The Honk and Holler Opening Soon (12 page)

But Molly O was too happy to let one grumbling grandmother spoil her day. As soon as Wilma left, she grabbed the JCPenney catalog and started making a list of the baby furniture she intended to put on layaway that very day.

Shortly after noon, a young man dressed in overalls, heavy boots and a baseball cap crawled out of a mud-splattered pickup and ambled toward the door. Hamp Rothrock at twenty still looked too lean and boyish to be called handsome, but Molly O could tell he’d be a knockout by the time he hit twenty-five.

He’d gone steady with Brenda for almost a year; she’d gone steady with him for eighteen days. They had broken up just before Hamp’s graduation, when Brenda, a sophomore, quit school for the first time. As far as Molly O knew, Hamp had never dated another girl.

“I’ll swear, you’re getting better looking every day,” Molly O

said.

Hamp, grinning, turned almost as red as his hair.

“How’s your daddy, Hamp?”

“He’s doing okay. About finished with his chemo. Two more treatments.”

“They think that’ll take care of it?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they say.”

“That’s good news. Your daddy’s a fine man.”

Hamp nodded, twisting the work gloves he held in his hand.

“So what can I get for you today? We have a meatloaf special.”

“Nothing, really. I just came in to ask about Brenda. Bobby Swink said he thought he saw her in town yesterday.”

“He probably did.”

Hamp let his eyes slide over the dining room. “Is she still here?”

“No, she didn’t stick around long.”

“Oh,” he said, trying to hide the disappointment behind a smile. “She still singing her music?”

“She sure is. Matter of fact, she’s on her way to Las Vegas. She’s booked into a club there.”

“Well, that’s fine. That’s what she wanted. And she deserves it, too. She has a real pretty voice.”

“I know she’d appreciate that, Hamp.”

“You know when she might be coming back through?”

“She’s going to be here before too long, but—”

“She is?” Hamp pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair as if he needed a head start to get ready for Brenda’s return.

“You know when?”

“I’m not sure, but . . . Hamp, she’s getting married.”

As the news settled inside him, his boyish smile brittled and threatened to crack. “Anyone I know?”

“He’s not from around here. Truth is, I don’t even know him yet, but I will. Him and Brenda’s gonna have a baby, Hamp.”

“Oh.” Hamp sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. “I bet she’s happy.”

“Yeah, she seems to be.”

“Brenda’ll be a good mother.” Hamp cupped his hat back on his head as he took a step toward the door. “Guess I better be getting back. Got some calves to take to the auction in Broken Bow.”

“Hamp, you take care of yourself, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.”

Molly O watched as Hamp hurried back to his truck, and as he pulled away, she saw him wipe the back of his hand across his cheek.

*

Right after lunch, Molly O started taking down the Christmas decorations. While she was rolling up a strand of red tinsel, Bui sidled up, then stood waiting until she noticed him standing beside her.

“Miss Ho,” he said, holding out his letter. “Can you mailing for me?”

“Sure, Bui.”

“But I cannot to knowing what is this.” He tapped the upper corner of the envelope.

“The return address? Here.” Molly O took the letter and wrote the address of the Honk. “Now,” she said, “it’s ready to go. I’ll take it to the post office when I go downtown to make the bank deposit.”

Bui pulled some bills from his pocket, neatly folded ones, and handed them to her.

“I’ve never mailed a letter to France before.”

“My wife,” Bui said, running his finger across Nguyet’s name on the envelope.

“Your wife lives in France?”

“Wife in Vietnam. But no can mailing to Vietnam. Cousin in France can mailing.”

Molly O nodded like she understood.

After she finished with the tinsel and packed the Barbies away, she started taking ornaments from the Christmas tree.

“Want me to get that?” Vena said when the phone rang.

“Yeah.”

“Honk and Holler,” Vena said into the receiver. “Yes, it is.” She lowered her voice so that almost all her conversation was muffled.

But once, when her voice rose with frustration, Molly O heard her say, “I know it was a long time ago, but . . . Look, are you sure you’re spelling it right? Yes. S-a-n-c-h-e-z. Carmelita Sanchez.”

Minutes later, when she hung up, Vena brushed past Molly O on her way to the kitchen to ask Caney for a cigarette. As she bent for a light, her hand was trembling.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just a little ragged, I guess. Nothing a hit of nicotine won’t cure.”

“You didn’t get enough sleep. Tonight, I’ll take the couch, you get the bed.”

“Oh, no. I’ll go to my place. They should have the utilities on today.”

“Vena, stay here tonight. Tomorrow night. As long as you want.”

“Caney . . .”

“Hell, no point in you paying rent when you can stay here for nothing.”

She started to walk away, but at the door stopped, and with her back to him, said, “Caney, you need to know . . . I’ll be moving on.”

“Well, I didn’t think you came to stay. Didn’t figure you planned to make a career working here.”

“Just so you understand.” She turned, then studied his face. “I won’t be around long.”

Caney grinned at that. “Hell, none of us will, Vena.” He shook his head. “None of us will.”

When they heard the tinkle of breaking glass followed by a moan from Molly O, they hurried out front where they found her kneeling behind the counter, picking through pieces of her nativity scene.

“I broke it,” she said.

“What?” Caney asked.

“The baby. I broke the baby Jesus.”

B
Y THE END of the week, Sequoyah had turned almost balmy.

The last traces of the Christmas snow disappeared as the temperature climbed into the seventies, prompting the old-timers to warn that such weather was sure to spread some new strain of influenza for which they were quick to blame Asians, causing them to view Bui with even greater suspicion.

But on Sunday, a clear day with a warm southern breeze, most folks were giving little thought to the flu, Asian or otherwise.

The cafe filled early, first with bands of yawning duck hunters, then with an odd assortment of bikers. Though they called themselves the Harley Hellions, they were a docile bunch of circus people who wintered in Hugo every year.

Caney was churning out orders as fast as Molly O and Vena could pick them up while Bui, determined to be helpful, bused tables when he wasn’t burning toast.

By the time the churchgoers arrived for breakfast, the Honk was packed. Five members of the Lord’s Ladies’ Bible Class were waiting impatiently for a table and had just reminded Molly O for the second time that Sunday school started promptly at nine-thirty.

And that’s when the power went out.

Caney tried to call the electric co-op in Sallisaw for almost an hour before he finally got through on the emergency line to report the problem. But his wasn’t the first call they had received.

A traffic accident on I-40 had sent a propane transport truck barreling into an electric substation where it overturned, knocking out power to most of the county. Four thousand gallons of propane would have to be pumped from the damaged truck into another transport before the co-op crew could begin repairs, which would certainly take most of the day.

While Caney finished up the last of the orders, Vena and Molly O served the last of the coffee. Then, with no lights inside or out, and with the ice machine and coffeemaker shut down, the Honk closed for the first time in nearly twelve years.

The problem of what to do with the food in the freezer was solved by Life Halstead who offered the use of his sister’s meat locker over in Stony Point. The only problem, Life explained, was transportation because his truck was in the shop. But, he added, if Molly O would take her car, he’d be glad to go along.

When she agreed, Life tried not to show his joy over the power outage, but secretly he was thrilled that he would have her to himself for a while. And if he got lucky, he might have her all day.

“I was thinking,” he said, “that when we leave Stony Point, we might take us a drive.”

“Life, going to Stony Point is a drive.”

“But we could go on, drive up the Winding Stair, have supper at that fancy place at the top.”

“The Wilhelmina Lodge?”

“They tell me while you sit there eating, you can look out the window and see the clouds down below.”

“That sounds nice, Life, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You’re off work, it’s a right nice day and we’re heading in that direction anyway.”

“This’ll be a good time for me to get some things done at home.”

“What things?”

“Oh, I need to do my hair, catch up on some ironing.”

“Your hair looks great and there ain’t a wrinkle on you. Besides, the electricity is out.”

“Life, I just—”

“Come on, Molly O. We’ll have fun.”

“Well, we’ll see,” she said, but when she smiled, Life knew he had her.

While Life and Bui loaded the freezer packages into her car, Molly O finished up in the dining room, then carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen where Caney was cleaning the grill.

“Where’s Vena?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she outside?”

“Caney, I don’t think I’ve seen her since the power went out.”

“She might be in the utility room.”

“No, I just took some towels in there.”

“Maybe she’s in the bathroom.”

“Probably.” Molly O rinsed a stack of plates at the sink, then loaded them into the dishwasher. “Well, that’s about the best we can do without electricity,” she said as she pulled off her apron.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll—”

They both looked up as the back door flew open and Vena, breathless and windblown, stuck her head inside.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Caney.”

“What?”

“Come out and see.”

Caney wheeled to the doorway with Molly O right behind him.

Outside, tethered to the handle of an old refrigerator, stood a mag-nificent sorrel gelding.

“He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” Vena said.

Caney looked stunned. “Where’d you get this horse?”

“That field back of the school bus.”

“Well, whose is it?” Molly O demanded.

“That’s Brim Neely’s gelding,” Caney said. “Does Brim know you have one of his horses?”

“I don’t think so. At least not yet.”

“You mean you just took it?” Molly O’s eyes were wide with dis-belief. “You stole Brim’s horse?”

“Guess I’m just living up to my name.”

“Why, Vena?” Molly O said, shocked by the enormity of the crime. “Why’d you take Brim’s horse?”

“Thought I’d take a ride. And I’m hoping you’ll go with me, Caney.”

“Why, Caney’s not able to ride!” Molly O put her hand on Caney’s shoulder, a protective gesture.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, he can’t get on it.”

“Sure he can. We’ll help him. Bui and Life can lift him and I’ll—”

“And for another, he’s not well enough.” Molly O looked to Caney, as if for confirmation, but he was staring at the horse.

“What do you say, Caney? Think you’re up to it?”

“He most certainly is not!”

Caney pulled his eyes away from the gelding to look at Vena, his face grimaced with confusion.

“Vena, I . . . I told you . . .”

“You told me there was nothing out there you wanted.”

Caney made an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

“Well, that’s fine,” she said. “Because we’re not going after anything.”

Caney looked again at the gelding, tried to see himself settled on its back, but the image was blurred, the picture unfocused.

He closed his eyes then, worked to make his body remember the way it felt to ride, when the power of the animal beneath him had been his power, when the rhythm of its movement had been his rhythm. But that was alien to him now, as alien as walking.

“I don’t think I can,” he said, his voice strained and thin.

And I’m hoping you’ll go with me, Caney.

He thought he should offer her some kind of explanation, but he didn’t know what to say. How could he make her understand that in here his life had boundaries and borders. In here he didn’t need a compass to know where he was or a map to know where he was going.

. . . I’m hoping you’ll go with me . . .

He wanted her to know that in the Honk he didn’t need a watch to tell the time or a calendar to know the day. Mornings began with the first customer; nights ended with the last. Yesterday was the meatloaf special, today the liver and onion plate, tomorrow the chicken strip dinner.

. . . go with me, Caney . . .

In here he knew what to expect. The smell of hot grease and stale beer, the flicker of red and blue neon, the taste of ketchup on fries, the clink of spoons against coffee cups. Days as predictable as Life Halstead.

Suddenly, Caney grabbed the wheels of his chair, gave them a powerful jerk and popped the chair over the threshold. Clearing the door frame, feeling the heat of the sun on his face, he squinted against the glare.

“Don’t do this,” Molly O said as Caney moved out of her reach.

Just beyond the door, he hesitated, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then wheeled slowly to the side of the gelding, breathing in the musk of the animal, the smell earthy, ancient.

When he put his hand on the neck of the horse, his palm pressed against flesh warm and solid, muscles quivering beneath his touch, he was filled with an old knowing.

And the gelding’s heart seemed to be beating in time to his own.

*

Vena didn’t know Caney had only opened his eyes twice since they’d left the Honk. The first time, they were crossing a shallow stream, their flank exposed to snipers crossing in the thick brush on the far bank. The second time he’d looked, they were passing between two sweet gum trees where he spotted the trip wire strung just inches off the ground.