arkansastraveler (7 page)

“I bought your pies already,” she said, pointing to a white bag on the table. “They’re fresh out of the oven.” She shifted some papers to make room for us. Above her on the plain pine walls a hand-painted sign declared:
LISTEN UP
.
BARBECUE IS A NOUN
,
NOT A VERB
.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Elvia said, walking over to the counter.

“How’s it going?” I asked, pulling out one of the turnoverlike chocolate-filled pies. It was still warm in the middle.

“Pretty good,” Amen said. “I’m going over some of the town’s old budgets in preparation for the debate Grady and I are planning.”

“You’ll wipe up the floor with him,” I said confidently.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Your support is
flattering, but you haven’t met Grady. Trust me, he’s a formidable opponent.”

When Elvia came back with a couple of Cokes, we settled into small talk and old stories about our childhood escapades, the emphasis on Emory, for Elvia’s amusement.

After a convoluted story about a skunk, a squirrel, and Emory’s disastrous attempt to learn wildlife tracking in the Boy Scouts, we had her in tears laughing. “I’m not sure if you’re doing much to convince me why we should have a relationship,” she said, wiping the mascara from under her eyes with a napkin.

“What’s the joke, ladies?” We looked up at a distinguished-looking man in his mid-forties with silvery hair and a pleasant, even-featured face. His dark blue eyes took us all in, but honed in on Amen.

“Grady,” she said, holding his gaze for a moment. I swore I could feel an electrical charge between them. “Nice to see you. I’m just chatting with an old friend of mine. Benni and Elvia, this is our mayor, Grady Hunter.”

“Benni? As in Benni Harper?” he said, shaking my hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Boone’s been so excited about you and Emory coming back home. You and your wonderful grandmother, Dove, are staying with Garnet and WW, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” I said. “This is my friend, Elvia Aragon. She’s visiting with me also.”

He shook her hand and murmured greetings. A few seconds later, his face registered recognition. “Elvia Aragon. You’re the lovely lady Emory’s been writing home about for the last year. You’ve made quite an impression on our Emory.”

Elvia smiled but didn’t answer.

He turned back to Amen. “All ready for our debate?” His smile seemed genuinely concerned.

“You know I am, Grady. I’m going to beat the pants off you.”

He gave a chuckle and moved his head slowly back and forth to encompass all of us in his smiling radius. “She probably will. But if I have to be bested, I’d rather it be by Amen than anyone else on earth.” His words actually sounded sincere.

“Grady Hunter, you are full of it,” Amen said, grinning. “Now go away so we can plan strategy.”

“Just came by to get my daily fried pie,” he said. He bowed slightly at the waist. “Ladies, so nice to meet you. I imagine we’ll cross paths again this week.”

“Same here,” I replied.

After he left, I turned to Amen and said, “He’s certainly a smooth one. Was any of that for real, or was it part of his political
schtick
?”

She stared thoughtfully over at the front window where we could see him stopping in front of Boone’s to talk to three elderly ladies holding plastic shopping bags. In seconds, he had the ladies laughing. “No, believe it or not, it isn’t. He’s not a bad person, just a little too self-centered and a little less socially progressive than this town needs. Frankly, like most rich white folks, he has no reason to want change. But he will listen, which is more than you can say for a lot of them.” She turned back to look at us. “To tell you the truth, if I wasn’t running I might have voted for him myself.”

A
T ELVIA
’
S INSISTENCE
, we were back at Aunt Garnet’s and getting ready around four o’clock, even though the party wasn’t for two hours. My clothing choice was easy with my one pair of nice black dress pants and a long-sleeve butterscotch-colored silk cowboy shirt. Add my black Tony Lama boots, a pair of tiger’s-eye and silver earrings, and some hastily added mascara and blush, and that was my beauty routine. The whole process took about fifteen minutes. It took Elvia that long just to put her hair
up in a twisted elegant hairdo using some kind of complicated hair paraphernalia.

Dove, Aunt Garnet, and the men came home from shopping in Little Rock when Elvia was trying on her second outfit.

“We’re fixin’ to leave. Y’all comin’ soon?” Dove called through the door a half-hour later. Elvia was pulling on her fourth outfit. I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind me.

“She’s still trying to decide what to wear.” I gave my gramma the once over. “Cool outfit, Dove.”

“You like it?” She twirled around in her scoop-necked black and gold lacy dress that had a definite gypsy flavor. It showed off the milky white skin on her chest and the tiniest bit of cleavage. “When I was tryin’ it on at Dillard’s, Garnet whispered to WW in that screechy voice of hers that I look like a harlot.” She beamed, enjoying the image.

“Shame on you,” I scolded. “You’re a guest in her house. You shouldn’t be doing things just to annoy her. That’s what you’d tell me.”

“Honeybun.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Mind your own dang business.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, do as I say, not as I do.”

I went back into the room where Elvia was considering a plain off-white Anne Klein jacket and slacks with a copper-colored shell blouse. When she started critically dissecting what was wrong with the jacket, I pulled her arm and said, “We gotta go. All the good food’s gonna be picked over.”

“Is that all anyone ever thinks of around here?” she asked, her voice petulant. “What their next meal is going to be?” She was nervous, so I didn’t take her snappish reply personally.

“What
else
is there to do in Sugartree?” I asked.

By the time we arrived at Emory’s house at six o’clock, it was already teeming with people. We’d walked around
the corner and entered through the front door even though it would have been easier to sneak in through the backyard.

“I’m not walking through the brambles in this suit,” Elvia said. “It cost me four hundred dollars. I don’t want to snag it.”

“Okay, whatever you want.” I didn’t point out that the pathways through both Aunt Garnet’s backyard and Emory’s were wide and clear and bramble-free. I suspected our journey had more to do with the psychological aspect of coming in the front door rather than the back.

Upon seeing us, Emory immediately swept her into the crook of his arm, and her face started to relax. “Excuse me, cousin,” he said. “But I got to show off my girl.”

“Feel free,” I said. “Where’s the chow?”

“She never changes, does she?” he said to Elvia.

“Hey, I’m sublimating my other natural urges. Gabe doesn’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“And not a moment too soon, sweetcakes,” he said. “Those pants fit you nicely now, but one more pulled pork sandwich and you’re going to be straining something besides your credibility.”

“Get lost,” I said.

“Just remember the food’s not free at this shindig. We’ll be hitting you up for donations to Amen’s campaign fund.”

I stuck out my tongue. “I already gave her a check this afternoon so I can eat with impunity.”

“Lord save us all, she’s been reading the dictionary again.”

After he led Elvia away, I wandered through the house, nodding and speaking briefly to people I knew, ending up on the back patio where we’d visited with Miss DeLora this morning. The catering company had done an incredible decorating job. Red, white, and blue party lights in the shapes of flags were strung around the patio. Round tables, placed strategically around the freshly mowed half-acre garden and lawn, were covered in white tablecloths with
red, white, and blue flower arrangements. In the center of each was a small poster of Amen surrounded by a group of schoolchildren. I spotted Amen from a distance, over by the koi pond, where she stood talking to a group of men in gray suits, her face serious and intense. I caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up. She gave me a quick nod and smile, then turned her attention back to the businessmen.

I filled my plate with pulled pork barbecue, baked beans, hot biscuits, and coleslaw and headed for a small table under the tree house. Political functions always made me feel awkward and a bit nervous. As I ate my dinner and watched the activity around me, I wondered if there was a way I could manage to sneak up into the tree house without anyone noticing. The vantage point from there would be perfect, and I wouldn’t have to make strained small talk with anyone.

“They’d definitely notice a woman climbing a rope ladder trying to escape,” Duck said, walking toward me carrying a filled plate.

I laughed and gestured to the empty chair next to me. “How’d you know what I was thinking?”

“You’ve glanced at the ladder longingly about four or five times in the last five minutes,” he said, spreading a white linen napkin over his slacks.

“And what are you doing watching me?” I said.

He glanced up at the tree house. “I wasn’t watching you. I was also looking with great longing at that ladder. You were in my line of vision.”

“You hate these things, too?”

“With a passion. I never was one for politics but I want to support Amen. She’s right in that this town needs some changes. I’m just not sure there’s many other people who agree.”

“There seems to be a lot of people here tonight.”

He shrugged and dug into his coleslaw. “Emory and Boone have lots of people who owe them, both financially
and politically, so they want to stay on their good side. How many people who
say
they’re going to vote for Amen and how many actually do is an entirely different thing.” He paused and took a sip of tea. “No one’s run against Grady Hunter the last two terms. She doesn’t really believe she’s going to win, but that’s just between you and me. She wants to exude confidence to her constituency.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine Amen not getting what Amen wants.”

He shook his head and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “It takes more than want to change a whole society’s view. But it has to start somewhere.”

“What about the problems you alluded to before, with the signs?”

He leaned closer to me. “She’s not that worried about it but she’s gotten a couple of threats.”

“Like what?”

“Stealing her signs off people’s lawns or spray paintin’ them with graffiti. Phone calls to her campaign headquarters saying they’re gonna burn her house down. They made allusions to that man who was drug behind the truck by those white supremacists a while back.”

I shivered involuntarily. “That’s pretty scary stuff. I hope she’s being extra careful.”

“As careful as I can convince her to be,” he said, his voice tart and irritated. “But you know Amen, she’s not afraid of anything. Not for herself, anyway. She does worry about her son, but I’ve talked to Lawrence, and he makes sure to never be alone. At six-foot-four and two hundred thirty pounds and a bunch of friends not much smaller, not many are going to mess with him.”

I folded my napkin neatly and placed it on my empty plate. “Amen never was a cowardly kid, so I guess that hasn’t changed. Has anyone reported the incidents to the police?”

He shook his head no. “She won’t let us. Said that’s just playin’ into their hands.”

“She really should. It would help build the case in the event something does happen. It would give the district attorney more physical evidence to work with.”

He laughed. “You sound like a cop.”

I returned his laugh. “No, just married to one. And you’re going to meet him tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait. Does he know about our wicked past?”

“No, but I plan on milking it for all it’s worth, so exaggerate, okay? Say it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. That you’ve never, ever forgotten it.”

He gave me a teasing wink. “And who says that would be an exaggeration?”

“Very good, Dr. Duck. Keep it up.” I stood up, picking up my plate. “I think I’ll take this to the kitchen, then try and find Uncle Boone. I haven’t gotten to say hello to him yet.”

“Okay, see you later.”

In the kitchen, where the catering staff was busy filling more platters with hors d’oeuvres, I dropped off my plate, contemplated a deviled egg, then resisted and wandered back into the crowded foyer. Many of the people here were strangers to me, and I was feeling a little disoriented. I climbed the stairs and used one of the bathrooms, taking my time to primp and enjoy the relative quiet. When I was through, still not ready to face the roaring crowds, I headed down a long familiar corridor to the narrow stairway leading to the attic.

The slant-roofed room was quiet and cool, the voices below transformed into a soft murmur that filtered through the open door. Nostalgia, sweet as honeysuckle, surrounded me as I picked my way around the trunks, satiny wingback chairs, and a dusty brocade love seat. I opened a trunk and picked up the scratchy lace wedding dress laying on top. The pungent scent of mothballs took me back to the long
warm summer afternoons Emory and I had spent up here, trying on clothes and discussing the mysteries of life in the profoundly comic way only ten- and eleven-year-olds can.