Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(5)

With Mama Sweetwater being a grieving widow I guess she was easily suckered in, because along came a slick-talking salesman and before she could reconsider what she was doing they were married. He moved in, parked himself in the front parlor, and started calling for her to bring him a cold beer. A year later the poor woman had Max and a husband who’d run off with a waitress from the diner.

An experience like that most likely soured Missus Sweetwater on any further thoughts of marriage, because once Max’s daddy was gone she raised both boys by herself. I know that’s neither here nor there, but the problem is Max is just like his daddy. He’s a man who don’t know how to keep his pants zipped. When you meet a man like Max, you’ve got to keep a sharp eye on what he’s up to.

I know you’re probably wondering why I’d let a scoundrel like that move in; I know if I was you I’d be wondering.

I could say it’s because he’s Big Jim’s brother and let on like it’s a family responsibility, but that would be a flat-outt lie. The truth is having a bad egg is better than having no egg at all. Since Jim’s been gone, my ears ache from the sound of quiet. Max is company. He’s somebody who I’ve got to get up and make breakfast for, somebody who’s sitting across the table at dinnertime.

I miss Big Jim more than I ever thought humanly possible. If I take a cup from the cupboard, I think about how he liked his coffee. If I put clothes in the washing machine, I start wishing I had one more pair of dirty overalls to wash. But most of all I miss the sound of him playing the television too loud, and I think back on how I used to holler for him to turn it down. If I had my Jim back I’d never again say a word about how loud that television was; in fact, I’d sit down alongside of him and watch those football games.

You just never know how much you’re gonna miss someone until they’re gone. And then it’s too damn late to do a thing about it.





The Rosewood Bed





Nine days after Max arrived Ida Sweetwater took in her second boarder. She’d hoped it would be a gentleman, not a forty-six-year-old widow with hair the color of a chili pepper. But when Harriet Chowder came knocking at the door, her face was creased with misery and her eyes rimmed with a color close to that of her hair.

“What am I to do?” Harriet sobbed. Then she told of a son-in-law who was dead set against relatives living in his house. “His house,” she reiterated. “It’s Sue Ellen’s house the same as it’s his, but did she say a word? No, not a word. The fact that I’m her mother didn’t make a bean of difference. Sue Ellen just stood there nodding while Walter, in that snooty way he has of talking to people, said I should find another place to live.”

With Harriet teetering on the brink of tears, Ida simply didn’t have the heart to turn her away. She did, however, give her the upstairs bedroom, far away from where Max slept; hopefully the distance would be enough to discourage any funny business.

~

Ida charged Harriet five dollars more than Max but felt justified in that Harriet’s room had a new bedspread and a writing desk. Besides, Harriet had not even questioned the amount. Moments after she’d seen the room, Harriet began hauling two large trunks up the stairs and down the long hallway. She made one last trip back to the car and carried in a little transistor radio. Before she’d unpacked her clothes Harriet found a music station that blasted out the golden oldies and started singing along. Every so often the announcer screamed out, “You’re at WXRM, all music, all day, every day, so stay tuned!”

On the third day of listening to golden oldies, Ida was about to mention how for the past two nights the music had kept her awake long past her bedtime, but as soon as she said, “I heard the music last night…” Harriet grabbed the conversation and ran away with it.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she gushed. “Such a happy sound. I hear music like that, and I’ve just got to sing along.”

“I’ve noticed,” Ida answered, then said nothing more. Listening to a bit of music seemed a small sacrifice in return for having a regular income.

Other than the music, which was way louder than Big Jim’s television, the first few days went quite well. Harriet had nothing but glowing things to say about the room. Her view of the backyard was lovely, such attractive curtains, the meatloaf was one of the best she ever tasted. And, much to Ida’s delight, Max made no advances, even though Harriet was a reasonably attractive woman.

Now that she was selling her homemade pies and collecting rent from two boarders, Ida thought she would have enough money to keep Sam Caldwell searching for James. That was, until she received the second bill for his expenses.

“Three hundred and eighty-seven dollars!” Ida gasped. “Isn’t that a bit much?” What she meant was that it was exorbitantly high but she held back on saying it because such a statement could sound antagonistic. One thing Ida did not want to do was antagonize Sam Caldwell, especially when he was so close to finding James.

After her conversation with Sam, Ida returned to the table and recalculated her cash flow. That’s when she realized she was nowhere near having the amount of money she needed. Since renting rooms was working out so well, the most obvious answer seemed to be to take in a few more boarders. If you had to cook dinner anyway, Ida reasoned, it simply meant you’d set out another plate or two.