Belinda thought how her mother would have gotten a kick out of the entire service. Her mother was a lively woman, and she would have enjoyed the frowns on the faces of the Peele sisters and a few others.
But then Belinda realized that she rather enjoyed a lot of it, too. This realization perturbed her. After all, she was way too young for such old-time music.
Running her gaze again over the congregation, Belinda came to a realization, which seemed a little sorrowful, considering the term “church family,” that there was not one person, with the possible exception of Emma, in all that crowd whom she would call a close friend. Marilee was family, not one in whom to confide. In fact, there was not one person anywhere in the world she could claim as a close enough friend in whom to confide her situation.
She was not certain what this fact illustrated about herself, but she could see what it illustrated about her life.
The one person to whom she was the closest was Lyle, and he was the last person in the world she could tell about her situation.
With that thought, her gaze dropped to her hands, which clutched each other in her lap.
The next instant that she became aware of anything, she was outside the church, going down the steps. She even had her umbrella held over her head, thank goodness, because it was still raining. She got into her car and closed the door. She sat there a moment to collect herself before backing up and turning for the exit.
Gazing out the windshield, beyond the rhythmic swish of the wipers, she pressed the accelerator. One mile, and she was clear of most of town. She punched the button of the CD player, and the bluesy sound of Mark Knopfler filled the car, which sped over the blacktop. She saw little on the road. She was looking inside at her own perplexity and fear and confusion.
It was in the back of her mind. Little Creek Cemetery. Her father was buried there. And there came the barest whisper: Artamincy Tice…mystic, herbalist… Her house is there, just on the other side.
Belinda bit her bottom lip and let up on the accelerator. Then she pressed it again.
Through the wet windshield, she saw the sign for Little Creek Cemetery up ahead. It leaned toward the ditch that was filling with water.
Then…there was a car pulled to the side. It was Paris Miller’s beat-up Impala, with the hood up. As Belinda passed, she saw Paris leaning in toward the engine.
Instantly Belinda let up on the gas pedal and expertly made a U-turn, her tires spinning and sinking as she drove off the road. She returned to the Impala, stopped and lowered her window, blinking in the sprinkles hitting her face.
“Sugar…get over in here out of the rain.”
Paris looked up. The poor girl resembled a wet puppy dog. “Sometimes the carburetor just takes spells…. I usually can get it goin’ again.”
Belinda raised her window against the rain but sat there. Then she lowered the window again and told the girl firmly, “Come on…I’ll take you home.” The rain coming in was very annoying.
Thankfully, the girl shut the hood, reached inside the car and got her purse and hurried around to the passenger side of Belinda’s Chrysler. She hesitated. “I’m soaked, Miz Belinda.”
“Oh, sugar…just get in. These seats’ll dry.” She punched a button, turning the heater fan on high.
The girl slipped inside and sat compressed, as if not to spread her dampness. Belinda asked her where she had been going, to which she replied, “I just needed a drive.”
They passed the mailbox with Artamincy Tice painted on it. Belinda glanced over to see Paris looking down the driveway. Could she have been coming to see Artamincy? She found the idea disturbing. What Belinda had thought of doing, the girl was way too young to think about. If she were in trouble, she needed to get reliable help. Belinda wrestled with knowing what to say.
She asked the girl if she wanted to go home, and Paris said she did. Belinda attempted a few comments to encourage conversation, but all she got from the girl in return were short sentences and a lot of silence. It was as if she were trying not to take up too much space or words in the world. Not only did Belinda have the urge to say, Let me wash that mess off your face and get those earrings out of your eyebrows, but she wanted to scream, Sugar, take a deep breath, or you’re gonna die!
What she finally did say was that she would phone Lyle and have him take care of getting the car to Paris’s home.
“Oh, but…” Paris began.
“It won’t be any trouble. It’s part of his job, you know.” Belinda often gave Lyle jobs; she already had her cell phone to her ear.
She reached him at the sheriff’s office, and, like he always did to any of her requests, he said he would handle it.
Belinda knew where Paris lived; she had some time ago delivered medicine to the grandfather, Joe Miller, a decorated Vietnam veteran. But still, the sight of that wreck of a house struck her hard as she stopped in front.
Paris thanked her, and then, “Miz Belinda?”
“Yes, sugar?”
“Do you know anything that my granddaddy could take to make him stop drinkin’?”
Ah…that explained the proximity to Artamincy Tice’s place.
“Well, there are some medicines that people have used to help battle the addiction, but they do not cure. It would take a lot of cooperation from your grandfather, too. A lot of help emotionally and physically.”
The girl looked downward.
“Has he ever been to Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“He won’t go. Thanks again.” The girl opened the door.
Belinda put a hand on her arm. “Sugar…you can get some help. I have a friend…I don’t have the phone number right now, but I have it at the drugstore. There’s a flyer on the bulletin board for a group called Al-Anon, and my friend’s number. She’s really nice, and I think talkin’ to her would help you. Next time you are in there, you get the number. Okay?”
The girl gave a slight nod, ducking her head. She started to get out again, but Belinda said, “Listen…if you need help—money, a place to stay, anything—you come to me. I mean it. You can always get me through the drugstore number, and you know where I live.”
Paris’s gaze passed quickly over hers, and then she was out of the car with a mumbled thanks.
Belinda, somewhat startled at the offer she had made, watched the girl jump over puddles in the driveway and then enter through a side door. Her gaze went again over the small house. The sight of it through the rain was somewhat alarming. It was hard to believe that people actually lived there.
Driving off, Belinda thought of the young woman, living with her handicapped grandfather. Paris’s mother had run off and left her as a baby.
The thought stabbed. The weight of the very world lay on a mother’s shoulders. Belinda just did not think she could hold up.
CHAPTER 8
Steak Night at the Main Street Café
FAYRENE WAS MAKING FRESH COFFEE WHEN SHE saw Belinda and Lyle come into the café. It was steak special night, which generally brought Lyle in. At least twice a week Belinda stopped in for takeout. Belinda did not like to cook, and as much as Fayrene wanted to be catty about this, she could not, because Fayrene herself suffered that same malady. It seemed an odd trait for a woman who owned a restaurant. Look at that Paula Deen—she blew her love of cooking into a restaurant, and then a hit television show and bestselling books.
People were all the time asking Fayrene about the café’s recipe for potato salad or guacamole. She could not tell them that both came premade from a restaurant supply company, and she swore her cooks to secrecy.
Belinda and Lyle, while chatting with other customers as they crossed the café, headed for their usual rear booth. Fayrene glanced over to see if the booth was empty. She was somewhat disappointed to see that it was. It seemed in that moment to be further evidence of Belinda Blaine’s charmed life. And Belinda was one to go after what she wanted. At least one time when the booth had not been empty, Belinda had asked the occupant to move—but it had just been Ar
lo with a girlfriend.
Bringing the couple the tall glasses of cold sweet tea, with lemon, that she knew they wanted, Fayrene went to the table. She prided herself on remembering the preferences of her regulars and on giving prompt service.
“How are y’all tonight?” she said, setting the beverages on the table and even getting napkins to put under them. She would never give Belinda an opportunity to point out a lapse, no, ma’am.
“Hi, Fayrene.” Belinda was always friendly as could be, and totally to annoy her, Fayrene knew. “Where’s Denise tonight?”
“Over to Altus. Her sister’s sick. We’ve got real good prime T-bones tonight, Lyle.” Fayrene cut her gaze to the deputy. She knew he would get the steak no matter what. Belinda, she could not guess. Belinda chose something different all the time. That’s the sort of woman she was. Fayrene, if she stopped to think about it, which she rarely did, could tell a lot about her customers by their ordering patterns.
Lyle ordered the T-bone, and Belinda chose the grilled honey-chicken with rice and steamed green beans.
“And bring me a dish of applesauce and two slices of corn bread—if it’s what Woody made,” Belinda added, raising an eyebrow that Fayrene noticed was a perfect feminine shape.
“It is,” said Fayrene, making the note. Belinda was never shy about eating a lot.
It was just so annoying how Belinda was a fat woman but managed to go around looking so good. Her skin was alabaster—women would die for her skin—and she knew how to dress to advantage. It was amazing, but whenever Belinda walked into the café, men’s heads turned to watch her. Fayrene had seen it, and she just could not understand it.
The thing that annoyed her most was Belinda’s attitude. She was just so sure of herself. While Fayrene, tall and wearing the same size eight that she wore at twenty-one, and with good hair and talents of her own, had never in her life felt sure of herself more than a few fleeting hours at a time, and that usually when alone or when starting a new antidepressant medication. She was fifty-six years old now, and she had thought that she would be confident of everything by this age. She owned her own business and ran it well—yes, ma’am, she did—and had taken care of her own self for years, and supported her mother, too. She had just tried so hard for years to grow up, and she really wanted to do so now that she had somehow been blessed, and Andy had dropped into her life.
Just then, she looked over and saw Andy come through the kitchen door, as if summoned by her very thoughts.
He smiled. “What do you think?” With arms out, he showed off his new shirt, denim sport coat and jeans. He had left work earlier, going off with Woody to buy some new clothes.
Then he thrilled her by leaning over to kiss her cheek.
The next instant he had turned and disappeared back into the kitchen so fast that she was left staring at the swinging door.
“Hey, Fay…how about a bit more coffee over here?” It was Morley Lund down at the end of the counter. As she refilled his cup, Luwanna came around behind her, saying, “Two men just came in for table five, and I’m about to pee my pants, I’ve waited so long. Can you take care of ’em? I’ll be right back.”
Fayrene got the new customers—a couple of strangers who asked if there was a motel in town, so she told them about the Goodnight—set up with waters and coffee, and gave them the lowdown on the special. Then she had to get a round of refills of coffee before she could get back into the kitchen, hoping to catch Andy before he left again.
When she went through the swinging door, she saw the totally unexpected sight of Belinda Blaine standing there. Carrying on a conversation with Andy. Right there, yes, ma’am, Belinda had come right into her kitchen to chat with her own boyfriend.
Fayrene flushed. She would have died had anyone been able to read her mind, and she always felt like Belinda could do that. She quickly busied herself checking the orders on the wheel, but she called over her shoulder, “This kitchen is way too small for visitors. There’s Board of Health rules, you know.”
Belinda replied, “I had just heard so much about your new waiter that I wanted to meet him. Oh, are those our plates?”
Nearby, Carlos was loading Belinda’s and Lyle’s orders onto a tray to carry out.
“Yes, they are,” said Fayrene.
Belinda said a breezy goodbye to Andy and went out, stopping to hold open the door for Carlos to carry the heavy tray.
Fayrene made a to-do of checking the stock of clean dishes, keeping her face from Andy. It was too much, Belinda coming right in like that, to a place that was all Fayrene’s. Suddenly Fayrene saw everything so differently. The worn face of the kitchen, and the worn face of herself, and that Andy was younger and so sophisticated.
Then behind her Andy said, “How about we take some steak dinners over to Woody’s house? And I’ll buy, seeing as how I’m earning now. Can you get away, darl’?”
“Oh.” His movie-star accent crept down her spine. She looked around over her shoulder and searched his eyes.
He actually appeared hopeful. Earnest.
“Well…okay…I can…if you can wait another fifteen minutes. Gail should be here to replace Denise then.”
He smiled and gave a wink. “I’ll give Woody a call and tell him we’re on.”
Happily she told the cook to put on three steaks, then headed up the stairs to get out of her waitress uniform and fix her face.
She was tearing her dress over her head when she remembered that she had not waited for Gail, and likely Luwanna and Carlos were running their feet off downstairs.
It was Belinda running her feet off, although in an unhurried manner. When Fayrene did not come back out from the kitchen, and Belinda wanted a refill on her cold tea, she got up and got it herself.
When Luwanna saw Belinda with the tea pitcher, she called, “Will you go round the room?”
Belinda refilled cold-tea glasses and visited with those she knew and those she did not, which were two men who appeared to be traveling salesmen or something like that. They were nicely dressed. Maybe real-estate investors. Valentine was getting a lot of that sort these days. The men ended up giving her their orders, because they had been overlooked and were not happy about it, either. Belinda went to the window and told the orders to the cook. While doing that, she rose up on tiptoe and tried to see around the kitchen. Neither Andy nor Fayrene was in sight.
“Can I have two more pieces of corn bread as payment for my work?” she asked the cook, then carried them back to the table, to finish her own half-eaten meal.
Belinda asked, “What do you know about this Andy Smith?”
Lyle replied, “Well…he came in with Woody one mornin’. Seems like a nice guy. He’s just jumped in to help Fayrene. She had a refrigerator go on the blink that first mornin’ he was here, and he fixed it. He needed a job, and Fayrene gave him one.”
“That’s all? Didn’t you run a check on him?”
“No. He hasn’t broken any law.”
She frowned at that. “Well, he does not seem like the type who would be hitchhiking across America or somethin’. Don’t you think it is strange that he just showed up here in Valentine?”
Lyle shrugged. “Everybody has to be somewhere. And unless he was to break a law, it is none of my business. If we ran a check on people for no reason, we’d be at it night and day….”
“Lyle, sugar, would you please not point with your knife?”
He put the knife down. “Sorry, honey. But I am duty bound not to go runnin’ makes on people just because of curiosity. I signed an oath, you know. It’s invasion of privacy…and runnin’ background checks costs money, and it comes from us taxpayers. Even if we did run a check, we could come up empty, which doesn’t mean anything….”
He went on, and Belinda did her best to pay attention. Her eyes kept moving to the kitchen door, but Fayrene never did come back.
Later, as they drove home, perhaps watching the coral setting sun made her melancholy, but Belinda said, “Lyle, I’m just a littl
e worried about Fayrene, that’s all. We do not know anything about this Andy guy. He could be a con man, who goes around lookin’ for women that he can bamboozle out of money, or even their businesses. Maybe he marries women and kills them.”
The idea that the man might be after the café seemed a little far-fetched. Yet it was also a little far-fetched that Belinda could be so worried about Fayrene, but she actually was.
“Fayrene is a woman on her own, and she is our neighbor. I think you should see what you can find out about this Andy fella.”
Belinda spoke in such a way that Lyle nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” And the rest of the drive home he told her the ways and means that he would do the checking.
When they entered the house, the phone was ringing. It was Belinda’s mother.
“It’s your mother in France,” her mother said.
Belinda replied to this, “Oh, I was expectin’ my mother in China.”
“What time is it there?” her mother asked, as if Belinda had not said a word.
The time and weather were discussed, and then the special that evening at the café, at which time Belinda found herself talking of the stranger who had showed up and with whom Fayrene seemed in love. She told all about Andy and her concerns, and that Lyle was going to run a check.
When Belinda got off the phone, she thought back over the conversation. She realized that she had talked for twenty minutes with her mother about Fayrene’s life, and together they had attempted to figure out what could be done for the woman’s welfare. They had even discussed the café and how well Fayrene had done with it, and what else still could be done with it. Yet Belinda could not tell her own mother about her own difficulty that so desperately needed straightening out.
Most of the time it was far easier to straighten out the lives of other people than to work on one’s own.
Little Town, Great Big Life Page 8
