by Rhett DeVane
“Can’t make a decent cathead without lard,” Joe agreed. “Well, I suppose it gives you a reason to come home every now and again.” He smiled. “Your mama’s been up half the night cleaning house. She’s just beside herself having you and Karen home at the same time. She had so much bleach in the guest bathroom, she was almost overcome with the fumes.”
“Like the house is ever dirty to start with.”
“She’s calmed down a bit since she’s had her sewing business. Floors will actually go a day or two without being mopped.”
Byron smiled. “That’s hard to fathom.”
“Everyone can change. Look at me! Who would have ever believed I could take on a second career so late in life?”
“Dad, it’s not like you’re a hundred years old.”
“Still, most fellows my age retire and play golf all day, or park in front of the television.”
“I can’t imagine you doing either.”
The two men sat in shared silence for a moment.
“So, you haven’t seen your sister yet.”
Byron shook his head.
“That why you stopped here first? You stalling for time?”
Byron shrugged. “Maybe.”
“It’s a terrible way to gather your sister back into the fold, but I guess the Lord works in ways mysterious. She’s pretty beaten down.”
“She strong enough to go through the surgery?”
Joe sipped his coffee before answering. “I questioned her decision to hold off on the surgery until they gave her chemotherapy. I’ve seen how low a person can get after that. Your sister had it set in her head that was the way she wanted it. She’s better today than yesterday, and her blood work turned out okay. I’m glad she’s getting this thing behind her soon.”
“She still insisting she’s British?”
“No. She dropped that pretense like it was last season’s fashion.”
“Amazing, after all those years living as someone else, she’d even remember who she really is.”
Joe sighed. “Don’t think she has accomplished that yet. I get the sense she’s free-floating. Not really sure who she is and what she’s about. At least we can be thankful she came to us in her hour of need.”
“Maybe she didn’t have any place else to turn.”
“Still, she’s my daughter, and I’d take her in regardless. I suppose some folks wouldn’t understand that. When you have children, you keep right on loving them. Always hoping for the best.”
Byron reached over and rested a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I understand, Daddy, and I wouldn’t expect you or Mom to feel any other way.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, honey.” Evelyn released her son from a suffocating embrace. “Did you have any problems with your flights?”
“One minor glitch in Atlanta, but I’ve come to expect that. We circled for over forty minutes, and I had to gallop to make the connection.”
A concerned expression colored his mother’s features. “Be sweet to your sister, now.”
“Where is she?”
“On the sun porch where she spends most of her time. I think it must make her feel better being out there with all my plants and flowers.” Evelyn rested a hand on his arm. “She’s mighty fragile, Byron.”
“Mom, do you actually think I’d say anything to upset her?”
Evelyn plucked a stray thread from his shirt sleeve. “No. Still, I realize you may feel a certain resentment toward your sister. Now’s not the time to open any can of worms.”
“I hear you, Mom, loud and clear. Where do you want my suitcase?”
“Leave it there. I’ll take it on back to your grandmother’s suite. I put fresh linens on the bed last night, so everything’s all ready for you. Go on out and see your sister.”
Byron paused atop the stairs leading down to the garden room. Karen huddled on one end of the wicker swing, curled into a small ball with a mug cradled in her hands. He had steeled himself repeatedly on the trip from Ohio, but his sister’s appearance shook him deeply. She was no longer the stately, composed woman he had glimpsed on television over the past years. Her body had sunk into itself. Dark purple smudges under her eyes attested to the valiant battle being waged within. Her fine porcelain skin lacked the pink blush of health. Any vestiges of resentment melted away.
He stepped down onto the parquet stone floor. “Sissy?”
Karen turned toward his voice. Her face glowed. “By!”
They rushed toward each other and embraced in the middle of the room. Evelyn appeared at the threshold momentarily, smiled, and returned to the kitchen.
“Nice ’do, Sissy.” Byron rubbed his hand playfully across her slick scalp. “Maybe you can charge folks to pat your head for good luck, kind of like a statue of Buddha.”
Karen reached up and ran her fingers up and over her ears, a habit learned from years of tucking the long hair away from her face.
“I was going to put my wig on this morning, but it’s so hot. It gives me a headache after a little while.”
“You look fine to me. Besides, I’m family. We’re entitled to seeing each other in our raw states.”
“That would describe me perfectly. Raw.”
Evelyn poked her head through the door. “You kids want some iced tea? I just made a fresh pitcher with sprigs of spearmint in it, just the way you like it.”
“Sure!” they cried out in unison.
Byron settled onto the porch swing, his sister tucked underneath one arm.“Next time I start feeling old, I’m going to come running home. No one else calls me a kid anymore, except Evelyn.”
Karen giggled like a school girl. “She hates it when one of us calls her by her real name.” She imitated her mother’s accent. “Just not proper. I’m your mother, not some stranger off the street. My first name is for other folks to use, I’ll thank you kindly.”
Byron smiled. “You’ve been here too long, Sissy. You’re starting to sound just like her.” He studied his sister for a moment. “You up for surgery?”
Karen pulled the chenille robe close to her throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be. One last chemo treatment, thank God. I just want this whole thing to be over.”
“Mom told me the entire town has rallied behind you. She said Elvina Houston’s got folks praying from here to the Mason-Dixon line.”
“Not just that, Elvina went on the Internet and put my name on some international hope list. Not that I mind, but it seems weird that people who don’t even know me—much less where Chattahoochee, Florida, is—would take time out of their lives to offer up prayers.”
“Hey, I’d offer up live chickens to a lava-spitting volcano god if it would help you get well.”
“That’s not all. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told to ‘think positive’ in the last two months.” She paused. “I must sound like a true whiner, but so help me, if one more person gives me the stay-peppy talk, I’ll scream.”
“Don’t feel too cheerful now, I gather?”
“Guarded optimism—that’s the way I’d characterize it. With the chemo and all the side effects, I have to fight to feel much of anything, much less maintain a cheerful, win-one-for-the-home-team attitude. I just don’t have the energy.”
He squeezed her hand. “You have my permission to be a complete and total bitch towards me, if that’s what you need, Sissy. It never bothered me when we were growing up. I’ll just ignore you like I did then.”
His sister sucker-punched his arm. “I see you haven’t changed much.”
“Nor have you, underneath it all.”
“I can only imagine what you think of me.” Karen ducked her head.
Byron reached over and tipped her chin upward. “None of your illustrious past makes a hill of beans difference in the way I feel about you. We can hash it all out one day after you’re free and clear of this thing, if that’s what you want.”
“You can call it what it is, By. C-A-N-C-E-R. The big C. Leveler of all. Lover of none.”
“My, aren’t you poetic? I can see why you are the journalist of the family.”
“Was.”
“You’re not giving up on your career because of the cancer, are you?”
Karen patted his hand. “Big boy! Saying the cancer word!” She grew serious. “I don’t think I’ll have a choice. Once my ruse is revealed to the world, I’ll be lucky to write a shopping list.”
“Did you tell anyone in Atlanta?”
“Only one person—my boss.”
“Was that wise? I mean, you could go back to work if . . .”
“I had to tell him. One of the office staff who has had it in for me from the first time she came on board over a year ago has gained access to my secret. There’s no telling what she plans to do with it. I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up on the front page of the National Informant.” Karen shrugged. “I was going to tell Will anyway—that’s my boss, Will Cooke—but I really wanted to do it on my terms.”
“You feel like the shit’s hit every fan within a hundred miles, I guess.”
“I couldn’t have found a better way to put it myself.”
“Linda sends her love. She really wanted to be here for you, too, but we had no one to leave the boys with.”
“I understand. The whole world doesn’t grind to a screeching halt because I’m sick.”
Evelyn stepped down the stairs carrying a tray of filled iced tea glasses and a plate of cookies.
“You cooking now, Mom?” Byron grinned impishly.
“Don’t get smart with me, mister. I can still turn you over my knee.”
Karen and her brother struggled to suppress laughter.
“Your father made these. He’s the chef of the family now that I’ve taken on my sewing business. Try one. They’re made with a sugar substitute.”
Karen bit into a crisp cookie. “Mama has turned against white sugar, By. It’s the root of all evil.”
Evelyn smirked. “Say what you want, I do believe what I’ve read.”
“You should see the supplements she has me on.”
Evelyn wagged one finger in her direction. “Your body is a temple, young lady. We’re going to feed it and make it well while starving out the cancer cells!”
A loud ring sounded from the direction of the kitchen.
“That’s your daddy’s vegetarian lasagna. I best take it from the oven before the cheese chars on the top. He’d have my hide if I burnt it.” Evelyn dashed from the garden room.
“I’d feel right at home if she let it turn to charcoal. It would be like old times. Sometimes, I let my toast burn at home just to reminisce about growing up with Mom’s cooking.”
“You’re so bad.” Karen smiled warmly. “And I’m so glad you’re here, By.”
He leaned over and pecked her lightly on the cheek. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else, Sissy.”
Leigh Davis’s
Baked Macaroni and Cheese Casserole
1 package of elbow macaroni pasta, 8 ounces
2 Tablespoons butter or margarine
¼ cup all-purpose flour
2 cups milk
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
8 ounces cubed processed cheese food (like Velveeta)
plain bread crumbs
Cook pasta according to package directions until a little chewy (al dente).
Over medium heat, melt butter or margarine. Whisk flour in and stir vigorously. Add milk and cook until thick and bubbly—about five or six minutes. Add in cheeses and stir until completely melted. Remove from heat and mix in the cooked and drained pasta until it is coated with the cheese sauce. Pour into a greased two-quart casserole dish. Lightly dust the top with the plain bread crumbs.
Bake in a preheated 350º oven for 30 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.
Chapter Seventeen
Joe Fletcher noted the jangle of the miniature brass bell attached to the Borrowed Thyme Bakery and Eatery’s front door. He hastily removed a tray of hot biscuits from the oven and grabbed a pot of freshly brewed coffee.
The man who seated himself at the corner table next to the storefront window was unfamiliar—tall with wavy dark brown hair and a neat, trimmed mustache. Joe guessed his age at mid-forties.
“Good morning!” Joe called as he crossed the room. “Coffee?”
“That would be great.” D. J. flipped the white pottery mug over in its saucer. “I’ve been driving since the wee hours.”
“Where’d you drive in from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Atlanta.”
“Bet you are tired, then. Menu’s on the clip there. I just pulled a rack of fresh biscuits from the oven if that tickles your fancy.”
D. J. glanced briefly at the printed menu. “Couple of biscuits will do me. I’m not that hungry, but I guess I need to eat a little something.”
Joe returned to the kitchen, appearing shortly with a stoneware plate and a tray of condiments.
“That’s real butter in the crock. Margarine’s over on the side table by the coffee urn if you’d rather have it instead.” Joe gestured to a series of glass jars. “Got your homemade blackberry, strawberry, and mayhaw jelly, or I have three kinds of honey. Tupelo’s the best in my estimation.”
“These are the biggest biscuits I’ve ever seen.” D. J. sliced the still-hot bread and slathered butter on both halves.
“My late mother-in-law’s recipe. We call them catheads on account of them being as big around as a cat’s head.”
D. J. bit into the soft bread and it dissolved in his mouth. “That’s about the best damn biscuit I’ve ever had.”
“I thank you, sir. Can I get you something else to go along with them? Maybe an egg or a slice or two of fresh country ham?”
“Don’t think so. By the time I eat all this, I’ll be more than satisfied.”
Joe retired to the kitchen and shoveled the remaining biscuits into a covered display tray. A niggling thought teased the edge of his consciousness. He grabbed a full cup of coffee and approached the stranger’s table.
“Don’t mean to seem nosey, but you said you were down from Atlanta?”
D. J. wiped the crumbs from the corners of his mouth with a red-checkered linen napkin. “That’s right.”
“Just passing through, are you?”
D. J. stuffed the urge to laugh. His first taste of Chattahoochee was quickly becoming a scene from a second-rate western. Pretty soon, the High Sheriff would come strutting in the door, six-shooters in hand, and urge him to mosey on out of town.
“Actually, I’m here to look for my fiancée.”
Joe smiled. “Is that right? You must love her terribly to come all this way. Who is the lucky woman? Maybe I know her.”
“Mary Elizabeth Kensington. She’s not from around here originally, but I believe she has distant relatives who live in town. I’m heading over there as soon as I finish my coffee.”
Joe felt the blood rush from his head. “Mind if I join you?”
D. J. had heard of little towns being obnoxiously friendly, but this was fast becoming surreal. “Sure, why not?”
Joe pulled out a chair opposite his customer and settled down with his cup cradled between his hands. “Son, I think you and I need to talk.”
“And why would that be?”
“My name is Joe Fletcher. The young woman you’re speaking of is my daughter.”
D. J. nearly choked on a sip of coffee.
“There are some things you need to know if you’re dead set on visiting her today.”
Pinky Green released the snap closure on his blue jeans and leaned back on the porch rocker with a loud groan.
“If I keep on eating like that, woman, we’ll have to let my pants out a notch or two.”
Wanda plopped in the rocker beside his. “Know what you mean. All this bliss and happiness has given me a hell of an appetite.”
He reached down and scratched Scrappy behind her ears. “Maybe we ought to buy a couple of bicycles and take a ride every evening now that
the days are getting longer. There are plenty of back roads around here that don’t see a lot of traffic.”
“Good idea. Maybe we can check by one of the bike shops in Tallahassee when we go over to see Karen in the hospital.”
“Tomorrow’s the big day, right?”
Wanda nodded. “Evelyn’s nervous as all get out, too. I think she’s worse off than Karen, by far. They’re going over to the doctor’s this afternoon for the final ultrasound to see if the chemo helped reduce the size of the tumor.”
“You planning on going over with the family tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “I’ve gone back and forth about it. Karen will be out of it for the most part with the anesthesia. Still, Evelyn and Joe will need support.”
“Did Byron make it into town?”
Wanda wound a sprig of auburn hair absently around one finger. “Yeah. I called the house earlier and spoke to Evelyn. She said Byron and Karen have been talking ninety to nothing since he got in.”
She stretched and yawned. “Any-who, I’ve already given Elvina the heads-up that I want to be off the day of Karen’s surgery. I won’t show up over there at the crack of dawn, but I’ll probably try to be there before she’s out of recovery.” Wanda leaned over and ran a hand through Pinky’s hair. “That is, if I can get my butt out of your bed.”
Pinky smiled slightly. A bright red flush colored his face. “I’ll make sure you’re up on time. Heck, I’ll even ride over there with you.”
“You sure? A hospital can be a mighty boring place.”
“Nothing’s boring when you’re around, Wanda Jean.”
She hopped up and draped across his lap.
“You are an absolute doll.”
A quick kiss developed into a passionate exchange of saliva.
“So, when are we going to tie the knot?” Wanda asked when she caught her breath.
“That’s up to you.”
Wanda played with the pale hairs on the nape of his neck. “Let’s wait until Karen’s better, okay? I’d really like for her and the family to be at the ceremony.”
“There’s no rush. Neither of us is going anywhere, right?”
