by Ann B. Ross
Another thought struck me, and I put down my pencil. I leaned back in the recliner and stared at the ceiling. What if whoever it was had been looking for me? Or just breaking in to steal something? Maybe none of this had anything to do with either Skip or Junior.
But that didn’t make sense. I had nothing worth stealing, except my Barbie doll collection, and none of them had been taken. Still, you’d be surprised at what people’ll steal if they get half a chance. But nobody was that mad at me. Well, maybe Junior was. But he was the one on the receiving end, so that didn’t work, either.
I went back to my list, adding Bea’s Beauty Den. Then I crossed it out. There’d be no time for the tanning bed today. I tore off that sheet of paper and started again. Finally, I was finished. My final things-to-do list looked like this:
1.Call Lurline. Tell her I won’t be in to work today. Ask if Skip went out last night.
2.Talk to Skip. Make sure he didn’t slip out and come over here. Tell him I’ll see him around noon at Lurline’s.
3.Call hospital. See if Junior is dead.
4.Call Reverend Haliday.
5.Be at bank by 9:00. Withdraw money. Check balance, if any.
6.Take money to Mr. Sitton’s office. Get receipt.
7.Go to hospital and see Junior. Tell him nicely that it’s either approve of marriage or be arrested for breaking and entering.
8.Go see Skip. Find out exactly what his problem is and have nothing to do with it.
9.Go to Laundromat. (Put clothes in car before going to bank.)
10.Get Mr. Howard and license.
11.Get married today (if have time).
12.Tell Granny afterward.
I brought the phone from the kitchen counter and put it beside me on the little table. I sat for a minute, trying to get straight in my mind what to say to Lurline. The biggest problem would be keeping her from running over here to clean and straighten and worry me to death with her bossy ways.
I didn’t have time for her today, but I couldn’t just not show up for work. She would have to rearrange the schedule, giving my patients to one of the other girls. And I needed to know if Skip had been out and around during the night.
The thing was, I just couldn’t imagine Skip doing what had been done to either Junior or my trailer. Unless, of course, Junior had already broken in and Skip found him inside, burglarizing my things. Skip wouldn’t have stopped to ask questions. He’d’ve laid into him right and left. But if it’d happened like that, wouldn’t Skip have waited for the police? That way, he’d be a hero again.
But, I thought, as I tapped the phone absently, Skip was running from somebody. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to be in the newspaper, hero or not. And another thing, I hadn’t seen or heard from Skip in a number of years. He could’ve done a lot more changing than just putting on weight.
I sighed, picked up the receiver, and dialed Lurline’s home number, hoping she hadn’t yet left for work. She started in right away with questions and instructions—I couldn’t supply any answers before she was telling me what I ought to do.
“Lurline, I don’t need any help.” The woman was going to drive me crazy. I hadn’t wanted to tell her the details of my night, but I also hadn’t wanted to flat-out lie about why I couldn’t go in to work. Nothing would do but she had to keep on until she’d wormed most of it out of me.
“Listen,” I said, “Jennie’s already done all the straightening I need right now. I appreciate your offer. You’re a real good friend, but I’ve got to get out of here and go pay Mr. Sitton. That’s why I can’t come in today.”
She rattled on about how blood would set in fabric and I’d never be able to get it out if I waited too much longer.
“Lurline,” I interrupted. “Lurline, listen. I need to know if Skip stayed in all night.”
“Of course he did,” she said. Then there was dead silence on the line. “Etta Mae Wiggins,” she finally said, and I could almost see her eyes squinch up, “you don’t mean to tell me you suspect Skip? Why, he couldn’t hurt a flea, and he was right here in my guest room bed all night long, and I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles.”
“Well, but I mean, could he’ve slipped out after you went to bed?”
“Absolutely not. I’m a light sleeper, you know that, Etta Mae. I hear everything that goes on around this house, and the slightest little noise wakes me up. Why, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in I don’t know how long, that’s how light a sleeper I am. And another thing, I’m surprised at you for even thinking Skip would do such a thing. So, no, ma’am, he wasn’t there, he didn’t do it, and don’t you go accusing him of it.”
“Okay, Lurline. I had to ask. Now let me speak to him, please.”
She didn’t like it, but she gave Skip the phone. When he answered, I could hear the sleep still in his voice. Skip had never been an early riser, and I had to smile at the thought of Lurline rousting him out of bed to eat the heavy breakfast I knew she’d fixed for him.
“Hey, hon,” he said, and yawned right over the phone lines. “I got to talk to you today. We got to make some plans and do it soon as we can.”
“Skip, listen to me now and tell me the honest-to-God truth. Did you sneak out last night and come over here?”
“What?” Same ole Skip, couldn’t answer a straight question.
“Just what I said. Did you come back to my trailer last night after you went to Lurline’s? I need to know, Skip, it’s important.”
“Shoot, Etta Mae. I was so tired and worried, I didn’t even turn over all night long. Why?”
“Because somebody was here last night. Broke in and everything. And another somebody’s in the hospital because of it. All I’m saying is—and don’t let on to Lurline—that whoever was here may have been looking for you. And I need to know who that is. I got taken down to the sheriff’s and questioned half the night, and I don’t want to be mixed up in any mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, dang, girl,” he said. “I don’t want you in any trouble.” I rolled my eyes at that, because whose door had he come to with trouble on his heels? “Listen,” he whispered, “I can’t talk right now, but I’ll come on over as soon as I eat breakfast and take care of everything for you.”
“I won’t be here. I’ve got things to do this morning, so you just stay right there. I’ll come by Lurline’s about noontime. She’ll be at work, and I want the full story then. No holding back, Skip. I want to know everything you’re into, because it looks like I’m into it, too. Up to my neck, in fact. And I especially want to know about that two million dollars you were talking about.”
“Sh-h-h,” he said, shushing me like Lurline could hear my side of the conversation. I swear. “Don’t say nothing about that, Etta Mae. Keep that under your hat, whatever you do. I’m gonna take care of everything, don’t you worry.”
When I got off the phone, I sat for a few minutes with one leg hiked up on the recliner, rubbing my foot. I didn’t put much stock in Lurline’s light sleeping. I’d heard her snore sitting straight up in her desk chair, but with all his faults, Skip had never out-and-out lied to me. So if he hadn’t been here, who had?
I struck numbers 1 and 2 off my list, and dialed the hospital.
The county hospital was over in Abbotsville, and I didn’t know a soul working in it well enough to expect any details on Junior’s condition. So I asked for whatever floor he was on, and hoped the nurse who answered would at least tell me if he was alive or dead. One good thing, my call was transferred to a medical floor and not the intensive care unit, which meant Junior wasn’t critical.
“We can’t give out that information,” the nurse told me with that snippy tone that three-year graduates use to us nurses with six-week degrees. “And, no, he can’t have any visitors except family.”
“Well, but,” I said, trying to be pl
easant but firm, “I’m calling for his father, who’s not well. He asked me to get him an update on his son’s condition. You know who his father is, don’t you?”
There was silence on the line, as she thought about the Connard Extended Care Wing on the side of the hospital and the fact that Mr. Connard, Senior, had spent some time in it right after his last stroke. “All I can tell you,” she finally said, “is that Mr. Junior Connard suffered a concussion and that he’s getting along as well as can be expected.”
I pushed a little. “Is he conscious?”
She hesitated again, then said, “More or less.”
“His father will want to know if there’s anything he needs, something I could bring to him?”
“He doesn’t need anything but rest and what we’re doing for him. Tell Mr. Connard, Senior, that we’re taking good care of him, and if he continues to improve, he’ll probably go home tomorrow.”
That was exactly the information I wanted, but I needed to be sure. “No chance of him being discharged today? His daddy is real worried about him.”
“Absolutely not today. I made rounds with Dr. Nuckolls just a little while ago, and he left orders for bed rest and more X-rays this afternoon. In fact, I wouldn’t even count on him being discharged tomorrow. Could be the day after.”
Well, that gave me some breathing room, and I hung up the phone with a lightening of my heart. I was also glad that Junior wasn’t over there dying on us, too.
I struck number 3 off my list.
Chapter 12
Leaning my head back, I massaged the pressure points on my temples. Goody’s Headache Powders weren’t giving me the fast relief I was looking for, but it was sleep that I really needed. Lying back, I began to think of my next call and what I should say to the Reverend Buster Haliday. I wasn’t what you might call an every-Sunday-churchgoing person, but I did show up now and again. Back at the beginnings of both my marriages, I’d been real faithful, singing in the choir and doing every-member canvasses with the best of them. I’d wanted to do my part as a respectable married woman, keeping house, going to church, and being a helpmate to whoever the husband of the moment happened to be. But as each of those marriages started on the downhill slide, I’d given up trying to be what it looked like I never would be. At least not without the help of whoever was supposed to be a helpmate to me.
But with Mr. Howard I could start over again, and maybe get it right this time.
I looked up the reverend’s home number since it was still early, and felt a burden roll off my mind when he said he’d be happy to unite two Christian parties in holy matrimony to the everlasting glory of God. I didn’t tell him exactly who the other party was going to be, but I assured him the other party had been a Methodist all his life, which seemed to me to be as much of a Christian as anybody needed. The reverend hesitated over the Methodist part, saying that the Wesleyan belief in backsliding and falling from grace put them on questionable grounds. Theologically speaking. I told him, though, that the other party of whom I was speaking was a faithful Methodist, pledging annual tithes and donating an organ and a memorial garden to his first wife, and surely that proved he hadn’t fallen too far, if at all.
Reverend Haliday agreed to marry us anytime we showed up, either late that afternoon or first thing the next morning. So much for my dream of being married in a big church on Main Street, with a photographer and rice and everything, but one preacher’s as good as another when you’re in a tight spot.
• • •
Close to seven-thirty and time to get dressed. I crossed through number 4 on my list, drained the last of my Coke, and headed for the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw the effects of a sleepless night. Time for some intensive facial care. I smeared on Oil of Olay Foaming Face Wash with Aloe Vera to clean it good. After putting hot rollers in my hair, I started in with moisturizer and foundation, then some sparkly blue eye shadow, with a dark blue liner. Then I dabbed on two coats of Maybelline and brushed a nice peach blush on my cheekbones.
It was a shame I had to dress for my possible late afternoon wedding that early in the day, but there’d be no time to change later on. I didn’t know what I’d wear if we had to wait till the next day, because I intended to go all out for the afternoon. Pushing aside hangers in the closet, I pulled out my newest and best dress that I’d worn to church on Easter and only a couple of times since then. I was real proud of it because it was a designer dress from the Kathie Lee Collection at Walmart’s and looked like a million dollars on me. If I’d had the chance, I’d’ve bought something new for my wedding, but at least this was mostly white. A quality 100 percent rayon classic white dress with black polka dots. Signifying, I guess, my marital experiences of the past.
I slipped it on and ran my hands over it, admiring how it fit so close and smooth from my breasts to below my hips, then flared out at the bottom above my knees. My legs are one of my best features, if I do say so myself, so I don’t go in for those long straight skirts that tangle around your legs and ride up on your knees every time you take a step. I straightened the V neckline, pleased that it ran deep enough to invite a glance but not a bug-eyed stare, and fastened the black patent leather belt tightly around my waist. Rummaging around on the closet floor, I found my high-heeled black patent leather sandals, frowning at the scuff marks on them. They could’ve used some help, but, pushed for time, I wiped them down with a wet washrag and buckled them on, glad that the Roundup Red polish on my toenails was holding up without a chip.
Out came the hot rollers, then a good brushing, a little back-combing for fullness, two tiny gold hoops on the rim of one ear, Diamonique studs and a pair of white hoop earrings in both, some lip gloss, and I was ready. I stood in front of the narrow full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door, turning to get a side view, and smiled at the way the dress curved over my bottom and flounced out below.
After several hefty sprays—it had to last all day—of Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion over and in the most effective places, I bundled up the dirty clothes, hating to touch them as I shoved them into pillowcases. Then I grabbed my black patent leather purse with the gold chain and slung it over my shoulder. Ready for the day and my new life.
On my way out, the phone rang, and I almost let it go. Instead, I snatched it up, thinking it would be Skip determined to come over. I wish it had been.
“Ms. Wiggins?” Miss Julia Springer’s voice jolted me.
“Yes, ma’am.” What could she want with me?
“I understand there was a disturbance at your trailer last night.”
Oh, me, I moaned to myself. Then, “Uh, well, yes, ma’am, there was, but it was none of my doing.” Clyde, I thought, that sorry thing just had to tattle.
“That’s neither here nor there. According to your lease, that sort of carrying-on gives me cause to evict you, but Hazel Marie thinks you deserve another chance.” She didn’t even give me a chance to tell her I’d been an innocent bystander. I gripped the phone so tight that my hand was shaking, wanting to let her have it. But she went on without a thought to my feelings. “We’ve been talking this morning, and I’ve come up with a proposition for you. I’d like you to drop by my house sometime today so we can discuss it.”
What kind of proposition could she propose? I didn’t have time to find out, today of all days. On the other hand, I couldn’t afford to antagonize the old biddy. I needed my trailer in her park until I was legal and safe as Mr. Howard’s wife. My mind was going ninety miles an hour, recalling that she’d known Mr. Howard for years—people in their income bracket stick together—and I knew she wouldn’t approve of our plans for a minute. I had to keep her thinking I’d be up a creek if she evicted me.
But what I wanted to do was tell her to take her trailer park and stick it where the sun didn’t shine.
Instead, I said, “Why, yes, ma’am, I think I can make it. I have to be in Abbotsville this morning, anyway, so
I’ll swing by in a couple of hours.”
I hung up the phone, wondering what in the world she could want. I’d just have to grit my teeth and go see. Looking around my trailer once more, I picked up my laundry and hiked the chain of my purse on my shoulder, mentally squeezing a stop at Mrs. Springer’s house between numbers 7 and 8 on my long list of things to do. I hated to leave the trailer with a broken lock, which I’d forgotten to put on my list, but I had no choice.
After throwing the dirty clothes in the backseat of the car and checking the time, I walked across the crumbling asphalt that divided the two rows of trailers. Picking my way across the yard and stepping around plastic tricycles, rubber balls, an overturned lawn chair, and an empty Pampers box, I knocked on the door of Jennie’s double-wide.
“Come on in, whoever it is,” she yelled.
I stuck my head in, saying, “It’s just me. Are you up?”
“Lord, yes,” Jennie said, walking out from a bedroom, a cigarette and a coffee mug in one hand, and a Cosmo magazine in the other. She had on a seersucker robe that came to her knees over a long nightgown with the hem out.
Jennie was about my age, but after four kids she didn’t look it. She’d put on weight with each baby before she’d had a chance to lose what she’d put on from the previous one. Her hair hadn’t been combed, but from the state of her kitchen with dishes piled up and cereal spilled on the counter and the floor, I could see why. Two kids in underpants lay on the floor, glued to the television, and I could hear the other two somewhere in the back, jumping up and down on a bed.
“Come on in, hon, and have a seat.” Jennie waved at a chair. “I swear, every morning about this time I’m about ready to beat the hell outta these young ’uns.”
She flopped down on the daybed she used as a couch, reached over, turned off the television, and swatted the backside of a child who screamed that he was watching Nickelodeon. “Go get dressed,” she screamed back. Then lifting her voice even more, she yelled at another child in the back of the trailer, “If I have to come in there, you’ll be sorry.” Then, smiling at me, she said, “Don’t you look nice. Take a load off and tell me all about last night.”
