“Woo hoo! Git a load of Granny!”
“She’s got lipstick on!”
“Red lipstick! Looks like she’s been suckin’ on a red lollipop!”
“That’s ’cause she’s goin’ on a date!”
“Granny and the sheriff, sittin’ in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g!”
“Yeah, she’s gonna get red lipstick all-l-l over his face!”
“Hush up, the lot of you! That’ll be quite enough!” As Stella Reid looked around her kitchen table at her snickering grandangels, she tried her best to fake a frown to go with the command. But, in spite of her best efforts, a grin slipped through.
For a moment, she locked eyes with her oldest, Savannah, and saw the knowing smirk on the child’s pretty face. Much to Stella’s sorrow, Savannah was mature, far beyond her thirteen years. The residue of having lived her formative years in the household of a mother who made poor choices. Usually, right in front of her children.
The result of those foolish decisions was Shirley paying her debt to society in a Georgia penitentiary and her brood eating all of their meals and sleeping every night in the custody of their grandmother.
Raising seven children was a mighty task that didn’t leave a lot of free time for outings of any sort. Let alone of the romantic type.
So, tonight was special. Very special. In fact, it scared Stella to even think what Sheriff Manny Gilford’s invitation to dinner and a walk by the river might mean.
“Gran and the sheriff aren’t going on a date,” Savannah was telling her siblings in a tone that sounded as insincere as that of any grown-up trying to convince children of some falsehood. For their own good, of course. “They’re just going to the Burger Igloo for a hamburger, so they can have some peace and quiet to discuss business.”
“Monkey business!” squealed Marietta, the second oldest. Like her sister, the girl knew far more about activities between the sexes than Stella would have liked, but Miss Mari had none of her big sister’s common sense or respect for privacy.
Marietta was, as Pastor O’Reilly would say, Stella’s “thorn in the flesh.” But being considerably less spiritually minded than the good reverend, Stella simply called Marietta a “pain in the hindquarters.” But never to her face.
Like her brother and the rest of her sisters, Mari had been called far too many names, much worse ones than that, by her own mother. Often while dancing at the end of Shirley’s belt.
Stella was determined to not repeat her daughter-in-law’s mistakes. The children deserved a peaceful, steadfast, loving hand to guide them for the remainder of their childhoods, and she was determined to supply that.
But looking down at her sometimes thorny, pretty much always butt-pain granddaughter, Stella could see the child’s mental wheels turning as she considered her next comment. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes warned Stella it would be a doozy.
“I heard what you said to Savannah when the two of you was sittin’ out there in the porch swing on her thirteenth birthday.” Marietta looked around the table, making sure everyone within earshot was listening. “You told her she was a lady now and had to watch out for boys.”
“Marietta, you stop right there, gal. That was a private conversation, and you shouldn’t’ve been sneakin’ around, listenin’ with your ears out on stems—”
“Hey, you hear all sorts of good stuff that way!” Marietta shoved a spoonful of carrot slices into her mouth, pushed them to the side of her mouth, like a squirrel filling up its cheek pockets, and continued to talk around them. “You told her they’re only interested in one thing and—”
“Don’t you say another word, Marietta, or I swear I’ll stick you in your bedroom till you’re thirty-eight.”
“Good idea. Then you won’t have to worry about her, and boys, and what it is they’re so interested in,” Savannah mumbled, buttering her bread.
“What they’re so interested in,” Marietta continued unsubdued, “is suckin’ on your face, then gettin’ your clothes offa ya and wrasslin’ you onto a bed so they can—”
“Marietta Reid!” Stella was around the table and had a firm hold on Granddaughter #2, thankfully, before she could finish her sentence.
As Stella pulled the girl from her chair and onto her feet, she glanced around the table and saw the startled, wide-eyed expressions on the faces of her four younger grandgirls: Vidalia, Cordele, Jesup, and Alma. She could tell that they sensed they had been about to hear something their grandmother didn’t want them to, which, of course, made the missing information fascinating, even unheard.
Savannah, who was seldom rattled by anything or anyone, even Miss Contrary Mari, looked mortified. In Stella’s home, such intimate conversations about delicate topics were limited to the front porch swing and only with the older siblings. Stella figured such information was to be disclosed strictly on a “need-to-know” basis.
Her hand tightened around Marietta’s arm as she felt the girl trying to pull away from her. Even the pertinacious Marietta knew when she’d gone too far and was about to “get her comeuppance.”
Stella led her away from the table and through the humble, shotgun house to the girls’ bedroom with its three sets of bunk beds. Turning on a plug-in nightlight, Stella waved a hand toward the top bunk on the far side of the room. Mari’s bed.
“Yank off them shoes of yours and crawl up there onto that bed, young lady.”
“I ain’t tired!”
“Well, I am. I’m plum wore out with your shenanigans. I’m in desperate need of a time-out, so you’re fixin’ to take one.”
Stella gave her a less than graceful boost up onto the bunk, where the girl sat, huffing and puffing like a river toad with a chest cold.
“I didn’t finish my supper! I’m still hungry!”
For a moment, Stella considered telling the child she was going to bed without eating the rest of her meal. But Stella couldn’t bring herself to exact that particular punishment. She knew far too well how many times her daughter-in-law had sent the children to bed hungry, and it had nothing to do with misbehavior. . . except Shirley’s.
In the little town of McGill, Shirley Reid was famous for three things: having more children than she knew what to do with; her addiction issues; and being unfaithful to her long-distance trucker husband when he was out of town, being unfaithful to her.
On rare occasions, when Shirley Reid managed to get her hand on some money, she seldom bought food for her children. Most of her cash was spent on mood enhancers, bought from local dealers on the streets. Her purchases found their way into Shirley’s lungs, down her throat, up her nose, and occasionally, in her veins.
No. While Stella’s grandchildren had to be disciplined from time to time, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, deprive them of food.
“I’ll stick your plate in the oven and keep it warm till you’ve had a good, long think about what you said in there and how un-suitin’ it was for you to utter such things in front of the little ’uns.”
“They’re gonna know about it sooner or later,” Marietta protested as Stella turned to leave the room.
“Yes, they will. But later’s better than sooner, when it comes to matters like that. Let ’em be young’uns as long as they can. They’ll have plenty of time once they’re grown to fret about grown-up stuff.”
“Like whether or not, after y’all get your hamburgers ate, Sheriff Gilford’s gonna ask you to go to the motel and do nasty stuff with him?”
Stella caught her breath and whirled back around to face her granddaughter.
In the next few seconds, she prayed the fastest prayer she’d ever offered up to heaven, asking for the fruits of the spirit: love, wisdom, patience . . . and the strength not to jerk a knot in the kid’s tail then and there.
She walked over to the bed, reached up, and took her grandchild’s hand in hers. Looking deeply into the girl’s eyes, Stella could see a bit of fear and was grateful for it. A child who harbored absolutely no fear at all in their hearts was in for a lifetime of troubles and woes. A little old-fashioned trepidation made a body more careful. She was relieved to see Mari had a tad.
Not enough.
But a little.
“My darlin’ girl,” she said, keeping her voice softer than the feelings coursing through her. “I love you to pieces. You know that I do. You are one of the seven bright stars in my crown and always will be—in this life and when I’m walkin’ the streets of heaven, good Lord willin’ and I make it there. But when you just said what you did, my heart hurt somethin’ fierce. I’d a’thought you’d have more respect for me and for Sheriff Gilford, too, for that matter, to say such a thing. Neither one of us has ever given you any reason to think we’d behave in such a way. It was most unkind of you to suggest that we would, child.”
To Stella’s surprise, Marietta didn’t reply with one of her everready smart-aleck retorts. Instead, she stared down at her own hand and her grandmother’s that was closed tightly around it.
When she didn’t answer, Stella added gently, “I do believe that if you apologize to me, you and me both’ll feel a heap better.”
Marietta drew a deep breath, then looked up at her grandmother. When their eyes met, Stella saw the girl’s tears of remorse.
Marietta Reid was feeling remorse! Enough of it to actually make her cry. A little.
Stella’s heart soared, borne on the wings of hope for the future! Miracles did happen, after all!
“I’m sorry, Granny,” she said. “I didn’t really think much about what I was gonna say before I spit it out. I was just tryin’ to make a funny. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or make you think I thought you was a wanton woman.”
Stella suppressed a chuckle. “Wanton woman? Where did you hear the likes of that?”
“Savannah.”
“Savannah?”
Marietta shrugged. “She reads too many blamed books.”
Laughing, Stella reached up, pulled her granddaughter down from the bunk, gave her a hug and a kiss on the top of her head. “I reckon you’ve demonstrated genuine repentance for your transgressions. All’s forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” Marietta grinned up at her, the same mischievous smirk that had gotten her in trouble before. “But you talk funny, too, like Savannah. I reckon it’s from readin’ the Bible too much.”
As Marietta stepped in front of her, Stella reached down and gave her a swat on her rear. “You better be glad I do, turkey butt. Sometimes, that’s all that keeps me from cleanin’ your plow!”
“What’s cleanin’ my plow mean?”
“Let’s just say—you aggravate me like you did, before I’ve done my daily readin’, and you might find out, sweetcheeks.”
Not for the first time, when eating at McGill’s premier dining establishment, it occurred to Stella that the tables in the Burger Igloo were pretty much the same as the one in her own kitchen. But the café’s red and chrome, mother-of-pearl “retro” furnishings had been purchased new only a few years ago. They were far less scratched and scuffed than hers, which had been bought shortly after she and Art had been married, back in the fifties, when the dining set had been her pride and joy, the latest in fashionable breakfast sets.
The Burger Igloo’s chairs were boring, lacking the character of hers. They weren’t split, faded, and stained.
They were “less loved.”
Sadly, the restaurant’s tables lacked the one unique feature that greatly enhanced the appearance of her “worn to a frazzle” table—the raw plywood extender leaf that enabled a passel of kids to dine at one setting without anybody having to stand at the counter to eat.
Stella had learned that children take a dim view of kitchen counter dining. Any suggestion they should do so produced grumblings of discontent, even among the most well-behaved young’uns.
Yes, the Burger Igloo’s tables and chairs were boring, compared to Stella’s. But otherwise, the restaurant was nicely furnished with charming décor that was reminiscent of the 1950s: old movie posters on the walls, black-and-white tiles on the floor, the jukebox near the window which, these days, played mostly music by Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Whitney Houston, and Madonna.
But tonight, Stella was hardly aware of the ambiance of the charming burger joint. She had scarcely even tasted her deluxe burger.
All she could think about was the fellow sitting across from her in the booth.
Although neither Stella nor the sheriff could be considered “youthful” these days, Manny Gilford was a “fine specimen of a man,” as Stella’s best friend, Elsie, often observed.
“Mighty easy on the eyes, that fella . . . even when he’s walkin’ away from ya,” her neighbor, Florence, had said more than once.
Elsie and Flo weren’t the only ones.
Long ago, Stella had noticed that when the sheriff entered a room every citizen of McGill took notice. Mostly, women gazed longingly at him, taking in his thick silver hair and powerful physique, which was complemented by his freshly pressed uniform, and his face, still as handsome as when he had been in his teens, twenties, thirties, and forties. The women of McGill, Georgia, might have grown up with him, but Manny had always maintained a certain mystique, which garnered adoration from females, appreciation from law-abiding citizens, and grudging respect from lawbreakers.
Stella was proud to be seen with him under any circumstances, let alone one that might, or might not, be considered semi-romantic.
Like the children in her home, Stella wasn’t quite sure about the significance of this invitation. Often, he would ask her to accompany him while he was on duty and performing some task for McGillians. But when he had phoned the day before and invited her to have dinner with him, she’d heard a more serious tone in his voice. Maybe even a bit of nervousness, which was completely out of character for an otherwise self-confident man.
Even more confusing was the fact that they had been served ten minutes before, and Manny hadn’t eaten more than a bite of his food yet.
Stella was starting to think that, for a man with a ravenous appetite, this was a possible cause for alarm.
As he stared down at his plate, she cleared her throat and said, “Manny, you feelin’ all right tonight? You seem like you might be a bit off your feed there.”
He looked up at her, his pale gray eyes filled with a level of concern that upset her even further. “No, Stella,” he said. “Thank you for asking, but I’m not exactly all right.”
Stella’s mind raced. So many possibilities occurred to her. With a sheriff, his problem could be almost anything. Heaven only knew what evil might be afoot in the town. Over the years, she’d learned that living in a small town didn’t guarantee that everyone inside its borders lived safe, peaceful lives.
He could be troubled about anything from an unpatched pothole to skullduggery of a serious nature.
Maybe somebody had said or done something disrespectful to him. Representing truth, justice, and the American way, as he did, he was often the target of mischief and sometimes genuinely foul play.
Only one week ago, she’d seen him scrubbing the remains of some rotten eggs off the hood of his cruiser.
Or maybe it was she who had done something to offend him. She certainly hoped not.
Sheriff Manny Gilford and his wife, Lucy, had always been close friends of Stella’s and her late husband, Arthur. The four of them had made many lovely memories together, having attended high school together and later, as married couples, swimming, boating, and fishing at the Gilfords’ lakeside cottage in the summers.
Come winter, they had enjoyed many gentle evenings, playing Monopoly or sitting on the couch, watching the fire blaze, their laps covered with cozy afghans Lucy had crocheted, and listening to oldies from the fifties and the newer hits from the Beatles, Elton John, and Creedence Clearwater Revival on Manny’s enormous stereo system.
But all good things come to an end. Manny had lost his beloved Lucy. Then, six years ago, Art had been taken in an accident, working their small farm.
Both widower and widow grieved their losses together, bonding even more closely as friends.
But no more than friends.
Stella knew that Manny wanted to make it more. He had always been so kind to her and hers. He had even been instrumental in helping her gain custody of her grandchildren, when her daughter-in-law had gone to jail on drunk driving and child endangerment charges.
From that moment on, Stella’s life was no longer her own. Taking care of seven kids was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job with no weekends off or vacation time.
Certainly, there was no time for something as distracting and time-consuming as a new man in her life.
Manny understood.
That’s why Stella was confused when he asked if he could take her out for dinner. But she had heard a note of urgency in his voice, and she couldn’t refuse. He’d sounded strange, like he had something important on his mind.
“Can you share what it is that’s botherin’ you?” she asked. “If it ain’t a private matter of a confidential nature, of course.”
He hesitated, and the silence was long and awkward. Finally, he said, still staring down at his plate, “I just can’t figure out exactly what this is.”
Stella studied the pile of food for quite a while, then shrugged and said, “As I recall, you ordered the meat loaf special.” She glanced over at Jean Marie, the short-skirted, big-haired waitress, who was keeping a close and jealous eye on them.
As were most of the ladies in the establishment at that moment.
The townsfolk weren’t accustomed to seeing their sheriff engaging in what might be a genuine social interaction with an unattached female. Stella was sure everyone in McGill would be discussing this highly suspicious “tryst” over breakfast tomorrow and expounding an opinion on it.
She returned her attention to Manny and his mystery plate. “I think you got the meat loaf you asked for,” she said, “though Jean Marie pert near drowned the poor thing in gravy. Probably meant to impress you. She’s carried a torch for you since she was eleven, you know.”
Manny didn’t seem impressed to hear he was the object of Jean Marie’s or anyone else’s affections. He looked up at her, and she was concerned to see the worried expression on his face.
“I wasn’t talking about the meat loaf, Stella May,” he said softly. “I’m talking about this. . . .”
“This what?” She tried to understand but had no idea what he meant. “I’m sorry, Manny, but—”
“This, Stella. This . . . us . . . going out to dinner together. Alone.”
Stella swallowed, took a quick glance around the room at all the eavesdroppers, and whispered, “Alone, except for the quarter of the town’s population that’s eatin’ in here with us tonight?”
He paused, perused the room, then shrugged. “I don’t give a hoot about them right now, and I don’t care what’s on my plate. I just wish I could figure out.... Is this a real ‘date’ we’re on now? Or is this just two old friends having a meal together?”
She sat, flabbergasted and unable to formulate one solitary sentence in her head to answer him.
Finally, she just started to giggle. Far too hard. Much too loudly.
She was further mortified when she realized that she sounded like Marietta after a knuckleheaded boy in her class had asked if he could kiss her behind the bookshelves at recess.
Manny wasn’t helping, sitting there, studying her with his gray, piercing policeman’s eyes. He missed nothing, and she was wondering what her ridiculous reaction was telling him.
At last, she gained control of herself, other than the occasional, nervous hiccup. “I’m sorry, Manny,” she said. “I’m not laughing at you. Truly. It’s just that my grandkids were bickering about the same thing as I was going out the door today. Some said I was leaving to have a date with you and others said it wasn’t no big deal. Just a burger.”
Again, his gaze never wavered as he said, “Well? What did you tell them?”
“I don’t recall for sure, but I think I mentioned that Miss Marietta should mind her own business.”
“That sounds like your Mari.”
She laughed. He chuckled.
Both sounded tense, and Stella didn’t like it that they were uneasy in each other’s presence. That was unusual for them and most unpleasant.
She decided to be honest with him. Maybe even admit that, although the thought scared her, she had been hoping, deep inside, that it was more than just friends getting together for a burger.
She took a deep breath, and in as soft a voice as she could manage, she said, “To be honest, Manny, I was sorta wonderin’ myself. I’m not sure, because I don’t know exactly what you had in mind when you asked me.”
She watched him start to answer, swallow his words, and then try them once again.
“Since you put it that way,” he began, “I’ll confess. I was thinking it was more of a date than just a burger between friends. But I wasn’t assuming anything. I would’ve been happy with either—as lon. . .
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