Driving Lessons

by Curtiss Ann Matlock

Charlene listened to the answering machine click, no one speaking. She knew it had been Mason. She went into the kitchen and got a glass of ice tea. She stood there with the glass in hand and gazed out at the setting sun. She wanted to call him, but she could not. She thought, I can’t, Lord. What will I say to him? I can’t need him. I can’t need anyone ever again.

  Mason was stopped at the light on Main Street when Charlene’s faded Suburban passed across in front of him, going so fast that the truck sort of went airborne for a second. The light turned green, and Mason whipped his truck around the corner, as fast as a one-ton flatbed delivery truck stacked with grain sacks can be whipped, and followed her up Church Street, to her father’s house. Her speed amazed him. She took out a lilac bush as she pulled into the Valentine driveway beside a dark green sedan.

  He pulled up at the front of the yard and got out. She stopped on the steps and looked at him. “I’m busy right now, Mason. I’m sorry but I can’t talk to you.”

  “So I see,” he said, striding across the yard.

  She was at the door when he reached the stairs. She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Then she said in a lowered voice, “It’s those women from the state human services department that Mildred was telling us about. I have to see what I can do about keeping Ruthanne.”

  She opened the door. He went in right on her heels. She cast him an impatient frown but kept on going.

  Vella strode out of the living room toward them so fast the hem of her dress flew out behind her. “I’ve held the floor until you got here,” she told Charlene in a righteous whisper.

  To Charlene’s quick, whispered questions, Vella replied, “Ruthanne’s hiding in her room. She is terrified. I have tried to tell this to these women, but they…” She cast Mason a surprised look. “Hello, Mason.”

  Charlene continued on into the living room, where Mildred sat gripping her cane, and two official-looking women stood in front of the sofa. “Hello, Mrs. Darnell. I’m Pamela Browne, and this is my colleague, Louise Tallman.”

  Charlene shook the women’s hands. Mason saw immediately which woman was the one in charge; he had the impression of a small but implacable rod of steel. No one volunteered to introduce him, and he stayed in the background. The rod of steel spared him one glance and then seemed to dismiss him as she explained her mission to Charlene, which basically was to take Ruthanne, as a ward of the state, out of the care of an elderly gentleman who had been showing signs of mental deterioration and was now incapacitated. “I’m sorry about your father, Mrs. Darnell. I didn’t know about his illness, or I would have made a point of coming earlier in the week.” There was a vague accusation in the condolence. “We have a place for Ms. Bell in a state-monitored home.”

  Charlene said, “Shall we sit down?” causing Ms. Browne’s eyes to jump.

  The women sat. Mason remained leaning against the entryway jamb.

  “When you speak of removing Ruthanne to a home, do you mean a nursing home?” Charlene asked.

  “Well, yes,” Mrs. Browne said. “Ms. Bell will have care there.”

  “Ruthanne isn’t sick,” Charlene said, emphasizing Ruthanne.

  “Nooo, but you must concur that Ms. Bell is not in her right mind.”

  “Ruthanne may often be confused and not what we all term in her right mind, but she is not crazy. She is not harmful. She is right now quite afraid and hiding in her bedroom. She is afraid of you and being taken from this home. I don’t know how that can be better for her.”

  The rod of steel did not like having her plans questioned. “Ms. Bell is not a relative of yours, Miz Darnell. Why should you care whether she stays here or goes?”

  Charlene looked at the woman for a long minute in which Mason wondered if he might have to break up an out-and-out fight. Although a much softer woman, Charlene had steel inside her, too. She said, “If you think it is because of her social security, let me assure you that that bit of money barely covers her expenses. I surely could not get rich off of it. I care because in the months she has been here, Ruthanne has become a friend, a part of our family. Her welfare is important to my grandfather and to Mrs. Covington, so therefore, it is important to me. And it seems to me quite silly to jerk someone out of where they are happy and put them through unnecessary misery.”

  Charlene had the woman’s attention. Mason watched her tilt her head and listen to Mrs. Browne, who no doubt knew she had made an error in judgment of Charlene and possibly the entire situation, but who was not a person to readily admit to errors. The two talked around the situation. Ms. Browne pointed out that the women needed help in the home, and that a responsible person was needed to watch out for Ruthanne. Charlene explaining that she could not move her children from their own home to live here with her father, but that she would be looking in on a constant basis.

  Finally Mildred stuck in, “Well, if you take Ruthanne, I guess you’ll have to take me, too,” which caused the other women to stare at her. “I am not crazy. I can look out for Ruthanne.” She lifted her chin.

  After that Ms. Browne got around to admitting what she had wanted to admit five minutes after Charlene started talking. “I can see that Miss Bell has some good friends here.”

  “Well, she certainly does,” Vella put in. “We take care of each other around here in Valentine. We’ll all keep helping out, too, until Winston comes home, and then his insurance and medicare will pay for a day nurse, if he needs it.”

  Mason stepped forward. “Ms. Browne, would a day nurse right now be something that your offices could help with?”

  All the women looked up at him with surprise, apparently having forgotten his presence.

  “It would cost the state a lot less to have some temporary help come in here for these ladies than to put Miss Bell in a home, when she doesn’t need a home. If someone could come a few hours each day, Miz Mildred here is capable of making certain Miss Bell eats and is kept clean. All she needs is some help.”

  “That’s true,” Mildred said instantly, glancing around at all of them. “Winston did that, but I can do it until he comes home. I can do it for as long as I have to. I just can’t cook,” she said directly to Ms. Browne.

  It was arranged. Vella and the squad of church ladies would check on the two women and help out as required, the Senior Center could send a hot meal each day, and Ms. Browne would send a practical nurse to check three times a week.

  “That is the best I can do,” Ms. Browne told Charlene and Mason on the front porch, “and that is bending rules all over the place, and I don’t know how long I can get away with it, either.”

  Charlene watched the two women go down the walk to their car. Ms. Tallman, who never uttered a word the entire time she had been there, glanced up at the flags flying high and shook her head.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Charlene saw through the screen door into the foyer that Mildred was hugging Ruthanne, who had come out of her room when told the “State Lady” was gone.

  Charlene looked at Mason. “Thank you for the suggestion of the practical nurse. It gave Ms. Browne some way to keep control.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment, then said, “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I know.” Her gaze rested on his blue eyes. Her irritation wasn’t at him. It was at herself. But how could she tell him that?

  “Why haven’t you returned my calls?” he asked, hurt in his voice.

  She raked a hand through her hair. “I am up to my ears, Mason, in kids and my father and these old ladies and trying to earn a living so my kids don’t starve.”

  She looked at him and felt badly. “I’m sorry” was all she could think to say. “That’s how it is, Mason. You’ve been such a help to me, but the more you help, the more obligated I feel. The more I feel…caught. I’m not ready for such a relationship where you’re helping me so close. I can’t deal with you and me right now. Everyone else needs me.”

  “Well, that’s all I wanted. An explanation.”

  “And now I�
�ve given you one.” She headed away to her truck.

  The next thing she knew he had followed her. When she opened the truck door, he grabbed it. “You’re runnin’ from me.”

  She felt trapped and was angry at him for it. “Maybe I am. I think that’s my choice.”

  She got into the Suburban and backed out. Suddenly she was crying. Her vision was so blurry that she backed over the lilac bush before she realized it.

  Thirty-Eight

  Mason turned out the warehouse lights and shut the door, hardly aware of doing so. He had not been able to keep his mind on anything all afternoon, since his argument with Charlene. He didn’t suppose it was much of an argument. It was more like her telling him to get lost.

  As he opened the door of his pickup, Iris called to him and came hurrying across the lot in a ridiculously short skirt and idiotic platform shoes. “Adam told me about your idea,” she said, a little breathless. Breathing deeply made her prominent breasts move up and down in a noticeable fashion. “The idea for the senior living complex.”

  “Oh.”

  “My parents live in one, you know, up in Kansas City.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Well, they do, and they love it. It’s really expensive. Most all of them are like that. My parents searched a lot of places, and they were all expensive. But they can afford it. I think your idea for one around here that would be more affordable is really good, and I told Adam so.”

  Mason looked at her, waiting politely for her to finish.

  She lifted her chin. “I told Adam that I’d like to work on something like that. I could do a lot of the information gathering and figuring the costs. I’m really good at shopping for bargains. Adam said he’d think about it. Would it be okay with you if I work on it, too? It’d be something Adam and I could do together, you know.”

  Mason was startled by both her anxiousness and the proposal. “Well, yeah…if Adam goes for it.” He couldn’t imagine his brother coming around to the idea.

  Apparently Iris could, though, because she smiled big and said, “Thanks, Mason. This, well, this would give Adam and me something to work on together. He’s real good with investing, and I’m real good with spending.”

  He shook his head, grinning, and started to get into the pickup; then he stopped. “Iris?”

  “Yeah?”

  Now he felt really foolish. “What should a guy do about a woman when she starts running from him, but he’s pretty certain she likes him?”

  “You mean Charlene is givin’ you the run-around?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he said. He was in it now, so he might as well get through.

  Tilting her head in thought, Iris walked slowly back toward him. “Well, Mason, put yourself in her shoes. Her husband leaves her for another woman. That’s gonna make a woman feel like an awful failure. And she has to provide everything for her kids. And now her daddy is sick and everybody is leaning on her. Don’t you think that’d make you a little crazy? She’s just got to sort it out. You might just need to give her some time.”

  It wasn’t really what he wanted to hear. He wanted to know what he could do.

  She laid her hand on his arm, and she asked in her warm, liquid voice, “Have you told Charlene how you feel? I mean, straight out.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, feeling embarrassed, but saying, “And I’ve tried every way I know to show her, too.”

  “Then there isn’t anything else you can do. You let her know you are here when she’s ready, and you leave her to herself. Have faith in her to know what’s right for her. If you don’t have faith in her, have faith in the Divine Spirit inside her. Don’t crowd her. And don’t do for her what she has to do for herself.”

  She looked down at her platform shoes. “Don’t do to her what I did to Adam. I kept after him so hard that it was me controlling everything. I controlled him right into marriage, and he’s always felt a little maneuvered. He loves me,” she said quickly. “It’s just that sometimes he feels resentful, and it’s because I wouldn’t let him do his part. I was so scared he wouldn’t do what I thought he should that I did it for him. Controlling like that, well, it just takes away a person’s pride.”

  He was struck then, seeing her eyes get teary. He put an arm out, and she came against him.

  “I meant it with love with Adam, but trying to control somebody just never works,” she whispered shakily.

  He didn’t know what to say. It was a relief when she sniffed and pulled away, because he’d suddenly gotten a little worried about Adam catching her against him.

  Iris patted his chest. “You just let Charlene know you’re waitin’ and then give her space. If it’s right, then it will work out.” She smiled bravely at him. “Not everything depends on us, you know. God is there, and He’ll do his part, if we let him.”

  He managed a thanks and then got quickly into his truck, before she could go to touching him all over again. He had shifted into gear when he was surprised once again by Iris appearing at his open window.

  She said, “There’s something else. Something people forget. People have needs, Mason, you know?” She arched her eyebrow in a sexy manner. “We are human bodies, but a lot of times people won’t admit that and deal with it. And when we don’t face it, it just makes us so terribly grumpy.”

  Then she turned and walked away, leaving him feeling a little as if he’d been through a wringer. He knew about needs. He was having a whole lot of them himself. It amazed him that for all these years he could have managed to not really have any needs, but since his hope for Charlene had taken wings, he’d been having all sorts of needs he had not thought of for a long time.

  The next morning, upon passing down Main Street, it struck him to pull into Grace Florist. He walked right in, hardly realizing why he was there, saw a sign for roses and ordered a dozen roses to be delivered to Charlene. Yellow roses, he decided on impulse, when the girl told him their yellow roses had a scent.

  He took so long to write the card that the girl gave him an impatient look.

  There, he thought, when he had come out. He had done something. “I guess it’s up to you now, God,” he said.

  That afternoon, at the shop, Charlene received a florist delivery—a dozen yellow roses. Magnificent roses. “Fresh this morning,” the young girl who delivered them said.

  “Well, hurry up and read the card,” Oralee prodded.

  Charlene opened the small envelope with shaking fingers. It read: I want you to know I care for you. I’m here if you need me for anything. Love, Mason.

  Charlene pressed the card to her chest and stared wide-eyed at the roses for several long seconds, and then she burst into tears, right there in front of a room of customers. Mortified, she raced to the back room.

  Oralee followed and hugged her. “Why, that SOB! Sending flowers. We’ll get him for that.”

  “Oh, Oralee,” Charlene said, laughing and crying. She handed Oralee the card; she read it and passed it to Dixie, who had joined them, leaving all their customers wondering.

  Dixie read the card and said, “That is some kind of man.”

  Charlene took the flowers home and put them first on the dining room table, and then she moved them onto the kitchen table. The rest of that day and into the next, she kept looking at the flowers. She came in from shopping for Mildred and Ruthanne and saw the flowers. She came in from visiting her father, and she saw the flowers. She cooked supper, she saw the flowers. She rose and made coffee, and she saw the flowers.

  “I’m afraid, Lord,” she said aloud as she sat to drink her morning coffee in full view of the roses.

  She went about her busy Saturday, forgetting the flowers. Until that evening she came into the kitchen, and her eyes fell on them. Quite suddenly she realized the most amazing fact that she was alone. Larry Joe had a date with Pia, Danny J. was off with a bunch of his friends, and Jojo had decided to stay awhile with Ruthanne and play checkers.

  The idea hit her to drive over to see Mason.
By the time she got into the Suburban, however, she was having great doubts. Of course she couldn’t go see him. She was too confused to explain things to him. She didn’t know what she would say.

  She drove all over town, until finally she was driving into Mason’s yard lit with the warm glow of a setting sun. She stopped the Suburban and shoved it into park, and then sat there, not turning it off.

  Mason came out on the porch. He stared at her, and she stared at him.

  He came up to her window and sort of crouched down. “Are you going to come in?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, feeling at a loss. “I don’t even know for sure why I’m here.”

  He grinned that wonderful, warm grin. “Why don’t you come in and maybe you’ll figure it out.”

  She looked at him and then turned off the engine and got out, looking around. She didn’t know when she’d found out he lived here. It suited him. Old-fashioned, warm and homey. A big mimosa tree in the front yard.

  He held the screen door for her, and she went inside. The first thing she saw were books. Books on shelves lined the walls and seemed stacked everywhere.

  “Ah…I’ve been going through them. Cleaning out.” He pointed to boxes.

  She went around the living room, scanning the books, touching her fingers lightly to titles like The Hound of the Baskervilles right next to A Cowboy Dictionary. For a minute Mason stood there, watching her, and then when she looked around he was gone. She heard him at the back of the house, heard the clink of dishes. She continued to peruse the books, all covered with fine dust so that she could see Mason’s fingerprints here and there.

  She went all around his house, into the rooms, just standing there and looking around. She liked the scent of the house. It was Mason, musky and warm and sweet and salty. There was a desk in the small room adjoining the living room, an old rolltop desk, papers covering it, slipping off and to the floor. In his very old-fashioned but neat and tidy bedroom, his bed, an old iron bedstead, was made with a lovely quilt. Books on the night table. A clock with big alarm bells, as if he needed that to wake him. Her gaze went back to the bed, and she stared long at it, thinking of being snuggled there.