What Happens in Texas

by Carolyn Brown

  Cathy was working the tables in the dining room at Clawdy’s and when he sat down at a table, she scowled. Thank God it was Cathy and not Marty. She’d have done more than give him dirty looks. He wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief. So what if it was fifty degrees outside? His life was on the line here.

  “I’d like to talk to Trixie,” he said.

  “No. Go away,” Cathy said.

  “Trixie!” He raised his voice. “I need to talk to you!”

  She came from the other room and popped her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk in private?”

  “Trixie.” Cathy lowered her chin.

  “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “Five minutes and then Marty and I are both intervening.”

  “Won’t take that long,” Trixie said.

  She sat down at the table.

  Andy reached across and laid his hands on hers. “I asked Anna Ruth to marry me last night.”

  She jerked her hands free and put them in her lap. “Congratulations. I heard about it first thing this morning.”

  “I took a job in Bells this past week.”

  “Congratulations on that too. Why are you here?”

  “I’m moving. I’m starting all over and I’d rather it be with you. We could go to Bells. We could start again, and this time we could get it right.”

  “Why did you ask Anna Ruth to marry you?”

  “I want a wife. I like being married. I like coming home to a woman in the house. But after I asked her, I realized I want that wife to be you.”

  “Go upstairs and look at my room. I haven’t changed.”

  “Neither have I, but we made it work those first years. I can undo this thing with Anna Ruth. It was just a thing of the moment. She’ll be mad but it can be done.”

  “The answer is no and won’t ever change, Andy. I’m moving on and I’m happy. I’d never trust you. And besides, Anna Ruth bought a wedding dress yesterday morning. I think it’s too late to back out, Andy, but I do feel sorry for her.”

  “I’ll marry you again and swear on the Bible that I’ll be faithful. We can fly down to Cancun for a week. You can give your part of Clawdy’s back to Marty and Cathy. I won’t even fuss about the money you took out of our savings to buy a partnership in a café,” he said.

  “You did marry me and you swore before God that you would be faithful and you weren’t. Cancun wouldn’t make any difference. And the truth is, Andy, you aren’t worth giving up Clawdy’s for. Go marry Anna Ruth. She might not kill you the next time you cheat. I would.”

  “When I walk out the door the offer is off the table. Think about the sex, Trix.”

  “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass,” she said.

  He stormed outside, slamming the front door behind him.

  Cathy patted her on the shoulder as she walked past. “I heard every word. Lord, what a mess.”

  “We are going to be all right.” Trixie smiled.

  Agnes was in the kitchen when Trixie got back. She looked up with a scowl on her face and said, “What the hell was he doing here?”

  “I should have let you shoot him that night. He came to give me one more chance,” Trixie said.

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him he was out of chances.”

  “What about shooting him?” Cathy asked.

  “I wasn’t seeing things. She had Andy up there in her bedroom,” Agnes tattled.

  “But it’s over now, isn’t it?” Cathy frowned.

  “You heard what I told him,” Trixie said. “I meant every word.”

  Marty threw six pieces of bacon on the grill. “For real?”

  “He can give all the rest of the chances he’s got in his pocket to Anna Ruth. I’m done with him.”

  Marty went back to her job. “Good!”

  Chapter 23

  Agnes loved Saturday morning cartoons. Not those new ones with robots and machines that transformed from cars into monsters. No, she liked the old ones with Sylvester and Tweety Bird and Wile E. Coyote. Those were the real McCoys. She’d gotten up early because that’s when the good ones came on. She’d made her Saturday morning hot chocolate and saved back a bowl of peach cobbler from the day before for breakfast. When a woman got past seventy, she didn’t pay much attention to all the folderol about six servings of vegetables and fruits. She just took her liquid fiber every night and ate what she pleased.

  Wile E. Coyote was about to pluck the Road Runner’s tail feathers when the doorbell rang. No one ever came to Agnes’s house on Saturday morning. Pretty often on Thursday, Darla Jean popped by to ask if she’d like to go see Betty and the girls, but never on the weekends. She grumbled all the way across the living room to the door.

  “Good God, Lanita, what happened to you? Did you have a wreck? I didn’t hear a thing but I was watching television.” Agnes stepped out and looked up the street and down the street but she didn’t see a vehicle anywhere.

  Lanita was married to Jim Washington, a high-powered real estate agent in Denison. He was originally from Cadillac and had brought Lanita home with him when he retired from the Army. She was a small, dark-haired woman in her early thirties and a trophy wife for Jim who was in his midfifties. The two of them attended church in Cadillac every Sunday and sat on the far end of Agnes’s pew.

  “Can I come inside?” Her voice carried a soft southern accent.

  Agnes backed up and motioned her into the house.

  “Have a seat. You had breakfast? I’ll share my cobbler.”

  Lanita sat down on the edge of a chair. “I’m not hungry. Jim is in Vegas for a conference. He’ll be back this afternoon. I need help and I have no idea where to turn. I left him once and went to my friend’s place in Arkansas. He found me and it was awful, but I can’t take much more. They’re getting suspicious at both the Sherman and the Denison hospitals in their emergency rooms. Last time the doctor kept asking questions. It made things worse when we got home, and he said next time he’ll kill me.”

  She pulled off a denim jacket and Agnes inhaled sharply. “What he use? A whip?”

  “Fists and a belt. I want you to help me die.”

  Agnes really sucked air that time. “Ain’t no sense in that, girl. I got a friend just down the street that can help take care of this thing.”

  “I just meant that I was going to stage a suicide and I need you to pick me up and give me a ride to the bus station. I’ll get a plane ticket somewhere.”

  “That will leave a paper trail. Way Darla Jean does it, you are a new person and that man will never find you.”

  “You trust her?” Lanita asked.

  Agnes didn’t hesitate a second. “I’d trust her with my life, but don’t tell her I said it. Now how were we going to kill you?”

  “I was going to take his boat out on Lake Texoma and blow it up. I was going to stop at the gas station and the marina and any other place I could so people can see me with it. Then I planned to slip over the side and swim to shore where you’d pick me up while it burned. I saw it on a television show.”

  “It’s too damn cold to be swimming to shore. You’ll catch pneumonia and really die. Did the man in the movie find her?” Agnes asked.

  Lanita nodded.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I drove my car.”

  Agnes reached over to the end table and picked up her phone. Darla Jean answered on the third ring.

  “I got another abuse case over here in my house and we only got a little while to take care of it. And her husband ain’t a sack of shit. This is a real hard case. What do we do?”

  “I’ll be right there. Don’t let her leave.”

  Darla Jean jerked on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and Nikes. Betty had an empty bedroom left in her house, so yes, there was room for a woman in need.

  Agnes had the door open before she had time to ring the doorbell. “I don’t know about this one, but we got to help her.”

  Dar
la Jean sat down on the sofa. “Tell me what happened.”

  Lanita poured out the whole story.

  “Where are you from? I hear a southern accent.”

  “Louisiana. Down in the Cajun country. I met Jim when he was just about to retire out of the service.”

  “Where is your car?”

  “I parked it two blocks down in front of one of those old empty buildings. I didn’t want anyone to see it in front of Agnes’s house.”

  “Go get in it and go home. Don’t do a thing out of the normal on the way. How far from a store or church parking lot do you live?”

  “It’s six blocks to the parking lot at a doctor’s office. I can give you his address.”

  “Walk out of the house with nothing but what you are wearing. Don’t take money, credit cards, your purse, or even jewelry. Dress like you would if you were going for a Saturday morning walk and I’ll be parked at that parking lot. We’ll go to my sister’s place for a few weeks. You will be our cousin who’s come from Louisiana for a visit. Your name is Nita Jean until you decide who you want to be and where you want to go.”

  “Thank you.” Lanita reached over and touched Darla Jean’s hand. “You are an angel.”

  “Hmpph! I damn sure wouldn’t call her that,” Agnes said.

  * * *

  It taxed Agnes’s ability to keep her mouth shut and her fists to herself the next morning in church when Jim showed up and sat on the pew down from her. When the preacher stood up and asked everyone to pray for Jim because his wife had gone missing, perhaps kidnapped, she had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting out to the whole congregation the real story.

  Violet reached him first after services and gave him a hug. The line behind her was long, but Agnes didn’t join them. She shook the preacher’s hand and was almost to her car when Jim yelled her name.

  “I’ve hired a private detective and I had a tracker on her car. She came to Cadillac yesterday morning. Did you see her?” Jim talked as he walked toward her.

  Agnes turned around and looked him right in the eye. “Yes, she did. I heard the preacher talkin’ about it and hurried out here to get my cell phone and call the police. She came by my house because I asked her to drop in sometime to talk about the ladies’ auxiliary. We do all kinds of work like get the Bible school things ordered and have bake sales to pay for it.”

  “Did she seem anxious or upset?”

  “No, she did mention a headache. Said she’d taken a nasty tumble down the stairs in your house. Reckon she got amnesia and wandered off somewhere? She said she might take your boat out to the lake because that relaxed her. Did you check to see if it’s missing? Maybe she’s run out of gas and just floating around. Should I go on and call them or will you?”

  “I’ll take care of it and thank you.” Jim had his phone out and was talking as he walked away.

  * * *

  Cathy was helping in the kitchen when Agnes popped in the next morning. It was a slow Monday, but the middle of the month often was.

  “I hope there’s chocolate in heaven,” Agnes said.

  “What makes you think an old renegade like you will ever go to heaven?” Trixie asked.

  Agnes pointed at Trixie. “I got something to say and it ain’t got a thing to do with you because I wouldn’t leave you a dime of my money.”

  “Can I stay or should I go to my room and cut out paper dolls?” Trixie teased.

  “You can stay but mostly I want Cathy and Marty and Darla Jean to hear this.”

  Trixie threw a hand over her heart. “I’m hurt.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. This don’t have anything to do with you so stir that pot of beans and hush. Now here’s the deal. I was going to leave my entire estate to you, Cathy. I’m going to change my will and use the money to help Darla Jean run her abused women thing.” She went on to tell them the whole story of Lanita and what had happened at church.

  Cathy hugged Agnes. “I think that is a wonderful idea. It might help keep some women alive.”

  “Good, now let’s talk about this gawd-forsaken wedding about to come off. I’m thinkin’ about moving my membership over to your church after the wedding. I’m looking for a sign from God as to whether I should or shouldn’t. But this wedding is what I want to talk about. Y’all are all going with me and you’re going to sit beside me on my pew.”

  “Not me,” Trixie said. “That would just be too weird. And besides, you don’t even like me.”

  “Not me!” Cathy shook her head. “That’s the day I was going to marry Ethan. I don’t care if I do get an invitation that says plus guest; I’d rather stay home and clean the trailer house with plus guest than go to that wedding,” Cathy said.

  “Hell if I’ll go to that damned thing. I went to his first wedding. That was enough,” Marty declared.

  Agnes sat back and smiled at the argument she’d started.

  Darla Jean laid her hand on Agnes’s arm and whispered, “God bless you, Agnes. Betty and I could do this on our own, but we appreciate your help.”

  For the first time in her life, Trixie saw Agnes blush. The old girl wasn’t nearly as tough as she’d like everyone to think.

  Chapter 24

  Agnes was sitting on her porch enjoying a rare sunny day in the middle of November. She’d put on her jacket and fuzzy house shoes and carried a cup of steaming hot chocolate outside with her.

  “Well, shit!” she mumbled when Beulah Landry headed across the street. She’d heard all she wanted to hear about that damned wedding. She didn’t care if Andy and Anna Ruth blended sand from each of their little glasses together and poured it into a crystal bowl signifying that forever they would be one. Or if the unity candle was engraved with pictures of angels. She didn’t even care if the dress was the fanciest thing since the last royal wedding over in England. If Trixie couldn’t make him walk the chalk line, Anna Ruth didn’t have a chance in hell.

  Beulah sat down in the rocker beside Agnes. “Beautiful day, ain’t it? Don’t reckon we’ll get many more of these. It’ll get blustery and cold pretty soon.”

  “Want some hot chocolate?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t stay long. Violet just called me. One of the club ladies was down at the Dairy Queen having a hot fudge sundae and she saw Marty and a man get out of an old Chevy car. One of those like Bert had in the fifties. Guess her man kissed her right there in public. Don’t reckon that’s the way a woman her age ought to be behavin’. I swear, I hope Jack don’t start doin’ crazy things now that he’s in his own house.”

  “He’s past thirty. He’s old enough to sleep in whatever the hell bed he makes up, but don’t be holdin’ your breath, Beulah, that he’s never going to take a woman in his house. Or that someone won’t see it when he does.”

  Beulah shivered. “There’ll be gossip.”

  “Yep, just like right now. Have you seen that man that Marty was kissin’ on?” Agnes asked.

  Beulah shook her head.

  Agnes blew into her cup of chocolate to cool it. “Well, when you do, grab hold of your under-britches and hang on real tight ’cause they’re going to start to crawlin’ down. Hell, I keep mine up with suspenders when he’s around.”

  Beulah gasped. “Lord, Agnes, I swear you get worse with every passing year.”

  “Gettin’ old ain’t for wimps, Beulah. Only the strong and the mouthy get to do it. You been feelin’ good lately? You look a little poorly to me.”

  “I’m just fine. I’ve got soup on the stove. I just thought you ought to know what was going on.”

  Agnes waited until Beulah was in her house before she went over to Clawdy’s through the back door.

  “Marty, what the hell are you doing kissin’ on some man at the Dairy Queen?” Agnes huffed.

  “Who said I was kissing a man at the Dairy Queen?” Marty asked.

  “That would be me, not Marty. I saw Beulah coming over to your house.” Cathy laughed. “John and I were at the Dairy Queen last night and he bent me over just like in the
movies and told me that he loved me. First time he’s said those words, and he said them right out in public. It was wonderful, Aunt Agnes.”

  “Well, shit! I let on like I knew the man, and he was so sexy he gave me hot flashes. He’d damn sure better be that good lookin’ when you introduce him to me, girl.”

  “Oh, he is,” Cathy said.

  * * *

  That Sunday afternoon John was on a roll with his new book so Cathy played with Maggie and reread one of her sister’s first novels.

  She finished the book and looked out the window. The sun was bright and beckoned her to come outside. She looked over at Maggie Rose and whispered, “Want to go for a walk?”

  The dog didn’t even wag her tail. She just shut her eyes and ignored Cathy.

  “Have a good nap then.” Cathy reached for her jacket and shoes. She had barely stepped off the porch when she heard a car out in front of the restaurant. The engine stopped and a door slammed.

  She hoped whoever it was hadn’t come from far away only to find the restaurant closed, but she was glad that John wasn’t open on Sunday. Folks needed one day in the week just to play catch-up with the rest of their lives. She listened for the car’s engine to start up again, and when it didn’t, she walked out across the yard and around the end of the joint.

  “Well, dammit all to hell!” she said and instantly felt guilty for cussing on Sunday, especially when she hadn’t gone to church that morning. Anna Ruth was sitting on the porch, her arms wrapped around her body trying to stay warm. If she’d come back to return the dress, she was shit out of luck. Cathy had already deposited the money and she wasn’t the Walmart store where satisfaction was guaranteed and you could bring anything back with no questions asked.

  “There you are,” Anna Ruth said. “I saw your car and decided to wait here on the porch for you. Where have you been?”