Sixteen
Leta Pearl
The whole time Louley Gooch was at my house, I felt like a cat trying to cover up shit on a marble floor. I thanked her for the peaches, then tried to shut the door but she said, “I smell coffee. You pouring?”
She just wanted to bring her investigation inside, but what can a Baptist do? Say, no ?
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “Coach Shug Meechum, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“A surprise indeed,” Meechum said. “Nice to see you, Miss Louley.”
“Coach Meechum’s here helping Pete with his football skills,” I said.
We all looked outside at Pete who threw the football up and then missed, the ball smacking him in the forehead.
“Isn’t he only in kindergarten?” Louley noted.
“Well,” I said. “We read in Southern Living that Joe Namath threw spirals at twenty-four months.” I tried guiding the coach’s elbow toward the door, but he didn’t budge.
Louley said, “I didn’t realize they covered sports in Southern Living. ”
“How do you take your coffee, Miss Louley?” Trudy called from the Mr. Coffee.
“Black, please,” Louley said. “And won’t you stay and have a sip with us, Coach Meechum?”
“No!” I hollered, then quickly stilled myself.
“Now that you mention it, don’t mind if I do,” Meechum said over my protest.
“Oh, Coach, you already drank that entire Coca-Cola. I would hate for you to over-caffeinate yourself on my watch.” Never mind the love biscuits you just ate.
I knew I should have waited until Monday to bake them. When Haskel said he couldn’t make our regular Tuesday date, I needed a plan to keep him on track; I couldn’t risk a whole week with no biscuits. I had planned to surprise him later with just a little harmless half-dozen.
I studied Shug’s forehead, but assessing his color was difficult because his baseball cap had left red marks.
And his eyes were such a dark color, I couldn’t see his pupils to know how far along he was.
The coach seemed strangely settled, which was completely inconsistent with someone who’d just taken his first bite of love biscuits.
Still, the last thing I needed was for him to start professing his dying love for Trudy right there in front of Louley Gooch.
All it would take is one little rumor, and Haskel’s hopes of winning mayor, along with my chances of getting back into Falconhead, would be deader than a possum on I-65.
“It’s a shame those biscuits are for Miss Marvalee’s shower,” Coach said. “Miss Louley, you ever had Miss Leta Pearl’s biscuits? They’ll make you slap your Mawmaw.”
“Marvalee Adams ?” Louley asked. “Her niece’s shower is next week.”
Good God. “No,” I insisted. “It’s this afternoon at two o’clock.”
“I assure you it is next Saturday. I just finished the bulletin for tomorrow’s service.” Louley knows the date of everything because she types up the weekly church bulletins.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Louley said. “How many did you bake?”
“At least a dozen,” Trudy said, and she’d already loaded them up on a plate and was headed over with a jar of blackberry preserves.
Coach Meechum beamed and grabbed one. I sat there sweating bullets, forcing myself to smile. Louley asked, “Do y’all smell peanut butter?”