In Front of God and Everybody (17 page)

“A while,” he said.

“What happened to her?” I asked.

He took a big gulp of coffee. “She took sick.”

I didn't have time to ponder this because Grandma nudged me under the table. She gave me a little frown and shook her head, so I figured this was one of the subjects the old man didn't want to talk about.

“You like to read?” I asked him.

“You mean books?”

“Yep,” I said. “Good, big, fat books with stories.”

He shook his big ole head. “Nah. Readin' is a pure waste of time.”

Well, I tell you what. I'd never heard such an awful thing come out of the mouth of a grown-up.

“Are you kiddin' me?” I hollered. Grandma nudged me under the table again, and I swallowed down my outrage. It took me a minute to think up something new.

“What about horses?” I asked.

Sure enough, his face lit up.

“What about 'em, young'un?”

“How come you like them so good?” I asked.

Unfortunately, the subject of horses kept his mouth going through the rest of lunch, during the grocery shopping, and most of the way home. I wanted to jump out of the truck and walk, but I knew Grandma wouldn't let me. Besides, I'd have to help her get out of the pickup without splatting to the ground. And besides that, I sat between them going home, because I thought it would help me in my quest to be a nicer person and like that old man. So I just sat there in a cloud of sweaty Old Spice and suffered. Of course, I had no idea what was about to happen, or I might have been happy to ride in that truck 'til dark-thirty.

That day, while Mr. Rance drove us home from town, I did my best to close out his voice while the three of us bounced down Rough Creek Road in that red pickup. We were almost home when, without warning, Grandma screamed at the top of her lungs and like to have scared me to death. Mr. Rance slammed the brakes so hard that the truck slid sideways in a cloud of gravel and dust. I clunked my forehead on the dashboard. For a few seconds I saw stars and wondered if I'd see Jesus next.

“Miz Grace! What's wrong?” Mr. Rance hollered.

I was still blinking, trying to clear my head, when Grandma gasped, “Oh! Oh! Did you see?” Grandma said, pointing to the side of the road. “My Queenie, my kitty. How did she get out? Oh, there!
There she goes!
Here kitty, kitty!” She opened her door, hollering, “Oh, Queenie, come back to your mommy!”

She fumbled around and unfastened her seat belt, then jumped out of the pickup and stumbled down to the dry bed of Rough Creek.

Leaving his truck cattywampus on the road, Mr. Rance got out and started yelling, “Come back here, you blasted cat! Here!” He whistled as if he thought Queenie were a Bluetick hound.

I scooted across the seat and leaped to the ground.

“She won't come to you when you're screaming at her like that,” I said.

But, of course, he couldn't hear me over the racket of his own big mouth. Grandma did her best to get up the embankment on the other side of the road, but she couldn't make it. I ran toward her. Before I got there, she skittered backward on the loose dirt and rocks and fell flat on her backside. Then she started to cry. I'd never seen her do that before.

“Don't worry, Grandma.” I patted her head. Beneath my hand, her gray hair was as soft as cotton. “I'll find Queenie and bring her home. Don't worry. Don't cry.”

She sat in the ditch, her new dress dirty, her stockings torn at the knee, and her shoes all scuffed. She hunched over her legs, breathing hard while tears poured down her cheeks and left tracks in the face powder I didn't even know she used. Her skin looked all gray and pale. I stared at her a minute, then got up and ran to Mr. Rance, who was crashing around in the brush on the opposite side of the road.

“Come 'ere, you ill-begotten feline!” he roared.

I had to grab his arm and jump up and down just to get his attention.

“I'll find Queenie,” I shouted at him, “but you need to take Grandma to the house and calm her down. She's all upset.”

Mr. Rance stood with his arms hanging loose at his sides and stared at me.

“How's 'at?”

I repeated my instructions. He nodded and went to where Grandma was trying to claw her way up the embankment again.

“Now, Miz Grace, your little'un will get your pussycat back for you,” Mr. Rance said. “Let's you and me go get us some sweet tea and cool off. You look tuckered.”

By the time I got up the other side of the embankment, he was brushing the dirt off Grandma, patting her shoulder, talking a mile a minute, and leading her back to the truck. I took one last look at the two of them, then ran into the woods to find that Queenie, who is the Weenie of the World.

I was quite a ways into the trees, hoping I'd not step on a copperhead and die a hideous death all swole-up and purple with a black tongue hanging out of my mouth, when I saw that Dumb Cat several feet away, just standing there, looking at me and twitching her tail like I annoyed her.

As I got closer, she stood real still, and I thought, well, this is gonna be easier than I expected. When I was almost close enough to catch her, she ran off again, diving over a fallen tree and some brush. She got about fifty feet when she stopped and looked back at me.

“Come here, Queenie,” I said quietly so she'd not run again.

Just about the time I reached her, she took off. This time she darted halfway up a small tree. She hung there like the dried-out shell of a jar fly, then let go, hit the ground, and started running and bounding over brush again.

“Come here, stupid!” I screamed at her, which was the wrongest thing to do because she hissed and yeowled and dashed off like the devil was after her. I knew chasing the fool just kept her going, but I didn't know what else to do. As I ran, every little once in a while, I'd see a fuzzy splotch of white.

Then she wasn't there anymore. I called until my throat hurt. I hunted in those trees and bushes, and twice I fell over rocks I didn't see under the fallen leaves. At one point, a black snake came sliding past me, and I about had a heart attack on the spot.

Now, I know you're thinking: why didn't you just go home, you silly little girl? Well, I'll tell you. When you see your grandma sitting in a ditch, crying because she lost her cat, you don't ever want to see her like that again.

So I searched the woods and fields and called, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” 'til I was dizzy. Finally, I dragged myself back home, so thirsty I was about to croak. All sweaty and dirty and scratched-up from running through woods, I crossed the back porch and went into the kitchen, figuring snooty Isabel would screw up her mouth and nose when she caught a look, but I didn't care. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, ran to the sink, and got a long, cool drink of water. Then I turned around. That's when I saw an empty kitchen. Empty of people, I mean.

On the table sat a bushel basket about half-full of unbroken beans. The other basket was on the floor beside the door, and it was full. On the cabinet was a big blue enamel pan of broken beans. Mama, Isabel, and Myra Sue were nowhere to be seen. That was weird, let me tell you.

In summer, except when she goes to church or has to run into town for something, Mama is busy in the kitchen, preserving, canning, pickling, or freezing something. I've never known her to go missing. A scared feeling poked me, and I shivered.

“Mama?”

She didn't answer. She wasn't in the living room or dining room. I was just about to go upstairs when I heard voices coming from behind the closed door of her bedroom.

I ran down the hall and without pausing to knock, I threw open the door. Isabel jumped, screeching with fright, and so did the dark-haired girl with her. The girl wore a silver, spangly dress and strappy high heels. Her makeup was so thick, she looked like a clown.

“What are you doing here, you dumb little kid?” she screamed at me. “Did you ever hear of knocking?”

I stared at Myra Sue until my eyeballs nearly fell out.

“Mama is gonna kill you,” I said.

I flinched as she approached, but instead of smacking the daylight out of me, she reached behind me and slammed the door shut.

“Hush your big mouth!” she hissed. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Cedar Ridge with Grandma.”

I was so stunned, I couldn't speak for a minute.

Her blond hair was now black. Blacker than black. So black it sucked the light right out of the room. Not only that, but it was big. Big like the girls in high school wear. Her idol, Her Isabel-ness, sat without moving or speaking.

“Mama is gonna kill you,” I said again. “K-I-L-L-Y-O-U. And where'd you get that dress? It looks like aluminum foil.” I reached out to touch it, but she smacked my hand away.

“Your sister has chosen to rise above her circumstances and embrace her inner goddess,” Isabel said.

I looked at Isabel and said, “
Inner goddess
? You've been hanging out with Temple, haven't you?”

Isabel curled her thin nose. “That vile creature?”

“She is not!” I said. “And where's my mama?”

Isabel blinked. “My husband broke the tractor, and your father had to go to that ridiculous little town to get a part. If anyone can tear up anything, that foolish Ian can. He's a master of destruction.” She sniffed. Then, “Lily said she wanted to go with him.” She flipped one hand airily. “And off she went.”

Mama must have needed a break big-time to take off for no reason in the middle of the day with all those beans in there. “When she gets home and sees those beans aren't ready to be canned, she's—”

“Why are you home?
” Myra Sue yelled. When she opened her mouth like that, you could see her new black hair did not go well with her braces. I wonder if Isabel had told her that.

I finally decided to quit gawking at this nightmare and get on with business. “Queenie got out again. Have you seen her? Has she been over here? Grandma's fit to be tied.”

Isabel stiffened. “You mean that vicious dog your family owns?”

I looked at that ignorant woman.

“I mean Grandma's white cat.”

“I haven't seen her,” Myra Sue said. “How long has she been out?”

“A while. Grandma saw her run across the road just before we got home, and I saw her a few times in the woods, but she wouldn't let me catch her.”

“She gets out all the time,” Myra Sue said. “Who cares?”

“If you'd seen Grandma all upset and crying, you'd care. I'm going over to her house right now.”

“Grandma was crying?” Myra Sue asked.

“She sat in the ditch on the side of Rough Creek Road and bawled her eyes out.”

Through all that makeup, my sister looked worried. Even though Myra Sue insulted Grandma at supper that one time, I knew she loved her.

“Poor Grandma. I'll come with you,” said Myra Sue.

I nodded, and she turned to Isabel, who leaned her head weakly against the back of an antique wicker chair. One hand was thrown across her eyes like she was a heroine in a cheesy old movie.

“I'll change my clothes and go with my sister now,” Myra Sue said to her.

Isabel dropped her hand. She sighed.

“If you must. But tomorrow we'll continue our lessons.” She smiled.

Lessons in what, besides exercising until your tongue hung out?

The two of them touched fingertips. Then, with her face beaming like the angel Gabriel just kissed her, my sister went out of the room with a stiff, uppity walk. Maybe her drawers were riding up her bottom under that slinky dress. She nearly fell off her high heels.

Isabel exchanged her smile for a hard look when she turned to me. She reached for the cigarettes and lighter.

“You could benefit from lessons yourself,” she said as she started to shake out a smoke. “Or maybe not. I rather doubt lessons would do you an iota of good. Some people are simply born to be—”

“Mama's gonna have a cow when she sees my sister's hair. She'd flat-out keel over if she saw that aluminum foil dress. And if she knew you were smoking in her bedroom . . .”

The woman gave me tight little smile and put aside the pack.

“No offense, dear, but your mother could do with a makeover herself. She and her homespun ways would be laughed out of our circle back home.”

Boy, oh boy, what a drip.

Honest, I tried to remember the little talk Grandma and I had shared earlier. I thought about it real hard, but Isabel had just insulted my mother, and there are some things I can't abide. All my good intentions flew right out the window.

“That would never happen,” I said.

She twitched a little and sneered. “I beg to differ with—”

“Because Mama would never join your circle
back home
in the first place. She's picky about what groups she joins.”