Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [44]
“He’s supposed to be here by noon,” said Carolyn.
“There’s somebody now. I hear a car.”
“It might be Dad, with Pappy.”
It was Laura Jean, showing off Jim Walsh as though he were a splendid Christmas gift she had just received.
“Let me kiss everybody!” she cried, as the women rushed toward her. Laura Jean had not been home in four months.
“Merry Christmas!” Jim said in a booming, official-sounding voice, something like a TV announcer, Carolyn thought. He embraced all the women and then, with a theatrical gesture, he handed Mom a bottle of Rebel Yell bourbon and a carton of boiled custard which he took from a shopping bag. The bourbon was in a decorative Christmas box.
Mom threw up her hands. “Oh, no, I’m afraid I’ll be a alky-holic.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous, Mom,” said Laura Jean, taking Jim’s coat. “A couple of drinks a day are good for your heart.”
Jim insisted on getting coffee cups from a kitchen cabinet and mixing some boiled custard and bourbon. When he handed a cup to Mom, she puckered up her face.
“Law, don’t let the preacher in,” she said, taking a sip. “Boy, that sends my blood pressure up.”
Carolyn waved away the drink Jim offered her. “I don’t start this early in the day,” she said, feeling confused.
Jim was a large, dark-haired man with a neat little beard, like a bird’s nest cupped on his chin. He had a Northern accent. When he hugged her, Carolyn caught a whiff of cologne, something sweet, like chocolate syrup. Last summer, when Laura Jean brought him home for the first time, she had made a point of kissing and hugging him in front of everyone. Dad had virtually ignored him. Now Carolyn saw that Jim was telling Cecil that he always bought Gulf gas. Red-faced, Ray accepted a cup of boiled custard. Carolyn fled to the kitchen and began grating cheese for potatoes au gratin. She dreaded Kent’s arrival.
When Dad arrived with Pappy, Cecil and Jim helped set up the wheelchair in a corner. Afterward, Dad and Jim shook hands, and Dad refused Jim’s offer of bourbon. From the kitchen, Carolyn could see Dad hugging Laura Jean, not letting go. She went into the living room to greet her grandfather.
“They roll me in this buggy too fast,” he said when she kissed his forehead.
Carolyn hoped he wouldn’t notice the bottle of bourbon, but she knew he never missed anything. He was so deaf people had given up talking to him. Now the children tiptoed around him, looking at him with awe. Somehow, Carolyn expected the children to notice that she was alone, like Pappy.
At ten minutes of one, the telephone rang. Peggy answered and handed the receiver to Carolyn. “It’s Kent,” she said.
Kent had not left the lake yet. “I just got here an hour ago,” he told Carolyn. “I had to take my sister over to my mother’s.”
“Is the boat O.K.?”
“Yeah. Just a little scraped paint. I’ll be ready to go in a little while.” He hesitated, as though waiting for assurance that the invitation was real.
“This whole gang’s ready to eat,” Carolyn said. “Can’t you hurry?” She should have remembered the way he tended to get sidetracked. Once it took them three hours to get to Paducah, because he kept stopping at antique shops.
After she hung up the telephone, her mother asked, “Should I put the rolls in to brown yet?”
“Wait just a little. He’s just now leaving the lake.”
“When’s this Kent feller coming?” asked Dad impatiently, as he peered into the kitchen. “It’s time to eat.”
“He’s on his way,” said Carolyn.
“Did you tell him we don’t wait for stragglers?”
“No.”
“When the plate rattles, we eat.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No, I didn’t!” cried Carolyn, irritated.
When they were alone in the kitchen, Carolyn’s mother said to her, “Your dad’s not his self today. He’s fit to be tied about Laura Jean bringing that guy down here again. And him bringing that whiskey.”
“That was uncalled for,” Carolyn agreed. She had noticed that Mom had set her cup of boiled custard