Small Town Girl

'Momma?' Mary looked over with hurt in her eyes. Apologies had never come easy to Tess, and this one stayed locked in her mind. 'Just forget it, okay?'

They drove on for a while but the silence remained heavy. Outside the sun sat smack in the middle of Highway 160, forcing Tess to slip on her sunglasses. Things here looked the same as always. This was a poor county, Ripley, its chief income generated by transfer payments-Social Security, survivors' benefits, unemployment and welfare checks. Seemed as if half the residents of Ripley County lived in trailer houses. But the land was pretty. Red clay earth, green grass, lots of creeks, a few dogwoods on the fringes of the woods, big patches of yellow buttercups in bloom, rolling Ozark foothills, horse farms and little country churches about every five miles. They passed fields where biscuit-colored cows grazed, and a farm where goats stood on the tin roof of their shelter and a great whiskey-brown turkey fanned its tail and watched them pass. Farther along, they rumbled over the Little Black River, which ran full and brilliant as it was struck by the morning sun.

While they rode, Tess let the beautiful morning do what her absent apology should have done-take the edge off the tension in the car.

Finally she asked, 'Want to hear my new song, Momma?'

Mary turned from her absorption with the view, eager to be in Tess's good graces again. 'Of course I do.'

Tess snapped her tape into the deck and a musical intro came on.

Mary asked, 'This the one with the bad note?'

'This is the one.'

They rode toward the sunrise with Tess's voice singing about a marriage in jeopardy.

When the song ended Mary said, 'Not a thing wrong that I could hear. That's very nice, honey. Will they be playing it on the radio soon?'

'Not till fall. There's another single-maybe two-they're going to release first before the album comes out.'

'Has it got a title yet?'

'The album? No, we're still waffling on that. Jack wants me to call it Water Under the Bridge, which is the name of the first single, but the label executives say it makes me sound like I'm water under the bridge. So they don't want that. I kind of wanted to call it Single Girl, from an old Mary Travers song we revamped, but the MCA guys don't want to name it after a song that's been done before, no matter how old it is or how different from our version, so I don't know what's going to happen.'

'Single Girl would be appropriate for you, I suppose,' Mary remarked.

Tess repressed a sigh of exasperation. 'I know you wish I'd get married, Momma, but it's just not practical in my career. And besides, I haven't met anybody.'

'Well, what about this Burt?'

They reached the intersection of Highway 67 and Tess turned left toward Poplar Bluff. 'I hardly know him. Don't push this, please, Momma. I'm happy doing what I'm doing, and until I'm not, marriage isn't something I'm interested in.'

'But you're thirty-five already.'

'Meaning what? No children?'

'Well, it's something to think about.'

'I'd make a terrible mother.'

'No, you wouldn't. You've just never given the idea a chance.'

'Please, Mom…'

'Your sisters are good mothers. What makes you think you wouldn't be?'

'Momma, I don't want to be!'

'Why, that's nonsense. Every woman wants to be a mother.'

Every woman did not want to be, but there was no convincing Mary. She was of the old school who believed it was every female's mandate to give birth just because she was born with the right equipment. She probably believed that every homeless person deserved to be on the streets, and every person with the HIV virus was homosexual, too. Though she never raised her voice, there was a relentless-ness in the quiet attitude that never changed, a stubbornness that warned, Mind closed. It was the same way at home about changing the house, cooking fatty foods, throwing away old clothes and planting a garden. Day two of Tess's stint back home, and four weeks were beginning to look longer and longer.

'Mom, I'm not going to argue anymore.'

'Why, Tess, I'm not arguing,' Mary claimed, in the same sweet voice that made Tess want to hook the seat belt across her mouth. 'I'm just saying, it's not natural to stay single and not have babies. Turn left here. The hospital's on Pine.'

By the time she pulled up beneath the porte cochere of Doctors Hospital, Tess was more than ready to get out of the car.

'Stay here, Mom. I'll get a wheelchair for you.'

She drew in a humongous breath to calm her nerves as she headed into the brown brick building. How can I love her and want to throttle her at the same time?

Two women looked up from behind the reception desk. One was stocky, about thirty, with brittle brown hair and fat cheeks, wearing a snagged white sweater. Her name tag said Maria. The other was older, trimmer, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and rimless glasses. Her name tag said Catherine.

'Good morning. I need a wheelchair for my mother. She's having surgery today.'

The stocky woman gaped. 'Why, you're… you're Tess McPhail, aren't you?'

'Yes, I am.'

'Oh, my gosh, I love your music!'

'Thanks.'

'I've got two of your albums.'

'That's nice. Any chance of getting a wheelchair?'

'Oh! Of course.'

Maria nearly broke her legs hurtling around the desk. As Tess strode toward the entrance Maria followed with the chair, her adulating eyes as wide as Judy Garland's when she was planning some musical shindig with Mickey Rooney.

'Got any new records coming out?'

'I'm working on an album now,' Tess replied tersely, aware of how readily people who recognized her could become starstruck. The reactions were varied. Some became transfixed. Some acted as if they'd known her since childhood and had a right to pepper her with questions. Others became overly solicitous, ignoring everything else around them. Maria did all three.

'When's it coming out?'

'In the fall.'

'Gosh, wait till I tell my mother. She's the one who introduced me to your music when-'

'Excuse me, but I'd like to introduce you to my mother, Mary McPhail.'

'Oh, gosh, sure. So this is the mother of Butler County's most famous person. Well, you must be mighty proud!' Maria gushed as she helped Mary out of the car.

'Ripley County. We're from Wintergreen.'

'I always heard you were from Poplar Bluff.'

Tess was accustomed to people believing they knew everything about her. She'd heard stories about people who became argumentative, insisting they were right when they were dead wrong. She found herself wishing that her mother hadn't bothered to correct the woman.

Though the attention was supposed to be focused on the patient, it more often shifted back to Tess, who accompanied her mother inside and saw her through the necessary computer work of registering. The older receptionist, Catherine, managed to act more professionally than Maria, but Tess suspected she'd alerted some of her friends on the hospital staff that a famous person was in admitting, for several people came and went during those minutes at the registration desk, dropping off papers, opening file drawers or using copy machines, their gazes seeking out Tess and lingering on her as they reluctantly moved off.

When registration was complete, Maria passed a paper over the counter and said, 'Could I have your autograph, Mac? It's okay if I call you Mac, isn't it?'