The Dry Grass of August(19)

“Even if you don’t make the team,” Milly said, “the important thing is you tried.” If he believed that, he was a real jerk.

Mr. Roberts came into the kitchen. He took a pipe from his mouth. “Hello, Sonny, Princess. What’s up?” He only called them Milly and Tom when he was being stern.

“Hi, Pops,” said Milly. I could never call Daddy “Pops.”

Tom said, “Aw, Milly’s got this way-out notion that I’ll make the football team.”

Mr. Roberts sat on a stool, stuck his pipe back in his mouth, and reached for a cookie jar. He had black-rimmed glasses and his ears stuck out like Clark Gable’s. “So, son, are you going to make it?”

“No sweat,” Tom said, but his voice was sad.

What did Mr. Roberts do when he got mad at Milly and Tom? I tried to picture him angry.

Mrs. Roberts walked into the kitchen in heels and a shirtwaist dress.

Mama smoothed her skirt.

“Hello, children.” Mrs. Roberts grabbed a cookie from her husband and put it back in the jar. “Henry, you’ll spoil your appetite. The roast is almost ready.” She tied her apron and adjusted her pearl necklace.

“Oh, Louise, I was only going to have one.”

“After supper.”

“Ha!” Stell jeered. “Try snatching a cookie from Daddy.”

Mrs. Roberts tucked a strand of blonde hair back into place. If they were going out for the evening, she wore a ribbon around the bun at the crown of her head, and once she’d worn flats on a picnic. She looked sweet and kind, never smoked or had too much to drink, and didn’t say a cross word to anyone. I knew this was just TV, but I wanted it to be real.

“Jubie?” Mama said. “Why are you scowling?”

“I’m concentrating.”

The dog barked offscreen.

“What’s up with Woofers?” Mr. Roberts asked.

Milly said, “It’s time for the evening paper. How does he know?”

“He checks his wristwatch.” Mr. Roberts jabbed the air with his pipe. The audience laughed and the screen faded to a commercial for Camay, the soap of beautiful women.

Mama said, “You can learn a lot from Milly about grooming and makeup.”

“She wears costumes, and her hair’s a wig,” said Stell.

Mama sniffed. “She’s chic and a smart young lady.” She went to the kitchen. The garage door screeched open, then slammed down.

“Daddy’s home,” I called to Mama. She came back in the den with a glass of ice tea as the door opened from the breezeway.

“Hey, y’all.” Daddy sailed his fedora through the den to the dining room table. His hair was messed up from his hat.

“Shush,” Mama said, “we’re watching our program.”

“Oops!” Daddy tiptoed past us, grinning. He’d had just enough to drink to make him happy, and I hoped he’d go right to bed.





The stiffness between Mary and Mama started the last time the bridge luncheon met at our house. I don’t think the extra work is what made Mary act so strange. But maybe getting ready for the bridge club had her on edge, so when she heard what Mrs. Feaster said to Mama, that was the last straw.

The house never got so clean as the day before Mama’s bridge club, and it was impossible to know, with a refrigerator full of food, what was okay to eat and what was special for the ladies. Mama was in a tizzy, looking into the refrigerator every ten minutes at the food she’d fixed, with at least two other things set aside to substitute in case the tomato aspic didn’t jell.

The cowbell rang when Carter Milton came through the kitchen door.

“Hey, Mrs. Watts,” Carter said. “I’m here to help.”

Mama’s face lit up. “Hey, Carter.”

Stell and Carter were hosting a Young Life meeting the same day as the bridge luncheon, like there wasn’t already enough going on.

Of all Stell’s friends, Carter was Mama’s favorite. He always looked dressed up. Today he had on a madras plaid shirt and sharply creased slacks. He was particular, which I guess is what appealed to Stell. Carter had recently gotten a flattop, after having a crew cut for a long time. A definite improvement, as far as I was concerned.

Mama handed him a tray of glasses. “These are for your meeting. Stell’s in the rec room setting out the other things.”

Stell got Young Life going in Charlotte after she’d been saved by Leighton Ford, the brother-in-law of Billy Graham, who is like God’s brother-in-law as far as Charlotteans are concerned.

When Stell announced that she’d been saved, Daddy had asked, “Is that the same as being born again?”

Stell had beamed. “Yes, Daddy. I’m reborn in Christ.” From the expectation on her face, I guess she thought Daddy would tell her how great it all was. But he just said, “Okay,” and went back to reading his paper.

“Jubie,” Mama said, after Carter headed for the rec room, “get the fluted bowl from the top shelf. Mary, are you sure Rita didn’t call?”

“I hasn’t talked with her.”

Mama frowned. “It’s not like Rita.”

“My friend Reese, she sometime hard to find. Goes a spell without calling, then I see her at church and she act like it’s nothing wrong.” Mary dumped a bag of russets into the colander and washed them. She popped out sprouted eyes with her thumbnail, her long, knobby fingers lost among the potatoes, so much the same color. “Reese—you know Reesy, came here last year to help, the party you had for Mr. Stamos and them—she doesn’t think you got to return calls. But calling back is just decent.”