Why Sarah Ran Away with the Veterinarian (21 page)

“New boyfriend?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” I said. But I was watching Daddy scrape and saw his ham, one-handed, with one of Mama's good silverware knives. They're pretty but not very sharp. “What you doing, Daddy?”

“What's it look like?”

“Like you're trying to cut your ham into teeny-tiny baby-size pieces.”

Jack looked like I'd just confirmed his worst suspicions. “Sammy can't eat table food,” he said.

“How do you know?” Daddy said, squashing a potato cube with his fork. “Has he tried any?”

Before Jack could shout “No!” or maybe right at the same time, Daddy poked a spoonful of mushed-up potato into Sammy's mouth.

Jack shot back from the table and made an attempt to rise, but Sarah clamped down on his shoulder pretty hard. Sammy was smiling.

“He likes my potato salad,” I said, trying to lighten things up a little. “Sarah, I'll give you my recipe.”

Sarah smiled, but Jack didn't. “That won't be necessary, Donna Jean,” he said. Then he looked straight at Daddy and in the same voice he used for “Donna Jean” he said, “No ham!”

“Where'd she meet him?” Andrew said.

“Who?” I said. “Have some potato salad and pass it to the girls.”

“Where did Kate meet her new boyfriend?” he said, trying to shake a blob of salad off the spoon. It came loose and spattered just a little. “The Wayfarer Lounge?” he asked, dabbing at his tie with the napkin.

“Floyd's Feed and Seed,” I said. “It'll wash out.” But I was more concerned with getting Daddy and Jack back to eating than Andrew's old tie. “Sarah, have an ear of corn and pass the rest to Jack. I couldn't find those little handles you poke into the ends of the cob. We used to use those when we were little. Remember, Sarah? Mama must have thrown them out. Daddy, have you seen them?”

Daddy was trying to eat his corn with one hand like a chicken leg. “What?” he said. Little bits of yellow stuck to his chin.

“Those little pointy things Mama used to stick into the ends of the cob.”

He shook his head. Corn bits fell off his chin and back into his plate.

“Go on,” Andrew said. His lips moved but his jaw was clenched.

“She used them so Sarah and I wouldn't burn our fingers,” I said. “Or more likely get them greasy with butter and wipe them on our clothes.” I smiled just remembering.

“Not about the corn skewers,” Andrew said, making “skewers” sound almost nasty, “about Kate's new boyfriend.” I was sure I saw the muscles twitch that time.

“Aunt Kate met him at the feed store. She said he was driving this custom-type truck. Real big and nice. She called it a Dooley.”

Jack stopped watching Daddy. Daddy stopped watching Sammy. Almost in unison they said, “a what?”

“A Dooley,” I said. “You know, like hang down your head Tom Dooley.”

“She probably meant a ‘dually,'” Jack said. Daddy nodded.

“What did it have on it?” Daddy asked. He's always interested in trucks.

“I don't know anymore about the truck itself,” I said. Daddy looked disappointed. “Just the contents,” I added. “Kate said he was pulling a trailer with a llama in it.”

“A llama?” Andrew said. “Are you sure she said ‘llama'?

I nodded.

“Michael Jackson has a llama,” Scarlet said, pushing the potato salad bowl toward Charlotte.

“Is that Fred Jackson's son, out near the fire station?” Daddy said. “I thought he joined the Navy.”

Scarlet looked at Charlotte. They both squeezed their lips together and blew out their cheeks. Just like Sarah and I used to do. I stared them down. “No, Daddy,” I said, “that's a different Jackson.”

“Good potato salad,” Sarah said. She sounded surprised. “Aren't llamas like camels?” she asked.

“I don't know,” I said, “but Aunt Kate said he has a whole ranch of llamas in Washington.

“They're ruminants related to the camel,” Andrew said, “mostly used for pack animals, hiking and camping.”

“Pack animals in Washington?” I said. “Who'd want to go camping around the White House unless you were protesting something.”

“Probably the state of Washington,” Sarah said.

“Whatever,” I said, “that's all I know about Aunt Kate's new boyfriend.” I knew he was staying out at the farm with her but I didn't want to say so in front of the twins. I helped myself to an ear of corn and passed the dish to Andrew.

“This reminds me,” Andrew said, reaching for some corn, “of something I read in
National Geographic.”

“About llamas?” Sarah asked.

“No, about corn. Actually about grits.” Here we go again, I thought, nasty comments about grits. I looked at Sarah and she rolled her eyes. Jack would have joined in with Andrew—he doesn't like grits either—but he was watching Daddy eat ham.

“Grits,” he said in his lecture voice, “aren't really of Southern origin but rather a food of the ancients.” He paused a moment, to let that sink in, whatever it meant, then went on, “It was an Aztec breakfast, discovered by some Mexicans in the 1500's.” How does he do it?—I'm thinking—store all those little bits of dates that don't have a thing to do with anything that matters as far I can tell, and on top of that forget our anniversary?

That would have been all right, though, except he added, “When someone calls you people a ‘grit,' they're really calling you an ‘Aztec'” Then he told us something truly remarkable. “Yellow grits come from yellow corn,” he said, gesturing toward the ear in Daddy's hand, “and white grits come from white corn.” I looked at Sarah. She had her lips squeezed together and her cheeks blown out just like the twins a minute ago. I probably would have too except I'd about had it with Andrew's little education tidbits. More than fifteen years of them can drive you nuts.

Then Daddy spoke up, “That reminds me, Donna Jean. The corn needs to be put up tomorrow. Won't wait. We'll start on it first thing in the morning.”

Damn!—I thought—Damn you both and all your old corn! I almost said it out loud except for the twins. Sarah looked at me sympathetic-like. She knew what I was thinking. Then I felt kind of guilty. Donna Jean, I said to myself, here's poor old Daddy finally getting over Mama's death. Think of all he's done for you.

Then I thought about Andrew, sitting there eating a bite of ham and a bite of potato salad and a bite of roll and a bite of corn, in that order over and over. No matter how aggravating he gets, I should still love him. I mean you couldn't just quit loving somebody after living with them this long. Could you?

I decided it was just me. I needed a change. I started thinking about make-overs again. Lately Andrew had hardly noticed I was alive and the twins had started referring to Andrew and me as “the fossils.” Andrew said that was just teenage slang and a natural way to “snip the bonds of parenthood.” But I still didn't like it. I told them I'd be snipping allowance, laundry, and anything else that stuck out if I heard that “fossils” stuff again.

Getting a make-over in this town was tougher than I thought. We don't have any
Glamour-type
experts unless you count what Holly gets from her cousin in California. She's a beautician too. Sometimes she sends Holly samples of the latest beauty product out there, like anti-aging eye gel or tan enhancer. Andrew says they're made from bull semen and embryo fluids. But I don't believe that for one minute. Holly says she doesn't either. We both tried the samples and that was it for make-overs.

Then a few months back a new cosmetic store opened in town. They ran a coupon in the newspaper that said “free makeup lesson.” That's it, I thought, so I clipped the coupon, washed my face, and went. The only person there was this salesgirl, not much older than the twins, who looked like she had on every eyeshadow in the store. Her makeup instruction consisted of pulling out a box of half-used samples, handing me a mirror, and saying, “Keep trying till you find what you like. That's what I do.”

I might have given up if Holly's cousin hadn't come for a visit. While she was here, she set up shop at Holly's Hair and Then Some. Her name was Barbra, not Bar-ba-ra like I thought at first. She preferred Barb. Sounded too much like wire to me, but Holly called her Barb so I did too. Barb offered free make-overs, hoping, of course, to sell makeup. The way she talked you could tell she was from California. And she really knew her business. She started with cleanser, then clarifier, followed by astringent that she said “snaps the pores.” Barb spread foundation with this little pie-wedge sponge. She said, “Never the fingers.” She also used sponges because they were disposable. “In LA,” she said, lifting one eyebrow, “you NEVER re-use a sponge.”

Barb used two kinds of blush on me to bring out the “sharpness in my cheekbones.” And the whole time she was telling me how pretty I was and with the right makeup I could look ten years younger. I bought the package. All $76 worth. It was a starter kit and had all the cleansers and brushes and makeup in a pretty little blue carry case I could take on trips. Not that Andrew and I travel much unless you count Myrtle Beach every other summer.

I planned to tell Andrew about my make-over as soon as he noticed how different I looked. I was going to show him the kit and tell him what Barb said. But not the price. I considered that a beauty secret. That was my plan until I came home. Know what he said? “You look different around the mouth. Your lips are swollen. Have you been eating oranges?”

Still the make-over was a good experience because I started thinking about going into business myself. “Donna's Make-over Magic.” I imagined a small shop with wall-to-wall photographs. I'd put the “befores” on one side and the “afters” on another. Then waiting customers could try to match them or pick out a look they especially liked.

I told Holly and she said she'd give me a corner in the shop. But she said I'd have to get a certificate or license or something to show I know my stuff. Something to hang on the wall in one of those black frames like Andrew has in his office. There's a school in Atlanta I could go to. Holly gets ads from it all the time.

I could take that old dressing table Mama meant to refinish and do it myself or maybe just give it a coat of glossy white paint. I could dig out the Polaroid camera Andrew gave me for Mother's Day a couple years back, and I could “snap” the befores and afters right on the spot.

I'd accept walk-ins at first. Holly doesn't usually. She makes them an appointment and sends them right back out the door. Except for people from the campground down the road. She gets a good many customers just passing through. Some may want makeovers. I've met some really interesting people from the campground. Like this man who invented blowing up buildings so they fall straight down instead of exploding all over the place. He came in with his wife. While Holly did her hair, he told us about places he'd been—New York, Minneapolis, Denver—just about everywhere somebody wanted something big, blown down. He was on his way from Florida to Nevada. I asked him if he was going to blow up a casino. He said no, but he might shake down a slot machine or two. He was funny but he had an accent.

He gave Holly and me his business card, like we might have something to blow up. When they got ready to leave, we went out to see their camper. He called it a “travel home” and he was right. It must have been 30 feet long. Biggest one I've ever seen. Holly too.

That's another reason I want my own make-over business—to meet interesting people. It's sort of like traveling with them when they tell you where they've been or where they're going. The thing is, if I go down to this school in Atlanta, I'll have to leave Andrew and the girls and Daddy for two whole weeks. Andrew's so busy on that research project of his and the twins have to go to music and ballet and the mini-mall. Then there's Daddy.

That's what's been holding me back. But, you know, the more I think about it, the more tempting it sounds. I could cook up some meals and freeze them for while I'm gone. My pizza casserole, some hamburger patties, French toast—they all freeze well and taste good later if you defrost and heat them up right. I could fix some for Daddy too. The laundry might be a problem. Of course, the girls could do it if they just take their time and separate the colored stuff from the darks and whites. Daddy could take his to the cleaners. He probably won't do it, but that's up to him.

If I tell Andrew about going to Atlanta and taking a course, he'll try to talk me out of it. He'll come up with some other career move that will be more—I can hear him now—“financially feasible.” Maybe I'll leave a note saying where I am and that I'll be back in two weeks. Or I could just go.

Like Sarah did. Wonder how she did it. I was too mad to ask her when she first came home. Then later when it looked like she'd be staying with Jack, it didn't seem so important. But it does now. With me feeling this way and her vet back and all. Wonder if she'll leave again. Take Sammy and the horse and just ride off. I've got to talk to Sarah. Ask her how she got the courage to leave the first time. And if she'll do it again.

AUNT KATE

I knew this day would come. She'd have to face him eventually.

I tried to prepare Sarah. I didn't say anything at the hospital. I waited until she was home and had her strength back. Then I went to see her.

“Door's open,” she yelled from the nursery. She held Sammy on her arm, his head in the crook of her elbow, and dipped him in a small plastic bath tub. The stub of his umbilical cord protruded, a reminder of our connection to other animals.

She turned her head toward me, “Hi, Aunt Kate,” then quickly back to the baby. “Don't want to get his belly button wet,” she said. “He loves the water.” She reached for a towel and in one swirl bound Sammy to her arm, then grabbed a diaper and little shirt. “We'll sit in the den while I dress him.”