Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “Whatever are you talking about, Cora Davis?”

  “You know very well. I saw the two of you carrying on, right out there on the square, right out there across from Harry’s. I mean it’s not like I was spying. I just looked up, and there you both were. Then you disappeared into your office talking a mile a minute. I just think you should tell us all what your intentions are.”

  Gladys was so angry that Cora (who had been inquiring about nothing more than the clock, which she assumed Gladys understood) had given away her second-best announcement for the evening (at least Gladys assumed Cora had already blabbed about the clock to everyone—which she hadn’t) that her face turned beet red. Of course, everyone else thought it was because Gladys’s new beau had been disclosed. The miscue was thankfully short-lived, coming to a halt right after Gladys clarified her comments about finally replacing that “old dead ticker with a new one.” (Gasp! Surely you’re not referring to your deceased husband? OF COURSE NOT!)

  Kevin was surprised Josh didn’t want to drive his mom’s showy SUV to the dance, but Josh insisted they take Kevin’s beater car. Josh wanted to be seated behind Kevin and Shelby. Should Kevin decide to park or try any funny business, it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  The guys had shared how surprised they’d been at their dates’ responses to the doubling news, but were happy it seemed like the dust had settled. Kevin said Shelby had even stated she was stoked about the chance to get to know Deb better, and Josh said that it had played out vice versa in his camp. Kevin chalked up their initial odd behaviors to “an obvious hormone flare-up.”

  Josh never let on to Kevin that he knew Deb had turned him down. It just didn’t seem necessary or prudent, but nonetheless, he felt clever just knowing it—not to mention a tad triumphant he’d gotten a yes from her. But no more big head! The truth was, he’d decided that he did enjoy Kevin most of the time, so he didn’t want to put another wedge in the way of their friendship either. Besides, since learning about Deb’s turndown and Kevin’s silence about it, Josh was beginning to wonder if Kevin was really as advanced as he let on. Maybe underneath it all, he was just as insecure about dating as every other guy.

  One thing he knew for sure, though, was that he needed Kevin to stop calling him Josh-o. He’d been reminded of that on Wednesday when he’d finally—and thankfully—received an e-mail from Alex. Among other things, Alex admitted to having his nose out of joint enough to have intentionally blown him off when he was in Chicago. Josh was in the middle of e-mailing Alex back when the phone rang, and it was Alex!

  “Josh, if you haven’t read my e-mail yet, just delete it first.”

  “Too late. I was already e-mailing you back. Why didn’t you want me to read it?”

  “Because I figured you’d razz me for being a sap, since I said I missed you.”

  “Sap.”

  “I knew it.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve missed you too. If there’s anything worse than reading it from a guy, it’s probably having to hear it. So there, I’ve said it, and now you’re a less sap than me, okay? But neither of us will ever admit this to anybody.”

  Their conversation lasted forty-five minutes. Alex talked about his upcoming date for the homecoming dance, which was the same night as the Pumpkin Festival dance (drats!), and Josh shared the whole story about Kevin and Shelby, Dorothy’s advice, and, of course, Deb, the dance and Doofusville. Alex couldn’t stop laughing.

  “It’s not that funny, dude.”

  “You don’t see the humor in Josh Kinney, former Latin School attendee now going on a double date in the back of a beater car to a Pumpkin Festival dance? It’s hysterical! I feel like I’m hearing the Cinderella story in reverse!”

  “Welcome to life in Pardon-Me-Ville.”

  “The Lamp Post Motel.”

  “Jessica!” Katie was thrilled to hear her friend’s voice.

  “Your call is important to us and we’re sorry we missed it. Please leave your phone number—slowly—and we’ll call you back as soon as we can. If you’re calling to inquire about reservations for the Pumpkin Festival and Centennial Plus Thirty, I’m sorry but we’re sold out for both Friday and Saturday that weekend. Please try us again.” BEEP.

  This was the first time Katie had received a machine at the Lamp Post. In fact, she didn’t know they even had one. Either Jessica was gone, or waiting on a customer and not answering, or . . . she had Caller ID and wasn’t interested in speaking to the woman who had not only left her standing in the middle of the road waving for a ride after bunco, but who hadn’t returned her messages.

  “Jessica,” she said into her mouthpiece, “it’s Katie. I didn’t know you had a machine. But then it’s been so long since you’ve heard from me, there are probably many things I don’t know. I miss you. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was in Chicago for a couple days, but mostly, I’ve been going through some . . . stuff. I really can’t talk about it because . . .” BEEEEP! The machine cut her off. What are you thinking, spilling your guts on a business machine! She dialed again, but this time she was brief. “It’s Katie. I miss you. Call me.”

  “Thank you, Dorothy,” Katie said into the receiver. “I’ll pick you up around three then. Josh has been taking the early bus home this week and we’ll be sure to beat him back. Worst-case scenario, he calls and says he’s taking the late bus, which will just give us more time to visit. If I wait until I feel like I’m totally ready to tell him about my father, it will never happen.”

  She’d made up her mind about one thing: she would not raise her son with the secret. He had a right to know.

  Jessica hated answering machines, but after last Tuesday’s Centennial Plus 30 meeting, they’d arrived back to the motel to find a hand-scrawled note stuck under their front door. “A friend of ours gave us your listing. Phoned this afternoon to make a reservation before we left our house, but no answer; your machine must be broken. Dropped by on the way through town hoping for a room. Maybe next trip. Looks nice.”

  “Oh, Paul! Sarah Sue and I ran to Yorkville this afternoon to get some more yarn. I couldn’t have been gone more than thirty minutes! They must have phoned then. I hate we missed business!”

  “Me, too. Especially if you were out spending money.” Her face flushed with embarrassment. “Honey,” he said, giving her a quick hug, “I’m just kidding! You deserve a break now and again, same as we did tonight. Let’s don’t worry about it, but let’s do get an answering machine. If we’re going to stay in business, we need one. I don’t know what we were thinking by not having one before. I guess we were thinking we’d just never have a life. I’ll run to Hethrow after work tomorrow and go to Best Buy or Office Depot. I’m sure they can steer me to just what we need.”

  Jessica was glad Paul had done the shopping for such a contraption. He’d made her record the announcement, though (of course, he pushed all the buttons), saying her voice was so pretty that surely everyone would want to stay once they’d heard it. But now, now she had to listen to her friend’s messages (“This is why I don’t like these dumb things!”), and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how to make the machine stop beeping when she was done. In spite of the annoying, hiccupping device, she phoned Katie, only to get her machine again.

  “Katie, (beep) it’s Jessica. (beep) Darn it! How on (beep) earth do I (beep) stop this dumb thing! (beep) I got your message. (beep) I can’t wait to (beep) talk to you. (beep) Try me again.” (beep)

  Although Katie was sorry to have missed Jessica’s call, it gave both her and Dorothy a good laugh when they listened to it after they arrived at the farm. It was just what they needed to help them relax before Josh’s arrival.

  Fridays always made Josh happy. He was looking forward to an evening with no homework and a chance tomorrow to just hang out by the creek. Forecasts sounded pretty good, but it was funny how weather could change so swiftly in the fall. The last few days the area had been enjoying warmer temperatures than even longtime residents were used to this tim
e of year, so it was especially welcome to a couple of City Slickers from up north. He was, in fact, surprised how much of a difference in temperatures a mere five hours could make.

  As he was walking up the lane, Sheba came running lickety-split right at him. “SHEBA!” he said, bending down to swoop her into his arms. “Are we baby-sitting, or is your mom here?” Josh had his answer when he recognized the sound of Dorothy’s voice before he was even up the back porch steps. He bounded through the door and into the kitchen.

  “DOROTHY! I knew I loved Fridays, and this makes it all the better!” He set Sheba down and they both scurried right over to give her a hug.

  After some easy conversations about the upcoming dance and the double date—during which time Josh and Dorothy exchanged a few thumbs’ up signals—Katie sighed, collected herself, and began. “Josh, there is something I must tell you. Something I have recently learned myself. Dorothy’s here to help me. She knew the whole story before I did. In fact, she is a part of that story. It’s a story about our family.”

  “Family? You mean like Aunt Tess and Grandma Durbin family?”

  “Yes. That family . . . and more. It’s about my father, Josh. Your grandfather.” And then, piece by piece, they unfolded the truth. Katie did most of the talking, but she often deferred to Dorothy, either for clarity, reminder or backup.

  It was something for Josh to take in all right, but surprisingly, he seemed not a smidgen as disturbed as Katie had been, or as she thought he would be. He’d occasionally look puzzled or shocked, but he barely ever interrupted with questions, although they both kept asking him if he had any. When they got to the end of the story—all the way past the part where they’d told him that Pastor Delbert, Jr. still didn’t know—of all things, he smiled.

  “Josh, do you understand what all of this means?” Katie asked, somewhat incredulous.

  “I certainly do!” Rather than sounding ashamed about the fact his own mother was illegitimate (a word none of them had used, and Katie fought to avoid thinking about), or riled about secrets, his voice indicated he was . . . happy.

  Katie studied him with astonishment. “Joshua, are you sure you understand?”

  “Yes, I do, Mom. This must have been a bummer for you. But to tell you the truth, for me, it’s the good news! My Friday just keeps getting better!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’ve got family! Right here in Partonville! I’ve got an . . . well . . . I guess I’ve got a half of an uncle, and sort of cousins—Pastor’s children—and . . . I have a grandfather I can learn something about! See pictures of! And the best part of it is, Dorothy knows my family already, and so do I, at least a little. You know, from the funeral and all.”

  Dorothy was giving silent prayers of thanks to God, who had so miraculously used what they’d seen as the bad news to be received as the good.

  “I mean it’s not like I don’t know my dad; I do. I know this is a big bummer for you, Mom. But . . .” He stopped talking when he saw his mom rear her head back, as though his words had knocked her a good one.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I guess I can’t possibly know what this feels like for Katie Mable Carol Durbin. I got that whole mouthful of a name right, right?”

  Katie shook her head in the affirmative, obviously chagrined.

  “You know, Alex was right!” Josh let out a laugh.

  “Alex! He couldn’t possibly have known a thing about any of this!”

  “I’m not talking about our family secrets, Mom. But Alex said to me just this past Wednesday that I was like a backwards Cinderella story. First I give up my spendy private school for Hethrow High. And I’m going to the dance in a beater car rather than the SUV. And rather than the dance being a homecoming, it’s a pumpkin festival. And now . . . now I’ve got a mom with a middle name of Mable!” He laughed like a lunatic, knee-slapping and hopping around the kitchen. Katie, who up until that moment had seen no humor in her middle names, could do nothing but chuckle herself. Dorothy laughed too, noticing that Josh’s bright enthusiasm was helping Katie to catch a few light rays. Thank You, Lord. THANK YOU!

  21

  Nellie Ruth was not only surrounded by a sea of Splendid Rose, she was wearing it. With heightened enthusiasm, she’d stepped onto the child’s stool she’d purchased from Now and Again Resale just for this purpose (much more economical than those metal ones in the store, she’d proudly told herself), bucket of paint in one hand and paintbrush in the other. When the leg to the little stool buckled, before she even had time to realize what was happening, down she went. Her backside and the bucket had hit the floor at about the same time, ribbons of paint sailing high into the air, then landing on everything like a splatting hailstorm, including the top of her head, her arms, the wall and the lower pane of the living room window.

  She sat, paintbrush lifted in the air as though she were about to take a stroke, trying to catch her breath. Rivulets of Splendid Rose oozed their way across the unleveled floor toward the legs of her prized end table and she was momentarily helpless to do anything but watch. When she finally activated, her feet took to slipping this way and that, and for a few futile moments she wrestled around on the floor like she was in a bowl full of jelly. The more she moved, the bigger the mess became. “Horse feathers!” she exclaimed after she stopped thrashing about. Never in her life had she uttered such a profanity—at least for Nellie Ruth.

  Helplessly, she watched the paint ooze around the table legs. Although she hated to move, realizing that every gesture broadened the scope of the mess, she finally had no choice but to scoot backwards, remove her shoes and tiptoe to the kitchen where she grabbed two rolls of paper towels, toe prints dotting the dark wood. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but within a few short moments, it didn’t matter because she became so hysterical she didn’t know which was the truth. Never in her life had she experienced such a mess.

  “You mean you didn’t have a drop cloth?” “You mean to tell me you’ve never painted before?” “You are not telling us you were intending to paint that entire room with a paint brush?” The band members at practice had a grand time ribbing her about her “rosy freckles.” After she’d told the story for the third time, it had become one of the highlights of her life, no matter if it did cost her her pride, the price of a gallon of paint, a pint of paint remover and hours of work repolishing patches of the old wooden floor. She’d also decided that the first thing the next morning, she would phone Edward Showalter. She’d been assured by everyone that he was the man to handle her painting task. “Leave the painting to Edward Showalter while you do the playing, Nellie Ruth. We each have our own gifts,” Raymond had reminded her. “Amen!” Loretta Forester had said, then pounded out a ta-bam-bam boom on her drums.

  Lord, Nellie Ruth prayed when retiring for the evening after band practice, her aching backside and paint in her cuticles reminding her of the day’s events, thank you for helping me laugh at myself today. It’s probably time I learned to loosen up a little anyway! As for the rest of the band, even though they didn’t pray about it, they continued to be grateful for the laughter during what had otherwise been another head-banging rehearsal.

  Between the unveiling of the Core Four, band practices (one Dorothy’d had to miss, she was feeling so weary—and wouldn’t you just know it was the one everybody was talking about after Nellie Ruth’s Great Adventure!) and fielding phone calls about the talent show, not to mention Gladys’ Centennial Plus 30 meetings, which seemed to come and go as quickly as her oven door opened and closed, May Belle and Dorothy had barely had time to touch bases. Dorothy called May Belle’s house; she needed the company and comfort of her longtime friends. Before May Belle could engage her in conversation, though, Dorothy asked to speak to her groundskeeper. She invited Earl to come right on over and take care of things around her yard. “And please invite your mother too, Earl.”

  Within ten minutes, they’d arrived at Dorothy’s door and Earl had gone straight to work. He w
as gathering twigs that had blown down into Dorothy’s yard during the last week’s on-and-off-again winds. He was breaking the larger branches into little pieces and putting them in a yard waste bag for garbage pickup, which was a whole new world to Dorothy, since on the farm, she’d just piled up yard debris and used it for bonfires. Earl was well acquainted with the procedure. “Just like at home,” he’d said, showing Dorothy how it needed to be done.

  Dorothy and May Belle stood next to each other in front of the kitchen window, heads nearly touching as they watched Earl work out in the yard.

  “You smell like chocolate chip cookies,” Dorothy said.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Depends on if you brought me a few.”

  “Now what do you think?”

  “Cough ’em up!”

  May Belle retrieved the worn-and-patched canvas bag she toted around when she was either running quick errands in town or making a trip to Your Store, which was only a few blocks away. If she was doing a “right good shopping,” she pulled her collapsible metal cart with the big wheels. “Here you go. There’s a couple snickerdoodles thrown in for good measure. I was going to warn you to not eat the whole bag at once, but you look like you could use a good sugar rush. Are you sleeping well?”

  “I’ve done better in my life.”

  “How’s your . . . whatever you can’t talk about going?”

  “It’s going. God is good, even when we’re not.”

  Earl came bounding through the back door, letting Dorothy’s screen door bang behind him. “Close the big door too, Earl. It’s kinda blustery out there. What do you need, sir?”

  “What do you want me to do next, Dearest Dorothy?”