CHAPTER FIVE Chip
Sadie Hatfield was royalty in Missile. She’d lived here since the town incorporated and was instrumental in getting representation at the county level.
Her civic actions led to fire protection, police involvement from a neighboring town named St. Regis, and regular snow plowing during the winter.
She was a diminutive woman with the presence of a giant.
I stared across the counter and into her pale blue eyes.
They were alert and still full of life. She dressed, as usual, impeccably.
The stole wrapped around her neck was fur.
Real fur. She’d mentioned too many times to count that she didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of her wearing fur.
A shock of white hair, piled high and sprayed solid with hairspray, made her look like a giant Q-tip.
“Bertie recommended the tires, Calvin,” she said, dragging a pen over the invoice’s details before signing. “Said they were the best for my car.”
“And she’d be right,” I confirmed.
“I’m not sure I trust Bertie,” she stated, leveling her eyes at me. “What do you think?”
“Bertie knows her stuff, Mrs. Hatfield.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed, still fixed in a staring contest with me. “I could have gone to the Missoula Costco. Costco has really cheap tires over there.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Really cheap for sure.”
“Would your grandfather have advised these?”
“Yes, he would’ve. And don’t forget who trained Bertie,” I reminded her.
The mention of Bertie working with Grampa got her riled up. “Bertie always wanted to land him,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “The whole town thought something was up after your grandmother passed, son. Did you know that?”
“Before my time, ma’am,” I said.
“Not true, son,” she argued. “This was right up until he passed.”
I knew better, but couldn’t resist. “Now, Mrs. Hatfield,” I began. “I also heard it said you carried a flame for Grampa, too.”
She stood upright, lifting her nose as if to look down at me. “My marriage was arranged by my father,” she stated. “Of course, as I’m sure you already know, I had to turn Calvin Sr. down many a time.”
“Bullshit!” Bertie bellowed, walking up behind Mrs. Hatfield. “Your marriage wasn’t arranged; you was traded by your daddy for three head of cattle. Who does that? A pig for three heads a cattle?” she added, cackling like the witch she was acting like.
Mrs. Hatfield scribbled her name on the invoice and handed me a credit card. “You are rude, Bertie Baxley!” she huffed. “I have half a mind to take my business elsewhere.”
“You have half a mind all right, and you’ve been threatening to do that for fifty years, Sadie. Where you gonna go exactly?” Bertie asked, crossing her arms and glaring back at Sadie.
Sadie, never one for a loss of words, was suddenly stumped. She turned back to me, segueing into a completely different topic. “I want you to come to my home for Christmas Eve dinner, Chip,” she said. “I know John left you and you’re all alone. I have someone I want you to meet.”
“Smooth, Sadie,” Bertie grumbled. “Give the kid five minutes to grieve, can ya?”
Sadie turned to face Bertie while reaching across the counter for my hand. “It has been more like a year,” she said. “John left Christmas last year. His folks still haven’t heard from him. Which is awful on its own, and Chip deserved better than an up-and-run-off dumping.”
Bertie, still shaking her head, a frown on her face, repeated herself. “Still smooth, Sadie.”
“Well, he does,” she soothed, caressing my hand. “And I have a special guest coming for the holidays that I want Chip to meet.”
Bertie tilted her head toward me. “This youngin’ ain’t interested in one of your fat granddaughters.”
“Bertie!” I warned, shaking my head, surprised by the hostility.
I knew these two hens had been at each other for decades, but I’d assumed it was all fun and games. Grampa used to wind them both up and then step back for the fireworks show.
Mrs. Hatfield grinned in delight, reaching for her cell phone from her bag. She touched the screen, searched through photos, and then held up the image to Bertie. “See for yourself,” she said, beaming like one of her granddaughters had just been crowned Miss Universe.
“I’m sure your granddaughters are beautiful,” I stated. “They probably take after you.”
“It’s a man,” Bertie whispered, grabbing the phone from Sadie and pulling the image closer. “Who the hell is he?” she asked, unconvinced Sadie could know someone who had so obviously impressed her.
“That is little James,” Sadie reported, seeming to fluff her imaginary feathers like a peacock. “You remember my grandson, who attends medical school in Seattle, don’t you?”
Bertie thrust the phone at me. I held it and turned the screen to myself. A close-up of a very handsome man, standing with his arms crossed, wearing a white jacket with a stethoscope around his neck, smiled into the camera. “Holy shi…” I mouthed.
The little James I remembered had grown into gorgeous, hunky James. I’d played with this kid on summer breaks when his folks sent him to stay with Sadie. James had stopped coming to Missile when I was twelve or so.
The last time I saw him, he seemed a bit feminine. But the picture made things hard to tell. He was two years older, but had been smaller than me back then. He wasn’t so little anymore. Or so plain. Or so forgettable.
“We met when we were kids, Mrs. Hatfield,” I reminded her. “We already know one another.”
She grinned and leaned toward me. “I told him John left you and that you are single now,” she said, almost too gleefully. “He insisted on visiting for the holiday the moment I mentioned the break-up to him.”
“James is gay?” I asked, confirming a hunch I’d had.
Bertie seemed less enthusiastic than I and Mrs. Hatfield. “Probably not!” Bertie interrupted, hating that Sadie had something to brag about. “Wishful thinking from an old lady.”
“Homosexual and single,” Sadie reported. “And I bet he could be convinced to do his residency in Missoula,” she added. “Just a short distance from here, son.”
“You sure he wants to reconnect with me?” I asked, suddenly thinking of possibilities post John.
“He practically insisted,” she answered.
I glanced past Sadie and at Bertie. She’d let go of her stern look and locked eyes with me, almost willing me to say yes. “I’ll come to dinner if I can bring Bertie as my date,” I stated. “We’d planned on sharing Christmas dinner, ma’am.”
Bertie opened her mouth to protest, but I conveyed with raised eyebrows that I wouldn’t go without her. She got my hint. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’d planned on having Chip over to my place. Being he’d be alone and stuff.”
Sadie turned to face Bertie. “And you’ll behave?”
“Probably not,” Bertie retorted.
“She’ll be on her very best behavior,” I said. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Sadie looked back and forth at us, finally nodding. “Well, good. Then it is confirmed. James and I. And you and… you and… this… this…”
“Careful, Hatfield,” Bertie warned.
“And you and Bertie,” she finished. “Four for dinner on Christmas Eve at, let’s say, six-ish.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hatfield,” I stated. “And tell James I look forward to seeing him again after all these years.”
Sadie was beaming. She gave Bertie one final glance, her nose slightly elevated. She loved that she had something over Bertie. I knew she felt like another small victory was hers in this decades-long old-biddy warfare.
“Bertie,” she huffed, letting us know she was departing. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in two weeks?”
“You will,” Bertie confirmed.
Sadie gave Bertie a suspicious once-over. “Semi-formal holiday dress, please,” Sadie pushed, getting in one more dig. “You do own a dress, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Bertie confirmed. “The one I wear to funerals. I was saving it for yours, but I can bust it out early.”
“Oh my Lord,” Sadie huffed. “No wonder you married a redneck.”
“True, because my daddy wouldn’t trade three cows to old man Hatfield.”
“All right, ladies,” I interrupted, coming around the counter, grabbing Sadie’s elbow, and moving her toward the exit. “I’m sure we’ll all have a grand time at dinner.”
Sadie rolled her eyes one last time and made her way to the door. She stopped and turned around before leaving. “James is a fine young man, Chip. He swears he’s had starry eyes for you his entire life. I feel good about this love connection, son.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hatfield,” I replied. “You never know.”
Perhaps this Christmas could heal my heart. For the first time in a year, I imagined the holiday as something to look forward to again.