Slow Dollar

“Yes.”

“And poor Olivia, too,” April said with returning briskness. “You say she calls herself Tallahassee now? That’s sort of cute, isn’t it? What’s she like, Deborah? Is she nice?”

I shared with her my impressions of Tally Ames, her family, and her way of life and April listened intently while the clock edged closer to eight. When I’d finished, she said, “Use your phone?”

Her first call was to her school to tell them that she wouldn’t be in that day and that the substitute would find today’s lesson plans on her desk under her roll book.

Next, she called Robert, who lives here on the extended farm, too. He was on his way out to cut silage when Doris called him back in. April was concise. “Andrew’s drunk as a skunk, Robert. I’m going to call Seth to come help you, and I’d appreciate it if y’all would take him out to the barn, throw him under that cold shower out there and see if you can sober him up.”

Lastly, she called Seth, explained that Robert needed his help with Andrew, then asked him to put Minnie on. Years in the classroom had given April the ability to convey a lot of information in clear, short sentences, and she explained the situation to Minnie a lot quicker than I could have done it.

“So thanks for letting the kids stay over there last night and I’d appreciate it if you’d let all the others know about the funeral,” she said as she hung up.

I admit that I was standing there with my mouth open.

“I’m going to go take a shower and get dressed and drive over to Dobbs,” she told me. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed, too?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

When she’d gone, I called Daddy to give him a heads-up on April and how she’d told Minnie to get the word out. “And I talked to Tally, too. The funeral’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

“Yeah, Duck Aldcroft’s people are coming to open the grave this morning,” he said. “Anything else, shug?”

“No,” I lied. “That’s about it.”

“Fine,” he said, and hung up.

          

Driving into Dobbs, my thoughts were focused on April, Andrew, and Tally, with forebodings about the funeral tomorrow, but as I started to get out of my car in the parking lot across the street from the courthouse, I saw Dwight heading toward the departmental lot diagonally across the street from where I was parked. The mere sight of him flooded all my senses and it was as if the bottom had dropped out of my stomach.

He had his back to me and was in deep conversation with three other officers. They stood there on the sidewalk talking for another moment or two before Raeford McLamb got into one of the squad cars with Jack Jamison, and Mayleen Richards went off alone in another. I saw Dwight check his watch, then he drove off alone, too.

Yesterday, I would have called to him or certainly waved. Today, I just sat motionless, half in, half out of the seat until he’d driven away and I could start breathing normally again.

Maidenly vapors or sudden misgivings?

(“Get a grip,” said the pragmatist. “Think about last night. Remember compatibility? Remember Ping?”)

(“Gonna be a long time till Christmas,” sighed the preacher.)

          

By the time the DA and I’d disposed of sixty or seventy cases of DWI, speeding violations (I know, I know!), seat belt violations, improper equipment, etc., etc., I was back to normal.

I recessed for lunch early, snagged Portland, and hauled her over to an end booth at the Bright Leaf Restaurant before the rest of the regulars came straggling over. Normally when the courts are in session, a table near the back is reserved for judges, and the waitress tried to seat me there, but I made her give us the most private booth in the place. Even so, the four elderly ladies two empty tables away looked at us as Portland squealed in a perfect blend of surprise, horror, and amusement.

“You and Dwight? I don’t believe it.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” I snapped. “This is for your ears only.”

With black hair so curly she has to keep it short, Portland sometimes reminds me of a well-clipped poodle. Today, though, she was like a bright-eyed terrier on the scent of a weasel as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “So what’s he like in bed? Tell, tell!”

“It was fine,” I said.

“Only fine?” She gave me such a leer that I couldn’t restrain my own smile.

“Actually, it was better than fine,” I confessed. “He probably learned a lot while he was in the Army.”

“Well, that’s something anyhow. But marriage, Deborah? I mean, you know Avery and I are crazy about Dwight, but marriage? When you’re not in love with him?”

“Isn’t being in lust with him almost as good?” I asked lightly.

She wasn’t to be deterred. “It’ll be like one of those cut-and-dried arranged marriages.”

I shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of arranged marriages were very happy.”

Portland just sat there, shaking her head.

“Look,” I argued. “If an Avery had come along for me, I’d probably have three kids and be lending you maternity dresses right now. But one didn’t. You know my track record, Por. Allen.