What Matters in Mayhew (The Beanie Bradsher Series Book 1)

by Cassie Dandridge Selleck

“That’s what I said.”

  “All right then,” Will said, and followed her to the kitchen.

  8

  Sound the Alarm

  The clock on Bubba John Atwater’s bedside table crowed at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Sweet wrapped her pillow around her head like a burrito and rolled away from the offending noise. The alarm crowed again. Louder this time.

  “Bubba John,” Sweet whined, “can ya shut that thing off, for crying out loud? It’s Sunday.”

  There was no answer, not even the slightest whisper of movement from Bubba John’s side of the bed. Sweet sat straight up in bed, smacking the empty spot where her husband’s ample frame usually lay.

  “Dad-gummit, he did it again.”

  The rooster crowed exuberantly, lifting its wattled chin up and down with a mechanical click. Sweet reached across the bed and slapped the offending clock on its bobbing head, effectively silencing the beast, if only for a five-minute snooze.

  Noticing the bed was empty, Sweet sighed and mumbled to herself, “Well, at least he put the little ones back where they belong. Wish to hell he’d remember to shut off the rooster.”

  Sweet rolled out of bed and stumbled across the cheap linoleum floor of her mobile home’s “master” bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. The first wave of nausea hit as she reached for her toothbrush.

  “Whoa, Nellie…” Sweet breathed, catching herself on the edge of the low-slung vanity.

  She ran the water warm and splashed her face until the nausea passed. She tried to remember what she’d eaten the night before, but nothing came to mind. The second wave nearly dropped her to the floor, but she had the sense to fall backward onto the toilet, grabbing the towel rack on the way down.

  What in the world? Sweet thought to herself. And then, Oh, good Lord, you’ve got to be kidding me.

  Steadying herself on the countertop, Sweet flung open the medicine cabinet and grabbed a thin plastic container. She slid it open with her thumbs and stared at four rows of plastic bubbles, most of which were smashed flat. Nothing amiss there. No reason to suspect morning sickness over a simple stomach virus. In fact, Daisy threw up yesterday afternoon. That’s all it is, Sweet reasoned.

  She felt the front door open and shut, and the heavy thump of boots coming down the hallway. The boots got quiet before Bubba John reached out to open the bedroom door. She peeked her head out of the bathroom in time to see her husband try to tiptoe into the room.

  “What in the heck are you doing?”

  Bubba John jumped as if he’d been hit by a cattle prod.

  “I thought you’d still be asleep,” he said, clearly busted.

  “I would have been, if you’da thought to silence the cock’s crow.”

  “Sorry, baby. I was puttin’ out feed again. Huntin’ season’s just around the corner, you know.”

  “Oh, I know all right. This is the third time this week,” Sweet said, brushing her hair back from her face with one hand.

  “You’re lookin’ a little peeked, Mama. You okay?”

  “I think I got a touch of Daisy’s stomach bug.”

  “Y’all gonna try to go to church this morning? I came back to help you get the kids ready.”

  Sweet looked at her handsome, if exasperating, husband and sighed. He did come back for that. Whatever his faults, the man could not tell a lie. He would omit whatever he wanted to avoid, but if asked anything point blank, Bubba John would either answer truthfully or not at all.

  “You feel like going?” Sweet asked, knowing the answer.

  “Naw, I was thinking about takin’ the boys fishing this afternoon. I thought I’d sort the tackle while y’all were at church.”

  “Well, y’all go on along this morning, why don’tcha? Bitty’ll wanna go, you know, but I can keep Tater here if we promise to bake him some cookies. B-Kay’ll help.”

  “Well, I was kind of hopin’ to just take the boys, if that’s okay. Bitty gets bored awful easy.”

  Sweet turned and grabbed her toothbrush, slathering it liberally with Ultra Brite.

  “That works,” she said, catching her husband’s eye in the mirror before vigorously brushing her teeth.

  Bubba John slipped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “You okay, Mama?”

  “I’m fine, hon. Just feelin’ a little punk.”

  “Don’t be mad at me,” he said, bending to kiss the back of her neck.

  “I’m not mad, Bubba. I just don’t know what’s going on with you these days,” Sweet said, rinsing her mouth with warm water. “If I was the jealous type, I’d swear you were up to no good.”

  But you’re not,” Bubba John grinned. “And I’m not.”

  “So what is it, then? Why have you been MIA so much?”

  “I’ve got a few irons in the fire, that’s all. There’s nothing you need to worry about, Sweet, I promise.”

  Bubba John turned her around to face him and, wrapping his arms around her hips, lifted her until his head rested against her chest.

  Sweet wound her fingers through her husband’s thick, dark hair and tilted his head back. She bent down and kissed his forehead tenderly. Cupping his face in her hands, she smiled and gazed at the deep blue eyes she loved so much.

  “I’m glad, Bubba John. ‘Cause I’d really hate to have to kill ya.”

  A laugh bubbled up from deep in the big man’s chest.

  “I’d hate that, too, Mama. You hungry?”

  “Nope, but the kids’ll be up shortly. I’ll go make us some pancakes.”

  ***

  Bubba John and the two boys made it out the door with an uncharacteristic lack of drama. It was not unusual for the parents to divide and conquer, but the division was rarely without tears. Nobody liked to be left behind. With the twins old enough to help, Sweet was beginning to relax the rules a bit – the rules pertaining to the number of children per adult on recreational trips, that is. More specifically, it was the ratio per Bubba John that was in question. She didn’t think he was deliberately careless; he just didn’t have the same regard for safety as she did, which put Sweet in a constant state of emotional stress. Bubba John could only focus on one thing at a time, and if a fish was on his line, a child overboard might go unnoticed. Or so Sweet convinced herself after a few near misses.

  Sweet still trusted him with just one small child at a time, and then only with an older child tagging along. It made for a lot of noise when the fact was Bubba John went fishing a lot. And hunting. And four-wheeling. He was a big kid - Peter Pan to her Wendy. The kids adored him, of course. And they always wanted to be where he was, so anytime a child was left out, there would be tears and a lot of them. Sweet went along when she could; not because she was thrilled about fishing or hunting, but for two reasons: 1. She wanted her children safe, AND she wanted them to have fun. 2. She believed in doing things as a family, even if it was a big, chaotic mess of a family.

  Normally, Sweet insisted on attending church on Sundays. She would pack up the kids, all five of them, and head off for Sunday School while Bubba John piddled around in his shop out back or snuck down to the river to fish from the bank. She always invited him to go, but he rarely did. After church, they all met back at home for frozen pizza or store-bought subs.

  Today, Sweet didn’t have the energy for church. Might as well let the boys have a little fun with their daddy. She was happy to stay home and bake. Thank goodness Bitty was too distracted by the rows of cookie dough on the counter to notice Bubba John and the boys sneaking out the front door.

  B-Kay almost ruined it ten minutes after they left. Daisy stood on a step stool in front of Sweet, “helping” her roll out sugar cookie dough. Bitty was sorting cookie cutters and lining them up by size: small to large with exactly the same spaces between them. She did this with everything, including the toys in her room and the chairs in the backyard.

  B-Kay entered the kitchen in a huff.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  Sweet looked up, a li
ttle surprised and mildly amused.

  “I didn’t know it was my job, B.”

  “I wanted to go to church,” she said, opening the refrigerator and scanning the shelves.

  “Then you should have set your alarm. I didn’t feel up to going this morning.”

  “Where’s the OJ?”

  “Bottom shelf.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Move the milk.”

  “Where’s Daddy and the boys?”

  Two little heads carefully focused on the work at hand popped up in unison.

  “B-Kay!” Sweet admonished. “We are making cookies here.”

  “But I just asked…”

  “Brenda Kay Atwater, I’m gonna snatch a knot in you if you don’t zip it this instant.”

  Sweet all but hissed this at her oldest daughter. Then, with only slightly forced enthusiasm, returned her attention to the little ones.

  “Bitty, that’s great, baby. Do you think you could sort out the sprinkles, too?”

  “Where’s Daddy?” Bitty asked.

  “He’ll be right back,” Sweet said. “Daisy, that’s flat enough, honey. What do you want to make first?”

  “Punkin,” Daisy said, grabbing the largest cutter she saw.

  “That’s an apple,” B-Kay muttered.

  “Punkin!” Daisy said, slamming it into the dough and grinding enthusiastically.

  “Nice work,” Sweet said. “That’s a beautiful pumpkin. Do another one now.”

  “Great. You’re raising a moron.” B-Kay said, pouring orange juice into the bottom half of a sippy cup.

  “Keep cutting, Daisy-may, Mama’ll be right back,” Sweet looked pointedly at her oldest daughter and jerked her head toward the utility room door.

  Sweet entered first, holding the door open until B-Kay reluctantly slunk in. Sweet shut the door just shy of a slam.

  “What is the matter with you this morning?”

  B-Kay shrugged and launched herself onto the dryer with one hand.

  “Speak, B-Kay. I don’t have time to guess.”

  “He’s gone all the time.”

  “Daddy?”

  “No, T-Ray.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, young lady.”

  “Well, he is. And half the time he’s takin’ the boys with him. It’s not fair.”

  “Did you want to go fishing?”

  “No, Mama, I wanted to go to church. But what I want doesn’t seem to matter anymore.”

  “B-Kay, I didn’t know you wanted to go this morning.”

  “I want to go every Sunday, Mom.”

  “Then set your alarm every Sunday and I’ll make sure you get there. But don’t you dare wake up with your butt on your shoulders, bound and determined to take your disappointment out on me. Not gonna happen. Is that clear?”

  “Whatever,” B-Kay said, determined to push it as far as she could.

  “Not whatever. Not EVER whatever. Seriously, what is the matter with you?”

  “I don’t know, Mama. Something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean, not right? Do you feel bad? Has someone hurt your feelings? What is it, B?”

  “Kids at school are talkin’, Mama.”

  “Talking about what? Just spit it out. Is it really that bad?”

  “Only if you call Daddy spending time with Beanie Bradsher bad. You tell me.”

  Sweet felt the air leave her lungs like a vacuum. She wasn’t sure how her quivering knees kept her standing, but she managed to open the utility room door with hands she could barely feel.

  “Oh, that’s silly, B-Kay. Your daddy would never…”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence. The kitchen table was unrecognizable. Bitty was still focused on arranging the now empty jars of sprinkles, as Daisy patted multi-colored cookie dough into her hair.

  “Daisy, noooo!”

  If Bubba John Atwater wondered why he didn’t smell cookies baking when he returned at 1:30 that afternoon, he didn’t say a word to the boys. He followed a trail of sprinkles and smeared dough to the children’s bathroom where he found a tub full of purple water and piles of children’s clothing on the floor.

  “Sweet?” he called softly before opening the bedroom door and peering quietly inside.

  His wife snored softly while his two younger daughters lay in a tangled mass of limbs beside her. B-Kay was nowhere to be found.

  By the time Sweet woke up, Bubba John had the kitchen returned to almost normal, except for the dough in the creases of the highchair and the underside of the table, which would not likely be discovered for some time.

  T-Ray was napping on the couch when Sweet Lee Atwater staggered sleepily into the kitchen. Bubba John was twisting the cap off a Bud Light and didn’t hear her come in.

  “Put the beer away, Bubba John,” Sweet said. “We need to talk.”

  9

  Beanie Spills the Beans

  A week or so after the kissing incident, Will and Beanie still tiptoed around each other, awkward and mostly silent. The Château was booked nearly solid on the weekends, with cave divers and hunters trying to get the most out of the time left before the serious cold spells hit. Will paid regular housekeepers to do the turn-arounds, but Beanie always took up the slack, especially if any issues came up after the other staff left. Business was never steady enough to hire anyone full-time, but Will had no problem finding people willing to work on a casual basis.

  On Monday, after a relatively busy weekend, Beanie and Will were back in the kitchen finishing up the last of the breakfast dishes. With the plates and glasses all loaded into the industrial dishwasher, there were only the pots and pans to go. Will washed as Beanie dried and put away.

  “Reckon you need anything from Tallahassee this week, Will?”

  “Actually, yes. I need to restock at Sam’s. You need something?”

  “Well, they’s somethin’ I been needin’ to tell you, but I gotta ask you not to say nothin’ to nobody else.”

  “Okay,” Will said, hesitating. “Is this about the lotto?”

  “Yeah, kind’ly, but it’s got to do with somebody else, too, and that’s why it’s important you don’t tell nobody what I’m fixin’ to tell you.”

  “You have my word,” Will said, handing Beanie a dripping griddle.

  “I gotta go to the lotto place to collect my winnings, and it has to be the state headquarters, not regional.”

  “Oh, well, that’s no problem. Tallahassee isn’t that much farther away than Gainesville. We can swing by there before we go to Sam’s Club for supplies.”

  “They’s a little more to it than swingin’ by, from what I hear,” Beanie said. “Any prize over a million takes a bit of doin’.”

  “Over a million? I thought you said you were getting twenty-thousand. That’s some serious growth there, Bean.”

  “Well, that’s what I been meanin’ to tell you; we kept it a secret until we saw a lawyer. It may be a little more than I thought when ever’thing’s taken into account, but they’ll tell us over there.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “That’s what you gotta keep quiet about,” Beanie said, steeling herself to go on.

  “It’s Bubba John Atwater and me,” she said. “But you can-NOT tell his wife, Will. Seriously. It would ruin everything.”

  Will felt his lungs deflate. He turned off the faucet and rested his soapy arms on the edge of the sink.

  “I do take it seriously, Beanie,” he said, when he finally caught his breath. “I certainly do.”

  “Oh, good, cuz we done seen a lawyer and ever’thing’s drawed up nice and legal.”

  “And when are you planning to tell Sweet about all of this?”

  “Just as soon as he gets the house all remodeled and ready to move in.” Beanie stashed the griddle on top of the refrigerator.

  “And you expect me to keep this a secret? That’s asking a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “Why, you gotta keep it a secret. You done promised me you would,” she
said, wheeling to face Will.”

  “But, Beanie—dear God—I could not have imagined you taking part in something like this.”

  “Will, please don’t be mad at me…”

  “I’m not mad, Bean. I am disappointed. Truly…dreadfully…disappointed.”

  “Will…”

  “Just stop, Bean. Stop. Please.” Will pulled the yellow rubber gloves from each hand with a snap and draped them over the dish drainer. “I can’t wrap my head around you deceiving Sweet Atwater like this.”

  “Oh, Sweet is gonna be happy as a lark!”

  “Have you lost your mind, Bean?”

  “But this is a wonderful thing, Will! Sweet has been wanting out of that house for years! You wait. Someday Sweet Lee Atwater will thank her lucky stars we did this for her.”

  “Who ARE you?”

  “Does this mean you aren’t going to help me?”

  “Of course I’m not going to help you.”

  “But we won it together, so we gotta go together.”

  “Then Bubba John can drive you over there himself.”

  “No, he can’t, Will. Somebody will see us.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that a long time ago. I refuse to be a part of this, and I am amazed you thought I would.”

  Beanie finished drying the last stock pot and stacked it with the others in the cabinet by the stove.

  “Well, don’t this beat all?” Beanie said. “We had it all planned out and now it’s ruined. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell Bubba John.”

  “I know a few things I’d like to tell him,” Will said. “And while I’m at it, there’s a few things I’d like to call him, too.”

  “Well, for cryin’ out loud, Will. Bubba John’s just tryin’ to build a house for his wife. What’re you mad at him for?”

  ***

  “Beanie, sit down and start at the beginning,” Will pulled one of the ladder-back chairs away from the table. “I’ll pour you a cup of coffee and you can just start this story over.”

  “Will, I don’t know what in the world you’re so fired up about. I was tryin’ to help Bubba John surprise Sweet with a new house for Christmas,” Beanie said, slouching into the chair he still held.