Chapter Twenty-Two
I've never quite figured out why you have to go sit at the grave site and listen to another couple of prayers after the funeral, but who am I to question the rules? Charli and I picked up our umbrellas out of the vestibule and went out to her van. We joined in the procession to the cemetery.
"So, what was Mom's problem?" I asked Charli.
"The usual. She thinks you're trying to antagonize her. She said she called you this morning and you agreed not to wear that dress." She sighed heavily. "I really wish you'd stop doing stuff like that. I'll have to hear about it for days."
"Well, she should stop treating me like I'm six years old. She's always criticizing my clothes and hair. It makes me nuts!"
Charli let out another long, heavy sigh. "Marty, why don't you just do what I do -- ignore her. It works, you know."
"Easy for you to say! She doesn't pick on you. You're little Miss Perfect. I'm the one that always manages to disappoint her."
Charli shook her head. "Little Miss Perfect? That's a laugh. I've never, never in my whole life, felt like I lived up to her expectations. Do you have any idea how it feels to always hear, 'your mother is so wonderful, so beautiful, so talented. And your sister! Why she's just got to be the prettiest girl in town. And she's so popular too! Homecoming queen, prom queen, yada, yada, yada,...'!"
"That's nothing! How do you think I feel, always having to hear about how smart you are. 'That sister of yours is just brilliant. And such a good mother. And so ....'"
Charli was laughing so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks.
"What's so damned funny?"
"We are. Just listen to us. Complimenting the hell out of each other."
"I guess we were, weren't we? You don't think anybody heard, do you?"
She laughed harder. "God, I hope not!"
Charli pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. Her mascara smeared just a little. I was going to tell her about it, I swear I was, but we reached the grave site. Nancy Winslow and Steve LeFever were standing right next to where we parked, talking.
"Let's roll!" Charli said. "Remember, don't let Nancy out of your sight!"
By the time we jumped out of the van, Steve had moved away. I stopped right behind Nancy and waited, hoping someone would come up and talk to her. No one did.
Charli maneuvered her way around to the back of the tent and tried to get close to Steve. Steve stood next to Beth Turner, his hand holding her elbow. He hovered around her during the whole short service. Charli darted first one way, then the other, but there were too many people crowded under the tent.
It was raining harder now. The clouds hung low, shrouding the mountains. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways into my face. The little black umbrella was nearly worthless. By the time we sang 'Amazing Grace', my dress was plastered to me. I almost went to the van, but I knew if I left my post, Charli would kill me.
Nancy didn't hang around after the service. She climbed in the green Focus and took off. I glopped through the mud over to where Mom was standing. She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.
"How are you?" She had on a gorgeous black London Fog raincoat and a chic rain hat. She also had on some classy looking rainboots and held a great big black umbrella. I felt like a total bumpkin next to her.
"I'm okay. My head still hurts and I feel a little wheezy. I hope it isn't serious." I tried to look really pitiful, not giving up on the grape juice and soup delivery just yet. She ignored me.
We watched Steve help Beth into the limousine. Beth looked slightly better than she had at the visitation, but not much. Steve whispered something to her. She winked at him and smiled, licking her lips seductively.
I nudged Mom with my elbow. "Did you see that? They sure look awful chummy. And not particularly mournful, I might add. I wonder what's going on?"
Mom glanced around to see if anyone was listening. She leaned close to me and said in a low voice, "Rumor has it that they've been having an affair for the last year and a half."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"I'm a reporter. People tell me things. What I heard is that Warren and Beth separated for awhile last summer and Steve practically moved in. When Warren and Beth got back together, I guess they didn't stop seeing each other."
Steve closed the limo door and watched as it drove off. Charli was standing about ten yards behind him, looking frustrated. Steve rubbed his hands together and blew on them before getting in his own car and driving off.
Charli crossed over to where Mom and I were standing. I raised my eyebrows and nodded slightly toward her purse. She shook her head.
"What are y'all gabbing about?" she asked.
"Mom said she heard that Steve and Beth are having an affair," I said.
"I just knew there was something going on! Did you see the way Beth looked at him when he helped her into the car. My God! You'd think they'd show some respect. At one point, they even looked like they were going to just go at it right here. It's disgraceful!"
Mom shook her head. "Imagine how Mr. and Mrs. Turner must feel." She looked at her watch. "Yikes! I've got to get out of here! I'm interviewing some teachers from the high school about the pay freeze. Oh, and we're going to run a biographical article on Warren next week. You two come over to the car and I'll give you copies of this week's paper."
We took the papers and tucked them under our arms. Mom kissed us and left. John and Dad hadn't attended the grave side service. Charli and I watched as the cemetery workers lowered the casket down into the vault.
Charli shivered. "Let's get out of here."
"Good idea. How about some coffee or lunch?"
When we were settled in the van I opened the paper to read Mom's article. My face took up a good chunk of the front page. I almost choked.
"Why'd she go and do that for?" I said with a groan.
Charli glanced over at it and laughed. "At least she used a good picture of you."
"That's a relief." I said sarcastically.
I read some of the article. Mom made sure that my name was in almost every other sentence. Nothing like a little home cooking.
"Herb's gonna be so thrilled, he'll probably lay down and die. This whole thing is like a dream come true for him." I told Charli about him wanting me to do the promo in the trash tote.
"That's disgusting," Charli said. "Surely he was joking."
"I sort of doubt it," I said, "but that's Herbie for ya."
We went back to Charli's house and ate a sandwich. I played with the kids for a little while, tickling Jaelyn and rough-housing with the boys. At two, I picked up the keys to John's truck. Charli and I went out to the garage.
The truck was worse than I remembered. The thing was huge. It had a dull black and paint primer finish, big rust patches, no tail gate, ripped vinyl seats.
"Doesn't ONAG give you grief about this thing?" I said.
"That's why we keep it in the garage. John would die without this old thing. He's had it since he was sixteen. He'll never get rid of it."
"Ah. Sentimental. Is that where you first did it?"
"Shut up, Marty!" Her ears were crimson.
"It is! Ha! Perfect little Charli, having sex in a pickup truck. I'm going to tell Mom!"
"If you don't shut up, I'm going to tell her about the time you and Ricky Ray...."
"Okay, okay, I'll shut up." I climbed up in the seat. "How the hell do I shift this thing?"
Charli gave me a brief lesson in shifting the gears and I stuck the key in the ignition. It only took five tries before it turned over. Finally, the engine caught with a low, throaty growl.
The truck tremored and shook, making me feel like I was in the middle of an earthquake. I ground around a little and finally landed in first. I had a little trouble shifting, but after a couple of miles, I got the hang of it.
There was a message on my voice mail from Herb. The evening DJ was out sick and they needed me to fill in on the air from seven
until eleven. Raging hormones or not, one look at my checking account balance convinced me that I didn't have much choice when it came down to the work or date with Zach decision.
I called him to cancel our plans and find out what time he'd pick me up the next day. That taken care of, I changed into a denim skirt and a vintage Mary Chapin Carpenter t-shirt, gave Delbert some 'Kitty Grill', and headed off to work.
I got a couple of funny looks and a lot of waves on my way to the station. I grinned cheerfully and waved back, feeling like a real country gal in that big ol’ black pick-up truck, George Teoria’s “Country Gals Do It Best”, blasting out of the radio.