The Happy Hour Choir (30 page)

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Authors: Sally Kilpatrick

BOOK: The Happy Hour Choir
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Chapter 38
W
hen I pulled into the driveway, the sun should've been up, but dark clouds blocked it out, bathing the world in gray. Not a light shone from the house, but Luke's roadster was parked to the left of the driveway behind my unresponsive Toyota. Thunder rumbled overhead.
I had parked too close to Luke's car, so I had to shimmy out of the Caddy to keep from hitting his car with the door. In the process I bumped my funny bone on something, and my keys went flying.
Letting out a stream of curse words that would have impressed any sailor, I set about finding my keys. No sun, and then the security light clicked off for the day, so I cursed some more.
The upstairs light came on, and a beam shone down to the ground in front of me. There, at the edge of darkness, sat my keys, just under the front fender of Luke's car.
I frowned at the light but snatched up the keys.
Luke had to be up there. Well, anyone could have been up there thanks to the broken panes of glass in the front door, but it had to be Luke. Ever since the Gates brothers had literally scared the pee out of two teenagers who'd tried to TP our yard, I'd seen no one loitering on our street.
I opened the front door with the key. The cardboard I'd thrown up over the missing panes was intact, so Luke must have used the spare key Ginger had given him. I dropped my purse and keys, gently closing the door behind me.
“Luke? Is that you?”
“Up here.”
Obviously.
If he cared anything at all for me, he'd leave me alone and let me try to get over him.
Don't do something stupid to mess that up because he makes you so very happy.
Shut up, Ginger.
I climbed the stairs, but I froze when I saw that he had to be in the nursery. I raced to the doorway.
“Get out!” I didn't know I could make such primitive growling noises.
“I'm picking up Tiffany's bag,” he said. “She sent me to get it.”
You should see his eyes when he's looking at you like you're the only woman in the world.
Dammit, he was.
“But she sent me, too. . . .” Something behind him caught my eye, and I choked back a sob. Frilly curtains and new-to-us furniture rounded out the fully transformed nursery. There, on the border that ran around the center of the room, were pigs. Cartoon pigs dressed as angels flew around the room in a happy parade.
Pigs will fly before I set foot in that nursery.
Luke, handsome Luke, stood in the middle of that frou-frou nursery looking manlier than ever with his dress shirtsleeves rolled up. He took up most of the tiny room with his height and shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable in the bright room with animated characters and an abundance of frilly flounces.
“Beulah, are you okay?”
I grabbed the door facing. I couldn't move my head to tell him one thing or another. “I can't make this shit up.”
The spot under my breastbone grew warm. Somewhere under there lay hope and faith, two muscles I hadn't exercised in quite some time, possibly ever. Those feelings swelled, and I could see clearly for the first time ever that chain of events Ginger had been trying to describe.
I couldn't explain why Roy, Sr., had done what he did, but if I hadn't gotten pregnant then I wouldn't have come to live with Ginger. Not only did Ginger help me, but who would have taken her to cancer treatments if I hadn't been there? And how would we have paid the bills the insurance didn't cover without the money from Roy, Sr.?
If I hadn't been playing at The Fountain, I wouldn't have met Tiffany. And she wouldn't have had anywhere to go when she got pregnant. Without Tiffany, I wouldn't have had anyone to help me take care of Ginger, and she wouldn't have had the perfect excuse to set me up on the date with Luke. We might never have given ourselves a second chance without the opportunity to do both Ginger and Tiffany a favor.
And if Ginger hadn't died and if Luke hadn't started his Bible study that half ran The Fountain out of business, I would still be playing piano in a bar instead of looking at the possibility of making a living through music. Ginger was right; I would have clung to her and she would have clung to me. One day I would have looked up to see my whole life had passed me by. It wouldn't have been unhappy, but it wouldn't have satisfied a different ache that lay next to hope and faith, the ache I had for love.
Lightning flashed through the room. The lights flickered and went out. Thunder boomed loud enough to shake the house, and I jumped out of my skin.
There were still painful questions, though. Why did my baby have to die? Why did Tiffany have to suffer and get pregnant? Couldn't I have found a better way to grow up other than to lose Ginger to cancer?
“Beulah, say something so I'll know you're okay.” Luke's ragged voice broke me out of my reverie. “Ginger warned me you would need time, but it's killing me to wait for you to come back to me.” He dropped Tiffany's bag and opened his arms to me.
And he still hasn't given up on me? Not after all of the nasty things I said?
He swallowed hard. I could barely see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in the gray light of the nursery. The fine muscles of his jaw flexed as he prepared what he would say next. “I want to love you, Beulah. If you'll let me.”
I blinked back tears.
I can't do it. They're all asking too much.
I ran down the stairs and out the door, crunching over the glass that still lay on the floor. I gasped for air as I reached my car, great gulping sobs because I had been holding my breath the whole time I ran through the house.
I couldn't do it. What if I got hurt? What if something happened to Luke? What if we got married and tried to have babies but couldn't? What if we had a baby but lost him as I'd lost Hunter? It was far better to live in practically painless solitude than to risk the deeper pain of giving myself to someone else.
A bolt of lightning hit the tree in the front yard, splitting the branches. Before I could recover from the shock of the maimed tree, thunder crashed and the heavens opened, dumping fat, cold drops that slapped my skin and pinged off the hoods of the cars.
I laughed out loud, a rich, throaty laugh that cleaned out my insides until they ached.
Ginger had met her God, and the two of them were already conspiring against me.
“Fine, I give up!” I yelled into the rain.
“Beulah?” Luke's voice came down from the open window above. I squinted into the rain to see wide eyes, suggesting he thought I might be having that nervous breakdown we had all feared.
“Luke Daniels, I don't know why you love me, but I'm glad you do because I can't seem to stop loving you no matter how hard I try.”
He smiled down at me. “Stop trying.”
I licked my lips. “I will.”
“And get out of the rain.”
I didn't have to be told twice. I jumped on the porch and ran through the door and up the stairs. I paused for a minute at the door to the nursery, but Luke stood in the middle of the room, tense but not moving toward me. He knew, maybe Ginger had even told him, that I needed to be able to walk into the nursery before he and I could have a chance.
I took a deep breath and ran into his arms. He kissed me hard, a longing kiss, a kiss that said he was afraid I would change my mind and run back out the door. Finally, I pulled away. “It's okay, Luke. I'm not going anywhere. I don't like it, hardly any of it, but I think maybe I can live with it.”
“I don't have all the answers,” he said, his eyes earnest. “I'm just a man.”
Cupping his face with my hands, I said, “No, you're the best man I know. I don't need you to tell me the answers. I only need the space and time to find them for myself.”
I pulled his face toward mine, but he drew away again. “I won't quit my job.”
“I'm not asking you to.”
We leaned until our foreheads touched and our lips grazed. “I can't promise I'm going back to playing piano at the church,” I murmured.
“I won't make you.” He drew me closer until our bodies touched. His ragged sigh told me everything I needed to know about his feelings for me. “This won't be easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is,” I said as I nuzzled into his chest. “As long as I'm with you, it doesn't have to be.”
“No more running off?”
“No more running off as long as you promise not to pontificate.”
He chuckled, his chin resting on my head. “But I like to pontificate, and I'm very good at it.”
I took a step back. “I'm serious. I've got to find my own way.”
“No more pontificating.” He smiled as his hands found my shoulders.
“Good. Glad that's settled. Now, kiss me, Preacher Man. A lady I once knew told me to make a sinner out of a saint, and I'm pretty sure she was talking about you.”
A READING GROUP GUIDE
THE
HAPPY HOUR
CHOIR
 
 
 
Sally Kilpatrick
 
 
 
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
 
 
The following discussion questions are
included to enhance your group's reading of
The Happy Hour Choir.
Discussion Questions
1.
How would
The Happy Hour Choir
change if it were written from Luke's point of view? Ginger's? Or if it included multiple points of view?
2.
One of the themes of
The Happy Hour Choir
is family. At one point Beulah says, “Sometimes organizations underestimated the family we had created, somehow thinking it inferior to those defined by shared blood. In my experience, many of the strongest bonds came from those who
chose
to be together.” Do you think Beulah, Tiffany, and Ginger make a “real” family? Why or why not?
3.
Discuss the relationship between Ginger and Beulah. How does Beulah's relationship with Tiffany differ, and what are the parallels?
4.
Is there a scene that made you laugh? Cry? Shake your fist?
5.
Do you think Tiffany did the right thing by having the baby? Would you feel the same if Carl had been her actual father instead of her stepfather?
6.
Why do you think Luke is attracted to Beulah and vice versa? Do you think their differing beliefs on faith will be a problem for them?
7.
In
The Happy Hour Choir
we learn about abuse against female characters. Carl abuses both Tiffany and Beulah. Beulah was raped by Mr. Vandiver. How does that abuse color the story? How did it affect their characters?
8.
An actual vow of ordained Methodist ministers is that they are to be faithful in marriage and celibate while single. Do you believe this should be a vow? Why or why not? Do you think Luke will abide by it?
9.
What kind of parents do you think the Lands were? Do you think Beulah would've made the same choices if they had been different? Do you feel like Beulah should forgive her mother or try to mend their relationship?
10.
Another theme of
The Happy Hour
Choir is to explore why bad things happen to good people. At the end, Beulah sees a series of connections between the good and the bad events in her life. Do you think that God had a hand in all of those events? Did free will play a part? Is life simply a series of events, some good and some bad?
11.
Do you think
The Happy Hour Choir
will continue to sing together and finally go on to record their own music with the help of John the Baptist? Would you buy a CD of their work if they did?
12.
What parts of
The Happy Hour Choir
are distinctly Southern? Do you think that some of the events could take place in any small town? In a city?
Dressing
(as dictated to my mother by her mother, Lucille Patterson)
 
 
Cornbread
Light bread or biscuits
Chicken and broth
Onion
Sage
Eggs
Salt
Celery
 
Make dressing thin.
 
 
Now, let me interpret that for you:
 
Cornbread (see page 310 for that recipe)
 
Light bread (about two slices of sandwich bread) and/or biscuits (about four from your own recipe made the night before or from the freezer where you've been collecting extras over the past few months. Thaw those first.)
 
Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix (about a third of a bag)
 
Chicken (traditionally a whole one, but we've used anything from chicken picked from the breast to boneless, skinless chicken. It depends on your preference. Mom prefers her dressing sans chicken. Oh, and cook the chicken first.)
 
Broth (At least two cans, plus a nice cream of chicken OR you can warm the broth with a stick of butter because . . . yes—but not too hot or else it scrambles the eggs.)
 
Onion (I skip this.)
 
Sage (I skip this, too, because there's more than enough sage in the Pepperidge Farm Mix.)
 
Eggs (anywhere from two to four)
 
Salt (and black pepper)
 
Celery (No. Just say no. Not in
my
dressing.)
 
Mix everything together in a bowl. Make dressing thin; the extra liquid will be absorbed. (Depends on how fast you want it to cook. The more liquid you add, the longer it's going to take. I prefer mine fluffier and thus don't make it as thin. Mom prefers hers sloppy and adds onions. These are the little things we squabble about on Thanksgiving Day.)
 
Other things you need to know that my Granny Patterson left out:
1.
Crumble all the bread and stir in the stuffing mix before you start adding liquids. Apparently this was common sense to Granny.
2.
Cook at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, covered. Or longer. Often longer if it's especially sloppy.
3.
Dressing cooks best in a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet of the Dutch oven variety. One of those disposable pans from the grocery store will do in a pinch.
4.
This recipe is all about adding a little bit of each ingredient at a time and stirring until it “looks” or “feels” right so, um, good luck!
Cornbread, Rowlett Style
(aka the first recipe I learned)
 
 
Vegetable oil (a TBSPish)
½ cup corn meal
¼ cup self-rising flour
½ cup buttermilk
1 egg
 
Put oil in a small cast-iron skillet and put the skillet in the oven while it preheats to 450 degrees. Mix all of the remaining ingredients and then pour into skillet once oil is hot. If the batter starts cooking as you pour it in, then you know you did it right. Bake for approximately 15 minutes or until brown—it will get brown on the bottom before it gets brown on the top. Dump bread on plate and serve. Smack the hands of those who pinch off the delectably crunchy crust around the circumference—unless, of course, it's your Daddy.
 
(When making cornbread for dressing, make it the night before.)

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