I took only three days away from the garage to recuperate from my sprained ankle and to absorb the happy surprise that I was pregnant. I still hadn’t actually gotten to tell anyone the good news. Everyone had already heard it through the kudzu vine.
I spent most of the morning filing, ordering parts, and cleaning the customer waiting area of the garage office. I straightened magazines and shoved chairs under the small dining table in the center of the floor. On the seat of one of the chairs was a KFC meal box. A sticky note attached to the top read “Lincoln.”
Since one of my life’s lessons had taught me not to open boxes carelessly, I plucked the broom from the corner and used the handle to flip open the top. When nothing exploded, I eased closer. Inside I found a long, white shoe string curled in a pile. I pulled it out, looked it over, and found nothing notable about it except for the fried chicken crumbs which clung to the limp string. I put it back into the box and closed the lid.
When Linc returned from a call, I told him about the package for him. He hesitated. I assured him it wouldn’t explode. Slowly, he picked it up and opened it.
“Oh, no.” Lanky Linc dropped the box and jumped about three feet backward.
“What in the world is wrong with you?” I limped around the counter. My driver shook so hard his cork-screw curls boinged from under his cap. I picked up the shoe string and tried to hand it to him. “Here, it won’t bite.”
“It’s from the Redneck Mafia. That’s what they use to kill their prey.” He looked out the picture window on the front wall. “They’re out there. Waiting for me.” He sighed.
“It’s . . . a . . . shoe . . . string.” I spoke slowly so as not to lose him in my words. “Say it after me.” I tapped his arm. “It’s . . . a . . . shoe . . . string.”
“It’s a death string.” His face turned white as milk.
“Linc, you have to calm down. You’ve gone way over the top with this Mafia thing.” I sat and propped my foot in another chair. “I know Bubba threatened you, but what can he do? Really?”
Linc held up the shoe string. “He can strangle me with this.”
“Good Lord, haven’t they ever heard of piano wire?”
He jumped like he’d been shot. “Mrs. Bertie, please,” he begged, “don’t give them any ideas.” He scooped up the box and tossed it and the shoe string into the trash can.
Linc was truly upset by the matter. “Okay, I won’t give them any ideas, but you have to promise me you’ll quit letting that bully intimidate you. I can’t have you driving my equipment and being responsible for my customers when you are so easily shaken. Promise me you’ll just ignore Bubba’s attempts to scare you.”
Linc removed his hat. “I can’t let any of this put my livelihood in jeopardy. I need this job.” He scratched his head. “I won’t let anybody terrorize me again. I’ll make you that promise.”
I slapped him on the back. “Attaboy, now go pick up Millie Keats’ prescription and take it to her.” That should try out Linc’s newly-found determination; Millie always struck fear in his heart.
Several days later, I was called to Shell Street to impound a vehicle belonging to Udell Carson’s brother. He was arrested while driving his wife around in the car. Unfortunately, she was in the trunk, and it was against her will. When I arrived on the scene, Cheeter Carson, C.C. to his friends, was being loaded into an ambulance and Deedy, his wife, was in custody in the back of the squad car.
According to Deputy Kelly, Deedy took great exception to C.C.’s idea of a joke and was laying in wait with a tire iron when he opened the trunk. She got in one good surprise swing before the deputy could stop her.
I was instructed to take their car back to the yard and keep it impounded until I heard from the Chief that it was okay to release it.
Hours later a taxi stopped in front of the garage. A small, tow-headed boy bounded from the back seat. B.B. Carson, the five-year-old son of C.C. and Deedy, burst into the office while his father struggled to get out of the cab. A bandage was wrapped around C.C.’s head and covered his right eye. While he paid the driver, his son scooted a chair across the floor. Just as B.B.’s blond head appeared across the counter from me, his dad made it into the office.
“Bird Lady,” the boy shouted, “my dad and me are here to get his car. You had no right to pound his car.” With that, B.B. hammered his fist against the counter top. “You just took it from him and pounded it and pounded it.” Bang. Bang. “You’re going to be sorry you pounded Dad’s car.” Bang. Bang.
I reached out and captured the little tot’s arm. “I didn’t pound your dear ol’ dad’s car. I impounded it.” He twisted out of my grasp and slammed his hand down again.
C.C. staggered in our direction.
“Control your son,” I demanded.
He looked at me through his bloodshot, unbandaged eye. “Been there. Tried that. Ain’t going back.”
Bang. Bang. The little menace continued to thump the counter. Again I grabbed his wrist and held on for dear life. Linc entered the office.
“Get this twerp down, please,” I instructed my bewildered-looking driver.
Linc quickly approached B.B., but the boy was having no part of being lifted down. I let go of his hand just a fraction of a second before Linc seized the kid’s ankles and hung him upside down.
C.C. smiled a goofy grin. “Boy, you’re in trouble now.”
I thought he was talking to his son. I was wrong. B.B. reached up from his dangling position and latched onto Linc’s private parts and squeezed with all his might.
“I tried to warn ya.” C.C. doubled over with laughter. Linc howled with pain.
I grabbed my trusty broom and reared back. “You make him let go, now, or I’m going to make your good eye look like your other one,” I yelled at C.C.
He complied with my request. Linc doubled over and waddled into Pop’s office. C.C. placed his little darling on a chair. “Don’t move again, or I’ll feed you to Booger Bailey’s goat.”
The boy looked up at me, his lip quivering. “You better not pound my daddy’s car again, Bird Lady.”
Before I could stop myself, I stuck out my tongue at him.
I pulled the tow truck next to the curb outside the Chow Pal Diner. I called our lunch order in and all I had to do was pick it up for Linc and me. Filled with many locals, the restaurant buzzed with chatter and the clamor of dishes. From the exposed cook surface, grilling burgers and onions sizzled, filling the air with an inviting aroma. Unfortunately, my stomach saw it as an interruption in its continuous undulating. I needed to grab my order and get out of there as fast as possible.
I waited at the register for the young pimply-faced boy to bag my food. From the corner of my eye, I saw someone approaching. Carrie Sue MacMillan.
I greeted her with a warm smile. “Hi, Carrie Sue.”
She leaned closer. “When the divorce is final, can I have back the toaster I gave you and Arch?” she whispered.
I should have been shocked, but versions of that question had burned their way into my ears for the past several days. “We aren’t getting a divorce. Contrary to what you’ve heard, I haven’t had an affair with my driver. Arch is the father of my baby.” I forced a smile I was sure was nothing less than a smirk.
“I’m glad to hear that. I couldn’t believe the woman who was always such a prude would have sex with someone other than her husband just days after they were married.”
“I’m not a prude about sex.” Shouldn’t I have been more upset by the affair reference than by the word prude? And shouldn’t I have said that just a little softer than I did?
Mildred Locke happened by. “I guess you’ve proven that, haven’t you?” She balanced a tray loaded with plates of food. I thought about tripping her, but, of course, I didn’t.
By this time, the noise had lowered to whispered tones. I didn’t have to look around to know all eyes were on me. This was all Millie Keats’ fault. I should have driven her through town strapped to the back of my tow truck with her using Chief Kramer’s bullhorn to tell Sweet Meadow’s citizens that Linc had not knocked me up on a golf cart.
Now my headache matched the unrest going on in my stomach. I snatched my food from the boy at the register. “It’s Arch’s baby,” I snarled at him.
“Ookkaayy,” he said.
He appeared to be the only person in the place who didn’t know or care about my alleged infidelity. I whirled on my heel, tossed my chin into the air, and marched my purple coverall-clad behind out the door. The vicious rumor was beginning to yank on my nerves. Surely it would die before too long.
I almost reached my truck when County Commissioner “Jack” Bigham waved and rushed toward me.
“Mrs. Fortney. Bertie. I’ve wanted to talk to you.” His apple cheeks flushed pink from the cool air.
“Mr. Bigham, have any good tips for me?”
He once tried to scare me by writing me odd letters, and always closed them with a tip of the day. He was a strange little duck, but once I got to know him, I even voted for him in the local election.
“No tips today,” he chuckled. “I was wondering, though.” He appeared to be searching for the right words. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
Those were nowhere near the words I thought he was searching for. “Is there a special reason I would do that?” I asked.
His build could only be described as small stature, but sometimes, to appear confident, he puffed out his chest like a rooster about to crow.
“Since you will soon be divorced, I thought maybe you’d be needing some male companionship.” He winked. “It’s okay with me if you are having another man’s child. I’d be glad to raise it as my own.” Was that a smile or a leer smeared on Jack’s face?
I didn’t like the horrible path our conversation was taking. “The only male I need is my husband. Everything you’ve heard is a big fat lie. My baby belongs to Arch, and we are never getting divorced. Never. Never. Never. Do you understand?”
I deflated Jack’s swollen chest and slumped his shoulders in one fell swoop.
“I’m sorry, Jack, but surely you didn’t believe that rumor, did you?” I gave him credit for being more insightful than that.
“You can’t blame a guy for trying. I thought it was too good to be true.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“I’m flattered.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Well, maybe I do have a tip for you. You might want to have a talk with Millie Keats. She’s confused and very convincing.” He nodded his goodbye and hurried on his way.
“Thanks,” I called to him. “I intend to do that very thing.” I’d better do it today. I didn’t want to give her another day to fan the flames of the bonfire raging through Sweet Meadow.
I dropped off lunch at the garage, but my tummy voted against eating right then. Evidently hearing the word pregnant is the stimuli for morning sickness to start. What a misnomer. For the past couple of days, I suffered from morning, noon, and night sickness. Just being in the office with lunch in a bag in the corner made me nauseous.
“Linc, I’m going out for a while.” He glanced at me over the top of his huge burger and nodded.
Out in the open air, I looked at the sky. The sun warmed my face and soothed my uneasy stomach. Such were the trials of having a baby. My heart swelled. I was having a baby. Arch’s baby.
The time had come for me to have a little talk with Millie Keats. It would be a job to undo what she had done, but I had to start somewhere. My mission—to stifle Millie.
When I arrived at her front door, I found it open. Music blared from inside. I knocked, but she didn’t hear me. Slowly opening the screen door, I eased into the house.
“Millie,” I yelled. “Millie, it’s me, Bertie.” Still no sign of her. I made my way through her living room filled with gold velvet furniture, hand-crocheted doilies, and ceramic figurines. Closer to the dining room, I caught my first glimpse of Millie. One I hoped wouldn’t scar my unborn child.
With her back to me, the eighty-plus-year-old woman danced to a disco tune. Dressed in black exercise tights and leotards with a pair of bright yellow thong panties over top, she gyrated her hips seductively toward an imaginary partner. With one foot firmly on the floor, she used her other like riding a scooter to turn her swaying body to face me.
She screamed. “For God’s sake, Bertie, are you trying to kill me?” She clutched her chest and slumped to a nearby chair.
“I’m sorry.” I rushed to her. “Can I get you something?”
She pointed toward the CD player. I turned off the loud music.
“Are you all right?” I took a seat in a chair next to her.
“I guess so. What are you doing here?” She appeared to be okay.
“I came to talk to you about the rumor you started about Linc knocking me up on a golf cart. You know that isn’t true; why would you say something like that?”
“How do I know it isn’t true? All I know is that every time I’ve asked you to send that hottie to take me somewhere, you refused. Now I find out you were just keeping him for yourself.” Millie rose, placed her hands on her hips, and sucked in her stomach. “But wait until he gets a look at the firm, luscious body I’m working on just for him. You won’t stand a chance.”
I rose and ran out the front door. Behind me, Millie hollered, “I need a ride to my Garden Club meeting at four.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning to face her, I placed my fists on my hips. “The only ride I’ll ever give you again is to the moon. You have moved past being a fruitcake to being a vicious old woman.”
Wow. That hurt my soul. I should have more compassion for someone who had lived so many years. She had earned her right to senility. I felt bad for the sharp, hurtful words I spewed in a moment of frustration.
Once inside the truck, I glanced back at the porch. Hurt plainly showed on Millie’s face, leaving me feeling like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. I forced a smile and waved at her. “I’ll pick you up at four.” I drove away.
Only I could go to reprimand someone for wreaking havoc in my life and come away feeling crummy and agreeing to do something for that person I didn’t want to do. If I hurried, I’d have time to eat my cold lunch and be back to Millie’s by four.
Petey needed new panties and pajamas. Saturday morning was designated as a mother-daughter shopping day. So, we were off to Panties ‘R Us where Donna Carson had recently been made Panty-Bin Manager.
My daughter picked out a nightgown with a hippie-flower print and a pair of pajamas jazzed up with Dufus the St. Bernard. I gathered cotton panties colored to co-ordinate with several of her favorite outfits. Why? I wasn’t sure, since hopefully no one except Petey would know whether her drawers matched her blouse, but it seemed important to her.
At the counter, Donna smiled widely. “Hey, Bertie. How’s things going?” She took the items from Petey and me and punched buttons on the cash register.
Excitement surged through me. I finally found someone I could tell about the baby.
“Things couldn’t be better.” Surely I was radiating. Pride surrounded me. “I’m preg—“
“I hear you’re going to have a brother or sister.” Donna interrupted, and directed her statement to Petey who nodded with enthusiasm.
Foiled again.
“I hope it’s a sister. I don’t want no brother.” Petey twitched her nose like she smelled something bad.
“Okay then, I’ll help you pray for a baby sister.” Donna glanced back at me. “Congratulations. Tell Arch the same for me.”
I nodded.
“By the way, Bertie, I planned to call you later in the afternoon. I’m going to Bridgemont for a managers’ meeting. Isn’t that where your brother Bobby and his family are?”
He lived not too far over the Georgia line in Tennessee. Bridgemont was only a ten-minute drive from his town.
“Yeah, he does.”
“I’d like to get his phone number so I can call when I hit town. Maybe I’ll get a chance to visit with him and Estelle.” While Donna finished ringing up my purchase, I scribbled Bobby’s phone number on a piece of paper. As she handed me my change, I handed her the information she wanted.
Petey and I rounded out our day together with a milkshake. We toasted to many more mother-daughter days and voted to see who had the best milk mustache.
Sunday morning arrived with a deluge pounding against our bedroom window. Climbing out of bed didn’t sound like much fun, so I pulled the covers over my head and hoped that, at least for another hour or so, the world could rotate without my help.
One loud, annoying ring shrilled from the phone. I peeked out from my hiding place to see the clock. Seven-thirty. From the kitchen, I heard Arch talking, and I smelled coffee. Let me interpret my thoughts at that point. Arch and coffee equals a good thing. Seven-thirty phone call on Sunday morning equals bad thing.
My wonderful, handsome husband magically appeared at the side of the bed.
“I brought you coffee.” After setting a mug of the steaming brew on the nightstand, he handed me the phone. “Bobby wants to talk to you.”
“Me?” I pointed to myself. Arch nodded. Bobby never called me. Especially early Sunday morning. Like I’ve already said—a bad thing.
“Hello?”
“Ro-Bert-A, what in hell is wrong with you?” my brother bellowed.
At first I was stunned. My brother loved me, but his words spewed venom. My brain zinged and buzzed like it had short-circuited. Why was Bobby attacking me? Had I broken a commandment, like murder or adult . . . ?
“It’s Arch’s baby, you idiot.” The brutal rumor had now crossed state lines. “How could you believe such a thing? You know I love Arch. I’d never sleep with another man.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Bobby’s voice choked. “Estelle,” he yelled a little too loud for my tender ears, “Bertie’s having a baby. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
My sister-in-law hollered from the background, “Congratulations.”
“Oh, yeah,” Bobby said to his wife, “I forgot to tell you it’s Arch’s baby. Although I would have assumed that went without saying.”
“Woohoo!” Estelle cheered. “Give Arch a big hug for me.”
Confused is the only word I could think of to describe what I felt. “You mean you didn’t know about the baby?” I asked.
“No, how long have you known? Why haven’t you called us?”
I rubbed my temple near my right eye. Dang, that annoying twitch had returned. “If you didn’t call because you’d heard about the baby, then why?”
“Oh, yeah, that.” He lost some of his initial harshness. “I just wanted to let you know when I see you again, I’m going to kill you.”
“I think Arch will frown upon that unless you wait until after the baby is born.” I rose to a sitting position. “Just so I know, what have I done that’s worth dying for?”
“You gave Donna Carson my phone number and now she wants to stay here at our house while she’s in town for a meeting.”
“I had no idea that was her intent. She just said she wanted to visit with you while she’s in town. You, of course, told her no, didn’t you?”
“Would you refuse Donna anything?” He emitted a nervous giggle.
I didn’t have to think very long about that. For as long as I could remember, Donna’s nickname had been “The Vindictive.” The sad truth was I was afraid of her, too. “No, I wouldn’t have told her no either.”
A quick glance at the clock and I knew my lazy time had come to an end. “Sorry. I never thought about her asking to stay with you. That wasn’t what she said she wanted your number for.” Taking a sip of hot coffee, I put my feet into my slippers and stood.
“I guess I’ll forgive you since you’re making me an uncle again.” Estelle said something inaudible in the background. “I got to run, Bert. I’m singing in the choir this morning. We have a new choir director, and he hates it when anyone is late. He points you out with his baton. Love ya. Bye.”
A choir director who hated for members to be late and who pointed you out if you were. Sounded like Homer King. Our old director made a quick disappearance after he dared to grab my behind. I heard he moved to Tennessee. Could Handy Homer now oversee the music at Bobby’s church? Naw, that would be too weird.
As I dressed for church, I reflected on the fact I finally got to tell someone about the baby, and what did I do? I drew attention to the rumor of my infidelity. Sadness burned behind my eyes causing them to mist. A happy time of my life was overshadowed by untruths. Tears ran down my cheeks and dripped off my jaw line. They left two matched spots on my mint green silk blouse. I’d have to change.
I pulled the garment over my head and got my earring caught in the material. With care, I worked to get it free, but the more I tried the more tangled it became. By this time, waterworks flooded my face. Mascara ran rampant. I couldn’t stop crying.
Arch came to my rescue. “Here, honey, let me help.”
He set me free from my captor. “Why are you crying?” Using his thumb, he wiped away my tears.
“Everyone thinks I’m carrying Linc’s baby. I thought the rumor would die, but it hasn’t. Everywhere I go, people stare and point and even verbally condemn me.” Burying my face against his white dress shirt, I sobbed and sobbed. Arch held me. He stroked my hair and whispered sweet things in my ear.
“No one believes that story. They are just having a good time with you. Not one person has said that to me. Here.” He moved to the sink and wet a wash cloth. “Wipe your face.” He handed me the cloth. “We’re going to be late for church. Finish getting dressed.”
We both looked at the front of his shirt, soiled with make-up and tears. “You’ll have to change. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s worth it if I helped you to feel better.”
“You have,” I lied. As long as everyone continued with their flight from reality about my baby’s father, nothing would make me feel better.
Once we shed ourselves of tear-stained clothes, Arch and I, along with Petey, made it to Sweet Meadow Baptist Church seconds before the doors closed. Thankfully, we were counted as present by the Garden Club ladies whose mission in life was to keep track of who did or did not attend Sunday morning worship. We took our usual seats next to Rex and Mary Lou. She and I sat together in church since we were in elementary school. Our marriages hadn’t changed that.
“Are you okay?” my best friend whispered.
I nodded, not daring to speak for fear I’d burst into sobs again.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Arch squeezed my hand and gave me a peck on the cheek. Rising, he made his way down the aisle next to the beautiful stained-glass windows, all the way through the door leading behind the pulpit and choir loft. The bathrooms were back there, too.
I started to tell Mary Lou about the sadness I’d been feeling, but the organ began to play, and Reverend Miller approached the pulpit. I’d talk to her later. Maybe she could help me work through some of the dog doo doo I felt like I stepped in.
“Good morning, my fellow Parishioners. What a beautiful, damp morning the Lord hath given us.” Reverend Miller’s announcement brought many amens from the congregation. “Before we begin, Arch Fortney has a few words he’d like to say.” The Reverend greeted my husband with a handshake.
After a few awkward moments of Arch adjusting the microphone and me sliding down in my seat, he cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” sang all the curious people seated around me.
“I know most of you are aware that my wife, Bertie,” he nodded in my direction just in case there was one person among them who hadn’t already turned to look at me, “is having a baby.”
What was he doing? I motioned for him to come back to his seat. He shook his head. If I slid further down, I’d be on the floor.
“Bertie and I have heard the rumors running wild in our town.” As he spoke, I held my breath. “As a matter of fact, my wife has actually been accosted by people who have known her all her life. People who watched her grow up right here in this church and know the true person she is.”
While some emitted obligatory amens, others snickered. Some just coughed.
My face flamed. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I want to set the record straight so Bertie and our daughter Petey and I can move on with the joy that comes from bringing a baby into this world. Bertie’s baby is also my baby. Not her wrecker driver’s. That’s a vicious tale started by a misguided elderly woman who misconstrued the details of an accident Bertie had.”
He became quiet. I dared to peek out at him. His kind expression melted the terror in my heart. How brave my hero was to stand up there and defend me in front of some of the most judgmental people God ever put on Earth.
The muscles in the corners of my mouth had just started to form a gratuitous smile when a commotion erupted from the Garden Club’s line of blue-haired women. Millie Keats stood.
“That’s not true,” she said. She pointed her bony finger to her chest. “I haven’t screwed anything in a long time.” She motioned in my direction. “Bertie’s the one who has all the explaining to do. She’s the one who got knocked up on a golf cart.”
Laughter exploded through the congregation.
“Excuse me.” Arch tried to get their attention. “Excuse me.” Finally, they quieted.
“She was knocked off a golf cart, Mrs. Keats,” Arch said. “Knocked off. Can you understand that?”
“Well, of course I can. Why didn’t she say so?”
Lord, let me wake up and find this is all a dream, I prayed. I promise I’ll never complain about my old recurring nightmare where I am here in front of these people with no clothes on.
Somehow I made it through the worship service without spontaneously combusting. When it was over, several people rushed up to Arch and me. Handshakes and hugs abounded.
“No one believed that story, Bertie.” Ethel Winchell locked her hand onto my arm. “We were just having a little fun.”
“That’s right,” Helen Weidemeyer corroborated. “We get a big kick out of egging Millie on. Will you forgive us?”
“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll forgive you.”
Forgetting will be a whole different situation.