Dashing Through the Snow (16 page)

Lily looked up from her note taking. “Do you
know that for sure? Couldn’t Mrs. Popkin have sold them to
him?”

“Yes, she could have, but she didn’t. I do
the books and I’ve not seen a purchase of that size from Mr. Landry
before.”

Lily scratched off the note she’d made in the
margin reminding herself to ask Mrs. Popkin if she’d ever sold such
a purchase to Mr. Landry. “Didn’t you like Mr. Landry, Kip? I ask,”
she said when he looked questioningly at her, “because when you
were describing his social habits a few moments ago, you seemed not
to – like him, that is.”

“Oh, that,” he said with an uncomfortable
chuckle. “That has to do with my wife. She wanted me to invite him
to our Christmas party – ”

“Why?”

Kip winced in embarrassment. “Because of whom
he is. I’ve tried to explain to her how inappropriate that would
be, but she refuses to listen. Her argument is that it would just
be a few friends hanging out together and there’s no harm in it,
and mine is that he’s not our friend, so there’s no reason why he
would hang with us. We’ve been arguing about it for a couple of
weeks now, so the phrase sets off a trigger. Sorry.”

“Hmm.” Lily was noncommittal as she wrote
down
Mrs. Beech = social climber
. “Just to satisfy my own
curiosity, Kip, what do the numbers you’ve mentioned refer to – the
six by sixty?”

Kip smiled. “Oh, those numbers convey length
and thickness respectively.”

Lily closed her pad. “Okay, I think that’s
going to do it. Thanks, Kip – ”

“Don’t you want to know about the strange man
I saw him with a couple of weeks ago?”

She did a double take. “What? What man?”

“It will be two weeks ago this coming Friday.
I saw Mr. Landry and the stranger standing at the well. The man
didn’t look like he was from around here -- had big city written
all over him. He was rather large, my height, but not quite as
wide. I didn’t see his face because he was wearing a Fedora of a
chocolate brown. He also wore long coat of camel-colored wool. I
can tell you, though, that I didn’t like his body language. It was
too aggressive, dangerous. I saw a lot of that kind of thing when I
lived in the city for school. Anyway, I could swear he was
threatening Mr. Landry.”

“Really? And what did Mr. Landry look
like?”

“He looked a bit nervous, which is why I was
preparing to go out, you know, just to check and make sure
everything was okay, but by the time I reached the door, the man
was walking away. When I got to Mr. Landry and asked if he were
okay, he was perfectly composed and denied that anything was
wrong.”

“Young lady, I do not haggle over my cigars.
The price is the price and that is
final
.”

Lily looked into Mrs. Popkin’s kind, but
determined stare and knew this was one proprietor she wouldn’t be
able to cajole into a bargain. “All right,” she said reluctantly,
“but I’ll only take eight.” She’d been trying to get the other
woman to give her a twenty percent discount off a dozen.

Undeterred, Mrs. Popkin asked, “Which
kind?”

“The CAO Gold. Those are the kind I’ve seen
him smoke before.”

Mrs. Popkin gave her a big smile, which Lily
couldn’t ignore, and scooped out the cigars. “You’ve made an
excellent choice,” she told Lily as she took the cigars over to the
counter.

Lily followed her, reminding herself that
though she could probably find the cigars online at a pretty big
discount, Kip – and by extension Mrs. Popkin – had been of great
help to her and she owed them the sale. She looked at her watch. It
was close to four. She’d head home after this stop and do a little
research.

“I’m sure glad you came back,” Mrs. Popkin
continued to chatter as she boxed the cigars. “For a while I didn’t
think you would.”

“Why?” Lily asked in distraction as she
handed over her credit card. She’d spotted a pipe display. She had
another uncle who smoked a pipe and thought she’d found another
perfect gift. “I told you I would,” she said as she began to study
the pipes individually.

“I know you did, but that Mr. Cameron seemed
like he could be pretty persuasive. I knew I shouldn’t have
listened to him and tried to get you to leave without talking to
Kip, but he’s just so—”

“Wait. Hold up.” Lily stopped her study of
the display to fix a glare on Mrs. Popkin, who now looked like a
deer caught in headlights. “That whole bit about the store getting
busy was
Smith’s
idea?” Her eyes narrowed as she thought
about him kissing her outside. “I’ll kill him,” she muttered, so
angry that she actually felt her body temperature rise.

***

Smith inserted his key into the lock of his
small rental home and pushed the door open. The smell of Texas
chili hit him immediately and his stomach growled in anticipation.
“Uncle Rowdy,” he called as he tossed his keys into a small wicker
basket on a side table. “Something sure smells good!” Whistling, he
followed the scents to the kitchen.

“Hey, Unc, what’s up?” he asked the short
balding man who stood at his stove.

“Sit yourself down there, boy,” the man said
gruffly without turning around from the stove. “You’re just in time
for dinner. It’s my famous five-star chili. You always did like
it.”

Smith first washed and dried his hands at the
sink before sitting. He watched as his uncle turned from the stove
and carried a stoneware bowl full of chili over to the small table.
He took the bowl gratefully. “Thanks, Unc; I appreciate it. It
smells delicious.” He began loading his chili with the condiments
Rowdy had already set out on the table. He went with the shredded
cheese first, added chopped onions and then the sour cream. He put
a big heaping spoonful into his mouth and groaned when his taste
buds exploded with heat and flavor.

Both he and his uncle ate quietly for a few
minutes, the taste and smell reminding them of home. Finally, after
swallowing one more spoonful, Smith said, “Ah, this is perfect
Uncle Rowdy, especially after the day I had.”

“Well, it’s the perfect day for it, anyhow,”
Rowdy said as he adjusted his wide girth in his chair. “I got up
this morning and just had a hankering to make it, so I did.”

“Lucky thing we had the ingredients,” Smith
said as he scooped up some chili with a tortilla chip.

“Don’t you try to fool me, boy,” his uncle
grunted. “I know you brought most of them ingredients with you to
this god forsaken tundra. They might have driven you out of Texas,
but your mama told me that you made sure you had your essentials
before you left.”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Smith warned
and rose to get more chili.

Rowdy ignored the warning. “Ain’t no point in
not talking about it. That hateful gal drove you out and I’m just
wondering when you’re gonna get your revenge and take care of the
matter. My bones can’t take much more of this kinda cold, boy. It’s
downright unnatural.”

Smith chuckled as he sat back across from the
older man. He studied him. Rowdy Ballinger was his mother’s uncle
and had lived with them off and on for as long as Smith could
remember. The longest dry spell without Rowdy as a houseguest had
been when the Cameron family had lived in Sheffield-Chatham. The
most disreputable member of the Ballinger and Cameron family, Rowdy
talked like a salesman, made promises like a liar and wandered the
world – mostly Texas and the rest of the Southwest – like a
rootless vagabond. He never kept a job long, always had unrealistic
fantasies about wealth and never met a fast con or a get-rich-quick
scheme he didn’t like. But he was, and always would be, Smith’s
favorite relative. Rowdy was a generous man with a simple
philosophy: live and let live.

He simply thought differently than the rest
of the world. As a result, he’d come to be known in the family and
the surrounding community as “special.” When Rowdy did something
out of the ordinary, people would excuse it with, “You said Rowdy,
Rowdy Ballinger did it? Oh,” they’d say with a wave of their hand
before preparing to get back to whatever they’d been doing before
they’d been interrupted, “it’s all right. He’s special.”

One hot, sweltering day, Rowdy had
commandeered a school bus to take all the neighborhood kids to Six
Flags. He’d been fined by the police and had spent a night in jail,
but the response from the parents of those kids had been, “Old
Rowdy’s special. He meant well, and besides, the kids had fun,
didn’t they?”

There had been stories like that for as long
as Smith could remember, and while he didn’t mind his uncle, he
knew other people would. Rowdy was always welcomed in a Ballinger
home, and the family took turns putting him up. Now, though, Smith
worried that people wouldn’t be quite as tolerant as they once had
been. Times had changed, but Rowdy hadn’t. His parents and aunts
and uncles were getting older and at seventy-five, Rowdy could be a
handful. He’d never married and had no children, so Smith gladly
took him in as his own responsibility.

Smith knew that none of his cousins would be
as patient with Rowdy, so when he had packed up his car and rental
trailer to leave Dallas, he’d packed up Rowdy as well, along with
everything else that meant something to him. “What did you do
today, Uncle Rowdy?” he said to him now. “Did you get out at all?”
His uncle had refused to leave the house since they’d gotten to
Sheffield-Chatham, and this worried Smith. Rowdy was normally an
active man, but now all he seemed to want to do was sit at home all
day and watch television. That would be okay if he didn’t do it
alone, but Smith thought Rowdy needed companionship, especially at
his age.

Rowdy avoided his gaze, but Smith caught the
hint of apprehension in the green eyes that were usually alive with
mischief. “I done told you, Smith; that it’s too blamed cold out
there for me. Even that fancy winter coat you bought me won’t keep
me warm, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I ever wear those earmuff
things you bought. I’d look like a dang fool!”

In contrast to Rowdy’s excitable recitation,
Smith was unruffled as he said, “All right, then, you don’t have to
wear the earmuffs. Your cowboy hat will do just fine. I checked the
schedule for that senior’s club they have down there at the
community center. They’re starting up bowling teams. You love
bowling.”

“Not in the mood,” Rowdy said irascibly. “I
don’t know why you won’t just let me be about it.”

“‘Cause I don’t like the idea of you staying
here all day just to clean up after me and cook and watch
television.”

“I don’t see why it should bother you, when
it doesn’t me. It’s my life, ain’t it? Besides, I like to
cook.”

Smith sighed. “That’s all well and good,
Uncle Rowdy, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re
not all that great of a cook. A man can’t live on chili and tacos
alone, which seem to be the extent of your culinary expertise.”
They’d been sharing the cooking duties since they moved to
Sheffield-Chatham, and every night but tonight, Rowdy had served
tacos on his nights. They’d had chicken tacos, beef tacos, shrimp
tacos, pork tacos, fish tacos. Hell, one night he’d even served
scrambled eggs and beans in hard shells, saying when Smith looked
puzzled, “They’re both a protein, ain’t they? Now shut up and
eat.”

To which Smith had replied, “Maybe next time
you’ll add bacon. You know it’s my favorite.”

“And I suppose you want me to serve a meal
like you had the other night at Glenda and Peter’s,” Rowdy growled
now.

“Of course not, but that reminds me, you
could go visit them sometimes. They’re just a few blocks away, and
they’d love to see you. If you don’t want to walk, I could drop you
off and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind bringing you back here whenever
you were ready to leave. Aunt Glenda is retired and Uncle Peter is
semi-retired, so they’ve got time for visitors.”

“I haven’t seen those two in twenty years. I
can’t just go barging in.”

Smith decided it was best to give in for now.
“Just tell me you’ll think about it.”

“All right,” Rowdy said with a nod. “I’ll
think about it. Now, back to you and your unceremonious departure
from Texas.

“It wasn’t like I was run out on a rail,”
Smith retorted, knowing if he didn’t say something, his uncle would
just keep on him about it. “I didn’t
have
to go.”

Clearly Rowdy disagreed. “Humph. That’s not
the way I saw it. They might as well have said ‘here’s your hat,
what’s your hurry,’ as they shoved you across the flippin’ border.
And it’s all that ornery little heifer’s fault. I told you not to
get involved with that snakey bitch when you first met her. But
would you listen to me? No! And now here you are – exiled. You’re a
man without a country, hoss.”

Smith didn’t respond. He just continued to
eat his chili.

“And what about Peter and Glenda’s gal?
What’s her name? You’re always goin’ on about her.”

Smith lifted a brow. As far as he knew, he
hadn’t talked to his uncle about Lily in years – when he was
nineteen and his hormones had strongly brought home the point that
she wasn’t actually related to him and that she was more than just
a little girl. Frowning, he said, “What about her?”

“Why don’t you ask her out on a date or
somethin’? It might take your mind off your troubles.”

“Hmm,” was all Smith said before going back
to his meal. Lily had been on his mind for the rest of the day
after he’d seen her and he didn’t need his uncle reminding him of
her, especially since he knew Mrs. Popkin had probably blabbed to
Lily about his lame idea to get rid of her and there would be hell
to pay when he next saw her.

“Don’t you stonewall me, boy. You still got
feelings for her, I know it. You young people always make things
more complicated than they have to be. I don’t see why you don’t
just snatch her up and be done with it.”