Cliques, Hicks, and Ugly Sticks

by KD McCrite

  “In all this hubbub, I plumb forgot to go to town today,” Grandma said while we ate supper. “I think this is the first Tuesday I’ve missed going into town since I moved to Rough Creek Road. Not that I coulda found the time, anyway, even if I hadn’t forgot.”

  “Wow, Grandma,” I said, agog at such an idea. I gotta say, I was glad she had not thought of it or found the time to go, ’cause more than likely I would’ve been the one to ride shotgun while she drove like a madwoman to town and back.

  Isabel looked at Myra.

  “Do you have your things unpacked over at Grandma’s, darling?”

  “Yes!” my sister answered, glowing like a Christmas candle. “Two suitcases stuffed full.”

  “You won’t need that much,” Mama told her. “You aren’t staying with Ian and Isabel very long. Just until Isabel is on her feet.”

  Myra Sue looked utterly pained, as if she had planned to move in, bag and baggage, forever until she died. As much as I liked that idea my own personal self, I don’t think Mama or Daddy would’ve been too pleased about it.

  FIFTEEN

  Farewell, Harvard Beets, and Hello, Peanut Butter and Jelly

  The very next afternoon, when the school bus stopped at our driveway, Myra Sue refused to get off.

  She called up to the driver, “I am in residence at the house next door. You may drop me off there, s’il vous plait.”

  La-de-da. As if she were a French lady living with the queen, or maybe with Ronald and Nancy Reagan in the White House.

  When I got off the bus, I pulled the mail from the mailbox and hugged Daisy, who had ambled down the driveway to meet me. She wagged her fluffy white tail the whole time we walked to the house.

  An unfamiliar dark blue car sat in our driveway near the front porch. I eyeballed it as I crossed the front yard. That car was a Buick LeSabre, and it looked pretty new. It sort of reminded me of Ian and Isabel’s shiny black car they drove when they first moved here. They sold that car pretty quick so they’d have some money to fix up that old house they bought. I surely hoped that Buick had not come bearing a fresh shipment of snooty new neighbors since we had just gotten rid of the first batch.

  I shot up the front steps and yanked open the screen door.

  Grandma came out of the kitchen, smoothing and fluffing her short hair.

  “Hi, Grandma. How’s Mama? And whose car is that?”

  Her cheeks were all pink, and her eyes were bright. What had she been doing to put that look on her face?

  “That’s Rob’s car. He’s in the kitchen having a little coffee.”

  I twisted my mouth but politely said nothing.

  “Your mama’s doing fine,” Grandma continued. “Go see her; then come to the kitchen and get you a snack.” She looked past me and out the door. “Where’s your sister?”

  I put my books down on the dining room table and made a face.

  “She thinks Isabel needs her more than Mama.”

  Grandma didn’t say anything for a minute, and when she did, all she said was, “Well.”

  I trotted down the hall to Mama and Daddy’s room. The door was open, and the radio was on, playing that old music from the 1970s that Daddy and Mama like so well. Mama was sitting in the bed, propped against a mound of pillows. Her curly hair, pulled back in a clasp behind her head, was coppery and pretty against the white pillowcases, and her eyes were the color of the soft moss that grows in the woods. She looked beautiful, even with a little round tummy pooching against the covers.

  I tell you, it was nice to have that room back to normal after all those weeks of the St. Jameses living in it. Not that they messed it up, but I liked seeing a pair of Daddy’s shoes next to the closet door and Mama’s things on the dresser instead of Isabel’s tons of makeup bottles and fingernail polish.

  Mama was frowning slightly as she read a thin book in her hand.

  I knocked softly on the door frame.

  “Mama?”

  She looked up, her face losing the look of concentration.

  “April Grace, honey!” She held out both arms, and I ran to her. “I thought I heard you a minute ago, but then I wasn’t sure.” She hugged me, then said, “Where’s Myra Sue?”

  There was no way I would ever tell my mama that my sister wanted to play nursemaid to ole Isabel St. James instead of coming to see her, so I said, “She’ll probably be here. Mama, how do you feel?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. And the baby has been moving a lot today. You want to feel?”

  No, I did not want to feel! I eyeballed her round tummy and moved back a little. “That’s okay,” I said. “I might—oh, I don’t know—wake it up or something.”

  She laughed. “You won’t wake him.”

  Him? I hoped to goodness that baby was not a him.

  “How do you know it’s a him?” I asked suspiciously.

  She laughed again. “I don’t know.” She laid her hands on her stomach. “It might be a girl.”

  What would we do with a little “him” running around, doing rotten little boy things like pulling Daisy’s tail or spitting on the floor? I’m not a priss like my sister, but I’ll tell you one thing: boys have no couth.

  “Do you want a boy instead of a girl?”

  It seemed logical that she did since she had already called it a “him.” After all, she had two girls, and maybe she was sick to death of so many females underfoot.

  “I want whatever God gives us,” she assured me, squeezing my hand.

  But I still had a feeling she’d rather have a boy.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the book she’d been studying so intently.

  She handed it to me, and I saw the title was Three Angels for Bethlehem.

  “It’s our Christmas play. I haven’t had much of a chance to read it, and Pastor Ross wants to discuss it.”

  I thumbed through that book. It was thirty-five pages long, with two acts, two changes of scene, and lots of dialogue spoken by several characters. I could tell right away this was no simple program with someone reading the second chapter of Luke and little kids singing carols before and after.

  “Mama!” I said, trying to sound like a stern grown-up.

  “You absolutely cannot direct the church pageant this year, especially this play. It’s too much!”

  She took the script from my hand and looked at it. “There’s a lot to it,” she admitted.

  I huffed. “You will have to tell him that you cannot—”

  She patted my hand. “This is nothing you need to worry about, honey. There is plenty of time, and I’ll figure out something. Just put it out of your mind. Okay?”

  Well, what would you say if it were you? I could tell she would refuse to discuss this topic, even if I set it to music and danced a jig. She was right about having plenty of time— it was mid-September, after all. But I hoped and prayed she started feeling better soon. I sighed deeply.

  “Okay.”

  Mama smiled. “Good! Now. Tell me about school. Did you have a good day?”

  I shrugged. “Better than Monday, anyway.”

  “Oh? Did you have a bad day at school on Monday?”

  I could’ve kicked myself, spilling the ugly beans that way. Wouldn’t you agree that my mama had enough to worry about, what with that baby making her sick and her having to stay in the bed most of the time and the preacher expecting her to be a regular Broadway director? I surely did not want to worry her about rotten ole junior high and all that junk. Grandma knew about all that mess, and that was enough.

  I thought fast, and luckily my brain works under pressure, unlike some people in our family with the initials of Myra Sue Reilly.

  “School would be a whole lot better if I could take my own personal lunch!” I declared. “I’m pretty sure they just open up cans of Alpo and dump it on our plates.”

  She laughed. “Oh, April Grace. You’re just used to my cooking.”

  “Listen. That food at the Cedar Ridge Junior High ought to be reported to the Departmen
t of Health.”

  She laughed harder. “Now you sound like Isabel.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Mama! What an awful thing to say!”

  Mama may have had a point, but one thing you can take to the bank: I wasn’t going to call the White House and demand catered gourmet lunches like Isabel would probably do in my situation.

  “Well,” I said, “I reckon PB and Js would be fine as lunch for the rest of my life while I’m in junior high, if you don’t mind me taking my own.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that, honey, but you may have to put it together yourself from time to time. Just be sure you have something in there besides cookies or pie.”

  I felt so good I nearly split my face a-grinnin’.

  SIXTEEN

  When Rivals Arrive

  When I walked into the kitchen to pick out what I’d pack for lunch tomorrow, I found ole Rob Estes sitting at the table with a large pile of Russell Stover candy on the table in front of him.

  I’d never seen him at our house, let alone at the kitchen table, let alone at the kitchen table with a pile of chocolate candy. Rob is a retired pharmacist, but he still owns the drugstore, and the Estes Drugstore has carried good ole Russell Stover chocolates for as long as I can remember.

  Forget about Rob Estes for just a minute because here is something you should know. My grandmother and I love chocolates more than any food God ever created. And Russell Stover is Grandma’s all-time favorite. And the Russell Stover chocolates Rob brought over weren’t just any old chocolates. They were Mint Dreams. And Mint Dreams are the best kind of Russell Stover chocolates. I love Mint Dreams almost as much as Kraft Caramels.

  “Wow!” I said, ogling all that deliciousness and temporarily dismissing the fact that Rob Estes was another of Grandma’s boyfriends and therefore on my list of Suspicious Persons until I decided otherwise. “Is that my after-school snack?”

  “Sure,” Rob said, smiling and shoving about two pounds of chocolate my way. He shot a look at Grandma. “If Grace says it’s okay.”

  Rob was younger than Grandma by about ten years, but I’m not supposed to know that, so don’t tell anyone I told you.

  I put on my best “please, please, please” face, but Grandma twisted her mouth as she thought about it, and I knew that wasn’t a good sign. Otherwise, she would’ve said, “Why, sure, have some.”

  “With supper in an hour and a half,” she said, “I think an apple and a glass of milk is a better idea.”

  “Oh, Grandma,” I said, bitterly disappointed. “I love Mint Dreams, and there is a whole mound of ’em right there, all wrapped in their shiny silver-and-green wrappers. Maybe I could have a couple of Mint Dreams out of that whole entire box full of Mint Dreams.”

  “After supper, for dessert, instead of cake.”

  “Grandma!” Boy, oh boy, I didn’t know Myra Grace Reilly could be so hard-hearted.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the candy out of the bag,” Rob Estes said, his face all droopy.

  “Oh no!” I assured him, sitting down and staring at that wonderful hill of chocolate. “I like to look at it anyway.” I sighed.

  Grandma took an apple out of the refrigerator, and while she was washing it at the sink, Rob leaned toward me and whispered, “How about if I give you an entire box of Mint Dreams for Christmas?”

  I felt my eyes widen.

  “Thank you!” I breathed. He was fast getting himself off my list of Suspicious Persons and onto my list of Approved Gentlemen Callers, which so far had only one name on it, and that was Ernie Beason.

  “Don’t spoil her, Rob,” Grandma said, giving me the apple.

  “I’m not spoiling anyone,” Rob told her stoutly. “But if I have a large stock in the drugstore, I might as well share them with special girls who have shiny red hair.”

  I liked him better and better. He was genuinely nice, not fakey nice like that rotten old man Rance, who tried to win me over one time with a Kraft Caramel he had pulled, warm and squooshy, from his jeans pocket.

  Grandma set a glass of milk in front of me. You’d think with all that candy staring us in the face and me not having any of it, she would have at least put in some chocolate syrup for comfort’s sake. But she didn’t.

  “How’s your cold?” I asked Rob.

  “All gone now,” he said.

  “Yeah, so’s Grandma’s.” I looked over the rim of my milk glass at Grandma’s blushing face. If I thought being sassy was gonna get me a Mint Dream or even chocolate milk, I thought wrong.

  Out in the front yard, good ole Daisy barked. She hardly ever barks unless a strange car drives up the driveway, and sometimes not even then. She’s old, so she sleeps a lot and misses things going on.

  With all the windows open on that warm September afternoon, voices outside came right into the house. The voice I heard right then sounded mighty familiar.

  I knew Grandma heard it, too, because her face went red as fire, and she looked downright caught.

  Who do you think was out there? Ernie Beason, that’s who. Grandma’s other—and, so far, her only April Grace– approved—boyfriend, even if Rob brought chocolates.

  Well, this oughta be good, I thought as I heard him knock on the front door. I got up to go let him in.

  “Here,” Grandma said, shoving two Mint Dreams at me. “Eat these. I’ll get the door.”

  She hurried to the front door, but Rob stayed right where he was, blissfully ignorant that his rival was only a few yards away. Didn’t he hear Ernie’s voice telling Daisy she was a good girl? I reckon not. I sure hoped he wasn’t hard of hearing like old man Rance. I don’t think I could have put up with hollering in another man’s hairy old ear holes ever again, for as long as I live.

  Not one to waste the opportunity before Grandma realized what she’d done, I ripped the shiny wrapper off of a Mint Dream and bit into it. That thick milk chocolate cracked softly between my teeth and released its fluffy, gooey, creamy mint filling. Both tastes melted together on my tongue and slid sweet and smooth down my gullet in the best way you can imagine.

  “Yummm,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment so I could taste it and feel it for as long as possible. I licked a bit off my upper lip and took another bite.

  “Like it, do you?” Rob said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yup,” I said as best I could with a mouthful of dreamy candy.

  Footsteps came toward the kitchen.

  I popped open my eyelids and hid the rest of that Mint Dream and the other one in my lap. There came Grandma with the most peculiar and guilty look on her face, and right behind her followed good ole Ernie with his arms full of groceries. He was smiling real big and talking as he came down the hallway.

  “. . . and since you didn’t come into the store, I figured you’d be wanting your usual order. I added a few things I thought you’d like—” He broke off as he came into the kitchen and caught an eyeful of Rob and his big ole pile of Russell Stover candy.

  “Well now,” he said, stopping all of a sudden. “Well now.”

  Those two men just looked at each other for the longest time while Grandma stood there with a frozen smile on her face. The steady tick-tick of the yellow clock on the wall sounded real loud.

  You see, I’m pretty sure each man had a suspicion he was not the only feller in Grace Reilly’s life but probably had never let himself think about it to the point he’d admit such a thing out loud.

  Now, I don’t hardly see how this could be, because both men live in Cedar Ridge, and Cedar Ridge is a small town, and Rough Creek Road is a small community, and only a few miles separate the two. Everybody knows everything about everybody else in both places. This whole bit with those men coming face-to-face with my grandma caught right in the middle was bound to happen sooner or later.

  I wonder if either one of ’em knew she’d been getting quite a few phone calls lately from Reverend Jordan, the Methodist minister.

  “Well now,” Ernie said one more time. Then he
put those four paper sacks full of groceries on the countertop and said, “How do, Rob? You been keepin’ well?”

  Rob looked steadily into Ernie’s eyes, and it was like those two guys tried to read each other’s minds.

  “I’m doing fine, Ernie. How about you?”

  Ernie nodded. “Same.”

  They just kept staring at each other, and in the background Grandma watched, flashing her gaze from one to the other and back again. I couldn’t tell if they were gonna start swinging punches, or if they were gonna sit down and have some coffee and candy.

  Finally Grandma moved toward those groceries, laughing kinda loud and crazy. “Well now, Ernie, this was real thoughtful. Look here, Rob, what Ernie did. I couldn’t make it to town yesterday, so he brought all these groceries out to me. And lookie there, Ernie. Rob brought us all some chocolate. Get you some, Ernie. Want some coffee? Rob, you want some more coffee?” Grandma was talking a hundred miles an hour and pulling groceries out of the bags like there was no tomorrow.

  “No, thanks. I need to be getting home,” Rob said, standing up at the same time Ernie moved toward the doorway, saying, “Thank you, no. I have to get back to the store.”

  “Well, you don’t have to hurry away,” Grandma said to no one in particular. She started stuffing that food into the cabinets without any rhyme or reason. She even put a dozen eggs where the plates go, for Pete’s sake!

  Boy, oh boy, right there was a big fat reason never to have a boyfriend, let alone two of them. They just mess up everything.

  “You think they’re gonna slug each other?” I asked Grandma as soon as those men left.

  She sent me right out of the room, so I hightailed it into Mama’s bedroom to tell her what was going on.

  SEVENTEEN

  Persuading Isabel

  Mama laughed till she cried when I told her about Grandma’s love triangle a few minutes later. Right then, Grandma was still at the living room window, watching those two men leave.

  I handed Mama my other Mint Dream and sat on the edge of the bed while she unwrapped it.