Miss Julia Delivers the Goods (35 page)

I heard it then, coming up fast behind us. Mr. Pickens waited, his thumbs impatiently drumming on the steering wheel, as the car idled on the side of the street. The sirens, for there were more than one, increased in volume as two sheriff ’s patrol cars, a first responder ambulance truck and a long, heavy fire engine raced past us, one after the other. The car shuddered with the shock waves of their passing.

Mr. Pickens looked over his shoulder to be sure the street was clear, then he eased the car into the lane and drove a little more sedately toward my house and Hazel Marie. Maybe the sight of the emergency vehicles had calmed him down. What good would he be to her if he got all banged up in an accident?

“Wonder where they’re going?” I mused aloud, not expecting an answer.

“Could be anything,” Mr. Pickens answered, “from a three-car pile-up to a cat in a tree. They go all out for every call.”

“Might be a fire somewhere,” Lillian said.

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Pickens said. “The fire truck rolls, regardless.”

He was approaching the last turn before Polk Street when Lillian said, “I don’t hear them sireens no more. They done stopped somewhere.”

“Hazel Marie!” I shrieked as fear jolted through me like a streak of lightning. The same fear must’ve jolted Mr. Pickens, for he stomped on the gas, took the turn on screeching tires and straightened up on Polk Street.

Then he slammed on the brakes a full block from my house, and a good thing he did for the street was crammed full. Cars were parked along both sides and emergency vehicles with red and blue lights flashing and white lights strobing blocked the center.

“Let me out, it’s our house!” I screamed, unbuckling the seat belt and pushing the back of Lillian’s seat. “Hurry, Lillian, something’s happened to Hazel Marie!”

As she fumbled to unbuckle herself, Mr. Pickens flung open his door and ran toward the house, his very nice tie streaming over his shoulder. He was running full steam, zigzagging among parked sedans and SUVs and the fire engine until he came to a patrol car that had skewed to a stop sideways in the street. It didn’t even slow him down. He took a leap up onto the hood, came down on the other side and made tracks across the yard.

“I can’t get outta this thing!” Lillian cried, but by the time she finally did, I’d already flattened Mr. Pickens’s seat and crawled out the driver’s side.

I wanted to run to the house, but I was too fearful of seeing what I feared to see. Holding onto the car, my limbs quivering, wanting to go and wanting to stay, I could see the heads of a mob of people swarming on the porch and in the yard, giving way only when the paramedics parted the crowd with a loaded stretcher.

“Lillian,” I moaned, as she came around and put an arm around my waist. I clutched at her, fear of the worst filling my mind with a white haze. “Don’t let it be Hazel Marie. Or Lloyd. Oh, Lord, please, not Lloyd.”

 

 

 

The paramedics slid the stretcher into the back of their vehicle and closed the door with a thunk. In a second or so the truck began to back and fill to untangle itself from the traffic jam, lights flashing and siren working up to a wail as it sped off toward the hospital. Deputies disengaged from the crowd, got into their patrol cars and edged away from the cars parked along the street. Firemen waved at the deputies and headed toward the rumbling fire engine.

“Do you see Mr. Pickens?” I asked, clinging to Lillian’s arm. “Did he go with them? Oh, Lord, Lillian, I’m afraid to know which one it was.”

“We not gonna know ’less we go see,” Lillian said.

So we hurried toward the house, picking up speed as we passed the huge red fire engine hovering over us, my heart thumping with every step.

“Who’re all these people? Where’d they come from?” I asked, as we broke into a run.

“Folks always come when something awful happen,” Lillian panted, as she trotted along beside me.

When we gained the sidewalk in front of my house, I saw that the mob of people, which turned out to be a fairly small mob, was all women. One or two familiar faces began to emerge out of the haze that filled my head. But I didn’t stop, just plowed on up my walkway toward the porch as the crowd parted for us. I heard a low murmur of sympathy and a few moans issuing from both sides—none of which alleviated my anxiety.

As we approached the three steps to my front porch, my breath suddenly caught in my throat and I came to a dead stop, falling back against Lillian. I thought my heart had stopped, too, for there, spread across the steps and onto the walk, was a large, red puddle, still dripping from step to step.

I had never been a fainting kind of woman, but for just a second or two I lost any sense of where I was or what I was doing. “Hazel Marie,” I moaned, as visions of the recent disaster flooded my imagination and the irony of the situation nearly did me in. Just when we’d gotten Mr. Pickens of a mind to do the right thing, after all the trouble and worry we’d been through, a fateful occurrence had just released him to go his carefree way.

I could’ve cried and, in fact, did. If Lillian hadn’t been there holding me up, I would’ve crumpled to the ground.

“Miss Julia, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, patting my face. “Get hold of yo’self. It not what you think. Look at it, jus’ look. See them little bits an’ pieces?” She propped me up, urging me to look more closely. “See, that’s jus’ some of that Mexicum soup been spilt. Look at them cucumber pieces and there’s some little bell pepper chunks all cut up. It’s all right now. It’s not bad as you think.”

Lord, she was right! As my mind and eyes cleared, I could see what she’d pointed out.
Gazpacho
! Swinging around, I looked at one face after another, recognizing Mildred, LuAnne, Helen, and a dozen others from the Sunday school class, the book club, and the garden club, all of them with beautifully wrapped gifts in their hands. Some were holding trays or covered dishes as if they were on their way to a Wednesday night prayer meeting. And there at the top of the steps stood Emma Sue, wringing her hands as tears flowed copiously down her face.

“Oh, Julia,” she wailed, “we wanted to have this cleaned up before you got here. I’m so sorry there’s such a mess, but you won’t believe what happened.”

My mouth had fallen open at this unexpected reception, and I couldn’t seem to be able to close it. Gazpacho? Why? What were they doing at my house? Where was Hazel Marie? Mr. Pickens? Lloyd?

Emma Sue, smiling bravely through her tears, picked her way down the steps, sidestepping the dripping liquid. “We’re all so sorry. We wanted to surprise you and Hazel Marie.”

“You have, but where is she?”

“Well, I don’t know. We just got here,” Emma Sue said, looking around at the women who had closed in on us as if she expected to find Hazel Marie among them. “See, what happened was, I was just about to ring the doorbell when Miss Mattie Freeman came up the steps right behind Clarice Bennett. And she, I mean, Miss Mattie, was carrying a big bowl of her gazpacho—you know how good it is—and she missed a step, or at least we think she did. So she stumbled against Clarice, knocking her down, and then fell right on top of her. Well, that big bowl she was carrying went flying up in the air and gazpacho spilled all over the place. It ruined Clarice’s dress, so she’s gone home to change, but the bowl didn’t even break, and we were afraid Miss Mattie had hurt herself so we called nine-one-one on a portable, and they took her to the emergency room. Just for observation, don’t you know. I don’t think she got hurt, but you never know. You do have homeowner’s, don’t you, Julia? Anyway,” Emma Sue summed up, looking beseechingly at me, “Surprise!”

I had so many questions I didn’t know which one to ask first. “Mr. Pickens,” I said, choosing what I hoped was the safest one. “Did you see him? He came running up here to help as soon as we saw all the commotion.”

“Why, yes, he helped them get Miss Mattie on the stretcher.” Emma Sue looked around. “But I don’t know where he went.”

LuAnne pushed her way through the crowd. “I saw him. I think he ran around to the back.”

“Well,” I said, choosing the question I probably should’ve asked first, “what’re you all doing here?”

“Why, it’s obvious, Julia,” Emma Sue said with some exasperation. “We’re having a surprise going-away party for Hazel Marie, and now it’s just ruined.”

“Today? I thought you were having it Monday night.”

“I knew it!” Emma Sue said, swinging around and searching the crowd. “Mildred told you, didn’t she? I knew she would, that’s why I told her the wrong day. Mildred Allen, where are you?”

“Miss Julia,” Lillian said, “we better get these ladies inside ’fore they melt. We be callin’ that ambulance back here, it so hot.”

About that time, the front door opened and Lloyd stepped out on the porch. A startled look swept across his face at the sight of so many women. His head switched around from one to the other. “Hey, Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Ledbetter. What’s going on?”

Bless his heart, he couldn’t believe his eyes at finding a mob of women ebbing and flowing on the porch and in the yard.

“It’s all right, Lloyd,” I said, finally loosening my grip on Lillian’s arm and heading for the door, skirting the spill of gazpacho as I went. “These ladies have come to visit. Come in, everybody. Come in where it’s cool.” I grabbed Lloyd’s arm, swung him around and through the door with me. In a fierce whisper, I said, “Where’s your mother? Have you seen Mr. Pickens?”

Unaccustomed to such abrupt treatment, his eyes got big and he whispered back, “I don’t know. I just got out of the shower. Is J.D. here?”

“He’s supposed to be. Run back to your mother’s room and see if he’s there. He probably came in the back door. And, Lloyd,” I said, pulling him back as he started to dart off, “warn her of what’s going on out here.”

Women in filmy afternoon dresses bearing gifts and food surged in behind us, talking and laughing in a party mood, now that tragedy had been averted. Lillian began to direct traffic around the dining room table. “You can put that tray right down here, Miz Stroud. I start gettin’ out plates an’ things.”

“Run on, Lloyd,” I urged. “Your mother needs to get prepared for this.”

“But, Miss Julia,” the boy said, frowning, “J.D. couldn’t get in the back. I made sure to lock all the doors before I got in the shower because Mama was taking a nap. Where could he be?”

Well, that was the question wasn’t it? Where
could
he be? Had he changed his mind and gone back to Sam’s house? Was he even now making his escape?

“Julia,” LuAnne said, walking up to us, “where’s Hazel Marie? I can’t wait for her to open my gift.”

“Me, too,” Maggie Austen said, joining her. “But I just hate to hear that she’s moving. She is just the sweetest thing. I’m going to miss her.”

There was nothing for it but to leave Mr. Pickens to his own conscience and go drag Hazel Marie out to face her public. How well she’d be able to do it, I didn’t know. She didn’t enjoy being the center of attention under the best of circumstances, and this circumstance certainly didn’t qualify as the best. For one thing, there would be a sea of sharp eyes watching her every move and reaction, and I wasn’t sure that a loose-fitting workout outfit would be an adequate disguise. Well, she’d just have to sit in a chair and not get up. I’d keep a present in her lap, one after the other, and maybe if she never presented herself in profile, we could bring it off.

“I’ll see what’s keeping her,” I said. “She was taking a nap, but she’ll surely be awake by now. Lloyd, you run help Lillian, if you will.”

“I thought you wanted me . . . ?” he said, slightly confused at my telling him one thing, then switching directions.

“No, I better do it. She might need some help dressing, and I need to freshen up a little, myself. LuAnne, would you make sure everybody’s food is displayed right?” I tried to laugh a little, just to divert her. “This certainly is the easy way to have a party—having the guests bring all the food.”

“It was Emma Sue’s idea,” LuAnne said with a sniff. “And frankly, I think it’s a little tacky, but don’t tell her I said so. If it was me having a party, though, I’d provide the food myself.”

And frankly, I agreed with her, but I only nodded, then slipped through the crowd to the hall and hurried on to Hazel Marie’s room. The door was closed, just as I expected, but still I hesitated to knock. She would’ve heard all the commotion, so I knew she’d be trembling and cowering from the thought of facing guests. And she didn’t even know yet they’d come specifically to honor her.

Well, the sooner the better, I thought, gave the door a sharp rap, opened it, and stepped in. I blinked in surprise and slammed the door behind me.

“Mr. Pickens!” I cried, taken aback at the sight of him, as he was at the sight of me. “How’d you get in here?”

He was in the far corner of the room half-turned in one lap of the pacing he’d obviously been doing. Hazel Marie in another elasticwaistbanded running suit—yellow, this time—huddled, knees up to her chin, on the bed, her face screwed up, looking ready to cry or to throw something.

Mr. Pickens pointed at one of the back windows, the bottom half of which was thrown up, letting out the cool air, and lacking a screen. A sprinkle of glass glittered on the carpet. “The doors were locked,” he said with just a tinge of frustration. “And she wouldn’t let me in. Sorry I had to break a pane to unlock it, but one way or the other, I was coming in.” He glared at Hazel Marie, but it was a toss-up as to whether it was a glare of anger or of fondness. Probably a little of both.

“He got stuck crawling in,” Hazel Marie said, then leaned her head on her knees. She may’ve been laughing, I wasn’t sure. “Serves him right, too.”

“Well, look,” I said, feeling a little anger myself at Emma Sue for choosing such an inopportune time to throw a party. If ever Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens were going to resolve their differences, now was the time. Instead, though, I had to interrupt their negotiations and set Hazel Marie up as the guest of honor. And put Mr. Pickens on hold and under observation until I could get them back together again.