Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas

by Celia Bonaduce

  “Go on with you, now,” she commanded.

  As the two ATVs literally left the rest of them in the dust, Wally kicked at a rock in the road.

  “OK, the two main reasons we’re standing here looking like contestants in a drag-queen contest just drove away,” he said. “Now we just look like a bunch of jerks.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Powderkeg replied. “I think I still look like a contestant in a drag-queen contest.”

  “No, you don’t,” Titan said. “Trust me.”

  As they trudged back, Professor Johnson hit on a plan with Thud. Every mile or so, he had someone in the group distract the dog while he slipped an item into one of the pouches. By the time the group straggled into Fat Chance, Professor Johnson had filled the saddlebags.

  The road back was long and most of the charcoal had sweated off or, worse, left black rivulets on their cheeks. The twins were standing in the middle of the street when the group arrived. They had their heads together, staring into a phone.

  “What are they looking at?” Wally asked, outraged. “Their phone is broken! They must have stolen one of ours.”

  “I gave them mine,” Dymphna said. “I knew they would get back to town before we did. Might as well let them use it.”

  Dymphna could tell Wally was loath to let his anger go.

  “Hey, boys,” Pappy called to the twins. “I’m gonna pasture Jerry Lee, then I want you to meet me at the jail.”

  The twins looked up from the phone.

  “I just told you,” Dymphna said. “I said they could use it.”

  “You stay out of this, Dee,” Pappy said. “This is between me and the boys.”

  “What if they make a run for it?” Powderkeg asked. “Want me to keep an eye on them?”

  “Nope,” Pappy said. “That’s up to them.”

  Fancy was waiting at the forge door. Titan grinned when he saw her.

  “There’s my girl,” he said as he split off from the group. He spoke to the buzzard as he approached the forge. “Did you miss Daddy?”

  As the group fragmented, Dymphna stood awkwardly with Professor Johnson and Thud.

  Is he going to take his supplies into the Boozehound or up to my place?

  “I suppose there’s no danger now that our marauders turned out to be the twins,” Professor Johnson said.

  He doesn’t want to come back.

  “That’s true,” Dymphna said, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “you never know what might be lurking around the next rock.”

  “That’s also true,” Dymphna said, now trying to disguise the excitement in her voice.

  “Then perhaps Thud and I should continue to reside at the farm after dark.”

  “All right then,” Dymphna said. “I’ll see you later. I have to get up there and take care of the animals.”

  Professor Johnson nodded solemnly, called Thud, and headed toward the Boozehound to drop off his four cans of beer.

  Down the street, the twins were waiting for Pappy in front of the jail, as requested. Pappy saw Wally sitting on the bench in front of his store, obviously waiting to see what Pappy was going to do with the twins. Pappy motioned for the boys to come inside.

  “You still have Dee’s phone?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” Rodney said. “But she said—”

  “I know what she said. So, let’s talk about you boys staying here for a while.”

  Rock glowered. “What for?”

  “You got someplace else to be?” Pappy asked.

  “Anyplace is better than jail,” Rock said.

  “OK. I just thought you might want to be in town instead of camping out. And, you know, the reception is a lot better here in town, I’m told.”

  “You mean . . . not actually going to jail?” Rodney asked. “Just . . . hang out here?”

  “I figured I’d deputize you two,” Pappy said. “And you can oversee the place. I’m still the sheriff, though.”

  “Deal!” Rodney said.

  “Yeah,” Rock said. “Just let that Wally step one foot out of line.”

  “No abusing your position,” Pappy said sternly. “And you make sure you take better care of Dee’s phone than you did your own . . . and you charge it before you give it back to her.”

  “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

  “All right then,” Pappy said, opening the top drawer in the desk. “Here are the keys to the jail cell and the front door. Not sure which is which or if they even work.”

  He handed over the keys to the twins, got up from his desk, and headed toward the door.

  “I bunk down behind City Hall if you have any questions,” Pappy said.

  “Wait,” Rock said. “You forgot to deputize us in the name of the law.”

  “You watch too many westerns, kid,” Pappy said. “I just need to think you’re my deputies and it’s a done deal.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Cleo looked at her watch. It was four thirty in the afternoon. Titan had left a spotless kitchen this morning, so she was ready to start prepping for supper. Through her wheeling and dealing, she knew Titan, Bertha, Polly, Pappy, and Powderkeg would all be coming by for a meal. Dymphna and Wally seemed to prefer to fend for themselves in the evenings and she had no idea what was going on with the twins. She had assumed her nephew would be at the café in the evenings, but now that he seemed to be staying with Dymphna, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Since there was no way to pinpoint the number of guests, and her options were limited anyway, she opted for spaghetti. The fact that she only had boxed grated cheese hurt her, but she took solace in the fact that she had overcome worse obstacles in the last few days.

  I never thought I would say this, but I can live with boxed Parmesan.

  She could see her nephew through the archway that connected the café and the saloon. She wished they had the kind of bond that would allow her to ask about his relationship with Dymphna. She watched him playing with Thud. Thank God for that dog; caring for the bloodhound seemed to be the only time the man let his guard down. She blamed herself for not trying harder during his childhood, but also patted herself on the back. After all, she was the one who had bought him the dog.

  “Are you coming for dinner, Elwood?” Cleo yelled into the saloon.

  The professor stopped roughhousing with Thud. Cleo pretended not to notice his sheepish expression.

  “I’m not sure,” he said tentatively.

  “Because you might go up to Dymphna’s?” Cleo asked, hoping her nephew would see that she was leaving a door open for conversation.

  “I’m not sure,” he repeated.

  You could almost hear him closing the door.

  Powderkeg suddenly burst through the front entrance of the café. Professor Johnson took this as his chance to escape and went back to tending to his saloon, with its supply of his aunt’s liquor.

  “What’s for dinner?” Powderkeg boomed.

  “Spaghetti,” Cleo said. “And not for another hour.”

  “OK,” Powderkeg said. “I was just over at the inn and Polly and Old Bertha are going to pass on dinner. Today wiped them out, I guess.”

  “Two less mouths to feed,” Cleo said, feeling vaguely rejected but not wanting to show it. “Fine.”

  “But the twins want to know if they can come instead.”

  “I suppose that would be all right—this one time. Until I cut some kind of deal with them.”

  “Pappy gave them the jail,” Powderkeg said. “So I’d stay on their good side if I were you.”

  “Can you just give someone a jail?”

  “No!” Professor Johnson yelled from behind the bar in the Boozehound. “But that has never stopped Pappy, has it?”

  Professor Johnson and Thud left the Boozehound. Cleo and Powderkeg could hear the professor locking the door behind him.

  “Why is he locking the door? What good is that going to do?” Powderkeg said. “The
re are holes in the building big enough to climb through.”

  “I have no idea.” Cleo smiled. “Old habits die hard?”

  “Is he going up to Dymphna’s?”

  “Did you hear him tell me where he was going? How should I know?”

  “You’re his aunt.”

  “What does that mean?” Cleo asked hotly.

  “It means—you’re his aunt.”

  Cleo sat down at one of the tables and put her head in her hands. “He’s practically a stranger to me,” she moaned. “I don’t know him any better than I do these other lunatics.”

  “Hey, hey.” Powderkeg came up behind her and massaged her slumped shoulders. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Just in the habit of getting your goat.”

  “You haven’t seen me in years.”

  “That’s true,” Powderkeg said. “But I haven’t forgotten you.”

  He picked up her left hand and kissed the oddly placed ring on her index finger.

  “And you haven’t forgotten me,” he continued. “Remember when I found that ring when we were packing up from that craft show in Seattle? You stuck it on your finger—it was way too small, but you liked the way it looked, so you kept it. You said it was like us—a weird fit, but perfect in its own way.”

  “I can’t believe you remembered!” Cleo said, stretching. “And I remember these killer massages, too. You certainly haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Well,” Powderkeg said, slowing down the massage to long, sensuous strokes along her back. “Like you said, old habits die hard.”

  Cleo sat up straight and looked at him. “Do you realize you and I know each other better than anyone else? How sad is that?”

  Powderkeg continued to massage her shoulders, not saying anything. The time for conversing was over.

  Cleo got the message, relaxing as she closed her eyes.

  “You know what the hardest part of being in Fat Chance is?” she eventually asked. She’d never been good at the non-conversing part.

  “What?” Powderkeg asked in a whisper, as he stroked her back.

  “All this time to think,” she said. “Elwood is just the tip of the iceberg. I look back on my life and all I see is one mistake after another.”

  “We’ve all made mistakes, Clee,” he said, using a sobriquet he hadn’t thought of in years. “And besides, it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

  He remembered a spot, just behind her ear, that was especially sensitive. He touched it lightly with his index finger, tracing light circles from her ear to her collarbone.

  “No,” Cleo breathed. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  CHAPTER 31

  As soon as Old Bertha returned from Spoonerville, she’d taken a shower and washed off her charcoal makeup. Before she got in the shower, she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Of course she appeared thoroughly insane with her eyes rimmed in charcoal, but she suddenly saw the appeal. She felt wholly unlike herself. It was as if she were wearing a mask and could be anyone she wanted to be.

  The sun was just starting its slow descent over the town when Bertha made her way to the front porch swing. She had a big pot of chicken soup cooking on the stove and the smell from the kitchen wrapped the whole porch in comfort. Sipping a cup of tea, she rocked the ancient swing back and forth with her foot. Powderkeg had checked the swing, tested the support beams, added a few sturdy molly bolts, and declared it strong enough to hold her weight. She trusted him.

  It had been a long time since Bertha had trusted anyone. She thought back to their trip to Spoonerville earlier that day. They had left Fat Chance as eleven individuals and returned as a team. She was happy to be a part of it. She didn’t want to think of this group as a family . . . but she did declare before God and Spoonerville that Polly was “her girl.” Was this what Cutthroat had in mind when he sent them here? Didn’t sound much like him. But this was as good a guess as any.

  Polly poked her head out the door. Her face was freshly scrubbed and she was already in her nighttime uniform of sweatpants and T-shirt. She had taken an even longer nap than Old Bertha had. Today had exhausted both of them.

  “Can I come sit with you?” Polly asked.

  Bertha shifted her weight so she was only taking up half the seat.

  Polly came out of the house and tugged on the chain holding up one side of the swing. “Do you think this will hold us both?”

  “If it doesn’t, we’ll crash and burn together.”

  “Just like in Spoonerville,” Polly said as she sat down.

  “Soup will be ready in a few minutes. You want some?”

  Bertha could just make out Polly’s nod.

  “I really appreciated what you did, you know,” Polly said. “That took some nerve.”

  “I’ve always had nerve,” Old Bertha said. “Not sure where it’s got me . . . except to Fat Chance.”

  “I know! This is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  Old Bertha chuckled. “Me too. And I’ve been on this planet a lot longer than you.”

  From the porch of the Creekside Inn, they could look directly down Main Street. They could see that dinner was just finishing up at the café. Titan and Wally walked together down the boardwalk, stopping in conversation in front of Wally’s store before parting ways. The twins were standing in the middle of the street, faces illuminated in the glow of a cell phone.

  Old Bertha looked at Polly. “You want to head into town and use a phone?” she asked. “I can keep the soup on.”

  “No,” Polly said as they watched Pappy leave the café and wave goodnight to the twins. “I’m happy sitting here with you.”

  For several minutes the splashing of Loudmouth Lake and the creak of the swing were the only sounds on the porch.

  “Can I ask you something?” Old Bertha said.

  Again, the almost imperceptible nod.

  “Where is your mom?”

  “She’s around,” Polly said. “It’s just that after my dad died, she couldn’t handle anything, you know? She kind of gave up on life—and that included me.”

  Bertha’s instinct was to condemn the woman. But then she thought back to the day she’d realized that Cutthroat had left town—and her. She’d never really recovered from that. Listening to Polly talk about her mother, a woman who lost her heroic husband in a tragedy, Bertha felt nothing but compassion for the woman.

  “I’m sure your mother did the best she could,” she said, surprising herself.

  “Oh, I know she did. It was just hard. It’s still hard, you know?”

  It was Bertha’s turn to nod without speaking. But she didn’t know. She had absolutely no idea. She knew debits and credits. But she knew nothing about the kind of anguish that would make a mother lose track of her little girl’s life and terrible makeup choices. Old Bertha wondered if this is what Cutthroat had in mind when he sent her here—to examine her own meaningless life.

  But he loved me. He said he did.

  Polly’s voice cut into Bertha’s thoughts.

  “Mom and I used to cry all the time. One day, I was playing with my mom’s makeup. I was twelve. I saw a model in a magazine and I tried to copy her. I spent about two hours in front of the mirror. When my mom came home from work, she found me and she started to cry—again. Usually, as soon as Mom’s tears started, mine followed. But I had worked so hard on my makeup! I reached up and pressed on my lower lids to keep the makeup from running. It worked. So I just started to wear crazy makeup, ’cause I knew I could stop my tears. I know it sounds nuts, but it works. I never cry anymore.”

  “Do you think if you cried all the tears you needed to cry, you might not need that makeup anymore?” Bertha asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Bertha put her arms around Polly, and she sank into the old woman’s pillowy bosom.

  “Let’s just see,” Bertha said, gently rocking Polly back and forth and stroking her hair. “You go ahead and cry those tears.”

  The building creaked in harm
ony to Polly’s sorrowful song. Bertha could tell the soup was going to burn on the stove, but she just held the trembling, sobbing girl.

  Maybe this was what Cutthroat had had in mind after all.

  CHAPTER 32

  Dymphna was not sure what to make of Professor Johnson. He arrived in time for dinner, announcing that he didn’t want to be an inconvenience as he took a seat at the table. She was happy to have him there for many reasons, including the fact that she had canned meat to get rid of. Tonight she had made a vegetable stew and added some cut-up Spam to Professor Johnson’s bowl. She gave the rest of the Spam to Thud.

  “I bought some dog food in Spoonerville,” Professor Johnson said. “But Thud could only carry so much. I’ll order a month’s supply now that we have access to the Internet. I’m concerned he’s going to get so used to people food he won’t go back.”

  “It’s Spam,” Dymphna said as they watched the dog eat. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

  Professor Johnson insisted on cleaning up after dinner while Dymphna took Thud outside.

  “Want to tuck in the goats and chickens?” Dymphna asked Thud.

  She knew no one was listening, but she felt herself flushing. If she were going to make a go of it in Texas, she’d have to learn the terminology. She was pretty sure hardcore Texas ranchers didn’t ‘tuck in’ their animals. The hens in the henhouse seemed to take care of themselves. She left the barn doors open during the day, but closed the goats up at night. Pappy told her that goats didn’t really even need a barn, but she felt better knowing they had shelter.

  The three does came running up to her when they reached the barn. Dymphna assumed that Down Diego must be avoiding Thud, but as she looked around the pen, she couldn’t see him. Her heart started to beat faster. Down Diego was nowhere to be found.

  “Thud,” Dymphna said. “Go get your dad.”

  Thud bounded around the yard, scattering the does, chickens, and Wobble.

  OK, he’s not exactly Lassie.

  “Professor Johnson!” Dymphna called.

  The professor came out of the house, his shirtsleeves still rolled up to his elbows. “Is there a problem?” he asked, coming quickly through the gate.