Inside, the gator jaws gaped on my coffee table, waiting for my keys. The answering machine light blinked. I wanted to ignore it and hit the sack instead. But given all the recent crazy events, I figured I’d better not.
You have one message, an electronic voice intoned. First message.
“Mace, honey? It’s your mama.’’
Like I couldn’t tell. I started sorting mail as she carried on her conversation with my machine.
“You will never believe who called me up here after y’all left. None other than Pastor Bob Dixon, from church. Abundant Hope, that is.’’
Like there’s another Pastor Bob.
“I may have been wrong about him, Mace. He seemed awful sweet on the phone. He went on and on about how Delilah told him you’d come to church with me, and how nice that was. Said it sure would be wonderful if you’d come more often.’’
Nice try, Mama.
“Anyway, he said the real reason he called is he wants to talk to me about Emma Jean. I told him we were really more acquaintances than friends. But he told me that didn’t matter; she needs a friend right now. Pastor Bob said I should stop by the church sometime tomorrow to see him and Delilah. They’re hatching a plan to see if we can’t get poor Emma Jean some help.’’
I kicked off my boots, opened the refrigerator, and got a beer. If Mama had a point, I may as well get comfortable while I waited for her to find it.
“After she threw that fit at church, he said it’s obvious she’s hurting. I never would have believed it of Emma Jean, Mace. But with all that’s happened in her life, it seems like she’s gone plumb crazy. First, her little boy disappeared, like I told y’all. Then she finds out Jim was cheating. And now he gets killed.’’
Thirty seconds remaining.
“Well! These machines sure don’t give you much time, do they? Anyway, I was wondering whether you’d run me by church in the mornin’, about 8:30? I’d ask Maddie, but she has a sixth-grade assembly. And Marty will still be feeling poorly. I worry about her so much with those awful headaches, Mace. And now she’s got the responsibilities of that new job. What do you suppose we can do about her migraines, Mace? Anyway, I’d sure appreciate the ride. I wish you’d wear that sweet Kelly green blouse with the bow at the neck. You look so …’’
Beep. End of message.
I look so … so … what? So much like the wife of the Jolly Green Giant in a ruffled collar? So much like a leprechaun on growth hormones?
I knew how poor Teensy must feel, having to suffer the humiliation of Mama dressing him in a yellow slicker when it rains and a reindeer sweater at Christmas. He even has a tiny set of antlers to match the sweater. Fortunately, I get to choose my own clothes. The Kelly green horror would stay at the back of my closet, where it belongs.
Finally, I was able to peel off the jeans I’d been wearing for what seemed like a week. I dropped them on the floor, changed into my PJs and fluffed the pillows on my bed. Suddenly, the phone shrilled, sending my stomach somersaulting around the burger and fries and ice cream.
In a country town like Himmarshee, people turn in early. When the phone rings past midnight, the news is never good.
The caller was a woman, her shaky voice so soft I could hardly hear it.
“Mace? I’m awful sorry to call so late.’’
My heart thrummed. “Is my mama okay? Has anything happened to my sisters?’’
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry I scared you.’’ She took a long breath. “They’re all fine, so far as I know. This isn’t about anybody but me.’’
The acrobats in my gut took a break. The bass drum in my chest slowed to a normal beat. I waited, trying to let her proceed at her own pace. She was clearly in distress. But my compassion extends only so far at 12:44 am.
Then I heard a familiar wail.
“Hey there, Emma Jean.’’ I raised my voice to compete. “Don’t cry now. It’s going to be all right.’’
“I didn’t … sob … know who else … sob … to call, Mace. Your mama always talks about how smart you are. I liked the way you handled yourself at the police department. Not too bossy, like your older sister. And not too much of a scaredy cat, like that younger one.’’ Emma Jean paused to blow her nose. “I need someone with a good head on her shoulders to tell me what to do.’’
I gazed with longing at my fluffy pillows. They looked like two white clouds that had floated down from heaven to carry me off to a blessed sleep. On the other hand, we all wanted to know what the hell was up with Emma Jean.
“How can I help?’’ I sat at the foot of the bed, turning my back on the pillows.
“Mace, I found out who was cheating with Jim.’’
I sat up straight, sleep forgotten. “Who?’’
“I don’t want to say over the phone. You never know who might be listening in.’’ No sobs now; not even a sniffle. “I couldn’t sleep, as you can imagine. I’m out driving around. I know this is a big favor, but I really need to talk this out with someone, Mace. I saw on Oprah that when something is bothering you, you need to get it out in the open. You need to confront it, or it’ll fester.’’
“That’s good advice, Emma Jean, depending on what you mean by confronting.’’ I thought of the ruckus at the church. Her threat of doing harm to the Other Woman. “If you could say who’s involved, it’ll help me know how to handle this.’’
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not on the phone, Mace. Please.’’
It seemed pretty paranoid, but I didn’t want to upset her. I remembered that tire iron.
As if she’d read my thoughts, Emma Jean said, “I know I made a fool of myself at Abundant Hope. I need somebody smart like you to tell me how to go about settling things. I’m out on Highway 98 now, only a few minutes away from the old Raulerson cottage. Your mama told me you bought that old ruin, and fixed it up real nice.’’
I looked at the clock. It was 12:51. No, 12:52. What the hell? I’d sleep tomorrow night.
“C’mon over. I’ll put on a pot of herbal tea.’’
Tossing a robe over my pajamas, I went into the kitchen. I lit a couple of Mama’s carnation candles. The water boiled, and I poured it into a pot over three chamomile teabags. After choosing some pretty flowered cups, I set out two spoons and a plastic bear full of honey. By the time I’d washed up a few dishes, read the headlines in the Himmarshee Times, and turned on the TV, I began to wonder what was keeping Emma Jean.