Chocolate-Covered Baloney

by KD McCrite

  Isabel let out a breath. “Can she keep a secret for two weeks?” She looked past me. “What do you think, Myra darling? Are you curious, too?”

  I glanced behind me. Ole Myra Sue had come downstairs, and I hadn’t even heard her. Instead of rushing to Isabel or anything you might expect from her, she just shrugged.

  “April Grace has a big mouth sometimes,” she offered, which I did not appreciate even a little bit, especially as I had been trying to make her feel better. I crossed my eyes at her, then turned back to the two women.

  “I can keep a secret as good as anyone,” I declared. And I gave that sister of mine another dirty look because she knew I was keeping a secret about her and whatever sneaky thing she was up to. She just looked at me all big-eyed and innocent. D-R-I-P.

  There was a short silence broken only by the grunts and other baby noises emitting from my little brother. Once again Mama and Isabel exchanged looks as if they were reading each other’s minds. I just waited, acting like a good child who could keep secrets and make good grades and eat spinach without barfing.

  “Well, I guess—” Mama said, and was interrupted by the ringing of that stupid telephone.

  “I’ll get it!” Myra Sue screeched like a barn owl being chased by a vampire. Eli jumped a little in Mama’s arms, whimpering.

  Mama sighed, then tried to hush him by patting his little bottom and rocking him gently in her arms.

  “I declare, Isabel, the way that girl shrieks every time the phone rings, I am about ready to disconnect it permanently!”

  The two of them laughed a little, although I didn’t see anything funny about Myra hollering about that dumb phone. Besides that, I wanted to know the plans they were fixing to make.

  “A-hem!” I said. “You two are making plans for . . . what? And why did you wait for Grandma to leave? Why don’t you want her to know about these plans?”

  “Will you promise to say nothing about any of this to your grandmother or around her?”

  Grandma and I have always been close, almost best friends, and keeping secrets from her did not sound like a good idea to me.

  “I don’t know about that, Mama. Why don’t you want Grandma to know these secret plans?”

  “I am not telling you anything without your promise to keep the secret.”

  “All right. I promise.” I even crossed my heart.

  The two women looked at each other again and grinned. Their eyes sparkled like they were getting ready to open presents on Christmas morning.

  “We decided last night that we want to give Grandma a surprise party for her birthday,” Mama said.

  “Oh, wow!” I hollered nearly as loud as Myra Sue shrieking about getting a phone call.

  Usually we celebrated Grandma’s birthday by having a special family dinner and a cake. I don’t think we ever had a full-blown party before.

  “April Grace!” Mama said as Eli howled. She frowned blackly at me. “Go to your room right now, and do not come back down until you can be quieter.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling it down to my toes. “I was just so excited about having a party for Grandma. A surprise party.”

  “I understand, honey, but you must remember that Eli is tiny. He needs to get lots of sleep so he can be healthy. When you or your sister yell out suddenly like that, you startle him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’ll be quiet. May I stay and help plan the party?”

  Mama gave me a sad smile. “No, honey. Go to your room, think about ways to remind yourself not to be so noisy, and when you’ve done that, you may come back. Thirty minutes ought to be long enough. Now, run along. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it.”

  “Okay, Mama,” I said with plenty of regret, ’cause I really, really wanted to be in on that planning business. “Grandma’s birthday is next Friday. Are you gonna give her a party on her birthday day?”

  “Yes. Now, run along.” She turned to Isabel. “I do wish we’d thought of this earlier. We’re going to have to hustle to get everything done.”

  Myra Sue was chattering on the phone and gave me a dark look when I passed her. If she thought I cared what she, Jessica, and Jennifer were going to wear to school on Monday, she needed to take her brain out and wash it.

  Half an hour later, I went back downstairs. Mama and Isabel already had a guest list and a menu written down. Myra Sue sat at the table, but the way she squirmed, it seemed to me she wasn’t enjoying herself as much as you might expect. She completely ignored me, which did not break my heart.

  “You gonna decorate?” I asked as I sat down at the table.

  “What do you think, Lily? Shall we decorate, at least in here?”

  “I think you should put up a banner and streamers and have balloons,” I put in eagerly. “And lots of candles on her cake. Lots of cake, Mama. And ice cream. And Pepsi. And chips.”

  “April Grace!” Mama said, laughing, holding up one hand. “Enough. I think if we fix the table real pretty, have some candles in the room and a few on the cake—”

  “A few!” I almost hollered in protest, but caught myself in time and turned it into a whisper-shout even though Eli was now sleeping in his crib in Daddy and Mama’s bedroom. “You can’t put just a few candles on her cake, Mama. Grandma is old. That cake’ll need lots of candles!”

  “Darling,” Isabel said, kinda snooty but not as snooty as she has been in the past, “your grandmother is younger than her years, and we don’t need to remind her of her age.”

  I frowned, not sure that made a lot of sense. And I didn’t think Grandma was one of those kinds of women who cared about age anyway. But rather than risk being sent to my room To Think again, I chose not to argue.

  “What can I do to help?” I said, trying to prove my dependableness.

  “You may help us choose colors,” Mama said, and Isabel nodded.

  “Grandma loves pink. Rose pink and soft pink. She loves them together.”

  Isabel shmooshed up her nose a little bit at that. I reckon she does not like pink.

  “Pink is for children,” said Myra Sue Reilly, who has more pink T-shirts, socks, and undies than you can possibly imagine.

  “Actually,” Mama said, tapping the eraser end of her pencil against her chin, “I think that would be lovely. And I believe Mama Grace would be so pleased.”

  “Really?” Isabel said. Boy, oh boy, doubt was all over her face like a bad makeup job. “Well, if you say so, Lily. Pale pink and rose pink it is.”

  Myra Sue suddenly shoved back her chair and stood up fast. “Since April Grace is now here to help you, and you don’t need me anymore, may I be excused?”

  “Don’t you want to help?” Isabel asked.

  “I have homework.”

  Mama studied my sister for a moment, then said, “All right. Run along then.” And the second we heard Myra shut her door upstairs, Mama added, “Myra is taking school so seriously this semester. She just studies all the time.”

  I figured her report card would prove how much she studied and how much of her time was spent slobbering over celebrity magazines.

  “We’ll have Nancy Agnes Greenleaf at the Grocerteria bakery make the cake,” Mama said, getting back to the planning. “She does such a lovely job.”

  “Nancy Agnes Greenleaf?” Isabel echoed. “Goodness, where do people in this part of the world come up with names?”

  I betcha ole Isabel wouldn’t be so uppity if she ever was to see Nancy Agnes. That woman is beautiful like a movie star. Everyone says so.

  “Will you make the punch, Mama?” I said. To Isabel I said, “She makes the best punch in the world.”

  “Lovely!” Isabel said, and wrote in her notebook. “And I shall prepare the hors d’oeuvres. Mini mushroom cap quiches, I think.” She sighed, got a faraway look in her eyes, and continued, “Asparagus crostini and artichoke croquettes. Oh, and apricot-pecan brie tartlets.”

  I heard that list of crazy food with what you might call considerable consterna
tion, which means all that peculiarsounding stuff sounded pretty awful to me.

  “Wow, Isabel, I didn’t know you ever cooked anything.”

  “I shall consult cookbooks, of course. And this is gourmet cooking, not picnic food.”

  Oh brother. Gourmet. Gag me.

  “Isabel,” Mama said, smiling sweetly, “that sounds like a lot of work, and rather expensive.”

  “And I don’t think anyone will want that stuff!” I added. “Why don’t you fix them little pigs in a blanket? Maybe Mrs. Hobbs can make tiny little sausage biscuits, because they’re so good and Grandma loves ’em. And chips and dip because what’s a party without chips and dip? And nachos!”

  Isabel looked horrified. “Absolutely not! This party will not be some kind of backcountry hoedown. Grace deserves to have an elegant, refined celebration.”

  I twisted my mouth.

  “And what are we supposed to wear at this elegant celebration?” As if I didn’t know the answer to that.

  “Why, party clothes, of course. Men will wear suits, and women will be in dresses and heels. You girls should wear your very finest.”

  Good grief.

  “That does not sound like fun, Isabel,” I said, because I felt the woman needed to be educated. “In fact, it sounds boring. Bor-ing. Grandma doesn’t want some dumb ole party where all you do is sit around eating food you can’t pronounce and drinking punch with your pinky sticking out.”

  Isabel jerked like she’d been poked on the bottom with a sharp stick and blinked a dozen times.

  “April,” Mama said quietly, “there is a much nicer way of stating your opinions.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, remembering times when I’ve had to apologize for being truthful when it came out sounding rude. Sometimes, you know, the truth hurts. But I tried to reword my point.

  “My grandma would rather have a fun party with fun food and nothing too elegant. She has always liked pigs in a blanket and stuff like that.”

  Isabel merely blinked at me. I was glad Myra Sue had gone upstairs and didn’t hear all this because she might have pitched a fit to have asparagus dipsticks and crocheted artichoke hearts or whatever that stuff was Isabel had said.

  “You know,” Mama said thoughtfully, “I think Mama Grace might actually like a more formal affair. Some lovely, classical music on the tape player, pretty lighting, elegant food . . .”

  Isabel smiled brightly while I felt like I was gonna choke just hearing such talk.

  “Oh, Mama,” I said, hoping the disappointment in my voice would cause her to reconsider such an awful notion.

  “It’ll be good for us all, in fact,” she announced as if I hadn’t said a single, solitary word on the subject.

  “Yes,” Isabel said, all sniffy, “I’ve said all along, this backwater pocket of the world needs some culture.”

  I gave her a look that fully illustrated exactly what I thought of her poor excuse for an observation. She did not even look at me to get the benefit of my expression, because she was in the throes of some sort of writing fit, scribbling away in her notebook like the ink in her pen was on fire. I heaved out a big sigh and got to my feet. Those two women were not gonna listen to me, and even if they did, they’d only listen long enough to shoot down any ideas for Actual Fun that I might offer. Poor Grandma. She was in for the most boringest surprise birthday ever thrown on Rough Creek Road.

  I guess I should’ve been glad they weren’t going to send me and Myra off to boarding school in South America. It sounded like about the same amount of fun.

  Grandma’s birthday was Friday, January 16, and it was a cold, sunny day. When I left for school that morning, Mama looked a little frazzled because she had a lot to get done before that evening. It was a good thing Isabel did not have classes on Friday. She showed up just as Myra Sue and I were walking down the driveway to wait for the bus.

  Isabel pulled up in their pickup, stopped next to us, and cranked down the window. Boy, oh boy, if you’d met her just a few months ago, you would’ve thought that never in a million years would she drive an old pickup. Things sure do change.

  “Darlings!” she said. “It is far too cold for you to stand here waiting for the bus. Jump in the pickup until the bus shows up.”

  You might have thought Myra Sue would have trampled me into pulp to get in first, but you’d be wrong. In fact, she cast a sneaky look toward the mailbox. At least it looked sneaky to me. Then she followed me around to the passengerside door. I waited for her to get in first, but she gave me a little shove.

  “Go on!” she growled. “Get in, April Grace! It’s cold out here.”

  So I got in and scooted over, then she said, taking a step back and looking at the front tire on that side, “Oh, Isabel! I think you’re getting a flat tire.”

  Isabel muttered something I will not write down. At least she muttered it instead of declaring it out loud like she used to do before she realized bad language is Totally Inappropriate. I tell you what, before she and Ian learned to tone down their cussing and hollering, Myra Sue and I got an education in words that we absolutely must not use, ever, in our entire lives, unless we want to be grounded forever. Sometimes I think ole Isabel never got grounded when she was a kid.

  She got out of the truck and went to look.

  “I’ll check the other tires for you,” Myra Sue hollered, and went running to the back. She made a big show of looking, but she also nipped over to the mailbox so fast my eyeballs crossed. She stuck something in there and made it back to the front of the truck before Isabel had time to notice.

  “Myra darling, the tires on this side look just fine. Get in the truck, and I’ll look on the other side.”

  When Myra darling got in the truck, she looked straight into my eyes, and I reckon she could tell that I knew she’d been a sneaky sneak.

  Before I could utter a mumbling word, she pointed her pointy finger in my face, about two inches from my nose, and snarled, “Don’t you say a thing, missy! I was just checking to see if we had gotten any mail yet.”

  Now, she knows as well as I do that our mailman does not show up until midafternoon.

  I opened my mouth to reply and she added, “If you say a word, April Grace, I will personally call J. H. Henry and tell him you are in love with him and want to marry him the minute you’re old enough and that you want him to call you every single night until you elope!”

  And she would, too. She’s just that mean and rotten.

  Isabel got back in the truck and grabbed her cigarettes. She stared down at that red-and-white package in her hand and chewed on her lower lip.

  “Girls,” she said quietly, “I’m trying to quit.” She raised her head and looked at us. “I’ve only had one this morning.”

  “That’s good, Isabel!” I said, grinning and encouraging, and gouging Myra Sue in the ribs so she’d do the same.

  “Yes. That’s wonderful.” But the way she said it made it sound like it was the most boring thing she’d ever heard.

  Isabel put the cigarette pack on the dashboard and looked at Myra Sue. She tilted her head a little to one side and sort of smiled.

  “Myra, have I offended you in some way, darling? Because if I have, I’m certainly unaware of it,” she asked.

  Myra Sue looked at her all big-eyed and got a little teary before she blinked hard, once.

  “No, ma’am. You haven’t offended me at all.”

  I hoped she’d say more. She needed to say more, because Isabel didn’t understand, and Myra wasn’t explaining her chilly behavior, and this just was not a positive situation at all. Myra looked out the window on her side. A frown chased across Isabel’s face, and she thinned her lips until you couldn’t see them.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on!” I blurted, wanting to put an end to this foolishness, though goodness knows Myra Sue was a big, fat pain when she was following Isabel around like a loyal hound dog and acting like she was Isabel the Second. I’m not sure why I wanted things to return to that awfulness,
except I knew I didn’t like the expression on Isabel’s face. It’s hard to see anyone get their feelings hurt.

  But wouldn’t you know, wouldn’t you just know, that right then that big, stupid yellow school bus came roaring into view, and I couldn’t say a blessed thing to bring some kind of stop to all that nonsense.

  In Times of Extreme Stress, You Can Sometimes Get Your Bible Verses Mixed Up

  When we got back to the house that afternoon, I expected to see things all elegant and fancy, but guess what? It wasn’t that way at all. In fact, it looked just the same as always, and Mama looked more frazzled and worn-out than I’d seen her in a while. Isabel looked like she’d been pulled backward through a knothole, all brittle-faced and stiff. I’ll tell you something else: I had daydreamed all day long about Nancy Agnes Greenleaf’s special-made birthday cake, and it was nowhere to be seen.

  And guess what? There sat Grandma, right at the kitchen table, as relaxed as anything, sipping coffee from her white “#1 Grandma” mug.

  Boy, oh boy. Something was afoot.

  “What’s going on?” I blurted right out, because the guest of honor for a surprise party should not be sitting around chitchatting in the kitchen when her party was a few hours away and nothing had been done or decorated.

  Grandma had the appearance of being all relaxed, but when she looked up, I could see plain as day she was upset. Uh-oh. Who spilled the beans about her party and spoiled the surprise?

  “I did not say a single, solitary word to anyone!” I said stoutly before I got reamed out.

  Grandma gave me the funniest look—funny odd, not funny ha-ha.

  “What are you talking about, child?” she asked.

  Isabel jumped up like a jack-in-the-box.

  “April, dear, I need to talk to you!”

  She grabbed my arm and none-too-delicately hauled me onto the service porch just off the kitchen. For once in my life, I could not speak. I just looked at Isabel as she hustled me into a corner. Daisy had been sleeping on her doggie blanket near the wall heater, but she woke up when we entered and lifted her head.