“Oh, about time, it’s finally brewing,” Christine said as she jumped out of her chair and raced over to the coffeepot. “Where’s the cups?”
“I’m not sure.” Stevie looked around at the boxes, disappointed to learn that McLin was still off limits. She had a childhood friend she hoped still lived there and was looking forward to hopefully reconnecting with him.
“Oh, dear God,” Joan exclaimed as she pulled a container of powdered cream from a box. “Tell me this isn’t all you have.”
Christine jumped back as though Joan was waving a snake around the kitchen. “Are you kidding me? That stuff is made out of all kinds of disgusting things, horsetail hair, shredded paper, whatever they can bleach and stuff in a can.”
Stevie rolled her eyes. “It’s not anthrax.”
“This place is a wreck,” Linden Sealy said as he walked into the cottage wearing a sport coat and slacks. “Come here and love me, baby sister.”
Stevie wove her way through the stacks of boxes and threw her arms around her older brother. “Good to see you, big bro,” she said into his chest.
“Linden, you’re just in time,” Dave said. “We were just telling Stevie about the McLins.”
“Trash, absolute trash,” Linden said as he held Stevie at arm’s length. “Why are you dressed like an orphan?”
“I would’ve put on an evening gown, but I didn’t want to ruin it while I unpacked boxes,” Stevie said.
*******
“Walt’s fly is open again, and I don’t think he’s wearing undies,” Kyle whispered to Kellen as they set the dinner table.
No sooner than the words left Kyle’s lips, their Aunt Trulee, who was standing at the stove, exclaimed, “Walt! Your zipper is down again. I really worry about your mind failing you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mind,” Walt said as he zipped his jeans. “Watch.” He slightly bent his legs, and the zipper opened. “This thing is bad, and I keep getting these jeans mixed up with my good ones.”
“Explain why you ain’t wearing drawers then,” Trulee asked with exasperation.
Walt zipped his fly again. “Well, I’ll be happy to tell you why. You made rags out of the drawers I had and bought me new ones that’re like mini torture chambers. I want you to go in the bedroom, get one of my socks, and pull it up both your thighs, then you’ll know what it’s like to wear that underwear.”
“I haven’t bought you any new underwear,” Trulee argued. “You bought those yourself when you found a bunch of mismatched insulated socks on sale at the hardware store.”
“Well then, you need to stop washing everything in hot water and shrinking it,” Walt said.
“You’re the one who does the laundry, Walter McLin.” Trulee wagged a finger at him. “This is what I’m talking about, you’re forgetting things. Just admit it, you forgot to put on your underwear.”
Walt glanced at Kellen and Kyle huddled by the table laughing. “I’m so glad to know we’re entertaining y’all.”
“It’s not just that, your fly is open again,” Kyle said and cracked up. “But nothing’s peeking through.”
Trulee waved a hand at Walt. “Go change your pants before we sit down to eat. Go!” She sighed and set a serving dish on the table. “This is nice. When was the last time the four of us had Sunday dinner?”
“Sometime during the summer,” Kyle said. “You know Kellen hibernates in the winter on weekends, especially now since she’s become mayor.”
Kellen glanced at the doorway leading to the hall. “Don’t bring that up in front of Walt. I don’t wanna talk about work tonight.”
“If that topic comes up, I will promptly put an end to it,” Trulee said firmly. “Work is off limits, and so are the Sealys. I don’t want to hear about any of that this evening or any other evening.”
“At least we know Walt will be mostly silent during the meal then,” Kellen quipped as she brought another dish to the table. “That’s all he wants to talk about.”
“Are you still talking to that woman you met online?” Trulee asked.
Kellen shook her head. “No, and I shut down my account. Online dating makes me feel like a used car. I put up a picture with details and wait to see if someone finds me interesting. I know women who looked at my profile are probably thinking the same thing about me when I look at theirs. How much mileage does she have, how many former owners? Has she ever been wrecked, and if so, how bad was the damage?”
“Are you sure you’re not getting car sites mixed up with your dating site?” Kyle asked.
“Walter McLin!” Trulee shrieked.
Kellen and Kyle gawked at Walt standing in the kitchen sporting nothing but his underwear. “I want y’all to look at this,” he said.
“I’m so sorry I did,” Kellen exclaimed as she averted her gaze.
“Quit acting like you ain’t seen underwear before,” Walt said.
“Your junk is missing,” Kyle said with a bewildered gaze. “You look like a mannequin.”
Walt waved a hand in front of his body. “It’s flat as a pancake. It hurts when I walk, and when I sit, I break out into a sweat. I wanted y’all to see this, so you’d understand I’m not so old I can’t remember to put my drawers on.”
Trulee couldn’t even look at the sight and shielded her eyes with her hand. “You’ve made your point. I’ll get you some new underwear tomorrow. Please go put on some clothes.”
Kyle watched Walt waddle out of the room. “His butt looks like a tiny apple, Trulee. I think those are kids’ underwear.”
“I believe it, especially after our visit to the eye doctor the other day.” Trulee sighed. “Dr. Sanchez says Walt’s basically blind and seriously needs cataract surgery. Of course, Walt knows best, and he won’t have it done. The other morning, he told me he thought something was wrong with our neighbor because Simon was just standing in his yard and didn’t say anything when Walt spoke to him. I rushed outside worried about Simon, and Walt had been talking to a shrub Simon and Penny had planted in their front yard.”
“If his eyesight is that bad, he shouldn’t be driving,” Kellen said.
Kyle nodded. “You should take away his keys and ground him like you used to do us when we snuck out of the house.”
“I have, and that’s why he’s been walking everywhere.” Trulee motioned for Kellen and Kyle to sit down. “I hope y’all will help me to convince him to have the surgery.”
Kyle took a seat. “We’ll do our best.”
“We all know he’s gonna have to walk off into a hole or get so pissed off about not being able to drive before he’ll agree to the surgery,” Kellen said as she took a seat beside Kyle.
Walt returned in a pair of pajama pants and took a seat at the table. “Pass the roast.” He looked at Kyle and said, “Tell me what you plan to do about the trash clogging the ditches after we had that heavy rain. I’m sure as the mayor you’re aware that you need to be on top of that.”
Kyle grinned. “Kellen is sitting on the other side of the table.”
“Don’t make fun of me, boy,” Walt said with a scowl. “You’re both wearing ball caps, and the lighting in here is bad.”
“I don’t have a hat on. Are you telling me you see a bill sticking out of my forehead?” Kellen asked.
Trulee put slices of roast on Walt’s plate. “This is the perfect example of why you need cataract surgery.”
Walt released a derisive snort. “My cataract is just fine. I don’t have any problems peeing.”
Chapter 2
“Kellen, I don’t have time to meet with Ian Ardoin,” Ben Warner, the chief of police, groused as he walked into her office.
“You think I do? I started my day off listening to a debate about that damn traffic circle I personally don’t think we need, then keeping the parade committee from going to blows over boob beads.”
Ben sat on the corner of Kellen’s desk with a groan. “Boob beads?”
“Someone on one of the Mardi Gras floats last year thr
ew beads with boob medallions on them and got the town Puritans in an uproar. Oh, and did you know we have two garden clubs in McLin now? They showed up in the middle of the parade committee meeting armed with terra-cotta pots threatening to go at each other over which club was going to plant trees in the median on Main Street. By the way, they don’t want Mardi Gras parades at all because people trample the grass in said median.” Kellen scrubbed at her face with both hands. “I will be so glad when my term is up. I don’t care what Walt says, I am not running for re-election.”
“It’ll get better. You just took office, and everyone and their left-handed cousin is coming to you hoping to take advantage of your newness.” Ben smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with the word no. There’s also nothing wrong with telling people to work the trivial shit out for themselves.”
Kellen sighed. “It’s all trivial, Ben. To throw boobs or not to throw boobs. To plant crepe Myrtles or Bradford pear trees. To—”
“We need to talk about chickens,” Ian Ardoin said as he strolled into Kellen’s office holding a small chalkboard. “Mayor, Chief, good to see y’all.”
“Have a seat, Ian.” Kellen motioned to a chair.
Ian set his chalkboard on the chair instead and took from his coat pocket what looked like an old telescoping radio antenna. He pointed at a crude drawing with it. “As you can see, this is my house, the road, and Alice Murray’s place across the street. What I want is simple, and it won’t cost the town hardly nothing at all. I need two signs facing both ways on the street that say, ‘Duck and chicken crossing,’ and for y’all to paint a crossing path on the pavement. If a duck or chicken is hit in the crosswalk where they have the right of way, then y’all should impose a fine of a thousand dollars to the driver, and they also have to cover burial expenses.” Ian tapped the board with his homemade pointer and nodded. “That’s my plan.”
“Dear Jesus, give me strength,” Ben said and popped the kinks out of his neck.
“You want the town to pay for a crosswalk, so your chickens can cross the street—you don’t even have ducks,” Kellen said as calmly as she could.
“People are more respectful of ducks, that’s why I want the sign to say ducks. I mean if I have to, I’ll get a few ducks, but no geese, they’re just mean. Kellen, this ain’t gonna cost much, and it’ll solve our problem.” Ian tapped the board again with his pointer.
Kellen blew out a breath. “We don’t have a problem, Ian, you do. It could be resolved if you’d fence your yard.”
“My chickens are free range, which makes them healthier and happier.” Ian pounded his chest. “My eggs are better than anything you can find in a store. You ask Trulee, she buys dozens of them, and that’s why her pies are award-winning. My best producers are being murdered!” He yanked a picture from his pocket and slammed it on Kellen’s desk. “That’s Miss Peckins, she was killed last week.”
Kellen stared at the black-and-white photo of the poor bird flattened on the pavement. A chalk line had been drawn around the body. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream in frustration. “Ian, this is chicken abuse.”
“Damn right it is, and that’s why I want you to do something about it.”
“No, you’re the abuser. These poor birds don’t know the danger of the road, and you let them roam in it. If there was a chicken protection agency, I’d report you for neglect. Chief, can I press charges against him for animal cruelty?” Kellen asked as Ian’s eyes flew open wide.
Ben rubbed his chin and tried to keep a straight face. “The law is sketchy about poultry. Now, if someone were to wreck their car while trying to avoid one of his birds, I might would have to ticket Ian.”
“The problem is speeders,” Ian bellowed. “You ain’t making any effort to slow people down on my road.”
“No, the problem is you allowing your chickens to get into the road,” Kellen argued.
“They need to get to the other side! Alice throws out birdseed, and my chickens like to go to her place and have a snack. If you’d just put the crossing in like I asked, they could do that safely,” Ian insisted.
Kellen sank back in her chair as Ben’s body shook with silent laughter. “Ben, please don’t say it. I’m trying to be professional here.”
“You know I can’t pass it up.” Ben wiped his eyes. “He just answered the age-old question.”
The joke was lost on poor Ian, who gawked at Ben and Kellen. “Are y’all laughing at me?”
“No,” Kellen replied and released an involuntary snort.
Ian stabbed a finger at her. “Walt would’ve done something about this.”
“Yeah, he would’ve scraped Miss Peckins up and fried her,” Ben said before he lost all composure.
Ian looked as though he was about to pummel Ben, so Kellen tried to defuse the situation. “Look, I have a few rolls of chicken wire and some posts someone gave me for a job my tree service did for them. All of it is sitting beside my garage, and if you want to ride out to my place and get it, it’s yours.”
“I ain’t fencing my yard,” Ian said resolutely. “I know I told y’all my chickens are free range.”
“Man, you don’t live in the country. Your house is in the middle of town on a major road. I cannot ask the people of McLin to pay for a chicken crosswalk just because you won’t fence your yard,” Kellen said and poked Ben, who was still laughing. “It really is cruel to let them roam out into the street. You wouldn’t let your kids do that.”
“They’re grown, and them chickens are my babies now.” Ian held up both hands. “All right, all right, how about a duck crossing? You got one of them down by the marina.”
“That’s in a parking lot, and the business owners on the waterfront did that themselves.” Kellen shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking now. You can get out in the road with a can of spray paint and mark it all up, but no one is going to stop for your birds, and we can’t force them to. You’re probably gonna get run over while you’re out there painting, too, then no one will be there to take care of your babies. Ian, go get the fencing from my house, it’s free.”
Ian snatched up his board. “Thank you, but no thank you, Mayor. I’ll see y’all both at the town council meeting where I plan to bring up this issue.” He stormed out of Kellen’s office.
“I’m so ashamed,” Kellen cried as she laid her head on her desk and laughed.
“Well, at least we really know why the chicken crossed the road,” Ben said as he stood. “To get to Alice’s house.”
*******
It took a week for Stevie to develop cabin fever. She’d been working long hours to meet deadlines, and the only time she’d stepped outside of the cottage was to put out the trash. Early one morning, she decided to take a stroll in the woods behind the cottage. Her mother chased her down on a golf cart and insisted Stevie take a ride with her. Stevie realized then she’d been kidnapped and was forced to listen to a two-hour speech on how to obtain the polished image that all Sealy women should present.
Stevie returned to the cottage with her self-esteem feeling a tad wounded. When Christine arrived a little later unannounced, Stevie figured she was going to get another unwanted lesson. She opened her door to Christine and said, “If you’re here to tell me how bad I look, please fucking save it.”
Christine’s perfectly made-up face fell. “No, I came by to have a cup…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Stevie said with a heavy sigh. “Please come in.”
Christine hesitantly stepped inside. “Why would you think I was going to say you look bad?”
“Because Mom just took me for a ride on her golf cart and lectured me about my appearance,” Stevie said as she closed the door.
“Did you go out of the house in yoga pants or something?”
“No, apparently my face and hair don’t meet her approval. She wants me to bleach my hair blond like yours and have a consultation with a makeup artist,” Stevie said as she went to the ki
tchen.
Christine followed. “Whatever you do, don’t bleach your hair. It was one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. My roots grow out fast, and I have to go to the salon every month to have them touched up, so I won’t look like a backward skunk. It makes my hair brittle, and if I don’t use smoother, it’s frizzy. If you want my opinion, I don’t think makeup would make you look any better.”
Stevie glanced at Christine with a dour expression. “Thanks.”
“Wait! I said that the wrong way. I’ve always admired that you could be pretty without putting anything on your face. You have the thick lashes and clean skin, that’s why women put on makeup, to look like that.” Christine shrugged. “I’d probably have lashes like that, too, if I hadn’t spent years suffocating them with mascara. You have Grandma’s hazel eyes and her olive complexion, that’s just a winning combination.”
“Why is Mom so hell-bent on making me over then?” Stevie asked as she set the coffee to brew.
Christine sighed as she took a seat at the table. “That’s just Mom. The very first thing she does every morning is put on her makeup and her wig.”
“Wig?” Stevie asked with her eyes wide.
“Oh, yeah, that thick blond mane she’s sporting is fake. She went blond after I did, but she was never satisfied and kept going back to her stylist, wanting it lighter. Von told her that her hair was already over-processed, but Mom kept insisting on going lighter. After the last bleaching, her hair started falling out by the handfuls. Her poor head looks like a patchwork quilt. You have to swear not to tell anyone because she would kill me for even telling you.”
“She takes her vanity to an unhealthy level, doesn’t she?” Stevie set out two coffee mugs.
Christine drummed her highly polished nails on the table. “You have no idea. Oh, be forewarned, she has a bird’s-eye view of the cottage from her sewing room upstairs. If she’s home, she’s always watching. She knows when you leave and when you come home.”
*******
That afternoon, Stevie could no longer stand the confines of the cottage, so she took a drive around Sealy. It was a cold and wet late January day, and she debated going into one of the coffee shops but realized her jeans and hooded sweatshirt weren’t family acceptable. It grated her nerves that her parents seriously expected her to dress up simply to grab a cup of coffee, so she rebelled and headed straight for forbidden territory.
Kellen's Moment Page 2
