Forty-Three
Trudy
Trudy’s paid week off had been pleasantly free from lesson plans, lunchroom duty, and cheerleader practice, but mostly she was thankful to avoid the stares and whispers sure to come with her newfound status as Barbara Beaumont’s assailant.
Helping out at the jewelry store, she had turned her attention away from Shug and Haskel and kept her mind on mundane tasks—dusting displays, stocking inventory, sorting boxes, ribbons, and wrapping paper.
Trudy would have to go back to school on Monday but couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening that Friday afternoon.
That night, the Bruins were headed to Frog Trot for an away game.
She hoped June Bug would play, for his own sake, hopefully realizing football could belong to him instead of him belonging to football.
The bell jingled and a lady entered. Older, lovely, a little hunched over. She seemed familiar, something about her eyes, but Trudy couldn’t place her.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Trudy said.
“Hello.” The lady held her pocketbook with two hands in front of her. “I’m here to pick up my tennis bracelet?”
Dub appeared from the back. “Miss Frances! Here you go.” He handed her the bracelet, which he’d placed in a little plastic zip bag. “That clasp shouldn’t give you any more trouble, and I cleaned it too.”
“Oh, thank you.” Frances removed the bracelet and held it to her wrist. “You know, George gave this to me on our thirtieth anniversary.”
“Here, let me ...” Trudy helped her clasp it and admired the diamonds’ fire in the jewelry counter display lights. “What a wonderful piece.”
As Trudy rang up the five-dollar repair fee, Frances whispered, “You’re even prettier than Doyle let on.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t be telling you this; Doyle would be mortified, but you should have seen him that day: fit to be tied!
” Frances chuckled at her own memory. “My screen door banging in the morning like that nearly scared me to death. Doyle had sped all the way home. I was afraid something terrible had happened. I guess in his eyes, something terrible had .”
“I’m sorry, Miss Frances,” Trudy said. “Doyle is . . . ?”
“My son,” she smiled. “Lord, he was carrying on that day, ‘I need a sandwich! Ham and cheese, lettuce and tomato, mustard, no mayonnaise.’ Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and said, ‘Do you believe in love at first sight, Mama? Because I met her. I know she’s the one.’ Then he stuck his head in the fridge, started digging around for the mustard saying how Bess ate your sandwich.
That dog, Bess ... goodness ... she’s a bit of a handful if you ask me. ”
“True-Belle?” Dub grinned. “This is Frances Meechum .”
“Shug’s mother?” Trudy said.
“Oh, gosh! I wish he’d use his real name.”
“Which is Doyle ?”
“I’m going down to Moe’s,” Dub said, laughing. “Y’all want anything?”
Trudy shook her head.
Frances said, “Oh, you’re sweet, Dub, but no thank you.”
Dub came around the counter and gave Frances a sideways hug. “Don’t be a stranger now.”
Frances continued once Dub was gone. “Like I said, I shouldn’t be telling tales on Doyle like this but he’s been so down in the dumps ever since y’all .
.. oh, you know.” Frances waved her hand.
“I oughta shut my mouth. But I’ll tell you one thing, dear, I’ve never seen that boy’s heart so full and then so completely empty all of a sudden. ”
Trudy wanted to say, that makes two of us. Instead, she reached under the cash register and grabbed the calendar, turned back to September.
Wednesday the first: the day Bess ate her sandwich.
Friday the third: the first football game.
And Saturday the fourth: Shug ate Leta Pearl’s love biscuits, a full three days after the sandwich incident.
Trudy set the calendar down. “Mrs. Meechum, are you sure he said love ? At first sight? I mean ... that’s a big concept, you know? And complicated, and sometimes guys think it’s love, but then ... are you sure ?”
Frances patted Trudy’s hand. “A mother is always the first to know, dear.” Frances smiled. “Of that, I’m sure.”
Trudy took one more look at the calendar to confirm. “But he’s moving away,” she said.
“Moving?” Frances chuckled. “Lord, I wish he would! About time if you ask me. He thinks I still need him living with me ever since George passed.”
“But he’s going to Tuscaloosa to coach with Bear Bryant.”
At this, Frances threw her head back and cackled. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Frances looked over her shoulder even though no one was around and leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”
Instinctively, Trudy leaned in too.
“No one knows yet, but Paul’s retiring.”
“Paul?”
“Coach Bryant, dear. His wife Mary and I were sorority sisters at Alabama. Alpha Gam. Ever since Doyle’s daddy died, Paul has been like a father to him.”
“But I heard—”
“A rumor, hon.” Frances patted Trudy’s wrist again. “Who knows how these things get started?”
“So, Shug’s not leaving?”
“For better or for worse, not any time soon.”
Why, though, had Shug let her believe this?
She recalled their argument in the hallway.
He’d tried to tell her, he’d called her ridiculous, then she’d called him a Podunk football coach and their conversation had ended with him exasperated and hurt.
She felt foolish, but worse, she’d likely blown her chance with him, especially after letting him leave her at Haskel’s house after homecoming.
“Oh, dear,” Frances looked at her watch. “I better go, or I’ll be late.”
Trudy said the repair fee was on the house, walked Mrs. Meechum to the door, then threw her arms around her and squeezed until Frances said, “Will I see you in Frog Trot?”
Trudy shook her head. “Miss Spencer’s filling in as cheerleader sponsor this week.”
But Trudy looked at the time and did the math; she and Dub could make it if they closed early.