by Fran Rizer
“I like to hear you tell about your family. Your eyes light up, and you look happy when you talk about them. Doesn’t it make you sad that they’re all gone and not with you on New Year’s Eve?”
“Every day is a new day of life, so it’s always New Year’s for me. I miss my family, but it pleases me for the ones I love to be happy and to bring joy to the ones they love, and believe you me, my young’uns love their Mee Maw in Georgia.” His expression changed to slight embarrassment. “I hope that doesn’t make you think of me as sappy.”
“Not at all. I think it makes you wonderful, and I’m glad to get to know you, Mr. Rick Higgins.” Perfect timing. Ty set a plastic bag with two Styrofoam food trays inside on the table.
“What’s in them?” I asked him.
“Yahd bud.” He grinned as if I wouldn’t understand, but I’m well aware that “yard bird” is Gullah for chicken.
“Happy New Year, Callie,” Pork Chop said and winked. “Trust me. When the right man comes along, you’ll know it.”
• • •
The rain had stopped when I put the bag of food on the passenger seat and slid under the steering wheel. It wasn’t late, and I wasn’t in any particular hurry to go home. The thought of my apartment without Big Boy saddened me and gave me an idea. I called the animal ER in Beaufort.
“Kirk’s Animal Emergency Medical Services,” a young female voice answered.
“Is this an answering service?” I asked.
“No, I’m here at the vet’s.”
“This is Callie Parrish. I brought my dog in this morning and the vet said he has to spend the night. I was wondering how he’s doing.”
“The black and white Great Dane?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He’s resting, but the doctor has added antibiotics to his IV fluids.”
“When can I see him?”
“You can see your dog any time you come here. We’re open twenty-four hours a day.”
“Then I’m coming to see him now.”
“We’ll be right here.”
The drive into Beaufort took less than twenty minutes. The young lady I’d spoken to on the telephone asked, “Are you the Great Dane’s owner?” when I walked in.
“Yes, I’m Callie Parrish.”
“Doctor Kirk wants to speak with you, but I’ll take you back to see your dog first.”
Big Boy was sleeping, but he looked comfortable even with the IV needle in him. I petted his back for a while before the veterinarian came to my side.
“Beautiful animal, Ms. Parrish, absolutely beautiful.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
“He has an infection and an electrolyte imbalance, but we’re taking care of both of those problems.”
“He looks peaceful.”
“He became a little agitated, probably missing you, and since I’d already inserted the IV for fluids and antibiotics, I added a little something to keep him calm and comfortable. He should sleep all night, and if he doesn’t, someone will be here to care for him. Why don’t you call in the morning? We can tell you then how he does through the night.”
On my way out, both Dr. Kirk and the young lady called, “Happy New Year’s.”
I left the vet’s with a smile on my face. I’d still be alone at home on New Year’s Eve, but I felt so much better knowing that Big Boy was resting well and receiving good treatment.
During the ride from Beaufort to St. Mary, James Brown blasted out of my bra singing “I Feel Good,” and for a moment, I was positive, absolutely sure that it would be Patel. I hope Otis didn’t hear my sigh when he said, “Hello, Callie. I’m sorry to interrupt your festivities, and I know we told you to take all day off tomorrow, but could you come in for a few hours late tomorrow afternoon?”
“No problem. Do we have someone new?”
“Not really new. Odell and I examined Patsy Corley carefully, and we think with some extreme reconstruction that can be covered with cosmetic hair, we can make her look presentable for her mother. Mrs. Corley was very upset thinking that the casket would have to be closed. Odell and I will do the rebuilding, but we want you here on makeup.”
“I can come in. Daddy usually serves holiday dinners later than regular lunches, so we’ll probably eat between one and two. What if I come over around four o’clock?”
“I think that will be fine, but phone first. If what Odell and I think we can do doesn’t work, we won’t need you.”
“What about Amber Buchanan and Snake Rodgers?”
“They’re here, but we won’t be doing any prepping until law enforcement releases those bodies. Mrs. Rodgers called and said she’d talk with the sheriff and see when she can make arrangements for Eugene.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Before he said, “goodbye,” Odell said, “Happy New Year.”
Dalmation! I knew people meant well, but I was sick and tired of hearing those three words.
Heavy rain began again about the time I reached home, but the dinners were in a plastic bag, so I ran to the front porch without worrying about the trays getting wet. That Gee Three Shrimp Slider had tasted great, but I was really hungry after going to Beaufort. I put one of the dinners in the fridge and set the other on my kitchen table.
Rizzie—or her new cook, whoever had prepared my plates—had outdone herself. The “yard bird” was yummy pan-fried chicken smothered in spicy gravy. The sides were sweet potato pone and a special okra dish Rizzie created.
Once more, I pressed the key to speed-dial Patel. This time there was an answer, but it wasn’t his voice.
“The voice mail for the number you’ve reached is full.”
My emotions rocked from anger to worry and back again. Why was he ignoring me? Was it by choice or had something happened to him?
What should I do? I definitely didn’t want to watch any New Year’s Eve shows and I had no interest in seeing the ball drop in New York. I love to read, especially mysteries. That used to be all I read. They’re like puzzles and I enjoy trying to figure out who-done-it before the end of the books. Recently, I’ve read some sci fi and fantasy as well as a ghost anthology, but bottom line is that mysteries are still my favorites. I’ll read anything by Janet Evanovich or Mary Higgins Clark as soon as it’s available. I like Ann Rule’s true crime books, too, but I hadn’t thought to buy a book on my way home.
My spare bedroom is piled high with books on the floor, on the bed, and on every other piece of furniture in there. I went looking for a novel that had been so good I wanted to read it again. The sight of my rumpled laundry where I’d found Big Boy so sick that morning made me sad. I finally chose Beth Groundwater’s Fatal Descent. I considered gathering up the clothes Big Boy had slept on. I’d thrown them on the bed planning to fold them later. Now they’d have to be rewashed, but my daddy always said, “Don’t wash on New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day. It’s bad luck.”
I’m not overly superstitious, but that sounded like an excellent reason not to bother with laundry that night. I noticed a box of candles beside the bed. I’d bought them in case the power went off sometime. Now I had a better idea. I took them into the kitchen and lit one. I dripped candle wax on half a dozen saucers and stuck a candle in each puddle. Then I carried all seven candles to the bathroom, set them around, and turned out the light. I’m normally a shower person who uses peach scented body wash and shampoo, but a package of Japanese Milky White Rose bath salts that my niece Megan gave me for my birthday had been in the cabinet for six months. I emptied the whole thing into my tub of almost hot water.
Many things in life give me pleasure, and reading in the bathtub is one of them. The candles gave me just enough light. I dropped my clothes on the floor and climbed into the tub, carefully holding my book above my head until I was settled into the silky, smooth water. Every time it cooled off, I added more hot water. I thought about what Pork Chop said. For the first time that day, instead of feeling sorry for myself and a little jealous of every
one else, I was glad that my family and friends were having good times. I said a little prayer for their safety and went back to reading my book. A man in my life wasn’t necessary for my world to be good.
Deep into the book, I was startled when James Brown shouted from the counter. I didn’t plan to answer—just let whoever was calling talk to the machine. The phone made that sound it makes to let me know a message was left just as I heard loud beating on the front door.
I reached out the dry hand holding the book, and laid Fatal Descent on the pile of clothing on the floor. I clutched my phone and retrieved the message.
“Callie, I’m on your porch. Your car is here and your lights are on. Why don’t you answer your telephone? I can only see you for a few minutes, and if you have company, I’ll certainly go away, but I’m worried about you. Please come to the door or call my cell if you’re all right.”
That message was something my daddy or my brothers or the sheriff might leave right before they broke down my door to be sure I wasn’t sick or injured, but the caller was none of the above. It was Dean Robinson.
I climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me. The pounding increased in intensity and volume. At the door, I peeped through the little hole and saw Dean with a very worried, very frantic look on his face.
“I’m all right. I was in the tub,” I shouted through the door.
“Can I come in and see you for a few minutes?” he asked.
“I thought you had to work tonight,” I answered, and the sheriff’s cautioning words to me about not telling anyone I wasn’t dressed when they showed up at my door crossed my mind. What did I really know about Dean Robinson? He was a homicide detective, but I’ve read a true crime story about a trooper raping and killing a woman on I-95. It had happened in Florida, and Dean said he’d come to South Carolina from Florida. I remembered that creep who’d told me about tying his wife to a tree and shooting over her head. I remembered the women at Safe Sister and their tales of how men who’d seemed nice turning violent. Those thoughts flew through my mind like migrating geese.
“I am working, but even on duty, we get a break occasionally. I want to see you. Will you open the door?”
He’d been the perfect gentleman on our date, and I was sure Wayne had checked Dean out before hiring him.
“You’ll have to wait until I’m dressed. Can you do that?” I did exactly what Wayne had cautioned me not to do.
“Yes, I’ll wait.”
I don’t know what I was thinking then—I must not have been thinking at all—because I ran to the bathroom and pulled on the clothes I’d dropped on the floor before my bath. Dirty clothes on a clean body? That’s too weird. It just shows I wasn’t thinking.
Car horns blew and firecrackers shot off like bombs just as I opened the door. All the noise startled me.
Dean Robinson stood there holding a piece of mistletoe over his head. He dropped the mistletoe, took me in his arms, and gave me the kiss I’d wanted the night we went out to eat. The man was a wonderful kisser, and when we parted, I saw that he was as impressed with that smooch as I was.
“Wow! Happy New Year!” he said. “May I come in for a few minutes?”
I hadn’t caught my breath yet, so I nodded. He stepped inside and pulled the door closed. That night he was wearing a uniform, and the khaki clothing set off his light hair and blue eyes.
“I get a meal break when I’m on duty. I decided I’d rather be here with you at midnight, so I skipped dinner, but I can’t stay long. Some of the partygoers will be on the roads soon now. The joke is that New Year’s Eve releases all the amateur drunks, but any drunk on the roads is murder waiting to happen.”
“It’s midnight?” The question must have made me sound senseless after all the noise we’d heard. Honestly, I felt senseless after that kiss.
“Midnight’s over. Now tonight’s work really begins for law enforcement.”
“Did you say you skipped your dinner?”
“That kiss was worth missing a meal.”
“Sit there at the table. I’ll have dinner for you in no time.”
I spooned food from the Styrofoam tray I’d saved in the fridge onto a plate and microwaved it.
Dean seemed to enjoy the chicken as much as he had all the sampling we’d done at the Brazilian steak house. When he finished, he wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood. “That was fantastic. Did you cook it?”
I laughed. “Didn’t you see me dip it out of a to-go tray? I brought it home from Gee Three.” Embarrassment swept across his face as he asked, “Did I just eat your dinner?”
“No, I’ve already eaten.”
Looking back, it seems strange that I would tell him all about my frustrated day and buying an extra meal so my friend wouldn’t know I would be alone on New Year’s Eve, but Dean was easy to talk to, and when he left, we shared another of those magnificent kisses.
Lying in bed, I thought about how lucky I am to have a good job, real friends, and a loving family. I considered making a New Year’s resolution, but the next thing I knew, my alarm clock was ringing.
“Whew! The house smells awful. That’s the stinkingest food in the world!” Mike’s words as he stepped out the door and walked over to my Mustang in Daddy’s front yard didn’t surprise me. He’s the only one of Daddy’s six kids who doesn’t love collards. Sprinkle them with hot pepper vinegar and give me a big spoon full of chowchow, and I can eat a mess of collard greens.
The odor wafted across the porch and into the yard even with the doors closed. I won’t deny the aroma of collards cooking isn’t as appetizing as the taste of them. Rizzie told Daddy a long time ago that if the cook puts a whole, raw, unshelled pecan in the pot, the collards wouldn’t smell. Daddy’s answer was, “I like how collards smell.”
“Will you help me get a couple of folding tables and some chairs out of the shed?” Mike continued. “Pa sent Frankie and Jane to the store for something. I don’t know what. Pa’s invited company for dinner today, and I swear he’s acting like a chicken with its head cut off.”
“Company? Who’d he invite?”
“Wayne, Pork Chop Higgins, Miss Lettie, and Miss Ellen plus him, you, me, Frankie, and Jane. That’s nine, and we may have Bill and Molly. Don’t know about them yet. Bill said he’d call back when their plans are made. They seem to be having the holiday problem married folks suffer.”
“What’s that?”
“Husband wants to go to his family’s house and wife wants to go to her mom’s home for holiday meals. My wife’s mama and daddy were divorced. One year, we ate Thanksgiving dinner three times—her mama’s, her daddy’s, and Pa’s. Thought I’d bust wide open that night. Don’t guess you had that problem since your in-laws were in Columbia and we were down here.”
“Not exactly, but there were a few times we had holiday brunch at Donnie’s and drove down here for dinner.”
“If I ever marry again, I’m gonna make my wife cook all the holiday meals and invite every one of the family members from all sides. If they come, okay. If they don’t, okay, but I’m going to eat my Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s meals in my own home.” I noticed he said he’d make his wife cook and my meals in my home. I hoped that wasn’t indicative of his real feelings. If so, no wonder his first marriage failed.
“How many tables do we need?” I asked as Mike unlocked the shed door.
“He said bring in two—one for overflow for eating and one for him to spread out the food.”
When we had the tables and chairs set up, I went back to my car and brought in a black outfit to change into before I headed to work. I hung it in Daddy’s closet and went into the kitchen to ask if I could help.
Daddy had a big old Cheshire grin plastered across his face. “How’s Big Boy?”
“I went by and saw him last night. They’re still treating the infection, but he’s improving. I called this morning, and the vet said he may be able to come home tomorrow.”
“Good,” Daddy said, then added
, “I want your dog to be well, Calamine, but don’t leave him any longer than is medically necessary since I left an open charge card there for his care.”
“Yes, sir, and I promise to pay you back no matter how much the bill is.”
“So far as helping, you know I don’t like people getting in my way when I’m cooking.”
Mike began singing, “Paw don’t allow no helping in here, Paw don’t allow no helping in here. I don’t care what Paw don’t allow, I’m gonna help him anyhow …”
Daddy snorted, “That boy’s a singing fool.”
“No kidding, Daddy, what do you want me to do?” What I wanted to do was change the subject before Mike got smart alecky with Daddy. Instead of mouthing back, Mike left the room. In a minute, I heard the shower running.
“I don’t have tablecloths, so get some sheets out of the closet and put them on the tables. Then, set the main table with the china out of the breakfront and use those fancy napkins over there. You can use our regular dishes on the overflow table.”
Daddy is not one to bother with tablecloths, and I can’t remember ever using the china out of the big, mahogany dish cabinet he calls the breakfront. It was Mama’s china—wedding gifts when she married him—and Daddy was too afraid one of us would break a piece to ever use it until now.
Just then, Frankie and Jane came in the back door. He carried several green tissue cones of mixed hothouse flowers—red carnations, yellow mums, and lacy green fern—which he handed to me and said, “Find a vase to put these in. I don’t know nothing about flower arrangements.”
A vase? Daddy’s idea of a vase is a fruit jar, or, if we’re being fancy, a glass or pitcher. Frankie took Jane by the hand and led her into the living room. Soon I could hear him playing guitar and singing to her. Jane likes old music. She’s a big Patsy Cline fan, and she loves Elvis songs, undoubtedly because her mother sang them before she died about the time Jane and I graduated from high school. Frankie was singing “Love Me Tender,” and if a visually handicapped person can gaze at someone lovingly, Jane was doing it. I guess in reality, it was her body language, not really her eyes that shouted her feelings for my brother. Oh, Lord, here we go again, I thought.
