Chin Up, Honey Page 2

  She reached over and punched the Off button, then pulled tissues from a box in the backseat and shoved them at Emma, who was bent over and just boo-hooing her heart out.

  A practical woman, Belinda checked her watch and waited. After a minute and a half, Emma was coming back to herself.

  “You have mascara smears, sugar,” Belinda said. “Here’s some lotion. There’s a mirror over the sun visor.”

  Emma repaired herself. “I’m sorry…it was hearin’ Don Williams. You see…John Cole…and I…went to see him in concert once for our…anniversary.”

  Oh, dear, she might go again. Belinda handed over more tissues, and Emma took them but managed self-control, which Belinda both admired and appreciated. Displays of emotion wore on her nerves.

  “John Cole and I have separated,” Emma said. “We’re gettin’ divorced.”

  Belinda, who was rarely surprised about anything, was stunned. “Oh, honey… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  She shut up, not wanting to say anything to get Emma started again, and to calm her own emotions. Good Lord, if this could happen to Emma and John Cole, two simply lovely people who seemed like the perfect couple, what did that say about her own chances as a fairly new and somewhat reluctant married woman?

  “Thirty-two years. We’ve been married thirty-two years.”

  Emma’s voice was a hoarse whisper filled with so much sadness that Belinda felt struck to the core.

  “Well, these things happen,” Belinda said at last, swallowing down a lump. “What is it? Another woman? Men just lose their minds when they get middle-aged.” She had seen it time and again, although she was quite certain her Lyle never would. It was the really intelligent ones who did. Women were so stupid about intelligent men.

  “Oh, no! At least I don’t think so. John Cole isn’t like that.”

  Belinda thought the wives were always the last to know.

  Emma said, “It might be easier if it was another woman, because maybe I could fight that. It’s just that we don’t have anything in common anymore. We don’t talk. We don’t…relate.” She broke off and f lipped down the visor again to look in the mirror. “John Cole has decided to be married to his job, and I’ve decided I’ve had enough of being his cook and maid at home.”

  Despite her good sense, Belinda felt depressed. The situation was exactly why she had resisted marrying Lyle for so long. She had feared that once they married, complacency and boredom would settle in. She had set herself not to let that happen, but maybe there was nothing she could do. Reality of life on earth was just too big.

  Just then, Emma’s purse began ringing, startling them both. Emma dug for her cell phone. Immediately upon answering, her face brightened. “Hi, sweetie!”

  A boyfriend? Belinda f lipped down the driver’s visor to check her own appearance and repair her lipstick, while keeping an ear tuned to the conversation. It wasn’t like she could help hearing. Everyone said she was nosy, but she wasn’t. All she did was pay attention to people.

  She heard Emma tell whoever it was that she was heading home and would be there to meet “Honey,” whoever that was. She would make lunch for “us.” Belinda imagined a very handsome man, but then, as she f lipped her sun visor back up, her gaze went out the windshield to the main entry of the Valentine cemetery directly up ahead.

  “That was Johnny,” Emma said. “He’s on his way. I have to get right home.”

  Johnny was Emma’s son. Belinda was both relieved and let down at that mundane fact, but her attention was mainly on a sign to the right of the wrought-iron arched entry to the cemetery.

  “Do you see that sign? I have never seen that before. I don’t think it was there when Daddy was buried.”

  Emma looked in the direction Belinda pointed. “Well…my goodness.”

  The two women looked at each other, and Emma laughed, her face just lighting up.

  Belinda pulled out her own cell phone and called Winston.

  “I have a sign for you, Winston. Out at the entrance to the Valentine cemetery, at the front. Yeah…it says…now, it’s right beside the entrance, and it says…All Donations Welcome.”

  When Belinda let Emma off at her house, Emma said, “Belinda, please don’t tell anyone about me and John Cole.”

  “I won’t, sugar.”

  “I mean really. I don’t want a lot of talk to get back to Johnny until I have a chance to tell him myself.”

  “Well, of course you don’t, and there’s no reason for me to say a thing to anyone.”

  Belinda felt a little hurt that Emma would think even for a second that she would go and blab.

  Many people considered Belinda a gossip, but she was not the one who blurted out anyone’s intimate secrets. Just as Emma had done, people were all the time telling her stuff. She didn’t know why. And she didn’t know why she would be called the gossip, when it was others who were the ones telling her everything.

  Why, if she told even a fourth of what she knew, before nightfall there would be two marriages that would be broken up and several people losing their jobs and uncountable people fighting mad with each other.

  Gracie rode in the passenger side of Johnny’s new Mustang convertible. Her left hand was captured in his, and she held her hair with the other. They came over a hill, and there was Johnny’s hometown. She looked ahead to read the town sign as they flew past: Valentine, OK, Small Town in a Great Big World.

  Johnny pointed out the school he had attended—all grades in one group of connected buildings. Quite strange to Gracie, who had gone to enormous schools in Baltimore. And there, down a gravel lane, was the source of the program coming from the car radio. Gracie had never heard anything like it: jokes and people’s birthdays and really old-timey country music. And Johnny knew the lyrics to most of the songs.

  He drove down Main Street and pointed out his family’s convenience store, reminding her that there were three stores, and that he and his father were planning to open a fourth next year.

  Then right in the middle of Main Street, he stopped, jumped out and ran over to grab a bouquet from the bins of f lowers outside the florist shop. He did nothing more than call through the door to have it put on his bill, then returned to plunk the f lowers in Gracie’s hand. Traffic backed up behind the car, but no one honked. In fact, the guy driving a pickup truck that had to stop when Johnny ran in front of him waved and called hello.

  Johnny drove on through town to the other side and down a road to show her an acreage they might consider buying to build a house. She liked it, and then she reminded him that his mother was waiting.

  “Okay, just one more place,” he said, and drove her down a short road to see a sign.

  “We got Mr. Johnny Berry of the Quick Shop on Main on the phone. I did a bit of a plug for you, young man. You have a sign you’d like to point out to us, Johnny?”

  “Thank you…and yes, sir. There’s a sign that says Dead End, Thirty-five Miles an Hour.”

  The man on the radio laughed and asked the location of the sign, which Johnny gave and went on to tell how Dead End was on the top, with the speed limit right below, both on the same post. As he spoke into the phone, he cast Gracie a grin, his teeth all even and white. Gracie loved his pretty teeth. She loved everything about Johnny Berry.

  He snapped his cell phone closed and leaned over to kiss her. When they broke away, she saw his eyes searching hers.

  She took his face in both hands. The ring he had placed on her left hand just that morning sparkled in the sunlight.

  “I am the luckiest girl in the whole world to be marrying you, Johnny Ray Berry,” she said, looking deep into his blue eyes. “Now, let’s go tell your mother.”

  “O-kay.” Shifting into gear, he pressed the accelerator and headed the flashy convertible back out on the open road and toward his family’s home, which was a sprawling ranch-style house in the middle of acres of grass and tall trees. Gracie’s heartbeat picked up tempo when she saw it. She wondered what his mother would think. S
he knew Johnny was certain of his mother’s reception but worried about his father’s. He hadn’t said this, but Gracie had learned to listen to things Johnny did not say. He had chosen a day when his father was out of town to tell his mother of their engagement and to show her the new car, of which his father had disapproved.

  They had no sooner stopped at the end of the drive when a woman came flying out the back door to throw herself at Johnny. Standing there, Gracie watched him lift the woman clean off the ground and whirl her around. Gracie could hardly breathe. She actually felt a little jealous.

  Then Johnny looked at Gracie. “Mom…I’ve brought Gracie.”

  He had not told his mother about bringing her, Gracie realized hard and fast. But smooth as anything, Mrs. Berry said, “I see that,” and the next thing Gracie knew, she was being hugged.

  Then, after releasing Gracie, his mother went all around the car and all but hugged it, too, saying over and over again how red it was, how sporty it was, how perfect it was for him.

  Gracie saw Johnny get this really silly grin on his face, and on the way into the house he asked for a peanut butter and banana sandwich, which apparently was a lot more important than setting up an opportunity to tell his mother about being engaged.

  As it turned out, Mrs. Berry already had her son’s favorite sandwich made, along with a plate of grapes and cold sweet tea. Then Mrs. Berry queried Gracie as to her favorites and was able to produce them—a turkey sandwich with romaine lettuce, and Keebler Pecan Sandies and a cup of hot Ceylon tea with lemon and sugar. It was as if the woman had some sort of magical pantry. And she seemed thrilled to please Gracie, who had the impression that if she had asked for a steak, Mrs. Berry would have produced one and cooked it right up for her. It was amazing.

  Winston leaned close to the microphone.

  “To close out the show, we have been notified of another rather curious sign. Our young caller, who did not give a name, brings our attention to the sign out near the juvenile detention center on the north highway. It says: Be Aware—Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates. Nothin’ unusual about that, but, folks, this sign is shot up with so many bullet holes that you can hardly read it.”

  He paused.

  “On that note, we’ll close out today’s show with this favorite by Ray Stevens, ‘Everything is Beautiful,’ going out from Willie Lee to Gabby. Remember Isaiah 41:10, and God bless and keep you until tomorrow…and don’t go pickin’ up any of those hitchhikers out on the north highway, ’cause they’re obviously armed.”

  2

  Emma

  Just as soon as she waved Johnny and Gracie off, Emma raced back inside to the kitchen wall phone and called John Cole on his cell phone number.

  While listening to the rings, she tucked the receiver into her neck and began to clean the dishes. It rang five times, and then voice mail picked up. It wasn’t even John Cole’s voice, because he had never put a message on it.

  She jammed the receiver back onto the base and finished cleaning up in a vigorous manner. As she considered her options for reaching her husband, she all but wiped a hole in the counter.

  John Cole had mentioned plans to drive to Oklahoma City. This did not mean he had gone, because he rarely made hard-and-fast plans. But he was a man of a few habits, and one of those was to stop into his office at the end of each day. She could call him there, but John Cole never did answer the office phone. It would be answered by Shelley Dilks, his secretary. Office manager, as the woman had made a point of saying.

  It was annoying as all get-out to have to go through the woman to reach her own husband, Emma thought, again reaching for the telephone. She paused with the receiver in hand. The possibility that John Cole might have told the woman about their…situation caused a sort of short circuit in Emma’s brain. Then she remembered guiltily that she had told Belinda Blaine.

  Taking a deep breath, Emma dialed the office number. It rang twice before the woman answered.

  “Berry Enterprises offices, Shelley Dilks speakin’.”

  “Hello, Shelley. This is Emma. Is John Cole in?”

  “Well…yes. Just a minute and I’ll see if he can get the phone.”

  And why would he not get the phone for his wife? Emma squeezed her eyes closed. If Shelley Dilks knows and spreads the word about me and John Cole, I will snatch her baldheaded.

  “Hey. Emma?”

  At John Cole’s voice, her eyes flew open.

  “Yes…hello.” She thought his tone actually seemed welcoming, as if happy to have her call him. Although maybe she imagined it. She had not felt at all certain about anything with him for a long time.

  “Are you in your office?”

  “Well, yeah. Why?”

  Just then the receiver was about jerked out of her hand, as she had become so agitated that she was walking right out of the kitchen and had reached the end of the phone cord.

  “John? Are you there?”

  “Yeah.”

  She lowered herself on the kitchen stool to prevent further accidents. “Are you in your office alone?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I have somethin’ important to tell you. I don’t want you distracted by Shelley or somebody and stuff goin’ on. Why don’t you close your office door?”

  “It is closed, Emma Lou. What is it?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. Suddenly the fact of Johnny’s engagement was too big and tender for words. She pressed a knotted hand to her chest, as her memory f lashed back through the years and she recalled telling John Cole of having gotten pregnant at last, after their years of desperate trying. She had done this same thing, gotten him on the phone and not been able to say a word.

  “Emma?” he said with a bit of alarm.

  “It’s good.” She reached for a tissue.

  “O-kay.”

  She imagined that familiar patient expression he got when he settled in to out-wait anything and everything. John Cole could have the patience of Job. It was annoying.

  She swallowed, took a deep breath and got it out. “Our John Ray is gettin’ married.”

  “He is?” His tone was more confused than surprised. It generally took John Cole some time to absorb news of such magnitude.

  “Yes, he is.” She doubled over and stared through blurred eyes at her red-painted toenails.

  “I just saw him yesterday mornin’.” He still sounded confused. “I took over some cases of oil for the Lawton store. We’re runnin’ a special this week, and I let him have a case that I got from the supplier as complimentary. He didn’t say anything about gettin’ married.”

  “He talks to you about money and business. He talks to me about life and love. Besides, I don’t think he had asked her then. I kinda’ got the idea it all happened last night…that he got the ring just yesterday.”

  “He just bought a car.”

  “I don’t think there’s a limit on these things.”

  The line hummed with disapproving silence.

  She said more gently, “Our son is a man, grown and fully capable of makin’ good decisions for his own life.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Then, “Who is he marryin’? Is it the one with the long, dark hair—Gracie? Is that her name?”

  “Yes,” Emma said, with some impatience at his question. Who else could it have been? John Cole just didn’t pay attention to anything besides business.

  “She is the only girl he has been datin’ for the past six months, at least…but I think he’s known her since way last fall, when she moved to Lawton and came into the store up there. They met when he helped her get her keys out of her locked car. She’s the really pretty one that you said looks a little foreign and has all that hair. She wears clothes like something out of a fashion magazine. Lots of black, like they wear up north. They haven’t broken up once in all these months. He’s brought her out here twice this spring to Sunday dinner…oh, but the second time, you were gone to the NASCAR races down in Dallas.”

  That her son had only bro
ught Gracie twice, now three times, in those months seemed a telling commentary. Gracie was special.

  “I’ve seen them together a number of times,” John Cole said in a defensive tone. “I dropped by his place and took them to lunch at Wendy’s once. She seems a nice girl.”

  “All of his girlfriends have seemed nice. Well, except for that one that had the line of earrings not only in her ears but in her nose and eyebrows, too, and it wasn’t that she wasn’t nice, she just seemed a bit obsessed with poking holes in her body.

  “But Gracie is a woman, John Cole, not a girl. She’s a lovely, intelligent and solid young woman. I knew from the first time I saw her that Johnny was ready to settle down. I told you that, remember? Johnny never had a girl like her before. We talked about that. She’s young, but she is an assistant manager for the M. Connor store—her mother is an executive of some sort for the entire M. Connor chain,” she supplied, refreshing his memory with important facts.

  He said, “I don’t know what those stores are.”

  “It’s a chain of very upscale women’s clothing stores in malls from coast to coast. The one where Gracie works just opened last fall.”

  John Cole avoided the mall like the plague. He bought most of his clothes at Tractor Supply or Wal-Mart stores. Emma didn’t necessarily see anything wrong with this; they had once seen a famous country-western star wearing the same shirt as John Cole down at the Dallas airport. The man had even laughed and pointed at John Cole. The shirt was a real nice Panhandle Slim, no-iron and all. Still, refusing to go into a mall did limit one’s clothing choices.

  “You will probably have to go to the mall to get a good suit for the wedding.” Her thoughts raced on. “It may be that you will need a tux. I think Gracie comes from a right well-to-do family. The wedding may end up being real fancy. We might have to go down to Dallas to get you a suit.”

  This was met with silence that she only barely noticed, because her mind was running along with possible contingencies. She went on to tell him that the kids wanted the wedding sometime in the middle of September, but were in consultation with Gracie’s mother and all their friends about the exact date and location.