The Goddess of Fried Okra

by Jean Brashear

  She only curled tighter. Sniffed hard and burrowed deeper into the covers.

  I didn’t dare talk any louder. And anyway, I needed to pee something fierce, and if Val was awake, I wouldn’t be able to, thinking about him listening. As it was, I wouldn’t be able to flush for fear of waking him, but if he got up to go in there and I hadn’t, I’d just . . . die.

  My cheating ex-boyfriend Jelly could never understand my thinking on this; I suspect most guys can’t. They have to do it in front of others all the time. I have no idea how they survive without stalls. At Jelly’s, I’d go down the hall to the second bathroom, a luxury if ever I’d seen one, after so many years of sharing bathrooms with Mama, her various boyfriends and Sister. Sure, I’d been naked with a man while having sex, but that was nowhere near as intimate. Letting a person into the base creature moments, the ones that could never be glossed over, was a whole other level of trust. My life had contained too few private corners, and this was one I clung to.

  To scout out the terrain, I leaned over the edge of the bed to see how asleep Val was.

  Oh, lordy. He was awful good-looking. Lean and kinda sleek even in worn blue jeans, shaggy black hair almost to his shoulders. I didn’t exactly remember the color of his eyes, but I thought they might be green. His eyelashes were an injustice, that was for sure. No man should have them so thick and long. He wasn’t pretty, but he was striking, even the nose which looked to me to have been broken at some time.

  In my former life, I could have been attracted to him. Good thing this was my new life. My do-over, and not just with Sister.

  He stirred, and I froze, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Slowly, holding my breath each time the lumpy mattress squeaked or the wagon wheel headboard scraped the wall, I inched off the other side of the bed and tried not to think about Alex being awake.

  It wasn’t just men I didn’t want to have listening, see.

  Once in the bathroom, I took care of the essentials, still undecided over flushing or not. Then I spotted something tucked back behind the door that made me sad.

  Alex had washed out her minuscule panties and skimpy little bra, then put them to dry in the most inconspicuous spot possible. She might have a lot less practice at this no-privacy thing than me, I thought, but what really got me was realizing that here I’d been feeling all alone and scared, and that little dab of a girl was pregnant and had only the clothes on her back.

  I would have to do something about that. I mentally ran through the clothes stashed in my car, pondering what on earth I would have that might fit a fairy. Shoot, my shirts would be dresses on her, but maybe that would be okay until we got someplace to buy her new clothes.

  There was so much to think about when you were responsible for someone else. When Mama and Sister were alive, I just scrambled along and did my best to keep up with them. I knew a lot more about following than charting courses, but what good had the paths either had chosen done for them?

  When you’re the caboose on the train, you never think about how the engine feels. Okay, yes, a train has a track it has to follow, so that wasn’t the best example. The lead wagon in a pioneer train, maybe, trekking across foreign land, wondering when the savages would attack or the rattlesnakes would strike the horses—

  I brought myself up short. I had all sorts of problems to tackle this day, enough to make me want to burrow back under the covers, but that was Mama’s way, and it couldn’t be mine.

  I might not know every step of my journey, but standing still wouldn’t accomplish a thing. Sometimes you just had to take a step, whatever the direction, and see what happened.

  Okay, I thought. Step one: Be Brave.

  Flush.

  Alex, dressed in a tight aqua belly shirt of mine, which was baggy on her, looked sort of sweet. Colors suited her much better than Goth black. She still had the low-rise black jeans on, but she’d ditched some of the excess hardware on her ears and wrists.

  I had the unexpected urge to dress her up like a doll, to find out how she’d look in a cute little sundress.

  Like she would stand for that. Anyway, she was too busy sulking because I’d said we were going to Lubbock. If there was a chance in the world Alex’s baby might be Sister, then I was in no rush to shed myself of her, but how did I explain that to her? I felt a little shaky around her that morning, not sure how to treat her. Wondering if Sister was listening and watching my every move. Trying to figure out how to be positive that she was in there.

  The list of what I wasn’t sure of was so long it could have made me real tired if I’d let it. I tried to look on the bright side—I didn’t have the money to support both of us until her baby was born, but I could earn it. If I hedged my bets by taking her with me to Taos, then, either way, my odds of finding Sister would have increased.

  As for Val, this morning he seemed restless and, well . . . grumpy. He’d lost his grandmother recently, though, so that was understandable. Alex kept looking at him funny while he was ignoring her, but I was not going to play intermediary in whatever their problem was. Best to just keep going and let Fate play her hand.

  Just then, I saw a sign for a historical marker, and some of the tightness in my chest eased. I pulled over just past the marker.

  “Why are we stopping?” Val asked.

  “It’s this weird thing she does,” Alex answered.

  “I beg your pardon—” which my tone should have made clear I did not “—but this was a favorite activity of my mama’s and it’s also educational. Education is something everyone can use.”

  She didn’t look at me, but I swore I could feel those eyes rolling.

  “Takes all kinds,” said Val. I couldn’t tell if he meant it nicely or was making fun, but whatever, I was in no mood for critics right then, so I simply left the car with as much dignity as possible and proceeded to the marker.

  Val came to stand beside me. He seemed real ill at ease, hands in his pockets, jingling change. “You okay, Red?”

  No, I was not, but I didn’t want to discuss it. My innards felt about as limp as cooked spaghetti.

  Another jingle. “Want me to drive?”

  He was trying, I had to give him that. I merely shook my head.

  He faced the marker, his shoulder only an inch or so from mine. I was very tempted to lean, just for a minute, but I was not Mama, and I would not let myself be.

  “We’re on an old stagecoach route, huh?” he said. “You like this one?”

  I merely lifted one shoulder, then relented a little. “It’s not one of the best, but you can learn from any of them. Makes me think about how this country looked to folks back then who didn’t know what was ahead, but they still kept going without any assurance that they’d make it, that their children would survive, just the hope that what they were traveling toward was better than where they’d been.” That kind of courage left me breathless. They were like Brother Bob, these people.

  “I know that feeling,” he said quietly.

  That got to me because I did, too. Where did he come from? Where was he going, once his pilgrimage was done? I wanted to ask him all those things, but his face was full of a longing that was too private to intrude on. We barely knew each other, after all.

  Still, that look of his made me a little more patient somehow. More ready to stop thinking so much and let events play out a while longer. I recovered just a dab of my sense of adventure, but it was enough to tide me over. I stepped back. “You ready to move on?” I asked him.

  “Sugar, I was born ready,” he answered.

  In times of uncertainty, I couldn’t help missing Jelly’s mom. Not that she was any June Cleaver, not one bit. Big Lil Davidson—all five-foot-one of her—had probably never worn an apron in her life. She was a former Kilgore Rangerette (Beauty Knows No Pain was her motto), one of those country club ladies always turned out to a tee, every perfect, champagne-blonde hair in place, shoes and purse to match any outfit. She was tiny compared to her husband and three giant sons—not a one of them u
nder six-foot three—but she was the acknowledged queen of their universe. Mighty Mouse in a tennis skirt. A gen-yoo-wine steel magnolia.

  I was certainly not her pick of the litter when it came to a match for her baby boy. Our first meeting could hardly be called ideal: Jelly had left to meet some buddies, and I was in front of the bedroom closet buck naked, looking for clothes while singing Garth Brooks, “I got friends in low places—” A noise in the hallway caught my attention mid-croon.

  I had no idea his mother had a key to his house. I’m not sure which of us was more shocked, but I’m positive which of us could speak.

  “So,” she said, in that prom queen voice of hers. I asked Jelly once if she’d been prom queen, and he acted like I was some kind of genius. It was easy to see how she ruled the roost. “My son’s taste has taken a turn.”

  I thought about that for a minute, wondering if I ought to cover up, then decided that horse had already barreled out of the barn.

  Her gaze did a quick two-step over me, and it was sort of like going to the gynecologist, how you’re feeling all awkward and embarrassed and the guy acts like you’re a 327 Chevy engine, only a whole lot less interesting. She looked me down then up and said only, “Well, at least this time the boobs are real.”

  Big Lil might flutter and flatter the men in her life, but it was just part of her game plan. She was a realist to the core, a take-charge woman. If Big Lil had been my mama, no telling where I’d be now. Big Lil wouldn’t have run from a landlord, that’s for sure. She would not have picked loser boyfriends the way Mama did—or the way I did with Big Lil’s sweet but worthless baby boy. She tried her dead-level best to bust me out of Jelly’s life before I got hurt, I swear I believe that. She understood men in a way I never had. Big Lil would never have let her life revolve around a man. She understood that things worked better if everyone revolved around her.

  Now seemed to be one of those times when my motto should be: What Would Big Lil Do?

  I was puzzling over my current situation in light of the Big Lil standard, when suddenly Alex cried out from the back seat. “Stop right now!”

  I jammed on the brakes, swerved to the side. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” I was half-climbing over the seat, all sorts of scary possibilities racing through my head. “Is it the baby?”

  She frowned at me. “Are you trippin’?”

  My racing heartbeat slowed. “Why stop, then?”

  “I want to go over—” She pointed across the road and back a bit “—there.”

  I swiveled my head and saw a portable building, very small, with burglar bars all over it, and a sign on the front.

  Guns ‘N’ Glory Firearms. Buy Sell Trade. A gun shop? In a portable building? How on earth could that be secure, even with burglar bars? I looked back at Alex. “Whatever for?”

  “I’m on my own now.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I need a gun.”

  Miriam A. Ferguson Birthplace

  A five-room log cabin on this land was the home of Miriam A. Wallace (1875-1961) from her birth until her marriage to James E. Ferguson in 1899.

  After her husband had been twice elected governor, Mrs. Ferguson became the first woman elected governor of any state. She served two terms, from 1925 to 1927 and from 1933 to 1935.

  The property was inherited by Mrs. Ferguson and about 1917 was mortgaged to support her husband’s political career. The home was destroyed by fire in 1926.

  STEEL SPRINGS AND WHALEBONE

  “Are you crazy?” I screeched.

  Even Val looked unsettled, but he opted for a different tack. “Alex, honey, if you’re worried about whatshisname . . . ”

  “Pretty Boy,” I supplied.

  “Nicky,” she corrected. “If you’d had a gun, he couldn’t have gotten close enough to hit you.”

  “You don’t know that, and anyway, you’re too young. I will not have—”

  A sharp glance from Val stopped me. “Alex.” His was the tone of reason. “Guns are expensive. I’d take you inside, but we can’t afford one.”

  I glared at him. “You are not taking this child in there. Alex, you’re not all alone. You have us.”

  “I do not. For all I know, you’re just waiting to ditch me as soon as you can. I have a baby to protect, and I need a weapon.”

  “I’m not going to ditch you.” Though I didn’t really have a clue what on earth I would do with her. Nor did I think explaining my theory about Sister and the baby would help matters right then. “Anyway, you don’t have any money,” I pointed out.

  “The sign says Trade. I have something to offer.”

  I sucked in air to holler at her until she got some sense, but Val’s expression clearly told me to back off. “Make a U-turn.”

  “I will not.”

  “Fine.” He opened his door, then hers. “Come on, kid.”

  “Valentine, if you do this, I’ll—”

  Both faces turned to me. “You’ll what?” he asked. “Drive off and leave us? I sincerely doubt it, or you’d have done so already.”

  Oh, how I would have liked to prove him wrong.

  Except, of course, he wasn’t.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Get in. You’re not dragging a pregnant girl across the highway. You both could get splattered on the pavement.”

  He laughed. Closed her door. Slid onto the seat beside me. “Red’s got a temper on her, Alex. Nice to know.”

  “I could have told you that,” she muttered. “How do you think I got in this mess?”

  “Mess?” Before I lost it altogether, I clamped my mouth shut. Barely. Hit the gas, painted a rubber arc on the asphalt with a squeal of tires. Screeched to a halt in front of the stupid beige building. “Hah—all locked up.” I pointed to the padlocked gate that barred our entry.

  But they were not one iota discouraged. Val vaulted over the barbed wire, then lifted Alex. They approached the building, and Val took a peek into one window. “Whoa, dude. Interesting place.”

  Alex kept jumping, trying to see in. Stop that, I wanted to tell her. You might hurt the baby. But before I could, Val boosted her up. She leaned against the window. “Oh, wow!”

  Just then, a blast went off. I launched myself from the car, but Val had already grabbed Alex and dragged her behind him.

  Two huge dogs appeared from behind a big silver propane tank at the side of the building, barking and frothing, strings of rabid-dog slobber flying from between enormous and deadly teeth.

  I screamed, “No!” Scrambled over the fence and charged.

  The dogs reversed their direction and headed for me.

  As I skidded to a halt, another blast rang out. “Gary! Frakey! Stay!” a voice yelled.

  Huh? Not exactly your basic Killer or Bubba, Texas-type dog names.

  Both dogs’ butts hit the dirt right in front of me. Their barking stopped, but a scary growl took its place.

  Then from around the building emerged an old woman with white hair cascading from beneath a battered bush hat, ancient work pants over what appeared to be combat boots. She wore possibly the rattiest Grateful Dead t-shirt on Planet Earth, a tattoo twining around one bicep and—

  I squinted. Pearls? A strand of . . . pearls?

  “Shut your mouth, girlie. Flies’ll get in.”

  “I, uh—we don’t mean any harm.”

  She glanced from me to Val and Alex. “You just snoop on private property because you think it’s your God-given right or something?”

  I glared at Val first because, after all, he was the one who encouraged Alex.

  The jerk had the gall to chuckle.

  The woman frowned at him. “You there—what’s so funny?”

  He took one step toward her. The dogs’ growl became a low roar. He paused. “Ma’am, Pea’s right. And please don’t blame her. She didn’t want to stop here.”

  “Pea?” She snorted. “Someone’s got a nasty streak, calling you that.”

  “You should talk.” I pointed at the dogs. “What did they do to deser
ve those names?”

  One eyebrow arched. “You display your ignorance.” She made me wait, and I started steaming, but she was the one with the shotgun, after all.

  “G-E-R-I. F-R-E-K-I.” She spelled them out for me slowly, like I was a first-grader. “They’re Odin’s wolves. You know who Odin is?”

  Val and Alex were watching with interest.

  I shrugged. Being a big reader can come in handy. “The king of the Norse gods, of course. Any idiot knows that.”

  Her brows snapped together.

  “Ma’am, we owe you an apology,” Val intervened before I could get us into worse trouble. “We were only trying to get close enough to see what your hours are,” he said. “We’re interested in your merchandise.”

  Alex spoke for the first time. “I’m the one who’s interested.”

  The old woman frowned. “You, little girl? You’re not even close to legal. Anyway, pistols aren’t cheap.”

  “Your sign says Trade.”

  “Don’t care what you want to offer, not that I believe you have two nickels to rub together amongst the three of you.”

  “But you have to help me,” Alex insisted.

  The woman cocked her head. “Why would I?”

  Alex approached her. The dogs growled. At a sharp command from the woman, they stopped. Alex leaned close and murmured too softly for me to hear.

  The old woman snickered. Cast a quick glance at me and smiled really big. She slung one arm around Alex’s shoulders and led her to the door of the building.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  The dogs rumbled.

  Things were spiraling out of control fast. I hadn’t bargained for any of this. I ignored them. Stepped forward.

  They leaped to their feet.

  “You just go right ahead,” I told them. “Bite me, and I’ll buy my own damn gun. Blow you to kingdom come.”

  Val snorted.

  “You—” I stabbed a finger in his direction. “Shut up. You started this.”

  He held up his palms. “Hey, I’m just along for the ride.”