Claire Knows Best

by Tracey Bateman

  “Same here. I just had to check out the best church in town.”

  “Was I right or was I right?”

  “Well, I haven’t checked out all the others, but this beats any I’ve gone to since Mama’s church back home.”

  The girl’s obviously brainwashed because childhood loyalty notwithstanding, there’s no way she’s ever been to a church as great as this one. “Got plans for lunch?”

  “Not really,” she says.

  “Want to join me? I thought about going to Ellie’s Barbecue out by Bennett Springs.”

  “Mmm. Sounds good.”

  “Great, follow me to my house and we’ll leave your car there. You can ride with me.”

  She agrees and I walk to my borrowed SUV. Alone. The kids are staying two weeks with their dad per Darcy’s request. She says she’s nesting and needs someone to take care of with Rick working so many hours and her getting uncomfortably close to her due date. I didn’t see them in church, so I figure they went to the first service.

  Kids are so unpredictable. I almost expected an outcry at the suggestion they spend two weeks with Rick and Darcy, especially after the way they reacted about staying there before. I suppose they see this differently, though. Because there was no fussing about it.

  In a few minutes I’m pulling into my driveway. Penny parks alongside the curb.

  “This is your house, huh?” she says as she gets in.

  “Not exactly,” I say as I pull back out. “The owner left town and needed someone to keep an eye on the place.”

  “Lucky you. Sure beats the apartments.”

  “You got that right, girlfriend.” Darn it! There it comes again. The lingo. I roll my eyes. “Sorry.”

  Laughter bursts from her throat. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m used to it.”

  Now my face burns. As much as I don’t want to see differences, I do. Not in a class or caste system. More a cultural thing. I guess it’s sort of like how my brother, Charley, has a thick Texas drawl even though he grew up in Missouri and has only lived in the Lone Star state for the past five years.

  Then again, I guess only a weak mind is so easily influenced. I’ve always known Charley was weak, but what does that say about me?

  Oh, well.

  By now we’re passing my house and Penny gives a low whistle as she looks it over. The broken part of the roof has been removed and the boards are in a pile at the side of the house.

  I stop the SUV in the middle of the road. “That’s my house.”

  “I didn’t picture it being this bad.”

  “I used to have a massive oak tree next to the house.”

  “How long before you get to move back in?”

  “Two or three months, I guess. One of the rooms has more damage than the rest.”

  “Who’s the old man?”

  “Huh?” I think maybe Penny might be hallucinating just a bit.

  “In that yard.”

  I tear my eyes from my dilapidated house to see John Wells waving.

  I take my foot off the brake and pull the SUV to a stop next to John’s curb. I wave him over as an idea hits me. An idea that is quite possibly not that great of an idea, but nonetheless, when I get something into my head it’s hard not to follow through. He walks to my window.

  “You look very nice, Ms. Everett.” His lips twitch.

  “Thanks. Church.”

  “Has your soul been sufficiently lifted?”

  “It has. You ought to try it sometime.” I look at Penny, whose bemused look reveals that she doesn’t get the joke. And, of course, there’s no reason she should. “John’s the neighborhood’s token atheist.”

  She snorts.

  “If you’re going to discuss me as though I’m not here, please introduce me to this young lady.”

  “John Wells, meet Penny. We met while I was living at the apartments.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Thanks,” Penny says with her wide smile. “My pleasure, too.”

  And now for my bright idea. “Hey, John, we’re going out for lunch. Want to tag along?”

  “Inviting me on a date? I’m honored, Ms. Everett.”

  “Okay. You can delude yourself into thinking this is a date. But remember, it’s not really.”

  He chuckles and looks past me to Penny. “Ms. Everett is our token heartbreaker. There’s one on every block.”

  We wait for John to wash his hands and lock his door.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Penny says suddenly. “It’s been a tough week. I feel better already. Just going to church and being invited to lunch.”

  “I’m glad for the company. The kids are gone for a couple of weeks. I always eat too much when I’m alone.”

  “I hear you.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. She has the perfect body, and I have a feeling she knows it.

  She unhooks her seat belt when John emerges from his house. “Guess I’ll let the old guy sit up front.”

  I grin. John would hate being called the “old guy,” but come on. He is.

  He slips into his seat and looks at me expectantly. I look right back at him, because, frankly, I’m not that great a driver. I drive too fast and sometimes birds distract me. “Are we having a picnic in the vehicle?” he asks, and I hear Penny snort from the back.

  “Seat belt, Sir John Wells.”

  “Never wear them.”

  Okay, one thing I have discovered about John is that he loves women. I know it won’t take much to get my way.

  “Please? I would feel awful if we crash and you get hurt.”

  He raises an eyebrow and I see acquiescence on his lined, Sean Conneryish handsome face.

  “For you, Ms. Everett.” And just like that he clicks his seat belt into place.

  I reward him with a broad smile. “Thanks.”

  As I pull away from the curb, my stomach starts to churn. I’m not sure this is such a good idea, after all.

  “So, tell me about yourself, John,” Penny says.

  Oh, good. His favorite subject. That ought to distract him for the time being.

  And for the next ten minutes he regales us with a tale about the time President Reagan came to see him while he was performing on Broadway. His voice gets thoughtful as he recites from memory a note the late great president sent backstage. It was simple: “You made me forget you were acting. Good job. Ronnie.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” Penny says, although I know darned well Miss Barely Twentysomething couldn’t possibly remember a president before Clinton. “My folks voted for Carter and Mondale.” Okay, maybe she paid attention in history classes.

  “Ah, were your parents from Minnesota?” John grins.

  Penny’s laugh echoes throughout the SUV. “California. I think they were the only people in the state who voted on the Democratic ticket that election.”

  John looks over his shoulder and sends her a wink. (What is it about old guys and winking, anyway?) “I didn’t vote either time, but I had great respect for Reagan. It was a sad, sad day when he passed on.”

  “At least he’s in heaven,” I can’t resist saying. I’d rather talk religion than politics anyway. I know where I stand on Christianity. I’m a little wishy-washy when it comes to politics. And we’ll just leave it at that.

  John seems to have my number. He laughs out loud. “Heaven? The fairy-tale kingdom where all good people and good dogs go when they die.”

  “Now, John. You’ve read the Bible, you say. You should know that no one is good. No not one.”

  “Touché. So why try?”

  “I’m so glad you asked.” I grin and turn my gaze to him. While he’s a captive audience, I think the time might finally have arrived to share the gospel. “Listen, John…”

  “Ms. Everett. While it is true I don’t believe in an afterlife, I’m not quite ready to test my theory. Will you please turn your attention back to the winding road?”

  “Yeah, I’m still debating whether my salvation is holding up consider
ing the past few years of my life,” Penny chimes in from the back. “I’m not ready to test my fear of hell.”

  “All right, fine.” I focus, and just in time, because I’m about to miss the parking lot. I set the whole heaven versus fairy-tale land debate on the back burner for now because, judging from the whiteness of John’s face, I think I might have to do CPR.

  “John, you okay?”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Don’t you like barbecue?” Penny saves me a reply by asking.

  “I do not.”

  “Well, that’s okay.” I wave off his frustrated response—

  totally playing the innocent. “They have seafood, too. And fried chicken.”

  “That is not the point.” He glares at me, and I realize once again what a terrible, awful actress I am. “When did you discover that my daughter and her grandmother run this place?”

  Penny holds up her hand. “Look, I can tell this is a private conversation, so how about I go in and use the bathroom and when I come out, you’ll either be in a booth waiting for me, or in the car waiting for me so we can leave.”

  She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, but opens the door and heads inside.

  “Ms. Everett, I’m not pleased with your duplicity.”

  He’s lucky I’m a wordsmith or I wouldn’t even know what he meant. But I get it. He’s basically calling me a liar. A deceiver.

  “Hey, John. I just wanted barbecue and invited you along.”

  “Revelation twenty-one, verse eight,” he says with Stu-like smugness. “Read it.”

  “How about telling me what it says?”

  “In essence, it tells where liars go.”

  I’m getting a little ticked off at this God-mocker’s Scripture referencing. “Oh, yeah? Where does it say atheists go?”

  His mustache gives that telltale twitch. “At least I admit what I am. That’s much more than I can say for you. I can read your face. You brought me here to try to play some sort of peacemaker between us.”

  Caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar, I shrug. “Well, ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God.’”

  His lip turns down and I see the first real scowl I’ve ever seen on John’s face. “You’re beginning to annoy me.”

  “What? It’s okay to quote it as long as you don’t believe it?”

  “How about we drop this and go inside before Penny thinks we’re leaving?”

  “Really?” Okay, I thought we were gearing up for a knock-down-drag-out fight and an immediate trip back to town.

  “I’m not a fool, my dear. I’ve been invited to dinner by two beautiful women. How can I pass up the opportunity?”

  John is smooth. Very smooth.

  Only when Brandi sees us, she glares at John and smiles at me. To my surprise, she meets us at the door with menus. “Follow me.”

  She seats us in my favorite booth. “I’ll be back with some water.”

  “Thanks. We have another person with us.”

  “That’ll be me.” Penny smiles broadly and plants herself next to me, forcing me to scoot in. I prefer to have a seat to myself, or at the very least have the outside. But I swallow hard and decide to try to contain my claustrophobia for the next thirty minutes to an hour.

  Brandi returns, unaware that her father hasn’t taken his eyes off of her since we stepped inside. Brandi leans on one hip. “So, how’d you get him to come out here?”

  I grin. “Seat belt, locked door, and seventy miles per hour. He didn’t have a chance.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He’s afraid of where atheists go,” I whisper, trying to get a rise out of him.

  “I can tell him where to go,” Brandi says, her expression turning hard as stone.

  John, ever the gentleman, clears his throat and looks at the menu. “I believe I will have the grilled trout with steamed zucchini and a house salad. Oil and vinegar dressing.”

  “Fine.” Brandi finishes taking his order, then turns to Penny and me. “Ladies?”

  I’m miserable. Truly. Why can’t I just mind my own business?

  The next forty-six minutes pass in a blur. The studied indifference of Brandi and John feeds Penny’s unabashed interest as she keeps glancing from them to me with a definite smirk. Brandi’s usual grin is nowhere in sight as she makes a minimal effort to keep us supplied with food and drink.

  Sigh. There’s nothing to do but tough it out and acknowledge my attempt at reconciliation is a complete failure.

  I do notice, however, that when we get up to leave John drops three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the table.

  “Nice tip, John,” Penny says and winks. “If you ever come into Shoney’s, be sure and ask for me. I work there Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.”

  “I’ll remember that,” John says, giving her a tolerant smile.

  We are out at the SUV and about to pull away when Brandi bursts through the door. “Hey! Wait!”

  John heaves a sigh and rolls down his window.

  “I don’t want your money, John Wells.”

  “I want you to have it. You’re my daughter.”

  Anger burns in her eyes. “Listen. I didn’t need your money growing up. And I don’t need your money now.” She flings the bills at him.

  Very calmly, John folds the money and reaches out before she can stop him. He tucks the money into her apron pocket. “It’s a tip for exceptional service.” Without another word he rolls up the window and sits straight as an arrow, his gaze directly ahead.

  Brandi stands motionless, her face reflecting indecision and pain. I help her make her decision to keep the cash that’s probably more than she makes in a week in tips. Sending her a little wave, I shift into reverse and back away.

  Once we get on the road, the silence is palpable. Finally, I can stand it no longer. “Now who’s the liar, John?”

  My words, out of nowhere, jolt him from his thoughts. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Exceptional service, my eye. We got everything except service from your daughter.”

  John Wells sits for a second in stunned silence. Then he laughs aloud. Penny joins him and, relieved, so do I.

  “Sorry for the bushwhack, John,” I say when I pull up alongside the curb in front of his house.

  He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my fingers. “Your heart was in the right place. It’s been a long time since someone cared about me, Ms. Everett. I can’t help but be touched by your generosity.”

  Sudden tears well up in my eyes, blinding me. I blink them back. “Don’t give up. She’ll come around eventually.”

  He gives me a sad little smile and there’s that wink again. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

  16

  That night I pull on my pj’s at eight o’clock and slip The Wizard of Oz into the DVD player. I crawl into bed. Lonely. The phone rings just as Dorothy steps from black and white into the Technicolor land of Oz.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “How did you… oh, caller ID.”

  Not much slips by Mom. She’s finally getting it.

  “So, what’s up?” I ask, hitting the pause button on the movie.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she says. “I can tell something is wrong. Want to tell me what it is?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I know she won’t buy it. And she knows I know it. Why do we go through the trouble of this little routine? Will I ever just come right out and admit my life stinks? For some reason I’m compelled to follow through with the comfortable ritual whereby Mom asks, I deny, she fishes, I give in, she gives bad advice, I get ticked, we hang up. Then act like nothing happened. No big deal.

  Let the games begin . . .

  “Something is wrong,” Mom fishes.

  Here’s where I give in, knowing I shouldn’t, but needing the unconditional love that only a mom can give. “Greg left for Oklahoma a few days ago.” Tears burn my eyes. “I just really miss him.”

  “Have you ha
d a change of heart about marrying him?” She has that hopeful tone that makes me feel even worse.

  “Not really.” I reiterate my position because it seems as though she needs a refresher. “Not pastor’s-wife material, remember?”

  “That’s just ridiculous.” Okay, it’s a little sooner than usual, but Mom has just kicked into bad-advice mode. “You give yourself far too little credit. Besides, I think you’ve misunderstood the role of a minister’s wife. Not all wives are involved in the day-to-day ministry of the pastor. Some stay home and take care of kids.”

  “I know,” I say a little testily, because quite frankly, I’m tired of discussing it. Why am I the only person who realizes what a horrible pastor’s wife I would make? And “stay home and take care of the kids”? What does she think I’ve been doing for the past sixteen years?

  “Well, if you’re going to be cranky, I’ll get to the point.”

  Please do, I think, but would never have the guts to say out loud. Besides, I thought the point was that she couldn’t stop thinking about me and my inner pain. I guess I don’t have the guts to go with that one, either.

  “I’ve decided to move back home.”

  I’m in the middle of an inhale when she says this, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to blow out the breath. It just stays in my lungs until I feel like my entire core is on fire.

  “Claire, are you still there?”

  The breath leaves me in a puff. “Can you say that again, Mom?”

  “I said I’m moving back.”

  I kick my legs over and over under the sheets, squeeze my eyes shut, try hard not to scream.

  Mom’s not buying it, though. “Good grief, Claire. What’s all that noise?”

  Immediately, my tantrum ceases. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you want me to move back?” Her tone moves me to guilt.

  “I just never thought you would. You love being with Charley and Marie and the kids. And, Mom, what about the new twins? Can you really leave those babies?”

  My mind is racing. I mean, I hated that she moved last fall. Hated it with a passion. I needed her help with the kids while I was recovering from carpal tunnel surgery. Turns out, I got along okay and learned to stand on my own. Does that mean this news of her return also foretells my regression into the same needy soul I was before?