"And they won't touch it. You want it, you come get it," I said.
"We'll begin by turning to hymn number .. " the choir director was saying.
I stood up, deliberately stepped on Drew's toes, and walked out of the church. It's a good thing Oklahoma law doesn't allow liquor stores to open on Sunday, or I'd have driven straight through town and bought a bottle of Jack Daniels just to get the bitter taste of Drew out of my mouth.
Instead I drove to Billy Lee's church on Broadway Street. Momma always said it didn't matter which church you went to on Sunday morning. The church wouldn't take you to heaven or fling you down to the devil, either one. All it did was provide a place of fellowship with others so you could worship God. I didn't see Him making a change, and I didn't intend to share a pew with Drew ever again. Betsy and Marty could take turns sitting beside him for all I cared.
The congregation was singing "I Saw the Light" when I walked through the doors. They finished the last word, and the preacher smiled at me. A few people turned to look at what was taking his attention, and they smiled too.
With a flip of one hand, he motioned me to come forward. "I do believe Gert's niece, Trudy, has come to visit us today."
I didn't know if they were going to pray for my soul or tack me to a cross, but I marched right down the center aisle, my kitten heels sinking into the carpet.
The preacher beckoned me forward. "No one has claimed the place where Miz Gert sat every Sunday morning, and it has looked empty without her. I'm sure she'd be delighted for you to take that seat, Trudy. Third pew from the front, there on your left. Please have a seat, and sing with us. We'll sing Gert's favorite song, since Trudy is here. I don't even have to tell you the number. Let's sing loud enough that the angels in heaven can hear us without straining their ears."
They began to sing "Amazing Grace" with such volume that I jumped. The person next to me tapped me on the shoulder to share a hymnbook. I nodded a polite thank-you and looked into Billy Lee's blue eyes. They held mine for just a moment, before I looked down at the words and added my alto to the mix.
He wore the same suit he'd worn to her funeral, and he looked like a lawyer or a preacher, certainly not a handyman. When we finished singing, the preacher opened his Bible to the verses in Jeremiah 51 where God was sending down his judgment against Babylon. I'm sure he meant for the congregation to realize that God takes care of his own, but what I heard was something about rendering vengeance.
The rest of the sermon was lost as I thought about Drew's taking the Impala the next morning. Vengeance could belong to the Lord; I wouldn't argue that issue for a minute. If God wanted to baptize Drew Williams with vengeance, I'd sure be the one behind Him, egging Him on. I didn't hear much more of the sermon as I figured out ways to help the Good Lord out.
The preacher wound down his sermon and announced, "We're having a social lunch in the fellowship hall today. Everyone is welcome, whether you remembered to bring a covered dish or not. I think Billy Lee brought enough ribs to feed the multitude Jesus talked about in Matthew. So if you'll bow with me in a final word of prayer, we'll adjourn to the kitchen."
"Join us?" Billy Lee said after the benediction.
"I didn't bring anything."
"I brought more than enough for both of us"
"You aren't going to ask me why I'm here?" I asked him.
"Don't care. Just glad that you are. It would make Gert feel right good to know you're sitting in her spot. And I'm glad to have you here too, Trudy," he said.
"Then I'd be glad to eat with ya'll, and thank you for the invitation."
I helped the ladies set out the food and wound up sitting beside Billy Lee for the meal. The ribs he'd brought were delicious, and someone had brought a potato salad that was scrumptious. I had to have the recipe for Thanksgiving. It was creamy and had fresh green onions and lots of bacon in it.
"I heard you and Billy Lee were doing a number on Gert's place," Elsie Goodman said from across the table. "She would like that. Maybe you'll have an open house when it's all done so we can see it?"
"I hadn't thought of that, but I suppose I could. It would be fun. But it'll be a while, Elsie."
"I reckon it will. A person doesn't undo fifty years of neglect in a few weeks"
She turned to talk to the lady next to her, and Billy Lee leaned over toward me. "You look pretty today," he said.
"So do you. Why are you all dressed up?"
"Men do not look pretty," he said.
"Didn't mean to offend you. What is in this potato salad? Who made it?"
"I made it, and I'm dressed up because I felt like it."
"Are you mad at me?" I asked.
"No, ma'am, I am not"
"Children!" Elsie shook her head at us.
I had to smile. "Elsie, I think I'm too old to be called a child."
"Not to me. I'm ninety. Not much difference between me and Gert. She just went on ahead of me to get things ready. Kids your age will always be children to me. Stop fussing, and enjoy this lovely day. You are as pretty as a picture in that dress, Trudy, and whether you like it or not, Billy Lee, you are pretty in that suit. It becomes you and makes your eyes look even bluer. Now, what were you saying?" She turned to the lady beside her again.
"Fight settled?" I asked.
The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Better be, if we don't want to stand in the corner."
"Tell me about the potato salad recipe."
"I'll bring it over later this evening."
"I'll make sandwiches for supper," I said, quietly enough that only he could hear it.
He nodded.
I talked to more people that day than I'd visited with in years. Everyone had a story to tell me about Gert and what a blessing she'd been in their lives. My cantankerous, bossy old aunt had had another side that I'd never known, one that reminded me of my mother. By the middle of the afternoon, I wished that I'd spent more time getting to know her.
When I got home, I changed clothes and crawled into the middle of the bed with a dollar-store spiral notebook, writing down every story that I could remember about her. My legs, crossed for a long time, went to sleep, and when Billy Lee knocked on the door, I was hobbling like an old woman.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I was writing down some memories Momma shares with me when she's lucid, and all the things folks told me about Aunt Gert today. I didn't realize I'd been sitting cross-legged solo - ng - " I answered.
"Well, I brought the potato salad recipe and a six-pack of Coke. Want to sit on the swing and have a cold soda pop? I'll tell you why I wore a suit to church today if you'll tell me why you came," he said.
That was enough temptation to take me out the front door and to the porch swing. He popped open a Coke and handed it to me.
"Well?" I asked.
He grinned. "Impatient, aren't you?"
"You said you'd tell me. It must be something important. No one died, and you weren't the preacher, so why did you wear a suit?"
He tipped his own Coke up and took a long swig before he began. "On the anniversary of my granny's death, I always pay my respects by putting flowers on her grave. Roses because she liked them and never could get them to grow in our yard. So she gets a dozen roses on that day. Other times I just put out whatever I think is pretty. And I wear a suit to church that week in her honor. It's crazy, but that's why."
"I don't think it's crazy. I think it's sweet. I'll have to remember to keep flowers on Gert's grave."
"Now I'm pretty and sweet," he groaned.
"Billy Lee, you are sweet and sensitive, and those are qualities every woman looks for in a man. Why the devil aren't you married?"
"I can run fast."
We both laughed.
"Seriously," I said.
"It's complicated," he said.
I pressed on. "Haven't found the right woman?"
"Maybe the right woman but at the wrong time. Can't seem to get the two done at the same time."
/> "Fair enough"
"So tell me now, why were you at my church? What happened?" he asked.
I told him the story. "I'm really mad at him. That is my car."
"Give him the car. You don't need it. Use Gert's, or buy another one. Don't hang on to the past"
"Pretty, sweet, and wise. You'd better run really fast, feller," I said.
He downed the rest of his Coke. "Guess I'd best get on over to my place. I've got a couple more things to do before bedtime."
"Thanks for the Coke, the recipe, and the company," I said. -- -- - - - - -- - - - - - -
He smiled and waved as he disappeared through the hedge.
I sat in the swing for an hour while God and Lucifer had a battle. I have to admit, Momma would have been ashamed at the one I championed. Or maybe not. She might have been right out there in the dark helping me pour coals of fire upon my ex-husband's sorry, cheating head. I don't know if Lucifer won the battle or if God got tired of arguing with me and him and just let us have our way. I may still have to answer for what I did that night, but I'll go to my grave with a smile because of it.
I opened two cans of sardines and smeared a healthy dose of the oil on the underside of the mats on the back floorboards. One sardine found a new home in the glove compartment. Another one fit perfectly in the CD drawer. A nice film of Vaseline shined the driver's seat, giving the leather a brand-new glow. In case he brought Miss Charity along, I greased up the passenger's seat too.
I thought of her marrying Drew and got an instant visual of the two of them leaving the church in my car. So I rustled through the recycling bin outside for soda cans thrown in there by the men who'd worked on the house. I took down the clothesline and tied the cans in bunches of three to about fifty feet of rope. It took almost an hour to poke holes in those cans and tie them to the rope, and I had to lie on my back to find a part of the vehicle to attach the rope to, but I got the job done. -- -- --- - - --- - --- -
I found shoe polish under the sink in the kitchen and with it painted two perfect hearts on the windshield, so if Charity came with him, their faces would be framed as they drove through town. I used two rolls of toilet paper like crepe-paper streamers coming off the radio antenna, tucking the ends loosely into the back doors. The final touch was writing Just Hitched in black shoe polish on the white trunk lid in a lovely scroll, with a cute little heart dotting the i in Hitched.
If Drew didn't come to get the car, I'd have it towed and sitting in his front yard when he got home the next day. Aunt Gert's little thirty-year-old blue Ford Maverick-still in perfect condition, garage-kept, and rarely driven-would do fine for me. It had a stick shift, and I might jackrabbit it around getting used to driving it, but I'd get the hang of it again. Hey, I wasn't "poor Trudy, bless her heart" anymore. I was a force to be reckoned with, and if folks didn't believe me, they could crawl inside that white Chevrolet.
The next morning at seven thirty I carried my coffee to the porch, sat down in the swing, and waited. At a quarter to eight, Drew, Charity, and Georgia pulled up in the driveway beside my car. Drew and Charity got out of the backseat, and Georgia drove away in Drew's Lincoln.
Drew stared at the decorated car waiting for him. "You are certifiably crazy."
"She's not crazy! She's a certifiable witch," Charity said. "I can't ride in that thing."
"Keys are in it. You could walk back to town, Charity, but you'll ruin those cute little high heels." I watched as he helped her into the slick passenger's seat. I couldn't hear every word, but from the expression on her face and the way she threw her hands around, she wasn't happy about the way the Vaseline felt on her bare legs below her skintight miniskirt.
"You are crazy!" she screamed out the window when the aroma of eau de sardines hit her nose.
I held my coffee cup up in a toast to her.
Drew quite literally slid into the driver's seat, and the words that came from his mouth would have set a tropical rain forest on fire. He slammed the door, started up the engine, and quickly rolled down all four windows. Charity was gagging. Guess she didn't like sardines.
Vengeance had been very sweet and left no aftertaste of guilt. I giggled like a second-grade schoolgirl as they drove away.
"Guess you and God served up some retribution," Billy Lee said from the yard.
"Pretty childish, wasn't it?" I said.
"A whole lot childish but worth it, if it did one of those exorcism things on your heart. Was that sardines I smelled?" He sat down on the swing beside me.
"Two cans full, and I didn't waste a bit of the oil. And, yes, it purged my heart. I'm glad he took the car back, and I'm glad God and I had a bit of revenge. It's over. You want some breakfast, or did you already eat?"
"I'd love French toast and hot chocolate," he said.
"From scratch?"
"Is there any other kind?" he answered.
"Guess not, if you want the good stuff."
He followed me into the kitchen, where we set about making breakfast.
Billy Lee gathered the apricots.
We'd finished stripping all the woodwork in the hall, the banister, the stairs, and a gazillion little lathe-turned rails, not to mention the newel post, which was intricately carved. The electrician had finally finished. Air-conditioning was installed. The man who would varnish the floors was scheduled to come the next day. My body was worn to a frazzle with weeks of hard work behind me, and there was plenty more on the way.
And Billy Lee gathered the apricots.
The small orchard behind the garage had one apple tree, one peach, an apricot, a pear, and two pecan trees. Peeling little-bitty apricots was not my idea of a fun evening after putting in a final hard day of getting everything ready for the floor man. My fingers were stiff from using steel wool in every little crevice on the banister rails. It was asking too much to wrap them around a paring knife.
"Why in the devil are you gathering apricots this evening, and what are we supposed to do with them?" I asked when he brought them in the back door.
"Gert said last year that she had enough apricot preserves to last ten years, so I reckon we'll just peel them, throw in some sugar and Fruit-Fresh, and bag them for the freezer."
"And we have to do this tonight?"
"I reckon so. They're ripe, and they won't keep three days"
I must have looked puzzled, because he said, "Trudy, the floor man is coming to do your bedroom, the hall, and the stairs tomorrow morning, bright and early."
He set the bushel basket on the kitchen table, found two paring knives in a drawer, and started sharpening the blades. I'd never seen Drew sharpen a knife, but then, Drew had never gathered apricots, either. It mesmerized me: the quick motions, the way his rock-hard biceps tightened as he flipped the blade back and forth across the whetstone.
"Would you get a big bowl of water to wash them in? Then we'll each need two bowls-one to put the peelings in, the other to slice them into. I'll get the plastic bags, sugar, and Fruit-Fresh from the pantry. This won't take an hour with both of us working. We can't let this fruit go to waste."
This had to be a ritual he and Gert had adhered to. Bring in the apricots and either make preserves or freeze them for fried pies. I'd never made a fried pie in my whole life. Maybe Momma would have a good thirty minutes in the next few weeks and could tell me how to go about it. I set two serving bowls and a slightly bigger crock on the counter.
"Not a bowl like that. The white dishpan hanging on the nail beside the back door is what we wash them in," he said.
"What's three days got to do with anything?" I fetched it and filled it with water.
His look was one of pure exasperation. "I told you. The floor man is coming tomorrow. Spar varnish is an old product, but it's marine grade, which means it'll keep its shine even when you mop it. It's a long time drying and a longer time smelling. Everything will be wet for seventy-two hours," he said.
I was glad he didn't roll his eyes, or I might have slapped him.
"So?"
He grinned. I could have thrown an apricot at him or maybe the paring knife.
"So where is your bathroom?"
"Oh," I gasped.
The only bathroom was upstairs, off the landing, which would be wet for three days. Why hadn't I thought about that? But what did that have to do with the kitchen, where we could put up apricots whether the stairs were wet and smelly or not?
"That's right. You've got to clear out of this place for three days each time the floor man puts down varnish."
"Every single time?" I heard the whine in my tone and couldn't do a .thing about it.
His lightning hands sliced the small fruit into the bowl. "Maybe not when he does Lonnie's room ... I mean, your office ... or Gert's old room, which will be a guest room. We could shut the door and chink it with pillows to keep the smell out of the rest of the house fairly well. But when he does the downstairs, yes, you'll have to leave."
Where was I to go? Momma's house had been sold years ago. Crystal hadn't returned any of my calls this past month. Marty and Betsy thought I'd caught a terminal disease, possibly from Billy Lee. All my old friends and acquaintances had avoided me like I had the plague. I'd attended church on Sundays, but I didn't know anyone well enough to ask if I could sleep on their sofa for three nights.
"Where do you have in mind?" he asked.
"Got a spare room over at your house?" I said before I thought.
"Yes, I do, but I've got another idea. I should have told you before now. I just figured you'd already made some kind of plans. Like a big shopping trip or off to see your friends. You've been awfully busy this past month. You might like three days to visit family."
"Friends and family are overrated. I'll check into the Western Inn motel," I said bluntly.
"I need to make a run to Dallas to pick up some specialty lumber, and there's a little town over by the Louisiana border that's pretty neat. Want to go with me?"
Could I go away for three days with him?
"I threw my cell phone into a ditch and haven't replaced it. I don't have a way for Momma's nursing home to get in touch with me other than this landline."
The Ladies' Room Page 10
