by Sharon Sala
She put a finger to his mouth and shook her head. “I wasn’t scared.”
He kept looking at her face and shaking his head in disbelief. “I never expected this to happen.”
“What? That you would kiss me?” she asked.
“No, that I would find myself falling for you.”
Dori shivered. “I, uh—”
“Don’t answer,” Johnny said. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just had to say it. And on another note, I think I need to get the groceries off the porch. I dropped them when I heard Beep screaming, and the rest of the stuff is still in the car.”
“I’ll get the porch. You get the car,” she said, glad to be focused on something safe.
He ran a finger down the side of her cheek. “I believe I’ve said this before, but you’re real handy to have around,” he said.
They walked outside together, and when Dori began gathering up groceries from the porch, Johnny picked up his cap, put it back on his head, and made a run for the car. He grabbed the last two sacks of groceries and dashed back across the yard and up the steps, past Dori, as the rain blew into his face. He hurried inside, dropped off his sacks, and was on his way back to help her get the groceries he’d dropped when she met him at the threshold.
“I’ve got it. You get the door,” she said.
Johnny closed and locked the door behind her and then followed her into the kitchen, dripping water as he went. He dried his face and hands, and then they began sorting the food, putting some in the refrigerator and the rest in the pantry.
Dori turned on the oven and got out the hamburger meat, then went through the groceries until she found everything she needed to make meat loaf.
“Johnny, do you have a loaf pan or some kind of dish or pan that I can use in the oven?”
“Yes,” he said and dug through the back of the cabinet next to the stove before he found what he was looking for. “I can’t remember the last time we used this. I think I need to wash it first.”
He cleaned up the casserole dish and handed it to Dori.
She sprayed it with nonstick spray then mixed up the meat loaf, popped it in the baking dish, and put it in the oven.
“You made that look easy,” he said.
She shrugged. “A lot of years of practice.”
“I’m going to change clothes and check on the boys,” Johnny said.
Dori didn’t comment, but when he walked out of the kitchen, she was watching every step he took. Soaked to the bone, his clothes were plastered to his body like a second skin, highlighting his long, steady stride and the play of muscles across his back. When he finally walked out of sight, she shuddered. She was attracted to him in so many ways, and now this only added to her confusion.
“Lord, Lord. This could be a disaster in the making or the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Please let it be good.”
Unaware of her quandary, Johnny stopped to peek in on the boys. They were side by side in the bed, watching television, and didn’t even know he was there. Satisfied that they were okay, he went across the hall to change.
He stripped standing by the closet, leaving the wet clothes in a pile, and then got clean underwear, a pair of sweats, and a T-shirt and put them on over his still-damp body. He left the room barefoot, with his wet clothes, and as he stepped out in the hall, he heard Dori’s voice coming from her bedroom. The baby must be awake.
They’d only been here four days, and yet the routine they’d fallen into had been easy, as if they’d been doing it for years. He’d never thought about his boys’ future beyond bettering their living conditions until Dori Grant and her baby came into their lives, and now in four short days, they had become a huge part of that dream.
The washing machine was still running, so he dumped his wet clothes on the floor. The meat loaf Dori put in the oven was beginning to cook, and the enticing scent was a hint of the good meal to come. He’d already calculated he would save four hundred dollars each month by not paying Before and After or a summer babysitter, and since Dori was insistent on paying for their part of the groceries, for the first time in a long time, Johnny felt good about the future.
* * *
Bart Jones came home from church expecting to smell roast and potatoes, or at least a fat hen baking in the oven. Instead, he found an empty whiskey bottle from his secret stash on the kitchen counter, and Pansy passed out on the living room sofa with an empty shot glass stuck between her chin and her chest.
To say he was shocked was putting it mildly. Not only was he was pissed Pansy had emptied his liquor, but he was also stunned that she was still in her nightgown and drunk off her ass.
“Pansy Jones, what the hell do you have to say for yourself?” he yelled and yanked the shot glass from beneath her chin.
She opened one eye, burped, farted, then rolled off the sofa onto her face.
“Oh good grief!” Bart muttered and manhandled her back up onto the sofa into a sitting position and went to get a wet cloth.
When he came back, she’d slumped over and face-planted herself into the cushion. He shoved her back into a sitting position again and slapped the wet cloth on her face and neck in angry, repetitive swipes until he had her attention.
Pansy came to enough to swat at his hands, trying to take the cloth out of his hands. “You shtop. You hear me, Bar’ Jones? Shtop dat righ’ now.”
He paused. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
She burped again and then started to cry. “Goin’ to hell.”
Bart frowned and swiped the wet cloth across her forehead. “So were you planning on drinking yourself there?”
Pansy swatted at his hand again. “Drinkin’ ta forget.”
“Forget what, for heaven’s sake?”
She pointed a shaky finger in his face. “Issh all your fault. Do not bring a girl and cryin’ baby in my house, you shaid. You wouldn’t let me do my Chrisshun duty.”
His frown deepened. “Are you talking about Dori Grant? What does she have to do with you getting drunk?”
“We shunned her. Ever’buddy hates us.”
“Oh, that is so not true. You’re full of shit, Pansy.”
“Full of Jim Beam whishkey, is what, and issh true. I tried fix it. Made it worse.”
Now they were getting to the real truth. His eyes narrowed. “Exactly how did you try to fix it?”
Pansy started to cry harder.
“Pansy…what did you do?” Bart asked.
“I might’a lied,” she said, bawling louder and then grabbing her head. “Oh dear Jesus, my head is breakin’. I feel a crack.”
Bart felt the back of her head and pulled out a hair clip. “Your head’s not cracking. It’s your hair clip.”
Pansy stared at the clip, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear her vision, and then poked it with the tip of her finger, confirming the identity. “It is m’clip! I love dat clip, and it broke my head.”
Bart rolled his eyes. “Enough about your hair clip. What lie did you tell?”
“Shaid Johnny Pine wuz baby’s father and livin’ in sin with her and kids.”
Bart shrugged. “So what? Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not, but they’ll never know you said that.”
“No. People heard. She heard.”
“What? Where the hell did that happen?”
She mashed her face into a throw pillow, but Bart yanked it from her hands and tossed it on the floor.
“Pansy…?”
“The funeral.”
“The funeral! What the hell possessed you to do that?” he yelled.
She started to wail all over again.
Bart sighed and then tried to head off a new wave of hysterics. “Well, again it’s not the end of the world. Before you know it, someone else will be the subject of fresh gossip and everyone will forget.”
&nb
sp; Pansy wailed louder.
Tears flowed.
Snot ran.
“Dere’s more,” she mumbled.
He groaned. “What else did you do?”
“Called DFCS.”
Bart gasped. “Why would you do something like that? Why would you want to cause them more trouble?”
“If dey look bad, I look good.”
Bart stared at her like he’d never seen her before and then backed away, needing to put some distance between them. “I’m going out to dinner. When I return, I expect the kitchen cleaned up and you with it. Then we’re going to forget this conversation ever happened. However, the next time I want a poke, you do not get a fucking headache. Understand?”
Her shoulders slumped as she nodded wearily. “Am I still goin’ t’hell?”
“I’m not the one to answer that,” he said. “I’m leaving now. Get up and get busy.”
The door slammed behind him.
Pansy sighed. “I am. I’m goin’ t’hell, but firss I have ta clean up da kishen.”
* * *
It stopped raining halfway between meat loaf and dessert, but no one noticed. The food Dori had put on the table was being devoured in huge gulps. Even Luther, who was sitting in Dori’s lap having some pureed plums, was gulping it down, taking his cue from the other males at the table. Dori would have laughed, but he was also spewing as much out onto her as he was swallowing.
“Good grief, Luther Joe! I’m going to have to take a bath when I get through feeding you,” Dori muttered.
“You need that high chair in the worst way, don’t you?” Johnny said.
“You have no idea,” Dori said and then sighed when Luther slapped at her hand and plums went flying. “Or maybe you do.”
The boys laughed. Johnny got up and got a couple of paper towels.
“Thanks,” she said and wiped Luther down, then dabbed at the spots all over her jeans. “You’re going to spend some time on your own now, my little man.”
Despite one squawk of disapproval as she put him in the playpen, he poked his thumb in his mouth.
She began cleaning up.
“I’ll do that,” Johnny said. “You cooked. I clean.”
“But I don’t—”
“That’s the deal,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”
She grinned. “Take it. I think I’ll go outside for a little air.”
Johnny eyed his brothers. “Guys, when you’re done, take your plates to the sink.”
Marshall nodded, still eating mashed potatoes.
Beep scraped his plate with his fork and looked longingly at the leftovers.
“Beep, you can have some more for supper, okay?”
Beep looked longingly at the bowl and slowly pushed his plate away.
“Okay, but it sure is good.”
Johnny remembered being hungry and didn’t have it in him to tell the guys to stop eating. He got up from the table with the bowl of mashed potatoes and then paused long enough to put one last spoonful on Beep’s plate.
“Thanks, Johnny! You’re the best,” Beep said and dug in.
After checking on Luther to make sure he was okay, Dori went outside and sat down in the porch swing.
The rain was still dripping from the eaves, and the muddy runoff on both sides of the street was capped with froth, like whipped cream on a mug of hot chocolate, as it rushed downhill.
She pushed off in the swing and closed her eyes, and as she did, she flashed back to a memory from her childhood. After she’d gone to live with her grandparents, she used to swing with her eyes closed, and one day her grandmother asked her why. She remembered exactly what she’d said.
If I don’t see who’s pushing me, then I can pretend it’s Mommy.
Now she hardly remembered what her parents looked like, but she remembered longing for them to come back. Here she was, swinging again with her eyes closed and wishing Granddaddy could come back too. The likelihood that would happen was zero, just like before.
Tears welled, but she kept on swinging, wondering why it was that some people lost all of their family and others had so many family members but couldn’t get along. She thought of Johnny. Even though his father was still alive, he might as well be dead for all the good he would ever do his sons. She swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. No need for crying. It wouldn’t change a thing.
She heard the door creak and then the heavy step of boots, and knew it was Johnny. When she heard him stop suddenly, she also knew he’d seen the tears. She sighed. She didn’t really want to talk.
“I’m going to make a quick run to Walmart, and I’m taking the boys with me. I have seventy plus dollars left over from the money you gave me last. Want me to look at high chairs for you?”
Grateful for the ordinary question, she nodded.
“Any specific thing I should know?” he asked.
“Make sure the footrest is adjustable to allow for when Luther Joe grows.”
“Will do. What’s your favorite candy?”
She opened her eyes, startled that he was standing near the steps and looking out into the streets instead of at her.
“Peanut M&M’s.”
He nodded.
The boys came out, smiling.
“We’re ready, Johnny. We brushed our teeth and peed and everything,” Beep said.
“Good job,” Johnny said. “Let’s load up. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get back.”
They went loping off the porch like raucous puppies and ran all the way to his car.
Johnny turned and caught her watching him.
“When you cry, it hurts my heart,” he said softly and then followed the boys to the car.
The boys waved at her. She waved back, and then they were gone.
* * *
Ethel Carter had been a county caseworker for DFCS for almost twenty years, and during that time, she’d heard every excuse known to man as to why parents had neglected or abused their children. And she’d seen the same abused children screaming to stay with the parents, all the while knowing what would happen to them if they did. Experts found that the children had learned how to navigate that world of abuse and were afraid of something new. She’d come to understand that for them, it was a case of “better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” but it had made her hard. She was burned-out and marking time until the end of the year, at which time she would retire.
For the past few days, she’d been at a human services convention in Savannah and was glad to be home. She’d already gone through her mail and poured herself a glass of iced tea as she sat down to go through her phone messages.
There were messages regarding follow-up visitations and a couple of messages from her superior. There was one from her gynecologist’s office, reminding her of her next appointment, and one from her bank telling her that her account was overdrawn. It wasn’t the best news she’d ever had, but it was also not the first time it had happened. Ethel had a thing for playing the slots.
When she got to phone call number nine and heard the caller identify herself, she leaned back and smiled. Back in the day, she and Pansy Jones had been good friends. But then she focused on the message and, as she did, began to frown. Pansy didn’t want anyone to know she was making this call, but she claimed, as a God-fearing Christian woman, she believed it was her duty.
Ethel was making notes as the message continued and wrote down the name of Dori Grant and baby boy Luther Joe. And then she heard the name Johnny Pine and the hair crawled on the back of her neck. She knew that name. She’d been the caseworker who’d testified in court against him being given custody of his little brothers, and the court had overridden her opinion. According to Pansy, not only was Johnny Pine sleeping around with an unwed mother, but he’d taken her and the baby into his home, exposing all three of the children t
o illicit carnal behavior.
Ethel made note of the name, date, and time she’d received the call. Regardless of Pansy’s wish to remain anonymous, Ethel was by the book and listed the caller’s name, as well.
She went to her computer and entered the information in the database and, when she sent it to the office, requested to be assigned to this case, stating prior knowledge of the family situation.
The next morning, when she received a confirmation from her boss, she juggled her visitation schedule to do this interview first and began getting ready for work.
* * *
Johnny’s sleep was restless all night, and when his alarm finally went off, he was glad to get out of bed. He headed across the hall to the bathroom and showered and shaved before going back to his room to dress. Without having to wake up his brothers, he kept feeling like he was forgetting something. He thought of Dori asleep on the other side of the wall and wondered what it would be like to wake up with her every day for the rest of his life. In theory, it sounded like heaven, but he’d learned not to expect too much from life.
Once he was dressed, he went to the kitchen to make coffee and oatmeal. It would save Dori time later, considering she had to feed Luther and the boys before she could leave.
He was stirring oatmeal when Dori walked in the kitchen. She was already dressed and her hair up in a ponytail, but there were still dark circles under her eyes.
“Hey, you’re up early.”
She smiled. “I thought I’d make lunches before Luther woke up.”
“I was going to do that, but since you’re here, have at it,” he said. “Remember, Marshall—”
“Likes mayonnaise, Beep likes butter, and you like mustard.”
He grinned. “You’re hired.”
She laughed and the sound made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Five days in his life and already she was weaving her way into his heart.
He finished the oatmeal as she finished the lunches, and then he dished up two bowls for them.
“Hey, good-lookin’. Can I buy you breakfast?” he asked.
“I don’t want no dried-up grapes.”
