Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good (25 page)

He passed on to the limes. ‘What about the other fellow?’

‘They wouldn’t give me a picture of him.’

‘Not a good sign.’

‘Delete, delete, delete, that’s today’s courtin’ for you. So they gave me this bonus offer to keep me on th’ hook. One last chance to make up my mind and put thirty-four ninety-five on my card. This one had a motorcycle with a sidecar—they showed his picture and he wasn’t too bad. But—and here’s th’ kicker—eighty-five years old! What do you think is goin’
on
?

‘When I was fillin’ in th’ application, I clearly remember typin’ in fifty-eight as th’ max age.’ She paused, startled, smacked her forehead. ‘Oh,
please
! I just realized—I’m dyslexic! I prob’ly typed in eighty-five!’

‘That’ll do it.’

‘All this is happenin’ ’cause y’all won’t give me any
help
.’

‘Shirlene, Shirlene, there is no help to
give
. This is
Mitford
.’ He liked nothing better than offering help to one and all, but the Cupid business was totally out of his precinct. He felt mildly guilty. ‘Thanks again for what you’re doing for Children’s Hospital. Ride over sometime with my wife and me and see your generosity at work.’

‘Great. Okay. Will do. So I better get out of here. I’m playin’ Scrabble tonight online, an’ whippin’ up a few Brussels sprouts. Do y’all ever do that?’

‘Not terribly often,’ he said.

•   •   •

A
S
HE
HEADED
SOUTH
toward home, J.C. was hoofing north.

‘I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Nobody answers the phone at your place, nobody comes to the door. What’s th’ deal?’

The bag of groceries was heavier than he intended. ‘Have to keep moving. Perishables.’

‘I hear you saved Henry Talbot’s life.’

‘I have nothing to say.’ He walked on.

‘There’s a rumor you checked him into ER Saturday night.’

He took the Fifth.

‘I’ll talk to Wilson.’

‘Wilson will have nothing to say.’

‘Adele and I just got back in town; I’ve got to put this thing to bed for Thursday. You may as well cooperate—I’m headed to the MPD.’

‘There was no police report, so the MPD will have nothing to say.’

‘The night shift at the hospital, they’ll tell me plenty.’

‘As you know, hospital staff can’t speak on private health matters, except anonymously. Which reduces any possible story to hearsay, gossip, and rumor.’

‘You could help me out here, dadgummit—did Talbot try to kill himself?’

‘What he did or didn’t do is nobody’s business but the Talbots’. The only news here is that he left Lord’s Chapel under whatever circumstances the vestry cares to disclose.’

‘People love to talk in this town. One way or th’ other, I can get a story.’

He stopped for a moment, shifted the bag to the other arm. ‘I read a line in the
Muse
recently. It stated, with some pride:
We print good news
. Enough damage has been done, J.C. Leave it alone.’

He walked on.

Debris hurtling into the air and falling, falling.

•   •   •

‘M
ELITA
,
DOMI
ADSUM
!’ he shouted as he came in the side door. Cynthia waved from the kitchen.

‘Or, to translate: Honey, I’m home.’

‘How was it on the job site?’ she said.

He set the bag on the counter, gave his good dog a scratch on the head. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘Good. What’s this?’

‘Among other things, fresh pasta. Free sample. Avis says let him know how we like it. He’s setting up a pasta station on Wednesdays and Fridays. Homemade on the spot.’

‘Proof that Mitford takes care of its own.’

‘Cook five to six minutes, toss with olive oil, grate a little parmesan, and we’re done.’

‘I’ll cook, toss, grate, serve, and try to make interesting conversation.’

‘And I’ll wash up,’ he said.

She gave him a hug. ‘How does it look so far?’

‘It’ll be beautiful, I think, though more work than I had in mind. If nobody else enjoys it, you and I will. We can walk down there on summer evenings—sit on a bench, make out . . .’

‘My favorite.’

‘How did your work go?’

‘Still hard.’ She rubbed her eyes in that way grown too familiar. ‘I would love this book to be more than a book, somehow. Flaps and pop-ups and sounds, things going on. But maybe just being a book is enough. You look exhausted.’

‘Mostly mental.’ He climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. ‘I’m trying not to censure or chastise, just walk out something he needs, just stand with him as best I can. I don’t want to go the tough-love route or any of the other stuff that probably makes more sense.’

‘Drink some water,’ she said, handing him a glass.

‘In the end, grace may not be something the fallible human can extend. We can make each other happy for a minute or two, but I don’t know about grace, maybe all we can deliver is mock grace.’

‘I would take mock grace over no grace at all,’ she said. ‘Consider mock turtle soup. Not half bad, really. Then there’s mock apple pie.’

‘How can you mock an apple?’

‘With Ritz crackers.’

‘Surely not.’

‘It’s true. You can Google it. We had a call from Lace. She says don’t do anything fancy. No picnic in Baxter Park, just my grilled pimiento cheese for lunch in the kitchen. She says she wants nothing more than to be with us. She misses us.’

‘We miss her.’

‘She and Olivia are staying put in the evenings and Skyping Hoppy.’

‘A good plan,’ he said, heading upstairs.

•   •   •

W
EDNESDAY
MORNING
was one for the books. He was so stiff and sore he could hardly get out of bed and sincerely wished he didn’t have to. He borrowed her keys and drove to the church.

When Harley went to pick up lunch at noon, the stiffness had improved, and the project lay before them in its own astonishing improvement.

Wearing bandannas, he and Sammy leaned on their shovels, eyed their work.

‘What’s it going to need, Sam?’

‘Red maple. About four yards to th’ right so it d-don’t grow onto th’ roof.’

‘Excellent. I agree. What else?’

‘Bench.’

‘Two, maybe?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about topiaries in urns, either side of the door? What do you think?’

‘S-seem like more climbers would work. I’d run ’em on a trellis.’

More spraying and pruning. Nobody could ever again call him retired.

‘What else?’

‘Needs a wall back there to like frame things.’

‘A wall! Good thinking.’ This kid was born with an eye. The space just wandered off into Earle Johnson’s yard, which was appointed with whitewashed rocks lining the driveway and an early Buick on blocks.

‘Stone, of course.’

‘I don’t lay no stone.’ A stream of Red Man into the bushes.

‘Me, either. But we probably could, don’t you think?’ He had always wanted to lay a stone wall. ‘We could get a book on how to do it. Dry wall, like in Ireland.’ He’d be on this job ’til he was as old as Methuselah.

‘Yeah. We don’t need to be m-messin’ with no mortar. Harley’s laid stone walls.’

‘Okay, great, we have a plan. But that’s it, we’re done. We’ll go soon.’

‘Where?’

‘Big Mountain Nursery. We’ll look at their maples and check out the stone.’

Color rushed to Sammy’s face. ‘I always wanted t’ g-go there.’

•   •   •

T
HEY
SAT
ON
THE
STUDY
SOFA
and watched the news. Cold weather coming, as cold weather does, it was October. Bundle up. Bring in the plants. The usual.

He was thankful for the burning logs, his dog, their cat, the whole caboodle.

She patted his knee. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Pretty beat. But I’ve scarcely ever been so . . .’ He thought about it, making sure he had the right word.

‘. . . happy,’ he said.

Dear Henry,

This will be a mighty short letter, utterly undeserving of your recent three pages which Cynthia and I savored. I will most definitely do better next go-round.

Now to it—you could never guess what scrapes I’ve gotten into since we talked . . .

On Thursday morning, he posted a couple of quotes on the board.

It’s what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it. Oscar Wilde

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading. {Logan Pearsall Smith

A calm, slow morning. The trees ablaze, Barnabas dozing in a patch of sun in the display window. To borrow a word from Abe, the morning was a
bracha
. At ten-thirty, the
Muse
skidded to the door.

Good grief. A front-page photo of him trying to decode the lock, and his nose looking like a turnip.

Mitford Still Takes Care Of Its Own. Yayyy!

by
VANITA BENTLEY

And here’s LIVING PROOF, people!!

Father Tim Kavanagh opened for business last Thursday at
Happy Endings, where he is working two days a week for Hope Murphy . . . for FREE. For free, can you believe it?

Which brings up the good news that Marcie Guthrie, the daughter of our former mayor, Esther Cunningham and the mother of our soon to be police chief, Joe Joe Guthrie, ALSO volunteers at Happy Endings. All to help out a person who has helped US so much by bringing a BOOK STORE to our little town.

Just think—if not for Hope we would have to DRIVE TO WESLEY at $3.65 a gallon and try to find a parking spot on the campus and by a perfectly innocent mistake park in the wrong place and then walk two blocks to the college bookstore possibly in a driving rain and back again to your car which you find has been very unkindly decorated with a PARKING TICKET!!! Go, Bears!

Come in on Wednesdays and say hello to Marcie or on Thursdays and Fridays to say hey to Father Tim and check out the O for October sale. 10 til 4:30.

And remember—Marcie and Father Tim cannot do our job FOR us. We have got to get out there and take care of our own OURSELVES!

Send a photo and let me know what YOU are doing to take care of our own, OK? And thanks for praying for Hope##Scott says Dr Wilson is very pleased nd more later!!!

Vanita had discovered all-caps, which was news right there. Mule’s real estate ad was once again cheek by jowl with the Wesley funeral home ad—somebody needed to speak to Mule about this. The weather prediction for the coming week was mixed, and there was the latest Leading Citizen countdown, which he chose to skip . . .

A Delicious Way To Fade Your Freckles

He read the Hint with absorption. How amazing. He did like to learn something, however useless, when he invested time in reading a newspaper.

Wanda’s Feel Good Café Caves to Local Demand

Wanda Basinger is breaking her rule of NO BREAKFAST!!! Yayyy! But with reservations.

Breakfast will be served on SATURDAYS ONLY, starting at eight o’clock through ten-thirty, which seems a pretty short time frame but since lunch starts at eleven thirty they have to get the tables cleared.

To celebrate, Ms. Basinger will be serving a Mexican dish which she hopes we will all like. Caution: SPICY!

As for giving in to local demand, we asked Ms. Basinger how she feels about it.

“I feel good.” she says//8%

•   •   •

T
HE
CLOCK
OVER
THE
SALES
COUNTER
read eleven-fifteen. His nose had been stuck in the
Muse
for . . . how long? A good half hour.
It’s what you read when you don’t have to that determines what . . .
Too late now.

•   •   •

‘I
HAVE
A
CONFESSION
to make,’ said Vanita.

He thought the tortoise frames of her eyeglasses imparted a very owlish and wide-awake look.

She leaned over the counter. ‘I’m Anonymous.’

‘You, Ms. Bentley, are anything but anonymous.’

‘No, I mean, in th’ paper I’m Anonymous. By bein’ Anonymous, I
can say what I really think and don’t have to be politically whatever. Do you think that’s okay? I mean, is that just another type of media cover-up?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Like, Coot only got one vote and that was a mean joke, so anonymously I’ve given him nine more for two reasons. One, because his great-great-great-granddaddy, Hezekiah, founded this town, and two, I knew it would make him feel wonderful. Surely there idn’t anything wrong with makin’ people feel wonderful.’

‘I’m with you there,’ he said.

‘I needed to confess that to somebody besides my husband, I drive ’im crazy tellin’ ’im stuff he says he doesn’t need to know.’

‘I’m inclined to that same behavior. My wife is very patient.’

‘I just really admire you, Father.’

‘Well, thank you. Good gracious.’

‘I hear you cried in church and people cried with you.’

‘True.’

‘It is so nice when men cry.’

‘I read that according to a study of over three hundred adults, men cry an average of once a month, and women five times a month.’

‘Y’all were runnin’ way behind and caught up all at once! Like, yay-y-y!’

They had a small laugh, which he managed to enjoy.

‘I know Mr. Hogan wanted to run a story about Father Talbot an’ all, but he couldn’t find any real facts to report, just mean things people are sayin’. I’m so glad you wouldn’t tell him anything.’

‘Nothing to be told.’

‘Anyway, here’s another secret an’ I’m done. If I ever run for mayor, which I prob’ly won’t, I have my campaign slogan already picked out. I wouldn’t want anybody to steal it for their campaign, so you wouldn’t ever tell, right, because you’re clergy?’

‘Right.’

‘It’s th’ sort of thing we all have to do if we’re goin’ to keep takin’ care of our own, okay? Imagine this on a bumper sticker . . .

‘
Get off your butts, people!
’

Barnabas sat up, looked around.

‘That’ll work,’ he said.

‘As for the plaque you were goin’ to write . . .’