You’d think a town church, especially Baptist, would have more than one poor rube to sing bass, but no deal—it was his luck to be the spotted monkey. Over and over again, they’d tried to trick him into joining the choir in order to regulate his churchgoing, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to go for that stunt.
In the great commotion outside, he heard his garbage can slam against the side of the house.
A man couldn’t sing bass in gale-force winds and freezing temperatures! Besides, he’d just worked six days at a hard run; why would he want to go walking? Come to think of it, now that he had cable, he ought to just hole up at home and get it over with. Of course, Earlene would be asking if he was going to church. . . .
He checked his Timex. About now, she’d be taking her mama’s little dab of breakfast up the stairs and fluffing the pillows so her mama could sit up in bedand eat, with Earlene feeding her every bite. Then, in a little bit, the next-door neighbor would come over and Earlene would go off to church, looking pretty as a speckled pup and toting the chess pie she’d baked last night for the Coffee Minute.
That’s the way Earlene was, she cared about people. Nearly forty-five years ago, when he’d won a blue ribbon in that pickle contest, Earlene had run over and kissed him, then run off, embarrassed half to death by what she’d done.
He’d never forgotten that moment, even when he was married to Juanita.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked when he and Earlene met again a few years ago. “I didn’t even hardly know you.”
“I didn’t know I was goin’ to do it ’til I did it!” she said, blushing. “I secretly liked you, and I just felt so . . . happy ’cause you’d won!”
In his heart, he was sometimes hard on Earlene for not being here. But he was disgusted with himself for this. She didn’t deserve it. Taking care of her failing mama was what she’d committed to do; plus, she wanted to work another few months at the flour company to get her retirement benefits—she’d told himright up front that this is how it would be, and he’d accepted it and married her.
Then there were her sisters, who said if the word leaked out that they were married, it would kill her mama. Lord knows, he didn’t want to be party to a thing like that, no way. Except for telling Father Tim, he’d kept the whole blooming thing a secret. He knew as well as anybody that news travels—it’d run straight up to Knoxville on both legs, hard as it could go.
Next weekend, he’d take Saturday off and go see her. He’d stay with his old Aunt Bess, as usual, and do a few odd jobs for his elderly relative, like fix her top porch step and put a new shelf in her pantry.
In the evening, Earlene’s neighbor would come in to sit, and he’d take his bride out to a nice dinner, maybe surf and turf. He felt a little shiver of happiness as he imagined helping her up in his new truck, and giving her a big kiss.
They’d hold hands and sit together on the same side of the booth, and he’d try not to say a word about how hard it was to keep living like this. And he dern sure wouldn’t say, like he’d said one time before, Well, sugar, how long do you think it’ll take your little mama to die?Nossir, he’d never do that again. He should’ve been strung up by his feet.
He sniffed the cold air of the bedroom. The new coffeemaker with the timer had kicked on in the kitchen.
After drinking two mugs of engine oil and knocking back a couple of Pop-Tarts, maybe he’d spend the day laid up in bed watching the Titans shut down the New York Giants.
Whop. The garbage can slammed against the porch rail.
“Go, Titans!” he hollered.
Around ten o’clock, the winds increased; leaves that had fallen during a hard November rain were blown upon the sharp, clean air like coveys of startled quail.
On Main Street, a red scarf was snatched from the shoulders of a churchgoer and hurled aloft, dipping and tossing
In the great commotion outside, he heard his garbage can slam against the side of the house.
A man couldn’t sing bass in gale-force winds and freezing temperatures! Besides, he’d just worked six days at a hard run; why would he want to go walking? Come to think of it, now that he had cable, he ought to just hole up at home and get it over with. Of course, Earlene would be asking if he was going to church. . . .
He checked his Timex. About now, she’d be taking her mama’s little dab of breakfast up the stairs and fluffing the pillows so her mama could sit up in bedand eat, with Earlene feeding her every bite. Then, in a little bit, the next-door neighbor would come over and Earlene would go off to church, looking pretty as a speckled pup and toting the chess pie she’d baked last night for the Coffee Minute.
That’s the way Earlene was, she cared about people. Nearly forty-five years ago, when he’d won a blue ribbon in that pickle contest, Earlene had run over and kissed him, then run off, embarrassed half to death by what she’d done.
He’d never forgotten that moment, even when he was married to Juanita.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked when he and Earlene met again a few years ago. “I didn’t even hardly know you.”
“I didn’t know I was goin’ to do it ’til I did it!” she said, blushing. “I secretly liked you, and I just felt so . . . happy ’cause you’d won!”
In his heart, he was sometimes hard on Earlene for not being here. But he was disgusted with himself for this. She didn’t deserve it. Taking care of her failing mama was what she’d committed to do; plus, she wanted to work another few months at the flour company to get her retirement benefits—she’d told himright up front that this is how it would be, and he’d accepted it and married her.
Then there were her sisters, who said if the word leaked out that they were married, it would kill her mama. Lord knows, he didn’t want to be party to a thing like that, no way. Except for telling Father Tim, he’d kept the whole blooming thing a secret. He knew as well as anybody that news travels—it’d run straight up to Knoxville on both legs, hard as it could go.
Next weekend, he’d take Saturday off and go see her. He’d stay with his old Aunt Bess, as usual, and do a few odd jobs for his elderly relative, like fix her top porch step and put a new shelf in her pantry.
In the evening, Earlene’s neighbor would come in to sit, and he’d take his bride out to a nice dinner, maybe surf and turf. He felt a little shiver of happiness as he imagined helping her up in his new truck, and giving her a big kiss.
They’d hold hands and sit together on the same side of the booth, and he’d try not to say a word about how hard it was to keep living like this. And he dern sure wouldn’t say, like he’d said one time before, Well, sugar, how long do you think it’ll take your little mama to die?Nossir, he’d never do that again. He should’ve been strung up by his feet.
He sniffed the cold air of the bedroom. The new coffeemaker with the timer had kicked on in the kitchen.
After drinking two mugs of engine oil and knocking back a couple of Pop-Tarts, maybe he’d spend the day laid up in bed watching the Titans shut down the New York Giants.
Whop. The garbage can slammed against the porch rail.
“Go, Titans!” he hollered.
Around ten o’clock, the winds increased; leaves that had fallen during a hard November rain were blown upon the sharp, clean air like coveys of startled quail.
On Main Street, a red scarf was snatched from the shoulders of a churchgoer and hurled aloft, dipping and tossing
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