Consistently using one’s head could be the secret of life, she thought, remembering Tate Holloway’s use of the phrase.
Corrine, dressed in her yellow pajamas and having carefully combed her wet hair, went to tell her Aunt Marilee that she was ready for bed. She went quietly and with some hesitancy, a little fearful of being an interruption to her aunt and Parker.
She paused in the opening from the hallway. Her aunt and Parker were at the door, kissing. She ducked behind the wall and then peered out, watching until Parker left. Then she stepped back into the bathroom, shut the door silently and counted to ten, then stepped out again.
“I’m ready for bed, Aunt Marilee.”
Her aunt was now standing at her desk, looking over some papers. Her head came up, and she smiled at Corrine. Corrine felt glad she had not let Aunt Marilee know she had seen her and Parker. Her aunt might have been mad at her. Aunt Marilee didn’t get mad as fast as her mother did, but still, Corrine figured it best not to take chances. She liked when her aunt smiled at her, and the way her aunt always came with her after her bath, to pull back the sheets on the narrow bed and then tuck them around Corrine.
They would have to whisper, because of Willie Lee already being asleep. Although her aunt said, “I don’t know why we bother to whisper—a two-ton cannon goin’ off under his bed won’t wake him.” And then Aunt Marilee would chuckle. Aunt Marilee was beautiful when she smiled or laughed.
Smiling now, her aunt said, “I sure had a good time planting today. Did you?”
Corrine nodded. She had enjoyed herself, but even if she had not, she would have nodded, because she knew instinctively she was supposed to have had a good time.
Aunt Marilee leaned down and said softly, “Bless and keep Corrine, Lord. Thank you.” Then she kissed Corrine on the forehead, adjusted covers that didn’t need adjusting, turned out the light and left.
Corrine lay awake for a long time, as she normally did. She generally had a hard time sleeping, and she figured something was wrong with her, since other people, like Willie Lee, just went to sleep, while she could not. Sometimes her legs ached, and they did tonight. Sometimes her feet cramped up painfully, and if she could not get this to stop, she would have to get up and put on a shoe, to keep her foot from balling in a cramp.
Tonight, however, it was only her legs, and only a little bit, so she just lay there and watched the moonlight come and make patterns in the room. She thought about when they had bought tomato plants and chosen seeds. It had been late for the plants, so the man at the store had said, but Aunt Marilee said she didn’t see why that should stop them. Corrine had liked picking the plants and seeds more than turning the dirt in the garden. Dirt was dirty. But she did like the smell of the dirt.
She guessed she liked the whole thing of making the garden, but she didn’t want to like it too much. The things she liked too much were frequently taken away. She usually tried to pretend to the world—and whatever governed Bad Luck—that she did not like anything very much, because that way the Bad Luck wouldn’t know she did like it and then take it from her.
Thinking all of this, she was awake when the telephone rang. Likely it would have awakened her anyway, because Corrine slept lightly and awakened with the smallest sound. She knew immediately that it was her mother. She couldn’t have said how she knew this, only that she knew it positively. Maybe because a phone call in the night meant trouble, and trouble meant her mother, and indeed, she heard her aunt Marilee say, “Hello, Anita.”
Corrine’s heart leaped, and she almost jumped out of bed to run to the phone. Her mother had remembered her! But then she registered the tone of her aunt’s voice, which was sharp.
“It is nearly eleven o’clock, Anita.” Then her aunt’s voice dropped, and there were footsteps—her aunt going away into the kitchen.
Heart pounding, Corrine slipped out of bed and crept to the edge of the living room entry. She could see into the kitchen, only she couldn’t see Aunt Marilee. She could hear, though, listening really hard.
“Anita…no. I’m not goin’ to do that.”
Corrine saw her aunt come into view. Her aunt was talking while she strode around the kitchen.
“I know you haven’t spoken to her in two weeks, but that’s your own doin’. It is eleven o’clock, and I’m not going in there and waking her up for her to talk to her drunk mother.”
At drunk mother, Corrine put her head down. She could hardly breathe.
“Okay, you aren’t drunk, but I can tell you have been drinkin’.” Aunt Marilee spoke in a hushed, angry voice. “I’m not trying to keep you from Corrine…I’m just tellin’ you that I am not going to go wake her up. Why don’t you call back in the morning?”
Corrine’s heart pounded.
“Around ten o’clock would be a good time.” Aunt Marilee walked out of view over toward the sink. “Call collect…it’s okay, Anita…you’re my sister.”
Aunt Marilee’s voice fell, and Corrine could only hear the tone, which was sad. Then her aunt came back into view at the table, where she laid down the phone. Her head came around, and she stared into the hallway. Corrine drew back into the deep shadow and bumped into something that almost made her scream. She clamped her hand over her own mouth and saw that she had bumped into Munro. He licked her face. She pressed against the wall, not daring to move for fear Aunt Marilee would see her there and guess she had been spying. The memory of what had happened once when her mother had caught her spying came full into her mind, and her stomach turned. Corrine thought for a horrible minute that she was going to throw up.
After several long moments of holding her breath, Corrine dared to peek out. There was Aunt Marilee in the kitchen, having sat at the table, with her head in her hands. Her body was shaking.
Aunt Marilee was crying.
Corrine scampered back to bed so fast she forgot about trying to be quiet. She pulled the covers up tight. Tears were coming out of her eyes now, and her chest felt like it would burst, but she did not want to make a lot of noise and have Aunt Marilee come see. Then Munro was there, licking her face. She put her arms around him, buried her face in his hair and wished she could disappear. She wished she had never been born. Everyone would be a lot better off if she had never been born. She had heard her mother say that once to Aunt Marilee.
The Valentine Voice
About Town
by Marilee James
The new publisher and editor in chief of The Valentine Voice, Tate Holloway, has arrived. Don’t forget the open house to be held on Monday, here at the Voice offices. Cake and coffee will be served courtesy of Sweetie Cakes of Main Street. Everyone is invited to come by and welcome Mr. Holloway.
Other important bits of note:
Ms. Porter-Abercrombie, who as of this writing is somewhere in Tangiers, has sent in her first travel report, an overview of the Miami airport. Look for it in the travel section of Sunday’s edition. Anyone who plans to pass through the Miami airport will find Ms. Porter’s report invaluable.
The upcoming race for the city council post being vacated by longtime member Wesley Fitz-water heats up with G. Juice Tinsley throwing his hat into the ring. Mr. Tinsley, owner of the IGA, says that his platform rests on being for everything that Jaydee Mayhall, his opponent, is against.
Motorists and pedestrians, beware of a sinkhole on First Street, near the Methodist parsonage. Pastor Stanley Smith discovered it when the front right tire on his car, parked in front of his house, sank up to the hub. It had to be towed out of the hole. The City Works Department has put out a caution sign until they can get this hole repaired.
The mayor retracts his offer of city flags. There are none left.
Eight
Bright New Day
Tate walked the length of Main Street so that he was able to jog at a fresh pace homeward on Church, where he expected to and did meet Parker Lindsey just as the sun popped up.
“Mornin’,” Lindsey said, coming to a stop.
“Good mornin
’,” Tate replied, a little surprised at Lindsey stopping.
“So, how’s it goin’, Editor?” Lindsey began a series of leg-stretching exercises.
Editor. Tate liked that, although he was a little annoyed at the way Lindsey said it.
“Goin’ mighty fine,” Tate said. He decided he could do stretching exercises, too. As he bent, he saw Bubba sitting like a fat Budda in his yard, watching with squinting eyes.
“I imagine you come into town to take advantage of the paved streets for jogging,” Tate said. He knew the veterinarian’s house and clinic were on the outskirts of town.
“Yep,” Lindsey answered. “I jog in. Five miles a day.”
Sounded like bragging.
“I guess I like reading better,” Tate said. “Expands the mind.”
“And the gut,” Lindsey returned.
Oh, boy. He had stepped in there with that one, trying to be too smart.
When Winston came into his kitchen through the back door, bringing the day’s supply of rose blossoms, both Mildred and Ruthanne were sitting at the kitchen table. That both women were rising early these days was a high annoyance. They were cutting into his solitude time.
“I can’t find a one of those cheese-and-crackers samples we got up at the Wal-Mart the other day.” Mildred was emptying the contents of her large purse on the table.
“I think you ate them all on the way home.” Winston filled a jelly glass with water for the rose blossoms.
“Oh, really? That nice man gave me extra ones…. I was just sure I saved one or two.” She was now raking out her purse and covering the table with everything imaginable: comb, hair spray, mayonnaise packets, sugar packets, tea bags, loose change, little box of Sugar Smacks cereal. “Oh, here’s one!” She held it up with triumph.
Winston, who decided there was no room on the little table for the flowers, noticed that Ruthanne had not said a word, not even hello. Her eyes were closed.
He looked closer, seeing that she had her normal angelic countenance.
“She’s asleep,” Mildred said in a loud whisper.
“Oh.”
Yes, she appeared to be breathing. He was relieved. It was something; she was sitting right there in the chair, only slumped a little bit. She was falling into an instant sleep more often these days, and he doubted that could be a good sign. He experienced increasing discouragement at the inevitable fact that Ruthanne, whose mind had never been fully with them, was now slipping away in body also.
As everyone did sooner or later, he thought with a large sigh.
He put a hand on Ruthanne’s shoulder and called her name.
Ruthanne’s eyes came slowly open. “Good morning, Winston. Is it time for me to get up now?”
“You’re up, Ruthanne.”
“Oh, how nice.” One thing about Ruthanne, she was easily happy.
“Winston, let’s have fried potatoes for breakfast.” Mildred dug a cracker into the plastic square of cheese as she spoke.
“I was visitin’ with my Mama,” Ruthanne said and smiled at Winston.
“Fried potatoes with those Vidalia onions Charlene brought over,” Mildred said, her mouth full of cracker.
“You’re havin’ cheese and crackers,” Winston pointed out. “I’m goin’ on down to Vella’s for coffee.”
“Oh, this is just a snack.” She pointed at the cheese with a cracker. “A real breakfast would be so nice…and you know Marie won’t make us fried potatoes,” she added, her bottom lip quivering.
Marie was their day help, who came at noon to make one hot meal a day and to pick up for an hour. Marie was dedicated to nutrition, and anything fried was off-limits.
“I’m goin’ on down to Vella’s for coffee.”
By durn, he had to get out of there. He felt a little guilty, thinking of the possibility that Ruthanne could die while he was gone, but he guessed it would happen when it happened. And mostly he wanted to live until he died, and not be smothered by Mildred Covington’s love of food.
“Winston, you are mean not to make fried potatoes.”
“I’ll make ’em for you tonight.” He was getting out the door.
“What you are makin’ right now is a spectacle of yourself with that Vella Blaine,” Mildred threw at him.
“I’m just goin’ for coffee.” He had stopped in the doorway, surprised at the accusation.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m eighty-eight years old, for Pete’s sake.”
Mildred started crying, but he knew if he stopped to comfort her, he would not get away. “Have toast and jelly, and I’ll make fried potatoes tonight,” he told her as he went down the steps.
He started across the yard, which was a little soft, so that his cane tip sank in. He knew he was hurrying away to a woman, but it was not what anyone could understand. It had to do with a longing for his wife, and for life as he once knew it, and the desire to get away from where he found himself, old and declining.
There was no running away from old age, he thought angrily. But he guessed he had better do whatever he could to enjoy the current moment, because he could wake up dead tomorrow.
The phone rang while Corrine was rinsing their breakfast plates. Willie Lee was coloring at the table, and said, “Get it, Cor-rine.”
Corrine turned off the water and grabbed a towel as she ran to get the telephone.
“Hello,” she said hesitantly.
“Corrine? Oh, Corrine, honey, this is Mama.”
“Hello, Mama.” Her heart beat very fast. Her mother had called her! And she sounded fine!
“I know it’s early. Have y’all been up long…is Marilee up?”
“Aunt Marilee is in the shower,” she said slowly, cautiously judging what to tell her mother, who easily could get angry at her aunt. “We’ve had breakfast,” she added quickly, wanting her mother to know that they had not been lazing in bed.
“Well, that’s good. I was afraid I might wake you up, but I needed to call while I’m on break. I got a job, honey—I’m workin’ at the Tarrant County Court House.”
“That’s good.” Corrine wished she could think of more to say.
“Yes, it is. It’s a real good job. I’m a secretary, and I dress up every day.”
“That’s neat,” Corrine said, pleased to have thought of the word.
There was a bit of silence, and then her mother said, “Well, honey…how are you doin’ up there?”
“Okay.”
Another pause and what sounded like her mother puffing on a cigarette. “I talked to your Aunt Marilee last night. She said she’s taken you out of school.”
“Yes.” She answered cautiously, then thought to add quickly, “I’m still doin’ my school work, though. I’ll pass.”
“Your Aunt Marilee is teachin’ you, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she’s good at that, I imagine.” It was a question.
Corrine had a panic about which way to go with this. Finally she said, “Yes.”
“Don’t you miss goin’ to school with the other kids? You can go back to school, if you want. I’ll tell Marilee to take you back.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“Well, okay. I just wanted you to know I’d get you back in, if you wanted to go.”
“I don’t.”
“All right. There’s only a few weeks left of school anyway, and it won’t be long until I can get you back down here with me. I’m makin’ good money, and I have health benefits and everything. I’m savin’ to get us a nice place, with your own room. Won’t you like that?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Oh, honey, I sure miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Mama.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it won’t be too long now, and I’ll be straight again and can come get you.”
“Okay.”
Aunt Marilee came in just then, and Corrine said, “Here’s Aunt Marilee. You want to talk to her?”
�
��Yes, just real quick. Here’s a kiss from Mama.” A smooching sound came over the line.
“Here’s one back,” Corrine said quickly and did a faint smooching sound that made her feel silly, then handed the phone to her aunt.
Having no inclination to hear any of her aunt’s end of the conversation, she went hurriedly to the back door and out into the sparkling sunshine flitting through the trees. She was quickly followed by Munro and then Willie Lee.
Willie Lee said the strangest thing. “Cor-rine, Mun-ro says you need a hug.” And then he threw his arms around her middle.
Corrine about jumped out of her skin. “Stop that, Willie Lee.” She pushed him away. “Come on, let’s go up in your tree house.”
She jumped up and took hold of the steps and then the branches, enjoying the feeling of strength in her body. She could climb trees. Someday she would be able to do everything and wouldn’t need anybody to take care of her.
The Valentine Voice
Sunday, April 30
Today’s Highlights:
—The Voice goes to twice weekly. Beginning May 7, The Valentine Voice will be published on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. Story page 1.
—Controversial detention center becomes major campaign issue in city council seat race. Story page 1.
—Death proves of natural causes, but identity of man found dead in his car on the outskirts of town turns to mystery. Story page 2.
—Rose Club to plant bushes to beautify town. Open invitation to join the fun. Story page 3.
—Sinkhole on First Street grows. Warning sign falls in. Story page 4.
Nine
Come Sunday Morning
Spring had sprung and summer was taking over. Lilacs were gone, so were most of the irises, and Doris Northrupt’s newly potted dahlias were poking out of the soil.
Young Leo Pahdocony, who was working to save money for the university next year, was mowing lawns in his spare time. He was getting so much business that his father was urging him to start a lawn maintenance business instead of going away to school. Leo, Sr., said he could handle the business end; Reggie was determined her son was going to get an education and her husband not handle anything.
Cold Tea on a Hot Day Page 9
