Two
Trudy
There was one rule Trudy’s mother, Leta Pearl Aberdeen Abernathy, never broke. The Eleventh Commandment, Trudy liked to call it: Thou shall not exit your bedroom without heels, makeup, and hair.
“You never know when the good Lord is going to call you home,” Leta Pearl would say. “I, for one, will be properly dressed for my demise.”
Leta Pearl gushed when Haskel arrived; it was as if Ed McMahon had shown up with one of those gigantic American Family Publishers checks. “Mr. Haskel Moody! Come on in!”
“Mrs. Abernathy.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking lovely as ever.” He carried a box wrapped in brown paper and twine.
“Oh, Haskel Moody, you flatter me!” Leta Pearl used Haskel’s full name way too often, perhaps her way of reminding herself that she was about to become a Moody-in-law.
Haskel was classic everything. The part down the left side of his thick, dirty-blond hair anchored each strand precisely in place.
Handsome crow’s feet—the only seasoning on his long, boyish face—danced beside seawater eyes.
Typically, his shirt cuffs maintained a strict one-quarter inch distance below the cuffs of his suit jacket, and a handkerchief formed a pinstripe alliance of matching colors with his tie.
But since he’d been on vacation this week, he’d forgone the tie and jacket.
Still, he reminded Trudy of a new jar of Jif peanut butter, how perfectly untouched it was when you opened it, but so rewarding when you finally got to mess up the perfection on the surface.
The way he smiled when he looked at Trudy warmed her, and she fell into his embrace. “Welcome back, babe,” she said with her ear to his chest. There was so much more to say, but it would need to wait.
Dub had set his bourbon down on the television and fiddled with the antennas as Dan Rather, back from a Brim decaf commercial, explained how the guy who shot Reagan had done it for Jodie Foster and was getting off for being crazy.
Dub gave up on a better signal and just turned it off, then he rattled the ice in his bourbon. “Can I get you one of these, Haskel?”
“Thank you, sir.” Haskel shrugged. “But I’ll stick with sweet tea if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely, Haskel Moody!” Leta Pearl called, now in the kitchen turning the dial on her new Hotpoint microwave.
Haskel and Dub exchanged one of those manly, we-own-the-world handshakes.
Trudy’s daddy would always be the handsomest man she knew.
Two inches of thick, perfectly styled black hair made him look taller than his lanky six foot one, and his eyes always crinkled when he smiled.
He wore tailored suits to work, even on Saturdays, and he was the only man she knew whose wedding band had inlaid diamonds.
Haskel was certainly as handsome as they come, but her fiancé’s eyes lacked that endearing mischief always dancing around in her daddy’s.
“How’s the diamond business, Mr. Abernathy?” Haskel asked.
“Rocky.” It was the joke Dub always offered whenever someone asked about Dub’s Diamonds, his jewelry store, and Haskel rewarded him with a laugh.
“Peter, say hello to Mr. Haskel.” Trudy nudged her son toward his future stepfather.
“Hi.”
“Hey there, Pete.” Haskel knelt down and handed him the box.
Pete’s eyes lit up; he loved opening presents. When he struggled with the string, Haskel pulled out his pocketknife and cut it.
Pete ripped into the paper. “What isss it?”
“Oh wow,” Trudy said, in her high-pitched, everything’s-fine voice. “A puzzle of the United States of America.”
Disappointment slugged the excitement right off Pete’s face.
“What do you say?” Trudy asked.
“Ain’t they got one with E. T.?” Pete asked.
“Peter!” Trudy scolded but tried not to laugh. “Say thank you .”
“Sorry.” Haskel said with a smile. “Didn’t see any E. T. puzzles, buddy.”
“Thanksss,” Pete mumbled. He’d seen the movie three times already, and the bicycle-flying, phoning-home alien had become an instant obsession.
“Why don’t you go put that in your room, darling?” Trudy said, but Pete was already off in that direction to get rid of the thing.
After everyone had sufficiently complimented Leta Pearl’s pot roast, which was cooked to perfection, Dub asked, “You don’t think Grigsby’s got a shot, do you?”
Haskel swallowed a bite of potato and took a swig of tea. “I’ll tell you what, my father and brother sure had an easier time at this.” Indeed, all the Moody men going back six generations had been Bailey Springs mayors.
“That Barbara Beaumont makes my blood boil,” Leta Pearl chimed in. “The day she has to witness y’all’s wedding at the Falconhead Country Club will be the best day of my life.”
“We haven’t picked a location yet, Mama,” Trudy said.
“Oh, hush!” Leta Pearl said. “The first lady of Bailey Springs gets married at the club .”
“Let’s just hope nobody falls for this chemistry teacher scandal she’s cooking up,” Haskel said.
Trudy had hoped to tell Haskel privately, before she told her parents, but she’d grown even more excited since her call with Principal Hendon earlier, and she didn’t think she could keep it in much longer, especially now that they were talking about it.
She pinged the side of her glass with her knife, and everyone scowled.
“Attention! I have an announcement.” She cleared her throat all theatrically.
“I have it on good authority that Principal Hendon has, in fact, hired himself a chemistry teacher.”
“Why are you speaking in a British accent?” Haskel asked. “And babe, I’d know if he’d done that.”
“Ah-ah-ah, Mr. Superintendent.” Trudy smirked. “Are you sure about that?”
Haskel wrinkled his forehead. “Yes.”
“Well, you have been out of town, so what you’re about to learn may surprise you.” Trudy raised her glass in the air. “A toast. Come on, glasses up,” Trudy said. One by one, they complied, even Pete with his silver baggie of Capri Sun.
“To Bailey Springs High School’s newest chemistry teacher,” Trudy said with gusto. “Yours truly.”
“What?” Haskel said.
“I called Mr. Hendon today myself and ...” Trudy let out a short squeal. “Surprise!”
“No,” Haskel and Leta Pearl said in perfect unison, and everyone lowered their drinks.
“What do you mean, no ?” Trudy said. “I thought y’all would be thrilled.”
“Oh, Trudy, quit it.” Leta Pearl said. “We have a wedding to plan, and you can’t work at the high school.” Leta Pearl shook her head. “My heavens, of all the places!”
“Excuse me.” Trudy set her glass down. “But I wasn’t asking permission.”
“Trudy, babe,” Haskel said. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh. So I do need your permission?”
“No-no-no.” Haskel reached for Trudy’s hand, but she jerked it away. “That’s not what I’m saying. You don’t need my permission for anything. I’m saying ... as the mayor’s wife, you can’t just—”
“Make my own career decisions?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Leta Pearl slapped her napkin on the table. “Almost forgot the biscuits!” She jumped up and scurried to the oven.
“My favorite part!” Haskel’s eyes got all keyed up.
He and Leta Pearl had this silly thing about Leta Pearl’s biscuits; he was always wooing her by exaggerating how good they were, carrying on about how much he craved them all the time.
Trudy usually found it cute and charming, but now they were interfering with the discussion about her new job, so it annoyed her.
Leta Pearl returned with a basket. “They’re a little toasty on the bottom, but I think I caught ’em in time.”
“They look delicious, Miss Leta Pearl,” Haskel said, rubbing his hands together before snatching one.
Trudy ground her jaw. They were just going to ignore this? And why were they against it? It was in everyone’s best interest.
Then Haskel bit into his biscuit, closed his eyes, and chewed dramatically, as if he were on a Duncan Hines commercial. He took a long, luxurious breath, really hamming it up this time.
“So y’all . . . about this teaching job . . .”
“Wow,” Haskel said, his smile as wide as the Mississippi Delta. “These get better every time. You must tell me the recipe, Miss Leta Pearl. One of these days.” Haskel sat back in his chair, slumped his shoulders, and chewed with his eyes closed again.
“I told you before, Haskel Moody,” Leta Pearl said. “It’s my family’s secret, from way up on Aberdeen Mountain.”
“The ingredients of biscuits are hardly a secret, Mother,” Trudy said. “Butter, flour, and buttermilk.”
Trudy looked to Dub for support, but he’d gotten all wistful looking, too, studying his own half-eaten biscuit, as if he were looking at one of his diamonds.“Baking soda and a little salt,” he added.
Haskel said, “It’s like swallowing rays of sunshine.”
“Oh, good grief! Y’all, I’m serious,” Trudy tried again. “So, I did originally call Mr. Hendon to help the campaign because I was so mad at Barbara Beaumont. But now, I think I really might want to take this job for me . And I really want y’all’s support.”
“Then do it, babe,” Haskel said to his last bite of biscuit nestled between his fingers. Then he locked eyes with Trudy. “You go be the prettiest damn teacher in the whole state of Alabama.”
“You said a cussth word,” Pete whispered.
“You’re right Pete,” Haskel whispered back. “Sorry.”
Trudy crossed her arms and sat back. “Now you’re making fun of me.”
“No.” Haskel said, unfolding her arms and gathering her hands into his. “I’m not. I mean it. Go teach.”
Dub still had this weird grin on his face. Leta Pearl shook her head and looked at the ceiling. Haskel touched his forehead to Trudy’s. He ran his hand up her thigh under the table.
“Just like that?” Trudy asked. “You just changed your mind?”
“I haven’t changed my mind, babe. But it’s not my mind that loves you; it’s my heart.”