Seven
Trudy
Once Trudy read the note that came with the bouquet, any flutters of her heart from assuming romance faded.
We’d love to do your wedding, Trudy!
How do you like these?
—Marcy, Downtown Flower Shop
“I’m right, ain’t I?” Miss Duffy asked. “They’re from Haskel, aren’t they? Oh, that Haskel Moody’s a little devil!” She swatted Trudy’s shoulder with the back of her hand.
Trudy let out what she hoped was a dainty sneeze. Trudy placed the card back in the envelope. Marcy’s gesture was kind but a little premature; Trudy and Haskel hadn’t even set a date.
“I can’t take these to my classroom.” Trudy sneezed again. “Snapdragons.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Miss Duffy rubbed Trudy’s shoulder, handed her a tissue. “I’m afraid with the Rolodex and these Bellsouth Yellow Pages getting bigger every year, I barely have enough counter space as it is. Let’s take ’em to the teachers’ lounge.”
So that’s where they headed. “I’m telling you,” Miss Duffy said on the way.
“That Haskel Moody is too handsome to be a superintendent. A better face for mayor, don’t you think?
” She fanned herself with a manila folder.
“Why, every time he comes in, I leave so many bite marks in my pencil, I have to throw it away. Between you and me, your fiancé is costing us a fortune in pencils, especially when he wears those navy-blue britches, the ones with the little cream pinstripes that hug him just right? Goodness gracious, if those pinstripes could talk ...”
“Miss Duffy!” Trudy stopped walking but couldn’t help laughing at Miss Duffy as she let out another sneeze.
“I know! I know!” Miss Duffy fanned herself harder. “I ought to hush before I get myself in trouble.” Miss Duffy slapped Trudy’s arm with the folder. “I think it’s perfect, though, the two of you.” She swooned, audibly.
Coach Meechum stepped out of the teachers’ lounge holding a banana. “Rookie!” He grinned. “Beautiful flowers.”
“You want them; they’re all yours.” Trudy tried to hold back another sneeze but failed. “Snapdragons.”
“Bless you!” Meechum peeled the banana and bit into it. “This your way of thanking me for yesterday or something?”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Duffy laughed. “Heard you came to quite the rescue, Coach. Y’all should’ve seen Mr. Hendon when he came back to the office—cackling like a hyena at y’all two.”
Trudy rolled her eyes. “Even if that were true, Coach Meechum.” She stifled another sneeze. “That you saved me? It just means we’re even. Yesterday made up for the pep rally.”
“So, we’re even, huh?” Coach said. “Guess that means we get a new start, and we can have that Coke after the game.”
Miss Duffy nodded and her eyebrows shot upwards in agreement.
Was he serious? Did this actually work with other women? “Coach Meechum . . . um . . . I’m flattered, really . . .”
“It’s tradition,” Meechum said.
This must be why he was single. Maybe he genuinely didn’t realize who Trudy was. No. Surely, he knew; he does read the paper after all. “Really. It’s such a compliment. But you know I’m ...” Another sneeze . “ ... engaged , right?”
Miss Duffy and Coach Meechum looked at one another as if they didn’t understand. Then they started to chuckle.
“Oh, honey,” Miss Duffy said. “Bless your little heart.”
“Wait a minute,” Meechum said. “You thought I was . . . ?”
“That’s adorable.” Miss Duffy laughed. “But, honey, it’s just a picture for the Pruetts.”
“Who?” Trudy asked, feeling her face turn a blazing crimson.
“They own the Coca-Cola bottling company in town,” Meechum explained.
“Huge Booster Club donors,” said Miss Duffy. “We are in the middle of the Cola Wars you know, so they make the biggest fuss about their yearbook ad. Always want the coach and the cheerleader sponsor drinking a Coke after the first game. You know ... Have a Coke and a Smile!”
“Good one!” Coach pointed his half-banana at Miss Duffy.
Trudy forced a laugh, but it came out as a sneeze.
Miss Duffy shook her head and squeezed Trudy’s shoulder. “Bless your little heart,” she repeated.
Coach Meechum took the flowers, then walked backward toward his classroom. “Sometimes a Coke is just a Coke, rookie.” He winked.
Miss Duffy cackled. “Oh, that’s a good one, Coach.”
The bell rang before Trudy could come up with a response. It was time for chemistry.
Later that evening, the last Friday before football season, Trudy and Haskel decided to go on a date. Haskel ran into Pickin’s Chicken while Trudy waited in the car; she studied the front window cartoon painting, a rooster strumming a banjo. Thank y’all for pickin’ our chicken!
Haskel came back with a bucket and drove them outside of town to the lake property he’d inherited from his grandfather.
They turned onto the gravel drive and bounced down the washed-out road between thick oaks and loblollies.
Late-afternoon sunbeams cut through the trees and swiped their faces like little searchlights until they reached a clearing on the banks of the Tennessee River.
Haskel opened her door and grabbed a blanket and a picnic basket from the trunk.
The late-summer clouds blazed orange and pink across a powder blue sky. Lazy water licked the rocky bank while a bird of some sort cried out in either celebration or anguish; it was hard to tell the difference. Trudy decided the bird was in love.
They walked the gravelly path and out onto the pier, old and rickety. A snapping turtle hovered at the surface, filling up with air but disappeared under the water when Trudy stepped on a loose board. Haskel spread out a quilt, its mismatched squares seasoned with faded spots and frays.
“Exactly how many Moodys have picnicked on this quilt?” Trudy asked.
Haskel pulled out a jug of sweet tea and a basket of Leta Pearl’s biscuits. “Actually ... just me,” he said. “Inherited this from Amy.” His deceased wife.
“Sorry.”
“I fully expected we’d eat with our fingers,” he said, stepping over her apology. “I intentionally brought napkins but no forks.”
“Only way to eat Pickin’s Chicken,” Trudy said and took a messy bite of a crispy leg; a flap of greasy skin slapped her chin.
She scooted it in her mouth, savoring the crunch.
Trudy loved how their relationship had skipped the formal stage.
Perhaps having each gone through the death of a first love tilted everything casual.
She could lick her fingers, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, slurp her tea, and crunch ice cubes if she wanted.
She kicked off her shoes, folded her legs behind her, and took in the scenery.
“Mama hated Amy,” Haskel said, the quilt having apparently sparked memories. “‘That’s what you get for marrying a girl from Ole Miss,’ she’d say.” Haskel gave a suppressed chuckle. “Did I ever tell you about our last argument?”
Trudy shook her head. With anyone else, the conversation would have seemed inappropriate.
But Trudy understood grief, how it always barged in uninvited and unannounced.
Sometimes she and Haskel would do this, talk about their losses and the ghosts that stalked them.
It violated unspoken rules, but the two of them deserved a pass, didn’t they?
They were, after all, the exception. What were the rules, anyway, for two widowed lovers giving love another shot?
“It was a doozy!” Haskel continued. “Amy threw the sugar bowl at me; I ducked just in time.” He laughed, but tepid and uncomfortable, perhaps at the irony: sugar flying all over the kitchen in a moment that was anything but sweet.
It was pancreatic cancer that had gotten Amy. According to the church ladies’ gossip, it was good they didn’t have children because Amy Wainwright and Haskel Moody never got along.
“I don’t even remember what the argument was about, but I stormed out and went over to Leon and Lucy’s. Leon stayed up drinking with me.”
Haskel stared across the mile-wide river, where the early lights of town glistened in the golden hour, wavy silvery-white reflections dancing long and graceful on the water’s surface.
Trudy watched Haskel’s face turn sad and tender.
It continued to surprise her, these moments of vulnerability, coming from one of the Moody boys, who had always seemed so certain with their toothy smiles and gregarious carriage.
“I told Leon that night, I said, ‘You know, sometimes I wish she’d make it easy and just leave.’”
That bird Trudy had heard earlier shrieked again.
“A week later, we learned Amy had a month to live.” The chorus of cicadas drowned out the sound of his deep sigh. “Wish granted, I reckon.”
“Haskel.” Trudy touched his shoulder. “That was a coincidence. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He spoke to the river. “Still, it’s ...”
Trudy let him trail off, let him swim in his moment. She, of all people, knew how important those moments were. Who was she to steal someone’s glorious guilt? He’d do the same for her.
“Sorry,” Haskel said after a minute.
“Nope,” Trudy said. “We agreed we’d never apologize for our grief.”
His eyes were wet. “That’s why I love you.”
They kissed; it was sweet and loving and felt like an anchor.
“Let’s talk about something else. Please?” Haskel said. “Tell me about school.”
“Sure. Uh, let’s see,” Trudy said. “Turns out, I’m the cheerleader sponsor. I’m teaching across the hall from Coach Meechum, who doesn’t seem to actually teach. And your nephew might be a bully?”
“June Bug?”
“He and some other jocks were messing with the new kid.”
“Doesn’t sound like him. I mean June Bug’s pretty full of himself, but ... maybe that new kid is the bully?” Haskel offered.
“I don’t think so,” Trudy said.
Haskel reached for a biscuit. Mid-bite, he closed his eyes as if the world had faded away. That look of satisfaction from the other night reappeared, blissful and dreamy. “Wow. These biscuits ... I’m sorry ... what were we saying?”
“Really?” Trudy laughed. “Mama’s not here, darling; there’s no need for theatrics.”