Finally, Emma Jean broke her stare, speaking again to the full congregation.
“I’m not going to rest until I find out which one of you is the adulteress who seduced my Jim,’’ she said. “And when I do, I may break one or two of God’s commandments myself.’
Mama and I spun on our stools in Gladys’ Diner, listening to the mechanical hum of a plastic cylinder with six shelves of revolving pies. The scent of sizzling hamburgers wafted from the open kitchen behind the counter. More than half of the dozen tables in the restaurant were filled. A harried waitress rushed by. Barrel-sized tumblers of sweet tea crowded her tray, and her forehead glistened with sweat.
“I’ll be with y’all just as soon as I can,’’ she said.
“Take your time,’’ Mama said. “We’re in no hurry.’’
We’d headed to the diner after services at Abundant Hope. Once Emma Jean dropped her bombshell, Delilah hustled her out the door. Pastor Bob immediately took to the pulpit, and signaled the cameraman to start rolling again. Aiming a pious smile at the lens, he acted like there’d been no interruption from an unhinged churchgoer, screaming about adultery and murder.
With a rich tenor he launched into “Are You Washed in the Blood?” and nodded to the choir to join in. I thought the hymn was a poor choice, given the circumstances.
I’d jiggled my leg and tapped my fingers through at least half of his long sermon. Mama pinched my arm and promised me pie if I stopped squirming.
So I did. And here we were, reviewing Emma Jean’s outburst as we waited to be served.
“Who was that girl in the choir she kept staring at?’’ I asked.
Mama had her churchgoing hat on the counter, looking for missing pansies. “That’s Debbie,’’ she said. “She’s as sweet as a sugar beet, and she has an adorable boyfriend. He was the one with the long hair, playing guitar on the stage. I can’t imagine Debbie cheating on him with someone like skinny ol’ Jim Albert.’’
“You never know what some women find attractive.’’ I didn’t add, just look at Sal.
“More likely, Emma Jean zeroed in because she’s the prettiest girl at Abundant Hope. Being pretty is a curse, Mace.’’ Mama patted her hair, preening like a beauty queen.
“I’ll keep that in mind.’’
With a squeak from her rubber-soled shoe, the waitress slid to a stop in front of us. She pulled an order pad from the pocket of a forest-green apron, then licked the dull tip of a pencil. “I’m busier than a horsetail in fly season, Rosalee. Did ya’ll decide?’’
Charlene, her name tag said. There’d been no Gladys at the restaurant since the namesake died, but the sign stayed as a memorial to the grande dame of Himmarshee dining.
Mama caressed the pie case like it was a lover. “I know what I want.’’ Her fingers traced the path of a butterscotch slice, rotating inside.
I ordered a hamburger and coffee. So did Mama. We each wanted pie. As Charlene hustled off, my eyes roamed the diner. It was all fake-wood paneling and country-themed knick-knacks. A butter-churn decorated one corner; a spinning wheel another.
“Who’s that sitting with Ruth Harris’ grandson?’’ I whispered to Mama, as Charlene returned with our coffees. “They look like refugees from a Metallica concert.’’
“What’s a Metallica?’’
“They’re a heavy-metal … never mind. I was just wondering how come he and the girl are dressed like that.’’
Mama answered in my ear. “Ruth says that’s the fashion among the teenagers these days. Black, black, and more black. Black hair, black fingernails, black clothes.’’ She leaned way back on her stool and gave my own dark ensemble a meaningful look. “They look like they’re going to a mortician convention.’’
I was gazing into the mirrored wall across the room, trying to convince myself I looked more sophisticated than mournful in black, when I saw Jeb Ennis walk through the door. A Western-style denim shirt covered his broad chest. The snap buttons gleamed like rare pearls. My hand flew to smooth my hair, knocking my coffee cup off the counter and right into my lap.
“Ouch! Ouch, ouch!’’ I yelped, hopping to my feet. Every head in the diner, including Jeb’s, swung my way.
Unlike the police station swill, this coffee was nice and hot. I clamped a hand over my mouth as I pictured red blisters bubbling like lava on my thighs.
“Charlene, fetch my daughter some ice,’’ Mama yelled. “She’s drenched in coffee.’’
I wondered if it was possible to be any more embarrassed.
“And hurry, honey. Mace might hurt herself again before you get here.’’
At least I had my answer about exponential embarrassment.
I watched in the mirror as Jeb pulled a white handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. He grabbed a glass of ice water off a table and dunked it in.
“Here you go, Mace.’’ Easing me back onto the stool, he tenderly placed the wet handkerchief over my lap. “That should feel better.’’
He scooped a handful of ice from the pitcher Charlene held, and rubbed the cubes across the tops of my thighs.
Now my face felt hotter than the coffee burn.
I thanked Jeb and swiveled to the watching diners: “I’m fine, everybody,’’ I announced. “That’ll be my last performance of the night. Y’all can go back to eating now.’’
Laughter lit the flecks of gold in Jeb’s green eyes. “I think the patient’s gonna live.’’ He bowed to the room, to scattered applause.
He placed his hat over his heart, and said in a lower voice, “Mind if I join you, ladies?’’
Mama returned his smile with a dimpled grin and an adorable eyelash flutter.
I could practice in the mirror every day for a year, and never manage that flutter without looking like something was stuck in my eye. But when Mama does it, men swoon.
“Mace, honey, move over a seat so it’ll be girl, boy, girl.’’
Ignoring her request, I slid my purse off the empty stool to my left. I patted the green-and-brown-striped plastic, giving him a wide smile. “Yes, do sit down, Jeb.’’ My voice was banana-pudding sweet.
Mama raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you two young people would like to chat. I’ll just go powder my nose.’’
As soon as she left, I wiped the smile from my face. “I’ve got a couple of questions for you.’’
Jeb cocked his head at me. I’d been distracted by shiny shirt buttons and scalding coffee. But I hadn’t forgotten what I’d learned at the Booze ‘n’ Breeze.