by Ann B. Ross
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Sam, you let me worry myself sick about this and all the time you were encouraging him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well,” Sam said, smiling sheepishly, “I thought I had. I apologize, honey, because it was not my intent to keep anything from you. You know I don’t do that. I guess it just slipped my mind.”
I started to reply sharply, then reconsidered. It was true: Sam didn’t keep things to himself. I was the one who did that and, sitting there beside him with my hand in his, was still guilty of doing it.
“Well,” I said, somewhat mollified, “well, did you know about all the forms those two having been sending in? With checks signed by Lloyd in each one?”
“No, I didn’t know that. But,” he went on, frowning now, “let’s look on the bright side. The bank may reject them.”
“Then how could James have won some big jackpot? From what he told me, he had to contribute something to be eligible to win.”
“You may be right. But let me suggest something. Let’s let Pickens handle this. James is his employee and Lloyd is his responsibility.”
That brought me straight off the sofa. “His responsibility! Why, I’m not sure I agree with that. I’ve always thought of Lloyd as my responsibility.” Actually, all I could think of was how in the world Mr. Pickens could accept responsibility for a child at the same time he was planning parking-lot trysts with two different women.
“I know you do, but Pickens is his stepfather and wants to be a real father to him. He’s concerned about setting an example and encouraging Lloyd to depend on him. And for them to be a family, it may be best if we don’t interfere. This is a situation that calls for a good father-son talk. So let’s let him handle it.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mr. Pickens stepping into a fatherly role to Lloyd could add another knot to the tie that binds. In the light of that, though, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Pickens seemed to be doing everything he could to cut that selfsame tie.
It was later on the same day, as the house grew dim and quiet with a Sunday-afternoon lonesome feeling, that Lloyd himself came sidling up to my desk. Trying to stay busy while Sam worked in his office, I had been neatly recopying scribbled recipes into Hazel Marie’s book.
“Miss Julia?” Lloyd said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, you may.” I put down my pencil and smiled at him. “What is it, honey?”
“I’m not sure about this, but I think James’s feelings got hurt. He didn’t say they were,” Lloyd quickly added. “It’s just that he said he was feeling kinda low-down.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Who in the world hurt his feelings? Brother Vern again?”
“No’m. I think it was you.”
“Me?” I turned around in my chair to look at him. “How could I have hurt his feelings? Why, I even took lunch to him. Oh,” I said, reconsidering, “I expect he didn’t appreciate my asking him not to involve you in those scams he’s been sending money to. I’m sorry that hurt his feelings and I’ll apologize to him, but he should’ve known better.”
“No’m, that wasn’t it.”
“Well, what else did I do?”
“You didn’t ask him for any of his recipes for that book you’re fixing for Mama. See,” Lloyd went on, “he thought that was why you came over, and when you didn’t ask, he thought you forgot about it and would call him when you got home. But you didn’t.”
“They Lord,” I murmured, although I do not approve of taking the Lord’s name in vain. In this case, however—and in many others—it was a prayer for help. “It just never occurred to me to ask, and I don’t know why it didn’t. But of course I will, and right away, too. Do you know what recipes he wants to contribute?”
Lloyd grinned. “He said he didn’t know any off the top of his head because he just cooks natural-like. But he figured he could come up with something if somebody happened to ask.”
“And that somebody would be me, wouldn’t it?” I smiled at him. ”I will most certainly rectify my lapse. Thank you for letting me know, Lloyd.
“Now, Lloyd,” I went on, figuring it was as good a time as any to do a little probing, “you have certainly been a good friend to James. I’ve been proud of the way you’ve looked after him and how you’ve done whatever you could to make him comfortable. However, I am concerned about all the money he’s been sending off as donations, but which are really an effort to win more money. I would like to think that you’d be able to discourage him from giving away what he can’t afford. Those things are scams aimed at people who are naïve enough to think everyone is as decent as they are.”
“Yes, ma’am, I was a little worried about that at first, too. Especially after I saw his monthly bills. I didn’t know how much it takes just to buy a few groceries and pay the phone bill and put gas in his truck. And if J.D. and Mama didn’t pay his electric bill and heat bill, he wouldn’t have anything left. What’s left is what he uses to enter contests, but . . .” Lloyd stopped as if he’d come too close to revealing something he wasn’t supposed to reveal. His eyes darted around the room. “But, well, he says he’s not going to send in any more forms. He’s through with them.”
“Yes, he told me the same thing. And the reason, he said, is because he’s hit the jackpot. Do you know anything about that?”
“Um, well, no’m, not much.” Lloyd looked away from me. “I can’t tell, Miss Julia. James made me promise not to because he wants it to be a surprise. And it really will be a surprise. I can hardly believe it myself and I saw the letter—I mean the e-mail.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to break a promise, so we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? I hope he won’t be too disappointed to find that it’s another scam, as seems highly likely to me.”
“He told me you said they were all scams and that he’d be better off playing the lottery.” Lloyd grinned. “He was really scandalized about that. Said he couldn’t believe a fine Christian lady like you would tell somebody to start gambling.”
“Yes, and I asked him what he thought he’d been doing sending in all those forms. But,” I said, sighing, “it didn’t do any good.”
Lloyd soon went to his room to do his homework, leaving me to ponder James’s big surprise. Lloyd knew more than he was telling—that was obvious. But having escaped the trap of making promises I didn’t want to keep, I was somewhat proud of him for having kept his. That didn’t stop me from wanting to find out, however.
As I thought over the conversation with Lloyd, I doodled with my pencil on one of the recipes from Miss Mattie that I’d hurriedly taken down over the phone. LOTTERY, I wrote, then underlined it and circled it over and over. LOTTERY, LOTTERY: LOTERÍA.
“My word,” I said, sitting straight up in amazement. “I’ve just translated Spanish.”
Chapter 34
So James was playing the lottery, in spite of his righteous indignation at the thought of gambling. Of course, with that multitude of entry forms he’d been sending in, he might not have realized he was buying a lottery ticket instead of donating to a cause. Although how he’d known about a cause in Spain to supposedly donate to was beyond me.
Well, it was none of my business now that I’d been reassured that Lloyd was not involved. If James had actually won a jackpot, he’d get his wish to surprise us, because I truly would be. And he would be, too, when the Internal Revenue Service came calling.
I went to bed that night dreading the morning, when Lillian, Granny Wiggins, and I would take charge of Hazel Marie’s babies. What if one of them got hurt? Or sick? What if they cried all day? What if I had to go get Hazel Marie and bring her home with her hair still wet and bleaching out under a processing cap? In spite of the worrying, however, I slept well and awoke determined to do what I had to do to save Hazel Marie’s marriage. The possibility did occur to me that Velma’s ministrations on Hazel M
arie might not work—that Mr. Pickens was too far gone for a Clairol 126 application, OPI-polished finger- and toenails, professional makeup, and a little cleavage to reverse his headlong course toward strange women. But, I sighed, we do what we can.
I thought I’d never get Hazel Marie out of the house that Monday morning. I insisted on dropping her at Velma’s myself because I didn’t want her to have an easy way to get home if she suddenly decided she had to check on her babies. But finally, teary-eyed and looking back at the house, she got in my car.
”I’ve never been away from them so long,” she said as I quickly cranked the car and got us on our way. “It shouldn’t take but an hour or so, don’t you think?”
I was tempted to say, Have you looked in the mirror lately? but I didn’t. Instead, I said, ”Maybe a little longer, but you have your cell phone. You can check in with us and we can certainly let you know if we need you. Try to enjoy it, Hazel Marie. You’ll feel so much better when it’s done.”
”I guess,” she said, forcing a little smile. ”I know my hair could use some help.” She laughed. ”I’ll probably go to sleep as soon as I get in the chair.”
”I hope you do. Just look at this as a day of rest.”
Actually it was one of the longest days of my life. I’d never realized how tethered one feels when one has to stay inside at the beck and call of an infant—two infants, in this case. Every time I sat down, one of them needed something else. Lillian was wonderful with them, calling them the best babies in the world.
I wouldn’t know, having never had the opportunity to compare. But if they were the best, in spite of the constant wails for diaper changes, spit-up wipings, hand-feeding, bottle holding, and on and on, I’d hate to see the worst.
Of course it wasn’t all that bad. There were lots of cooings and smiles and gurgles, and I admit to feeling great swells of tenderness as they went down for their naps. Nothing is sweeter than a sleeping baby.
Granny Wiggins was there, along with Lillian and me. She very quickly saw how uneasy I was with baby care, so as soon as I picked up a fussy one, there she was taking it from me. And talk? That woman could evermore talk.
As soon as the babies went down for their morning nap, I’d thought the three of us could sit around the table, have some coffee, and engage in conversation as we regathered our strength.
But that woman never stopped talking, not even while she pinned an old towel around the broom and went after the dust on the crown moldings. And when she finished with that, she got down on her hands and knees and cleaned the baseboards, still talking. Lillian kept shaking her head at the torrent of words issuing from Granny’s mouth. I concentrated on tuning it out.
Hazel Marie called three times during the morning, once to say that she’d forgo a pedicure so she could come on home.
“Don’t you dare,” I told her. “You’re scheduled for the full treatment and, since you’re already there, you might as well get it. Everything is fine here, Hazel Marie, and, believe me, if it wasn’t, you would be the first to know. I’d be down there in a flash to get you.”
I clicked off the phone and turned to Lillian and Granny, who had been listening. “Good thing I made sure that Velma hid her clothes. Although I expect Hazel Marie wouldn’t hesitate to run home in a terry-cloth robe if she thought the babies needed her.”
Before they could respond, the phone rang again. It was Sam saying that he was bringing lunch. “And for James, too,” he said. “How about Brother Vern? Is he there?”
“No, thank goodness,” I said. “He’d already left by the time I got here this morning. And so had Mr. Pickens. So it’s just three babysitters. And James and you.”
I looked forward to a pleasant lunch of take-out sandwiches, especially with Sam joining us, but it didn’t work out that way. About the time he pulled up to the curb and came in carrying several bags, both babies woke up and, from the sound of them, were starving to death. So out came the high chairs and the long baby spoons and the jars of pureed food because their needs came before anything else. Granny fed with one hand and ate her sandwich with the other, while Lillian and I took turns, one feeding and one eating. And of course Hazel Marie called again in the middle of the din, and it was all I could do to assure her that we had things well in hand.
After we had the babies fed, washed, and redressed—we’d forgotten the bibs—we adjourned to the living room. Granny spread out a quilt on the floor and put the babies on it. Then she got down on the floor with them, while I marveled at her agility. Frankly, if I’d gotten down there, I’d have needed a crane to get back up. Well, maybe with Sam’s help I could’ve regained my feet, but I didn’t want to risk it.
After Sam left, Lillian said, “Wonder how Miss Hazel Marie gettin’ along by now.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s about time for her to call. Maybe she’s having a massage and can’t get up right now.”
Granny glanced up. “Might be her toenail polish’s not dry an’ she can’t put on her shoes. Reckon you ought to call her and let her know we’re all right?”
“I don’t think so. She’d probably have a heart attack before I could say more than one word.”
I leaned back against the sofa, resting from the hectic morning, eventually assuring myself that it hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected. Raising my head, I said, “She should be calling to come home in a little while, but if you ladies aren’t entirely given out, what do you think of staying on so she and Mr. Pickens can go out to dinner?”
“Why, that’s a dandy idee,” Granny said. “She’ll be all gussied up and ready to knock that man’s socks off. I say let’s do it. What about you, Miss Lillian?”
“I was jus’ thinkin’ the same thing,” Lillian said. “I can fix us some supper here an’ Mr. Sam can eat with us. An’ Lloyd an’ Latisha will be home from school an’ they can, too. ’Course we’ll feed James an’ I guess Mr. Brother Vern’ll be here. Wonder what she got in her kitchen I can cook.”
“Whatever you decide to fix will be fine,” I said. “One of us can go to the store and get what you need.”
So it was decided and, after calling Sam to tell him we’d all eat at the Pickens house and to bring Lloyd and Latisha over with him, I called Mr. Pickens to let him know he had a dinner date with his wife. Unhappily, though, the call went to voice mail, so I had to leave a message, something I hated doing, as I wanted an enthusiastically affirmative response from him.
“What if he can’t go?” Lillian asked, a hint of worry in her eyes. “He might be too busy. Workin’, I mean.”
“He can just unbusy himself,” I said, although what he might be busy doing worried me, too. Nonetheless, I looked over Lillian’s grocery list and prepared to head out to the store.
“I’ll take my cell phone,” I said as I put on my coat, “so if Hazel Marie calls to say she’s ready to come home, call me and I’ll pick her up on my way back.”
“You want me to tell her she goin’ out with Mr. Pickens tonight?”
I thought about that for a minute. “No, maybe not yet. Let’s be sure he’s not on a case first. Besides, she’ll be anxious to see the babies and might say she wants to stay home. I think we ought to make it a fait accompli, don’t you?”
“No’m I think we ought to set it all up ’fore she knows what we doin’. That way she can’t get out of it.”
“I agree,” I said and left to do the grocery shopping.
Hurrying along the aisles, as I checked off items on the list, I was anxious to finish before Hazel Marie called. If I kept her waiting any length of time, it wouldn’t surprise me if she started walking home.
Just as I got the groceries in the car, Lillian called to say Hazel Marie was ready. Perfect timing, I thought, congratulating myself. Now, to try Mr. Pickens again to put him on notice that he was taking his wife out to dinner.
I sat in the car while making the ca
ll, wanting it all confirmed before telling Hazel Marie she’d be going out that evening. But voice mail again. Where was that man? And what was he doing that he couldn’t answer his phone?
I turned on the ignition and began to weave through parked cars in the lot to the street. Stopped at the edge of the lot by a line of cars waiting at a red light, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, even more anxious now to pick up Hazel Marie.
As I waited to pull out onto the street, my gaze wandered until it suddenly stopped on a certain black low-slung sports car only two cars to my right. Straining to see, I made out two heads in the car—one that I certainly recognized on the driver’s side and the other with a bushy head of dark hair just as Lillian had described.
Chapter 35
What was the man doing? Looking for another secluded parking lot? No wonder he was going right past the Winn-Dixie. If he pulled in there, he’d be seen by half the town.
I was finally able to get out into the lane of traffic, and my first impulse was to follow Mr. Pickens. But he was three or four cars ahead, and Hazel Marie was waiting. There was nothing to do but turn off and drive to Velma’s. And to pretend that I wasn’t outraged over a certain husband’s flagrant double life, which, I angrily reminded myself, he was making little or no effort to hide.
Hazel Marie was out the door of Velma’s salon before I’d come to a full stop. She hopped into the car, talking and asking questions nonstop.
“How did they do?” she asked. “Did they nap? Have they been fussy?”
“Everything went fine,” I said, after giving her a detailed account. “And yes, they napped and they haven’t been fussy. Hazel Marie, you look like a picture.” And she did. Her face had color and so did her hair. Velma had outdone herself in both venues. Hazel Marie was totally remade, except for that loose running suit she had on, which I hoped she’d replace with a form-fitting dress of some kind.
