The Happy Hour Choir

by Sally Kilpatrick

  “Take your time,” she said, her eyes closed. “Oh, but I think I’d like some Dr Pepper.”

  “Okay.” I frowned. Never had I known Ginger to drink Dr Pepper.

  Settling into the Cadillac, I inhaled and exhaled with my hands squarely at ten and two. I always had to steel myself before driving into Ellery. Going to the Piggly Wiggly meant I would run into at least ten people I knew. At least eight of them would want to chitchat, and at least four of those would look down their noses at me the whole time. The Piggly Wiggly was, after all, the domain of Miss Lottie and Miss Georgette and many other ladies of both high moral standards and substantial girth.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I couldn’t help but think of what Luke would do. He would drive into town with a pleasant smile and go about his business calmly even if everyone knew he’d punched Carl twice. Better yet, Tiffany had no qualms about driving into town. She went about her errands with chin held high despite the rumors already swirling. For all of my bluster, I had always been an imposter, secretly hurt by all of the snubs and snide comments.

  But not today.

  Today, I was going to do my grocery shopping, and I was going to enjoy the summer sun and fresh air. Today, I was going to take my time and take the high road if anyone ran into me. Today, I was going to enjoy being alive and no longer concussed. I backed slowly down the drive and eased Ginger’s land barge onto Crook Avenue.

  Oddly, I saw Ellery with new eyes. Massive oaks and elms canopied Crook with overripe leaves in a shade of green that would soon fade to yellows and browns. Clapboard Victorians and squat bungalows lined either end of the street for the blocks that took me to Main, and the residential area suddenly gave way to the heart of town with the post office on the right and the fire station on the left. Next to the post office sat the old grocery store that had been converted into government offices, but I was basically looking at the butt of the town. Ellery’s courthouse showed me her rear end to the left, and the first row of main street buildings showed me their posteriors on the right. Those shops reminded me of a movie façade—the storefronts that faced Main Street were old but well maintained, but the backs of the buildings were dirty and run-down with ancient air-conditioning units and boards nailed up in strategic places.

  I passed both and eased up to the stop sign on Main Street. Looking left, I saw the stately entrance to the courthouse and less than a block of businesses. To my right, two blocks of businesses clung to Main Street with only parallel parking in front.

  At this point I realized I hadn’t been looking at the scenery. No, I’d been looking for Carl. If he couldn’t raise hell in The Fountain anymore, then where would he go? Tiffany thought Carl would go back to his trailer to lick his wounds, but still. The crazy bastard might show up when we least expected it.

  The person behind me honked to remind me to go. I turned right to head to the Piggly Wiggly on the outskirts of town. I wanted to flip her the bird, but I didn’t want to hear about it from Ginger as I most assuredly would. Besides, a casual glance in the rearview mirror showed a lady who reminded me of Ginger with her curly grayish blond hair and expression of extreme annoyance.

  As I drove over the bridge that crossed the railroad tracks just beyond the two blocks of two-story buildings, at least four people waved at me. For once in my life, I waved back, wondering if they thought I was Ginger. Only two stop signs stood between me and the grocery store, and it took less than five minutes to pass them. By that time, I was breathing deeply, confident that I could handle whatever town had to throw at me. Then I reached the parking lot to see a profusion of Cadillacs, Lincolns, Buicks, and other sensible-yet-aged sedans. Senior Citizen Discount Wednesday.

  That horrifying realization explained why I was still sitting in the car when Luke tapped on the window.

  “Beulah, are you going to get out or are you casing the joint?”

  I sighed in relief. There he was. I didn’t have enough claim on him to ask him where he’d been, but he also hadn’t received a mail-order bride in the meantime. That I knew of.

  I motioned for him to move out of the way and grabbed my purse and Ginger’s list before sliding out of the car. We stood there in the middle of the parking lot staring at each other. Were we finally going to talk about what had happened at the hospital?

  He frowned. “Are you supposed to be driving yet?”

  Apparently not.

  “Of course,” I said a little too quickly. “Today is the first day, and I needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “At the grocery store on a Wednesday?”

  I crossed my arms and levied my best indignant look. “Well, you’re here.”

  He winced. “Out of milk. And bread. And peanut butter.” He put his hands in his front pockets and leaned forward ever so slightly. “That does not explain why you, with all of your helpers, are here today.”

  I slumped. “I was desperate, okay? And I’ve been conked on the head and had no clue what day it was.”

  “Fair enough. What say I treat each of us to a Coke once we’re done?”

  Not quite what I had in mind, but I summoned a smile anyway. “Good idea.”

  We made it through a third of the store before we came across Lottie Miller gossiping with Georgette Lane. Their buggies sat side by side as the two women blocked coffee on one side and cereal on the other to discuss in whispers all of the goings-on of Ellery. Blissfully unaware of the traffic jam they were causing, they gesticulated wildly over something that had happened at the Baptist Church, then about the Potter boy, who had wrapped his car around a tree the previous weekend.

  Miss Georgette could have been a clone of Miss Lottie, only she wore knit tops with matching pants where Miss Lottie preferred Alfred Dunner polyester pantsuits. Miss Georgette also dyed her hair Lucille Ball red while Miss Lottie preferred an auburn shade to clash with all of her earth-tone clothing. Since Miss Georgette was wearing bright blue, I thought of a Rhode Island Red clucking to a peacock.

  “Excuse me, ladies, but I need to get to the coffee over there.” Luke had taken the lead, and I was grateful.

  “Why, Reverend Daniels, I didn’t see you there,” Miss Lottie said as she backed her cart behind Miss Georgette. “Have you heard any more about the handbells?”

  “They are supposed to arrive this afternoon,” he said.

  “Then I will have to come over and—”

  As Luke leaned forward to get the lone bag of free-trade organic coffee, Miss Lottie spotted me. “Beulah, good to see you.”

  She and Miss Georgette looked from Luke to me and back to Luke, trying to gauge if we were together and, if so, in what capacity.

  “How’s Ginger doing these days?” Miss Georgette asked.

  “She’s doing all right,” I lied. If I told Miss Georgette the truth, there would be a candlelight vigil that evening. And Ginger would kill me.

  Miss Georgette shifted from one impossibly small foot to the other, and her thigh muscles jiggled. “And how are you? My niece told me you were in the ER with a concussion the other night.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke’s eyes widen. He had no concept of the intricacy and depth of Miss Georgette’s network of informants. Compared to Miss Georgette, Miss Lottie was a piker.

  “I’m feeling much better,” I said. “In fact, I decided to shop for groceries today just to get out of the house for a little while.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Miss Georgette said as she patted my hand. “You need to get away from that tavern before you get hurt, because I do not know what Ginger would do without you. She was telling me the other day all the things you do for her. Oh, tell me you are not going to keep playing there after you were assaulted .”

  “That’s so sweet of you to be concerned, Miss Georgette, but I’ll be back in business tomorrow night. Gotta pay the bills, you know.”

  “Actually, we’ll be having Bible study there this evening,” Luke said in a calm voice. �
��Both of you are more than welcome to join us.”

  That wiped the smiles off their faces.

  “I-I think tonight is our knitting circle over at the American Legion,” Miss Lottie said. “Doesn’t that sound right to you, Georgette?”

  “Yes, I do believe you are right. I would love to come, but I simply couldn’t cancel on Lola and the other girls. We have to meet our quota of blankets for that charity, you see.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Luke said blandly. “You ladies have fun tonight, then.”

  He reached around for some unbleached coffee filters and moved his cart forward. Both Miss Georgette and Miss Lottie looked ready to burst with the need to spread the news that the new minister was having a Bible study in a bar. And that he had had the audacity to invite two upstanding citizens such as themselves to said study. I stifled my giggle until we got to the next aisle.

  “Well played, Mr. Daniels.” I had to stand on tiptoe to whisper over his shoulder into his ear.

  “I gotta do what I gotta do, Miss Land,” he whispered back with a grin. Our eyes locked. For a minute I thought he might kiss me there in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly, but he came to his senses and set off down the condiments aisle in search of dressings for his fifteen bajillion salads.

  As it turned out, shopping with Luke was good for my health for a variety of reasons. Not only did he save me from a sudden spike in blood pressure at the Miss Lottie-Miss Georgette blockade, but it was very difficult to justify Twinkies and Ho Hos when he was buying dried beans, cheese, tofu, and frozen vegetables to steam. Inevitably, we landed in the produce section.

  “Hey, have you ever tried clementines?” Luke asked.

  “No, but I do love melons,” I said, waiting patiently for him to look up and see the two melons I was holding in front of my chest.

  “Very funny,” he said before taking each of the honeydews and putting them back gently on the appropriate stack.

  “Do I need to put red lace on them instead?” I said just loud enough for him to hear me.

  “You,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “You are incorrigible.”

  “Shush!” I held a finger to his lips.

  A tall, lanky man unloading watermelons sang lightly, “There’s a land that is fairer than day. . . .”

  I stepped closer to the deep, deep voice. His rich bass voice sounded too world-weary to belong to such a young man. He couldn’t be much over twenty.

  When he hit the chorus, I jumped in. His head snapped up, but he quickly switched from the call to the response. By the time we reached the end of the chorus, people had started to gather behind Luke.

  “In the sweet . . .”

  “In the sweet . . .”

  “By and by . . .”

  “By and by . . .”

  We looked at each other, and harmonized, “We shall meet on that beautiful shore.”

  Four or five people stood around the periphery of the little produce section, including Miss Lottie and Miss Georgette. Miss Lottie crossed her arms over her chest with a “Hmph,” but Miss Georgette started to clap.

  “That was absolutely wonderful,” she said as her flabby underarms flopped double time. “I had no idea you could sing like that, Beulah. I knew all about the piano playing, but I had no idea you could sing, too. And who is this young man you are singing with? I don’t know that I recognize him—”

  “Have you ever tried clementines, Miss Georgette?”

  I didn’t have to turn to see Luke was distracting her for me. And she jumped on the bait like a pond-fed catfish who’d never met a worm. While they chatted up citrus, I extended a hand to the tall farmer. He stood Green Giant tall with sandy blond hair and a plethora of freckles. His blush couldn’t hide how his fair skin had repeatedly burned in the hot sun, making him an honest-to-goodness redneck.

  “Hi, I’m Beulah Land,” I finally said.

  He cleared his throat. “Sam Ford.”

  I gauged his accent. Like Luke, he didn’t hang on his r’s quite like us West Tennesseans. There was something different, but still Southern. “Where you from, Sam?”

  “Just moved up from south Georgia to help my uncle out on the farm,” he said as he pointed to some of the biggest, prettiest watermelons I’d ever seen.

  “So, you’re going to be here for a while?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke hesitate in the middle of his conversation with Miss Georgette. From the set of his lips, I would have almost said he was . . . jealous? A tingle began at my toes and worked its way up.

  Sam Ford grinned to show a slight overbite. “I may stay on forever. Uncle Dancy has a huge spread, but he and Aunt Nona never had any kids. He said he might very well leave the farm to me if I’d help him keep it running.”

  Dancy and Nona Rockwell were good people, and I already liked this Sam guy, too. “As it happens, I need someone to sing bass in my choir out at County Line Methodist. Think you might be interested?”

  His face paled and he ran a hand over his head absently as though searching for a ball cap he’d left in his truck. “I don’t know. Never been much on church.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” I said with my most persuasive grin. “I never have been, either. Why don’t you come out to The Fountain to try it out? I’ll buy you a beer.”

  That rendered him speechless.

  I left him slack-jawed in the middle of the produce section trying to put together all of the incongruent puzzle pieces I’d handed him.

  As we wheeled to the checkout, Luke leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It’s not nice to use your feminine wiles on hapless young men, you know.”

  “I did not use my feminine wiles!” I sputtered. “I smiled and offered to buy him a beer! That’s all. I showed you my melons.”

  He stared fiery holes through me until I blushed.

  “Is there a particular reason you might be concerned about my feminine wiles, Mr. Preacher Man?”

  “I don’t play games, and I’m not having this discussion in the grocery store.”

  “Then where and when are we going to have it?” Because I want to talk about our kiss. And I don’t want an audience.

  “My place. After Bible study.”

  His answer, so quick and fierce, took me aback. But I’d never really been one to back down. “Done.”

  Chapter 14

  When I walked into The Fountain that night, Bill grabbed me into a bear hug. “Where you been? You okay? I thought I told you never to go out there by yourself.”

  “Bill, I’m fine except for the fact that you’re squeezing me too hard.”

  He let go. “Sorry. We’ve all been so worried about you. And it’s been so quiet around here. Ol’ Pete and Greg played a little ‘Heart and Soul,’ but there’s really only so many times you want to go through that.”

  “I’ve only been gone for two days!”

  Tiffany burst through the door, singing along to Taylor Swift in her headphones. I grinned at Bill. “No chance of it being quiet for long. She’s been on a tear ever since she got over her morning sickness.”

  “Tell me about it,” Bill said. He grabbed hold of his suspenders and sighed. “But we’re losing her, did you hear?”

  “No, she hasn’t said word one to me about it.” Which was odd because there wasn’t a whole heckuva lot she hadn’t commented on as of late.

  “Kari down at the flower shop—heck, she’s your cousin, isn’t she? She hired Tiffany. Said she could use a driver.”

  Kari Vandiver and I didn’t speak anymore, but I flirted with the idea of rescinding my promise never to set foot in her establishment to thank her for taking a chance on Tiffany. Then I decided a thank-you note would suffice. I tried to imagine a pregnant Tiffany hauling flowers around. Surely flowers wouldn’t be too heavy for a pregnant woman.

  “Said she’d teach her about flower arranging, too.” Bill reached over to the narrow wall shelf where he’d set his beer.

  “Does Kari know she’s pregnant?”

  “O
h, yeah,” he said. “Tiffany told her that, first thing. Said she didn’t want to misrepresent herself.”

  I looked at my feet. I had told Tiffany to lie. Well, to omit the truth. I wanted to be mad at her for both being right and for making me feel like a heel. Instead I was proud of her for listening to Ginger instead of me and for being true to herself.

  “That’s really great. If you see Kari before I do, tell her I said thanks.”

  He frowned and shook his head as if to say he would never understand the complexities of women. “Yep. Sure will.”

  “Thanks,” I said, ignoring how he was muttering, “She’s your cousin” under his breath. There was more to the story than Bill knew, and that’s the way I wanted it.

  Sam Ford chose that moment to duck inside the door, a welcome distraction if I’d ever seen one. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me, and he grinned. Maybe I had led him on. A little.

  “Sam! I’m so glad you could make it.” I put my arm in Bill’s and dragged him a few feet forward to meet our newest member. “This is Sam Ford, our new bass. Sam, this is Bill. He runs The Fountain.”

  The two men shook hands and sized each other up. For a minute I thought they might circle each other and sniff their respective behinds like a couple of coonhounds, but they blessedly stood still.

  “I promised this man a beer. Could you get him one while I warm up? Go ahead and put it on my tab, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why, sure, I can do that,” Bill said. “Come on over here and see what we’ve got,” he added to Sam.

  I left the two men to bond over beer and climbed the risers to get ready for choir practice. By the time I’d settled into the piano seat and found a hymnal, Bill and Sam were laughing in a corner. Sam’s voice was so low I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I thought I caught a snippet of “A priest and a take-your-pick enter a bar” type joke. Yep, Sam Ford was going to fit in just fine.

  And, as it turned out, Sam could sing circles around Carl Davis—probably because his vocal cords hadn’t suffered from thousands of cigarettes and who knew what else. Even better, twice I caught him sneaking a glance at Tiffany then looking back to me as though reminding himself he was here to see me, not the buxom soprano with the ethereal voice.