Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day (13 page)

Granny’s house was a short way off Mill Run Road, which veered north off the Abbotsville Highway, so it didn’t take us too far out of the way. By the time we turned off the gravel road and onto the narrow dirt one that took us to Granny’s, it was getting on past three-thirty and I was getting worried. I’d wanted to be Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, by nightfall, and it didn’t look like I was going to make it.

As I passed Boyce and Betty Sue’s brick house with the wide, newly mown lawn and the new aboveground swimming pool shimmering in the heat, I reminded myself that they were doing the best they could with Granny, and I had no need to be mad at them. All her other sons and the two daughters had moved as far away as they could get, some to Charlotte, a couple to Georgia, and a few to the grave, so Boyce and Betty Sue and me were all she had.

“Can I get up now?” Skip asked, as I turned into Granny’s drive and parked in the shade.

“Okay, get on up. Nobody’s been behind us for three miles, and we’re here,” I said. As I opened the car door, I turned to Mr. Howard. “Just look at Granny’s flowers up there on the porch. Aren’t they a picture? Now, you just rest here while I see about her. I won’t be but a minute.”

“She sure needs a coat of paint,” Skip said as he climbed out of the car behind me and eyed the peeling farmhouse. He put his hand on the middle of his back and leaned back, stretching out the kinks. “I could do it for her, if you want me to.”

“She wouldn’t let you. She likes things the way they are, unless she decides to do something herself.”

As I headed toward the steps, Granny came barreling out on the porch, all sixty-seven years and ninety-two pounds of her, the screen door slamming behind her. She had on a faded pink housedress with tiny white stars all over it, a big white apron that almost swallowed her, and Reeboks at the end of her skinny legs.

“Etta Mae,” she called, her white hair streaming behind her where strands of it had come loose from the bun. “Etta Mae, I’m gonna bust somebody to kingdom come. I’m glad you got here, sugar, ’cause I’m not gonna take any more of it.”

“What’s wrong, Granny?” I asked, relieved to see that no bones were broken, her glasses were on her nose, and the house was still standing. I figured I could handle most anything else.

“I’m gonna flail the daylights outta that woman, see if I don’t.”

“What’s Betty Sue done now?”

“Took my canning jars, that’s what. And won’t give ’em back, says I give ’em to her last year. Now, Etta Mae, who’d believe a whopper like that? You ever known me to give away a Mason jar I know I’m gonna need when my pole beans come in?”

“Now, Granny, maybe she misunderstood. I tell you what, I’ll get you some new ones. In fact, this weekend, I’ll come get you and we’ll go to Walmart’s. You can get whatever you want then. You probably need some new rubber rings, anyway, don’t you?”

“Well, I could use some, I guess. Besides, I always like a trip to Walmart’s. They got everything you could want, and if they don’t have it, you don’t need it.” She’d calmed down by then, her eyes moving back and forth with curiosity at my unlikely passengers. “Don’t I know this big ’un, here?” she asked, peering up at Skip.

“Hey, Granny,” Skip said. “I’m Skip, used to be your grandson-in-law, ’member?”

She snorted. “I’ve not lost my mind yet. You’re the one broke my swing, sittin’ on it, and the one left my girl with all them bills you owed. Pull that stunt again, buster, and I’ll slap the doo-doo outta you.”

Skip grinned. “Yeah, well.”

Granny leaned over and craned her neck to look in the car. “Who’s that ole fool? Looks half dead to me.”

“Now, Granny, that’s one of my patients, so leave him alone. He’s resting.” Mr. Howard had his head back on the car seat, taking a little nap.

“Do I know him?”

“I don’t think so.” I knew she knew of him, like everybody else, but I didn’t want to get into what I was doing with him until I’d gotten it done.

“Well, you folks come on in the house. I got a ham in the stove, so there’s plenty.”

“We can’t, Granny,” I said, though I hated to come and go so fast. She got lonesome without somebody to talk to, though Betty Sue visited almost every day. Which didn’t really count, because Granny was too mad to talk to her half the time.

“I’ll be back Saturday,” I told her, “and we’ll spend the whole afternoon at Walmart’s.”

“Lord, child, I don’t have that much to buy, nor that much to spend. Social Security don’t cover that kinda spree. Well, I know you got to go, so come give me a hug, and be sure you tell Betty Sue I’ve had a bellyful of her sneaky ways.”

“I will, Granny,” I said, as I hugged her and patted her back. “I’ll talk to her, but you ought not get so mad at her. It’s not good for you, and it worries me when you get so upset.”

“I’m through gettin’ upset. If she ever puts her sticky hands on them new jars, I’m gonna smack her face.” She cackled at the thought of it.

“Betty Sue’s good to you, Granny. You shouldn’t hurt her feelings.” Turning to Skip, I said, “Crawl on in and let’s get on the road.”

“Couldn’t I just stay out here with Granny? Nobody’d find me this far outta town.”

“No, you cannot. I’m not putting Granny in danger, and you’re not, either. Besides, don’t you still owe Boyce for that Scag mower you bought on time? He lives right next door.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

I didn’t tell him I’d paid it off to keep peace in the family. Let him stew for the two minutes he’d worry about it.

“Hurry up, then,” I said, as he began wedging himself behind the front seat, “and watch my clothes back there.

“Granny, honey, I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but you can see I’ve got my hands full.”

“You’re a good girl, Etta Mae, but come over here outta earshot. I wanna ask you something.”

We walked a few steps away, and she pulled me down to whisper in my ear, “Honey, what’re you doing with that old man settin’ there in your front seat with his mouth hanging open? He looks like he’s on his last legs, but take my word for it, old men can surprise you. They’ll jump you in a minute, an’ I know what I’m talkin’ about. He’s after something, I can tell. So I don’t want you to turn your back on him. It’s a good thing you got that young ’un in there with you. You tell him to watch that ole fool.”

“Oh, Granny,” I said, laughing and hugging her again. “I don’t think I have to worry about him. That old man can hardly do a thing for himself, and I’m just getting him out and around for a while.”

I wanted to tell her where I was getting him out and around to, but Granny was about as bad with secrets as Lurline. She wouldn’t tell on purpose. She’d just forget she wasn’t supposed to tell it. I was too close to the prize to risk sharing it with her at that point.

 • • • 

I turned the car around and, waving to Granny through the dust stirred up behind us, headed back toward the Abbotsville Highway.

As I turned east on the highway, I said, “Get down on the floor, Skip. There’s a lot of traffic this time of day, and it’ll be hard to watch for the Pucketts. They could come up behind us before we know it.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. I can’t take any chances with my patient. So just do it.”

He grumbled and mumbled as he got on the floorboard again, knocking against the seats and complaining about the cramped space. “It’s hard to breathe down here,” he said. “And I can’t stretch out and I don’t like being all scrunched up like this.”

“Get over it,” I said, and pulled out into the traffic on the Abbotsville Highway.

“Etta Mae?” Skip’s voice sounded hollow, echoing up from under Mr. Howard’s bucket seat.

“What?”

“Can I get up now? This driveshaft’s killin’ me.”

“I don’t care if it is,” I said. “We’re hardly two miles out of Delmont, so you stay right where you are.”

“My back’s gonna be broke in two. An’ it sure is hot down here.”

“Well, just think what you’re missing, Skip. You could be stretched out in one of Lurline’s recliners watching
Roseanne
reruns, with a breeze from the air conditioner blowing right on you. On the other hand, you could also be in the hands of those real good friends of yours, getting your ticket punched in more ways than one. Now don’t that driveshaft feel better?”

“I guess,” he mumbled.

I kept watching the rearview mirror, checking to see if we were being followed. Then it struck me that I didn’t know what I was looking for. Duh. That’s what happens when you have too much on your mind.

“Skip, what kind of car do they drive?”

“Who?”

“Who do you think!”

“Oh. They got a ’95 Ford Windstar GL.”

“What kind of car is that?”

“It’s a van.”

“Okay.”

I glanced again in the mirror, quickly counting two cars and a pickup behind us, but no van.

“Blue and white,” Skip said.

“Okay.”

“CB antenna.”

“Okay.”

We were well outside of Delmont on our way to Abbotsville by then, and I was able to speed up a little.

“Teeny little Rebel flag on it.”

“Okay.”

“Rusted-out fender on the driver’s side.”

“Okay!”

“Piece a junk’s all it is.”

“Skip!”
Thinking,
Oh, God
.

He mumbled something, and I felt him move around back there, trying to get comfortable. A knee bumped the back of my seat, and he groaned.

“Can you maybe move your seat up a little, Etta Mae? And the old man’s, too?”

“No, I cannot. My seat’s as close as it’ll get, and we’re not going to move Mr. Howard. And don’t call him an old man.”

“Well, who is he, anyway?”

“He’s Mr. Howard Connard, Senior, and don’t you forget it.”

Dead silence from the back, and I could almost hear the wheels go round in Skip’s brain.

“That’s ole man
Connard
?” he whispered. Like I said, everybody in Delmont knew Mr. Howard Connard, Senior. Or knew of him.

“Skip!” I yelled. “Show some respect!” Then, reaching over and patting Mr. Howard’s leg, I said, “Don’t mind him, Mr. Howard, honey. He has a good heart, in spite of the way he acts sometimes.”

We were well on our way to Abbotsville by this time, which was too far past four o’clock. I was beginning to get anxious again, worrying about the time. You know how county offices are. They’ll close their windows right on the dot of five, no matter how many are waiting in line. All I could do was hope that going-home traffic in Abbotsville wouldn’t slow us down. I swear it got worse every year, what with tourists and Northern summer visitors. And Floridians! You wouldn’t believe the way they drove. They were about to push us natives out and take over the whole county, something nobody liked unless they ran a business.

My mind was in a whirl and seemed like it was doing everything but keeping itself centered on the matters at hand. Too much could go wrong that didn’t bear thinking about, I guess. Besides traffic, I had to worry about finding a parking place at the courthouse and how long it was going to take to get Mr. Howard out of the car and into his wheelchair. Oh, Lord, that walker! If he wanted to use the walker, it’d take us thirty minutes to get inside. And what if there was a line?

I should’ve picked Mr. Howard up early that morning and gotten the license. I shouldn’t have waited till the end of the day.

But that’s what I’d done and, as I’d had to do so many other times, I’d just have to make the best of it.

 • • • 

When we got into Abbotsville, I inched along the narrow streets, getting more and more anxious as I tried to watch the traffic, my watch, and the rearview mirror for a blue-and-white van. Finally, I turned into the parking lot by the courthouse, and was relieved to see several slots at the far edge of the lot. Dodging outgoing cars, I headed for a space and pulled in. Lord, it was hot, even with the windows down.

I pulled the rearview mirror over to check my makeup, which felt like it was running down my face. My hair looked awful—frizzy, sweaty, and windblown. Oh well, one good thing about marrying a senior citizen. They couldn’t see so good.

I took Mr. Howard’s hand and checked his pulse, looking also to see how pale he was and how he was holding up. “You doin’ all right, honey?”

He smiled and nodded, and from the back floorboard, Skip said, “Not too good, Etta Mae. I might not never straighten up again.”

I leaned my head down, wanting to bang it on the steering wheel. What else could you do?

I opened the door and got out. Pulling up the back of my seat, I said, “Okay, come on out, Skip. Since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He crawled out of the car, crouching over and holding his back with one hand and hanging on to the car door with the other. “Golly, Miss Molly,” he moaned, “I’m inna awful fix here. My leg’s gone to sleep, an’ my back’s give out on me.”

Pitiful, that’s what he was, standing there on one leg, pawing the ground with the other foot, trying to make it take his weight, and bent all the way over from the waist. Pitiful, if I’d had any pity to give him. But he could’ve been over at Lurline’s and out of my hair if he’d used his head instead of filling his stomach with Porky Park barbecue.

“Get with it, Skip. I don’t have time to fiddle with you. I need you to get that wheelchair out of the trunk and open it up for Mr. Howard. Come on, now.”

I unlocked the trunk, and waited while he hobbled over, lifting one leg up high and nearly falling every time it came down again. He held on to the side of the car with one hand, while catching himself on the ground with the other each time his numb leg gave out on him.

Which was every other step. He was still bent over during all these contortions, moaning about his back, and any other time, I’d’ve laughed my head off at the sight of him. But not this time. I stood there, tapping my foot and checking my watch, wanting to smack him to kingdom come for delaying us.

When he finally got to the trunk, panting and hopping on one foot, he stared at the folded wheelchair, which was at about his eye level the way he was bent over. Then he cocked his head up at me and said, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You better do it.”

I went on around the car and opened Mr. Howard’s door, reached in, and swung his legs out. “We’re going in now and get our license. I think we’ve got plenty of time, so don’t you worry.” I leaned over and smiled real big for him. “Any second thoughts? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Na-uh,” he said, reaching out for my hand.

“I got it, Etta Mae,” Skip said as he rolled the wheelchair to us. I squatted down to be sure everything was locked in place, so there wouldn’t be any more accidents than there’d already been. Skip, still in a bent position, watched me, then said, “What you want me to do now?”

“Take that side,” I said, pointing to Mr. Howard, “and help me get him in it.”

“Oh, lemme do it,” Skip said, and picked Mr. Howard up like he was a baby and sat him down, nice and easy, in the chair. “There you go, Mr. Connard. What next, Etta Mae?”

“Nothing. You can stay in the car till we get back.”

Skip looked around the parking lot. “Well, where y’all goin’?”

“In the courthouse. You just stay here.”

Mr. Howard reached for Skip’s hand with his good one and said, “Go, too.” Which was as clear as anything he’d said in over a year.

“Mr. Howard, honey, we don’t need him. Remember what me and you—I mean, I and you—came for?”

Mr. Howard pulled at Skip’s hand and pointed with it to the courthouse. The only reason I could come up with was that he liked Skip’s strong arms and back, though that wasn’t in the best of shape at the moment. Mr. Howard had been used to Emmett and me tugging and lugging him around, and neither of us much bigger than he was, so I could see where he’d feel safer with Skip.

I didn’t like it much, but if I could get that license with mine and Mr. Howard’s names on it, I decided it didn’t matter which ex-husband came with us. Though I’d’ve preferred none.