna.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. OK, let me think,” Dymphna said, shaking out her hands. “OK. I’m ready.”
“All right.”
“What was the question again?” Dymphna said, her cheeks coloring. “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. There is no right or wrong answer.”
Dymphna’s nervousness intensified. People often said that there were no right or wrong answers, but that wasn’t true. Or maybe it was true—maybe there were just satisfactory or unsatisfactory answers.
“Let’s try it this way,” Erinn continued. “How did Cutthroat Clarence affect your life?”
“You already know that,” Dymphna said. “Why don’t you tell the story? You’re so much better with words than me.”
“Than I.”
“See?”
“I think it would have more impact if you told the story yourself.”
“All right.” Dymphna took a deep breath. “I was trying to raise Angora sheep in Malibu. There was a plot of land I was leasing for very little money. It was really rough going, though. Everything in Malibu is expensive. But somehow, I was keeping my head above water. Little by little, I was making a name for myself in the little boutiques from Malibu to Santa Monica, selling the knitwear I made from the Angora mohair. That was one good thing about the area. Even my knitwear was overpriced.”
“Go on.”
“One day, I got a letter from . . . somebody. I don’t remember who. But it said they were tripling my rent.”
“Was that even legal?”
“I have no idea, but I didn’t even have enough money to find that out. I sold the sheep, which broke my heart, and answered an ad on Craigslist about a guesthouse for rent in Santa Monica, which had a large yard. I thought maybe I could start over and raise Angora rabbits—you know, less overhead. It feels strange telling you this part, since the guesthouse was yours.”
“Pretend I’m not here.”
“But keep looking at you, even though you’re not here?”
“Yes. Please go on.”
“When I got my letter from Mr. Tensaw’s . . . Wesley’s office, I had no idea he had anything to do with my time in Malibu. But of course, once I got to Cleo’s house and watched Cutthroat’s video, I found out the truth.”
“Which was?”
“Which was that Cutthroat was the guy who bought the land out from under me in Malibu.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Well . . .” Dymphna paused. “I wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t really blame him. If he hadn’t bought the land, somebody else would have. I didn’t feel like he owed me anything. That’s not how life works. If it wasn’t for the fact that every single one of us had to go to Fat Chance before anybody could claim the inheritance, I might not even have come.”
“Are you glad you did?”
Dymphna paused again. If she told the truth, that she was glad she had come, it meant that she was happy to have left her life in Santa Monica as Erinn’s almost-sister. Talk about an unsatisfactory answer.
“It has its moments,” Dymphna said truthfully.
“Let’s talk about your sister.”
“Why?” Dymphna asked sharply. “What has she got to do with this?”
“She’s here,” Erinn said. “And she certainly is impacting your time in this town. That much is obvious.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How about the fact that all the time you lived in my guesthouse, I never knew you had another . . . had a family,” Erinn said hotly.
“Clearly, I didn’t mention it for a reason.”
“Which was?”
“My sister and I never really got along. I don’t like to drag negative energy with me, so I just . . . never mentioned her.”
“Tell me about your upbringing.”
Dymphna felt cornered. She would have accused Erinn of setting a trap for her, except she herself had suggested the interview.
“Nothing documentary-worthy about my family,” Dymphna said. “My parents both worked in retail in Kansas City—Missouri, not Kansas. They were quiet. They went to work, came home, made dinner and saw that we did our homework.”
“Would you say you had a happy childhood?”
What’s with Erinn and her focus on the word “happy”? Dymphna thought.
“It was an adequate childhood,” Dymphna said. “My parents weren’t what you’d call warm.”
“Where are they now?”
“My mother died seven years ago. My father died four years ago.”
Erinn gasped. “Your father died since I’ve known you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know until after the funeral. Maggie didn’t see fit to tell me.”
“You’d lost touch with them?”
“Yes, years before,” Dymphna said. “Maggie pretty much put everyone in the position of taking her side or my side. She was always a good talker and everyone always took her side. As soon as I was old enough to leave Kansas City, I did. And I didn’t look back.”
“Why do you think Maggie is here?”
Dymphna wanted to say “To make me miserable,” but she knew she would sound childish. Instead she said, “Maybe she was bored. That happens a lot with her.”
“I guess we’ve covered enough ground for now—” Erinn began, but Dymphna cut her off.
“May I say one more thing?” Dymphna asked.
“Certainly,” Erinn said. Dymphna could hear the surprise in her voice.
“I know you have had your ups and downs with your own family,” Dymphna said. “But you never felt unloved. It’s different when you feel unloved. I won’t say that my parents didn’t do their best, but they were no match for Maggie. Maybe I shouldn’t have shut them completely out of my life. You always think you’ll have time to fix things. And suddenly, you don’t.
“Here’s the main thing I got from Cutthroat. He turned his back on his problems just like I did on mine. Cutthroat said in his videotape that each time he screwed somebody over, it got easier the next time. Each time I ran into a situation that would take some work to fix, I left. When I came back to Santa Monica—and wasn’t sure I would return to Fat Chance—I started to think about that. I don’t want to keep running. I don’t want to end up like Cutthroat Clarence. I’m going to do the work this time.”
“Does that include Maggie?”
As the sun came up, the two women sat looking at each other.
Erinn shut off the camera.
Chapter 25
Polly was pouring coffee for Poet. He always arrived before the breakfast crowd so they could have a few minutes together.
“Are you upset that I’ll be in Galveston for a day or two?” Polly asked.
“Nope,” Poet said, adding sugar to his coffee. He took a sip.
“I mean, I don’t want to go; I have to go.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll think about you every minute I’m gone. I’m really going to miss you,” Polly said. “And I know you’ll miss me.”
“Yep.”
“You’re so sweet,” Polly said, kissing the top of his head.
Fernando stuck his head out of the kitchen and glared at her. Polly scowled b
ack at him.
“I don’t know how he expects me to know what he’s thinking,” Polly said, but she followed Fernando into the kitchen. “What?” she asked.
Fernando blazed. “We might have other customers who want coffee.”
“Really?” Polly looked into the dining room. “Where?”
Except for Poet, the room was empty.
“You have to be prepared,” Fernando said. “You never know when the rush will start.”
“Yes, I will,” Polly said, pointing to the clock. “The rush starts in two minutes.”
Polly left the kitchen, and in exactly two minutes, cowboys started pushing through the door. Polly caught Fernando’s eye through the tiny pass-through window. When she first got to Fat Chance, she would have flipped him off. But then again, when she first got to Fat Chance, nobody would have hired her to work with the public.
By the time Polly had flirted with all the cowboys, gotten orders into the kitchen, and made a round with the coffeepot, the center table was full. Polly counted heads; all the regular suspects were at the table, except one.
“Where’s Jeffries?” she asked.
“He’s washing the limo,” Cleo said. “He wants it to be clean when you head to Galveston.”
“He shouldn’t bother,” Polly said. “I don’t need a clean car.”
“Don’t worry,” Professor Johnson said. “By the time he gets down Main Street, the car will be dirty again anyway.”
Fernando was putting a platter of fluffy eggs on the table. “Not Main Street again,” he said. “Don’t you have anything else to talk about?”
“Yes, I do,” Professor Johnson said, unruffled. “I can talk about grapes, if that’s of any interest to you.”
“Only if you’ve come to your senses,” Fernando said before stalking away.
Jeffries appeared at the door. “The limo is ready anytime,” he said to Polly.
“OK,” Polly said. “Let me just finish my shift and . . .”
Maggie sprang from the table. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ve been a waitress. I can finish your shift.”
“That’s crazy,” Polly said.
“No, seriously, I’m happy to do it,” Maggie said, whipping the apron off Polly’s hips and grabbing the coffeepot. In a low voice she added, “You’ll be doing me a favor. I can’t sit at that table any longer.”
“OK,” Polly said hesitantly.
“Besides,” Maggie said, her voice a little more secure, “that cute guy in the corner looks like he could use a hot beverage.”
Polly looked at the guy Maggie was pointing out. It was Poet.
“That’s my boyfriend,” Polly said.
“Husband?”
“No,” Polly said. “Boyfriend.”
“Just clarifying,” Maggie said, putting the coffeepot down and tying on the apron. She reached back for the coffeepot, but Polly had picked it up.
“Let me tell you something,” Polly said. “I’m not Dymphna. You go near Poet and I’ll eat you for breakfast.”
Polly handed Maggie the coffeepot and stormed out the door. She could hear Maggie explaining to Fernando that she was finishing Polly’s shift.
“You’re doing what?” Fernando said, his voice climbing an octave. “Dear sweet Lady of Fatima!”
As angry as she was, Polly couldn’t help but laugh.
Poor Fernando.
Polly and Jeffries loaded the limousine with hatboxes.
“Can I ride shotgun?” Polly asked. “I’d feel stupid riding in the back.”
“Certainly, miss,” Jeffries said, opening the door for her.
“And none of this ‘miss’ stuff,” Polly said. “Or opening doors, even. Too weird. We’re a team.”
“Yes, miss,” Jeffries said as they started up the street.
Polly turned to look at him, wondering if he was joking. He was clearly distracted. She followed his gaze. Together they watched Titan returning to the forge as they drove out of town, up the newly paved road.
“Do you know Titan?” Polly asked.
“I only saw him at the mansion the day you all came up for the reading,” Jeffries said.
“Do you remember me with all my makeup and studs?” Polly asked. “Up at the mansion?”
“I do,” Jeffries said.
“Man, that was some day!”
“Yes, it was. That was some day.”
* * *
Cleo stood on Main Street, pretending to be having one random conversation after another with people coming out of the café. As the crowd thinned, she looked in the window and saw Maggie clearing dishes. She calculated that she had at least an hour before Maggie showed up at Powderkeg’s for the day.
She walked down the boardwalk and into Powderkeg’s store. The smell of leather brought her back to their days as a young couple traveling the craft-fair circuit. She could hear Powderkeg in the back room. As she stood looking around the store, she realized she had no idea what she wanted to say to her ex-husband. They were past the point of any possibility of rekindling a romance, especially after he practically threw her out of Fat Chance the last time she was in town.
That wasn’t exactly true, she told herself. But he did have the nerve to fall in love with somebody else. She’d had to leave with her tail between her legs, which was just as bad as being thrown out of town. Maybe worse! Just because things didn’t work out with that long-legged Lacey, didn’t mean there was any room for her. He’d made that clear. She turned to go.
“What’s up, Cleo?” Powderkeg said.
She turned around to see him standing in the doorway between the front- and back rooms.
“I just came by to see how you were doing.” Cleo could hear the false note in her voice and knew he could hear it, too.
“Can’t complain,” Powderkeg said. “Your old man ended up doing all right by me, I have to say. I never dreamed I’d ever have a shop like this with a clientele who appreciate quality workmanship.”
“I appreciate quality workmanship,” Cleo said, stung.
“Yeah.” Powderkeg smiled. “For a belt that will last a season or a purse that might last two.”
“I’ll have you know, I have a Saint Laurent that looks as good as the day I bought it twenty years ago.”
“I stand corrected.”
Cleo sighed. “I don’t want to intrude on your . . . quality workmanship,” she said. “I’d better go.”
She turned toward the door, but Powderkeg gently grabbed her forearm and spun her around.
“Don’t go,” he said.
She looked up at him, trying to gauge his feelings. Trying to gauge her own. He bent toward her and she closed her eyes.
The door banged open. They straightened and stared at the intruder.
It was Maggie.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Maggie said. “I thought I might be, but then I figured you’re a little old to be fooling around on a workday. Or fooling around at all!”
Maggie went into the back room. Cleo and Powderkeg smiled shyly at each other. Powderkeg dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Your boots could use some polish,” he said. “Maybe I’ll stop by the inn later and fix them up. Would that be all right with you?”
* * *
Titan stood back and looked over the Cinderella carriage. It was coming along nicely. He’d added burnished metal, shaped like leaves and corkscrew vines, to the top. He’d also added two side lanterns. The lanterns didn’t actually work, but he thought Powderkeg might have some thoughts on that. He had plans to add a scallop of green-toned metal to the open door frames. He stood back, assessing the coach. He wanted to carry out the green somewhere else on the coach. Polly had taught him all about color and shading. He didn’t use much of his new knowledge when he was making horseshoes, but when it came to the Cinderella coach, he could see that he had applied her lessons. He would have to thank her when he saw her.
His back was to the field behind him. He was so engrossed in his work tha
t he didn’t hear Rocket come up behind him. The large longhorn nudged him with his nose. Titan turned around and looked into the bull’s huge brown eyes.
“Have I been ignoring you?” Titan said, scratching the spot between the immense horns. “I know I’ve been distracted about Fancy, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. You and I are family.”
It wasn’t easy to get his arms around the longhorn, but Titan hugged the bull awkwardly.
“You and I have had some bad luck lately,” he said. “First Fancy and then Pappy taking off like that. I can’t believe they’re never coming back. They loved us. Fancy, well, you just had to guess, but Pappy told me a million times that I was like a son to him. Well, not in so many words. Pappy would never say anything that sentimental, but I knew what he meant. I mean, nobody can ever replace your mom, but Pappy really tried to be there for me.”
Titan had stopped scratching the bull and Rocket nudged him.
“I don’t know what it is about me that everybody is always leaving,” Titan said, looking at the bull. “You’re all I have left, big guy, so I’m begging you—don’t leave me. I just don’t think I could take any more.”
Titan put his head on the bull’s forehead and closed his eyes. Rocket held very still.
“I need to rethink this carriage,” Titan said finally. “Right now, it’s too heavy. I should get real wheels for this thing and then you could pull it down Main Street when we get it paved.”
Rocket snorted.
“I know,” Titan said. “Who knows if that will ever happen? But if it does, if Fancy comes home and Pappy comes home we’ll have our own parade. I know Fancy will love the carriage. I’m not sure she’d be into a parade though. You know how she gets. Pappy will, though, being mayor and all. Can’t you just see it? Pappy all dressed up, waving from his pumpkin coach? And I’d get Polly to make you a hat. How awesome would that be?”
Rocket snorted.
Chapter 26
“So. Dude,” Polly said to Jeffries. “What’s your deal?”
“My . . . deal?” Jeffries asked. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you here?”
“In Fat Chance?”
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 17
