A Second Helping

  Bernadine had to admit she agreed. Up until then she’d never heard of August First or its significance, but she wasn’t sure about Amari being in charge. “How much might this cost?”

  He shrugged.

  “Then I’d like for you and Preston to put together a proposal. Estimate what you think the price tag could be and let us look at it. Who knows, this might become an annual event again.”

  Amari didn’t want the adults involved because he was certain they’d take all the credit. “But this is my project. Tamar already approved it.”

  Trent asked, “Did she say she was going to pay for it?”

  He looked down at his sneaks. “No.”

  “Then where does that leave us?” Trent asked.

  “With me bringing you a proposal,” Amari murmured.

  Bernadine tried to lift his spirits. “It’s a fantastic idea, Amari, and since this is your baby, you get to carry it, but you need some oversight.”

  Amari looked to Preston for a definition of oversight.

  “Somebody to look over your shoulder so we don’t wind up back in court.”

  “Oh.”

  Bernadine wondered what they’d do without Preston.

  Trent said, “It is a great idea, Amari. Great idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  Preston had a question. “When do you want to see the proposal?”

  “Does a week from today sound reasonable?” Bernadine asked.

  Both boys agreed.

  “Okay then,” Amari said. “We’re gonna go get started.”

  After their departure, the three adults shared a long look.

  Trent cracked, “Going to be an interesting summer.”

  The women nodded agreement and they all went back to work.

  Leo Brown stood in front of his office windows and looked out at the comings and goings of the small town. past the window were more pickup trucks than you could shake a stick at, and although the citizenry was friendly, he’d yet to see anyone who looked like him. He had no idea what Bernadine saw in this part of the country because try as he might, he didn’t get it. As far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing to do for recreation except bowling. The secretary sent over to work for him by the temp agency said that for entertainment, the folks she knew went to Wal-Mart. Obviously that was good for the corporate chain’s bottom line, but for Leo it meant being bored to death. He’d been sent there to oversee a new geological survey project on behalf of the company and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive being there the estimated six weeks needed to complete the project.

  He was also having a heck of a time coming up with a plan to win Bernadine back. Although she’d made it crystal-clear she wanted no parts of him, he was betting she didn’t mean it, not for real anyway. He imagined she was still a bit hurt over his adultery and he couldn’t blame her, but if he was willing to come begging, she should be willing to at least give his request for a second chance a fair hearing. After all it wasn’t like she was getting any younger. Woman her age needed a man, and not one like the country bumpkins he’d met at the Henry Adams diner. Leo hadn’t even bothered asking their names because it hadn’t mattered to him one way or the other. His money and status set him apart from people like them and he had the chauffeur to prove it. The thought of money gave him pause. Maybe he could buy his way back into her heart. He knew she had plenty of her own—hadn’t she gotten the bulk of it from him? But what could he buy her that she’d want or didn’t already have? He walked to the door and stepped out into the outer office where the temp, named Cathy, had her desk.

  “Cathy?”

  She smoothly put down her nail file. “Name’s Carol, Mr. Brown.”

  “That’s right. Sorry. Let me ask you a question. If you could have a man buy you anything in the whole world, what would it be?”

  She studied him for a moment. “Is this man my husband or a boyfriend?”

  He didn’t know he needed to be specific. “Any man.”

  “Well, if it’s my husband, I’d want a new washing machine. Spin cycle is shot and it takes the dryer—”

  “Your boyfriend,” he stated, holding on to his patience.

  “A new truck. I saw one at the dealer’s last week that was candy apple red and so sweet—”

  “Never mind.”

  He walked back into his office and closed the door. There was no way Bernadine would drive a pickup. She had way too much class for that. He’d just have to keep thinking.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock followed by Carol’s voice. “Local paper was just delivered, Mr. Brown. You want to take a look at it?”

  “Bring it in.”

  It took him all of ten minutes to peruse the two-section edition, but something in the local happenings column caught his attention. It was a notice for the Henry Adams monthly town meeting. The brief announcement gave the date as that day and the place as the diner. Leo made a decision to attend. He’d wanted to know what Bernadine saw in this backwoods place. By going to the meeting maybe he could find out. She’d probably pitch a fit, but he didn’t care.

  Bleary from sleep and too much traveling, Eli James sat on the side of the bed in his boxers and tried to remember where he was and how he’d gotten there. When it all came rushing back, he groaned. He’d hoped this had been nothing more than a bad dream but it was worse; it was his life. He’d traveled halfway across the country so his dad could work in Little Town on the Prairie, and the two of them could live next door to a witch woman. That she’d put a spell on him was the only explanation he could come up with as to why he’d let her run over him the way he had, and kept him from telling her what he really thought, and where she could stick the report she expected him to do, which he had no intention of doing. He could care less if he flunked American history. The town was such a backward-ass place, the one-room schoolhouse probably didn’t even have history books. What the hell am I doing here? he wailed inside. Why did life keep picking on him? His world fell apart when his mom died. All he’d wanted was for her to live. He missed her so much sometimes he cried at night. And now, it was just him and the Professor. The two of them had never been really close. Jack hadn’t coached Little League or taken him bowling or done any of the other stuff his friends’ dads were known to do. Now, with Mom gone, he wanted to get all fatherly, and Eli wasn’t feeling it because why should he? Jack taught night classes every semester so no matter what after-school activities Eli participated in, he hadn’t been there; not for the team sports Eli loved to play, any of the art competitions to applaud him for being the best high school sculptor in the state, not for anything; ever.

  He ran his long fingers through his sleep-tousled, jet black hair and put his face in his hands. He couldn’t wait to be eighteen so he could move out, take charge of his own life, and leave his dad and this stupid town behind.

  Mal walked into the diner’s kitchen and found Rocky and Siz going through the freezers. Because of the town meeting they weren’t going to be open for dinner but he’d asked Rocky to provide some munchies. “You two figure out what we’re eating for the meeting?”

  “Siz wants to do an appetizer buffet. Were it left up to me, we’d just fry up a bunch of chicken wings and call it a day, but I’m going to let him teach me some of the things he’s been learning in class and we’ll see if this old cook can learn some new tricks.”

  Siz came out of the big walk-in freezer with two large, frost-covered bags. “You’re not old, Ms. Rock.”

  “Compared to you, I’m Methuselah’s wife.”

  “Who?”

  She and Mal shared a grin.

  “Never mind,” she said to Siz. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Chicken drummies. There’s a bunch of other stuff we can use too. But we’re going to keep what we’re making a secret.”

  “We are?” she asked skeptically.

  Mal speared him with a look. “Don’t do a Florene on me now, son. Hate to have to fire you your first day out.”

&
nbsp; “I’d hate it too, so don’t worry. I just want everybody to be surprised by the food and the presentation. That’s all. It’s gonna be awesome. Promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  Rocky could see Mal’s continued skepticism but she’d be there to haul Siz back if he went overboard, so she wasn’t worried.

  Clay Dobbs walked in, and after greeting Rocky and Mal, and nodding to the young man he didn’t know, he said to Mal, “Just got a call from Marie. Their plane just landed.”

  “Okay, but meet Siz first.”

  Clay looked confused. “Who?”

  Mal made the introductions.

  Once they were done with the formalities, Siz asked Clay, “Anybody ever tell you you look like Julian Bond, sir?”

  Clay cocked his head at the question. “What do you know about Julian Bond?”

  “Well, he was the communications director for the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, and in 1966 was denied his duly elected seat in the Georgia legislature because he opposed the war in Vietnam. I’m taking a humanities class on the sixties, and we’re studying him and some of the other young African-American leaders like Bobby Seale and Stokely Carmichael.”

  Humor twinkling in her eyes, Rocky asked, “You didn’t accept this job just so we could help you pass your class, did you?”

  Siz smiled. “No, ma’am, but he does look like Julian Bond.”

  Mal said, “You should have seen him when he had all his hair. He and Julian could’ve passed for twins. Now both of them are old.”

  “Shut up,” Clay said, laughing. “Like you’re not.”

  Clay turned back to Siz. “You’re going to be a better cook than that other one, right?”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Then we’ll keep hope alive.”

  Mal shook his head, “Let’s go. Rock, if anybody calls looking for me, Clay and I are heading to the airport to pick up Genevieve and Marie. We’ll be back in time for the meeting.”

  “Okay. Drive safe.”

  After their exit, she turned to Siz. “Okay, Emeril, what are we cooking?”

  For the drive to the airport, Clay was behind the wheel of his big green Chevy Suburban because Mal’s old Ford couldn’t seat four. They talked a bit about everything and nothing while on the way, until finally Clay asked, “You think the police are ever going to catch Riley?”

  “Who knows. I’d’ve bet even money Dalton would’ve run him down by now.”

  “Me too. Can’t imagine where he and that hog could be hiding out.”

  “Apparently with that redhead woman on the video.”

  “She’s got to be crazy as he is to be marrying two hogs.”

  “I know. So, what are you going to do about Genevieve?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s married, Mal. You and I had this discussion when Riley first took off. Not messing around with another man’s wife.”

  “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “Morals don’t age.”

  Mal sighed and turned his attention to the view passing by his window. He and Clay had been friends since second grade. They’d graduated high school together, ran the ladies together, and survived Nam together even though the carnage and death took its toll. Once home Clay turned inward and became more introspective while Mal sought refuge from the nightmares in drink and young women, the only two things that made him feel alive. “Okay, since you don’t want to discuss Genny, what do you think about Siz? He manages a jazz band.”

  “Liked him. Seems a lot better choice than that Florene.”

  “Mr. Ed would have been a better choice than Florene. Glad Bernadine agreed with me.”

  “Speaking of Bernadine. Anything new on her ex?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. She did tell me she wasn’t taking him back.”

  “Good.”

  “Exactly. All I need is competition.”

  Clay grinned. “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Dealing with a grown woman’s a lot more complicated than those coeds you’re used to.”

  “I know. I know. But answer me this. How can you be so wise with my love life and so clueless with your own?”

  “Shut up.”

  Mal smiled and settled in for the rest of the ride.

  Clay made the turn that took them onto the airport property and he and Malachi scanned the faces of the few people standing outside the terminal. “Do you see them anywhere?”

  “Not yet.”

  A few seconds later, Mal pointed. “There they are. Why’s Genny in a wheelchair?”

  “God. I hope she didn’t have a stroke.” Clay steered the truck to the curb and he and Mal got out.

  “What happened to Genny?”

  Marie shot a disapproving look at Genevieve over the rims of her black rhinestone cat eye glasses and drawled, “Too many Kamikazes.”

  Both men stiffened. “What!”

  Genevieve reprimanded them in a weak voice, “Stop shouting. My head’s hurting bad enough as it is.”

  Clay knelt down. “Are you okay?”

  “No. Marie tried to tell me to go slow, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  Marie took her cue. “Also told her not to chase Kamikazes with Hurricanes. Didn’t listen to that either.”

  Clay’s eyes widened. He studied Genevieve’s pale face and slumped shoulders. “Since when did you start drinking?”

  “When I saw Riley and that woman and those damn hogs. If that was your husband, you’d drink too. Should’ve married you, Clay. Probably had those babies I wanted by now.”

  Clay’s mouth hit the sidewalk.

  Mal and Marie shared a look.

  Marie said, “I think she may be a little bit drunk still. Let’s get her home.”

  Clay was staring at Genevieve, transfixed.

  Mal called to him, “Hey, you. Pick up your teeth. Time to go.”

  Clay visibly shook himself before straightening to his full height. He got behind the wheelchair and pushed the eyes-closed Genevieve toward the truck. Marie and Mal grabbed the handles on the rolling suitcase and fell in behind them.

  Marie sighed. “You know Mama’s going to blame all this on me.”

  Mal cracked, “And well she should. You’ve been Satan’s handmaiden since kindergarten.”

  She punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed, rubbing the throbbing spot, which earned a grin from Marie.

  Once they were inside the truck and had their seat belts fastened, Clay drove toward home.

  Marie was right. After she put Genevieve to bed, she came downstairs intent upon grabbing her car keys. Although she was dead on her feet from being dragged all over Vegas by Genny last night, she didn’t want to miss the meeting due to start in less than an hour. According to Mal, the new teacher she hired for the school had arrived earlier today with his son. She was as anxious to meet them as she was to know what the name of the school was going to be. “Mama, are you ready?”

  “Yep. How’s Gen?”

  Marie entered the front room. Her ninety-year-old mother, Agnes, was at the door, pocketbook on her wrist.

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Do you think she’ll be all right here alone?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay then.”

  They left the house and got into Marie’s old Pontiac. As she drove out to the road and toward town, her mother said, “You shouldn’t have gotten her drunk like that, Marie.”

  “I didn’t get her drunk, Mama. She saw Riley and that pig on the TV and she flipped out.”

  “Still.”

  The disapproval in the tone was hard to miss. “Still, what?”

  “You should never have taken her to Vegas.”

  “It was her suggestion, remember?”

  “I do, but you could have said, no.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Mama.”

  “She?
??s not used to the vices like you are, Marie. You should have been more vigilant.”

  “Mama, I didn’t come home to argue with you. Okay?”

  “Fine.” She turned away in a huff.

  Marie gritted her teeth. “Mama, I’m sixty years old. When are you going to let go of the past?”

  “I’m not in the past.”

  “Yeah, you are. I admit, I was wild back then, but I’m no longer seventeen, pregnant, and a disgrace to the hallowed Jefferson name.”

  “Stop being disrespectful.”

  Marie sighed audibly. “How about we not talk about this. Sorry I brought it up.”

  Marie turned full attention to her driving but she was equal parts hurt and angry. Appearances meant everything to Agnes Jefferson, and for her only daughter to have gone away to college only to return home pregnant had been so devastating and shaming that all these many years later, the incident still resonated. Admittedly, Marie had been a wild teen; drinking, smoking, running with the proverbial wrong crowd because she’d found the strict tenets of small-town life so stifling, rebellion became a way to breathe. When she earned the college scholarship that gave her a ticket out, she’d grabbed it with both hands. Six months later she was pregnant. The father of her unborn child, a young graduate student, told her he had no intentions of divorcing his wife or claiming the baby, and that Marie was on her own. She’d cried for days. Faced with no other choice she returned home. Having to confess the situation to her mother was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, and having to listen to the recriminations, devastating. The year was 1966 and in those days it was unheard of for a young unmarried woman of her age to keep her illegitimate baby, so Agnes drove her to a home for wayward girls in Topeka where Marie gave birth. She never even got to hold the baby boy—the nuns said it was better that way. Now, almost a half century later, the ache in her heart remained. She’d managed to fill much of the void by becoming a teacher, a profession she dearly loved, but she prayed for that child every night. Still.

  CHAPTER 11