Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes Read online

  Beulah Godfrey stood behind Miss Ethel, her arms crossed and lips pursed. She nodded her head in agreement.

  Anger riled up in me. I had no idea where this seemly bottomless pool of rage came from, but it just kept flowing out. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said through gritted teeth, “but this is neither the time nor place to discuss it.”

  My words enraged Miss Ethel more and she puffed up like a bantam rooster, thrusting out her chest and bobbing her head. She lifted her cane higher, swinging it around. “Don’t you talk to me about time and place, you murderess!”

  Miss Ethel lost her precarious balance and swung her cane as she flailed, catching Miss Beulah on the chin. Miss Beulah shrieked and fell sideways, landing smack dab in the big pan of mashed potatoes on the buffet line. She jumped off the table as if it bit her, her face and chest covered in the creamy mixture. In her haste, she bumped a bowl of red Jell-O salad, sending it sideways off the table toward Miss Ethel. Miss Ethel screamed as she saw it coming toward her, accidently falling on her bottom as she tried to get out of the way, the bowl landing on top of her head. Red gelatin dripped down her hair and into her startled face. Miniature marshmallows clung to her tight blue-gray curls like dandelion puffs caught in a spider web.

  An eerie silence descended upon the fellowship hall and everyone froze, forks halfway to their mouths. The room looked like a scene out of “Sleeping Beauty.” Nothing this good had happened at a Henryetta funeral since Elmer Wainwright fell out of his casket five years earlier.

  I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin, knowing I’d be blamed for this somehow.

  Violet gave me a livid glare of How could you?

  I turned and carefully walked out of the hall, praying I didn’t fall in my heels. About one hundred pairs of eyes watched me leave. I could have crawled under a rock and died right there and it still wouldn’t have been enough to escape.

  Aunt Bessie followed me out as the room finally broke its spell with a roar of chaos. Violet remained behind. I was torn about that. I wanted my big sister to hug me and tell me it would be okay, but was fearful she’d come out and accuse me of ruining Momma’s funeral. I suddenly realized how very alone I was now. Was my independence really worth the price I was paying?

  We agreed that Uncle Earl would drive me home. Aunt Bessie could stay behind and help Violet, even though I suspected Violet didn’t want her there.

  We were almost home when Uncle Earl cleared his throat. “What that woman said, it wasn't right. Just remember that she doesn’t know you. You can’t change the opinions of small-minded people.” He reached over and patted my arm.

  My chin quivered and I bit my lower lip. Those were the most words I’d heard Uncle Earl say in years.

  Uncle Earl dropped me off at home and went back to the church. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl came back later and spent the night again. I tried to call Violet before I went to bed, but she didn't answer. I left a rambling message on her machine, apologizing for upsetting her and begging for her forgiveness. I hung up, afraid I lost her forever even though Aunt Bessie assured me that all she needed was time to get used to things.

  The next morning when Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl left for home, Aunt Bessie asked me to come home with her. I would have gone in a heartbeat if I hadn’t been ordered to stay in Fenton County. Besides, I had an appointment with my attorney that afternoon.

  Deanna Crawfield looked much more professional on a Thursday afternoon than at two o’clock on a Sunday morning, but then again I think most people would. We sat at a conference table while she took notes on a legal pad. Deanna said the evidence was circumstantial. The cut utility lines and the busted side door were in my favor, but the fact nothing was stolen and my argument with Momma in the afternoon were not. She was surprised the police hadn't called me in for more questioning, which she saw as a bad sign. They were collecting more evidence first.

  An hour later, I left feeling less than confident about my freedom. If anything, I wondered how long it would take for the Henryetta police department to show up at my door to arrest me.

  On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store to buy milk. While I dug cash out of my wallet, a Wal-Mart receipt fell out onto the counter. I almost wadded it up before noticing the writing on the back.

  My list.

  I picked it up, staring in disbelief. In all the confusion, I’d forgotten about it.

  “Do you want me to throw that away?” the clerk asked.

  “No, that’s okay…” I mumbled and carefully tucked it into my wallet. I’d figure out what to do with it later.

  After I got home, I decided to search for Momma’s will. I knew she had one made after Daddy died and I suspected it was in the lockbox in her bedroom closet. I couldn’t believe Violet hadn’t thought of it, but she probably figured she’d have to deal with me to read it. She never returned my phone call from the night before and she hadn’t called to check on my attorney appointment.

  The dusty box was on the floor in the closet, hidden behind a stack of empty shoe boxes. Inside, I found a stack of papers and pulled them out one by one. Momma and Daddy’s marriage license. Daddy’s death certificate. The deed to the house. At the bottom was a large envelope labeled “Last Will and Testament of Agnes Gardner.” I opened the flap and pulled out a bundle of papers, all stapled together. I read the legalese, wondering if anyone really understood any of it, until I got several pages in and found Violet’s name. Bequeathed to Violet Mae Gardner Beauregard was all Momma’s money, her house and all its furnishings.

  Everything.

  The room became fuzzy and I worried I’d pass out and hit my head again. I put my head between my knees, gasping for air. Had she hated me so much that she left me nothing?

  When the threat of fainting faded, I sat up and reexamined the page, sure I’d misread it. But I hadn’t. Violet got everything.

  I turned the page looking for my name. I found it the next page over. Rose Anne Gardner received a carved wooden box located in Momma’s closet. A wood box?

  I found it in the top shelf of her closet, a small wooden trunk about fifteen inches long and eight inches wide. It reminded me of a miniature pirate’s chest with a tiny padlock holding it closed. I searched Momma’s drawers for a key, coming up with nothing. It was fairly light so I knew it couldn’t be packed with money. In fact, if I hadn’t heard a small clunking sound, I would have wondered if it held anything at all.

  I stared at the grimy chest, my inheritance, and realized in the matter of only a few days I had lost everything.

  Chapter Seven

  After the initial shock wore off, I got up to fix myself dinner only to discover I’d left the milk out on the counter. I slid the container on the top shelf and noticed a six-pack of beer, two of the bottles gone. I bent over, hanging on the door as I peeked in and tried to figure out how they got there. Momma never allowed The Devil’s Brew in the house. Uncle Earl must have brought them and forgotten them.

  I set the carton on the counter, staring at it like it was an alien pod dropped off in my fridge, about to pop out a gremlin at any moment. Because I knew something like that was bound to happen; Momma said nothing good ever came from a bottle of beer.

  At the thought of Momma, my rebellion broke loose and burst out, filling me with thoughts of evilness. I pulled a beer out of the box and turned it in my hands. How could one little brown bottle be a fount of wickedness? In that moment, I decided if it was wicked, I was going to drink it. It took me nearly a full minute to figure out how to get the metal cap off and once I did, I held it in front of me. This was it. The moment I embraced evil. I took a big swig, then coughed and gagged, spewing out liquid like the cherub fountain in Mildred’s backyard. Thank goodness I was standing in front of the sink.

  So maybe a big gulp wasn’t such a good idea.

  I placed the bottle to my lips and took a tiny sip, my tongue protesting. The cold beer slid down my throat and warmed my stomach. How was that possible? Maybe it
was Devil’s Brew, especially since the only explanation I could come up with was magic.

  Carrying the carton in one hand and my bottle of the Fount of Wickedness in the other, I went out the front door and plopped in one of the rarely used rocking chairs on the front porch. I briefly considered what the neighbors would think. Then I decided it didn't matter. I probably wouldn’t live here much longer anyway.

  After several more tiny sips, I marveled at the magical warmness spreading through my gut. My arms and legs became tingly and I thought my head was gonna float right off my body. The cares of the world suddenly didn't seem so bad. As I got used to the taste of it, my sips got bigger and the next thing I knew, it was empty.

  I felt happy and carefree. If one bottle of beer could do that, I could only imagine how wonderful I would feel with two.

  With some effort, I twisted the top off the second bottle and took a big swig. I sat watching the leaves of the trees in the front yard blow in the breeze.

  “Rose?” Joe asked, sounding stunned. “What are you doin’?”

  I turned my head. He stood at the edge of the porch with my purse in his hand. I lifted the bottle up to show him. “I’m drinkin’ a beer.” I giggled then took another sip.

  He climbed the steps and sat in the rocker next to me, setting my purse on the floor between us. “Yeah, I can see that. I thought you didn't drink.”

  I giggled again. “I don’t, well, I didn’t. But that was the old me; this is the new me and the new me drinks beer.” I leaned over to him and whispered loudly. “And guess what? I like it.”

  Joe chuckled. “So I see.” He looked down at the box, alarmed. “How many have you had?”

  I waved the drink at him. “This is just my second but look how many there’s left!”

  “Mind sharin’?”

  I hated to lose one, but it seemed the neighborly thing to do. “Okay.”

  Joe picked up a bottle. He twisted the cap off a whole lot easier than I did and took a big swig. “Bad day?” he asked.

  For some reason I found his question funny and my laughter spilled out until I laughed so hard I was crying. Joe rocked in his chair, sipping his beer. He watched patiently, waiting for me to settle down.

  “It sucked.” Then I started giggling again because Momma had considered sucked a bad word and tonight I was breaking all the rules. I settled down in a minute and took another drink. “Hey, what are you doin’ with my purse?” I asked, noticing it on the floor between us.

  “I saw it outside the side of the house, thought I’d bring it to you before someone took off with it.”

  “Huh,” I said, contemplating how it could have gotten there. I must have set it down when I unlocked the door earlier. Thinking of the door reminded me of the locks. “Oh!” I exclaimed in a mini-shout, fairly certain Joe actually jumped in his seat. “I plum forgot I owe you money.” I reached down for my purse, but had trouble grabbing hold of it. I thought that was funny and snickered.

  “Rose, it can wait. You can just pay me later.”

  I finally got a good grasp and pulled it up into my lap. “No, I insist.” I chuckled more because the s sound in the word insist sounded funny. I pulled the wallet out and shoved the bag off my lap. It landed on the floor with a loud thud. “Oops.”

  I opened my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

  “I don't remember. Just pay me later.” He looked like he thought something was really funny.

  “No, no, no.” I wondered why it sounded like my words were slurred. “I might forget.”

  “Okay, pay me twenty dollars and you can cook me dinner sometime to make up the difference.”

  I dug through my cash, carefully picking through the bills. I found a twenty, taking great care as I pulled it out. The Wal-Mart receipt fell out onto my lap. I reached over to hand Joe the money. He took it from me, his fingers brushing mine. I felt a strange tingling in my gut.

  “Oh…,” I said, my eyes opening wide in surprise. I turned to Joe in fascination.

  He looked confused at my reaction.

  I thought about touching him again, but decided to take another drink of my beer instead.

  “How long have you been out here?” he asked.

  “I dunno…,” my voice trailed off. “Hmm….” I tried to think.

  “When did you start drinkin’?”

  “I dunno, not that long ago.” I finished off my bottle and reached down for another.

  Joe grabbed my hand in his, stopping me while I lifted it out of the box. “Hold on there, Party Girl. When was the last time you ate somethin’?”

  Our heads were bent close together, both of us reaching down. I turned slightly to look at him. “I dunno…,”

  His face was inches from mine, his eyes full of mischief, but they quickly clouded over and turned dark and serious. He sat up, looking stiff and uncomfortable. “I’m gonna go get us somethin’ to eat. You wait here and don’t drink anything else.”

  “But there’s another beer in there!” I protested in earnest.

  He grabbed the bottle and stood up.

  “That’s mine! Give that back!”

  “I will, after you eat something. Since you’re new to drinkin’ I'll teach you all about it.”

  That got my attention. “You will?”

  “Yeah, when I get back. Just wait right there.”

  I watched my last bottle of beer leave with him. My hands settled in my lap and the receipt poked my palm. I unfolded the strip, smoothing it out. How long ago had I written my list? It felt like a lifetime.

  I started reading, surprised at the number of items I could already mark off. I’d been more wicked than I thought. I’d completed three of them: numbers one, ten and eighteen—get a cell phone, drink a beer and wear high heels. Three items of twenty eight. I still had a ways to go, but those were three things I’d never done in twenty-four years. I’d made pretty good progress.

  “What are you lookin’ at?”

  My head jerked up at the sound of Joe’s voice. “Huh?”

  “What’s that?”

  I loved beer. Normally, I would have been shy and hid my list, but beer gave me confidence I'd never had before. “It’s my Wish List.”

  Joe handed me a bottle of water and a paper plate with a sandwich and some chips. He sat down with his own plate and water.

  “Where’s my beer?” I asked, panicked that he might have lost it.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I put it in your fridge. Rule number one of drinkin’: Beer is better cold.”

  I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “Oh…”

  Joe leaned over toward me. “That one is very important.”

  I nodded, seeing the seriousness of it. “What else?”

  “Beer before liquor, you’ll never be sicker.”

  I scrunched my nose. “What does that mean?”

  “It means don't drink beer and move onto harder stuff; you’ll get a pretty nasty hangover.”

  “Okay.” I took another bite of my turkey sandwich. “Why did you bring me a sandwich? Why’re you being so nice to me?”

  He shrugged and grinned. “You gave me a beer, I repaid you with a sandwich. Good trade. Besides, that brings me to the next rule: don't drink on an empty stomach. Bad idea.”

  “Wow, I had no idea drinkin’ had so many rules.”

  “You have no idea. Next rule: drink plenty of water so you don’t get dehydrated.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, take another drink. It will keep you from gettin’ a headache tomorrow.”

  “I’m gonna get a headache?”

  “If you drink too much and don’t eat or drink water. We’re gonna try to stop that from happenin’.”

  I took another sip.

  Joe finished his sandwich and set his plate on the floor. “So what’s on your list?”

  “Wishes.”

  “Wishes? What kind of wishes?

  I handed him the list.

  He took it and raised his eyebrows. “A
Wal-Mart receipt?”

  I shrugged and nibbled on a chip. “I didn’t have any paper.”

  “Number one, get a cell phone. Two, commit all seven deadly sins in one week.” He jerked his head up, smiling. “What is this?”

  The fuzzy feeling in my head was going away and I didn’t want it to. “Can I have my beer now?”

  Joe gave me a weird look as he went in the front door with the receipt still in his hand. He must have run because it felt like he’d just gone in when he came back, handing me an open bottle. He had one too.

  “So about this list…”

  I took a drink. Joe was right; beer was better cold. “I told ya already, it’s my Wish List. It’s all the things I wanna do.”

  “Looks like you took care of number ten tonight, drink beer.”

  “Yeah, lucky for me Uncle Earl left it behind.” I giggled.

  Joe continued reading. “Number fourteen, kiss a man.” He looked up. “Rose, are you tellin’ me you’ve never done anythin’ on this list?” He sounded like he’d just been told there was no Santa Claus after believing his whole life.

  “Oh, no…”

  “Good, I didn’t see how…”

  “I hadn’t done any of those things before last week. I’ve done three of them now.” I held up three fingers to show him. “I bought a cell phone. I wore heels to Momma’s funeral and I didn’t fall over. And tonight I’m drinking beer.” I lowered a finger as I ticked off the items, leaving my middle finger for the last. A second later I realized what I did and broke out into a fit of laughter.

  When I stopped, Joe stared at me, his face very serious. “Rose, why did you write this list?”

  I took another drink of my beer. “Cause I was tired of not livin’, you know?”

  “No, what do you mean?”

  I sighed for all I was worth. “I wanted to live my life instead of havin’ my momma tellin’ me what I could and couldn’t do and tellin’ me how evil I was.”

  Joe took a drink of his beer, quiet for a moment. “Rose, when did you write this list? Number four is Get my own place.”