Thirty-Five
Trudy
Big Mama Mason, the boss of the lunchroom ladies, barked orders.
Green eye bags dangled below bloodshot eyes, and her blubbery breasts hung over her stomach.
She balanced a lit Marlboro between chapped lips while stirring a vat of collards; the long bar of ashes hovered precariously above the steaming pot.
“Kids!” she hollered. “Get that cornbread in the oven!”
The batter crackled and hissed when Rejoice and Carter poured it into fire-hot iron skillets. Dee Dee, Vangie, and the other girls lined up bowls to be filled with greens and pot likker.
“Doors open in six minutes,” Trudy said.
“Like. Duh.” Dee Dee looked at Vangie and they looked at the ceiling in unison.
Trudy gave them a little finger wave before she left to find her seat.
The gym had been set up like a massive wedding reception.
A long table for faculty, coaches, and homecoming dignitaries sat up front on a temporary stage, facing rows of banquet-style tables and folding chairs that stretched the length of the basketball court.
Plastic sheeting covered the gym floor, with little signs posted everywhere reminding folks to watch their step.
Naturally, Trudy’s assigned seat was nestled right between Haskel and Shug—as if someone had planned it for maximum discomfort.
On the other side of Haskel sat Emily, being honored as the 1972–73 homecoming queen. And beside Emily sat Verlaine Crump, grand marshal of tomorrow’s parade. At the end of their table, Grady Grigsby, a big smile on his face, shook hands with Miss Marvalee Adams.
“What’s he doing up here?” Trudy asked Haskel.
Haskel smiled. “You worry too much.” He pecked her cheek, and for the first time, Trudy questioned the authenticity of his kiss because of Leta Pearl’s love biscuits.
Everyone was silent while Pastor Hargett prayed from the podium, decorated with orange and blue streamers, white carnations, and orange mums. He’d barely said, “Amen” when the Marching Bruins struck up the fight song, and the packed house sang every word while the undefeated Bruins walked in, single file from the back door, chests proudly puffed, beaming grins.
Once they found their seats, right down in front of Trudy, everyone remained standing, hands over hearts, as the band played “The Star-Spangled Banner” while the members of the 4-H Club and the Future Farmers of America surrounded the perimeter, each one carrying a flag from one of the fifty states.
Barbara Beaumont made a whole to-do of presenting the oversized check from the Beaumont Corporation.
Mr. Hendon feigned shock, while all the Celestial Ladies gathered in one corner of the gym, nodding and clutching their pearls.
They clapped wildly as Barbara pretended to dab her eyes and launched into an emotional tribute—something about homecoming queens, touchdowns, and the preservation of wraparound porches.
It was so stirring, the Glee Club stood up and sang the alma mater on the spot.
Then Barbara called, “Cheerleaders, bring out the greens!” and the cheerleaders came scurrying out from the kitchen, pushing squeaky catering carts piled with steaming bowls while the band struck up a Sousa march.
Between Haskel and Shug, she couldn’t shake the sense of biscuit betrayal, although she knew they personally had nothing to do with it. She anticipated the right moment to come clean, but the more she pondered what she’d say when the moment came, the crazier she sounded to herself.
Maybe she was crazy; she’d certainly moved through the gamut of emotions with Leta Pearl last night.
She had so much to consider now. At first, she decided she’d just end it with Haskel, though after the election.
Then, instead, she figured his chances might be better off without her, so maybe she should confess after homecoming.
Letting go of Shug would hurt, but it was never real anyway.
And then there was Pete. There was always Pete.
And when she considered his life and what he needed, maybe Leta Pearl had a point: staying with Haskel was best for everyone.
As long as he ate more biscuits, Leta Pearl had assured her, Haskel would forgive her for the kiss, and she wouldn’t have to carry this secret anymore.
“Haskel the Rascal,” Emily said. “You know the best way to eat collard greens?”
“How’s that?” Haskel asked.
“By throwing them in the garbage.”
Haskel laughed. “Aw come on, Emily. I think all that time up in the air has messed up your head.”
Mr. Hendon introduced the Bruins Majorettes, who high-stepped in with their white go-go-boots and their orange sequin leotards. The band played “Another One Bites the Dust” while they smiled and twirled batons, shaking their hips.
Benjamin Balew—one of Haskel’s biggest donors—sat at a table just below them.
Haskel stood, ready to shake his hand, but then Ben turned, revealing a Go Grady Go!
campaign button pinned to his lapel. Trudy’s heart sank.
Still, ever the politician, Haskel made his way down there anyway, determined to wrest back even a single vote.
That’s when Shug moved—just slightly—and set his hand on his thigh, his pinky grazing hers beneath the table.
A long, draped tablecloth shielded everything from public view, thank God. But it didn’t shield her from the heat rushing to her face. Or the thrum in her chest.
The commotion of the Collard Greens Supper dulled around her, like the air had thickened. Her breath caught. Her eyes prickled. She shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t allow this—but there it was: that tiny friction of his pinky sliding, then resting. And it undid her.
They were feet away from Haskel. Surrounded by students, teachers, donors. God and everybody. And yet, she didn’t move her hand.
Instead, she shifted—barely—and hooked her pinky over his. With her free hand, she picked up her iced tea, holding it like a shield, and took a slow, measured sip.
Then Shug turned his hand over, palm up, and curled his fingers around hers—just her pinky—but it was enough to make every inch of her body hum.
With his free hand, Shug took a bite of cornbread, and the memory of how she’d liked the way he chewed, how he’d made fun of her for saying so, made her smile.
But she also remembered the love biscuit he’d eaten and snatched her hand away.
It wasn’t real, no matter how much electricity coursed through her.
Haskel and Ben Balew turned and waved. Trudy returned the gesture, mouthing a polite hello .
But just then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement—June Bug slipping through the double doors toward the classrooms, Carter trailing behind, glancing over his shoulder obviously hoping no one was watching.
Trudy, too, scanned the room to see if anyone had seen. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
“Everything okay?” Shug asked.
“Ladies’ room.” Trudy stood and placed her napkin in her seat.
She walked to the back, through the same double doors, but didn’t see the boys.
They’d either gone down the darkened hallway, or through another set of doors to the parking lot.
She looked outside but saw no one. She removed her shoes, and took off down the hallway, as silently as possible.
She should leave them alone as Shug advised, but she kept imagining Dee Dee or one of June Bug’s friends catching them. Heaven forbid someone from the Grady Grigsby campaign! The damage Barbara could do made Trudy shudder. She had to prevent the worst.
The green lights from the EXIT signs illuminated her way, but she heard nothing until a sneaker squeaked against the tile up ahead. As she got closer, she heard them, rustling and whispering around the corner next to the library.
She breathed as softly as she could, much like that night on the dock, and she realized that the boys were probably used to this, sneaking around to be together. This time, however, she would intervene; someone willing to protect them had to.
“I’m not throwing the game,” June Bug said.
Trudy stood against the brick wall, listening around the corner, where the boys assumed privacy.
“Okay,” Carter said. “What’s the catch?”
“I’m getting benched.”
“Coach Meechum benched you?”
“Not yet, but he will,” June Bug said. “The important thing is, we can do what we want. I mean, we still have to keep everything secret, but after graduation, it’s just me and you. Anything and anywhere we want.”
“But why not just play this one game?”
“You sound like my dad.” June Bug said. “Whose side are you on?”
“June Bug! It’s Bear Bryant!”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard this or not, but he’s the greatest college football coach in history, and he’s going to be here tomorrow night. To watch you play.”
Trudy needed to interrupt, but it needed to be the right moment.
“Trust me, Carter, I know how this works. Tomorrow night, it’s just a visit.
But next week, it’ll be a trip to Tuscaloosa, then another.
Campus tours, autographed jerseys from my favorite players.
Dinner at Bear Bryant’s house and illegal gifts from boosters.
I heard Clay Jarrett and Marvin Brock got Ford Mustangs, and they weren’t even quarterbacks.
Once all that happens, I’m in too deep.”
Carter was silent except for a sigh of exasperation.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan for how this ends tomorrow,” June Bug said. “Or it never will.”
Trudy slipped on her shoes, then made big clicks so they’d hear her coming.
“Shit!” June Bug whispered. They rounded the corner, tried to run in the other direction but Trudy was there.
“Hey!” Trudy called. “Stop right there!”
They did and turned to face her, two bucks in the crosshairs of a Browning.
“It’s okay.” Trudy stepped toward them.
“Miss Abernathy?” June Bug said. “Uh ... Aunt Trudy ?” He smirked and laughed uncomfortably, but his reliance on charm failed him, painfully, this time.
“Y’all can’t be doing this. Not here.”
“Doing what?” June Bug said, and the two boys stepped apart. “Carter and me,” he stammered; Carter scratched his elbow and looked down. “Well ... Carter needs help opening his locker, and—”
“Stop.” Trudy tried her best to sound nonthreatening. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, okay? Look, I know what’s going on.”
June Bug shook his head, and they stood for a beat that felt like hours.
“This is dangerous, guys. It carries implications that I’m afraid y’all haven’t fully considered.”
“This is bullshit!” June Bug turned to leave but Trudy grabbed his elbow. He slung his head back and looked at the ceiling.
“I saw y’all . . .” She tried, hopelessly, to sound warm and innocuous. “Together . . . at the Booins Festival?”
June Bug jerked his arm away.
“Just ... let’s discuss it, okay? I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw.”
June Bug glowered wintry daggers at her. “That’s because you didn’t see shit.” He stomped back toward the gym.
“June Bug! Please!” she called, but he was out of there.
Carter stared at his feet.
“Could you just talk to me?” she asked.
He rubbed his forehead with his fingers and thumb before looking at her. “Could you just mind your own fucking business?” The boy moved past her, and he was gone too.