What Happens in Texas

by Carolyn Brown

  Jack answered his phone when it rang. He said a couple of words before he put it back in his shirt pocket. “Now we can go furniture shopping. Marty and Cathy are together and meeting us at the furniture store.”

  “I feel better, Jack. Those kids made me laugh.”

  “I knew the kids could do it. If your mom hadn’t been robbed of her mind, would she want you happy or sad?”

  “Happy. She would definitely want me to be happy,” Trixie said. “When she realized this was happening, she checked herself into the nursing home and told me to remember the good times.”

  “Then do it, Trixie.”

  * * *

  Bedrooms. Living rooms. Dining rooms. Dens.

  All set up in cubicles so the customer would want the whole room full of furniture, not just separate pieces. The first one in the living room section was a fancy floral sofa with carved oak legs. Trixie looped her arm in Jack’s and kept walking.

  “I can’t see you stretched out on that thing watching Monday night football.”

  “But it is so pretty,” Cathy argued.

  “Jack doesn’t want pretty. He wants a man cave,” Marty said.

  “If I catch a car engine in your bathtub, I’m going to shoot you,” Trixie said.

  Jack laughed. “Marty, your job is to hide the guns. Cathy, yours is to hide the arsenic so she don’t put any in my beans and greens.”

  “What’s wrong with flowers?” Cathy asked.

  “It looks like tea drinkin’ furniture and I’m a black coffee man,” Jack said. “That one. What do you think of it?” He stopped in front of a buttery soft leather sofa in a rich mahogany brown with matching ottomans and an oversize recliner.

  “Sit down on it and see if it fits,” Marty said.

  “Ahhh,” he said as the leather molded to his body. “This is definitely a Monday night football sofa. Sit here beside me.”

  Marty plopped down on the other end, swung her legs up into his lap, and used the wide arm for a pillow. “Oh, yeah! I could definitely get into a Cowboys game on this.”

  “How long will this last?” Trixie asked.

  “How long will what last? Sitting here? I expect until five o’clock when the store closes. The furniture? Forever. Leather ages, but it never wears out and it’s so easy to clean,” Cathy said.

  Jack pushed Marty’s legs off of his lap and stood up. “I like it. I’m a comfortable leather sofa guy, not a floral, fancy settee type of feller.”

  Trixie moved to another sofa. “Like this one any better?”

  “I do,” Cathy said. “It’s a lighter color and doesn’t look so man-cavish.”

  “That sounds like a disease,” Marty said.

  “It is,” Cathy agreed. “You won’t ever catch a wife if you don’t put a few feminine touches in the house.”

  “I’m not out to catch a wife. Why would I need one? I’ve got you three to help me when I need advice.”

  “Good Lord, Jack. You aren’t going to become a player, are you?” Cathy gasped.

  “Become?” He laughed and motioned for a salesman. “I want this sofa, the matching recliner, and that oversize rocking chair that goes with it. We’ll keep looking.”

  “Marty, I like your taste better than Cathy’s. What about the tables?”

  “I like the ones that are sturdy and well made and I’m partial to oak if it’s not got flowers carved in the woodwork like that first sofa did.”

  “You don’t like florals? They are really in this season,” the salesman said.

  “See?” Cathy said.

  Marty looked at his name tag. “Tom, I like flowers in vases but not on furniture. I like things that never go out of style, not things that are in for a season. And I think Jack and I agree on that.”

  Trixie grabbed his arm and steered him toward two oak tables. “These would be perfect in your cave.”

  Cathy rolled her eyes. “They look like you could butcher hogs on them.”

  “Or fix an engine?” Jack teased.

  “I swear, Jack, I’ll shoot you,” Trixie said.

  “Shall I add them to your list?” Tom asked.

  “Yes.” Jack nodded. “The two end tables and that coffee table to prop my boots on at the end of a long shift.”

  “Lamps?” Tom asked.

  “Not today,” Trixie said.

  “What else can I help you with?” Tom asked.

  “We’ll browse awhile,” Trixie answered.

  “I’ve got this order written up. Call me if you want to add to it.” Tom headed toward a young couple looking at a dining room table.

  “No lamps? I like lamps and the house doesn’t have an overhead light in the living room. Kinda hard to read by candlelight,” Jack said.

  “There’s a Western store on the other side of town that has some really neat accessory items. I saw a couple of lamps that would go perfect with this furniture,” Trixie said.

  Marty clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Oh, I love that store. The man who owns it is one sexy cowboy.”

  Cathy rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, don’t give me that look. I can probably get Jack a damn good discount.”

  “I bet you can,” Cathy said.

  “Speaking of which”—Jack’s eyes twinkled—“shall we take a look at the bedroom furniture?”

  “Nothing pretty and fancy, right?” Cathy asked.

  “Something sturdy so in case he meets a hot little cowgirl sales clerk when we go to the Western store, it won’t break down when he takes her home,” Marty said.

  The four of them moved to the bedroom section, and Jack pointed at a king-size bedroom suite. “I like that one. King-size bed, oversize dresser with two mirrors. And none of those fancy curls and whorls for dust to settle in.”

  Tom was immediately beside them. “That’s our new missionary design. Plain lines and it is easy to maintain.”

  “I’ll take the whole outfit. Now let’s go buy ice cream, ladies.”

  * * *

  That evening when she got home to an empty house, Trixie sat down at her scrapbooking table and went to work. A card would never express what it meant for Cathy to show up at the nursing home, but it would let her know that her gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Trixie found a picture of the three of them back in college and cut, glued, and pasted for more than an hour before it was exactly the way she wanted. Then using her calligraphy pen, she wrote a message inside:

  Some friends are in your life for a season.

  Some friends are in your life for a reason.

  Some are there forever to double your joys and halve your sorrows.

  Thank you for being a forever friend and helping me today.

  She signed her name with a flourish and slipped into Cathy’s room, laid it on her pillow, and went back to her room. Lord, what would she ever do without Cathy, Marty, Jack, and Darla Jean? They were all kin, not by blood, but by heartstrings.

  Chapter 21

  Small towns in Texas are famous for their festivals. Burnet has a Bluebonnet Festival in April; Commerce has a Bois d’Arc Bash in the fall; Whitewright puts on its Grand Street Fall Festival; and General Granbury’s Birthday Celebration is held on the courthouse lawn in Granbury once a year.

  Other than the name and locale, they are pretty much all the same. Vendors sell barbecue, hot dogs, cotton candy, and hamburgers as well as jewelry, cowboy boots, trinkets, and purses. Local organizations sell Indian tacos, chili, baked goods, and handmade crafts. There is always a parade and sometimes even a beauty contest and a carnival.

  Cadillac hosted the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society Jubilee the second weekend in November and even the sign on the Baptist church said, “Pray for pretty weather this weekend.” Folks didn’t mind a little nip in the air, but they didn’t want rain. In Cadillac, the Jalapeño Jubilee was an even bigger splash than the Super Bowl, and everyone talked about it for weeks.

  There were framed awards given for booths, floats, bicycles, and horses all decorated f
or the parade. Tables were set up in the community room with samples of all kinds of jalapeño dishes for folks to sample. If they liked something, they could purchase the recipe for a one-dollar donation to the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society, which was earmarked for the scholarship fund. There were pepper poppers, kabobs, several kinds of pepper cheese dips and cheese balls, jalapeño soups and chili, jalapeño pizza, cornbread, and even chocolate-covered jalapeños and jalapeño banana muffins with cream cheese frosting for those with a sweet tooth. Cathy had promised half a dozen jars of her pepper jelly and she delivered them early that morning.

  Excitement was in the air. Everyone parked their lawn chairs in front of their houses or had copped a spot on front porches to watch the parade that morning. The fire siren sounded the message that it was beginning and conversation dropped to a low buzz as the first car in the procession made its appearance on the east end of town.

  The weather cooperated—sunshine, no clouds, and sixty-five degrees. Absolutely perfect. Cathy, Agnes, Marty, Darla Jean, and then Trixie were all lined up in lawn chairs that Marty had dragged from the garage. They were sitting right on the edge of the sidewalk that ran in front of Clawdy’s. Kids darted out to grab candy that Ethan threw from the sunroof of the long white Cadillac limo as the car made its way ever so slowly down the three blocks of Main Street.

  “It’s a good thing them kids can’t vote next week or that man would be in office slicker’n scoopin’ scum off a swamp,” Agnes said when the limo passed the café. “Guess he’s still mad at you, Cathy. He’s throwing his candy on the other side of the road. Too bad.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled. “If I don’t get a lollipop, I don’t vote for you, Ethan.”

  He didn’t even look her way.

  She poked Cathy on the arm. “Damn, I’m glad you got out of that mess. You could have spent the morning riding in that car with that old witch.”

  “Aunt Agnes, we have to be nice!” Cathy said.

  “You be nice. I’ll wait until I’m dead to be nice.” Agnes caught Violet staring from the back window of the limo and stuck out her tongue.

  The Cadillac High School marching band stopped smack dab in front of Clawdy’s and put on their famous halftime show. Flags spun around in a blur; batons twirled and flipped in the air as the band played the national anthem and then the Caddy High fight song.

  People all along the street stood up and placed hands over hearts as the band played the first song and then yelled, whistled, and clapped as they played the school song. The fire truck was the next item in the parade, with firemen tossing even more candy and then twenty horses prancing along with cowboys from six years old to ninety-six riding them.

  “Look at that Milford Jones. Still sits a horse mighty fine, even if he is way up over ninety years old, doesn’t he?” Agnes said.

  “Are you coveting your neighbor’s husband? I do believe that is a sin,” Darla Jean said.

  “No, I’m not coveting Milford Jones, so don’t you go preachin’ me a sermon.”

  “I save the preachin’ for Sunday, Agnes, but you are welcome to sit on one of my pews anytime you want to come to my church,” Darla Jean whispered.

  Cathy was struck speechless when she saw Anna Ruth and three other members of the club popping up an eight-foot table right behind them. Surely the Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society wouldn’t be so rude as to put up a bake sale table right in front of Miss Clawdy’s Café.

  Agnes heard the noise and turned around. “What the hell?”

  “Hello, ladies. Go ahead and watch the parade. We are getting set up for our bake sale. We’re selling chips with your choice of picante, salsa, or jalapeño cheese dip. And Annabel made her famous jalapeño banana muffins for the folks who’ve tasted them over at the community room and want more. And there’s lots more. We have ham and cheese sandwiches with your choice of plain cheese or pepper cheese. We fully well intend to get the prize for having the best booth at the jubilee. Don’t mind us. We’ll be real quiet.” Anna Ruth put a finger over her lips and said, “Shhh.”

  Agnes sat down and watched the antique cars parading past. “Cathy, would you look at that one? I remember when my daddy bought one like that. It was our first automobile. Mamma said he parked it under the shade tree out to the side of the yard and when he came back, the old red rooster was sittin’ on the top of the hood crowing like it was his car. Daddy picked up a hammer lyin’ on the worktable attached to the tree and threw it at the rooster. Hammer went right through the window. I miss seeing the queen candidates riding down the street. It was that damn Violet’s fault that it all had to stop. She was too old to be a candidate and was jealous over those crowns.”

  Trixie leaned over toward Marty. “Now what?”

  “I have no idea. We paid for that big ad in the newspaper this week saying we’ll have an open buffet until six o’clock. Now the people will stop at their table and grab and run rather than coming inside and sitting down. Betcha we are going to have a hell of a lot of leftover food,” Marty whispered.

  Agnes pointed out a 1958 Chevrolet truck all tricked out with shiny paint and chrome running boards. “Reckon they’d sell that to me?”

  “Aunt Agnes, I told you to be nice, but you’re acting like you don’t even know what we’re talking about when it was your idea to advertise and to serve both lunch and dinner,” Cathy said.

  “Always remember the story of the hammer. Now look at that car, would you? It’s an old Studebaker. I wanted one of those, but Bert wouldn’t let me have it. I remember when a queen candidate rode on the hood of one. Let’s see… that would have been the last time they had a queen. Damn Violet’s meddling ways anyway!”

  Nothing made a lick of sense. Agnes was always ready to go to war with the whole Blue-Ribbon Jalapeño Society. They had just deliberately snubbed Clawdy’s and she was interested in old cars and past queens? Something was definitely wrong with the picture.

  Little kids on their brightly decorated bicycles rode down Main Street after the antique cars, with Andy bringing up the rear right behind them in the newest police car in town. A poster was affixed to the passenger’s door with black glittery words: Last Year’s Celebrity of the Year, Andrew Johnson.

  “Great parade,” Agnes said. “Best we’ve had in years. Only way it would’ve been better was if we’d had queen candidates riding on them old cars.”

  “Are you all right? Do I need to lay hands on you and pray for you?” Darla Jean asked.

  “You touch me and I’ll break your fingers,” Agnes said.

  “Aunt Agnes! You said you’d be nice,” Cathy whispered.

  “Nice don’t mean I have to let this woman start chanting over me,” Agnes snapped and trotted across the street, her bright red sneakers smacking the hot pavement.

  “Cathy, you are going to help, aren’t you?” Anna Ruth yelled.

  “I resigned.”

  “But you are still on the roll. You still have responsibilities.”

  Cathy folded her chair and handed it to Marty. She crossed the yard in half a dozen long strides. “This is downright mean, setting up in front of our shop. You were in charge of vendors. You could have put someone selling crafts or purses in this spot.”

  Anna Ruth smiled sweetly. “I could have, but I didn’t. Isn’t our booth beautiful?” She waved a hand over a whole table full of food. “And what do you think of the prices?”

  The poster board Anna Ruth had pasted to the front of the table matched the one on Andy’s car, leaving no doubt about who’d glittered and glued the thing the night before. Was that why Anna Ruth was so interested in scrapbooking? The prices were ridiculously low. There was no way Clawdy’s was going to make a profit that day.

  Anna Ruth chirped on like an excited canary. “I suppose we could have gotten more, but we just want to make a hundred dollars today. Aunt Annabel and I worked all day yesterday, and Violet came over to help us make the sign with all the pretty peppers on it. And she helped make the icing for the muffins too. Don
’t you just love the way we did the signs in glitter to match our club pins and last year’s Jubilee celebrity?”

  Cathy clenched her fists. “I’m not helping. No matter what Violet says, I’m not a part of the club anymore, and I’ve got a café to run.”

  “Good luck with that,” Anna Ruth said coldly.

  The limo crawled to a stop in front of the shop, and the driver, all dressed up in a black tuxedo, held the door for Violet. That day she wore navy dress slacks with a matching blazer over a red and white striped blouse. Her signature flag pin glittered on her lapel, and her makeup did a fine job of covering up the last of the bruising around her eyes.

  “I’m making a stop at all the vendors to be sure all is going good. How are you, Catherine? I’m glad to see you helping. I knew you wouldn’t really resign.”

  “Oh, but she did.” Agnes trotted right across the street and headed toward the table of goodies.

  Violet held her tiny little red purse up in front of her. “Agnes Flynn, you stay away from me. I will call Andy to put you in jail if you start anything.”

  “I promised Cathy I’d be nice so I’m buying chips and picante from y’all. I went to get my money to pay for it,” Agnes said.

  Violet lowered the purse and took two steps backward.

  “How much you plannin’ on makin’ if you sell everything on the stand today?” Agnes asked.

  Anna Ruth beamed. “Our goal is a hundred dollars, but the money isn’t as important as getting the award to go in the sunroom with the blue ribbons. My first year in the club and my very first award. I’m just so excited I could cry.”

  The Andrews house sat on a slight rise, just enough to tilt the long table forward an inch or two. Two little boys were in front of it with Agnes. One pointed at a paper saucer with a muffin on it then drew his finger back and pointed at a plate with chips and picante.

  “Which one?” Anna Ruth asked.

  “He’ll have both.” Agnes turned her head to the other child. “What do you want, honey?”