Focused Page 9

  “Them creeks are tricky. Get run off from the river and up they go.” Mrs. Owens shook her head. “Happened to me three o’ four years back.”

  “It’s not your fault, Miz Perkins.” Christina’s offering of tea and sympathy landed flat. Mrs. Perkins probably didn’t remember her. Maybe she mistook her for Bud’s ex.

  The ever hospitable Mrs. Owens came to the rescue. “Do you remember Christina? One of the ol’ River Rats. Her grandfather was Mr. Spencer, the lawyer from San Antonio who helped out your uncle.”

  Immediate acceptance dawned on the woman’s face as they reached the gate. “Nice to see ya again. Ya all grown up, ain’t cha? Dorothy, I can smell the pie from here.”

  Jenny wriggled down off Christina’s hip and headed in. The screen slapped behind her.

  “That child’s mother taught her no manners. Sorry.” Mrs. Perkins waddled her head.

  “She’s an angel, Vivian. Looks like her daddy.” Mrs. Owens held the screen open for her guest. She could placate a mountain lion if necessary. Christina let her elders pass per protocol. There was a pecking order in the Hill Country.

  Thirty minutes later the three muddy men arrived. The older women doled out towels and firm instructions to leave their boots on the stoop. The two dogs snoozed together on the hearth, Mrs. Perkins’ cuddled into the ribs of Rex. Christina looked up from reading a story to Jenny, who had purple smudges around her mouth. On the table sat three coffee cups and plates in front of a half-consumed pie.

  “We left ya some. Lessin’ you want me to heat up what’s left of supper.” Mrs. Owens said to the men.

  “I’d be plum stupid to turn down a piece of yer pie, Dorothy.” Tom took off his cap and scratched his head.

  “We got your car up. Water’s all inside. Your mats are soaked. Better leave it to air out,” Bud reported to Mrs. Perkins. “Wouldn’t try starting the engine just yet.”

  “Well, Joe can come git me when the creek goes down. He’s playin’ poker at Bubba’s.”

  “Oh yeah. It is Poker night. You can use the Nextel to call him, Vivian,” Bob Owens offered. “Phone’s still crackly from the wet lines.”

  Bud gazed at Christina with the child on her lap. A faraway look lingered in his eyes. He crouched down, sitting on his sock heels. “Is there someone you need to call?” he quietly addressed his old friend, a hint of “I hope not” in his voice.

  “Oh, yes. But my cell wouldn’t work.”

  Bud momentarily cast his eyes to the ground. “The Nextel does. You know he wouldn’t mind.” He nodded toward his father talking to the other women.

  “I’ll keep it short. Show me how to use it? Jeff has one but I never…”

  Little Jenny squirmed in her lap and, as she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, whined “But you haven’t finished the story.”

  “They lived happily ever after,” Christina said as she lifted the child off her lap.

  “AAhhh. They always do,” Jenny pouted.

  Bud took Christina’s hand to help her up. “Not always,” he stated under his breath.

  Chapter 16 Once Upon A time

  Christina gave Bud a stern look, released her hand from his then went to ask Mr. Owens if she could use the Nextel after Mrs. Perkins. When it was her turn, Bud showed her how to use it, standing a little too close. His warm breath smelled of beer and brisket, surprisingly comforting and homey. The masculine sweat aroma from his shirt mingled with starch and clothesline smells. Christina edged away from him to gain composure and took the phone outside onto the porch to make her call. The year’s first fireflies hovered above the grass as she breathed deep to ease the surge in her pheromones.

  Three rings. Four…

  “Hello?” came the familiar voice, a little too gruff. A cold tingle splashed her chest. She cleared her throat. What was she going to say?

  “Jeff, it’s me. Hi.” Okay, you can do this. Keep it brief.

  “Hi? Where are you? Working late? I thought everyone was back again.” His voice sounded tentative. They hadn’t exactly left this morning on amicable terms. It was this morning wasn’t it? To Christina it could have been a decade ago, maybe three. In her peripheral vision she caught Bud’s shadow moving in the wedged golden glow of the kitchen light through the screen. Katydids began to shrill in the trees over the roof.

  “No. I took a day off. Jeff, look I can’t go into it all now. I’m on Mr. Owens’ Nextel and I have to keep it brief.”

  “Okay … Mr. Owens?”

  “Yeah. Our old neighbors up here. On the river. Remember? I had to come up to the cabin. There was a flood. I’m kinda stranded. Probably until tomorrow. My cell doesn’t work right now. Can you call and leave a message for me at work?” Why did I call in sick?

  “I guess. Sure.” His voice was vague. “Owens.” He repeated to jog his memory. “Didn’t they have a son named Bud? You two were close in high school. Is he still there?”

  She steadied her voice. “Yes. Look, just tell them there was an emergency and I had to go out of town. This time it was my turn.”

  “Sure. Okay.” Pause.”You alright?”

  “Yeah.” The screen’s spring screeched a long groan then whopped closed. She saw Bud out of the corner of her eye.

  “Hey, Chris, you’re staying here tonight, right?”

  She said a little louder into the Nextel, “I miss you, hon. Love ya. Bye.”

  “Wait, Chrisitina…” Jeff’s words halted in space when she clicked off.

  “Stay?” she asked.

  Bud eased his six-foot frame over to the rail and leaned on it, looking out at the purple hills fading into blurs with the last light of the day. “Maw and Paw were asking. It’s okay.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked out into the yard. “Look. They have plenty of room. I’m staying in the bunkhouse by the barn. They converted it into a guest house years ago so when we came to visit…” The rest of his words became lost in his thoughts.

  Christina looked at an old friend, an injured one. She touched his forearm. “That’s sweet. But I’ll be fine down the hill. I might come for coffee in the morning.”

  He kept looking straight ahead. “It was forever ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. We made better friends than sweethearts.”

  Bud kicked the post with his boot.”I really screwed that up, didn’t I?” He swallowed the memories back down. The steel blue eyes clouded.

  “No. Life did. We just weren’t meant for each other, Bud. Not that way.”

  He kicked the post again, harder, and turned from her. “Yeah, well Alice wasn’t either.” He stomped down the steps, head down with both hands shoved deep into his jean pockets.

  She watched a once proud and sometimes obnoxiously loud guy slump off like a wounded animal. She remembered the whistle he used to make to let her know he was at the riverfront. She’d dash out the door, down the path and cannonball in beside him. He’d been there to hold her heart from falling to pieces when her first love broke it off with her. She cried on Bud’s shoulder and he got her stinking’ drunk for the first time in her life. It helped numb the pain and they laughed until she puked. Then he snuck her into the cabin under her parent’s radar and tucked her into her bed. It took her years to get over that guy. She barely dated all through college.

  Bud never brought it up again. He was well named. He was her bud. She hurt for him. She saw through the macho big guy image. She rubbed the lens of her new glasses with her T- shirt and turned to go back inside. No, he let me see through it.

  She handed the Nextel back to its owner with a smile. “Here’s your phone, sir. Thanks.”

  “Everythin’ okey-dokey at the home fires?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She did a half turn. “Mrs. Owens, can I help you with the dish… oh, you did them.”

  “Do ‘em every night. Don’t fret yerself. You stayin’ the night?”

  “No. I’ll be fine down there. But I’d love a hot shower. Water heater’s off. The river’s not quite fi
t for bathing.”

  They all laughed. Everyone knew you didn’t go in the water until it turned back to green. That was rule number one. “Even without the flooding, it’d be too cold for my bones. Only time it’s half way decent is mid-August,” Mr. Owens chuckled. “Go on girlie. You have the first slot.”

  Christina nodded. “After that, do you want me to take y’all home, Mrs. Perkins? I can walk down and get my car…”

  “Oh, Heavens no, dear. Sweet of you to go an’ offer. My Joe’s coming for me and Jenny here. I think I just might hear him now.”

  “Goodnight, then. Jenny, next time we’ll finish that story, okay?” Christina turned to the child who sat on the floor, petting the dogs.

  “I’ve heard it before. She eats the apple and the dwarfs take care of her ‘til her prince comes and kisses her.” The five year old synopsized with a shrug.

  “Lucky girl,” Christina said and cupped her hand under Jenny’s chin. “I hope your prince comes someday, too.”

  “Did yours?”

  Christina felt all eyes on her. She swallowed and whispered, “Yes. He did.” Though sometimes he can be an ogre. She walked down the hall to take her shower. But, then, I’m no princess at times, either.

  It was a tub enclosure, thank goodness. No tight space. Towels hung on the bars with a hand towel and washcloth folded on the sink counter. An extra house robe draped neatly over the toilet seat. Mrs. Owens had been there alright, in anticipation of housing a stranded guest, though whether that was her or Mrs. Perkins and Jenny, Christina could not be sure. She figured using a capful of shampoo was allowed, but not thirty gallons of hot steaming water. She resisted the urge to linger under its stream.

  After her shower, she wiped the tub, just as she’d been taught. Next, she laid out another towel and wash cloth and smoothed the steam from the bathrobe, ready for the next user. Closing the door a touch to let the steam escape, she padded barefoot on hardwood floors back into the living room. Mr. Owens was snoozing on the couch, his dog at his feet. The Perkin’s pooch had vacated its post. Jenny and Mrs. Perkins were nowhere in sight. Mrs. Owens peeked around the corner and motioned her to come into the kitchen.

  “They’re gone. He left the game to come git ‘em.”

  A gurgle, snort, grunt, then soft snores resonated from the couch.

  She nodded towards the snores. “Does that just about every night. When I start turning out the lights, he comes to bed.”

  “Jeff goes to sleep in his recliner. Until I turn the TV off.”

  The elder shook her head as she wiped her hands on her terry cloth apron. “Must be the male gene. You happy with him?”

  Christina felt the barb stab her heart — she never saw it coming.

  Chapter 17 Return the Favor

  Christina remained silent, not meeting Mrs. Owens’s eyes. How could she answer that question? Yes, no, I don’t know anymore? Had this woman seen through her so clearly?

  “Come, set a spell.” Mrs. Owens poured herself a cup of coffee and motioned to her guest to do the same.

  Christina poured herself ones as well. Obediently, she came and sat down across the table, waiting for the next barb to sling in her direction. A pair of worn, blue-veined hands patted hers, hands that had doled out grub and advice at this table for decades. “I knew yer parents a long time. Your Maw was a good woman underneath all that high falutin’ act. Yer Dad? He was a fine man. He loved her and ya’ll very much.”

  “I know. I miss him terribly. It still hurts.”

  Mrs. Owens spun the Lazy Susan so the sugar bowl landed in front of Christina’s cup. “I know, dear.”

  “Mom was wise. I know that now.” She scooped two spoonfuls into the aromatic caffeine and gently clinked the spoon in the cup. Mrs. Owens handed her the creamer in a small white ceramic cow. Christina nodded and grabbed the tail-shaped handle, watching the Half and Half spew from his mouth. Small fractures in the glaze, like spider veins, marked it’s age.

  The woman laid her hand on Christina’s arm. “Go on.”

  “Even though she stressed way too much why we kids should be mindful of how we appeared to others, unlike a lot of her friends she was . . .well, genuine. She could see through those people down into their souls. Maybe that’s why she always warned us to be careful of the way we behaved around them. She knew how deeply their silver-edged tongues could slash.”

  “Humph. Never quite heard it like that, but yes, I must say she did.”

  “She tried her best to raise us right.” Christina tilted her head, stirred her coffee some more then laid the spoon down. “Mrs. Owens. Can I ask you something? Just between us?” There was an aura about that room. Maybe it was the table with its Lazy Susan, the cup of steaming coffee, or the shower that opened up not only her pores but her soul. But she felt the bond between them—woman to woman, wife to wife.

  “Sure. Ya know I’ve always treated ya as one of my own. But ain’t it about time you called me Dorothy and him o’er yonder, Bob?”

  Christina smiled. “Alright then, . . .Dorothy. Have you always loved Mr. Owens, uh, Bob?” As if in response, a snort came from the couch as the dozing man repositioned.

  The older woman rocked back in her chair. A distant smile crossed her lips making the younger woman realize the conversation had come full circle back to the first question. Christina bit the side of her lip. Maybe I should have bitten my tongue. After an eternity of silence, while Christina fidgeted with the spoon, Dorothy finally cleared her throat and took a sip from her own cup. She set it down with purpose and looked Christina square in the eye.

  “Yes. And no. Deep down, always. There’s been days, though. . .even a few years.”

  The honesty made Christina jolt. “Really?”

  “Of course, child. I remember one thing the preacher man told me the night of our wedding rehearsal. He said, ‘Dorothy, Bob. There are going to be days when the vows you take tomorrow will mean more than the person you said them to. But it will pass.’ And it always did. I’d be fit to be tied and ready to toss him out on his ear. Then the good Lord would have that man do somethin’ nice and I’d back down and my heart would melt. ‘Course it works both ways.”

  Christina nodded and sipped her coffee. The two women were quiet for a while, each in their own thoughts, but sharing the same.

  After a few moments, Christina asked, “What happened with Bud and Alice?”

  “I don’t rightly know all of it. Bud’s so hush-mouthed. Male pride, I guess. I noticed the past few times they were up here with the kids, they seemed to be puttin’ an awful lotta space between them. Heard them havin’ a few knock-down-drag-outs, too. Last Christmas when they came they didn’t argue. I knew then it was over.”

  Christina stared, marveled by this simple old countrywoman’s wisdom.

  “Done up and moved to St. Louis. Jamie and Jon followed her. Both have jobs and Jon’s in some tech school. Alice waived child support on the youngest since she dang near makes three times as much as Bud. Maybe that was part of it.”

  “Bud is kinda old fashioned about that stuff, I guess.” Christina replied.

  “Bud’s old fashioned about too much stuff,” his mother laughed. “But I know he’s old fashioned enough to think he made a vow and he shoulda kept it.”

  “Did she leave him?”

  “That’s what I understand.” The older woman shook her head. “They’ve done made it all too easy nowadays. You know she’s got another fish on the line? Sheesh. In my day, divorce branded a woman.”

  Christina watched as Dorothy went to the sink to rinse out her cup. “Deep down don’t you think it still does? In the heart, I mean,” Christina asked. “I think it would hurt a great deal no matter who left who. Even if they thought they were better off that way.” Her words made her realize it was something she could never do—hurt Jeff that much, or herself.

  “Bud shore acts that a way.”

  “You think he would talk to me?”

  “I think the ear of an old frie
nd tried and true is exactly the medicine he needs.”

  Christina pushed her chair back. She saw the woman at the sink turn at the screech of the chair legs across the floor and watch as she pulled open the metal kitchen cabinet. There it sat on the bottom shelf, as always. She pulled out the fifth of Southern Bourbon.

  “Excuse me,” she said to her hostess as she snatched two mason jars out of the drainer.

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow.

  “Just returning an overdue favor.” Christina nodded and stepped out onto the porch. Through the open kitchen window she heard the Hill Country woman pray, “God, bless ‘em. And keep their hangovers to a minimum. I’m almost out of aspirin.”

  Chapter 18 Three Fingers

  Jeff dropped the take-out bags in the trash after he hung up from his wife. He stared at the trashcan which now held two of his meals that day, his appetite lost. The grocery store flowers looked puny compared to the ones he’d forgotten to pick up from the florist. He chunked them in the trash too. So much for trying to do her a favor.

  Just as well. He peered out the kitchen sink window. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out why his wife was up there. What emergency? He pondered whether he should call Carl. He was the executor of her parents’ estates now. But Jeff decided against it. It might bring on too many questions. Questions he didn’t have answers to and wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Jeff yawned and rubbed the cramps out of his neck. He felt a little out of sorts and achy. He decided he was just tired, so he turned out the lights, picked up the little black and white cat, and headed down the hall. Nothing on TV anyway. He didn’t feel up to reading the paper. A nice long hot shower. That would do the trick.

  Fat Cat stopped eating the kibbles in his bowl and trotted along behind them, tail straight.

  “Come on.” His master turned and waited for the cat to catch up with him. “Since she’s stranded in the Hill Country with God knows who, you get her side of the bed.”