A moment later, he was back, trying to wedge a huge chunk of furniture through the back door. "Hold it steady now," he called to the unseen helper. "Turn it to the left a little, and I'm gonna back in here. That's good. Keep turning."
In a minute, the helper appeared in the doorway, a younger version of Bobby, with a ballcap turned backward, and a smooth, serious dark face. He wore baggy blue jeans that sagged at the waist, showing three inches of boxer shorts, and sparkling white Air Jordans.
"Easy, son," Bobby said quietly. "Let's put it down right over there, in the center of the room. See where I got the pot rack hanging from the ceiling? Right under there."
"Can I help?" I asked, moving out of the way.
"We're good," the younger man grunted.
"There now," Bobby said as he pushed the piece an inch this way, and then the other way. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What you think of that, Miss Dempsey?"
The morning's gloom lifted away as I looked at the piece Bobby had built for me. It was the island he'd promised, of clear, golden heart pine boards. Somehow, he'd seen the picture of my dream kitchen, even though I'd never shared it with him. The island had a butcher block top at least two inches thick. There were deep drawers under the top, on the sides of it, and a shelf that ran along the bottom. The legs were shapely and turned to look like a piece of fine antique cabinetry.
"Oh, Bobby," I cried. "I can't believe you built this. It looks like something out of a museum. It's perfect. Better than I ever dreamed."
"Oh yeah," he said quietly, pulling out a breadboard from one end of the island, and then showing me the knife slots he'd added at the other end. "It worked out kinda good, I think." He pulled out a drawer to show me the dovetailing.
"It's magnificent," I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders.
"It ain't no problem," he said, ducking his head shyly.
I realized I was embarrassing him and let go. "Sorry," I said. "I got carried away."
"This here's my youngest, Trey," Bobby said, gesturing toward his helper. "Trey, this is Miss Dempsey. She's fixing up this big old house all by herself. Ain't that something?"
"Not by myself," I corrected him, reaching out to shake the hand Trey extended. "Not by a long shot. Your dad does all the heavy lifting. He's a true master craftsman. I just try to stay out of his way and learn a little bit."
Trey nodded and looked around the kitchen with interest. "Hey, this is kinda cool," he said. "Old school, right?"
"Old school, definitely," I said.
Bobby ran a hand over the island again. "All right then. Me and Trey are gonna get up on your roof this morning, and see if we can't get started fixing it up. I see you're coming good on those cupboard doors."
I made a face. "Not that good. I got up early and started sanding 'em down, and woke up Ella Kate and half the neighborhood. You might want to stay out of her way today. She's on the warpath for sure."
"Aw," Bobby said. "She don't mean nothin' by it."
"She hates me," I said. "Pure and simple. I know I made her mad this morning, but I still can't figure out why she's hated me since the minute she laid eyes on me. She keeps saying I'm Killebrew-like that's some kind of poison."
Bobby glanced over at Trey, and then away. "Son, you want to start getting the ladder and tools off the truck?"
Trey nodded agreeably and went out the kitchen door.
"He looks just like you, Bobby," I said. "I hope he's as good a man as his father."
"I think he favors his mama a little bit," Bobby said. "Lucky for him."
"How about a cup of coffee before you get up on that roof?" I asked. "I made a big pot first thing this morning, and it's got me so jittery I might jump out of my skin."
"Coffee'd be good," he allowed. I poured him a mug and he took a sip.
"Man," he said, looking up in surprise. "That's some good stuff."
"French roast beans. I grind them fresh myself," I said. "I'll get you a bag next time I go to Macon."
"I'd be glad to pay you for 'em," Bobby said.
I waved away his offer.
He put his cup down and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "About Ella Kate," he said, his voice lowered.
I leaned in closer.
He clucked his tongue. "I ain't got no business tellin' you about this, but I mentioned to the wife the other day how Ella Kate's giving you such a rough time, and she says you got a right to know some things."
"What kind of things?"
He hesitated. "My wife's auntie worked for the Dempseys way back in the day. Right here at Birdsong. She's an old, old lady now. Oldest member at her church, she'll be a hundred in July, if the Lord keeps her well."
He squirmed again, and grimaced.
"Bobby," I urged. "It's not gossip if it's true, if that's what's worrying you. And I swear, I won't tell a soul what you tell me here today."
The kitchen door popped open, and Trey stuck his head inside. "Excuse me? Dad? I got the ladder set up, and the ropes and tools rigged the way you asked me to."
Bobby set his cup down and stood up. "That's good, son. I'm coming right now."
I grabbed hold of Bobby's shirt. "Wait! Bobby-"
He just shook his head. "Not in front of the boy. It ain't right."
39.
Fuelled by caffeine and angst, I finished sanding all the cabinet doors and drawer fronts by noon. Bobby and Trey were in and out of the kitchen half a dozen times that morning, but I could never corner Bobby alone to make him spit out whatever it was that he really didn't want to tell me about the bad blood between Ella Kate and the Killebrews.
The unseasonable warm spell we'd been having was over, and temperatures had dipped back down into the fifties, so Bobby and Trey seemed glad to take their lunch break in the kitchen, after I went outside and insisted they come in.
When he'd finished with the ham sandwich and slice of pecan pie "the wife" had packed for his lunch, Bobby admired my cabinet-sanding prowess again, and proclaimed the doors ready for the next step.
"Got to clean up every bit of sawdust out of this room," he cautioned, bringing in his Shop-Vac. "You got to get up under the cabinets, in the corners, every inch of this room got to be clean as a whistle. Can't be a speck of dust or grit in here, once you get started putting a stain and finish on them doors, or it'll ruin all your pretty work."
"It'll be as clean as an operating room," I pledged. "What comes after that?"
He gave me a gummy-feeling piece of fabric he called a tack cloth, and instructed me to wipe down all the newly sanded wood. He gave me a can of Minwax stain, and showed me how to brush it on the doors and drawers, all of which he'd had me line up neatly on the old yellow linoleum countertops.
"What about these countertops?" I asked. "I looked at some granite the other day, but I just don't think it's in my budget, much as I hate to give it up."
Bobby nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, granite ain't cheap. But I got me another idea that might work, if you don't mind."
"Anything."
He opened the door to the basement and disappeared down the stairs. When he came back up, he was carrying a heavy, water-stained cardboard box. He set it on the table with a thud, and lifted out a plain four-inch white tile. "What do you think about that?"
I took the tile and turned it this way and that. "Not very inspiring," I said.
He scratched his head for a moment, and took four more tiles out of the box. He laid them out on the tabletop, so that the squares became interlocking diamonds. "What you think about that?" he asked. "Maybe with some gray grout? Thing is, Dempsey, Mr. Norbert and them, they never threw nothin' away around this place. I think this here tile is left over from when they put in that bathroom upstairs, for Mr. Norbert. And there's two more boxes of it down in that basement. More than enough to do your kitchen countertops. All for free. All we got to do is buy us a bag of grout."
I smiled. "You said the magic word, Bobby. Free."
"All right then," he said. "Let me get back up on that roof."
I spent the rest of the day sucking all the sawdust and grit out of the kitchen, and then wiping down and staining the cabinets and drawers. At one point late in the afternoon, I heard Ella Kate come clomping down the hallway. I ran out and caught her by the front door.
"Ella Kate? I know you're mad at me, and I'm sorry about that. You're right. I was insensitive and selfish. Have you heard anything about Shorty? Is he ready to come home from the hospital yet?"
"Goin' to get him right this minute," she said, brushing aside the hand I'd laid on her arm.
"I'd be happy to drive you down there," I told her. "Just let me get cleaned up a little bit, and we'll go."
"No need," she said. "I got me a ride." She turned and went out the door.
So much for detente, I thought.
I was about to head back to the kitchen when I saw a car, a black Lexus, pull into the driveway. At first I assumed it was Ella Kate's ride, but then I saw a woman-a tall brunette dressed in a dark brown pants suit-climb out of the car. As she drew closer on the front walk, I realized my visitor was Shirlene Peppers. I also realized that her pants suit was Armani, her shoes were Manolo, and the calfskin hobo bag slung over her shoulder was Gucci. I could have resurfaced my whole kitchen in imported Italian marble, not to mention replumbed all of Birdsong, with just the money Shirlene had spent on what she was wearing that day.
I looked down at my own attire-my faded Redskins football jersey, and Uncle Norbert's overalls. I had a blue bandanna tied over my hair, and sawdust leaking from every corner of my body. I sighed and opened the front door.
Shirlene Peppers was looking around the front porch with obvious curiosity. Or maybe it was just distaste.
"Hi there," I told her.
"Well, hello," she said, eyeing me up and down.
"Excuse the mess," I said. "It's a work in progress. And by that, I mean me and the house."
"Love the new color," she said, gesturing toward the front porch.
"That's all Jimmy's doing," I said with a laugh. "He picked out the color, and then before I knew it, he was painting it too."
"That's Jimmy," she said. "Which is why I stopped by. Do you have a minute?"
"Sure," I said, opening the door wide. "Let's go into the parlor. There's not much furniture in there, but it'll keep us away from the chemical fumes in the kitchen. I've been staining my cabinets." I pointed to a splotch on the sleeve of my jersey. "Here's the color."
"Nice," she murmured.
I dragged two dining room chairs into the parlor. Shirlene took one and I sat in the other. I tried to sit up and not feel as intimidated and inadequate as I actually did. Close up and in person, Shirlene was the real deal. Her skin was deeply tanned and flawless, her makeup was minimal, but expertly applied. Her dark hair was gleaming, and today, worn in a simple twist held with a tortoiseshell comb. Her long fingers wore pale pink polish, and on her left ring finger, she wore a humongous diamond solitaire. Everything about her was high gloss and high class.
She took a deep breath. "About last night. I want to apologize."
"No need," I told her. "Jimmy's harmless, I know. And I should have realized he was drinking too much. But it all happened so fast. One minute he was sober and charming, and the next minute-"
"He was a big ol' drunk," Shirlene put in. "But, honey, that's his fault, not yours. Anyway, that's not what I want to apologize for. Look. I jumped to a conclusion as soon as I saw you last night, and I feel awful about that."
"Why?" I asked.
She crossed her legs and jiggled her right foot so hard that the stiletto heel she was wearing nearly flew off.
"Why? Because you're young and cute and Jimmy was eyeing you like a cat eyes a big ol' bowl of cream. So I just assumed you were sleeping with him. But I still can't believe that's the first thing that came out of my mouth after we were introduced." She smiled sadly and twisted the ring around until the stone faced her palm.
"And I can't even blame it on the liquor talking, because I hadn't even had a drink at that point. I raised a big ol' stink, for sure. When I got home last night, I had three messages on my answering machine from girlfriends wanting to know if it was true I'd gotten into a cat-fight at the club with Jimmy's new girlfriend."
I laughed. "One thing I've learned about Guthrie-news travels fast in a town this small."
"Honey, you don't even know the half of it," she said. She uncrossed and then recrossed her legs. "I called Tee this morning, to apologize to him too."
I tried to look uninterested.
She raised an eyebrow. "I hope he told you that we are not an item. Lorrrrd, he is young enough to be my son. Not that I wouldn't grab hold of Tee Berryhill in a New York second if I thought he was interested in an old cougar like me."
I hooted. "Shirlene, you are totally too young to be a cougar. And as long as we're having true confessions here, when I saw you and Tee walk into the club together last night, I jumped to conclusions too. So I think we're even. No apologies necessary."
"You mind my asking what Tee told you about me?"
"He explained that you were a classmate from law school, and that he was taking you to dinner to try to pump you for details about something to do with the county commission."
She sighed. "I knew Tee had an agenda, when he asked me out, but it hurts just the teensiest bit to hear it in black and white like that. I was trying to delude myself into thinking he was fascinated with me because of the Botox and all the Pilates I've been doing."
"Botox?" I leaned in to get a closer look. "Really? Wow. I never would have guessed. You really do look amazing."
"Thanks," she said airily. "That's one of the few perks from having an ex-husband who's a doctor. Wayne's buddies at the hospital still extend me professional courtesy. I get the Botox free, and I assume Wayne's still getting Viagra for free, because the last girlfriend of his I laid eyes on looked like she'd just lettered in cheerleading over at the vo-tech."
We shared a laugh over that remark. And then Shirlene twisted her ring again, and recrossed her legs. "Did Tee tell you anything else about me?"
"He mentioned that you and Jimmy were married, before you married Wayne," I said, half apologetically.
"You didn't know that already? Jimmy didn't tell you?"
"Actually, Jimmy did tell me that he'd been married and divorced three times, and that he had an ex-wife named Shirlene. But I didn't really connect the dots, not even when you came up to the table last night. As soon as Jimmy spotted you with Tee, he started slamming back the bourbon, even heavier. I think it upset him, seeing you with Tee."
She cocked her head. "You think?"