“Koans? What are koans? Buddhist Bible verses?” I asked.
Timothy chuckled.
“Koans are puzzles that Zen students try to solve. But they aren’t intellectual exercises, like algebra problems or riddles. Two students can give the same answer to a koan and yet the teacher may say that only one of them has given the correct answer.”
“I’m pretty decent at the Jumble in the newspaper. Give me a koan.”
Timothy stared me down. “I’m warning you, a koan is not like the Jumble. But if you insist, I’ll give you my first koan.”
I rummaged through my bag for a pen and a scrap of paper. I found a deposit slip from the bank and poised my pen over it.
“Go ahead, shoot.”
“All right then, Elizabeth. Here it comes: What was your true face before you were born?”
I wrote down what Timothy said. “Okay, I got it. What was my face before I was born? Go on.”
“That’s all. That’s the koan.”
My left eyebrow arched. “Well, how in the world am I supposed to figure this out? It doesn’t even make sense. I didn’t have a face before I was born. Give me another one. An easy one.”
“I’m telling you, Elizabeth. Koans aren’t ordinary puzzles like the one about the rooster laying an egg on a barn. You won’t figure it out using logic. You must meditate on the answer. However, I’ll give you another one. Ready?”
“Let me have it.”
“What is the sound of one hand clapping?”
I dropped my pen on the table. “Now I know you’re flat making this up. I have my own koan for you. ‘Whose leg do you think you’re trying to pull?’ Now give me a real one. Don’t underestimate me, Timothy Hollingsworth. I got a lot of common sense.”
“I would never underestimate you, Elizabeth.” His eyes were teasing, and I liked hearing him say my name. For a minute it was almost as if he were a regular guy flirting with a girl.
“By the way, Timothy Hollingsworth,” I said in a sly voice. “Roosters don’t lay eggs.”
After we finished eating, we ambled to the checkout. Timothy completely ignored the toothpick dispenser, which I thought was classy. Clip always zoned in on it, like a dog taking to a fire hydrant. I smiled at Timothy and he returned the grin, but this time it came easily for him.
As he smiled, I noticed what a nice, full bottom lip he had and I briefly wondered what it might be like to kiss him. But then I decided that was silly. The two of us came from completely different worlds. Also, even though Timothy had opened up to me some, it was obvious that he was so shy that if he even thought about kissing a girl, he’d probably have a heart attack.
Still, I thought he might be a nice fellow to have as a friend.
Nine
Warning! In case of rapture this car will be unmanned.
~ Bumper sticker on Reverend Hozey’s Chevy Lumina
“That a new dress?” Attalee asked me. She’d forgotten to pencil in her eyebrows, so her forehead appeared to occupy three-quarters of her face.
“It isn’t new.” I shook out a nylon nightie and slid it on a hanger. I’d just finished putting out a new shipment of sleep-wear.
“Is so,” Attalee jutted out her bottom lip. “You never wore it before, and I’ve seen you nearly every day for the last ten years. I could sit here and tell you everything you got hanging in your closet. The lilac sweater and skirt set that’s all nubby around the hem and sleeves, that black dress with the empire waist that’s torn underneath the armpit, that polyester shift that’s either rust or burgundy—”
“It’s just not brand-new,” I said to hush her. “I got it at the Goodwill for five dollars. Nice bargain, huh?” I did a little twirl in front of her and then walked to the canned-goods aisle to take inventory.
Attalee swung around to address Mavis, who was in the break area reading Us. Her hand was tucked into a bag of pork rinds.
“You have a surly store manager here, Mavis,” Attalee said. “Asked her if she had a new dress, and she said it ain’t new, it’s new to her. Well, la di dah, Missy, new to you means new.” Attalee stuck her tongue out at me.
“Uh, huh,” Mavis said reading her article. Mavis’s mustache had an orange tint to it, so she must have bleached it recently.
“Did it ever occur to you that your wardrobe is all over the color wheel?” Attalee asked me. “You wear lilacs, blacks, reds, and pastels. You’re supposed to stick to a season. My granddaughter Shawnee would rather be naked than put anything on her back that wasn’t from the autumn family.”
“Mavis, we’re running out of Clover Valley soups,” I said. “All we’ve got left is Cream of Celery and Vegetable Beef.”
“And don’t be trying to change the subject,” Attalee shouted. “Which was...? Heavens to Betsy, what was the subject?”
Mavis put down the magazine. “I could go for years without reading one more thing about Miley Cyrus.” She strode to the back of the store.
“I remember the subject!” Attalee interjected. “The subject is why Elizabeth is all of a sudden showing up in new things. Today a new dress. Yesterday a brand-new scarf; the day before a dolphin pin with a rhinestone eye.”
“It’s a whale pin,” I remarked.
Attalee shrugged. “Dolphin. Whale. Do I look like Jacques Cousteau to you?”
“Attalee!” Mavis shouted. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, please don’t leave your teeth lying around. I just ran across them in health and beauty and they like to have given me a stroke.”
“Now you’re changing the subject again, trying to confuse me,” Attalee said. “Elizabeth is wearing fancy new things and lately when she gets a phone call, she ducks into one the aisles. Not that we can’t tell that something is up because of all the giggling and carrying on and using big words trying to impress certain people. It’s plain as the nose on my face—”
The door opened and Mrs. Tobias walked into the Bottom Dollar.
“—that our Elizabeth is smitten with that bald boy!”
Mrs. Tobias clutched her purse close to her side. “What’s this I’m hearing about Elizabeth?”
I felt the skin on my face turn all kinds of colors. I have delicate, paper-thin skin that shows my emotions just like one of them mood rings. I felt like giving Attalee’s curls a good yank.
“Oh, it’s just Attalee carrying on,” I said.
“Well, if you’re discussing Timothy and Elizabeth’s friendship, I want you to know that I think it’s just lovely,” Mrs. Tobias said. “Ever since they’ve met that child’s been like a new person. There’s a new lilt in his step and I think Elizabeth deserves full credit. And thank goodness, he’s once again growing a lovely head of hair.”
“And staying away from airports, I hope,” Attalee said.
“Attalee,” I said, sounding a warning note that she couldn’t have missed. But she ignored me and stalked over to Mrs. Tobias.
“Elizabeth’s been acting loopy, too,” she said. “I think she’s setting her cap for your grandson. But it would never work. She was raised Baptist, and he’s a Buddhist. What would the young’uns be, Booptists?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a feeble exhale of air.
“Timothy was born a High Episcopalian, and he will be buried as a High Episcopalian.” To punctuate her statement, Mrs. Tobias gestured like a cop stopping traffic, though the gumdrop diamond on her hand could have caused quite an accident. “This Buddhism business is clearly a stage,” she added quickly.
“I’m glad Timothy’s so chipper,” I said. “But I’m sure it’s not just because of our friendship.”
I put the emphasis hard on the word “friendship,” so Mrs. Tobias wouldn’t think I was getting any outlandish ideas. Since our dinner at the Wagon Wheel and his lesson o
n the computer, Timothy and I had gone out for two lunches and a walk along the Savannah River. The most intimate Timothy had ever gotten with me was when he accidentally kicked my leg underneath the table at the Chat ‘N’ Chew.
“Mrs. Tobias, you want a cup of coffee?” I asked. “I made some fresh.”
She crossed toward me with a warm smile on her face. At least she didn’t seem concerned about Attalee’s remarks. She took my hand and patted it. Her palm was cool and dry, as if she had dusted it with powder.
“I want you to know that I am tickled pink that you and Timothy have hit it off so well. He’s my favorite grandchild and you’re my favorite... well, you’re my favorite young person, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Any more news about this dollar store that’s supposed to be coming to Cayboo Creek?” Mrs. Tobias asked.
At the mention of the Super Saver, Mavis seized her coffee cup and strode to the stockroom.
“Nary a word,” I said. “It’s kind of a delicate subject around here, Mrs. Tobias,” I whispered. “But I’m not putting my head in the sand. I rode over to the Small Business Development Center out in Augusta and got every pamphlet they had on marketing techniques. When and if they open up, I’ll be ready for them.” I also filled her in about the first meeting of SOB and asked her to sign the petition.
She signed with a flourish. Her handwriting was so pretty it almost looked like calligraphy. “Elizabeth, you really should look into attending the University,” she said, tucking her fountain pen back into her purse. “They have night classes, you know, for more mature students. If it’s a matter of finances, well, I’d be delighted to speak with my banker. I’ll just bet he could find a student loan with an uncommonly low interest rate. And if not, why, I’d just lend you the money myself.”
“I’ve told you before, Mrs. Tobias. I’m just not college material.” I handed her a mug of coffee. “Besides, why would you want to lend me money?”
Mrs. Tobias smiled. “I just think it’s important that young people have long-term goals,” she said. “Besides, what am I going to do with all my money? Spend it on fussy little senior tours to peep at leaves? I should think not.”
Just then Chiffon charged into the Bottom Dollar in her gingham waitress uniform. Her hair net was askew and she was out of breath.
“Elizabeth, we need you right away at the Wagon Wheel!” she shouted. “Alice Faye Pruitt clutched her chest and fell face first into the coleslaw bin. We think she may have had a heart attack.”
I tossed my clipboard aside. “Did you call 911?”
“Yeah, they’re on their way, but I knew you could get there quicker,” Chiffon said.
“What’s this all about?” Mrs. Tobias asked in a high, thin voice. “Why do they want you, Elizabeth?”
I didn’t pause to answer, but as I was hustling out the door, I heard Attalee say, “Elizabeth was a lifeguard when she was in high school, so she knows CPR and that Hind-lick maneuver. She might save Alice Faye’s life.”
Chiffon and I tore across Mule Pen Road like our sneakers were on fire. We dashed inside the Wagon Wheel, where I saw a knot of folks kneeling by Alice Faye, who was laid flat out on the carpet by the Mega Bar.
“Move aside!” Chiffon hollered. “We got someone here who knows CPR.”
People scattered like cue balls and I crouched beside Alice Faye, who looked gray as granite and still had matchstick carrots and mayonnaise all over her face from her dive in the coleslaw bin.
“Alice Faye, hang on in there. We’ll fix you up.”
I tilted her head back and listened for any sign of breathing. I didn’t hear a sound, so I pinched her nose and blew into her mouth.
Still nothing. She was limp as a noodle and no breath came out of her blue lips.
“Come on, Alice Faye,” I whispered. “Come on back to us.”
I pressed down on Alice Faye’s chest the way I’d done on the dummy during my last Red Cross class. Fifteen chest compressions and then two breaths, and it all had to be done quickly. Sweat from my brow dripped down on Alice Faye’s paisley print dress as I continued with the chest compressions. Nothing seemed to be happening. I had no way of knowing if I was doing it right. There was no Red Cross lady looking over my shoulder to critique my technique.
“Any sign of the EMTs?” I yelled as I pushed on her chest. “Come on, Alice. Help me out here. Just breathe. You can do it.”
Just then, I detected a slight exhale. Her breath was shallow at first, but grew steadier until there was no mistaking it. After a few good breaths, her red-rimmed eyes fluttered open. She jerked at the sight of me leaning over her and I said, “It’s okay, Alice Faye. You’re gonna be alright.”
I nudged her to her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own spit just as the EMTs sprinted in with a stretcher.
“Looks like she’s breathing again,” I said, as Josh Tucker knelt down to take Alice Faye’s vital signs.
Chiffon crouched beside us and said, “Elizabeth jump-started her heart. That was amazing.”
“You did good, girl,” Josh said with a smile. He signaled for the other EMT to pick up Alice Faye’s feet and they loaded her onto the stretcher.
I stood up with legs so weak I feared they’d splinter like toothpicks. Chiffon grabbed my arm to steady me, saying, “Lord, Elizabeth, watching you was like seeing an episode of Baywatch only without the beach.”
Birdie weaved through the crowd of people that had gathered around us and snapped my picture with her old-fashioned flash camera.
“Elizabeth, you’re a hero!” she cried out, as I blinked at the spots of the flash.
That’s how I ended up on the front page of the Cayboo Creek Crier, my hair plastered to my head from perspiration, with the headline that read, “Dollar Store Girl Saves Dowager in Diner.” (Birdie loved alliteration.)
Mavis bought ten copies and had one framed, which she displayed in the front of the store just above the shelves of Bunny bread.
Mrs. Tobias sent me a dozen pink roses and a card that said, “I’ve always known that you’re a remarkable young woman.” It was one of my proudest moments ever.
TEN
Timber! I’m Falling in Love
~ Selection C-10 on the jukebox at the Tuff Luck Tavern
Whenever Timothy and I had lunch plans, we would meet outside Hollingsworth Paper Cups, right under the gigantic cup made of Sheetrock. I liked to arrive early, because I enjoyed watching Timothy sprinting down the steps of the building in his dashing business ensemble. I was captivated by the idea of a man who got all spiffed up to go to work.
His shoes were as shiny and black as Maybelline’s coat and the creases in his slacks were sharp enough to slice bread. His crisp, white shirts were monogrammed at the cuffs.
Timothy said his work clothes made him feel prickly. He continually fidgeted with the collar of his dress shirt and flung his tie over his shoulder as if it were the worst kind of nuisance. He confessed that when he was in the privacy of his office he would replace his stiff work shoes with sandals, and he often said how much he missed wearing his robe. I nodded sympathetically, but secretly favored his suit over his sheet.
Sometimes on weekends we’d have us a picnic along the banks of Cayboo Creek. We’d stretch out on a blanket to eat the lunch Timothy packed, dip elephant ears into the water, and listen to dragonflies hum as they slipped in and out of the knee-high rushes.
He got a kick out of bringing me foods he figured I hadn’t tried before. Once he brought soft round cheeses about the size of half dollars that came in little mesh bags. Another time it was a big bottle of apple juice, all dolled up in foil so it looked like a bottle of champagne.
St. Thaddeus, the Episcopal church in downtown Augusta, featured performers during the lunch hour on Tuesdays. Since Tuesday was my day off,
Timothy and I went every week.
I’d never seen such a variety of folks making music as I did at St. Thaddeus. I’m partial to country music—Clint Black, Faith Hill, and the like—but because of Timothy, I was starting to appreciate big band, blues, jazz, and even organ music.
Timothy listened during the concerts as if the world existed purely for the music. His attention was so fierce that it would pull me in when my own meandered, which was often.
I sat next to him on the pew, not touching him but close enough to feel his warmth. I would sneak glances at his profile out of the corner of my eye, because, given the setting, I was too shy for him to catch me looking at him. There was something very wifely about sitting next to a man in church.
St. Thaddeus had been Timothy’s childhood church. One afternoon while we were waiting in line to get into the concert, I noticed some marble memorials on the wall in the church’s entryway. I startled at the engraving “Lilly Tobias, Beloved Daughter and Sister, 1954-1975.”
“Timothy, is this a relative of yours?”
Timothy nodded. “Yes. Lilly Tobias was my aunt. She died in a car accident before I was born. My grandmother says that my mother never really got over it. She and Lilly were identical twins.”
I traced my finger over the letters, which were cold to the touch. “Mrs. Tobias never mentioned that she had a daughter who died.”
“It was a terrible tragedy for all of them. She probably doesn’t want to talk about it. Our family isn’t one to discuss their pain.”
I nodded and looked up at Timothy, who’d tucked his hands into his pockets. A November wind snatched up several leaves, which danced in front of us, as if alive. “You never mention your mother,” I said. I could see puffs of my breath as I spoke.
Timothy shrugged. “Unfortunately, we aren’t close. She doesn’t even live here. Once I came home to look after the family business she flew off to the French Riviera, where she has a villa. As far as I know, she may stay there for good.”
Bet Your Bottom Dollar (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 1) Page 7
