Bring on the Blessings (18 page)

He drove out to the road, silent at first, then asked, “Besides him being a jerk and an asshole why’d you leave him there? Didn’t he fly out to see you?”

“Yes, but I’ve been telling him for weeks that I’m not coming back to Atlanta and he won’t listen. Thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

“Is he a friend, boyfriend, fiancé?”

“Some place in the middle. He’s been trying to get me to marry him for a while now.”

“I see.”

Lily looked over at the closed face and shook her head.
Men.
“But I’ve decided I didn’t want to settle just because he was the only man in my life. Of course, he thinks I’m breaking it off because I’m sleeping with somebody. Which
I’m not. Accused me of sleeping with a farmer with a sixth-grade education, hay in his ears, and, on welfare.”

“Covered all the bases, did he?”

“Threw his suitcases out of the truck and into the street.”

He chuckled softly. “First time he’s seen your temper?”

“I don’t have a temper.”

“Bullshit. Remember Oliver Johnson?”

“No.”

“Liar. Took three of us to pull you off of him the day he wrote,
Lily gives it up!
on the blackboard in chemistry class.”

“I wanted to kill him.”

“Thought you didn’t remember him.”

“Thought you were driving.”

He smiled but didn’t say another word.

T
he next morning, the helpful clerk looking into the mortgages of Tamar and her friends called Bernadine and said everything was cleared. In spite of her investigation she could find no liens on their properties. As far as her office was concerned the land continued to be in the hands of the original owners, and she’d be sending back all the original documents by courier. Added to the good news, now that the titles and deeds were clear, she was siccing the authorities on Prell. A warrant for his arrest on fraud and a number of other charges would be issued by the end of the day. Bernadine shouted “Hallelujah!”

That evening while the kids were inside playing the video games they’d hooked up to Tamar’s new TV, and Lily and the other foster parents were over in Franklin enjoying a nice quiet dinner that didn’t involve hamburgers in a bag, the seniors celebrated their freedom by starting a big fire in the barbecue grill and feeding Prell’s so-called mortgage papers to the dancing flames.

Watching his grandmother and her friends burning their papers, Trent couldn’t have been happier. Seated next to Bernadine in the lawn chairs set up by the house, he thanked her for her role.

She waved him off. “It was no problem. Glad I could help and that everything turned out the way it did. By the way, has anyone seen Prell?”

He shook his head and took a swallow of his lemonade. “No. I asked Riley when I ran into him at the Franklin Post Office yesterday, but he told me to mind my own business.”

“He’s such a nice little man.”

“One of a kind.”

“What is his problem?”

“Besides being a pain in the behind?”

She smiled.

“The rumor is that he was going to get a big fat kickback on the annexation deal he wanted us to do, but when you stepped in and bought the place, that was that.”

“So it’s about the money?”

“Partly. The other part is he’s just a pain in the behind.”

The reason no one had seen Morton Prell was because he was holed up in a rundown motel on Highway 183 just outside of Hays, registered under the name Miles Peterson. Thanks to the Brown woman, not only had it been necessary for him to close his bank, but all the snooping done by her and her friends made him certain the Feds were going to come calling sooner or later, and he was betting
on sooner. He hated her. Seated at his desk, in the small cheerless room, the TV behind him playing with the sound muted, he wondered what he was going to do now. Most of the people who owed him favors were either dead or in nursing homes, as were his old connections at the state capitol in Topeka. He didn’t know anyone anymore who could dig up the dirt he needed on her, or stop her licensing and building permits from going through, or audit her operation. With one phone call she’d sent a decades’-old scam crashing to the ground—one phone call and there was nothing he could do to pay her back.

In the old days when he’d been in his prime, this wouldn’t have happened. Back then his reputation alone would have made her heel. You didn’t cross Morton Prell because your stock would be poisoned or you’d be blackmailed or beat half to death by the thugs on his payroll. The only person loyal to him now was Riley, and he wasn’t worth a damn—him and that stupid hog.

Bent with age, Prell walked slowly over to the closed vinyl drapes and peeked out of the dirty window at the parking lot below for any government sedans that might have shown up since the last time he checked. Seeing nothing suspicious he secured the drapes again and sat down on the worn pink flowered spread covering the bed and tried to come up with a plan.

The new houses were finally ready for occupation and Bernadine couldn’t tell who was happier, the parents or the kids. The new rec center was also finished, and that week
end they’d scheduled a celebration, but today it was moving day and they started early.

Barrett Payne asked Preston, “Can you grab that box there, Son? It has Mrs. Payne’s good dishes inside and I need to have them carried out to Mr. Dobbs’s truck ands set on the front seat for the ride to the new house.”

“I can’t carry heavy stuff. Asthma.”

Barrett looked at him. “Not asking you to carry the truck, just the box.”

“How much do you make in life insurance if I die of an asthma attack?”

“Get the box.”

Preston got the box. It wasn’t as heavy as he imagined and he felt a bit silly for complaining as he carried it outside to Mr. Clay’s truck, but physical labor was not his forte and he avoided it whenever he could.

Roni and Zoey were walking hand in hand through their new house. “I have this really big piano, Zoey. Where do you think we should put it?” Not that Roni planned on playing it any time in the near future, but Reg refused to let her get rid of it, so it needed a spot. “How about over there by that window? I know this is supposed to be the living room, but it’s such a big space I think all of our furniture will still fit.”

She watched Zoey look around as if assessing what Roni had said, then looked up at her and nodded. “Great, then that’s where we’ll put it.”

Amari ran his hands over the brand-new mattress standing against the wall of his brand-new bedroom and liked the way it felt and how clean it looked. “Never had a new bed before.”

Trent looked up from the bed frame he was putting together. “No?”

“Every bed I ever slept on had a pee-stained mattress somebody else had used.”

Trent studied him and wondered what else his new foster son had never experienced. Personally, Trent had never slept on a used mattress, being an only child and grandchild, he’d pretty much gotten whatever he’d wanted, within reason, and it had always been new. “Everything’s going to be new from now on.”

“That’s cool,” Amari said quietly. “Real cool.”

“Come here and let me show you how the rest of this frame goes together. Grab that socket wrench out of the tool chest.”

Crystal couldn’t believe how beautiful her bedroom looked with all the great stuff Bernadine had let her order to furnish it with. Nobody she knew had a room as hot as this. Nobody. Nobody had a foster mother like her either. Ms. Bernadine was R-I-C-H and Crystal wasn’t mad about it. When they went shopping down in Hays last week, not only had Ms. Bernadine bought her a whole new wardrobe, she had also gotten her a small pair of diamond studs that Crystal planned on wearing the rest of her life. The studs were a reward for being so nice to Zoey the night she got scared. Crystal went to stand in front of the short dresser
with the big mirror attached and looked at the sparklers in her ears. They weren’t the biggest diamonds around, but they were real and they were hers. After she found her mom, Crystal thought she might want to grow up and be just like Ms. Bernadine, but not if it meant going to college; everybody knew that only booji geeks went there, and she wasn’t either of those.

While Crystal was at the new house putting her room together, Bernadine was packing up the trailer with Tamar’s help. At the moment, Tamar was on the phone. When the call ended she said, “Malachi says hello,”

Bernadine felt heat rise into her cheeks. “Is he enjoying Vegas?”

“Since his women paid for everything, I’d guess, yes.”

“Women? As in more than one?”

She nodded and wrapped a sheet of newspaper around the glasses they were packing. “One lady paid for the first week and a different lady the second. He’s gonna wake up covered with hot grits one of these days.”

Bernadine shook her head. “I am too scared of him.”

“He ought to be scared of himself. Still thinks he’s in his thirties,” she added disapprovingly. “I stopped trying to get him to grow up a long time ago. Better for my blood pressure.”

“He told me he doesn’t drink anymore. Was he telling me the truth or was that just snake oil?”

“No, it’s true, and nobody was prouder than Trent and I. Had poor Trent running crazy trying to keep him out of bars, bailing him out of jail, searching for him every Friday and Saturday night from here to Hays and back, whole
time praying he didn’t kill somebody on the road before he could find him, snatch away his keys, and drive him home. It was terrible,” she said in a heavy voice. “It wasn’t till he almost killed Cletus that he let the alcohol go.”

Bernadine held onto her giggle, “He almost killed Cletus? How?”

“In a way, it was funny, but Cletus had some kind of infection and Riley asked Malachi to look at him. Well, Mal was drunk as a skunk when he got there and shot Cletus up with a tranquilizer instead of an antibiotic. That hog was out cold for a straight forty-eight hours. Riley had a fit. He just knew Cletus was dead.”

“But he wasn’t?”

“Unfortunately, no, some folks would say.”

“So Malachi felt guilty? Is that why he stopped drinking?”

“No, he stopped because Riley called the state and the vet board took Malachi’s license.”

Bernadine nodded understandingly.

“He’d been the vet here since he graduated from college, but when they took his certification he had to go work in the Oklahoma oil fields. Made good money but it was the doctoring he’d always loved and it wore on him how much he missed it.”

“So he got sober.”

“Yes indeed. Reapplied for his license, got it back a few years later, and hasn’t touched a drop since far as I know.”

For Bernadine, the story added more flesh to the man. “But he hasn’t sworn off the women.”

Tamar started on another glass. “Nope.”

“Are he and Trent’s mother divorced?”

She shook her head. “Never married. The girl was the daughter of a lawyer over in Franklin. She was seventeen when he got her in
trouble
as we used to call it back then. Family moved to California. Year later, a big car drives up to my door. The girl’s mother gets out carrying a baby. ‘Here’s your grandson,’ she says to me and drives away.”

Bernadine was speechless.

“Never heard another word. I don’t know if Trent’s mother is alive or dead, but I raised him. Mal was still a teenager. Only thing he knew about a baby was how to make one. Had to give it to him though, he never made another one far as I know, and never married either.”

Bernadine could now add more flesh to Trent too. “That’s quite a story.”

She nodded. “I’m glad she brought Trent to me though. She could have given him to the state, and we would’ve never known. He may have wound up like those children you’re trying to help.”

And Bernadine was glad he hadn’t.

She and Tamar loaded as many boxes as they could fit into Baby’s bed, and after a wave and a thank-you, Bernadine headed to town. She’d made a monetary arrangement with Mr. Kelly’s crews to help with the moving, and many of them had volunteered for the overtime. While they unloaded the truck, Bernadine went inside and called up the stairs for Crystal. The teenager came flying down, grabbed Bernadine’s hand, and dragged her back up. “You have to see my room!”

Once there, Bernadine looked around and gushed, “Oh,
Crystal, this is gorgeous.” The hot pink and bright orange room was a knockout.

“All the bedding fit. I had one of the workers put my bed frame together and help me hang the curtains.”

Bernadine eyed the crazy Day-Glo orange-and-pink pattern on the big comforter and knew the dizzying color would have made her crazy inside of a day or two, but this was Crystal’s room, and Bernadine’s opinions didn’t matter.

She glanced around at the matching drapes and at the walls adorned with posters of Crystal’s version of the teenager’s hall of fame: Rhianna, Beyoncé, Tyra, and Mary J. “Like the way you put up the posters.”

The desk in the corner that was supposed to be reserved for homework looked more like a makeup counter, but Bernadine didn’t fuss. “You did a great job.”

“Come look at the bathroom,” she said, grabbing Bernadine’s hand and pulling her along. “I put up the shower curtain too.”

The bathroom was way more sedate, at least the walls were, but the towels and the shower curtain, café curtains on the window, and rugs were a deep rich purple. “The curtain matches real well.”

Crystal was beaming.

“It looks good, girlfriend.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

Like everyone else in town, Riley Curry had heard about all the hubbub going on with the Brown woman and won
dered if maybe the time had come for him to cut his losses and start sucking up, too. He’d been supplementing his income for the past ten years with the payoffs Morton Prell gave him for incriminating news or gossip about people behind on their mortgages, in trouble with the law, or in need of financial assistance of any kind. Prell was for all intents and purposes a loan shark, and once the victims were targeted, he would step in and play savior, charging so much interest they never were able to break free. Anything Riley could find out that could put someone in Prell’s clutches had been worth cold hard cash. Now, with Prell hiding out in a shabby no-tell motel out on Highway 183, Riley was on his own. Trying to wheedle his way onto the Brown gravy train would be difficult at this point, considering all the grief he’d been giving her, so instead, he’d been toying with another idea he wanted to pitch to the networks.

It would involve Cletus and the Brown woman’s junior felons. The kids and the hog would all live together in a house. Cletus, wearing a housedress and a wig would be the mother. Riley could already see Cletus fixing breakfast, getting them off to school and helping with homework. It could be like the old
Donna Reed Show.
Of course it would be hard to get Cletus in a pair of high-heeled shoes, but he’d let the network’s special effects people worry about that. The more he thought about it, the more of a hit series he thought it would be. “Hey, Genevieve!”

About an hour ago, they’d had another fight over Cletus and she was upstairs in her room sulking; something she’d been doing a lot of lately. It wasn’t his fault if she kept wear
ing perfume and lotions that set the hog’s dander up. He’d told her a hundred times or more that her smell was the reason Cletus kept chomping on her.

He walked to the steps and yelled up the steps. “Genevieve! Come here. Need you to help me think of a name for this new show I’m going to pitch next time the TV people come.”