Sweet Southern Hearts

by Susan Schild

  “They do look defined and sculpted.” Linny patted her mother’s shoulder. It wasn’t just Mack—her purportedly easy-breezy, nonromantic friend—who caused the uptick in primping. Willa, the personal shopper at Belk’s who’d apparently turned into Dottie’s close friend had convinced her to subscribe to a new fashion magazine called Glam Golden Girls and Mama had updated her wardrobe and makeup with only the first issue under her belt.

  Mama turned to the others. “I don’t know why you all won’t let me take my turn behind the wheel. I’m a fine driver. Those dents in the back of my car are from shopping carts that got loose in the parking lot of Food Lion”

  “How about those new dings in the side you got last week?” Dessie asked, looking up from the iPad and gazing at Dottie over the top of her reading glasses.

  “I was just minding my own business driving along and a roadside work crew threw up rocks with their mowers.” Her mother shook her head, presumably thinking dark thoughts about those careless mowers.

  Dessie shot Linny a quick eye roll and glanced back down at her screen.

  Ruby smiled brightly. “Well, I think you’ve contributed more than your fair share by paying for the rental of the RV. You need to just sit back and leave the driving to us.”

  Mama’s winning $250,000 at the nickel slots on the cruise the three of them had taken together—and her subsequent promise to treat her girlfriends to this trip—was a once-in-a-lifetime thrill for all of the women. They didn’t need any more thrills from Dottie driving. Linny breathed a quiet sigh of relief that Mama wasn’t insisting.

  Ruby flipped through People magazine and said in a chipper tone, “The instructional video says it’s just like driving a car or van, only the camper is twelve feet tall and ten feet wide. It has automatic transmission and lots of mirrors.”

  Linny looked at her, not entirely sure she trusted a chirpy woman behind the wheel of the RV, even though Ruby claimed she’d driven school buses for three years. She looked distractible, like someone who could spot a red-tailed hawk or an Amish person and drive down an embankment while pointing it out to the others.

  Dessie turned the iPad to show them the screen she’d been studying. “This is the trip-planning page of the RV rental company’s website. I already made reservations at a lot of campgrounds but left a few days open where we’ll wing it. I only picked places where the campsites were big. Never could stand it when Del and I found we’d picked a campsite so small you’d sneeze and your neighbors would say bless you.” She shook her head. “So the first day we take it nice and slow. We’re confirmed at the campground outside of Pigeon Forge for two nights, just fifteen minutes’ drive to Dollywood. Then . . .” She muttered to herself as she peered back at the website, scratching her forehead with her pen and leaving a blue scribble mark on the skin beneath her bangs.

  Linny eyed her. Again, not totally reassuring. This woman would take her turn behind the wheel of their twelve-thousand-pound, twenty-five-foot long home away from home, and Linny would be riding along in the back.

  Mack rapped on the screen door and stuck in his head. “Hello, lovely ladies,” he called out, grinning and sounding a little like the disembodied voice of Charlie talking to his Angels.

  “Hey, Mack,” they called out.

  He gave Dottie a quick kiss on her cheek and, his eyes twinkling, turned to the group. “Let’s go out and take her for a spin.”

  They all rose and followed him into the yard. Dottie pulled Linny aside and murmured, “I just love it when he wears that wedge-shaped driving cap. Doesn’t he look just adorable in it?”

  “Adorable,” Linny agreed, meaning it. She’d initially been worried Mack was a gold digger. He’d been a dance instructor on the ship on which Mama had won all that money. But Mack had turned out to be a decent guy with a big heart—and money of his own. Linny watched as he teased them, cautioning, “No lead feet and no drag racing allowed.” He smiled especially warmly at Dottie. Any man who treated Mama as well as Mack did made him a prize in her book, especially after the crumbs of attention her mother had settled for with Daddy.

  Linny cringed inwardly as she remembered the way she and Kate had grilled Mack about his intentions, his finances, and the particulars of his late wife’s death. Understandable, Linny reasoned, given she herself had just been bilked by her late hound dog of a husband and had been watching a tad too much 20/20. Mack had stayed affable and unflappable throughout their not-so-subtle interrogation.

  Mack eased into the driver’s seat of the RV and Linny patted his arm as she walked by him and took a seat beside the other women on the sofa. She really liked Mack.

  Ruby looked around at the dining room/kitchen combination, beaming. “If this isn’t the cutest little thing . . .”

  Linny examined the tidy compartments and comfortable-looking furniture of the camper and had to agree.

  In the wide-open asphalt parking lot of Willow Hill High School, Mack gave them a few more pointers before the women took their practice spins. “The model you’re renting has backup cameras and cameras on the sides, but you’ll still need to get comfortable with the mirrors, ladies. They are your friends, especially in backing up the length and width of this vehicle. Whenever you switch drivers, take the time to readjust the mirrors to suit you, and remember you can fold them in when you’re in a tight spot.” He reached out the open window and demonstrated, pulling the mirror close to the RV. “When you’re parking, one of you needs to be outside the RV, helping to direct the driver. If you’re directing, you need to use clear hand signals and stay out of the driver’s blind spot.”

  He looked at the women. “What other important safety measures do you remember from the safety videos?”

  Linny raised a hand. “The co-driver sits up front and helps the driver. The rest of us need to sit in the back here with our seat belts on.”

  Dessie added, “Turn off all propane tanks when you’re getting gas at the gas station.”

  Ruby chimed in. “Drive defensively, watch out for trucks and other RVs, and look out for tree branches and low bridges.”

  Dottie nodded. “Be careful changing lanes and turning because you’re a lot wider than you think.”

  Mack looked impressed. “Well done, ladies. You’ve been studying hard. Now let’s move from book learning to real life. Who wants to go first?”

  “I’ll go. My husband and I had a camper for years, but we pulled that behind our truck. This rig is different so let’s hope I can drive it,” Dessie said and stepped nimbly up to the driver’s seat Mack had relinquished. She moved the seat forward, took her time getting the mirrors just right, and slipped on driving glasses as she cranked it up.

  “I’ll be your co-driver.” Mack buckled his seat belt. “You can ask me anything.” But Dessie looked like a pro, Linny decided, and blew out a breath. Until today she hadn’t known how nervous she was about the others’ driving.

  Dessie accelerated gradually, carefully circled around trees, and braked slowly. She shot a grin over her shoulder at the girls as she put it in park. “Just like riding a bike,” she said.

  “I’m going to set up orange cones so you can practice parking. Ruby, how about you assist Dessie from outside?” Mack stepped down the stairs behind Ruby, helped her set up the traffic cones, and swung back inside to the co-driver seat.

  Linny glanced out the back window, smiling as she watched Ruby make exaggerated waving signs, do some leaping that looked like old cheerleader moves, and belt out encouraging instructions as she directed Dessie through the cones. “Doing great. To the left a few more inches. A skooch more. Perfecto!”

  When Dessie finished expertly parking, she grinned as she relinquished the driver’s seat and strode to the back of the RV. The others cheered and patted her on the back like she was the quarterback getting back on the bus after winning the big away game.

  Ruby was next. After adjusting the outside mirrors Ruby glanced in the rearview mirror and spent a long moment fluffing her bangs. Linny
shot a worried glance at Dottie, whose eyes were wide. Good grief. Linny pulled her seat belt tighter.

  Ruby was a chatty driver. “Oooh, it’s so easy to put this in gear and the ride is smooth as pudding.” She practiced using the turn signal and maneuvered the RV into a graceful arc past the “Go Willow Hill Wildcats” sign with the sculpture of the snarling wildcat mascot. “You know, when I drove those school buses, they were clunky old things. Nothing like this sweet ride.”

  Dottie spoke from the corner of her mouth. “Ruby talks when she’s excited.”

  But while she talked, Ruby looked as relaxed as if she were driving her Chevy Malibu to a BOGO sale at Shoes, Shoes, Shoes. She let down the window and rested her arm on the door and called back to the others. “I’ve always wanted to put my arm out while driving some big rig with the wind blowing my hair. Maybe it’s a Thelma and Louise kind of thing,” she said and giggled.

  Linny chuckled, too, until she pictured that T Bird flying over the cliff and sobered up.

  For Ruby’s orange cone–backing exercise, Linny scampered here and there, offering waving directions, but couldn’t seem to get in the right place at the right time. Ruby called out the window to her, “You’re in my blind spot” and “Still in my blind spot.”

  Despite Linny’s inept signaling, Ruby nailed it every time she backed up.

  Feeling chagrined, Linny climbed back on the RV. She needed to work on her waving technique.

  Mack said to Ruby, “My dear, you are an excellent driver.”

  Pink cheeked with pleasure, Ruby made a little curtsy and slid into her seat.

  “Show-off,” Dottie called out.

  Now it was Linny’s turn. How hard could this be? She’d driven the truck on her parents’ farm since she was twelve and had been a confident driver her whole life. She was good at driving Jack’s big Ford F-350. Jack was also giving her lessons on backing a horse trailer. Once she realized she had to turn the wheel the opposite of the way she wanted the trailer to go, she stopped her zig-zagging and was getting to be a strong beginner backer.

  In the driver’s seat, though, Linny adjusted her mirrors and gave a shaky sigh as she grasped the enormity of the RV she was driving. It was like driving a house down the road.

  Mack seemed to sense her unease and said quietly, “Relax, honey. You just take your time and put her in drive whenever you’re ready. Get used to moving and to braking.”

  After an inner pep talk and sucking in a few deep breaths that were supposed to calm her but left her feeling slightly dizzy, Linny nodded grimly, released the brake, and shifted into drive. She drove a foot, stomped on the brake, drove another foot or two, and hit the brake again. In the rearview mirror she saw the other women’s heads snap back and forth and, in between snapping, her mother smiling encouragingly. Finally, she gripped the wheel and inched around the perimeter of the parking lot. When she swung a little too close to the snarling wildcat, she heard a collective intake of breath. Overcorrecting, Linny grazed an overgrown azalea bush, but it sprang back, looking none the worse for wear.

  “I never liked azaleas,” Dessie sniffed.

  Mack reached over and patted her shoulder and said calmly, “You’re doing fine. Just remember, you have a big rear end.”

  “Nice thing to say to my daughter,” Dottie said, pretending to huff.

  Linny smiled, and began to enjoy driving. She slowly cruised around the lot, her hands relaxing their steely grip on the wheel. “I like how high up we sit,” she called to the others and lined the RV up for backing.

  But her mother offered wildly conflicting hand signals about which way to back. Linny heard the crunching sound and stared in horror at the mirror, praying she’d hit cones and not Dottie. But Mama appeared in her mirror, calling, “You almost missed them, sugar,” and started again with her graceful but open-to-interpretation directing moves that looked like the ones Linny had seen at a performance at the American Dance Festival last fall.

  The next round Linny nudged cones instead of running them over and Mack declared it a victory. “Let’s call it a day, ladies. You’ve all done real well.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at each woman, lingering when he came to Dottie. “Now I’d like to get home so I can take the lovely Miss Dottie out to supper before the big trip.”

  Dottie twinkled at him.

  Linny watched the chemistry. Just friends my behind. But Linny had her own good-byes to say. On the short drive back to her mother’s house she fought a wave of lonesomeness. Though she’d only be gone seven days, this was the longest she’d ever been away from Jack since they’d started dating. And even though Neal was in his slouch-and-sulk mode, she pictured that sweet, open smile of his. Linny missed both her men already.

  * * *

  That evening Linny stood in her kitchen, frowning in concentration as she read the recipe for Simple Chicken Potpie. Before she’d left for Mama’s this morning, she’d marinated the chicken breasts in buttermilk, salt, and pepper and stuck them in the fridge. Birdie, the cooking instructor from the A Fun Mom’s Guide to Fast, Frugal Weeknight Cooking class she’d taken last fall, always trilled about the marvels of buttermilk: Buttermilk is your friend, my petunias!

  Linny grimaced as she picked up the slippery chicken breasts and arranged them in a Pyrex dish. She popped them in the oven at 450 degrees. They’d cook for six minutes on each side, then she’d add chicken broth and lower the heat. She’d cover the chicken in aluminum foil pup tents and let them cook for about twenty minutes more.

  Linny carefully set the timer, chopped fresh vegetables and steamed them, and reread her directions. She wasn’t a natural chef. Every good meal she prepared came from scrupulously following a recipe. She’d burned up a very expensive roast sirloin when she got sidetracked figuring out how to operate the food processor. Then there was the small fire she’d started—no fire extinguisher necessary—in the brand-new microwave because she accidentally set the timer to twenty minutes instead of two. She’d been humming and shucking corn when she saw the little flames and smelled that awful smell.

  Linny shook her head, remembering, as she carefully checked the oven temperature. Jack had been so understanding about that mishap. Thank goodness he wasn’t the type of man to give her a lecture. No You could have burned down the house or We just threw away three hundred dollars. Jack just patted her on the shoulder and said, “Glad you weren’t hurt.” He and Neal had just hopped in the truck, gone to Lowe’s, and brought home a replacement microwave.

  Linny’s heart squeezed as she remembered how carefully Neal had watched his dad’s reaction to that microwave incident. He’d looked like a deer who’d picked up a scent of danger and was about to bolt into the woods. Chaz and Vera’s fighting spooked him. It had been good for the boy to see his dad’s calm reaction to the problem.

  But now Neal clomped into the kitchen, his eyes hooded.

  “Hey, Neal,” she said pleasantly, trying to read his mood. Was he just partly cloudy or was a squall approaching?

  Grunting a greeting, Neal swung open the refrigerator and examined the contents as carefully as if he was studying for a big final exam.

  Linny had a mental image of an arrow spinning crazily around the glass globe of their power meter like she’d seen in the old movies she loved but fought the urge to ask him to hurry up and close the door. She was also stung by the grunt. Didn’t she even warrant a muttered hey? Trying to lighten his mood, Linny found herself prattling. “So this is one of your favorites, chicken potpie. And Dad’s bringing home watermelon. He’s stopping at that stand out on Pine Ridge Farm—the place where you all got the really sweet one last summer. Remember, the one we put on the bathroom scale and it weighed twenty-five pounds?” She glanced over at him, but he didn’t answer.

  Neal sat slumped in the kitchen chair, gnawing on a piece of leftover pizza and playing a game on his phone.

  Okay. So she’d spent an hour preparing this meal and he was reaching for his second slice of pizza and eyeing the third in t
he box in front of him. What were the odds that he’d announce he wasn’t hungry just as she dipped a spoon in the flaky golden crust of the pie? Pretty good, she’d bet. This was one of his favorite push-the-stepmother-away tactics, especially when she’d cooked a meal she’d heard was one of his favorites.

  Linny washed the buttermilk bowl, propped it in the dish drying rack and faced him. Quietly, she asked, “May I speak to you just one minute?”

  He heaved a sigh. Putting the phone down, he slid his eyes over to her, looking bored. “Okay.”

  Linny took a steadying breath, but her mind raced around, throwing its hands in the air. She couldn’t say what she felt: I’m sorry your mama and Chaz are acting so childish and pigheaded. I’m sorry you’ve had to witness all this drama that doesn’t have anything to do with you. She wouldn’t overstep her bounds, and she and Jack had a pact to try to never talk badly about the boy’s mother and stepfather. But her heart ached for the bright, sensitive young man, and she knew Jack wasn’t that great at initiating conversation about emotions. She had to at least try to acknowledge what was going on. She tilted her head. “I’m sorry things have been tense at home, Neal. We hope things are going to get better. We love you a lot.”

  Not meeting her eyes, Neal gave a quick jerk of a nod, picked up his phone, and stomped out of the kitchen.

  Linny put her hand to her forehead and shook her head. That was the best she could come up with? Carol Brady would have known exactly what to say and turned that conversation into a healing, breakthrough moment. Neal’s eyes would have widened and he would have looked at her gratefully and said, “I get it. Mom and Chaz’s problems are their own. I am still well-loved and needn’t let their behavior impact my self-esteem.” He’d have given her a grateful hug before he put the pizza away, sponged off the kitchen table, and walked off to double-check his homework before supper.

  She thrust the hand mixer in the bowl of hot potatoes and thought of what one of the stepmothers had recently posted on the Bodacious Bonus Moms blog. Corrie from Charleston, South Carolina, had written about distant or surly teenaged stepchildren: Talking to a stepchild who is a teen is like talking to a loved one in a coma. There’s no sign they can hear you, but they do. Even though you think you’re going nowhere, all the love you offer does sink in. You just won’t know it until later. Feeling vaguely reassured, she sloshed half-and-half in the potatoes and began whipping.