A Life of Bright Ideas (24 page)

“That … that you’d gone to do something fun without me.”

Winnalee rolled her eyes. “Fat chance of that. I had to call to find out what time I work today. Reefer, the dumb ass, never posts a schedule for the week like a normal boss, and he wasn’t around when I left last night. I ran over to your dad’s to use the phone. It’s not like I was going to use Aunt Verdella’s with
her
there.”

“Oh,” I said.

There was something in the way Tommy was watching Winnalee that was unnerving me. She didn’t seem to notice, though. She pulled a frozen pizza wrapped in sweating clear plastic from the seat. “I thought I was going to get lucky when the bartender said we’re having music tonight—I’d rather dance than wait tables any day—but it’s not a band. Just some hippie with a guitar who’s been hanging around. Reefer finally said he could play, but he’s not paying him.

“I’ve got to hurry. The bastard wants me there in an hour and I haven’t even hit the tub yet. Would you put the pizza in, Button? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” I said.

She handed me the pizza, started to walk away, then
stopped. “Oh. I ran into Linda at The Corner Store. She told me to give you this.” She pulled a folded note from her pocket:

“What a bitch,” Winnalee said, then headed toward the house.

“Hey, Winnalee,” Tommy called, taking a step after her.

“Save it, Smithy. I’m in a hurry.”

Winnalee went inside and Tommy snagged my arm when I went to follow her. “Tell your friend there, Bishop’s all hers now if she wants him—though I doubt she does. He called me right before I left the house and said that Marls pulled out a bit ago. She’s going back home to her folks.”

I stuffed Linda’s note into my pocket and sighed. “Marls was here this morning.”

“She was at my place, too. I didn’t know where Brody was Friday night, so I didn’t have anything to tell her.”

“Lucky you,” I said. Then I headed inside to turn on the oven.

I made the pizza and called to Winnalee that it was done.

“Thanks!” she yelled down the vent.

Winnalee grabbed a slice of pizza and ate it where she stood. “You should see the hot guy I ran into at the store,” she said, fanning her mouth. “He’s working at the mill during his summer break. Some program the mill does for college kids, I guess. Anyway, he’s kinda shy and slouchy, but
so
cute. Ada introduced him to me—Craig something or other—a
goofy last name. I asked your dad about him, but he said he never sees the daytime crew.”

I blinked at Winnalee. She hadn’t seen her baby in weeks, and Evalee was right across the road, yet all she could think about was some cute guy? “I fed Evalee her bottle this morning,” I said carefully, yet purposely. “She’s really pretty, and so, so sweet. She smiles and mimics you if you make baby sounds. Boohoo says she sounds just like Pebbles Flintstone.”

Winnalee stared at me for a second, her whole being frozen, the slice of pizza drooping in her hand. “Button. I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” She set down her half-eaten pizza slice and went out the back door.

“Guess what, Evy?” Boohoo said, when he interrupted me an hour or so later. “Dad’s coming over for supper tonight. You and Winnalee, too.”

I looked up. “Dad’s coming?”

“Yeah. That Freeda lady said he has to, or she’s gonna kick his ass.”

I set down my seam ripper. “Boohoo, you can’t swear like that.”

“It’s what she said.”

“Well,
you
can’t say it.”

“Okay.” Boohoo’s mouth tugged to one side. “I don’t like that Freeda. Just the baby. She smells poopy right now, though, and I don’t like her when she smells like that. We’re gonna have
baskettee
. Freeda’s making it.”

“Nice,” I said. “Why don’t you like Freeda?”

“Because she’s bossy.”

“I’m bossy sometimes.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to listen to you when you’re bossy. Freeda says if I don’t listen to her, she’s gonna sit on me.”

I laughed, and Boohoo told me, “Getting sit on isn’t funny, Evy.”

I tucked my lips tight and kept my head down.

“I’m going now. Cupcake should be done stinkin’ by now ’cause Aunt Verdella said she’d take care of it. Anyway, tell Winnalee about supper.”

“Winnalee’s working tonight,” I said. “Tell Freeda that, okay?”

“I ain’t telling her nothing,” he said, and off he went.

Uncle Rudy was in the backyard, dropping an armful of boards in a heap when I got there. “What’re you making?” I asked.

“A lean-to for Knucklehead,” he said.

Boohoo turned, the long board he was carrying teetering and clipping Uncle Rudy on the chin. “That’s what a doghouse without walls is called. A lean-to.” He frowned. “Knucklehead’s gotta stay outside now because he’s a pee-pants.”

I gave Uncle Rudy a private, sad smile, then I went inside.

Freeda was in the kitchen, her eyes watering over the mound of onions she was chopping. Her long bangs clung to one cheek, and she gave them a quick blow. “Hi, kiddo,” she said.

“Hi. Did Boohoo tell you that Winnalee’s working?”

“He did. Crissakes. We’ve been here twenty-four hours and she’s still not seen her kid.”

Aunt Verdella was in the living room singing “Patty Cake” and working Evalee’s hands to roll ’em, roll ’em. She stopped, looking confused. “I can never figure out which way
to roll their hands. I mean, I want to roll ’em clockwise for me, but then it’s counterclockwise to them, and that ain’t right, is it?”

I grinned and told her I didn’t think it mattered.

“Poor Knucklehead. And poor Rudy and Boohoo. They sure love that old dog.”

She didn’t mention the conversation Knucklehead’s accident had led to, and neither did I.

Her face brightened with a new thought, and she started rolling Evalee’s arms again, even though the song had stopped. “I’m making pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. You know how your dad likes that.”

I nodded.

“Button, would you take this little one so I can get started?”

“Sure,” I said, reaching for the baby.

The whole house was engulfed in steam from boiling pasta and the smells of garlic and warm cake when Dad pulled in. I carried Evalee into the kitchen, because I wanted to see Dad and Freeda’s reunion—seriously, I couldn’t imagine it. When the Malones came in ’61, Dad quickly developed a love-hate relationship with Freeda. Laughing with her and defending her at first, then getting all judgmental and uncomfortable when she developed a friendship with Ma. Freeda may have ultimately been the driving force behind Ma and him getting along better, but before that, she was the source of many of their fights.

Dad was wearing a short-sleeved, Aunt Verdella–pressed shirt, and his face was shaved smooth. He looked awkward when he stepped inside, a six-pack of beer in the crook of his arm, and Aunt Verdella hurried to bring him a hug. Freeda was standing at the stove, her head tipped back as she dropped
a string of spaghetti into her mouth. She turned while chewing. “Reece!” she dropped her fork and scooted around the table to get to him.

I never thought of Dad as anything but a dad up until that moment when he saw Freeda for the first time in nine years. His eyes flicked over her tanned limbs and the yellow summer dress that leaned against her skin, the cotton limp from age and humidity. But then, as if he’d been scolded, he looked away.

Freeda wrapped her arms around Dad and tugged his head down so she could press her cheek against his. She whispered a couple of sentences into his ear—no doubt about Ma, judging by the way Dad’s eyes stayed closed longer than a blink. Dad patted Freeda clumsily between the shoulder blades and she let go. “Glad you came, Reece,” she said, giving his chest a quick tap.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Dad said.

Freeda laughed as she headed back to the stove. “I didn’t give you
any
choice.”

“Look, Reece,” Aunt Verdella said, pulling me to Dad so he could see Evalee in my arms. “This is Winnalee’s little one. Eva lee.

“We were shocked, too,” Aunt Verdella said, in response to his expression. “Even Button didn’t know.” Dad gave Evalee a little smile and jiggled her hand.

“Boohoo, aren’t you gonna say hi to your dad?”

“Hi,” Boohoo said, without looking at him. He came to me and took Evalee’s bare foot to bounce it. “Hi, Cupcake. It’s me. Uncle Boohoo.” Dad looked into the pot on the stove, and Boohoo looked up at me. “Aunt Verdella said I’m like her uncle, so that’s what she can call me. Uncle Boohoo. I’m gonna call her Cupcake.”

Aunt Verdella shut the fridge and gave Uncle Rudy’s arm a squeeze. “You boys go in the other room and watch TV so
we can get this meal finished,” she told them. “Boohoo, you too.”

It was unnerving sitting at the dining table, my arms tight to my side so Dad could prop his elbow or stretch his arm alongside his plate. Dad’s knee budged up against my leg twice, so I crossed my legs at the knees, then again at the ankles to keep them out of his way.

I didn’t have anything to add as they updated Freeda on the local news, so I ate in silence and occasionally harped at Boohoo to stop wrapping his milk glass in spaghetti “yarn” and making a mess on Aunt Verdella’s crocheted lace tablecloth. Boohoo didn’t stop, though, until Freeda snatched up his glass and took it into the kitchen. “Crissakes, Reece,” she said as she was coming back. “You don’t step up to the plate and knock your son in line soon, I’m gonna have to do it for you. This kid is as adorable as a puppy, and listens about as good as one.”

Aunt Verdella laughed nervously, and I squirmed.

“So, Reece,” Freeda said after the chewing slowed, “I see you don’t keep up your place anymore—it looks like a shack—and I doubt you pick up your guitar any more often than you pick up your phone. Your kids obviously don’t know you from beans, and you rarely come over here … so, what
do
you do these days?”

I could have snapped in half like an uncooked spaghetti noodle.

“Oh, Freeda,” Aunt Verdella piped. “Reece works hard. The graveyard shift. And somebody or other is always calling him for help with their vehicle or when they need an extra hand on their farm. He’s tired all the time, aren’t you, Reece?”

Dad stabbed his fork into his salad. “Tact never was your talent, was it, Freeda?”

Freeda tossed her head back and laughed. “Nope. But I’ve got other talents to make up for it.” Freeda nudged Dad playfully,
then rolled her eyes when he swayed without even the hint of a smile. “Ah, Reece, loosen up already, will ya? I’m not picking on you. Seriously, I just want to know how you spend your days. I mean, crissakes, it’s been four years.”

Aunt Verdella and I lifted from our chairs in unison. “I’m gonna bring in the cake. Pineapple upside-down, Reece.”

“I’ll get the plates,” I said.

Aunt Verdella and I didn’t talk when we were in the kitchen. We only listened, and hurried.

“Button? Aren’t you going to have any cake?” Aunt Verdella called when I delivered four plates, then retreated to the kitchen again.

“I’m full,” I called.

“Land sakes, what’s
that
got to do with it?” Aunt Verdella asked, then added, “I’ve been full since 1950, but I’m still having cake.”

“Yeah,” Boohoo said. “That’s why you’re fat as Fred, too.”

I was swabbing at splotches of tomato sauce on the stove top when Aunt Verdella came back in to get the coffeepot. “Oh, look how nice you cleaned up. Thank you, honey. But you didn’t need to do that.”

It was obvious they’d be visiting for a while, since Dad looked relaxed by the time the beer was gone, so I excused myself as though I was going home to work, then slipped into the Rambler and drove to Dad’s while I had the chance. I took my time, tenderly taking down Ma’s bells, one by one, and washing them like they were fragile babies.

That night Winnalee startled me awake with a jab of light and a curt “That bastard!” My eyelids quivered in protest, so I kept them closed as I asked, “Who?”

“Brody Bishop, that’s who! He’s telling everybody at the Purple Haze how I got him drunk and practically raped him. How I’d been chasing him for weeks even though he kept telling me that he was married and loved his wife. That slime-wad!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“It’s not fair! He’s the one who was chasing my ass around and wouldn’t give up until I gave in. It happened, and I’m not excusing it—I don’t have to—but I’m pissed that he lied.”

Winnalee was unlacing her boots. “That girl you knew from school, Amy
Slutface
? She was gossiping about me in the can, saying I was the reason Marls left. What a joke. She left because he treats her like crap, and because he doesn’t bring in a damn dime. Good thing I was smoked up and mellow, or I’d have scratched her eyes out.

“But smoked up or not, I would have beat the crap out of her if I’d been there when she said what she said next—what Jeanie, the bartender overheard—that I’d ditched out on my kid. So my
‘sister’
—a ‘slut’ just like me, came to Dauber to dump her back in my lap.”

“Oh, Winnalee …,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as that bitch is gonna be the next time I see her!”

Winnalee kicked off her boots and dug for one of her oversized T-shirts. “I’m sick of creeps like Brody, and Chet—he’s on my shit list now, too. He didn’t even care that I was cryin’ about what they said about Evalee!” Winnalee tugged her T-shirt over her head roughly. “Man, this place is
so
backwards.”