Chapter 3
Clara and Bernie stopped at a great little steak house for lunch, and while she had been eating two huge pork chops, Clara thought of the day before when she had used her last dollar bill for a package of peanut butter crackers at the convenience store.
That and what was left in her water bottle were what she had had to eat all day when she reached Ratliff City.
She had pulled into the parking lot on an empty stomach, with a desperate prayer, bald tires, and a flood of tears that she couldn’t control.
Less than twenty-four hours later, she was sitting in a nice restaurant with the great-aunt who supposedly had been spawned by the devil himself.
“I feel like I stepped into a fresh cow patty and walked away smelling like a rose,” Clara said.
“Proving that not all bad experiences produce horrible results,” Bernie told her.
“Never thought of it that way,” Clara said, “but it’s the truth. Some lead you down the right path. That makes me wonder what will happen next now that I’m on one that feels like it could be the one.”
“Never know, but if you keep walking on it, you might find happiness,” Bernie replied. “I can sit right here at the age I am and attest to the fact that I certainly did.”
“I hope so,” Clara said. “I’ve been at odds with everything in my life for so long that it seems to me like the other shoe will drop any minute.”
“That will pass like your hangover did.” Bernie chuckled. “Finish your pork chops so we can go home and get to decorating.”
“I haven’t been out to eat in so long that I’m savoring every bite,” Clara told her.
“Savor it faster. We’ve got milk and ice cream in the truck. Granted they are in a cooler, but there’s just so much a person can ask of one little ice pack in this miserable heat wave.”
“For ice cream, I will get a move on,” Clara declared. “I haven’t been able to afford a luxury like that in over a year.”
The waitress came around and refilled both of their tea glasses.
When she had gone, Clara looked across the table at her octogenarian aunt and asked, “I can understand putting up stuff for Christmas, but why for July Fourth? We put up the tree after Thanksgiving and leave it until New Year’s Eve.
That’s more than a month. Why go to all that trouble for one day? ”
“I didn’t get married and have kids like my sister did,” Bernie answered and finished up the last bite of her baked potato.
“I was more or less pitched out of the family when I decided to live my life on my terms. When I became owner of this bar, I decided to make it my family. The family has tolerated me on a few occasions, but to love me unconditionally is out of their reach. What does any family do for holidays?” Bernie asked.
“They put on costumes and have a good time.”
“We did that for Christmas, but we only wore costumes to the church program,” Clara answered.
“In the Chicken Coop family, we have fun on every holiday, and I always dress up,” Bernie said.
“Are you serious?” Clara asked.
“Very, and it’s a lot of fun. You’ll see when we get back to the bar and get everything out of the storage room.”
“Why did you name the bar the Chicken Coop?”
“I didn’t. The previous owner did. Story has it that a family lived on this land and a tornado blew their house away.
All that was left was a chicken coop, and years before it had become a landmark for directions.
‘Turn left at the old chicken coop’ kind of thing.
He built the bar and named it the same thing,” Bernie explained.
Clara turned up her glass of sweet tea and downed more than half of it. “I’m done. Let’s go home, and I love that idea of keeping the name.”
Bernie slid out of the booth and smiled. “You’ve been here one day and you’re already calling it home?”
“Yes, I am,” Clara answered.
***
“What is all this stuff anyway?” Clara pulled out a chair in the bar, eased down into it, and stared at half a dozen boxes she had dragged from the storage room that afternoon.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had wondered if she might be living out of her car, and now not only did she have a home, but also a job that started with decorating the Chicken Coop.
“If it has a big number four on the boxes, that means it’s for July Fourth,” Bernie explained.
Clara took a long drink of her tea and asked, “Are we going to use everything? That seems like a lot.”
“Yes, we are. There’s lots of stuff plus our costumes for July Fourth.
Each year, I switch out what I wear, so there’s half a dozen or more for us to choose from.
We’re about the same size, so you won’t have any trouble finding one that will make you feel good.
” She opened a box and pulled out a short red-and-white-striped skirt and a royal blue peasant blouse with stars printed on it.
“This is for you. I wore it several years ago before my varicose veins took control of my legs. That’s what I get for working in spike heels for years.
Another rule to remember is to always wear good shoes at work, like the ones you have on now.
” She held up a pair of socks with lace around the tops and a headband with tinsel and stars attached to it.
“You really want me to wear that getup?”
“Yes, I do,” Bernie answered. “You should see what I wear for Mardi Gras!”
“Aunt Bernie!” Clara tried to scold, but her giggle defeated the purpose. “This is not New Orleans.”
“It most certainly is for one weekend of my choosing, and we have beads and the whole nine yards,” Bernie argued.
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Do you show your boobs, too?”
“Nope.” Bernie shook her head seriously. “Gravity done claimed those things years ago. To show the customers my cleavage would cause a stampede out of here.”
Clara’s giggles turned in a guffaw.
Bernie shook a bony forefinger at her. “Don’t laugh.
Mister Gravity will come for you someday in the future, and there won’t be a thing you can do about it.
Of course, a man created gravity and even named it.
Other than big, old beer bellies, men don’t suffer from the damn thing like we do.
A woman would have better sense than to make something that would claim her boobs, her butt, and even her face, but getting back to this holiday.
Independence Day is downright poetic for you, don’t you think? ”
Clara’s smile turned into a frown. “Why do you say that?”
“Think about it,” Bernie told her. “You have declared your independence by coming to Ratliff City to stay with me, haven’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Clara agreed.
“Then this can be your best holiday, even better than Christmas or Valentine’s Day. And, honey, I do it up right with red, white, and blue everywhere, from sparkling garland to the songs on the jukebox.”
“What are you wearing?” Clara asked.
Bernie pulled out a pair of sequin-covered pants. One leg was blue with stars. The other was red and white stripes. “This and this,” she held up a vest that matched. “I’ll also have a necklace made of stars that light up.”
Clara held up the short skirt and shook a few wrinkles from it. “I’m glad that I’m not as tall as my cousin, Ursula. If I was, this skirt wouldn’t even cover my underwear.”
“You really haven’t been to see your relatives since you were a little girl?” Bernie asked.
“I haven’t ever been to Spanish Fort. Grandma and Mama told Aunt Mary Jane if she moved into an old brothel in a ghost town, they were washing their hands of her.
I asked them why they were so against that area since they had lived there back until Mama and Aunt Mary Jane both finished high school. They wouldn’t answer me,” Clara said.
“Vernie Sue and I graduated from the old high school in Spanish Fort,” Bernie said.
“She hated that part of Texas because I embarrassed the family so much when the free love movement hit. The talk about the twin sisters—one all sweet and righteous and the other a hellcat on steroids—died down years ago. Most of the gossips of that day are in the cemetery, but the thought of Mary Jane moving back there was more than she could handle.”
“When I saw them last, Luna and Endora were cute little blond-haired girls. I think I’m about the age that Rae and Bo are.
That was before Aunt Mary Jane got divorced and moved.
Grandma shudders when she even says the word ‘Paradise.’ She treats it like a swear word that by uttering it, she is bound for hell on a rusty poker.
I guess folks really must have made fun of the house when she was a kid, right? ”
“Yep, they did,” Bernie said with a smile.
Clara mimicked her grandmother for a second time.
“‘How could my daughter live in a house of ill repute? I moved away from that area to get away from the stigma of living in a town where brothels had been the normal thing, and now she’s moving right back into that den of evil. And worse yet, she has raised her seven little girls in that place?’”
“You sound just like her, and you are funny. If you can do other voices, we could put you on the stage to do stand-up comedy. But speaking of the Paradise, let’s go one afternoon this week.
” Bernie chuckled. “Not tomorrow though. We’ll be too tired after all this work.
We can spend the afternoon and be home in time to clean up for opening sometime. ”
“Aunt Bernie!” Clara exclaimed for the second time in less than an hour. “Do you have a private little plane parked out beyond those trees?”
“Why would I need one of those?” Bernie asked as she ripped open another box.
“There’s no way we can go to Spanish Fort and back in one afternoon. I drove most of yesterday just to get here, and Aunt Mary Jane lives somewhere back in Texas,” Clara reminded her.
“Spanish Fort is right across the Red River. It’s only a couple hours’ drive from here,” Bernie informed her.
“I would love to go, but didn’t all the cousins move away?” Clara asked.