Woody lived on the street behind the café. It was a street of older two-story homes, with porches front and back, and narrow but deep yards. Fayrene had been known to holler out a rear window of her apartment above the café to Woody in his yard.
“Thank you much for my good supper, Miss Fayrene,” Woody told her as she got ready to leave. He stood in the kitchen door, with the light behind him. “But you tell Selena she needs to learn how to sear those steaks a bit more.”
“You know I am not goin’ to tell her any such thing and risk her quittin’,” Fayrene said. Laughing and feeling very much a young woman, she bid him goodbye and went lightly down the steps into the dark yard, with Andy right behind her.
Andy took her arm in the shadowed and unfamiliar yard. He had been living with Woody for more than a week now and had helped the older man with his extensive gardening. He knew the yard was clear to the rear concrete wall that separated it from the alley behind the café.
There was no gate in the wall, but a stile to climb over.
“I can get home from here,” she told him. “You go on back—it’s cold.”
“Oooh, nooo, darl’. I’ll see you properly to your door.”
It sounded like he called her doll, and his tone caused warmth to wash over her.
Andy stopped just outside the pool of light at the rear of the café. Fayrene looked at him, and he bent his head, avoiding her mouth and kissing her cheek. “In you go…” He opened the door, told her to sleep well, then turned and hurried away into the shadows, jogging to the stile. He felt her gaze, and as he went over the concrete wall, he saw her standing at the door watching him.
When he came through the back door, he saw the glowing red hands of the kitchen wall clock. It was nearly eleven-thirty. The kitchen was dark, but warm lamplight shone from the living room.
Woody sat there, filling an old gooseneck rocker with his sizable girth, an enormous mug of coffee near at hand. The older man drank coffee seemingly nonstop, either black or laced thick with sugar, and slept only about four hours a night.
Andy started to tell the man good-night, but Woody said, “Sit with me a few minutes, if you would?”
There was nothing to do but go over to the opposite well-worn chair and sit. He rubbed his hands down his thighs, waiting for the question he knew was to come and attempting to form an answer.
“I think it might be best if you tell me what you’re runnin’ from, boy…and why you think it necessary to put on that phony accent.”
Andy swallowed. He had not expected the bit about his accent.
“The accent is only half-phony,” he said, without a trace of it. “I was born in Australia. My father was, is, Australian.”
“Uh-huh.” Woody regarded him expectantly.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Why not start with your real name?”
“Ansel…Ansel Sullivan. But when I was a kid, I was often called Andy.”
Woody nodded.
Andy tried to read the older man’s face but couldn’t. He pressed his palms on his thighs and shifted in his seat. Finally he said, “Back almost two years ago, I got involved with an organized group of cargo thieves. Semitruck cargo theft.”
Woody did that nodding thing.
“Well, it was a nationwide operation, and not the sort to let a guy out once he’s in with them.”
Now that he had begun, he was finding it easier. Woody had spoken of a rough life himself—a wild twenty-year career playing piano in “juke joints” all over the South and up to Chicago, even, with Otis Spann and Louis Armstrong. The big man nodded his dark head as Andy went on to tell how he had been a junior partner in a large trucking company that operated mostly along the Southern corridors. They had been based in Dallas but then opened a terminal in Los Angeles.
“I know I was stupid. I’m not even certain how I got into it—my wife left me, and I had so much debt…and I was so mad at everyone and everything. I guess I just didn’t care about anything,” he said, rubbing his forehead.
Woody asked exactly what he had done.
Andy explained that his part had been to provide the information of what was in the trucks and the best times to intercept them. He knew all the schedules. At first it was done easily, guards bribed. But then things expanded, and there were guards who wanted a lot more money, or who would not take bribes. Two guards got beat up, and one shot. Not killed, but hospitalized. That was when Andy wanted out but was told that wasn’t possible.
He had started out on a vacation up in Colorado, stopping in Oklahoma City for a few days for business meetings. Their trucking company was expanding again with a new terminal there. While he was in Oklahoma City, a couple of men from the theft ring paid him a visit, wanting to be let in on the details. “It was like this great, growing spiderweb,” he said in anguish.
After his meetings, while walking back to his hotel, he decided to just walk out of his life. He had had the idea in the back of his mind for weeks, had brought extra money with him for his vacation. And no one would miss him. The only thing his ex-wife would miss was the alimony checks. He had no kids, no siblings; his mother was dead, and he was estranged from his father, who lived in Australia. He had no close friends, had gradually lost them all. He had hit rock bottom.
He called his secretary to tell her that he was off for Colorado for two weeks of vacation. No one was likely to start looking for him until those two weeks had passed. Then he packed all that he could in the one duffel bag, dropped his other suitcases and belongings at a local homeless shelter and sold his car to one of those small car dealers, receiving cash. He took a cab to the nearest truck stop, where he hitched a ride.
He waited a few moments for a response from Woody, who did no more than nod thoughtfully.
Andy then said, “Two of the men from the organization came into the café this evening.”
“Ah-huh.” This time Woody’s eyes flickered with sharp interest.
“They must be checking around in the towns along the highway I took. I didn’t think about them doin’ that. I didn’t count on anyone lookin’ for me already. I guess they tried to reach me in Colorado.”
Woody pulled on his ear.
Andy said, “But those guys aren’t likely to stay and look around. They’ll check the motel, not find me and move on. I think most people would assume I’ve headed down to Mexico.”
Woody nodded, closing one eye in thought. “I guess you’d better not work the breakfast shift tomorrow mornin’, just in case.”
Andy breathed a little more easily. The old man seemed to be on his side.
Then Woody said, “You watch yourself with Miss Fayrene. She’s got a tender heart.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I guess you’d better get on up and get some sleep.”
The big man had a voice to be obeyed.
“Yeah…thanks, Woody.”
Woody nodded and watched the younger man disappear up the stairs. He wondered how much of Andy’s story was true. Sometimes people lied to themselves so much that they completely lost track of the truth.
The streetlights and the large Blaine’s Drugstore sign illuminated Fayrene’s apartment over the café, all the way through the living room and into the bedroom. It was an exceedingly romantic room, with lots of floral print and lace. She had made it up from several magazine covers.
She came out of her bathroom after her extensive ablutions, in which she attempted to hold back time, and had plenty of light to see to get into bed. She sighed as she sank onto her three down-filled pillows. Her hair was pinned back from her face, and she had Frownies taped on her brow and at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but in her mind’s eye she saw herself as a womanly beauty, lying romantically in the speckled light, enjoying dreams of the man in her life. Finally, her prince had come.
I do so know a lot about him, she mentally answered a voice that sounded vaguely like a cross between her mother and Belinda Blaine.
“Nothin
g?” Belinda said. They were in her small office in the back of the store.
“Nothin’ on any Andy Smith matchin’ this guy’s description. There’s no priors and no warrants of any kind. Not even any traffic violations, at least not in Oklahoma. In fact, there’s not an Oklahoma driver’s license for any Andy Smith matchin’ his description.”
“Can you check other states?”
“He could have a license from another country, but, honey, unless he breaks some law, I just don’t like pryin’ into the guy’s life. That’s abusin’ the office.”
It was always difficult for Lyle to deny Belinda anything, much less stand up to her. She might have been a lot shorter than he was, but she was tougher. Only his regard for what was right about the law enabled him to take a stand now.
“I don’t think Andy Smith is his name,” she said.
“Probably not, but usin’ an alias is not against the law. People have private lives and a right to live them.”
He noticed her look at him for a long minute with an expression that raised his curiosity, but then he decided not to take a chance, and distracted her by grabbing her and kissing her. She responded quickly, before pushing him aside, as the bell rang out above the drugstore door as people entered.
She said, “Go on home and make one of your sleepin’ drinks with yogurt. I bought you a fresh quart.”
“Okay, honey.” He kissed her cheek. “I sure love you.”
She watched him leave and pass in front of the plate-glass window. Her hand went to her belly. She was going to have to tell him. She was going to have to tell him all of it.
But not yet. She had time. She would wait and see.
CHAPTER 9
Girls to Women
TEACHER MEETINGS! SCHOOL LET OUT AN HOUR early. Corrine and Paris came running out, and threw themselves and their backpacks into Paris’s car. Paris turned the key, and the car chugged in a manner that made them hold their breath. Then it caught. They grinned at each other.
Belinda Blaine’s voice—it was the About Town and Beyond report—came out of the radio as Paris headed the car out of the parking lot. “…incident of burning leaves gettin’ away. A cedar tree in Leon Purvis’s yard went up like a torch, while Leon stood there tryin’ to dribble it to death. I saw this myself, because I was makin’ a delivery to Margaret Wyatt across the street, when I heard this big whoosh and turned and saw the tree, and Leon standing there with his hose. Leon said that he had not checked, and the hose turned out to have so many leaks from being left out during the winter that only a small stream came out the end.
“Now, for Beyond, here is the latest letter from my mother in France….”
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
Corrine said, “Belinda says stuff just like that all the time, real serious, but it just comes out funny. The other day I heard her talkin’ to a customer on the phone, and she said, ‘Sugar, I don’t know what to tell you. I guess just get better or die.’” Corrine’s imitation caused both girls to laugh out loud.
“How’s your aunt Marilee takin’ you workin’?” Paris asked. “You not bein’ around all the time?”
“Oh, okay. She has Rosalba, who’s really good help.” Corrine turned her gaze out the windshield. That Aunt Marilee was okay with it was not exactly true. Aunt Marilee had asked several times if Corrine liked her job, and when Corrine said she did, Aunt Marilee had all but cried. Corrine still felt that she had abandoned her aunt, no matter that she also knew perfectly well that she had to grow up and live her own life.
“So you like workin’ for Miss Belinda?” Paris shot her a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah…it’s pretty cool. She’s particular, but she’s okay. I meant to tell you that if you want any makeup or anything, I can get it for you at ten percent discount.”
“Hey, cool. I’ll take a look.”
After a minute of thinking and deciding it was okay because she wasn’t mentioning names, Corrine said, “Some people come to the back door of the drugstore, and Belinda gives them stuff. One time I saw her give a barbecue lunch, and another time I saw her take cash out of the drawer and give it to this guy.”
“Really?” Paris looked ahead. She herself had done the same while clerking at the Quick Stop. Usually kids that she knew who didn’t have a lot of snacks to eat. They might steal it, if she did not simply give it, and the Berrys, who owned the Quick Stop, told her to give if she thought it necessary. She couldn’t tell this to Corrine, though.
Corrine was saying, “Uh-huh. It was to that old guy you see pickin’ up pop cans all the time. I just never expected that to go on—people to come to the rear door of the drugstore.”
Paris thought of how Corrine lived, in Mr. Winston’s big house, and with a beautiful bedroom and just about anything she could want—and two mothers, her aunt Marilee and her own mother down in Louisiana.
Corrine was saying, “Well, Belinda acts pretty tough, but she isn’t. She gives people free stuff all the time. She gives Willie Lee and Munro free ice cream—the drugstore is the only store in town where Munro can come. And she doesn’t bill anything that old Minnie Oakes steals.”
Just then, squinting in the bright light, Corrine saw Willie Lee pushing Mr. Winston in his wheelchair along the sidewalk. Munro trotted along behind them. They appeared to have just come out of the IGA.
She rolled down her window. “Hey, Mr. Winston… Hey, Willie Lee!”
Paris slowed and waved, too.
Mr. Winston had gotten a motorized wheelchair at a yard sale, and sometimes Willie Lee simply walked along beside; however, very often the motor failed. Mr. Winston refused to buy a new one. He said, “I’m dead set on seein’ which of us goes first, the chair or me.”
“You know what Belinda says to this?” Corrine told Paris. “She says, ‘I’ll get my gun and satisfy your curiosity.’ Mr. Winston and Belinda act like they don’t like each other, but she waits on him hand and foot.”
The two girls decided they had time to cruise the length of Main Street before Corrine had to get to work. Windows rolled down, they waved and hollered at everyone they knew. There were a number of other cruising teens doing the same thing, giving evidence of the full arrival of spring at last.
It seemed to have come overnight. The previous day, the new digital sign in front of city hall, Mayor Upchurch’s pride and joy, had a temperature reading of forty-five degrees. Paris pointed to the sign now; it read sixty-eight.
Up and down Main Street, the decorative flags of the spring season had been attached to the light poles, and signs in plate-glass windows announced all manner of spring specials. Grace Florist had their green awning unfurled and a display of assorted flowers in buckets of water out front. They always sold double the amount of bouquets all through summer with this technique.
Across the street, the Main Street Café advertised new healthy salads made with organic spring greens, and Fayrene had even been overheard once again giving voice to the idea of setting up tables on the sidewalk out front. She had been thinking about it for three years. What held her back was the thought of the winds. As Winston kept telling her, “Darlin’, this is not New York City. Your tables could end up in Kansas.”
Several doors down from the café, the window of Molly Hayes, Accounting, promoted last-minute income tax filing, with a countdown of days until the deadline, and opposite, the Sweetie Cakes Bakery advertised a special on Easter cupcakes and ladies’ club sweet rolls. On the corner, the Community Bank’s digital sign advertised special spring CD rates.
The girls cruised on past the intersection of First and Main, and turned around in the large area beside the fire station, heading back again. Paris stopped in the street in front of the drugstore, causing traffic to pile up behind her. Corrine grabbed her backpack, hopped out and raced away with a wave.
The bell over the door gave out its friendly ring as Corrine entered the store, and she heard, “Hey, sugar!”
Turning, she saw Belinda at the wide window o
n the pharmacy side of the store.
“Come on over here, girl, and help me make up a spring display.”
Belinda was absurdly happy to see Corrine, and to experience doing a window display with someone other than her mother. She and her mother always ended up in arguments, but she and Corrine seemed to have the same train of thought about how things should be done. Belinda liked simplicity, and so did Corrine. Belinda liked keeping to the point, and so did Corrine. Belinda liked traditional spring colors, and Corrine knew what those were.
The girl was absolutely the best worker Belinda had ever had. In the total of ten days that she had been working, she had learned to handle a busy counter all by herself, remember three and four orders at a time, and who had paid and who needed to be reminded to pay, and she was not shy about reminding people, either.
“Hi, there, beautiful.” Larry Joe Darnell slipped onto a vacant stool at the end of the counter.
“Hello. Root-beer float today?” asked Corrine, cocking her head.
“Yep, think I will.”
“Comin’ right up!”
Belinda watched this exchange from over at the cash register, where she stood counting the day’s money and stuffing it into the bank bag. Corrine was lit up like a Christmas tree, and Larry Joe’s eyes remained on her as she bent into the freezer to dig out the ice cream. He asked her about school that day, and she asked him about work.
Since the first day the girl had started working, Larry Joe had not once missed stopping in around four o’clock. The school crowd still filled the drugstore, so Corrine was kept busy getting soft drinks, nachos and ice-cream dishes. In between customers, mostly rowdy teen boys and smart-alecky teen girls, she would pause in front of Larry Joe and chat with him. Anybody with the least perception could see what went on between them when they came together, except Larry Joe himself.
Young men could be so thick, Belinda thought.
After Larry Joe left, when Corrine was clearing away his float dish, Belinda said, “You’re crazy about that guy, aren’t you?”
Little Town, Great Big Life Page 9
