A DIME-SIZE SPOT OF CHILE dripped off the ladle onto Lee Ann’s skirt, just above the knee. She was out of Shout. Walt’s charged double for that sort of item and she refused to pay his prices. She’d quit shopping at the Alibi Creek Store since the marquis that once announced the price of gas began advertising the cost of liquor. Plus, the combined smell of booze, cigarettes, and greasy pine floor was sickening. Mother would know a home remedy. She should’ve written down her household tips when she’d had the chance.
Perhaps Grace had stored some spot remover at Mother’s. Crossing the yard, she heard voices, a woman and man talking and laughing. Light from inside Mother’s living room window shone onto the porch. The talking and laughter stopped, replaced by footsteps shuffling through leaves. Eugene carried an armload of firewood from beneath the overhang at the end of Mother’s house up the steps. He walked erect, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Danielle stood above him, lit from behind, her shoulder against the porch post. Beside the front door, Eugene bent from the waist, gallantly almost, and placed each log precisely, as if he alone had perfected the art of stacking wood, his posture the same as when he and Lee Ann first started seeing each other—that of a man aroused, a man redefined by a woman, proud of his appeal, smug in his ability to seduce. Big man helping little lady.
She backed up, breathless. For heaven’s sake, calm down…nothing had happened…though it could…he’d never…Lord, he’d cheated with her, she with him…do it once…really now, he was trustworthy…
But Danielle…
He hadn’t laughed like that since before Walker came home…was it the night Caroline and her husband came over to play Mexican Train…or on August 21st, when Dee gave him a tiny mustache brush to comb the long wiry hairs that had begun to sprout from his eyebrows for his birthday…or the night he played the rogue and she the innocent victim…
She slipped back to the house and ate four cookies, took a bite of another one and threw it across the room, covered her face with her hands and shook with all the energy stored up from bearing up—with Walker, with the commissioners, with Mother.
Mother, Mother, Mother! All the time and effort spent caring for her. Cooking, cajoling, feeding, dressing, laundering, cleaning. Tending to her bath and toilet needs. Talking softly when a scream would better voice her frustration. Now, the skin on Mother’s legs had begun to blaze red, ooze, and stretch over swollen ankles. She’d soiled herself twice this last week. Got the hiccups after every meal. Did she have a headache, toothache, stomachache? Heartache?
Eugene, whose arms comforted, words encouraged, smile praised. Couldn’t remember the last time they’d held hands, exchanged knowing looks or pet names—Doll, Jellybean, Ever Girl, Captain, Jujube, Gumdrop, Buttercup. Couldn’t lose him. Had been losing him. He’d been slipping away since the moment Walker returned. Damn Walker, anyway. Damn him!
But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander and obscene talk from your mouth. Colossians 3:8.
The Bible. For solace. For wisdom. Read, search, understand, accept. Look to The Word to find The Way. She crossed the dining room to the round table with its perfect arrangement of Bible, bookmark, and portrait. Her pink gardening gloves had been left on the Bible and muddied the word Holy. Clumps of potting soil had fallen on Grandma Edna’s handiwork, the tiny knots and loose spaces clogged with dirt.
Scott and Dee came in, tossed their hats on the buffet, and went to the bathroom to wash up.
“You’ll have to wait for dinner tonight,” she said, whisking the Bible, blowing on it, lifting the tablecloth and running her palm underneath. “I’m busy.”
Scott turned back.
“Everything okay, Mom?”
She nodded, everything okay. She rubbed the Bible with her shirtsleeve and set it on the edge of the table. It teetered precariously and she pushed it closer to the center, dragging the tablecloth and Jesus with it. She ran outside without a jacket and hid in the trees, blowing on her fingers, pressing her knees together to prevent them from knocking.
Eugene swaggered down the steps like a teenage boy on his first date. Danielle waved. Halfway down the path he looked back and she tossed her hair, waved again.