Burnout

by Teresa Trent

  "Let me try." I struggled up from the floor and tried the knob. Nothing.

  She screamed out again. "What did you think? I can't turn a doorknob?"

  "Phyllis, settle down. We can call somebody on our cell phones. Do you have yours?"

  "No. It's in my purse under the table. How about you?"

  I sighed. "No."

  "Any other great ideas?"

  "Nope."

  Phyllis Hamlin walked to the other side of the supply closet and slid down the wall pulling her knees up to her chin. I banged on the door a few more times hoping that someone else would come down the hall looking for us or at least a glass of punch.

  "Don't bother. They can't hear us over the music."

  "I suppose you're right, but they'll come searching for us eventually."

  "Not until they crown the king and queen. We've got at least an hour."

  I also slid down, my back to the door. I figured I could at least hear if anyone came down the hall.

  "The bathrooms are on the other hall so there is no reason for anyone to come this way."

  "Unless they're looking for us. Maybe we could unscrew something from this side."

  "Ooh, the Happy Hinter in action." I knew she was making fun of me, but maybe she wasn't as desperate to get out of the closet as I was. The thought of being locked up away from the bathroom was looming heavily in the back of my mind. My focus on my own misery stopped short when Phyllis made a short sniff on the other side of the enclosure.

  "Are you alright?"

  She didn't answer, but put her head on her knees to hide her tears. "Damn. I could really use a cigarette right now."

  "Phyllis, don't cry. We're going to get out of here. They can't run that dance without you."

  She wailed. "Oh yes they can." I scooted over next to her, putting my arm around her.

  "What? Are you kidding? You're the backbone of this place. You make Nolan Ryan Middle School a well-oiled machine." She broke into a new set of sobs and turned and cried into my shoulder.

  "It's not true. I'm a fraud."

  "What do you mean? Of course you're not."

  "Yes I am. My husband's never home. I think he's having an affair."

  "You can't be sure of that. Maybe he's just working."

  "At two A.M.. at the Lucky U motel?"

  "Okay, you could be right."

  "And my son is a...a....C student." She said it as if he had leprosy. "He has a learning disability. No one in our family has ever had a learning disability."

  "That's not a bad thing. He just learns differently. That's all."

  "No, that's not all. My daughter hasn't called me since she left for college and ... and... I found a gray hair last week." With the last statement she let out the cry of a banshee making me wish I could stuff one of the cleaning rags on the shelf into my ears. I tightened my grip on her as she finished releasing all of the pent up frustration she felt.

  "You know, none of us is perfect. I don't even think we should even try to be."

  "It's easier for you. No one expects you to be perfect. They're used to seeing you screw up."

  I know she was trying to be nice, but why did it seem to hurt so much?

  She continued. "Now you have that handsome weatherman husband, and you live in a beautiful house. I mean where the hell do you find a guy like that in Pecan Bayou? Everything is wonderful for you."

  "No it's not."

  "Yes it is." She spit out.

  "Phyllis, you never know what's going on in any family's life." I felt my own waterworks coming on.

  "What do you have to cry about?" She asked her eyes wide.

  As if crying were as contagious as the flu, I blurted it out to the last person on the planet I wanted to tell.

  "I'm pregnant."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Twenty minutes later we had unscrewed the hinges from the door and pushed out of one side of it.

  "I'm going to have to start reading your column. Who knew you could knock those little hinges right out."

  "We were just lucky we were on the same side as the hinge." I started running down the hall towards the bathroom. "I'll be in there in just a minute."

  "No problem. Take your time." She was now lugging one of the giant jugs of concentrated juice. I wasn't sure, but she almost sounded like she was being nice to me.

  When I entered the gym, Elaina walked up to me. "Where have you been? I was about to put an APB out on you."

  "Uh, I had to go to the bathroom."

  "All that time?"

  Phyllis walked next to us with a punch bowl full of rosy red liquid. It could almost be sparkling cranberry. "We all need our girl time, now don't we Betsy."

  Elaina, a trained observer stood with her mouth open. "What is going on with her?"

  Nicholas Wendell motioned to me with his camera. "Betsy would you come up on stage so you can stand with your son for the pictures?"

  "Oh, they don't want a picture of me."

  "Don't be silly. You are part of the royal family. It is your honor and distinction." Phyllis said.

  Elaina punched me in the shoulder. "Do it for Tyler."

  We stood for the picture, and then Phyllis wheeled out a giant cake with a pumpkin on the top. I wondered what all the fuss about pumpkin squares was about when she had planned to wheel out this monstrosity. There were several candles scattered around the cake, and Phyllis started searching in her pockets.

  "Oh, darn. I seemed to have forgotten to bring matches. Not that we encourage any parents or children to smoke, but does anyone happen to have a light?"

  I was quite surprised when Nicholas Wendell offered up a lighter for the candle lighting. I was even more amazed when I realized it was Rocky's Zippo.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The next morning Leo and I sat at our kitchen table with a cold silence lingering between us. He reached over and took my hand into his.

  "Betsy I'm sorry. I just don't know what happened last night. You probably won't believe this, but I really did only have one beer. I hope you can forgive me."

  I remembered Barry's lies from all of those years ago. He was often sorry, too.

  "I want you to know that when I go over to the studio today I'll tell Stan this is the last day that I will do Hurricane Hal's broadcast."

  "You will?"

  "I promise. This is it. I was never meant to be an on-camera weatherman, and I won't be pushed into it."

  "It's just been so tough with the boys and you not being here."

  "I know. I really thought that things would become a little bit easier with us all under one roof. Two boys are a handful. I'm just glad we only each have one child. Just imagine if there was another one in the mix."

  I was stunned and tried to sound normal. "Yes, another child would be tough."

  I just had to hope he didn't notice the little shake in my voice.

  *****

  An a few hours later, after Leo rushed out to NUTV, I decided I needed a cup of coffee from Earls and hoped I would run into Mrs. Smith, Rocky's volunteer. I wanted a cup of coffee that had extra whipped cream and plenty of chocolate. After that, I might just need a piece of that carrot cake he sold. A big piece.

  When Earl brought over the dark orange cake, I dove my fork into the one inch thick cream cheese icing.

  "You enjoy, there Betsy. That's my mama's recipe."

  I took a bite and felt it melt on the surface of my tongue sending sweet sensations to every taste bud.

  "Your mama is a saint." I said, barely taking time to swallow what was in my mouth. Earl beamed and returned to his counter with a little strut in his stride.

  Nicholas Wendell, a Houston Chronicle folded neatly under his arm walked to the counter not noticing me and my pile of carrot cake in the corner. I took another gigantic bite as Earl fixed his coffee.

  "Mr. Wendell," I said through the cake in my mouth, motioning from the corner.

  He gently placed the lid on his coffee and joined me in my booth.

/>   "I need to ask you a few questions."

  He reached over and flecked a crumb from my cheek. "Are you sure you have time? It looks like you're pretty busy with that cake."

  "Sorry." I took a napkin and finished the job. First, I can't thank you enough for what you did yesterday for Zach. I was also a little alarmed you were texting him last night.

  "Yeah. About that. I'm a little closer to Zach's generation than yours, and texting is no big deal. What can I say? I'm a reporter, and a source is a source."

  "If you say so." It was so comforting to know I had been relegated to the old people side of the generational split. "Last night I was going through Rocky's calendar and found your name on it the afternoon of the fire."

  Wendell took the paper out from under his arm and unfolded it, then he lined up the corners precisely to the edges of the table. "So, what if I was on his calendar. It doesn't mean that I showed up to the appointment."

  "Did you?"

  Wendell paused for a moment as if counting his poker chips. "Maybe."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Okay I'll admit it. I did meet with Rocky. The meeting wasn't going well when it turned into a yelling match and he told me to get out. Then, of course, the Gazette caught fire, and Rocky was nowhere to be found."

  "What were you fighting about?"

  "I asked him if he wanted a partner in the newspaper. He just laughed. He said he'd been running the paper for fifty years, and he certainly didn't need some kid to come in and be his partner. What an idiot he was. I could've brought that paper into the this century."

  "You wanted to be Rocky's partner? Doesn't that seem a little presumptuous? At your last job you were just a reporter."

  "How did you know that?"

  "You can Google. I can Google."

  "What the Internet search probably didn't tell you was that I did many of the duties of the managing editor. Rehab's a bitch and I was the one they went too when our editor was strung out. Seems I have a gift for this. But, of course, I inherited it."

  "You inherited it? Who's your father?"

  "You don't know?" Wendell said. "I guess you weren't the only one. I assumed he knew, too. That's why I asked about going to into partnership. I mean look at me. I didn't even know my father, and yet, I chose to go into the same profession? What are the odds of that? It's also why I came to this little town to start a paper."

  "I still don't follow." I said. Nicholas Wendell leaned back in the booth and started rocking out the rhythm of Earl's overhead canned music. It seemed extremely familiar, but I had heard it before with a squeaky chair.

  "Oh my God." I said. "You're Rocky's son."

  "You figured it out. Can't say the same for the old man."

  "Rocky didn't know?"

  "How could he? It wasn't like my mother was one of his wives. I'm not even sure if he would have remembered her."

  "Why didn't you tell him?"

  "I was going to tell him, but then he was such a horse's ass I was too angry to bring it up. He was saying this crazy stuff about how he was tired of people he barely knew always wanting to latch on to him. I was out the door before I knew it."

  "Is that when you stole his lighter?"

  He blushed. "Yes. I just wanted some kind of a memento. It was on the corner of his desk and I palmed it."

  "You're sure you're Rocky's son?"

  "Pretty sure. My mother told me she and Rocky went out just a few times. It took a lot for her to tell me. My mother didn't sleep around, but somehow she fell for Rocky. By the time she was sure she was pregnant, Rocky was married to somebody else. She didn't love him and didn't want to complicate his life. She moved us out of state to take a job. There was never enough money, and I had to put myself through college with part-time jobs and loans. I didn't even know who my father was until about a month ago."

  "So you confronted your long lost father who rejected you, and that night a fire broke out. Quite a coincidence."

  "Yes, but it's not what it seems. This is exactly why I kept it a secret. I'm now the prime suspect."

  "So where were you that night?"

  "Getting drunk down at Bubba's Beer and Bait."

  "Do you think anyone remembers you being there?"

  "If they looked under the table by the night crawler cooler they do."

  *****

  I knew I should have gone straight to my dad with what Nicholas Wendell had just shared with me, but I still felt like I might be missing something. I parked my car in front of Rocky's neighbor's home so no one would know I was entering his house without permission. Seeing no one else on the street, I hurried up the driveway. Wouldn't it be funny if he was in the house hiding out? I had overheard him telling his cleaning ladies he had a plaster paperboy on the porch and to put the key in his little paper bag when they finished. I reached in hoping there wasn't a spider waiting for me. My finger connected with a key and I pulled it out before I was the victim of a brown recluse. I unlocked the door and peeked into Rocky's darkened home. I half expected a secret stash of Edward R. Murrow pictures all over the walls with lit candles under them.

  "Anybody home?"

  Not receiving an answer I stepped into the front room. I was hit with the smell of food that was going bad. The now familiar heaves were beginning to hit me so I held my nose and walked farther in. In his kitchen there was a partially eaten bowl of beef and broccoli from The Happy Table Chinese Restaurant. I picked up the plastic container and ran outside with it to the trash can. Upon lifting the metal lid I threw the broccoli plate onto a half-eaten box of chocolates that rested on a filthy looking teddy bear. Slamming down the lid I filled my lungs with fresh air. As I began my return to the house an old blue Toyota Corolla pulled up to the curb. Oh God, it was Miss Caroline.

  Miss Caroline came out of the car, and then pulled a small sack from the back seat. "Betsy! I'm so glad to finally find you. I was just toodling by, and I saw your car in front of Mr. Peterson's house. I knew you wouldn't be visiting him because he sleeps during the day. I figured you might be here at Rocky's place. It's as if I can't catch up with you. Isn't that silly?" She held up the bag. "I have something for you, dear."

  "For me?" I knew exactly what it was, and I wasn't having it. She would not let the world know I was pregnant before I even had a chance to tell my husband.

  "This is probably a bit premature, but I like to be the first in town to give a gift for a new baby. It's a Pecan Bayou tradition you know." She started to pull a tiny pink baby quilt out of her bag. Holy cow she not only predicted the pregnancy, but was predicting the sex? This woman needed a spot on reality TV or at least her own show on NUTV.

  "Look, I can tell you've put a lot of work into this beautiful baby quilt, but why did you think I was pregnant?"

  Miss Caroline smiled knowingly. "Oh, you don't even know yet?"

  "I didn't say that."

  She reached over and put the package into my arms. "I understand, dear. I really do. I remember that other nice husband you had and the unfortunate exit he took when you were pregnant. The swine."

  Great. I was so happy she was bringing this up.

  "Don't worry sweetheart, this one's a good one. It will all be fine. You look at me and think I'm a crazy old lady, but I have news for you. That weatherman of yours is a good man. He's not got a disloyal bone in his body."

  I stood there unable to speak. How did this little blue-haired woman know so much about me? She pursed her arthritic hands in front of her as they didn't quite fold over each other anymore. My voice grew hoarse.

  "Okay, I'll take the quilt, but that doesn't mean I'm admitting to anything. If it's a boy, I'm bringing you back your blanket."

  "It's not a boy." Miss Caroline brought her keys up to wave goodbye as she returned to her battered Toyota.

  "Yeah, right." I muttered as she drove away puttering down the street. I had finally been caught by Miss Caroline. I pulled out the pink ruffled quilt. Leo and I were going to have a baby. A child with Le
o, the man I loved more than anything. I just hoped Miss Caroline had been right about him.

  I went back into Rocky's house, the smell now dissipating from the foul broccoli. His home was extremely neat for a bachelor. I sat Miss Caroline's bag down by the door and went into the living room. Rocky had been married at least twice and had a son and was still all alone. Instead of pictures of family he had beautiful black and white photographs of John F. Kennedy and a series of newspaper front pages from historic days. One headline shouted "Nixon Resigns" while another showed Ronald Reagan getting shot. His laptop was placed neatly in the center of his desk. The room was fairly dark but glowed with the light of the computer screen when I lifted the lid.

  There was a thud in the hall. I shut the laptop without a sound. If someone was in the house they didn't need to find me in here. If it was my dad, he would be pretty curious why I was hiding from him in the dark. Footsteps padded down the hall into a bedroom. I heard drawers opening ,and then the door closed. Was this Rocky? Had he been in hiding all this time? I was just about to step out of my dark cave and say something when I heard the door reopen, and the footsteps going back down the hall. They were light against the carpet. It just didn't sound like Rocky's slow bow-legged gate. I held my breath as if the visitor could hear me through the walls. I finally released it when I heard the front door open and close again. A car was pulling out of the driveway. I ran to the window to get a look, but it was too late. Whoever was in the house, was already down the street.

  Had it been someone from the police department? Would they have seen my car in front of Mr. Peterson's house like Miss Caroline and make the same leap of logic? I suddenly had a great desire to be back home. My investigating had been useless other than ridding Rocky of the odor of disgusting days-old broccoli. Maybe I could come back again with someone else like my dad or Maggie. Right now, I just wanted to be out of there.

  I stepped outside and looked around. Whoever had been in the house didn't seem to be lurking on the porch. The sky was overcast as it often is in mid-November and the temperature was still pretty nippy. I walked to the car and stopped upon hearing distinct footsteps across the street from me. I picked up my pace and started running toward the car. I fumbled for my keys in my purse, and as I finally clicked on the unlock button on my key fob, I reached out for the door handle. If the person behind me came any closer I could either try to get into my car or start running.