Blood Ties - A Magnolia Novel Page 10

  After three months of trying out all the funny ideas, Wylie was escorted from Walmart by his embarrassed son, after hearing an earful about his father’s exploits from the manager. The manager informed Weston his father had set all the alarm clocks in housewares to go off at five minute intervals. Once, he walked up to an employee in the pet supplies department and told her in a very official tone “Code 3 in housewares. Get on it right away.” He went to the customer service desk and tried to reserve a bag of chips. He set up a tent in the camping department and told the children of other shoppers they could come into the tent if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department. The final straw happened when over the clerk’s objections, he entered the women’s wear dressing room and closed the door. A few minutes later he hollered “Hey, where is the toilet paper kept in here?” which caused the clerk to launch into an anxiety attack and scream for help.

  Less than a week later, Wylie was living at The Magnolia and his son didn’t visit him for six straight months. They had finally made peace with each other after a full year, then Weston passed away from a heart attack. Three years ago, Wylie underwent surgery to replace his aortic valve, and the recovery process knocked some of the wind out of the old man’s sails for nearly eighteen months. But during the last three months, Wylie got some of his former spunk back and started playing harmless jokes on some of the residents.

  Jimmy changed directions and sat down at the table. He gave a curt nod to Seth and a hearty smile to Wylie. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Thanks for the seat. Lunch looks and smells delicious.”

  Wylie shoved in a mouthful of chicken drenched in gravy, chomped loudly for a few seconds, and then wiped the dribble from his chin. “I tell ya, Jimmy. The Magnolia got some of the finest cooks around town! They keep feeding me like this and I’ll be as big as a house by Christmas. I surely will.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy watched Seth take a tentative bite of green beans, a frown of worry across his brow. “Keep shovelin’ it in like that, Wylie, and you will have to have another go under the knife. I can hear your arteries hardenin’ from over here. You need to stick with greens and beans. More roughage. Keeps things flowin’ just right.”

  Wylie waved his fork in the air with a dismissive flick. “I ain’t gonna spend my remainin’ years on this planet festerin’ and worryin’ about how I live. What fun is there in that? It’s not like anythin’ I do at this point will change the fact that I’m gonna die. We all are, Seth. Between the two of us, who do you think will have the most regrets? I’ll give ya a hint–it ain’t gonna be me.”

  Seth huffed. “I have no regrets. And I plan on livin’ on way past one hundred. Why, I’ve got the liver of a teenager and the eyes of a jungle cat! And that’s because…”

  “I ain’t never touched a drop of the devil’s brew,” Wylie said, mimicking the mantra Seth had repeated so many times, even Jimmy had lost count. “Yes, we know, Seth. And all your borin’, I mean, careful livin’, still stuck you with no good lungs and heart. They are already over the one-hundred mark.”

  Jimmy watched the interaction between the two friends and sensed things were about to get ugly, so he intervened. “You boys coming to painting class today? I brought some new brushes and colors. Thought we could work on the flower stills from last week. Not a cloud in the sky today, so the bright sunlight will fill up the art room with perfect light.”

  Just as Seth and Wylie were about to answer, he watched their expressions change as they stared behind him. Jimmy felt a warm hand on his back. Before he could turn around, Carmella D’Nucci poked her head over his shoulder and grabbed Seth’s glass of tea before it toppled off the table top.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen. Glad to see you all eat so healthy. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Wilson, how are you all feeling today?” Jimmy scooted his plate over as Carmella wrangled herself into the seat next to him and propped her elbows on the table. She gave him a bright smile and said, “Mr. Calhoun. I see you are getting fueled up for class today. What’s on the paint palette today?”

  Wylie let out a low whistle. “Ms. Carmella, if I were just twenty years younger, I’d make a play for you. I surely would. You’re just about the prettiest gal I’ve seen in years, except for my Irma, God rest her soul.”

  “Wylie! What a thing to say. Mind your manners,” Seth grumbled.

  Wylie shot back. “Get your jockey’s out of their twist, Seth. Ms. Carmella knows I’m only joshin’ her. Besides, the gal needs a laugh, after all she’s been through. Gotta say, I’m surprised to see ya here today, Ms. Carmella. We all figured you’d be out for a while, considerin’ everythin’. Laughter is always the best medicine, ain’t that right, Ms. Carmella?”

  The look of amusement mixed with pain glinted in Carmella’s deep brown eyes. Tears shimmered behind them, and she blinked them back before they spilled out. Jimmy was surprised to see her back at work so soon after the murder of her son, Ray-Ray. She shot a quick look at Jimmy. He could tell she was hiding her pain from her charges. She winked at him. “Oh, now Seth. Don’t let ol’ Wylie get your goat. I appreciate his humor. Honestly, if one more person asks me how I’m doing, I’ll explode. I’m taking things minute by minute. Wylie, your playful spark is definitely back, which I’m thrilled to see. Now, if I could just get you to transfer some of that energy into keeping your apartment clean, I wouldn’t have to spend so much time there. Although, right now, anything to keep my mind off…well, it’s just a welcome distraction.”

  Wylie roared with laughter. “Honey, I don’t clean my apartment because that’s women’s work. Never cleared one dust bunny or washed a load of laundry when my Irma was alive, and I’m too old to start new traditions. Besides, that’s all part and parcel of the monthly fees I pay, am I right? I mean, come on! What kind of fool would I be if I didn’t have a fine young thing like you around, keepin’ my livin’ quarters straight? I may be old, but I ain’t stupid. And, I’m more than willin’ to keep you distracted as long as you need! But, I promise to behave and show proper respect at your son’s service. Saturday, right?”

  Jimmy nearly choked on his mouthful of food. Carmella let loose a tinkling giggle and smiled. Seth turned three shades of red from embarrassment. Once Carmella finished laughing, she lowered her voice and motioned to her left with a slight nod of her head. “Yes, Saturday at three. Now, enough about me. Either of you make any headway with Mr. Pickard?”

  Wylie answered. “Nah, he still keeps us all at arm’s length. Tried to get him to play a game of checkers yesterday, but he acted like he couldn’t hear me, which I know he can. He just don’t seem to have adjusted to bein’ here yet. Old coot just wanders around here like an ol’ zombie, never smilin’ or talkin’ to anyone, except when his friend comes by. Even then, he don’t say much. His buddy does most of the yappin’. Ol’ Pickard mostly listens.”

  Seth nodded in agreement. “We asked him if he’d like to join us for lunch today, and he didn’t even have the courtesy to respond. Just kept on shufflin’ over to his favorite spot, sat down, and stared out the window. Haven’t even seen him take a bite from his plate. His food is probably cold by now.”

  Carmella bristled and got up from the chair. She leaned over and gave Wylie’s shoulders a warm squeeze. “Well, boys, it’s been fun, but I guess I best go check on him. Can’t have my charges not eating, least not on my watch. You stay out of trouble, Wylie. Keep an eye on him, Seth. Good seeing you again, Mr. Calhoun. And Wylie? Thanks for making me smile today.”

  In a few quick strides, Carmella was across the room, talking to Mr. Pickard. The three men watched her sashay away, the thin scrubs revealing a firm, round rump. Under his breath, Wylie mumbled, “Lawd-a-mercy, can’t those twenty years disappear?” and then went back to the business of eating.

  Jimmy watched Carmella try to have a conversation with Mr. Pickard. Even from across the room, he could tell it was one-sided. He took one last, small nibble of his lunch, washed it down with a long gulp of water, and stood. “I�
��m off to set up for class. Thanks for the company, gentlemen. Don’t be late.”

  “Say, Jimmy, when we gonna get us a real live model as a muss?” Wylie asked.

  “It’s muse, you ignorant redneck,” Seth corrected.

  Jimmy wondered how in the world the two men ever became friends. Seth wielded his perceived intellect like a sword, and Wylie was just an old, retired blue collar worker, who happened to luck into a trade that made him quite wealthy–land excavation. The years of being outside, under the burning rays of the unforgiving sun, had turned the man’s skin to a crisp, wrinkled brown. Wylie almost looked like an overcooked Thanksgiving turkey. The sun’s rays also seemed to burn away the sections of his brain where tact and manners resided.

  Wylie ignored the jab and continued. “I’m sorta tired of lookin’ at borin’ fruit. Hey, I know! You should call the college and ask if an art student wants to make her some quick cash as a muse. I’d surely pay good money to stare at a young, naked honey a few hours each week. With that kind of inspiration, I might just become the next Donatello.”

  “You mean Michelangelo. Donatello was a sculptor, you old fool. Your debauchery and ignorance have no bounds, do they? Makin’ googly-eyes with a woman young enough to be your daughter, on the heels of losin’ her only son, then turnin’ right around and askin’ to paint a naked woman! Why am I friends with you?” Seth moaned.

  “Well, whichever! Stop interruptin’ me, Seth! That’s just plain bad manners. And you call me the ignorant redneck! Besides, it don’t rightly matter none which ello I meant. Art is art, right? God didn’t make any finer piece of work on earth than a naked woman. I told you, Seth. I will have no regrets when I leave this world. You stick with me because secretly, you don’t want any either. You’re just too proper to admit it.”

  The conversation between the two old men ignited into a verbal disaster zone. Jimmy walked away, shaking his head at the geezers. In all the years he’d known them, he had never witnessed civility last for more than an hour. He gave a quick glance over to where Mr. Pickard sat and noticed Carmella was nowhere in sight. Mr. Pickard’s friend had joined him, along with two other women. Jimmy recognized one as the wife of the friend, but the other was a new face. A lovely, fresh face. He paused and stared at the tanned beauty. Long, blonde hair with wisps of gray framed her cherubic face, cascading down past her slender shoulders. Bright, green eyes sparkled and a wide smile graced her face. Mesmerized, Jimmy watched as she leaned down and gave Mr. Pickard a warm embrace, and then sat down next to him.

  He immediately saw the familial resemblance and knew the woman was at least related to Cecil’s friend, Mr. Tuck. Daughter, probably, guessing by her age. Jimmy’s old ticker doubled its pace, and a surge of excitement moved in his stomach. The happy flip-flop he hadn’t felt in years spread through him. A mixture of emotions tumbled inside him. Jimmy fought the sense of guilt at the lustful thoughts running amok in his mind, ones he hadn’t experienced since his wife was alive. It wasn’t like he didn’t take time to admire the opposite sex on occasion. After all, he did teach art. Though he was supposed to go upstairs and prepare for painting class, something about the woman drew him to her, so he made his way across the room to introduce himself, a stupid grin plastered on his face.

  11

  Mending Broken Fences

  Karina wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, immediately regretting the action. The dampness on her skin was replaced by a streak of white paint from her dirty fingers. The urge to sneeze, again, welled up inside her. She buried her swollen nose in the crook of her arm, unwilling to let another one escape.

  Under her breath, Karina cursed her body’s response to the Arkansas air. The minute she stepped outside and cranked up the mower, her nose rebelled. Violently. So did her eyes. Her contacts didn’t stand a chance at the constant outpouring of tears. Karina was forced to take them out and wear her glasses while she worked outside.

  The restoration of parts of the dilapidated fence and mowing down the high grass in the front yard had been her project for the past hour. Karina needed the physical release after the voicemail she’d listened to earlier. It was a good thing her phone had been on silent and she missed the live call. Her mother’s fears about Gram and Grampa hearing her dock-worker mouth in full, foul swing, would have come to fruition.

  The second she heard the familiar voice of Misty, softly begging for forgiveness, whining for a chance to talk, lamenting the fact that Karina moved away without a chance to hammer things out, her anger skyrocketed. Went right through the stratosphere. It was not the way she wanted her morning to start off. What she really wanted to do was load her gun, traipse off into the woods, find a sturdy tree, tack up a picture of Misty, and blow it to Hell. While screaming the lyrics to her favorite metal song about hating someone at the top of her lungs. Good, old fashioned, blow-shit-to-smithereens therapy.

  Instead, Karina begged off going with the rest of the family to visit Grampa’s friend, Cecil Pickard. Smashing nails with a hammer would help rid her of the rage, and keep her out of trouble. Plus, she just wasn’t ready to walk into any type of senior center, even an independent living one like The Magnolia. It would just bring back too many unwanted memories.

  If Karina saw any hint of mistreatment or shoddy care, she wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to stop herself from storming into the office of the owners. She didn’t want her grandparents to see her fly into a rage, so, Karina decided not to go. With a promise made for next week, she told her disappointed Grampa he’d have a surprise waiting when he returned.

  Sneeze averted, Karina scanned the yard and, despite the heat, bug bites, and filth, smiled. She’d made decent progress and was quite proud of her handiwork, even though she’d probably lost ten pounds from sweating. Another two or three from all the damned vampire-like bugs feasting on her blood. To her right, she saw the broken sections of the fence on the ground and her smile disappeared. They’d require more than just a coat of paint, or hammer and nails. A trip to the local lawn and garden store would be necessary, so she could buy some wood to replace the bug-infested pieces. Plus, she needed to buy more paint. The lone gallon of white exterior was almost empty, and Grampa didn’t have anymore, at least she didn’t find any in the barn or garage earlier.

  Looking down at her clothes, which probably held about a quarter of the gallon, and then at her watch, she groaned. Gram said they would be out for about three hours, and Karina wanted to finish the job before they returned. Show them how handy the city girl was in the country. What a cosmic joke. If they could see her now, with more paint on her clothes than on the fence, her left thumb swollen and bleeding after smacking it twice with the hammer, she’d never live it down.

  There was no way she’d get in her car covered in white paint, grass flecks, and sweat. She would have to go change out of her soaked t-shirt and jean shorts. Put on a pair of shoes without the strange, greenish sheen from freshly mowed grass.

  Idiot. She ruined a perfectly good pair of running shoes. Karina made a mental note to buy a pair of work boots while out. A final glance around the yard made her heart clench. So much needed to be done to restore the place to at least how she remembered it. The barn needed to be torn down and rebuilt. Trying to salvage it would be a waste of time.

  Grampa once told her when she was around ten that his grandfather was just a little tyke when it was originally built. Karina did a quick mental calculation. It meant the structure was nearly two-hundred years old. If the wood had ever sported a color, she couldn’t tell. The roof sagged, the front doors didn’t close, and the smells inside were awful.

  Karina had run in and then right back out, when she was scrounging for paint supplies earlier. Thoughts of snakes, spiders, and bats, or the roof collapsing, filled her mind, and she had to fight the urge to say fuck it and pick another project to work on.

  A light breeze rustled through the oak trees, bending the tips of the tall grass in the uncared for field. Grampa’s tractor sat in
the middle of the field, the overgrown grass touching the tops of the tires. The once vibrant green and yellow machine she used to love riding shotgun on when Grampa worked, had a strange, orange tint to it. Rust. Tons of it. Karina wondered how long it had been sitting in the same spot.

  Karina closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. The sweet scents of wild honeysuckle and magnolia blooms soothed her sore nasal passages. Her mind recognized the aroma and the smell immediately showered her mind with visions of childhood. The odors may have been the same, but the sounds around her sure weren’t. No mooing cows in the pasture. No soft whinnies from Firestorm or the other horses. The only sound leftover from her memories was the clucking of the chickens, and even that wasn’t very loud. Karina counted only ten on her way to the barn earlier. For some reason, maybe just the distorted recollections of her younger mind, she seemed to recall at least a hundred or so pecking around in the yard. Everything had changed. A deep sense of sadness made her chest feel heavy.

  Karina shook her head to rid herself of the trip down memory lane, and her current foul mood. She felt out of sorts. Off. Not in sync. It wasn’t just from the heat or allergies, or the voicemail from Misty. Though her previous job wasn’t exactly a daily repetition of the one before, it felt strange not having a one to go to. For a moment, Karina wondered if the feeling, the sense of imbalance, was what retirees went through once they said goodbye to their work life. With no set schedule, no concrete plans for the day, the feeling of being lost in a dark forest sort of crept in.