Tainted by Crazy

by Abby Mccarthy

  I nodded and felt another tear in the corner of my eye. “Your Grandma will be able to take you home in just a few more minutes, and then this will be all over.”

  “Thank you Mr. Policeman for coming to get me,” I said thinking that his white hair reminded me of Santa Claus.

  “You can call me Earl.”

  I was jostled awake, covered in sweat. I hadn't had that dream in so long. It was the first time I knew without a doubt that my Momma was sick. My heart beat wildly. I breathed in and out slowly and then did my best to move beyond the past. I shook my head as if I could clear the memories from my mind.

  This morning, I wouldn't slack off by reading. No. Today, I had a plan. I started by making myself some eggs and wished for a cup of coffee. I was going to need caffeine for what I had planned.

  I sat down with my eggs at the white table in the kitchen and left the outside doors wide open. They were double French doors that opened up to the most beautiful backyard. Beside the apple trees and her forgotten garden, perennials of all colors showcased the borders perfectly.

  I looked around the kitchen and smiled. On the counter was a group of spices and a bottle of lemon juice that Grams must have dropped off when I was at dinner last night. I knew exactly what she was hoping I would make next.

  I finished breakfast, washed my plate in the sink, then grabbed a large basket and headed outside to do some picking. I didn't need that many today. A dozen would do it.

  I washed and peeled the apples, adding the peels to what I saved from the previous day. Then, I cut the apples into large chunks. For some, this would be a daunting task, but when you had a Grams like mine for a teacher, this could be done rather quickly. I preheated the oven to 250*, then headed to the basement to search for mason jars and cheese cloths.

  What I found when I pulled the white hanging string from the single overhead light to the basement surprised me. Grams didn’t get rid of the furniture like she told me she had. It was mostly all down here. Dressers were wrapped in large cloths and bubble wrap surrounded the mirrors. I heard a hum and followed the sound to a dehumidifier keeping everything from getting moldy. What in the world? I remembered when Grams told me she was moving into the senior community and selling her things. I was upset, and didn't understand why. I offered to come home to help her. She told me that it wasn't necessary, and that she had it covered. That stung a little too. In fact, the whole thing had hurt, but my relationship with Bradley was new and I was too caught up in us, so I didn’t pay attention to how much it hurt. I was so confused as to why she told me she sold the furniture and Bertha too. Why would she lie to me?

  Hundreds of mason jars and cheesecloths of all sizes lined shelves. I found a container to bring them upstairs, which wasn't hard since the culmination of things Grams acquired over the years was vast. Once upstairs, I filled a Dutch oven with the apples I had chopped along with brown sugar and water, and put them in the oven. I ran back downstairs and grabbed several large mouth glass containers, then put my peels, cores, sugar, and water in them. I covered them with cheesecloth, so nature could do its work. By the time I was finished making apple cider vinegar, the apples in the Dutch oven were finished.

  With the warm breeze blowing in from outside and the sweet apple smell in the air, the house already smelled fantastic. It was barely nine in the morning, and I felt like I’d been at work for hours. I enjoyed this. There was a strange comfort to it.

  I added water and the rest of the ingredients to my apples, and set the timer on the oven for three hours.

  Now, the not so fun part began. I spent the next three hours cleaning and airing out the downstairs. I cleaned some of the hardwood the other day, but the floors were an entirely different beast. A cup of apple cider vinegar added to a gallon of water shined them right up. This should have been quick, however, they were so dirty I had to keep making trips to refill my bucket.

  By the time one o’clock rolled around, I had ten mason jars filled with apple butter, and the entire downstairs was clean. I sat down on the couch, dozed off for an hour and then showered and got ready to drop my last pie at Al’s automotive.

  It was a quick meeting. Al was kind and not as rough around the edges as Iggy. He told me how much his uncle cared about Grams. He had an ease to him, which made me see Iggy in a new light. When we finished talking he thanked me for the pie. I told him I'd see him soon since I was working for his wife, to which he chuckled and said, “Good luck. Don't let her scare you off.”

  I put five dollars more into my tank, praying that I could make this money last until my paycheck. I wasn’t as nervous since I’d be working at a bar and would get instant cash, but still.

  I drove to Grams and stopped at The Senior Center first. She wasn’t there. I drove to her small condo, and again she wasn't there. I tried her cell and nothing. I knocked on the neighbor’s door, and Angie greeted me. She told me, “You know how Alice is. She’s always off doing her thing, and if she doesn't want to be bothered by her phone, she won’t be.”

  “Can I leave these here with you?” I asked holding up two jars of apple butter that I had just canned.

  “Of course, you can darling,” she said with a bit of a drawl.

  “Thank you. Please tell her that I’d like her to call me.”

  After stopping at the store and picking up more bleach, I returned home and cleaned for several more hours. Then completely exhausted, fell asleep.

  I woke up and found another supply of spices, some freshly ground coffee from O’Malley’s and a few of their pastries with a note that said,

  Maple, Thanks for the butter. I couldn't have made it any better. Since you found the mason jars, I’m guessing you saw all of the stuff? I couldn't seem to part with it. You do what you will. Love, Grams.

  What in the world was Grams up to? She had always been honest with me and in the last two days I had found several things she hadn’t been.

  I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. It was frustrating, but what was I going to do? I made a pot of coffee with the best grounds, worked on the house, and then got ready for my early shift at Iggy’s.

  Iggy’s was slow for the first few hours, but I quickly showed Iggy that I knew what I was doing. Before long, she told me she was going to run a few errands. “Finally, I have someone competent enough to open a few bottles of beer and pour a few drinks,” she told me, slinging her Prada bag over her shoulder being careful not to hit the cigarette that was dangling out of her mouth waiting to be lit.

  The bar wasn't big. There were fifteen stools along the bar and five high top tables with black swivel chairs. Bathrooms were off of a small hallway at the end of the bar, and that was it; the sum of Iggy’s.

  The day shift had old men regulars that occasionally bantered with me. When no one was ordering, I spent my time wiping down the bottles and making sure everything was stocked. By the time six rolled around, I may have made twenty-five-dollars. I wasn’t sure this was going to cut it.

  Iggy walked into the bar still laughing from something one of the customers outside smoking said to her. She checked the sales on the touch screen computer that luckily was incredibly easy to operate and then said, “Sales stink. Did you make any money?”

  “Maybe twenty-five bucks if I’m lucky.”

  “Days stink. Tuesdays stink even more. Nights will be better. In the meantime, why don't you have a beer or two on the house? You did awesome today.”

  “So, I take it I’m hired?” I asked hopefully.

  “Oh, now you’re just fishing,” she said with a laugh.

  I emptied out the tip jar while Iggy checked the cash to make sure it matched the computer. It did, thankfully.

  I took her up on her offer and sat down with a cold tall draft beer next to Andy, a gray-haired man that had more stories to tell than a priest in the red light district. “I met a girl who looked like you once,” his voice was almost hoarse, but it doesn't stop him. “She had legs that went on for miles though, and that ass.” />
  “Andy,” Iggy scolded. I thought she might be thinking what I was thinking; that the woman he was about to talk about was my momma.

  “What? You don't want me to say ass? If this new bartender of yours is going to last, she’s going to have to be able to handle a little ass,” he chuckled and takes a sip of his cheap scotch.

  “Why? It’s not like you could ever handle a little ass,” said another man from across the bar.

  “No. Way I remember it, the last piece of ass you got wasn't little at all,” a third man said.

  “Tank,” the second man coughed under his breath.

  “As I was saying, you remind me of someone.”

  I cut him off not wanting to go there, “I get that a lot.”

  He squinted his eyes at me for a second, examining me. I took a large gulp of my beer. This was bound to happen with me back in town. I should’ve been prepared for it, but I wasn’t. I joined in the conversation around me. I was about three-quarters finished with my beer when my phone rang.

  It was Bradley.

  I set my beer on the other side of the bar and stepped outside into the early evening and hit send.

  “What?” I answered angrily.

  “Hi, Maple,” Bradley’s voice that I once found attractive, now made my skin crawl.

  “Don’t ‘hi Maple’ me.”

  “Look, I thought I would give you a few days to cool down, and then we could talk. I want you to come home.”

  “Home? Are you serious? First, I don't have a home. If you think I’d ever come back there and stay in that bed with you. you’re more delusional than I thought.”

  “Maple, don't be like that. It didn't mean anything.”

  “Oh yeah, you want me back so badly, that’s why you cleared out our bank account?” My voice was slightly raised. The longer I stayed on the phone with him, the angrier I became. “You left me with nothing.”

  “You left me!” he shouted.

  “You were boinking Annette Goldstein in our bed!”

  “I told you that didn't mean anything,” he said in a guffaw kind of way.

  “I told you it does.”

  “What about your car and our stuff?”

  “None of it matters. I’m not coming back.”

  “At least tell me where you are, so I know you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe.”

  “You went home, didn't you? I know what that place can do to you,” his voice got soft the way it would sound when he was trying to get me hot.

  “I’m fine, Bradley. I’m staying here. I don't care what you do with my stuff. Don't contact me again.”

  “Maple, don't be like that.”

  “Be like what? Over you? That’s exactly what I am. I am so over you,” I said and hung up the phone, then powered it off.

  “You alright?” That deep timbre that I’d sworn to avoid asked. I turned to stare at the beautiful specimen of man known as Keenan Rys.

  “You heard that?” I asked. I wanted to give him attitude for eavesdropping, but I really was a little embarrassed.

  “Didn’t mean no harm. I was just walking up when I heard your voice raised. I wanted to give you privacy.”

  I nodded and walked back into the bar. I took my seat, and Rys sat down next to me. I couldn’t help but do a quick once over of him. He was wearing a navy blue Henley, and a dark pair of jeans that again fit him like Levi sculpted them just for him.

  “Rys, what can I get for you tonight?” Iggy asked.

  “Let me buy Maple another, and then I’ll drink what she’s drinking.”

  “You don't have to do that,” I said as Iggy walked away to pour our beers.

  “I think I do. I couldn't help but overhear that your ex cleaned you out,” he said, placing his hand on the back of the black vinyl chair. It was close, but he was still giving me space. “So, are you going to answer my question?”

  I wracked my brain, “What question?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, that. I’m riled up is what I am. Ticked actually.” I finished the last of my beer just as Iggy set another down.

  “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m a good listener if you want to talk about it,” he said reaching forward then bringing his beer to his mouth, flexing his forearm muscles as he did it.

  “There isn't much to talk about. You heard the gist of it.”

  He moved in and tucked a strand of hair that fell loose from my ponytail behind my ear.

  “Don’t do that.” I knocked his hand away. I already knew that Keenan Rys was exactly my type and that I didn't need him fogging my brain.

  “Don’t do what? Show concern for you?”

  “No, get in my personal space with all your good looking Rys swagger. I know men like you, and I know I don't need a man like you tucking hair behind my ear.”

  “Good looking Rys swagger?” he smirked.

  “Don’t play coy with me, Keenan Rys.”

  “Keenan Rys, huh? You sound like my mother,” he said shaking his head.

  “Well, if you think of me like your mother, then we’ll get on just fine,” I said taking another sip of my new beer.

  “Thinking of you like my mother is just impossible, and close to gross. I’ll tell you what, you tell me about that phone call, and I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

  I eyed him up and down. Perfect gentleman, my behind. I let out a puff of air. I didn't have it in me to go any more rounds with him. “Fine. That was my ex. I caught him in bed with my “friend,” Annette. End of story,” I huffed. Maybe if I just told him what he wanted to know, he would leave me alone.

  “I don't think that’s the end of the story. I do recall you saying you were in lock-up the other day.”

  “Oh yes, there was that too. There was a bat and a few punches were thrown. Police were called,” I finished and shrugged my shoulders like it wasn’t a big deal.

  Rys’ features seemed to darken and his tone changed altogether, “This guy took his fist to you?”

  “No, I punched Annette. Annette punched Bradley. I was going to get him with the bat, but it didn't happen that way.”

  Rys did something I’d never forget. He belly laughed. It started as a deep rumble and then he threw his head back. When he got control of himself, his smile was huge. His two dimples on one cheek were the best dimples I had ever seen. If I thought he was beautiful before, now his beauty held no bounds. It was ever-changing and only got better and better.

  “Earl said you had fire,” he finally said once he collected himself.

  “I’m glad I can amuse you,” I said. This time, I wasn’t on the defense my guard was down. I took another sip on my beer.

  “So Maple, besides being ticked off at a bad ex, what brings you to Iggy’s?” he didn't say what he was thinking which was clearly, by yourself at six p.m. on a Tuesday.

  “You are looking at Iggy’s newest employee. I just got off.”

  “Did you eat yet?”

  I squinted my eyes at him and he threw his hands up in surrender, “Let’s grab something as friends? I’m starved.”

  Friends get food all the time, right? Friends I could handle.

  “Just friends?” I asked not hiding the lift in my voice.

  “Perfect gentleman, remember?”

  “Okay then, I’m actually pretty starved, as well.”

  Rys threw a ten on the bar and I asked Iggy when she wanted me back.

  “Can you be here Thursday at noon?” she asked.

  “I sure can.”

  “Great, and then I’ll add you to the schedule for the weekend. You good with that?”

  “Yes, Iggy. Thank you.”

  “Alright, I’m going to go catch a smoke before it picks up in here. Anyone need anything tell me now, or you’re waiting five,” she hollered to the bar and two men held up their near empty glasses.

  Minutes later, I followed Rys outside and he asked, “Where’s Bertha?”

  “I walked.”

  “
It’s a twenty-five-minute walk from here,” he scolded.

  “Yeah, so? Wait, you know where I live?”

  “Of course, I do. The architecture on that house is amazing. They don't build them like that anymore.”

  I smiled wide, proud of Grams home. It was beautiful. “I can't believe she had a hard time selling it. I would’ve thought it would have sold right away.”

  “Believe me, if that place had been on the market, I would have bought it.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course, it was on the market,” I said as he raised one eyebrow, then opened the door for his pick-up truck. I took his hand when he offered it to help me up.

  “Where are we going?” I asked when he got into the cab.

  “Smithies?” he asked.

  I nodded. I was good with that. Smithies was casual. It was cheap. It did not say romantic date. It definitely said, friends. Yes, Smithies would be just fine, and maybe I did need a friend.

  I stared out the window while we drove. There was a comfortable silence between us, giving me a moment to reflect. Could Grams have lied to me about putting the house up on the market, as well? Most likely yes, since she’d lied to me about Bertha, and the furniture. It seemed that she’d been keeping one too many secrets from me.

  We pulled up in front of Smithies and I waited in the truck for Rys to come around to open my door. I could tell he appreciated this by his smile when I took his hand, and let him help me down.

  Smithies was fairly busy. It was an all-American restaurant with pictures of local little league teams that they had sponsored on the walls. I got a look from one of the waitresses as we passed, and I was sure that she recognized me. If Rys noticed, he didn't say anything.

  We sat down at a booth. The hostess placed two menus in front of us and a minute later automatically brought us two waters. I had a slight buzz from the two tall beers I drank so I thought what better to go with a buzz than wings. Besides, wings said friends.

  “What looks good to you?” he asked meeting my eyes.

  “I’m thinking buffalo wings.”

  “Good choice. I’ll get the same,” he said setting his menu down on top of mine.