by Ann B. Ross
“First it was Sawyer dropping out, now Murdoch doesn’t show up. How healthy is he, anyway?”
“And what’s he going to do about zoning wind farms? I sure don’t want to hear whup-whup-whup all night long.”
My head was swiveling from one to the other, unable to answer one question before another took its place. And, actually, I couldn’t have answered any of them if they’d come at me one at a time.
So after a brief, embarrassing pause during which I strained for something to say, one man laughed and said, “I believe you mentioned something about manure. I’m not particularly exercised over that, except it sounds like a typical pile of it showing up in Murdoch’s campaign.”
That just flew all over me. It took an extreme effort of will not to lash back at him, but I restrained myself for Sam’s sake. “Gentlemen,” I said, “it’s obvious to you all that I am unable to speak in detail about the plank that Sam is running on. But he can and will, so if you will write down your questions, I’ll see that he gets them. And if you’ll invite him again, I know he’ll take great pleasure in answering every one of them.” And then, to make those know-it-alls feel ashamed of themselves, I went on in a quavering, piteous voice, “I’m not qualified to speak with authority on the questions you’ve raised. I can only speak to Sam’s character—the kind of man he is. He is both wise and knowledgeable, kind and decent, a hard worker, and he’s dedicated to serving this district to the best of his ample ability. And furthermore,” I said, gaining just enough strength to ride roughshod over my aversion to mentioning distasteful subjects in a public arena, “I assure you that he’s in the best of health, because he’s just gotten rid of his gallbladder.”
Well, that brought a smattering of laughs, then they began discussing their own cholecystectomies, stress tests, CAT scans, and cholesterol counts. When one of them brought up his problems with an aging prostate, I knew my time to go had come. Thanking them, I motioned to Lloyd, and off we went.
—
Lloyd and I were at the hospital by eight-thirty the following morning, ready to take Sam home. I still could hardly believe that he’d be discharged so quickly after having had major surgery. Obviously, somebody had consulted a list from either the government or an insurance company which decreed that a gallbladder patient deserved only two nights of hospital stay. What would’ve happened if he’d had complications, I shuddered to think. Still, he was ready to leave, having no complaints other than the fact that his belt rubbed against his stitches. “Soon as I get home,” he said, loosening his belt, “I’m taking this off and putting on suspenders.”
“What do you want to do with all these flowers, Sam?” I asked, looking around at all the floral arrangements and pot gardens that had flooded in the day before while we were on our speaking tour. One thing you can say about small towns: word gets around whether you want it to or not.
“See if there’s anything you want to keep,” Sam said. “The nurses will distribute the rest to patients who don’t have any. Oh, and there’s a list there on the table of everybody who sent something. I’ll need that for thank-you notes.”
I smiled at my gracious and socially correct husband, thinking that I should’ve included in my speeches what a gentleman he was.
We finally, after waiting two and a half hours, got Sam out of the hospital and into my car. The wait was because a number of patients were also being discharged and there was apparently a dearth of wheelchairs and orderlies to push them, both of which were required by the hospital in order to avoid liability for any mishaps betwixt bed and vehicle.
Lillian hurried out to the car as soon as I pulled into the driveway. “Oh, Mr. Sam,” she cried, “you all right? We been so worried. What you want to eat? You got some kinda special diet? The bed already made up, jus’ waitin’ for you. Can you walk? What can I do?”
She reached in and practically lifted Sam out of the car with him laughing and protesting that he could walk without help. Which he did, despite our hovering around every step he made, but I noticed that he was ready to sit in an easy chair by the time he got to the library. Lloyd brought in the bags and the two pot gardens—one from the Ledbetters and the other from the campaign workers—that I’d decided to keep.
In spite of my and Lillian’s urging him to rest, Sam spent the afternoon on the telephone catching up with how the campaign was progressing. Which proved again how important the race was to him, even as I was less and less inclined to continue with it.
Lillian, bless her heart, kept interrupting the calls to offer healthy snacks and drinks and asking if there was anything special he wanted for dinner.
“Anything you make will be fine,” Sam assured her. “No dietary restrictions at all, so I’ll eat what everybody else eats.”
“ ’Cept Miss Trixie,” Lillian murmered to me, as we carried Sam’s suitcases upstairs to unpack. “She don’t eat nothin’ anybody else is eatin’.”
“Speaking of Trixie,” I said. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, Miss Julia. She come an’ go, an’ don’t say nothin’ to me. I hear the front door slam an’ off she go somewhere.”
“Um, well, maybe she’s taking Hazel Marie’s advice and getting some exercise. Let us hope, anyway.” I glanced at Trixie’s closed door as we crossed the hall, wondering if she was behind it or not. “You’d think, though, that she’d at least want to welcome Sam home. Not just ignore a momentous occasion like having survived major surgery and all.”
Later in the afternoon after Sam had finally been talked into lying down for a rest, I sat in the library doing a little resting myself. It had been a busy and worrisome few days, and I was hoping for the return of some of the daily routine that I’d told Sam I preferred.
“Miss Julia?” Lloyd whispered from the door. “You asleep?”
“No, honey, just resting my eyes. Come on in, and let me thank you again for all the help and support you’ve been. I would not have gotten through all those speeches if it hadn’t been for you.”
He grinned and shook his head. “It was fun, and I was glad to do it. We did have fun, didn’t we?”
“I guess we did,” I agreed, “now that it’s over and I don’t have to do it again. But what’re you doing at home? I thought you’d have time for a tennis game this afternoon.”
“No’m, I wanted to stay close in case Mr. Sam needed anything. And, Miss Julia,” he said hesitantly, “well, I wanted to run off some tennis pointers for my first class next week, something for the little kids to take home and study about etiquette on the courts. You know, like not slinging your racket when you miss a shot, or how you ought to shake hands after a match whether you win or lose. Things like that.”
“They probably need to be told. Some people don’t know how to behave on or off a tennis court.”
“Well, but,” he went on, “I hate to say this, but I think somebody’s been fooling around on my computer. Actually, I know somebody has. And it wasn’t Miss Lillian, and Latisha wouldn’t, even if she’d been here. And it couldn’t have been Mr. Sam—he has his own and he hasn’t been here, and I kinda doubt it was you.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t.”
“Not that I would’ve minded if you had. In fact, anytime you want to learn . . .”
“Thanks, but I think not.”
“Anyway,” he said, frowning, “it’s just strange, because nobody’s left but Trixie and I hate to say anything to her. And you know, I wouldn’t care if she’d ask or even just tell me she wants to use it.”
“Absolutely. I can’t imagine going into somebody else’s room and using things as if they were one’s own.” I stopped before becoming too agitated at Trixie’s audacity. A more hopeful thought had occurred to me. “But, you know, maybe she used it to look for a job, which Sam has urged her to do. That doesn’t excuse her by any means, but it would be encouraging to the rest of us. And, of course, honey, you
could be seeing something you used for a school report and forgot about.”
Lloyd shook his head. “I don’t think so, Miss Julia. I found a lot of sent emails that went to strange addresses, and they don’t look like places where you’d get a job. I mean, [email protected]? Or [email protected]? And it’s a settled fact that I’ve never been on Match.com or eHarmony. Or on ChristianMingle, either.”
Chapter 16
“Oh, my,” I said, as images of the starry-eyed, two-stepping couples I’d seen on television bloomed in my mind. “They’re . . .” I stopped as the full implication of what Trixie might be dabbling in hit me.
“Yes, ma’am, they’re online dating services. They match you up with people that fit your profile, then you meet and get to know each other, then you marry and live happily ever after. Though I kinda doubt it works out that way every time.”
I sat up straight. “You mean to tell me that Trixie has been advertising herself as available to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who’s looking for a wife!”
“Well, maybe not a wife, but at least a date. I’m pretty sure they meet first, like for lunch or something, to see if they like each other.”
“Well, now it makes sense. Lillian said that Trixie has been going in and out a lot. I thought she was getting some exercise or maybe looking for a job. Instead, it looks as if she’s been meeting men she doesn’t know. But, Lloyd, how many men in this town would bother trying to meet somebody that way? All they have to do is go to church and they’d find all the decent women they could handle.”
Lloyd shook his head. “Not in this day and age, Miss Julia. How many young, unmarried women are there in our church? Or young, unmarried men, for that matter?”
“Well, there’s . . .” I stopped as several men and women came to mind, then were discounted for one good reason after another. “I guess things have changed, haven’t they? But I can remember when church was the place you went when you wanted to meet people of like mind.”
A fleeting smile crossed Lloyd’s face. “Sounds like church was the old-timey dating service to me. I guess it worked pretty good though.”
“Not always,” I said, somewhat grimly, recalling that I’d met Wesley Lloyd Springer at a Sunday morning church service. “Well, be that as it may, what’re we going to do about Trixie?”
“First thing I’m going to do is put a password on my computer, and on Mr. Sam’s, too, just in case. I’d sure hate for him to have some of these sites pop up. That way, she’ll have to ask when she wants to use mine or his.”
“Good idea, although I hate the thought of having to lock things up when a guest is in the house. But, Lloyd, if she’s already going out to meet who-knows-what kind of men, what do we do about that? She could get into all kinds of trouble—something that Sam does not need, especially at this time. He needs a peaceful recovery, and he doesn’t need any kind of unsavory gossip swirling around his campaign.”
“I know, Miss Julia, and it worries me, too. There’re all types of men on the Internet who’re looking for easy marks, and to my mind, Trixie is as easy as they come.” Lloyd’s eyes got wide as he realized what he’d said, surprising me that he recognized that the term had a double meaning. “I mean, she may not be able to tell that some people aren’t who they say they are.”
“Yes, I’d say she’s quite vulnerable, but one thing we can be sure of: if they’re looking for money, they’re out of luck. She doesn’t have any. Well,” I said, standing and smoothing out my skirt, “this business has to be nipped in the bud. I’m going to put my foot down and tell her it has to stop.”
“Why don’t you get Mama to help you?” Lloyd asked. “Trixie listens to her.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” I said, “and you’ve had some good ones. That’s exactly what I’ll do, and between the two of us, maybe we can get Trixie straightened out. In the meantime, Lloyd, if you can think of any unmarried men we can introduce her to, I’d be grateful. Surely there’re a few gentlemen we know who wouldn’t take advantage of her.”
“Only one I can think of is Mr. Jones.”
“Thurlow? He’s too old, and he’s not a gentleman. And as far as his being unmarried, there’s good reason for it. Nobody would have him. Come to think of it, though,” I mused, “Trixie must be fairly desperate if she’s looking for love on all those Internet places.”
—
“Lillian,” I said, passing through the kitchen on my way to Hazel Marie’s house. “I have to have a quick visit with Hazel Marie. Sam should be up in a little while, so please tell him I won’t be long.”
Lillian banged a spoon on the edge of the pot she had on the stove. “Yes’m, I tell him soon as I hear him stirrin’. And, uh, Miss Julia?”
I turned, my hand on the doorknob. “Yes? What is it?”
“You know what Mr. Sam gonna do with his stones? He brought ’em home, didn’t he?”
“His stones?”
“Yes’m, his gallstones. Lots of people bring ’em home in a little bottle, like a keepsake or something.”
“Well, Law, Lillian, I don’t know. I unpacked his suitcase, but I didn’t see anything like that.” And, without saying it, I hoped I never would. “Why?”
“I jus’ thought if he don’t want ’em or if he get tired of lookin’ at ’em, Miz Pearl Mebane—she a lady in my church—would sure like to have ’em.”
My hand fell from the doorknob as I turned to her, intrigued now by someone who craved gallstones. “May I ask why in the world she’d want somebody else’s gallstones?”
“Oh, she got her own, but they not enough. She got her heart set on a necklace an’ all she got is enough for a bracelet. ’Course,” Lillian said somewhat wryly, “she still got to figure out how to string ’em, ’cause ever’ time she poke a hole in one, it end up in pieces.”
“My word,” I said, leaning against the counter, “who would want such a thing? Oh, well,” I went on with a sigh as I turned back to the door, “I guess wearing gallstones around your neck is no worse than advertising yourself on a public website.”
“Ma’am?”
“I’ll tell you later. Listen out for Trixie, if you will, Lillian, and tell her not to go anywhere. I want to talk to her.”
—
“So,” I said, preparing to sum up my sorry tale of modern romance to Hazel Marie. We were sitting in her living room watching the twins play with blocks on a pallet on the floor. Lily Mae had just stacked three teetering blocks when Julie reached over and knocked them over, eliciting a piercing squall from Lily Mae that frayed my already tender nerves.
Hazel Marie slid from the sofa to sit between the two little girls. She made a stack of blocks in front of each one and far enough away that they could only knock over their own.
“So what else, Miss Julia?” Hazel Marie asked.
“So, I don’t know what to do with her. Hazel Marie, there’s no telling what kind of men she’s meeting, and I do feel somewhat responsible for her welfare. She’s living under my roof, after all, and her grandmother put her in my care, whether I liked it or not. And somebody has to be responsible for her because it’s a settled fact that nobody else is. Including Trixie herself.”
Hazel Marie frowned. “Yes, and what she’s doing does seem like risky behavior. But you’d think by twenty-four she’d know to be a little more careful.”
“Twenty-four? Is she that old? My word, Hazel Marie, she doesn’t act it.” I stopped speaking in order to rearrange my thinking. “That puts the situation in a different light, doesn’t it? She’s an adult, which means I have no real control over her. I can’t forbid her to go on computer dates. I can’t ground her if she keeps on. And I can’t send her home because she doesn’t have one. The only thing I can do is appeal to her finer nature, and I’m not sure she has one of those, either.”
“I don’t mind talking to her, Miss Julia, but I don�
��t know how much influence I’ll have. She was really upset with me for not letting her buy what she wanted on our shopping trip.” Hazel Marie smiled, a little sadly, I thought. “She said she thought she could do what she wanted up here, but we’re worse than her Meemaw ever was.”
“Ha!” I said with a delicate snort. “From what I know about her Meemaw, that’s a compliment to us.”
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, “maybe between us we can warn her that she could get into real trouble dating men she doesn’t know. I wish there was someone we could introduce her to, but I don’t know a soul.”
“I don’t either. This is a terrible thing to say, but even if I knew someone who was suitable, I’d hesitate to aim Trixie at him. I was hoping that you could work some cosmetic magic on her and at least make her a little more presentable.”
“I’m still trying to work with her,” Hazel Marie said, smiling. “But she doesn’t follow through with what I tell her. She’s decided she doesn’t want her hair cut, yet she won’t do anything with what she has to make it look better. I made up her face, too, and bought her some cosmetics, but she says she doesn’t want to use it up. She’s saving it for special occasions.”
“That beats all I ever heard. What other special occasions does a young woman have than going out to meet someone?”
Hazel Marie made two more stacks of blocks, then looked up at me. “Did you see the clothes she bought?”
“No, I’ve barely seen her the last couple of days. Between giving speeches and bringing Sam home, I’ve hardly given Trixie a thought. Why, what did she buy?”
Hazel Marie laughed. “Well, not what she wanted to. I was finally able to talk her into a couple of sleeveless blouses and a skirt or two. Oh, and some intimate garments. After I saw those raggy cotton things she had on, I figured I’d better. Remind me to give you your credit card back before you leave.”
“Just keep it. Sounds like she’ll be needing more than you got. But don’t let her have it. No telling what she’d come home with.”
