Backup?
Everyone stood in silence for a moment as the RV disappeared down the road that had brought them all here.
Old Bertha was the first to speak. “Well, Jerry Lee is loaded up with suitcases,” she said to Pappy. “You go down there and unload. Then send the mule back for me.”
Pappy slapped her on her ample bottom. “Come on, old girl. The walk will do you good.”
Dymphna’s jaw dropped in disbelief. This man had obviously been long out of touch with most of civilization if he thought it was acceptable to smack a woman’s rear. Polly’s eyes blinked rapidly in their kohl-rimmed sockets. Old Bertha looked furious, but held her tongue.
Titan was making sure the luggage was secure on Jerry Lee. Pappy came over and patted Titan on the shoulder.
“Good job, son,” Pappy said. “Jerry Lee needs new shoes. Cutthroat left you the forge, so you and I are going to be good friends.”
Titan’s eyes widened as Pappy led Jerry Lee onto the trail. “What’s a forge?” Titan whispered to Dymphna as the band of travelers made their way down the hill, dodging the worst of the ruts.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Dymphna felt bad about lying. She knew what a forge was, but thought it might scare Titan off. And she really wanted him to stay.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 9
Powderkeg and Wally were in the lead as the group headed carefully down the trail. Dymphna found that strange, as they didn’t know the territory. Shouldn’t they wait for Pappy to show them around? Weren’t all of them still guests? She didn’t have much experience with men, but she had a sense that there were some subtle testosterone challenges going on. Dymphna noticed that Pappy, for all his wisecracking at Old Bertha’s expense, was being very gentlemanly, putting out his hand to guide her over the particularly wide ruts. Professor Johnson, Dymphna, Polly, and Titan followed cautiously behind Jerry Lee’s hindquarters as the mule lurched into town carrying his share of the luggage. Thud threaded his way in and out of the bushes and sniffed at Jerry Lee’s heels.
Polly tapped away wildly on her phone. She looked up at Dymphna in a panic. “There’s no reception,” she said. “Our phones are useless out here!”
“We’ll be okay,” Dymphna said.
“I’m right in the middle of a Mimi Millicent story!”
Dymphna tried to think of something comforting to say, but Polly didn’t seem like someone who was going to function very well without a cell phone signal. Both women looked up and saw Fat Chance at the same time. They gasped at their first glimpse of their new home.
A sun-baked wooden walkway ran the length of eight brown and gray buildings clustered together at the bottom of the trail. They looked like something out of a history book or movie set. There was one building on what would have been “the other side of street,” had there been a street. Another building, the largest of them all, sporting a lopsided sign that said Creekside Inn, sat slightly off by itself at a disturbing angle to the street. A final set of buildings, set off from the town, up a slope, looked somewhat like a tiny farm, with a ramshackle house, a barn, and another outbuilding. Although it was a short distance away, there appeared to be a few animals grazing in a penned yard. A creek ran along the back of the town but circled around to the side of the aptly named inn, then continued onto the lower portion of the property line of the little farm, before finally spilling into a small pond.
“If Norman Bates comes out of that inn, I’m going to scream like a girl,” Titan said.
“Who is he?” Professor Johnson asked, stepping carefully over a large rock protruding from the road.
“Psycho?” Titan said.
“Oh! He’s psycho,” Professor Johnson said. “I guess that could happen to anybody out here.” He walked ahead of them to get his dog away from the mule.
“What planet is he from?” Polly asked.
Powderkeg and Wally waited at the bottom of the hill for everyone to regroup.
Pappy returned to host-captor mode. “OK, see that brown building that’s sort of leaning to the left?” He pointed vaguely toward the buildings on the walkway. “That’s City Hall.”
“You mean shitty hall,” Wally said, poking Polly in the ribs.
Polly snickered, but Pappy’s smile disappeared. He walked over to Wally Wasabi and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Listen, son,” Pappy said. “There are ladies present. I don’t think we need to be using that sort of language.”
Dymphna was worried that every day here was going to be spent waiting for a fight to erupt, but Wally Wasabi backed down. Surprisingly, he looked straight at Old Bertha and said, “Sorry, ma’am.”
“As I was saying,” Pappy said, tying Jerry Lee to a hitching post. “That building in the middle is City Hall. Let’s all head in there and I’ll start distributing the property.”
“Property?” Powderkeg asked. “We get property?”
“Don’t you people know anything?” Pappy asked, as he looked around at the bewildered faces. He shook his head. “I don’t know if Cutthroat died before giving out the details or if he just decided to leave everything to me. ’Cause . . . you know . . . I’m the mayor and all.”
“This is not Chicago in the nineteen thirties,” Professor Johnson said. “It is not the job of the mayor to distribute property.”
“That’s debatable,” Pappy said, ushering everyone up the stairs into the swaybacked City Hall. “Of course, it’s not debatable here, since I pretty much have all the cards and all the property, but go on.”
“You are not the mayor,” Professor Johnson continued. “The mayor is an elected office. No one elected you.”
Dymphna looked around the hall. It was one story, and contained several stools and mismatched chairs. A table was at one end, with a gavel resting on the scarred top. Pappy sat down at the table. He picked up the gavel and whacked it. The cracking sound reverberated through the room.
Dymphna peeked at Titan, who looked like he was ready to bolt, then at Powderkeg, who looked like he was going to explode with laughter.
Pappy looked solemn. “I admire”—he pointed the gavel at Professor Johnson—“Professor Johnson, right? I admire Professor Johnson’s enthusiasm for civics, so I’m going to do this right. Now, Cutthroat left me in charge of this town to help y’all, but if you don’t want any help, that’s fine. I can just take Jerry Lee and be on my way. Otherwise . . . well, all in favor of me retaining my position of mayor, raise your hand.”
Bertha was first with her hand in the air, followed by Titan, Dymphna, Powderkeg, and Polly.
“That’s enough,” Pappy said. “I’m still the mayor.”
“Says who?” Titan asked.
“Says me,” Pappy said.
“If I may interrupt this witty repartee,” Professor Johnson said, “that is not the way an election works.”
“I got five votes,” Pappy countered. “That’s the majority.”
“Voting is done in secret,” Professor Johnson insisted.
“Not here.” Pappy looked around as if he were playing to an invisible crowd.
Professor Johnson continued to scowl over this travesty of the American electoral system as Pappy continued. “You better back down, there, Professor, or I’ll throw you in jail.”
“Oh, so you’re the jailer, too?” Professor Johnson asked.
“Well, technically, the sheriff. But yeah.”
“Oh, the mayor and the sheriff.” Professor Johnson looked around at the group, seeking support.
“And the banker,” Pappy added.
“This is insane.”
“Are you just noticing that?” Wally asked, but his natural hostility seemed to have dissipated a bit. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Come on, come on,” Powderkeg said. “I’m sure we can settle this like reasonable people.”
“I don’t think reasonable is much of a buzzword around here,” Titan whispered to Dymphna.
“I rebooted and everything,” Polly said, eyes glistening. “There’s no cell phone reception.”
Thud, who had been wandering in and out of the building, started barking wildly. All discussion ended as everyone filed out to see what had the dog in such an uproar. Professor Johnson ordered Thud to be quiet. The entire group, so at odds with one another a few seconds ago, stood together in silence. Then they heard it, the faint beep beep of a car’s horn.
For one brief moment, Dymphna’s heart leapt. A car! A car that went places! A car that could take them out of Fat Chance!
Thud raced back up the trail. Without so much as a nod to one another, Dymphna, Titan, Polly, Powderkeg, and Professor Johnson chased after the dog. Dymphna was halfway up the hill when she turned around to see Pappy and Old Bertha sitting on the steps to the wooden walkway. She smiled as she watched them. From a distance, they looked like any normal, sane couple you might meet at the tea shop back in Southern California. Pappy seemed to be inching closer to Old Bertha. Maybe a romance would blossom in the hills of Texas? She saw Old Bertha slap Pappy’s hat into the dust.
Maybe not.
Wally was sitting off by himself—just like he had for the entire RV trip. She wondered if he was ever going to make an effort to be part of the group.
The horn was still blaring and getting louder as Dymphna got closer. She hopscotched over the worst of the ruts.
“Come on, Dymphna,” Titan said, holding out his massive hand to haul her to the top of the trail.
As they cleared the top, Dymphna saw Cleo furiously beeping the horn of the town car. Jeffries, whom Dymphna remembered from Cleo’s house, was leaning against the trunk of the car, arms crossed, ignoring the racket and watching Thud pee on a back tire.
Cleo spotted the little band of newly minted townspeople coming toward her and stopped blasting the horn. “Thank God,” she said. “We were lost!”
“I was wondering if you were going to figure out where to stop,” Powderkeg said.
“As if you care.”
“I do care.”
Dymphna, who seemed to have turned into a romantic overnight—possibly because she had no rabbits to worry about—thought this was incredibly sweet of the rough-hewn veteran.
“Don’t give me that,” Cleo said.
“I do care,” Powderkeg insisted. “I mean, there’s no money for me in six months unless you’re here, so I’m ready to deal with whatever you have to dish out.”
While Cleo and her ex argued, Dymphna went over to Jeffries, who had opened the trunk.
“Do you need some help with that?” Dymphna asked, glancing over at Powderkeg and Cleo. “Looks like they might be awhile.”
Jeffries smiled at Dymphna and handed her a suitcase embroidered with roses and the monogram cPj.
“We passed the RV. The driver told us where to stop,” Jeffries told Professor Johnson, who was pulling his dog away from the car.
Polly came over and looked into the overstuffed trunk. Cleo abruptly grabbed the suitcase out of Dymphna’s hands and gave it back to Jeffries.
“That’s all right, dear,” Cleo said, frantically trying to push her hair back into place but instead making it stand on end. “Jeffries will get everything. Won’t you, Jeffries?”
Jeffries looked down the pockmarked road and shook his head.“The town car won’t make it down there,” he said. “This is the end of the line, Ms. Johnson-Primb.”
“Jeffries, I thought you’d consider staying!”
“Why would you think that?” Jeffries asked, genuinely startled.
“Well . . .” Cleo stalled. “I thought you might . . . feel it was your duty.”
“My duty?”
“Or something like that,” Cleo added weakly.
Jeffries started again to distribute Cleo’s luggage—returning the embroidered suitcase to Dymphna’s hands. Cleo was clutching a makeup bag as if her life—and profile—depended on it. Titan could barely see over the top of his own stack of matching suitcases. Polly had the unwieldy garment bag. Professor Johnson had a second set of luggage. Even loaded down with luggage, no one in the group moved.
Only Powderkeg had his hands free. He was clearly enjoying every minute of Cleo’s power struggle with the help.
“Please, Jeffries,” Cleo said, as she watched her precious luggage being passed around. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Jeffries had one more embroidered suitcase in his hands. He put it on the ground.
“All right, Ms. Johnson-Primb, I’ll stay,” Jeffries said.
“You will?” Cleo relaxed her grip on the makeup bag.
Dymphna’s eyes widened. She had not expected this! She shot a glance at Powderkeg, whose mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “On one condition . . .”
“Anything, Jeffries,” Cleo said, sounding a little more in control of herself.
“I’ve worked for your family for twenty-five years,” he said.
“And we have valued every minute of your dedication.”
“I’ll stay,” Jeffries said, “if you can tell me my first name.”
“I guess Rumpelstiltskin is too much to hope for,” Cleo said faintly.
The residents of Fat Chance, who were making an effort to look like they weren’t listening, gave up the pretext and stared at Cleo.
“Well,” Cleo said. “Well, it’s . . . it’s . . .”
Cleo grabbed her hair and looked at the ground, clearly racking her brain. Jeffries clicked the trunk closed. As he opened the driver’s-side door, he tilted his head as if studying Cleo.
“You have a safe stay here, ma’am,” he said. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, I think this is going to do you a world of good.”
Before Cleo could say another word, Jeffries disappeared into the town car and drove away. Cleo stared after the car as if she were forcibly rooted to the earth. Powderkeg came forward and put an arm around her.
“It’s Donald,” Powderkeg said.
“What?” Cleo said, as if emerging from a dream.
“Donald. That’s Jeffries’s first name.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Cleo demanded.
“I lived with you for five years,” Powderkeg said, shaking his head. “I saw the man every day. How could you possibly not know that?”
Cleo thrust her makeup bag at him. He took it, but was clearly enjoying himself.
“I bet you tried just about everything to get him to stay,” Powderkeg said. “Did you offer to marry him?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Marshall.” Cleo picked up a sack of jewelry that had fallen out of one of the bags. “Grow up. This isn’t Downton Abbey.”
“Awww, come on, Cleo,” Powderkeg said. “It wouldn’t be the first time you married below your station.”
Cleo stomped ahead of the group to walk down the hill with Professor Johnson and Thud. Thud attempted to jump on Cleo, but the professor managed to rein him in. Clearly, Cleo was not in the mood for a frisky bloodhound.
“Wow,” Polly said. “They run with scissors.”
“I know, right?” Titan said.
Titan and Polly waddled down the hill. Dymphna looked after them. They made a cute couple.
Maybe Titan and Polly . . . oh, wait, Polly isn’t exactly Titan’s type!
Powderkeg picked up the small suitcase that sat orphaned on the side of the road and fell into step with Dymphna as she headed down the trail.
“I figured it might be a bad idea to tell her to start calling me Powderkeg,” he said, barely suppressing his delight.
“Yeah,” Dymphna said as she looked down the road to Fat Chance. “Too soon.”
CHAPTER 10
Cleo grabbed her nephew’s arm as she
took in the wreckage that was Fat Chance, Texas. She stared at the ramshackle buildings and the makeshift boardwalk. She choked back outraged tears.
“I can’t believe your grandfather has done this to me,” she said, looking helplessly at the professor. “Did you know Jeffries’s first name?”
“Well . . .” Professor Johnson stalled. “Well . . . actually . . . yes.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Cleo asked.
“Jeffries didn’t ask me.”
“This is a nightmare.” Cleo forced her feet to move toward town.
“It gets worse.” Professor Johnson nodded toward Pappy, who was headed toward them with his strange hiking-booted gait.
“Hello, Cleo,” Pappy said, offering a cracked and calloused hand for shaking. “Good to see you! I thought maybe you’d backed down.”
“Do I know you?” Cleo hesitantly offered up just four fingertips for a handshake.
“Oh no, no, of course not,” Pappy said. “I just . . . well, you’re the only one on Cutthroat’s list I haven’t met yet.”
“This is Pappy,” Professor Johnson said. “Grandfather left him here.”
“He left you here?” Cleo asked. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Pappy. I think my father was losing his mind toward the end . . .”
Thud looked up in surprise as Pappy let out a laugh that echoed through the hills.
“Don’t you worry,” Pappy said. “I’m here of my own free will. Been here for almost thirty years. Happy to help you all get settled.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Cleo said, taking heart that someone could survive thirty years in Fat Chance.
Pappy reached for one of Cleo’s bags. “Let’s get a move on. I want to get back to that town meeting.”
“We’re having a town meeting already?” Cleo asked.
“Yes,” Professor Johnson said. “We were electing a mayor.”
Pappy bristled. “We were not electing a mayor. I’m the gob-derned mayor, son, and you better get used to it.”
Professor Johnson was about to argue when he felt a light pressure on his arm. His aunt had regained some of her Beverly-Hills-matron composure. Her touch meant “Just keep smiling, we will deal with this later.”
Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas Page 8
