Six Miles From Nashville (7 page)

Betty never let one of the five coffee cups get less than half empty even though her section was filling up. She retrieved the orders and placed them in front of each person, naming the plate and name of the one who ordered it. She was quick and efficient. As soon as a table emptied, she cleared it and prepared it for the next customers.

The bills left for tips didn’t escape the eyes of the other waitresses or Sweetie. Most customers rarely left a dollar tip. Fifty cents was the norm. Sweetie observed her old friends who had waited tables almost as long as she had. They quickened their pace a little and were more thorough with wiping off the tables. They didn’t have to worry about getting the orders right because their regulars ordered the same thing every time.

After the noon crowd left, Sweetie took section one for herself to serve. Betty was glad to get off her feet.
She found sitting behind the register was sometimes boring. She liked the challenge of satisfying her customers. To make the day pass faster, she began greeting each one as they came in the door, telling them what desserts were available.

At the end of the day the cook and his helper scraped the grill and cleaned the kitchen. Each of the wait staff cleaned their area. Miss Sweetie was amazed at the transformation one day of cleaning up did. She noticed the dusty p
lastic roses that she had placed on the wall for decoration in ’65. They were faded and covered with cobwebs. She took the broom from Susan and knocked them off the wall. A big cloud of greasy dust covered the table and floor below the spot the ugly bouquet hung.

The girls laughed and took up dustpans, r
ags, and mops to get everything cleaned up. “I think it is time to get something better on these walls.”

Bill emerged from the kitchen and said, “I think something better would be a few coats of good paint.”

“We would have to close for a few days. I don’t know that I can make payroll and bills if we do that,” Sweetie chirped.

“If we all worked together we could do it quickly,” Betty said.

The others groaned.

Bill waved the suggestion away with his big hands swing
ing in the air. “Nope, I am a great painter and Gus here can help me. Twoodn’t take more than a day or two. It’d be a good time for you girls to take some time off.”

“When do you want to do this?” Sweetie asked.

“Next week, before July.”

“You hear
d him, girls. You are off work all week. Be back a week from Wednesday or I’ll kick your behind.”

Chapter 8

Betty sat in the middle of the empty Trailways bus. She was the only occupant besides the driver. The baggage area was filled with freight and some large foam coolers, the size of caskets
, sat on the very back seats. She understood that they were flowers ordered by one of the florists in the area of Oklahoma known as “No Man’s Land.”

This was home
. She grew up in Mesquite, Oklahoma, at least that was what it was called before it disappeared building by building. It had been a thriving little town, but the Dust Bowl days took some of the businesses as victim and after that, people went to bigger towns to buy groceries and feed for their livestock.

There was a telephone operator in the old food store that held on to the bitter end. When the litt
le two-roomed school house hadn’t opened for another year after school let out in 1968 and the teachers were sent packing, she left her station at the switchboard.

Th
e place was dead. The only community that had any activity was a place called Slapout. There was even a sign. Betty was embarrassed by the name, but the natives of the area loved telling the story of how the place got it’s name. It seemed that if a customer came to the store and asked for most anything, the clerk would say “I’m slapped out of that.” He did it so much that the name ‘slapout’ stuck like a mole on an old maid’s chin.

After stopping at every little spot on the road from the ca
fe, she finally found herself riding past Mesquite and onto the biggest town in the area, Guymon. They moved to town to be closer to high school, but she wondered if it had more to do with the stronger TV signal that emitted from the antenna there. The town was busy and had great shopping. That helped her daddy’s business.

She hadn’t packed much i
n the duffel bag so the walk from the Allsup’s store wouldn’t be difficult. She did dread seeing her folks, mostly because she would be lying to them about going around the world singing with the choir.

She opened the door and knocked a little. “Mama, Daddy, are ya’ll home?”

She heard her mama’s house shoes scoot across the gritty linoleum floor before she actually saw her face.

“Girl, y
a didn’t tell us you was on your way home.”

“Is it all right?”

“Course.”

Phyllis
Barns drew her close and held her for a long time. She smoothed the hair away from her face. “You are such a pretty thing when you are made up some. I’ll be glad when people start to care about how they look.”

“It’s good to be home. Where’s Daddy?”

“Meeting the bread truck. The driver couldn’t make it during business hours. He keeps thinking of extending the hours for the customers, but his hours are long enough already. Folks just need to get to the store when it’s open.”

“It sounds lik
e things are going good for you.”

“Yep, tell me about all those sights you saw. My goodness, you are a world traveler. See this here stack of postcards? I never thought a child of mine would see all of this. Course, when Joey went to Viet Nam, he saw some places.”

The older woman stopped mid-sentence, then continued, “But, he won’t be back to tell us...”

Betty moved to the short little woman and held her while she sobbed. “Mama, I wish things would have been different.” She wasn’t only speaking about her brother. She vowed that she wouldn’t let her mama know of all the things she had been through. It would kill her to know that she had been in a mental ward, and all the other unspeakable things.

“So, tell me about all of this.” She pointed to the unfamiliar postcards from far-away places.

“I would rather find out about home. Have you and Daddy been alright?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t we be? If you wondered about that, you could a called.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“So, how did you like Italy and Spain and all those other places?”

“You saw the postcards. They were beautiful.”

The older woman narrowed her gaze and looked right through Betty’s eyes and into her trembling soul. “I don’t think these cards were from you.”

“Yes they were. I bought every one of them!”

“I know that you didn’t go over there.”

“What?”

“The dean of women at that fancy Bible School called and told me that you were in the nut house. She told me to get Daddy and come see you. She even said that she thought it might be our fault that you wound up in there. I told her to mind her own business and never call me again.”

Betty hung her head low. Mama grabbed hold
of her chin and squinted her eyes. “What did you tell that doctor? We never treated you wrong. These postcards prove that you are nothin’ but a liar.”

She sobbed and crumpled onto the cor
ner of the sofa. Betty grabbed a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose noisily.

“I
surmised that you didn’t go on that trip even though it was a few months after we got the call. Did you just get out? Are you crazy?” Phyllis asked.

Mrs. Barnes stomped into her
avocado green kitchen. Her old washing machine groaned through the finish of the spin cycle from a far corner of the room. When it ground to a halt, she announced her decision in a shout over her shoulder. “I thought about it and decided that since you are here, you can stay, but you better humble yourself plenty.”

Betty slipped on
to a floral green and yellow vinyl chair at the table. Her voice was barely audible, “It’s okay, Mama. I have a job in Tennessee. You won’t have to support me.”

The woman spun on her heel and faced the
prodigal. “Well, la dee da, I suppose we should feel privileged to have you here.”

“Mama...”

The screen from the front door banged shut as Tom Barnes announced his arrival, “Phyllis, I’m here. What’s for supper?”

Betty turned her tearful eyes toward the sound of his voice. “Daddy!”

She jumped to her feet and lay her head on his chest while he wrapped his muscular arms around her. “Hey, Darlin’, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re home.”

She breathed in the scent of him. The
distinct perfume from the cake of Colgate shaving soap soothed her wrinkled mind. He kissed her forehead and pushed her back at arm’s length. “What is it, Baby?”

“It’s only for a visit.
I have to be back in Tennessee on Wednesday.”

“She has herself a fancy job, Daddy.”

Betty blew out her breath slowly. “It isn’t a fancy job. It’s just close to Nashville.”

Tom pulled her close and squeezed her hard. “That voice of yours will be on the radio. I know it.”

“Daddy...,” Betty whispered.

“I believe in you
, Darlin’.”

Phyllis scowled at the two of
them, “The meatloaf is gonna be hard as a rock if you don’t stop talkin’. I opened some canned corn to round it out a little since there are three of us eatin’ and I didn’t have any warning.”

She stomped back to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of
biscuits and smacked it loudly on the counter. Three sticky white discs flew apart and landed next to the pie pan. Phyllis poured some cooking oil into it and slapped the renegade three into the pan and dug seven more pieces of dough out of the cardboard tube. She threw them in and tossed the pan into the stove, slamming the door as she reached up and started the timer.

“Well, wash up and sit down. Get your plate and serve yourself from the stove when you get done. Gunsmoke is fixin’ to come on.”

Nothing ever changes around here.
Somehow, the thought brought Betty comfort, followed by fear.

After the evening round of Westerns on TV, Phyllis went directly to bed. Betty sat in the quiet living room with her dad. “Daddy, I have something I need to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Could you give me a gun?”

“Gun?”

Her breath came out in small puffs. “There are some really...ah...different people where I live.”

“So...”

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “Someone hurt me once.”

“Betty!”

“He beat me up pretty bad.”

“Is that all?”

She didn’t intend on telling the whole story, but it spilled out of her mouth, “Daddy he did everything to me. I couldn’t come home. You know... Mama...wouldn’t take in a girl in my condition.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to...”

“I understood that, Daddy. That is why I gave the baby up.”

“There was a baby from the attack, then.”

“Boy.”

“My grandson.” He put his gnarled hands on the black vinyl arms of the old recliner and pushed himself to his feet. He ran his twisted fingers through his graying red hair.

Betty hadn’
t thought of the child being their grandson before. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.” He pu
lled her off the sofa and held her in his arms. “My poor baby girl had to go through all of that alone. Forgive me for being so weak where your mama is concerned.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

He sobbed into her neck. “Don’t ever go through stuff like that alone again. Call me and I will be there...no matter what Mama says. Hear?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Chapter 9

Bill
opened the door gingerly as he turned a key dangling from a bejeweled fob in the lock. He stepped onto the threshold and held the door open for his wife, Miss Sweetie. He was prepared for her reaction of gasps and squeals as she ran the length of the large cafe dining room to the kitchen.

“It’s so clean...beautiful...yellow!” She stopped long enough to catch her breath before she swallowed him in a tight bear hug.

“You like the color?”

“
Bill, you know that yellow has been my favorite all along. Now I need to go shopping to get some decorations for the walls to make it look lived in.”

“Here ya go
, babe.” He tossed a wad of rolled up bills on a nearby table. “Almost two hundred, will that do?”

She kissed him loudly
and left half of her hot pink lipstick on his mouth. “You are a keeper. That’s what you are!” She flung herself free and ran to the door. Looking back, she added, “I gotta get busy decorating. The girls will be back tomorrow.”