Never Say Never

by Lisa Wingate

  Hawkeye stayed closer than usual as we headed across the street and climbed the stairs to the coffee shop.

  Maggie and Meredith were in rare form when we walked in. “I see you convinced the bubblehead to board up,” Maggie observed, tucking her hair, glazed an unnatural red this week, behind her ear.

  “He’s convinced it won’t hit here.”

  “Meridee’s got a bad feeling about this one, and so do I.” Maggie leaned over to greet Hawkeye and scratch his ears. “This old fellow looks worried, too.”

  “I tried to tell Don that.”

  “Don-schmon.” Cupping Hawkeye’s head in her hands, Maggie gazed into his eyes. “I wish I could take you on the plane with me, big boy. Yes, I do.”

  “Do the two of you need a ride to the airport tonight?” Anything would be better than sitting alone in my apartment, or going to the crawfish boil at Blowfish Billy’s, watching old hippies beat their chests and shake fists at the storm.

  “Nope.” Standing up, Maggie flipped a towel over her shoulder. “We’re just leaving the car at the shuttle stop. If Glorietta sweeps it off to Timbuktu, then so be it.”

  “Maggie!” Meredith protested from the back room.

  “Well, you never know. This could be the big one.” Maggie grew serious. Bracing her hands on the waistline of her long cotton skirt, she peered out the door. I couldn’t help looking myself, thinking that far out on the horizon, the water was darker and choppier now.

  Maggie chewed her lip. “If Don weren’t such an idiot, he’d pack up and go.”

  “I tried to tell him that, but he won’t listen. He’s headed down to Blowfish Billy’s tonight. If the storm does turn before morning, he’ll probably be passed out somewhere.”

  Tossing the towel onto the counter, Maggie snorted and rolled her eyes. “If he ends up being right, we’ll never hear the last of it.”

  “I hope he is right.” But no matter how much I tried to tell myself that everything would be fine, the words were like a magician’s illusion—foggy, muted, ready to vanish at any moment. The image in my dream, the one in which the storm was coming and I couldn’t run fast enough, seemed real.

  Chapter 3

  Donetta Bradford

  In the mornin’, I was awake before the first glow of sunup pinked the horizon. It was too early to call Imagene, so I went to my sewin’ room and checked my new portable computer I’d got off QVC. The page about the Festivale Cruises was still there on the screen, same as the night before, and the Liberation was settin’ sail at four. Not a thing’d changed.

  I jumped up and down and cheered all by myself, right there in the sewin’ room. “We’re goin’ on a cruise!” I, Donetta Bradford, was gonna sail the high seas of adventure, starting today. Who’da thought it, plain old Donetta from Daily, Texas, leaving behind the beauty shop for exotic ports a’ call. It just goes to show, you should never say never. Amazin’ things can happen in a regular life, if you let ’em.

  I couldn’t hardly keep from dancing and singing Broadway songs in the halls while I dragged my suitcases to the porch. If it wouldn’ta been for Ronald there, sawin’ logs in his recliner, and that persnickety old Miss Peach probably watching our house from outside, I mighta just waltzed down the hall and into the yard to sing to the sunup. “California Here We Come” was runnin’ through my head, only in my mind, I’d rewrote the song, and I was singing “Liberation Here We Come.” I did a little dance right past Ronald’s chair, and he didn’t know anything about it. Liberation here we come. Gonna go and get some sun. Got to run to catch that boat. Then we’ll be … la la … somethin’ … afloat… .

  By the time the last suitcase was on the porch, I was trying to think of what would rhyme with Thumb your nose at Betty Prine. Ever since word got around town that we gals were planning this trip, Betty’d started bragging how her and Harold were gonna take a cruise to Alaska. “Harold’s giving me the cruise for an anniversary present. Ten whole days in a luxury suite, just like on that movie Titanic. Isn’t that romantic?” Betty was in for a wash-and-curl when she said that. I wanted to hold her under in the hair sink, which ain’t a very Christian thought, but Betty could bring out the ugly in anybody.

  “Sounds nice, Betty.” I couldn’t think of anything romantic about bein’ locked in a cruise ship cabin with Betty Prine for ten days. If I was on the Titanic with Betty, I’da jumped off ’n paddled for shore, icebergs or no. You didn’t have to be bright as a washed window to know what was behind that satisfied smirk of hers. Her cruise was twice as long as mine, and besides that, Harold had bought it for her. We both knew there wasn’t any way my Ronald was gonna get on some ship and sail off into the sunset—not unless they loaded him, the TV, the recliner, and all.

  Just thinking about it got me a little sad. Here it was, the mornin’ of my big adventure, and Ronald didn’t even bother to wake up and help me load the suitcases, or tell me bon voyage. Instead, it was my darlin’ nephew Kemp who rolled up in the driveway to make sure I got off all right. Even he knew Ronald wouldn’t be up. Sweet as it was for Kemp to come, having other people see the way things were between Ronald and me just made an old ache hurt again, like a bum knee that shoots out a twinge after a wrong step.

  Kemp didn’t have any idea about that, of course. He was just doing for me like he’d always done. Even now that he was all grown up, had gone out in the world to play pro baseball, and was back coaching at Daily High, he was still my precious boy and the closest thing to a son I’d ever have, since Ronald and me’d never been blessed with children of our own.

  “How about a bite before you head off to work?” I asked when Kemp finished loading everything. “It’ll only take me a minute to whip somethin’ up.” Lots of mornings, Kemp stopped by for breakfast on his way to open the field house for the football and baseball boys. Since he was the newest coach at Daily High, and he wasn’t married, Kemp got all the early morning and late night jobs nobody else wanted. He didn’t seem to mind. Kemp was restless, living back here in Daily instead of up in Dallas playing for the Frisco Rough Riders or the Texas Rangers. Last year with the Rangers looked like it would be his big year, but after two surgeries on his pitching arm in four years, I figured that door was probably closing for good, even though Kemp hadn’t quite faced it yet.

  “I’ll grab something at the Dairy Queen.” He already had one foot on the trail, like usual. That boy never stood still for long. “Need to get to the field house early. Got kids coming in to make up workout time so they can play in the game.”

  “Seems like since Mr. Groves is the football coach, and it’s football season, that oughta be his job,” I pointed out.

  Kemp just smiled again and shook his head. “If the boys don’t get in their workout time, they don’t play. That’s the rule.” Which was Kemp’s way of saying, without saying, that if it was up to Coach Groves, the kids that’d missed workout sometime during the week would be out of luck.

  I touched Kemp’s cheek and felt mother-love bloom in my heart. “Kempner Rollins Eldridge, you’re too good. I’ve got half a mind to call the superintendent’s office and give them a piece of my mind.”

  He rolled his eyes, embarrassed like the little boy he used to be, and then he pointed a finger at me, his brown eyes goin’ serious. “Aunt Netta …” he warned.

  “I’ve got half a mind to. You hadn’t oughta let them treat you that way.” Sometimes I was afraid that, if Kemp couldn’t pitch in the big leagues, he didn’t care what happened to him.

  He closed the tailgate on my pickup with the arm that hadn’t had all them surgeries. “No calling the school.”

  “Well, they deserve to hear about it.”

  “No calling the school.”

  “All the kids oughta have a equal chance to play. Them kids out on Caney Creek can’t always get to workout if they don’t have a ride. It ain’t their fault—just because their folks don’t have the money to buy cars for their kids. If it was the banker’s son or the doctor’s son who didn’t get
to play, well, then you’d hear about it, I’ll tell you.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I know, but …”

  “No calling the school.”

  Kemp stood up straight, all six foot three of him. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Don’t worry about the boys out on Caney Creek. Just go on your vacation and have a great time. It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything here’ll be fine.”

  I sighed. “I just worry.”

  “Don’t. You’ve been waiting all summer for this trip. Have fun. I know it’s hard to believe, but the homeplace won’t fall apart while you’re gone. Y’all get some sun and live the wild life.” He kissed me on the top of the head, then started off, but stopped halfway to his truck. “Make sure you keep track of the weather reports, all right? I forgot to look this morning.”

  “Oh, hon, I been checkin’ it on my new computer since yesterday.” I was pretty proud that, at almost seventy years old, I could still learn to use the latest technological wonders. “The boat’s gonna leave at four and sail right around that storm, so there’s not a thing to worry about.”

  “Just keep track,” Kemp warned, then headed on to his truck. I had a little twinge of being sad that Ronald hadn’t said one word to me about that storm. He was too mad over the cruise to hardly even talk about it. He thought it was silly, us gals goin’ off by ourselves, spendin’ all that money. He’d never break down and say he was worried about me, or he’d be lonesome here and didn’t want me to go.

  Kemp waved good-bye, and I put on a smile and waved back. “Love ya, sweetie,” I called, and my voice cracked a little. I guess I understood why Imagene’d wrote the letters to her kids and left them on the table.

  “Love you, too, Aunt Netta.”

  I watched him drive away, then I went in, closed up the computer, and got my purse. On the way through the living room, I stopped and stood over Ronald’s chair.

  “I’m leavin’,” I whispered. “I’m headed over to Imagene’s now.”

  Ronald pushed his mouth into a big ol’ frown, and his eyes squeezed shut tighter, like he was in pain.

  “I’ve got to head out now,” I said a little louder. “There’s plenty of food cooked ahead in the fridge.”

  His head rolled and one eye blinked partway open. For a second, I thought he might say he was gonna miss me while I was gone. Every once in a while, when I looked in Ronald’s face, I thought I saw the handsome boy I married all those years ago. “All right,” he grumbled, and that very moment all I saw in the chair was an old fart too stubborn to say something nice.

  All of a sudden, I didn’t feel a bit bad about leaving. “I’ll be back next Thursdey.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I just headed out to my truck with heaviness in my chest. But the farther I drove down the street, the more it floated away. Not Ronald nor anybody else was gonna ruin this trip.

  By the time I got to Imagene’s house, I felt free as a bird. Imagene was scramblin’ around trying to get ready, and there was my brother in her kitchen cleaning up the dirty dishes. That was something, considering he didn’t hardly clean the dishes at his own house.

  “Mornin’, Frank,” I said, and he jumped like he’d been caught robbin’ a bank.

  “Mornin’.” Frank dried his hands, then leaned up against the counter and took a sip of his coffee, trying to act like there was nothing strange about him bein’ in Imagene’s kitchen first thing in the morning. “I was just thinkin’, I could drive y’all down there, then come back and git y’all when the boat docks again.”

  I felt a twinge of tenderness for my little brother, but then I pictured Frank cooped up in the van for six hours with three women. He’d be grunchy as a spring bear. “That’s real sweet, but this trip’s gals only. We got movies and I got my computer. I can check the weather anytime I want with my wireless intra-net, and Imagene borrowed Timmy’s cell phone, so if we run into any trouble, we can call.”

  Frank didn’t want to talk about the computer. It bothered him that I’d learned to work one, and he still didn’t know a keyboard from a keyhole. “Just make sure y’all remember to check the weather.”

  “We will.”

  “Every little while.”

  “Every thirty minutes, maybe more.” The kitchen door swung open, and Imagene walked in. She had big bags under her eyes, like she’d been pacin’ the floors all night.

  “What’s every thirty minutes?” she asked, like she was searching for somethin’ new to worry about. When Imagene latches on to a fret, she’s like a gator on a warthog’s leg. She don’t let go until she can drag it down in the mud and chew on it.

  “Nothin’.” Hooking my arm into hers, I tried to drag her toward the door, but she ain’t the lightweight she used to be.

  “I think I forgot to lock up in front,” she fussed.

  “Frank’ll get it.” I pulled her toward the back steps—the fastest way out to the car. “Let’s go. Lucy’ll think we forgot her.”

  Imagene rubbed a fingertip against her temple, pushing her glasses up and down. “Did anybody turn off the coffeepot?”

  “Frank’ll check it.” I got her through the door and dragged her down the steps and to the driveway, then wondered how hard it’d be for me to shove her into the car single-handed. Frank was following along, but not helping any. Imagene kept lookin’ back at him, like she was waiting on him to save her.

  “Y’all two go on and git in,” he said finally, and I could’ve kissed him. “I’ll load your stuff for ya.”

  I hugged Frank, then started toward the driver’s seat, because I didn’t figure Imagene was fit to drive right now. “All aboard,” I said. “I’ll take the first shift behind the wheel.” When I turned back, him and Imagene were just standin’ there. They had a look that was love-struck, if I ever saw it.

  “Say good-bye, y’all,” I hollered, and Imagene turned pink as a pig’s ear and hurried into the car. She didn’t look back … except in the mirror, while Frank finished loading everything, then waved us off.

  “Here we go!” I said, and we headed on over to Lucy’s house, with Imagene just sitting there in the seat chewing her fingernails. While we were waiting on Lucy’s son to load stuff, I got out my computer and set it on the console, because it was clear that Imagene needed somethin’ else to think about.

  She frowned at the computer. “What’s that for?”

  “So we can check the weather.”

  “Here?” she asked, looking around, because there wasn’t a thing nearby except Lucy’s little house.

  I opened up the computer, and the page about the cruise ship come up on the screen right away. “It works anyplace. See? And it plays movies.”

  Imagene’s eyes got wider and wider, and I figured out she was looking at the hurricane update box in the bottom of the screen. Good thing Lucy got in right then and we could head off before Imagene took it in her head to jump out and run for her life.

  “I brought a surprise for us,” I said, and while we rolled down the driveway, I fished movies out of my computer bag. “I got The King and I, The Sound of Music, and Steel Magnolias. Had to rent them from the Prines’ video store, which is against my principles, strictly speakin’, but I figured we needed a little onboard entertainment. Which one do y’all want first?”

  Imagene picked up The King and I. “Lands! I haven’t seen this in years!” she said, and for the first time, she looked excited about our trip.

  “Alrighty, then. Just slide it in the little hole there on the front of the computer and mash the Enter button. It’ll play all on its own,” I told her.

  “Do tell.” Imagene opened up the DVD, then sat there looking at the computer.

  “My grandson have one,” Lucy put in, and she took over getting our movie going. It started up with an ad for a sing-along tape, and we rolled off down the road singing “I Whistle a Happy Tune” the way only three best friends alone in a car can do.

  Chapter 4

  Kai Miller


  In the morning, I opened my eyes to a close-up of Radar’s tongue vibrating on the pillow as he snored softly. Hawkeye had squeezed in behind me, so that I was wrapped in my covers like the filling in a dog burrito. The boys smelled salty and smoky, a little like crawfish, probably from a wild evening at Blowfish Billy’s last night. I’d finally gotten tired of Don and the bonfire crowd calling to entice me into joining them, and around midnight, I’d turned off the ringer on my phone. This morning, Don’s window AC wasn’t running outside, which probably meant the dogs had come home alone and Don was crashed under a beach umbrella at Billy’s.

  Hawkeye’s eyes drew together with concern as I sat up. His graying muzzle twitched as he raised his head and sniffed a shaft of sunlight.

  It took a minute for the light from the screen door, the angle of it, the fact it had already risen over the palms outside, to register in my thoughts. I twisted and checked the clock, and a rush of adrenaline zinged through my body. Eight thirty! I was supposed to report to the Liberation in less than an hour.

  Squirming from under the covers, I hurled complaints at the alarm clock, then hit the floor and moved around the room like a one-woman tornado. Within a half hour, I’d showered, pulled my hair into a snaggly blond knot and popped a clip into it, thrown on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed a granola bar and a lone banana off the counter, and tossed the last of my things into a duffle bag.

  Opening the mangled screen door with my hands full of luggage, banana, purse, and car keys, I hollered at the dogs, “Come on, you two. Out.”

  Hawkeye inched forth a few steps, then tucked his tail and backed away, embarrassed by his own disobedience, while Radar yawned and belly-crawled to the edge of the bed, then laid his head on his paws, his tail thumping the mattress with a complete lack of chagrin.