by Amy Metz
“No, Mr. Applewhite. You’ve mistaken a threat for a promise.” He moved closer to Lenny, pointed his finger two inches in front of his face, and said firmly, “Do. Not. Tempt me.”
“Shoot, Mr. Big Man thinks he’s Mr. Tough Man,” Lenny said, looking around the store again to see who might be watching. There were five people in the store and all were concentrating very hard on various items in their hands, pretending not to listen in on the conversation.
“I could literally take you any day of the week, and twice on Sunday,” Lenny boasted.
“You might just get your chance to find out about that. In the meantime, if you don’t turn yourself around and march your scrawny little butt outta this store in about five seconds, I’m gonna call the station and have them send a car for your personal transportation to an all-expense-paid visit to Hotel Lockup. It would be my pleasure to look at that smirk through bars.” Johnny held up a finger and began counting. “One.”
Lenny began backing up but continued to talk so anyone in the store could hear. “Can y’all believe this? The man’s screwing my wife and he’s pissed at me.”
“Three.” Johnny held up three fingers.
“Ha!” Lenny pointed at Johnny. “You can’t even count.”
Johnny held out four fingers on his hand.
“All right, I’m going, but you can’t hide behind that badge forever. Like you said, sooner or later, you’re gonna be off duty …”
“Five,” Johnny reached for the phone hooked to his belt. But he didn’t need to use it. Lenny turned and stalked from the store, the bells on the door clanging wildly as he pulled it open and then slammed it shut.
It was a bright, crisp fall afternoon when Martha Maye took the kids out for recess. A lone figure drew her eye to the edge of the schoolyard. Lenny stood on the other side of the chain link fence, leaning against it with his arms spread wide above his head, his fingers grasping the chain links and his face up against them, watching her. She tried to ignore him, but his presence was unnerving. She ended recess early.
That afternoon when she walked her students out the front door at dismissal time, he was leaning against a tree across the street, arms folded, watching her. She hurried inside and called Johnny.
“Now will you take out a restraining order on him?” Johnny asked.
“What good will that do? He doesn’t get close to me, and wouldn’t a restraining order only require him to stay five hundred yards away? He already does that.”
“Did you and Butterbean walk to school today?”
“Yes. I mean, Butterbean rode her bike …”
“I’m coming to pick y’all up. Do not leave until I get there.”
“Yes sir,” she said to dead air.
Lenny was gone by the time Johnny got to the school. Questions abounded from Butterbean as to why Chief Butterfield was taking them home again.
Since their house was only a few blocks away, Martha Maye allowed her daughter to ride her bike home, but Johnny and she followed closely behind in the police car.
“I don’t know what to do, Johnny.” She rolled her window down and felt the breeze on her face. “He’s following me, he shows up here and there watching me, and I keep getting strange presents. Now I’m thinking they’ve got to be from him.”
Johnny’s eyes continuously swept the area around them as he drove.
“I’m serious about you taking out a restraining order on him. If nothing else, it will send him a message that you’re serious about him staying away from you.”
“I don’t know,” she said, watching Butterbean peddle faster over a tree root protruding from the sidewalk. “I don’t want to make him madder. I keep thinking if I ignore him, he’ll eventually go away.”
“I don’t think his seatback is in the full, upright, and locked position. It’s doubtful subtle is going to work with him.”
The leaves—some golden yellow, some orange, and some red—danced in the air before slowly and gracefully falling to the ground. There were pumpkins on most of the front porches, and some of the yards had cornstalks or ghosts or witches for decoration.
Martha Maye sighed. “This is my favorite time of year, and Lenny’s ruining it for me.”
Butterbean turned into their driveway, and Johnny followed, parking beside a huge maple tree, the leaves of which had turned brilliant yellow.
Martha Maye got out with her book bag, as Johnny reached into the back seat for Butterbean’s backpack.
“Would you like to come in for milk and cookies?” Martha Maye asked him.
“Does the Pope wear a funny dress?” he said, following her to the side door.
“Does he?” Butterbean piped up, catching up to them.
“Chief Butterfield is being facetious.”
“What’s setious?”
“FA. Fa-ce-tious,” Martha Maye enunciated. “It means don’t take him literally. He’s being humorous.”
“Aw, come on, who would say no to your mama’s cookies?”
Martha Maye handed Butterbean a cookie and told her to go see if Maddy Mack could play. “And get the mail for me before you go next door, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” Butterbean skipped out of the kitchen.
“She’s a keeper, Mart.”
“Thank you, Johnny. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Johnny removed his hat and checked his watch.
“Can you sit for a minute?” She put some oatmeal raisin cookies on a plate. When she turned around to set them on the table, Johnny sat slightly bent at the waist, forearms on his thighs, fingering his hat between his knees, deep in thought.
“I don’t want to stay too long and give Lenny any more ammunition, but I need to tell you about a run-in I just had in the hardware store before someone else does.”
“Ammunition?”
“Yeah.” He let out a long breath. “Lenny tried to pick a fight with me in Doc’s hardware store. I kind of lost my temper and told him I’d be off duty one day and teach him some manners.”
She put her hand over her mouth to cover a smile. “I would’ve liked to have seen that. I imagine he didn’t take too kindly to it.”
“Negative. He did not.” Johnny shook his head and picked up a cookie. “He got all loud and started yelling about me threatening him. So I obliged him and gave him a threat. I said I’d put him in the pokey if he didn’t walk away.”
Martha Maye began to laugh. “You did? Oh, I wish I’d seen his face. I’ll bet it was all puckered up like he’d been sucking on a lemon.”
“Mart, something’s not right with that boy. He concerns me.” He slowly turned the cookie in his hands. “He’s threatening me in public, essentially stalking you, and possibly sending you anonymous gifts. What’s he going to do next?”
Quiet for a bit, she took in his words. He ate a cookie, and she sipped her tea. The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. Only the sound of a ticking clock could be heard.
Johnny cleared his throat. “And Martha Maye, there’s something else he said.” She looked up at him. “He told everyone who would listen that you and I are sleeping together.”
Martha Maye got up and moved to the sink to pour more tea even though her glass was almost full. Her hands shook in anger. How dare Lenny act like that after the way he’d treated her? “And that’s why you threatened him?” Martha Maye said softly, turning toward him.
“I won’t tolerate him talking about you that way.” He stood up and rubbed the back of his neck, a move that made his bicep bulge. Martha Maye noticed it. He wasn’t a body builder type, but the man did have muscles. Her gaze traveled from his arms to his eyes.
“Doesn’t seem fair, him accusing us of”—she waved her hand in the air—”of that, when we haven’t even kissed.” Martha Maye’s nerves were raw. She looked at Johnny’s lips, and her gaze moved slowly back to his eyes. Butterflies floated around in her stomach, and her mouth went dry.
“No, no it doesn’t,” he said, coming closer to her and holding her
gaze. His six-foot-five frame towered over her five-foot-six body. They stood so close they were almost touching. Martha Maye made the first move by touching his arm, and their eyes locked.
He bent his head and put his lips softly to hers. She wound her hands around his neck and squeezed into him, returning the kiss. He brought his hands up and cupped her face, deepening the kiss. A soft hum came from her throat, and she matched his enthusiasm. He pulled away and looked questioningly into her eyes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. Then his lips found hers again. They held the kiss, a kiss that was three months in the making, a kiss she’d wanted since the moment she ran into his arms at the end of her kidnapping ordeal.
At the sound of running feet, they jumped away from each other, as Butterbean and Maddy Mack came racing into the kitchen. Martha Maye’s hand went up to her mouth.
Butterbean hesitated, looking from her mother to Johnny, and then said, “Mama, can Maddy Mack have a cookie, and can we watch some TV for a while?”
“Sure.” Martha Maye rubbed her index finger and thumb against her mouth. “If you say ‘may.’”
“Um, I’d best get back to work before they put an APB out on me.” Johnny started for the door, and Martha Maye followed.
“We’re still on for Saturday night aren’t we?” he said, opening the front door.
“Yes.” She grinned from ear to ear. As Johnny headed to his car, her eyes followed. Her mind on Johnny, only for a second did she register a BMW with tinted windows slowly driving past.
The distance to the next milepost depends on the mud in the road.
~Southern Proverb
On Saturday night, Martha Maye pulled her Toyota Camry into the parking lot of the restaurant at the Buttermilk Hill Inn, a country inn about thirty miles outside of Goose Pimple Junction, where Johnny and she had arranged to meet. She’d taken great care in dressing and left Butterbean with Honey and Maddy Mack. Tess had talked her into buying a dress she would have never picked out on her own. She hadn’t worn anything this revealing in her entire life, and she felt very self-conscious, which only added to the butterflies in her stomach.
She walked into the inn’s cozy dining room, and the maître d’ led her to the corner table by the window, where Johnny waited. She wondered if he was as nervous as she felt. Probably not, she decided. That would be impossible. She flexed her damp palms, pasted on a smile, and tried to walk with confidence, but she felt awkward.
Johnny stood to hold the chair for her, and she saw him swallow. “Wow. You look absolutely amazing, Martha Maye.”
“Thank you, Johnny,” she said, putting her hand to her chest, where she’d pinned the plunging neckline so that it wasn’t quite so plunging. She still felt like it showed off more than it should. “Thank you for understanding about meeting me here, as opposed to somewhere in town. I don’t want folks talking.”
“No problem. I understand. I’m just happy you agreed to go out with me. I’d have met you at the Piggly Wiggly three counties over for a Spam sandwich if that’s what you wanted.” He hurried to add, “Not that this is a date, exactly. We’re just two friends getting together for a meal. Nothing wrong with that.”
She smiled shyly and looked out the window at the lake at dusk. It was mid-October but still warm out, although not stifling hot as in the summer. Ducks sat in the grass and floated on the lake, making the outdoor lights dance on the ripples. She forced her eyes back to Johnny, who watched her.
She bit her lip and searched for something to say. “This is a beautiful restaurant, don’t you think?” That sounded lame.
“It sure is,” he replied. “I hear tell Robert E. Lee himself stayed at the inn once.”
She nodded, looking around the room. The lights were low, and a candle inside a glass hurricane sat at the center of each table. Copious bunches of white gladiolas sprang from huge glass vases in various spots around the brick-walled dining room. The ambiance of the restaurant combined with Johnny’s reassuring presence calmed her nerves. If only I could think of something to talk about.
“How’s work, Johnny?”
He groaned. “Oh, don’t ask.”
“Oh? You’re not sorry you took the job, are you?”
“Naw, I like the job. And the town.” He leaned in toward her with a shy smile and added, “And the people.”
She smiled but couldn’t hold his gaze.
“But we got us a mess going on.”
“What kind of mess?” She crossed her hands on the table and leaned toward him.
“A petty thief wreaking havoc all over town kind of mess. I think just about every business has been hit at least once, but nobody ever sees anything or anyone suspicious. It’s the durndest thing.”
“Mama mentioned some items from the store had disappeared.”
“Yeah, boy,” Johnny said. “I’ve checked with every store in town, and just about everyone has had at least a few items go missing within the last month or so.” He paused while a busboy set glasses of water on the table. When he left, Johnny took the lemon wedge off the rim of the glass and plopped it into the water, then continued.
“I’m thinking it must be a kid, because nothing big’s ever taken, just incidentals like candy, apples, underthings, battrees.” Martha Maye smiled at him and he said, “What?”
“My daddy used to say batteries like that.”
He flushed but continued. “Yep. Most of the time, nobody even realizes right away that anything is gone. At first, some of the stores said no, nothing was missing, then they got to looking and called me back with a whole list, and by then the trail’s ice cold. It could be anybody.” He took a sip of water.
“Don’t any of the shops have video cameras?”
“Only the Piggly Wiggly. Goose Pimple Junction’s stuck in time as far as theft prevention goes.”
“I guess noboby’s ever really needed it before.”
“I reckon not. Then of course, there’s the great pumpkin caper. He didn’t get y’all’s, did he?”
“No, we were spared, but I did hear some of my students talking about that.” The waitress stopped at their table to take their drink order. When she left the table, Martha Maye said, “You do like being police chief though, don’tcha?”
“I like it just fine. This petty theft stuff is aggravating, but it’s a whole lot more interesting than writing speeding tickets all day like I did as a statie. Of course, chances are I won’t get to do any high-speed chases, but the people are a whole lot friendlier.” He looked at her and added, “And prettier.”
Martha Maye straightened the silverware at her place setting, mumbling, “Thank you.” Alarmed, she looked up quickly, adding, “Oh, there I go again, assuming—”
“Your assumption is correct, pretty lady,” Johnny interrupted, nodding.
“Well, thank you again,” she said, her eyes still not able to meet his.
“So, you haven’t had any more incidents, have you? With Lenny, or with gifts?”
“No, thank goodness. It’s been a few days since y’all’s run-in. Maybe he finally got the point and left town, although it does seem like he would have said good-bye to Butterbean.”
When the waitress brought their drinks—a frozen margarita for her and a Sam Adams pale ale for him—Martha Maye took a sip and looked up at the entrance to the dining room. She almost spewed the drink into the air. She coughed and sputtered and wiped her lips with a napkin. Johnny turned to see what had upset her. Lenny was crossing the room to their table.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Lenny asked loudly, causing everyone in the room to stop talking and stare.
“Lenny, what are you doing here?” Martha Maye croaked, her face red with embarrassment.
Lenny glared at his wife. “What in tarnation are you doing out with another man? You are still a married wo-man, you know.”
“Are you following me, Len?”
“So what if I am? You’re still my lawfully wedded wife.” He looked her up and down and added, “Although
you look like a two-bit hussy. You two gonna hustle on up to a room when you’re finished here?” Lenny somehow managed to sneer and leer at the same time.
Johnny stood up, like a redwood over a sapling. “You got no call to follow this woman or call her names. She and I are just having a bite to eat as friends. That’s all. We even came in separate cars. Call her a despicable name like that again, and you’ll be sipping your dinner through a straw for the foreseeable future.”
“I don’t give a diddly squat if you came on separate donkeys. That’s my wife you’re on a date with, Chief Butterbrain. And when she dresses like that, she asks to be called a hussy. A brazen hussy.”
The maître d’ had rushed to the table and tried to get a word in. Everyone ignored him.
“Lenny, number one, it’s not a date,” Martha Maye talked slowly and tried to keep her voice low. She glanced around the room and saw that other diners were openly staring at them.
“Number two, you and I are separated. Number three, I can have dinner with a friend if I want. And number four, I can dress however I want.” She tugged on the V of her neckline.
“And five, you apologize to this lovely lady for calling her that shameful name and insinuating something that isn’t true,” Johnny added.
The maître d’ stood by awkwardly. Finally he said more forcefully, “Sir, may I get you a chair?”
“NO. He will not be staying,” Martha Maye said quickly.
“Perhaps a table then?”
Lenny looked from Johnny, who stood with his fists flexing at his sides, to Martha Maye, who looked into her water glass, to the maître d’, who nervously shifted from one foot to the other.
Finally, Lenny grinned slyly and said, “Yeah. Yeah, sure. You can show me to a table.” He walked off with a smirk and veered away from the maître d’, finding a table himself across the room where he could sit and stare straight at Martha Maye.
“That boy is wound up like a cheap alarm clock,” Johnny said, glancing at Lenny across the room. His face registered sudden recognition, and he snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen him before. I couldn’t place him in the hardware store, but now I remember. He was sitting in a parked car down the street from your mother’s house a while ago. I can’t rightly recall when it—”
