In Front of God and Everybody (16 page)

Right then, he was yammering on about the Dallas Cowboys. If he knew anything at all about my grandma, he'd know she didn't like football, not even a little bitty bit. But there she was, listening to him, nodding her head as if touchdowns and tight ends were the most thrilling subjects she could imagine.

There came a point that day when God finally must have looked down on us and took a little pity, because Mr. Rance stopped talking all of a sudden and announced he had to go see a man about a horse. As he walked toward the men's room, Grandma watched him with a dreamy little smile. I looked to see what she found so fascinating. Besides that dumb hat, he wore a bright blue cowboy shirt, black jeans—over which his belly hung—and pointy-toed cowboy boots. After one quick glance, I looked away.

“Why didn't he just say he was going to the men's room, or just plain ole ‘excuse me' like a normal person? Saying he had to see a man about a horse . . . that's dumb.”

Grandma fiddled with her empty coffee cup and looked at the waitress, who pretended we weren't there.

“Well, people say things,” she told me. “Maybe he thinks saying he's going to the restroom is crude. On car trips, when your grandpa had to go, he'd pull off the road and say he had to kick the tires.” She glanced at our waitress again, who never did look at us. “People just say things.”

“But don't he get on your nerves?” I asked.

“Who? Your grandpa? Why, I—”

“No! Mr. Rance,” I said. “Don't he about drive you buggy and nearly bust your eardrums?”

She frowned a little bit. “I don't think he knows how loud he talks.”

“And them dumb jokes. And all that talk, talk, talk. Don't he drive you buggy?” I asked. “He drives me buggy.”

Grandma finally quit staring a hole through the waitress and looked at me.

“April Grace, you listen to me.” There was a sharp edge in her voice that I didn't like. “You know I love you dearly, but honey, you just got to quit finding fault with everyone, and that includes Jeffrey Rance. There ain't never been but one perfect person in the world, and they killed Him. If you keep looking at the things you don't like about folks, you won't ever have any friends. Or any fun, neither. Folks don't act the way they do just to annoy you. They act the way they do 'cause they're people.”

“But—”

“No buts about it. Jeffrey Rance lost his wife about Christmastime last year, and he don't have any kids, so he's lonesome with no one to talk to. And he can't hear thunder. He don't know how loud he talks.”

“But he's so pushy,” I said.

“Piffle! He ran a big horse ranch down in Texas. He's used to being in charge. But now all he's got is a little, bitty, rocky piece of dirt down the road from us. It don't hurt to let him feel a little bit needed.”

“But why'd he move here in the first place?” I asked. “If he's a horse rancher, why isn't he still in Texas where he belongs?”

Grandma took a deep breath. “Well, his wife was sick for a long time. He had to sell his horses and his ranch to pay for her care. He said he just couldn't stand to live there without her anymore after she passed on. All the memories were just too hurtful. So he decided to move to the Ozarks.”

I let all that information soak in. Then I chewed on my bottom lip for a while and pondered my theory of why he was so all-fired determined to be Grandma's boyfriend. I thought about how he eyeballed her stuff as if it belonged to him, and that sure as fire didn't have anything to do with his wife dying and him being lonesome.

“Well, I think you ought to know he was poking around in your living room the other day when he didn't know I was sitting right there,” I said.

She frowned. “Oh, April.” She said it like she was disappointed in me.

“He was looking at your TV,” I explained, “and that new VCR.”

“So?” Grandma said. “He probably don't know how to work one of them things any more than I do. He was just curious.”

“Well, then, today when I was coming over to your house, he was pawing through your glove compartment,” I said.

“He was? Why?”

I gave her a Look, but she didn't get it. “He
said
he was looking for a map, but I—”

“Then I'm sure he was looking for a map,” Grandma said.

“Grandma! Don't you think—?”

She interrupted me before I could tell her anything more. “April Grace, tell me something, child. Who do you admire more than anyone?”

“You mean besides Jesus?” I knew I had to say Jesus in case this was a trick question.

“Yes,” Grandma said.

“Mama and Daddy and you.”

She smiled a little bit.

“Leave me out of it,” she said. “You ever notice how your daddy and mama don't go around trying to find fault with folks? You notice how they hardly ever have anything bad to say about anyone?”

“I know! And how can they not say anything when them St. Jameses are Living With Us and driving us all crazy?”

“Can you think of one nice thing to say about them?”

“You mean Ian and Isabel?”

She nodded.

“I can't think of a thing,” I said.

“Try real hard.”

I sighed and thought. Real hard.

“Well,” I said, after a bit, “Ian is actually not as bad as you might think.” But I had to add, “Ole Isabel is as lazy as a toad in the sun except when her and Myra Sue are doing their workout. Plus, she's always whining and complaining and saying they don't have money anymore. Well, why don't she go get herself a job, then? They might hire her at Walmart or something. And she's supposed to be helping Mama, but she don't. She just expects Mama to wait on her hand and foot. And Mama does!”

Something flickered across Grandma's face, but all she said was, “Your daddy and mama do the Christian thing by folks.”

Well, she was right about that.

“Isabel and Myra Sue are supposed to be snapping beans today,” I said. “Can you picture ole Isabel breaking green beans with her long, red fingernails in the way?”

“At least she's doing something. Give her credit for that. You'd do yourself a real service, April Grace, if you was to take a page out of your folks' book. You'd be a lot happier.”

“But Grandma—”

“If anyone in the world has a reason to feel distrustful and pessimistic about folks, it's your mama.”

This was news to me. My ears perked up. “Why?”

She moved her coffee cup around on the table again. I could see she was debating with herself whether or not to give me an answer.

“Grandma, I'm old enough to know some things.” When she just looked at me, I added, “And I can keep my mouth shut about them.”

“I've never known you to keep your mouth shut at the right time.”

“Grandma.”

She studied me a minute.

“Well, I'll tell you a little, and if your Mama ever wants you to know more, she'll tell you herself.”

Afraid she might change her mind if I moved a fraction, I sat perfectly still. Deep inside my head, I could feel my eardrums twitch.

“The thing is, your other grandma did not want Lily.”

Well, I knew that. Sort of. My other grandma is alive, I think. I asked Mama about her once, and she said that her mother hadn't been ready for her or for motherhood, and for me to please never mention it again. So I didn't. But I thought about it sometimes.

Grandma looked out the café window, but I could see she looked at nothing but her thoughts. In a bit, she dragged her gaze back to me.

“Sandra Moore—your other grandma—was not a nice person, and that's putting it mildly.”

“Why?”

“She just wasn't, that's all.”

“But why? Grandma, you keep fiddling with that cup and spoon, and you're twitching around in your chair. Is it so shameful you can't speak of it?”

She waved a hand. “It ain't scandalous or anything. And none of it is your mama's fault, but it does hurt me to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That Lily's great-aunt Maxie didn't want her, either.”

I frowned. Great-Aunt Maxie had raised Mama, but she never said much about her one way or the other.

“She gave her a place to live, but that's about all,” Grandma said. “First time I saw your mama was at church during Vacation Bible School. She was the scrawniest, dirtiest, pitifulest little thing you ever saw. Back in those days, the state didn't step in and take care of kids the way it does now. Mike said the kids at school picked on Lily something awful, and he did his best to stand up for her. 'Course, he wasn't always there to watch out for her.” She paused a second or two. “I'll tell you one thing. That little redheaded girl had the most beautiful, shining smile you ever saw.”

“She still does,” I said.

“Yes, ma'am, she does. And you should've seen her eat the snacks during refreshment time at VBS. Of course, the church folks did everything they could for her as time went on, but Maxie didn't like that. Made her look bad, I guess, and after a while she wouldn't let Lily come to church anymore. Then, when Lily was about ten or so, her mama came back to town. Said she'd had a change of heart, so she packed her up, and off they went to God knows where. A couple of years later, she brought Lily back, dumped her on the old aunt again, and skedaddled for good.” Grandma stopped talking for a few seconds. “Maybe I shouldn't have told you anything,” she said.

“No. I'm glad you told me,” I said. “But why won't Mama ever talk about this? Like you said, it wasn't her fault. She didn't do anything wrong.”

“Well, that's the thing, honey. Lily Reilly lives by First Corinthians, chapter thirteen. You know that Scripture?”

“I think so.”

“It says something like, love is patient and kind, and it doesn't get easily angered or keep records of wrongdoing. That's not an exact quote, but you've been to Sunday school. You know what I'm talking about. Your mama believes in that Scripture, and she lives her life by it.”

“She sure does.”

“The year Sandra Moore brought Lily back to Cedar Ridge was the year Lily and Mike became good friends. And you know how that turned out.” She smiled. “And when the old aunt had a stroke a few months after they got married, you know what your folks did?”

I shook my head.

“They took her into that tiny apartment they lived in up in Branson while they went to the college up there. Yes sirree. Took that ole gal right into their home, and your mama dropped out of college to take care of her. She waited on her and treated her like a beloved member of the family, while your daddy got his agricultural degree at the School of the Ozarks. It wasn't easy on either of 'em, but they did it because Lily thought it was the right thing to do. Mike, he went along with her on it. You know, he has always thought your mama hung the moon.”

Grandma stopped talking for a bit. I waited for her to finish her story and tried not to fidget. I hoped that old man who'd been seeing a man about a horse for a long time stayed away for a while longer.

“Mebbe I shouldn't have told you any of this,” Grandma said at last. “But I wanted you to know that if anyone has a right to feel hard toward anyone, it's your mama. And she don't. She loves 'em all, so you just think about that and see if you can't be more like her and less like some other folks.”

I sighed.

“It's a lot to take in,” I said.

And it was pretty hard to swallow too. But I'd think about it. I wanted to think about it, but I sure didn't get much of a chance right then 'cause Mr. Rance came clumping toward the table in his loud, old cowboy boots. He was grinning like a monkey. I sighed again.

“Wal, now!” He sat down, looked at Grandma's empty cup, and glanced around until he saw our waitress busing a table across the room. He hollered like he thought he was at a hog-calling contest. “Missy! We need coffee.”

While everyone turned to look at us again, and while the red-faced waitress hurried to our table, I forced myself to remember what Grandma had just said. I had to admit she was right. I really ought to be more like Mama and Daddy. Look at how nice they treated the St. Jameses, even when Isabel was lazy and rude and never said thank you for a blessed thing. She must never have even heard the word
gratitude
in her entire life. And whenever Temple and Forest dropped in, Mama and Daddy pretended they didn't stink at all. Mama always gave Temple a big hug. If Temple brought some of her bark bread or nature cookies, Mama took one and ate it right then and there—even when Temple looked like she hadn't a bathed in a week or three, and the cookies or bread were made without flour, sugar, eggs, or milk and tasted like dry cardboard.

Mama and Daddy were happy too.

I'm gonna start acting like them, I told myself. I'm gonna try to be nice to everyone, no matter what.

Then I looked at Mr. Rance. I looked at his big red face below that black hat and his big dumb grin and his sticky-out ears with their hearing aids poked down amongst the hairs in his ear holes. I wondered if Mama and Daddy ever felt queasy when they were being nice to certain people.

Well
, I thought,
I'll just have to like him 'cause it's important
to Grandma.

I'll tell you one thing, though. I still had all my suspicions about him, and I was gonna watch him real close. But for the time being, I'd try to be nice. I sat up real straight.

I said, “I'm sorry your wife died last year about Christmastime.”

A weird look came over his face, like he'd swallowed something he didn't mean to. He sort of nodded and poured about half the sugar from the dispenser into his coffee. He stirred it so hard and fast it sloshed onto the table and his fingers.

“How long were you married?” I asked. Not that I cared, but it seemed like a nice question.