Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day (18 page)

As soon as the ceremony was over and Lurline had signed the marriage certificate, she slung her bag on her shoulder, unwilling to stay a minute longer. With her mouth all screwed up, she said that she hoped we’d be very happy.

“Lurline,” I said, pulling her aside, “thank you for doing this, even though I know you don’t approve of it. But please be happy for me. So much has happened so fast that I hardly know what I’m doing. Why, would you believe that Mrs. Julia Springer offered me a job managing the Hillandale Trailer Park when I thought she was going to kick me out? And now I don’t even need it. Oh, Lurline,” I said, putting my arms around her and fighting off the tears, “be happy for me.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Etta Mae,” she said, straightening herself up. “Of course I wish you all the happiness in the world, not that I think this is the way to get it. But to each his own, I always say.”

I watched her walk down the aisle and out the door of the church, leaving me with my new husband and my former husband, who’d been my new one’s best man. Of all the people I knew, Lurline was the one who most loved to say “I told you so,” so she’d be waiting for her chance with me.

I didn’t care. The deed was done, even though it’d taken the starch out of Mr. Howard. He was so washed out that he went to sleep as soon as Skip got him back in the car. Which was fine with me. He needed to keep his strength up for our wedding night.

Skip crawled into the backseat, and I headed the car back to Mr. Howard’s, where I intended to put him to bed and put Skip on his motorcycle and send him on his way.

None of us had much to say as we went through town, and I spent the time admiring my ring, wedding or dinner, it didn’t matter to me. It was a knockout, but somehow it didn’t give me the comfort I’d thought it would. In fact, I kept having to blink my eyes to keep that black, lonesome feeling I’d had in the church from spilling down my face and across my dress until it filled up the whole car.

I turned off Old Oak into Mr. Howard’s driveway and came face-to-face with a patrol car from the sheriff’s department on its way out.

“What now?” I asked, then thought I’d purely die when Bobby Lee got out and walked over to my window.

He leaned down and propped his arms on my window. I looked straight ahead, not wanting to meet his eyes, even if they were behind dark shades. I held on to the steering wheel as tight as I could so nobody would see my hands trembling.

“You want me to back up?” I asked.

“That’s all right, I can get around you,” he said. “We just brought Junior’s car back. Found it about half a mile from the trailer park.” I could feel him breathing and hear the creak of leather on his duty belt as he looked over at Mr. Howard in the front seat and Skip in the back.

“Hey, Bobby Lee,” Skip said.

“Hey, Skip.”

I felt Bobby Lee’s gaze return to me, and all I wanted to do was put my head against his chest and beg him to just get me away from there. But I didn’t, because I had what I’d wanted for so long. You have to appreciate what you have because what you get might be worse.

“Been for a drive?” he asked.

“Yes. Just, you know, riding around a little,” I said. “Skip’s in town for a little while, and he’s been helping with Mr. Howard. He’s been staying at Lurline’s.” I wanted to be sure that Bobby Lee knew that Skip was not with me. Not that it mattered, considering.

“Catching up on old times,” Skip chimed in. I could’ve wrung his neck since that could’ve been taken two different ways. “Yeah, we’ve had a busy coupla days. I got here just in time to really help Etta Mae out. Tell him what you did today, Etta Mae.”

I ground my teeth together. “He’s not interested, Skip.”

“I bet he is,” Skip said, not getting any kind of hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. “I bet everybody’s gonna be interested. Why, Etta Mae, this whole town’s gonna sit up and take notice.” And he jabbed me on the shoulder, tickled over the amazing union he witnessed.

“What’d you do today, darlin’?” Bobby Lee said, real soft and low. “I’m always interested in what you do.”

I would’ve picked a better time and place to tell him, though to tell the truth, I’d’ve just as soon not had to tell him at all. In making my plans for this happy day, I’d tried not to even think about Bobby Lee.

Skip jabbed me again. “Tell him, Etta Mae.”

I closed my eyes, took a tighter grip on the steering wheel, and said, real fast, “I just got married to Mr. Howard Connard, Senior.”

Nobody said anything for a minute. I took a quick glance in the rearview mirror at Skip, who was grinning from ear to ear, and a sidewise one at Mr. Howard, who was nodding off again.

Bobby Lee said, “Huh,” sounding like somebody had knocked the breath out of him.

Then he stood up straight, looking across the roof of the car with his hands gripping my window. I wanted to reach over and cover them with my own and tell him that it was all right, that somebody who could put up with him better than I could would come along, that we were both better off without all the electricity that popped and crackled around us, that a decent, respectable marriage couldn’t be made on a Quality Inn motel bed.

I didn’t do any of that. I just squinched my mouth together and set my mind to being Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior.

“Well,” Bobby Lee said, stepping back from the window, “just stay where you are, and I’ll pull the squad car around you.”

He walked off without a backward look, got in his car, and drove around us. I saw Wendell in the front seat with him, talking, but Bobby Lee looked straight ahead, his mouth set as hard as I’d ever seen it.

“That wadn’t like Bobby Lee,” Skip said, “walking off and not even sayin’ congratulations, or anything. Don’t he like Mr. Connard?”

“I don’t know what he likes,” I said, putting the car in gear and driving on up to my new home with an ache somewhere in the middle of my chest.

It got even worse when I saw Valerie’s little green Mercedes and Junior’s brushed gold Seville parked side by side in front of the garage.

“What’s the matter, Etta Mae?” Skip asked, after I parked the car, turned off the motor, and just sat there.

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“Well, it’s gettin’ hot back here. You want me to take Mr. Howard in? He’s about wiped out.”

I looked over at my third husband, who didn’t look as peppy as the other two had right after the ceremonies. He was asleep again, his head leaning against the window and his mouth open. I felt bad for putting him through so much, but he’d wanted it as much as I had.

Worse, even. The whole thing had been his idea from start to finish. Marrying him had never entered my mind until he brought it up. And kept bringing it up, until I’d begun thinking,
Well, why not?
So it hadn’t been something I’d concocted on my own. It had never even occurred to me that Mr. Howard Connard would be within my reach. Too far above me, I guess.

I knew nobody would believe me.

And that brought me back to what I had to face when we went into the house, and I began to get back some of my determination to see it through, regardless. Things were going to get rough, but, let’s face it, nothing I’d done to, for, or with Mr. Howard was anywhere near what Junior and Valerie had planned for him. It was up to me to stand up for what he wanted and to take care of him. That was the bargain.

I began to think of what that would mean for me. No more trailer living, no more unair–conditioned car, no more working for Lurline, no more put-downs by receptionists, clerks, and salespeople, and I began to feel better. I was the second Mrs. Howard Connard, Senior, and there wasn’t a damn thing anybody could do to undo it.

“Etta Mae?” Skip said.

“What?”

“He needs to get to bed, and I need to get outta this car.”

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. If you don’t mind taking Mr. Howard in, we’ll get him settled first thing. Then you get your bike and go on to my trailer. I don’t reckon the Pucketts’ll be after you now. They’ve got what they want and I hope you’ll let ’em have it and not tangle with them again. Something good’ll come along for you, Skip, so just let that lottery ticket go and make the best of things. That’s what I always try to do.”

There was silence from the backseat for so long that I turned around and looked at him. He was studying the roof of the car with a smile on his face.

“Skip?”

“What? Oh, sorry, I was just thinkin’ over what you said, and you’re right. I got to let that go and get on with something else.”

“Good. I don’t want you messing with Roy and Harley again. They wouldn’t think twice about doing you some real damage, and I don’t want to be worrying about you.

“Now Skip, listen a minute. When we go in the house, Mr. Howard’s son and his wife’re going to be there, and they’re going to raise some ever-living hell when they hear what we’ve done. I want you to just ignore it all and let me handle it. I’m the one who has to live with them—well, I mean get along with them in the future—so it has to be handled right.”

“What’re they gonna do?”

“No telling what they’ll do or what they’ll call me. But you just let ’em get it out of their system, and don’t try to take up for me or anything. Just go on back to my trailer, and I’ll see you there in a little while.”

“You’re not gonna live with Mr. Howard?”

“Come on, Skip, of course I am, but I have to pack some clothes and get some personal things to move over here. I’ll do that and come back here later today. But what I’m trying to tell you is that you can stay in my trailer as long as you want to. The lock’s busted, but it’s safe enough for you.”

“That’s real nice of you, Etta Mae. I ’preciate it, since I couldn’t get much rest over at Lurline’s. She was always makin’ plans for me, tellin’ me what I ought to do and all.”

I laughed. “Now you know how I feel. But her heart’s in the right place, when all’s said and done. Now, come on. Let’s get Mr. Howard inside.”

“I’ll get him,” he said, crawling out behind me. “You just hold the kitchen door for me, and I’ll come back for the wheelchair.”

As I followed Skip with Mr. Howard in his arms into the kitchen, Emmett stood watching us. He didn’t look real happy.

“You get it done, Miss Etta?”

“It’s done, Emmett, all legal and sanctified. Are they here?”

“Yessum, they in the drawin’ room. Mr. Junior, he don’t like to move too much. Give him a headache, he say. Miss Valerie, she already mad. She say where Mr. Howard? An’ I say he gone fo’ a ride. An’ she say with who? An’ I say I not rightly sho’ who with. An’ she cut loose, ’cause she say she
know
who with, an’ it be you. An’ she don’t like it, say she gonna call the po-lice, till Mr. Junior, he say don’t be too hasty with them kinda calls. They jus’ sittin’ in there now, an’ I don’t know what they sayin’ by this time.”

“Well, don’t worry about it, Emmett,” I said, trying to buck myself up, along with him. “We’ll get Mr. Howard to bed, then I’ll go in and talk to them.”

Then, remembering, he said, “I made some nice sammiches and some crab salat and a few other things for yo’ weddin’ lunch, Miss Etta. Mr. Howard, he don’t eat that kinda stuff no more, but I can fix you a nice plate.”

“Thanks, Emmett, but I don’t think I could eat anything right now with what’s facing me in the living, I mean drawing, room. Maybe later. Maybe, even, with Junior and Valerie. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Emmett frowned and shook his head, like he’d heard dreaming before and this was some of it.

Skip chimed in, “I could eat something.”

“I get it ready fo’ you right now,” Emmett said. “You come on back in here when Mr. Howard get settled, an’ I feed you good. Least somebody enjoy a weddin’ lunch.”

“I’ll enjoy it later, Emmett,” I said, touched that he’d gone to the trouble. “I promise I will. I’ve got to face the music sooner or later, and sooner is better.”

He mumbled something as I went into the back hall behind Skip and Mr. Howard, something about being glad he could stay in the kitchen.

Mr. Howard held on to my hand as we got him arranged in the hospital bed in his room, wanting me to stay with him. I had to whisper and croon to him a little, telling him I needed to get some of my things moved, telling him I’d be back and that he needed his rest before our wedding night. I told him that nothing could separate us now, that once I’d moved in, he’d see so much of me he’d want to run me off. He was smiling when I left.

I stood in the back hall awhile, getting myself together, listening as Skip brought the wheelchair into the kitchen and leaned it against the counter. I heard him tell Emmett what he wanted on his plate, and then his heavy footsteps to the kitchen table. I’d as soon Skip had gone on and left, not wanting an audience for the knock-down-drag-out that I knew was coming. The way Skip had flung himself into the fray the night before when he thought Roy and Harley were hurting me made me wonder what he’d do if Valerie blew her top. Which was exactly what I figured she was going to do.

The worst thing about it was that I looked so bad. I was still wearing my Kathie Lee Gifford polka-dotted dress that I’d put on the morning of the day before. Except now it was smeared with dirt that I hadn’t been able to get out, and the rip in the underarm seam kept getting wider every time I moved. Catching a glimpse of myself in the gold-framed mirror in the hall, I almost lost heart. I was a wreck. My foundation, eye shadow, blush, and lip gloss were long gone, and my hair was windblown and sweaty. I was in no shape to take on those two, especially Valerie, who, being a TV personality, knew all about shading and blending, smooth coverage, and lip plumping.

Maybe I ought to go home first, I thought, just slip out the back and get a shower, change clothes, and make myself up. That would at least put me equal with Valerie in the personal hygiene department. Well, almost equal.

But I was afraid to leave. Afraid to stay, too, if the truth be known. If I left without telling them that Mr. Howard was my responsibility now, they might move him out while I was gone.

I wouldn’t put it past them. They could pick him up and put him in Junior’s big car and take him to some fancy rest home in Raleigh while I was at home in the shower. Emmett would try to tell them, but maybe he wouldn’t, being so afraid of them turning him out. But even if he did, they had no reason to believe him.

I could see myself running all over Raleigh, in and out of nursing homes down there, looking for my husband. It’d take Mr. Sitton and a crew of lawyers to get him back, and I didn’t have the money for it.

No, the thing to do was face them now. Just walk in there, produce the marriage certificate, stake my claim, and lay down the law. Regardless of how frazzled I looked or how ripe I smelled.

Elizabeth Taylor probably hadn’t figured on her Passion having to last two days running without a reapplication, but I was putting it to the test.