by Ann B. Ross
As I was putting Mr. Howard’s feet into his pajama bottoms, there was a tap on the door and, as it opened, Valerie called, “Daddy Connard? How are . . .” Then she saw me. “What are you doing?”
“Getting him ready for bed,” I said, snatching up the bottoms to cover Mr. Howard’s scrawny parts as he let out a croak of embarrassment.
“This is too much,” she said. “First, I catch you in my husband’s room, and now here you are in my father-in-law’s room. Every time I turn around, there you are. I want to know what right you have to go and come in this house like you own it?”
I wanted to tell her, oh, I wanted so bad to throw it in her face, that this house was all but mine and that from now on she’d have to ask my permission to go and come in it. But I didn’t.
I reined in my tongue and my temper and swallowed the words I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, Miss Valerie, I thought you knew I work for Mr. Howard. We’ve just come back from a drive and he’s very tired.”
“Emmett can help him. Where is he?”
“Getting his supper. Lie down, Mr. Howard, and I’ll elevate your bed so you can manage a tray. Sh-h-h,” I said to him, noticing how red his face was getting as he tried to speak to Valerie. I noticed, too, that she was paying no attention to him, treating him like a piece of furniture. I spread the sheet over him and patted his shoulder. “It’s all right now. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Valerie came farther into the room, stopped right in front of me, and put her hands on her skinny hips. “We don’t need your help anymore. Although help is not the right word, is it? Interference is more like it, but no longer. I’m giving you notice as of this minute. Daddy Connard will be leaving as soon as my husband is able to travel, so you can just get out and don’t come back.”
She waved a hand toward the door, dismissing me like I was hired help. Which I was, but not really. Mr. Howard tried to rise up in the bed, gurgling and croaking, trying to make himself understood. He was like me—when I get mad, I can’t get the words out. And he was in worse shape than me to begin with.
I bit my lip, feeling my face redden as she dressed me down. I wanted to get in her face with a few words of my own. No, what I really wanted to do was smack her cross-eyed. But it wasn’t the time or place, not if I ever hoped for a happy family life. I had to stay, or rather get, on her good side. All we needed was to know each other better, and I didn’t want to say anything that would make her mad. Madder.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, acting as humble as I could. “Have a good night, Mr. Howard.”
He reached for me as I turned to leave, tears of frustration and anger leaking out of the corners of his eyes. I took his hand, giving it a squeeze to let him know that I’d be back. One way or another, although I didn’t know which.
Chapter 25
I went through the kitchen, my face burning from the hateful words Valerie had thrown at me. It was all I could do to speak to Emmett on my way out the door. I got to the car and slid in, so undone I didn’t know what to do.
“Can I get up now?” Skip asked as I closed the car door and slumped in the seat.
My eyes filled up and my chest ached as I sat there thinking of all I’d been through, not only that day but, seemed like, all my life. There hadn’t been any need for Valerie to speak to me that way. All I wanted was what was best for Mr. Howard, which was what he wanted, too. The Junior Connards hadn’t paid any attention to what he wanted. All they’d been concerned about was what was easiest for them. Which was to have Mr. Howard put away where they wouldn’t be worried with him or about him or about anybody getting close to him.
And the way she’d treated me! Like I was trash. With not even common courtesy. I’d taken her husband a gift of a Whitman’s Sampler, and I’d taken care of her father-in-law. And instead of thanking me for doing what she should’ve been doing, she’d treated me like dirt under her feet.
“Etta Mae?” Skip moaned. “I’m hurtin’ down here.”
“Okay, Skip,” I said, turning on the ignition. “We’re going now. And, no, don’t get up yet. I haven’t seen anybody following us or looking for you, but you’d better play it safe and stay down.”
“Where we going?”
“All I know to do is go to my trailer and hope you’re right that they won’t look there again.”
“What about my Low Rider?”
Shoot! One more thing I’d forgotten about. But then I said, “You can’t fly it to Atlanta, can you? It’ll be safe where it is.”
I turned onto Old Oak, looking both ways for a blue-and-white van. To tell the truth, I really didn’t expect to see one by then. I was beginning to think that Skip had no reason to be afraid. His so-called friends were probably in Gastonia doing a lube job or putting a patch on somebody’s tire.
For all I knew, whoever’d torn up my trailer had been after Junior and hadn’t made a mistake when they’d put him in the hospital. Maybe his wife had raked somebody over the coals the way she’d done me, which was reason enough to lay into him. Maybe Valerie ought to be the one hiding on the floorboard of a car.
That scared me as I thought about it. What if whoever it was meant to do her harm, too? Should I call and warn her? Would she listen to me? Not a chance in the world. She’d hang up on me. I thought about trying anyway, not wanting a soon-to-be member of my family to be hurt, regardless of how much I would’ve liked to’ve hurt her myself. On the other hand, it was her husband who was laid up in the hospital, so that ought to be warning enough.
Driving through town and around the square, I headed the car out Springer Road toward the trailer park.
“You hungry, Skip?” I asked, mentally counting the money I had left.
“’Bout to starve. Let’s stop and get something.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to pull into the Porky Park Drive-Thru and get something to go. You stay real still, and maybe the girl at the window won’t notice you down there.”
“I’ll take two chopped barbecue sandwiches, an order of Tater Tots, and one of onion rings. Can we stop somewhere else for a six-pack or two?”
“No. I’ll get Cokes here, then no more stops.”
I gave our order at one window, then, following the car in front of us, drove on to the pickup window. When the bags were handed to me, the hot, rich smell of hickory-smoked barbecue filled the car. Skip groaned as the smell reached him.
Dusk was settling in by that time, and as I pulled back onto Springer Road, I turned on the headlights. Glancing in the rearview mirror at the same time, I nearly ran off the road.
“Skip! There’s a blue-and-white van two cars behind us! It’s hard to see, but it sure looks like what you described.”
“Oh, Lordy, what’re we gonna do?”
That’s what I was asking myself, until I saw one of those portable signs on wheels up ahead by the side of the road. “Hold on,” I said, “there’s an Auto-Wash-It up here on the right.”
I turned in and got in line behind two other cars. I held out two one-dollar bills through the window to the man in the little shack before leaning across the seat to roll up the windows. That gave me a chance to see what the van was doing, as I twisted and turned to reach the back windows, too.
“What’s goin’ on, Etta Mae?” Skip asked. “Why’re you rolling up the windows? It’s hot down here.”
“We’re at the car wash, and we’ll be going through in a minute. Now, listen, Skip, as soon as the water pours down so they can’t see anything, get up and climb in the front seat. Then when the brush starts over the car, you get out and stay in the car wash till I drive away.
“Wait, wait a minute,” I said, craning to see in the side mirror. “Oh, wow, I thought they were going to pull in behind us, but looks like they’ve parked on the street. They’re waiting for us to come out.
“Here we go. Get ready.” I put the car in
drive, turned off the radio to get the aerial down, and pulled into the car wash onto the metal tracks. Gallons of soapy water poured over the car, front and back. We couldn’t see out, so I figured nobody could see in.
“Get on up here, Skip, and be ready to hop out.”
He put a leg over the front passenger seat and squirmed on over, half sitting on the bags of barbecue. I snatched them up before he flattened them.
“I’m gonna take a sandwich with me,” he said, pulling out one wrapped in greasy waxed paper. “I could eat a horse, I’m so hungry. How long you want me to stay in this car wash, and where you want me to go when I get out?”
“I don’t know, Skip,” I said. “Let me think. Wait as long as you can, ’cause I’m hoping they’ll follow me. Soon as you think we’re well on the way, you sneak out and come on to my trailer. Stay off the main streets, and walk, don’t try to hitch a ride. It’s only a mile or two, so it won’t take you long. And don’t come barreling in. Hide somewhere and watch my trailer till you’re sure nobody’s around.”
“Sure wish I had my Low Rider.”
“Get over it,” I said, as the flood of water pounded on the roof. “Here comes the brush! Get out, Skip, get out now!”
He flung open the door, barbecue sandwich in one hand, while a spray of water flew into the car. He slammed the door just as the huge rolling brush hit the windshield, and I couldn’t see what happened to him. Right after the brush, another wave of water gushed over the car, rinsing it off, and I started laughing at the thought of Skip’s soaked sandwich. By the time the car went through the drier, I was laughing and crying at the same time. Nervous and scared.
I turned right at the street and headed toward the trailer park. It was almost full dark by that time, but, sure enough, there was the van edging into the light traffic, a few cars behind me. I was relieved to see it, because I was leading them away from Skip.
On the other hand, I was leading them toward me.
Chapter 26
My first thought was to head back to Mr. Howard’s where there’d be people around. My second thought was that I couldn’t stay there all night, even if Valerie’d let me in for a little while. Which she wouldn’t.
Then a third thought struck me. The van wasn’t following Skip at all. They must have picked up my car after we got back to Delmont, because there’d been no sign of them in Abbotsville or anywhere around the courthouse. No way they could’ve seen Skip in the car, since they’d never been close enough to us. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed likely that they hadn’t known where Skip had been all afternoon, so they hadn’t even followed him from Lurline’s to Mr. Howard’s. What they were doing was tailing me, figuring I knew where he was and would lead them to him.
I didn’t feel a bit better with that thought.
I almost turned around right then and there. The safest place for me was the sheriff’s office. Oh, yeah, I thought, and what if Clyde Maybry’s on duty? Lot of good that’d do me.
The only thing I could do was what I’d started out to do—just go home, get ready for my wedding, and hope they’d get tired of waiting for Skip to show. And hope he’d have sense enough to stay away as long as they were there.
I was so tired when I parked beside my trailer that I could hardly climb out of the car. No sleep the night before and a long, busy day afterward. During that time I’d gone from the jailhouse to the courthouse and from being an assault suspect to a bride-to-be. All of that would make anybody tired. But my laundry had to be brought in and put away, and something done with all the barbecue, deep-fried onions, Tater Tots, and Cokes smelling up my car and waiting to be eaten.
It took two trips to get everything into the trailer, each trip giving me a chance to look around for the van. I hadn’t seen it when I’d turned into the trailer park, so I had hopes that they’d given up on me. After all, they knew where I lived, having visited the night before, so they could find me anytime they wanted to.
After putting my clean clothes away, I sat on the bed, holding my giraffe for comfort, and wondering if I should pack a suitcase for my wedding. Mr. Howard and I hadn’t planned a honeymoon. He just wasn’t up to a long road trip. I would’ve loved to’ve gone to Disney World, which was my dream vacation. To go to the Magic Kingdom and take that futuristic Space Mountain ride would thrill me to death. I’d tried to get Bernie to take me there on that honeymoon, but he’d won a trip to Gatlinburg for selling so many cars. I’d enjoyed it pretty well, what with all the handcrafts, souvenirs, and cute little Smoky Mountain bears made in Taiwan they had for sale, even though they didn’t have anything to compare with Space Mountain. Skip and I had gone to Myrtle Beach on that honeymoon, where we’d both gotten sunburned so bad we couldn’t bear to touch each other. I could still smell the Noxzema if I put my mind to it. Bobby Lee, although we’d never been married and never would be, had taken me to the Quality Inn over by the airport that first time. After that, it hadn’t much mattered where we went or where we were. It was a honeymoon every time we got together.
I jumped up from the bed, kicked my shoes off, and went barefooted to the kitchen. Too much to think about in the here and now to dwell on the past, which I didn’t intend to let myself do any more than I could help.
I looked at the door to my trailer, seeing the broken lock, the snapped chain, and sighed. If anybody’s interested, it’s not a good idea to live in a trailer park with no way to keep the trash out. The best I could do was hook a chair under the doorknob. That wouldn’t keep a child out, but it would make enough noise to wake me if somebody tried to get in. And Jennie would be keeping an eye on me. Just let me get through this night, I thought, then I’ll be Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, and nobody’ll mess with me again.
Arranging everything on the wobbly table by my recliner so I wouldn’t have to get up again, I sat down to eat. If you’ve ever tried a barbecue sandwich that’s been sat on, let me tell you it’s not the most appetizing-looking thing you might choose to eat. But, looks aside, it sure was good.
The Tater Tots looked more like mashed potatoes, so I bypassed them. And the Coke was half water by that time, but it was wet and cold. It’d been a long time since my McDonald’s lunch, so I sat in the recliner enjoying the spicy taste of hickory-smoked pork and trying to get my tired mind to figure out how I was going to get Mr. Howard and me to the preacher the next morning without Valerie knowing about it.
The chair under the door started sliding across the floor, me sitting there too amazed to move or chew as I watched it with a mouthful of barbecue. The door opened as easy as if there’d been nothing there to scotch it, and two men walked in. I knew who they were since all the Pucketts looked pretty much alike, but I didn’t know at first which one was Roy and which was Harley. Both of them had dark hair, but one, the heavier-set one, had short hair with a rattail hanging down the back of his neck. That had to be Harley, or so the red-embroidered name said on his striped mechanic’s overalls, grease-stained and stiff. The other one, Roy according to the sewn-on name under the Texaco star on his gray shirt, wore matching gray pants.
His uniform, I guessed, put him a cut above his brother in the employment category. He probably worked the cash register at the gas station, which goes to show how trusting some people can be.
“What the hell are you doing, just walking into my house?” I demanded, swallowing my mouthful. I was afraid of them. Anybody with any sense would be. But I knew the type. If you cringed and cried and begged, they’d figure they could do whatever came to mind to do. And enjoy it the more they could scare you. On the other hand, they wouldn’t put up with much lip from anybody they could shut down with a fist to the mouth.
“Feisty, ain’t she?” Harley said.
“Shut up, Harley,” Roy told him, with a jab of his elbow. “We don’t aim to bother you. We just want to know where Skip’s at.”
“I don’t know where he is.” I tucked my skirt a
round my thighs, thinking for the first time that long skirts had their benefits and wishing I had one on right then.
“Don’t give us none of that,” Harley said. “We know he was here, so where’s he at now?”
“I tell you, I don’t know. He was here. Last night, but then he spent the night with a friend of his across town. I don’t know who,” I quickly added, not wanting them to go after Lurline. “He said somebody he went to high school with, I don’t know who.”
“You believe her, Roy?”
“I don’t know if I do or if I don’t.” Roy stood quiet and still, his eyes looking around the room. He gave me the creeps.
“All I know,” I said, “is that he’s not here, so you might as well leave right now.” I got up out of the recliner and stood behind it, hoping it was time to show a little backbone.
“Who’s gonna make us?” Harley said, smiling now, and I knew I’d made a wrong move by standing up. “I think she knows where he’s at, Roy.”
Roy stared at me, searching my mind it seemed like, while he studied what to do. Finally he nodded. “She knows.”
“I don’t! I tell you I don’t. You better get out of here. My neighbor is listening out for me and, and, you just better leave.”
“She can show us where he is, Roy,” Harley said, stepping closer.
Roy moved his hand, like he was giving a signal to a dog. “Bring her.”
Harley was quicker than he looked. He grabbed my arm and dragged me across the arm of the chair as I threw the watered-down Coke in his face.
“Get away from me! Don’t you touch me! Turn me loose!” I kicked him in the shin, wishing I still had my shoes on.
He shook me till my head flopped back and forth on my neck.
“Get her on in the van,” Roy said, looking out the door to see if anybody was hearing me.
“Wait! Wait,” I said, holding on to the recliner while Harley pulled. “You don’t know who I am. I’m Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior.” Almost, but I didn’t say that. “You better not mess with a Connard in Delmont, don’t you know that?”
