Chocolate-Covered Baloney Read online

  “Thank you!” I breathed, hardly believing my good fortune. I loved mechanical pencils but had only had one in my whole entire life, and ole J. H. Henry “borrowed” it in the fifth grade, and when he gave it back, it was broken. Just one more reason that boy gets on my nerves, big-time.

  “Why, thank you kindly, Rob. That’s real nice of you.” Grandma eyed the package of paper I held. “Do we owe anything more to change out that notebook paper?”

  “Not a penny!” he said with a smile, then escorted us to the front. When we had almost reached the door, he said, “Oh, but there is something, though! Since this is an exchange, I have to fill out a little receipt. My bookkeeper gets his nose out of joint if there’s the least little thing that isn’t recorded . . .”

  Grandma looked at him with a kind of suspicious expression. “I thought you were the bookkeeper since you retired.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I thought that’s what you told me.”

  “Well, well,” he replied, then did things on the cash register that involved punching buttons and eyeballing the receipt tape and writing things down. I appreciated that he took his own sweet time about it, too. Finally, he handed me a small receipt and said, “Sign that for me if you will, please, Miss April, to prove to my bookkeeper no one tried to get away with anything sneaky in this store tonight.”

  I like to have busted out laughing, because I knew he was making a joke about us keeping Grandma there as long as we possibly could. I gave him a serious, grown-up nod and wrote my name real slow and neat.

  When I gave him back that piece of paper, he looked at it, then tilted his head to one side and studied me like he thought there might be a test on how many freckles I have.

  “Actually,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “I have far too much of this in the store, so do me a favor and take some of these off my hands.” He reached right over into the candy display and scooped up a whole handful of chocolates and put them in a bag. He added the biggest candy bar I had ever seen in my whole entire life, then handed that bag to me.

  “Wow,” I said, taking the bag from him. “Thanks!”

  “Mercy on us, Rob Estes!” Grandma gasped. “Whatever are you doing? April Grace, you do not need that much candy.”

  I’m telling you, I thought for sure she was gonna make me give all that chocolate wonderfulness back to him, but he frowned, shook his head, and made noises between his teeth.

  “Tsk, tsk, Grace. Once food has been sold, there are no returns or exchanges.”

  “But we didn’t buy—”

  He held up one hand. “I’m sorry. The law’s the law, and I can’t go against the law.”

  “Yeah, Grandma, you don’t want Rob to go to jail, do you?”

  Her mouth flapped open and shut a couple of times. She looked at him, then me, then back to him, and finally she looked at the clock again.

  “My word and honor! It’s nearly a quarter till seven. Do you realize, child, how long you took buying that paper? We’re gonna have to hustle.”

  He escorted us right to the door, fumbled way longer than he needed to with the key and the lock, and kept talking the whole time so Grandma didn’t have an opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

  “Good evening, ladies.” He shook our hands warmly and firmly, like we were in church. “I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

  “Thank you so much for everything,” I said, full of happiness from the treasures he’d given me and how well he had piddled around slowly to keep us there longer.

  Once we were back in the car, though, and ready for the drive back home, I sorta forgot about my good fortune. I fastened my seatbelt, silently recited the Lord’s Prayer and the Twenty-Third Psalm one more time, and I even threw in a little bit of the Preamble to the Constitution as Grandma settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Grandma,” I said, just as she started the engine, “I’m feeling queasy all of a sudden.” That was sure enough the truth, and I knew the opportunity when I saw it. “Maybe we better not hustle. Maybe you better drive kinda slow.”

  “Oh?”

  She gave me a look of concern and leaned toward me, peering into my eyes in the bluish light and shadow from the streetlights along the sidewalk.

  “You gettin’ sick, honey?”

  She laid her soft palm along my forehead for a minute.

  “No, ma’am. Not sick. Just a little queasy, probably ’cause we haven’t had supper yet.” As soon as I heard those words, I realized she might think we needed to hurry home so I could eat. “You better drive slow so I don’t hurl in your car.”

  “All right, honey.”

  I want you to know we went home slowly. I mean, we went so slow it was like we were in a funeral procession and the corpse was doing the driving. Lots and lots of cars passed us. Some of them honked like they were telling us off, but that was too bad for them. If it had been anyone but Grandma driving all slow and pokey that way, I would’ve gone plumb buggy because of it. But since we were way safer with her not zipping along like a race-car driver in the dark, I relaxed for the first time in I don’t know how long with Grandma at the wheel. I got all tense again every time we met an oncoming car, ’cause she ran off on the shoulder, but at least she did it nice and slow. We were gonna be getting home later than seven o’clock, but at least we’d arrive in one piece.

  Every little bit she asked me how I was feeling, and if we needed to stop. Every time I said, “I won’t get carsick as long as you drive slow, Grandma.” And that was the honest-to-goodness truth.

  Well-Dressed Party Animals

  You know what? When we got home, there was not a single car there! Surely the party had not been called off.

  The porch light was on, but the house wasn’t all glowing bright like it would’ve been for a party. Boy, oh boy. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept Grandma piddling around in the store so long, then creepy-crawling home so slowly.

  “What time is it, Grandma?” I asked when she stopped the car.

  She switched on the dome light to see her watch.

  “Mercy me, it’s a quarter after seven.” She looked up. “How you feeling, hon? Still think you’re gonna urp?”

  “No. I think I’m fine.”

  “Good. Well, you run on in the house now and get you some supper, then get on that homework. You can get some of it done before bedtime, I’m thinking.”

  The car was still running, and she had her hand on the gearshift, as if she was getting ready to leave. Oh, good grief, I could not let that happen, even if there was no one at her party. Mama would at least have a celebration supper in there, or a cake, or something. Grandma could not go home all alone on her birthday without a single, solitary word of congratulation.

  Right then I almost blurted out the whole sad story of how circumstances conspired to mess up Grandma’s special day. A little voice in my head whispered for me not to do that.

  “Aren’t you coming inside?” I asked.

  She sighed, and that sound held all the disappointment you can imagine coming from someone at the end of their forgotten birthday.

  “No, honey. I think I’ll just go on home, take a nice, warm bath, maybe go to bed early. I’m a little tired.”

  Isn’t that just the saddest thing you ever heard in your life?

  “I wish you’d go in with me.”

  “Why? Are you afraid to walk up to the door by yourself?”

  I gave her what I hoped was a pitiful look. If she thought I was afraid, she’d probably at least walk me as far as the door, and if we got to the door, she’d probably go inside.

  “Yeah. Sorta.”

  “Goodness’ sake!” she said, kinda snappish. “You are a big, grown-up girl, April Grace. There’s no reason for you to be afraid of walking a few feet in the dark to your own door. The porch light is on!”

  I crimped my mouth and thought as fast as my brain could churn. And then it did a cartwheel.

  “I think you sho
uld come inside and at least explain why we’re late,” I said. “They might think I did something dumb to make us late or something.” Which I did, of course, all that looking at old-lady feet stuff and piddling around buying the wrong paper, then having her drive slowly coming home.

  She stared at me through the semidarkness inside of her Corolla, then blew out a big breath.

  “Well, forevermore. Come on, then. Get your paper and chocolate. I’ll tell your mama you were feeling poorly on the ride home. You won’t get in trouble for feeling sick. Come on. Get out.”

  So I clutched my sack of notebook paper and chocolate and walked in that cold January wind beside Grandma toward the front porch. I could hear someone inside laughing, but Grandma’s hearing isn’t as sharp as mine, and she might not have heard.

  We started up the porch steps, and I flew past her to the front door, hollering, “I’ll get the door for you, Grandma!”

  I hoped I yelled it loud enough for everybody inside to know we were there. I turned the knob and opened it a crack.

  “You coming, Grandma?” I hollered.

  “My stars, April Grace, why are you yelling?” she said as she got to the top step.

  I pushed the door open all the way and shot a glance in. I saw what I needed to see, which was a houseful of people. I reckon they must’ve all parked around back, out of sight. I stepped aside so Grandma could go in first.

  “Age before beauty,” I told her grandly, and tried not to giggle.

  “In that case, maybe you oughta go—”

  She stepped across the threshold and I held my breath, praying to God that she wouldn’t be so surprised that she’d have a heart attack right there on the spot.

  Well, I tell you what. Instead of everyone leaping out of the shadows and corners and screaming, “Surprise!” they clapped very politely and started singing “Happy Birthday.” It was a gentle surprise, after all, for which I am eternally grateful because I did not want to lose my grandmother at her very own birthday party.

  All those candles Isabel had placed around the room gave off the most beautiful glow you can imagine, like the air was full of gold dust. Grandma just stood there, her mouth about half-open, her eyes all wide, going from face to face to face as everyone sang. Folks from up and down the road were there, and so were lots of people from church, and all the ladies Grandma sat with during church services. Ernie, Rob, and Reverend Jordan were there, too, smiling and singing with everyone else. Rob caught my eye and gave me a wink, and you know what I did? I winked right back, grinning like a monkey.

  “Law!” Grandma said, kinda squeaky. Then she said, “Lawsy! What in the world . . . Oh, for goodness’ sake . . . Lily? Mike? What have you done?”

  Daddy held up one hand and shook his head. “It wasn’t me, Mom. It was Lily, Isabel, and the girls. Blame them!” He laughed heartily, and so did everyone else.

  Grandma put a hand on both cheeks and gawked.

  “Look at this house! Look at all those candles everywhere. Rose pink and pale pink. Oh, how pretty! And look at you folks, all dressed up like you’re going to a revival meeting in the city.”

  Isabel, in her straight black dress, slicked-back dark hair, skinny high heels, and blood-red fingernails, stepped away from where she stood between Mama and Myra Sue to link her arm with Grandma’s.

  “Come with me,” she said to her, then said in that voice that made everyone in our sixth-grade PE class tremble, “People!” Everyone hushed. “We shall return momentarily.” She led Grandma off down the hallway, and they disappeared into Mama and Daddy’s bedroom, at which point everyone started yakking and laughing again.

  “You two were gone almost a couple of hours,” Mama said, coming up to me and brushing a stray strand of hair back from my face. She looked real pretty in a dark-green velvet dress. “Was there a problem?”

  “No, ma’am. I just did what Isabel told me and kept Grandma busy, and then just to make sure we wouldn’t get back too early, I made sure she drove home real slow.” I shot a glance down the hallway. “Why did Isabel take her off to your room?”

  “To help Grandma get dressed up.” She smiled at me. “I’m glad you did such a good job keeping Grandma busy. Isn’t the house pretty? Myra Sue and Temple were a big help.”

  “Oh yeah?” I was surprised to hear that ole Myra Sue came out of her ivory tower to help. And it sure was nice of Temple to pitch right in, even though that fancy-schmancy stuff is not something she’d ever do.

  “Yes. Temple won’t touch the punch or the hors d’oeuvres, of course, because there’s sugar in the punch and meat in the hors d’oeuvres, but she was a great hand in getting the roses arranged and the candles placed and lit.” Mama cast a glance around at everything, and smiled. “Doesn’t it all look lovely?”

  “Yes’m. It looks real nice.”

  “Now, run upstairs and change into your party clothes.”

  When I came back, I was wearing my nice dark-green, velvety dress that I got for the Christmas season and black patentleather shoes, which I dearly hate because they’re kinda pointy and they pinch my toes. Instead of my usual braid, I decided to let my hair hang loose. The air downstairs smelled like perfume and roses. Nice music played in the background, real soft and pretty. All those candles gave the house such a glow that it almost seemed like we were in a storybook. The ladies in their pretty dresses and men in dark suits visited with one another. They talked and laughed and moved around, and it was so pleasant and calm, you just couldn’t help but enjoy yourself.

  It seemed to me everyone who lived on Rough Creek Road and in Cedar Ridge must have been at our house that night, and they seemed to enjoy that fancy food Isabel had fixed. My baby brother would be in one set of arms, then a minute later someone else had him. The way he was passed around, that kid was gonna grow up thinking he was a box of candy.

  At one point, some gray-haired old guy in a dark-blue suit with super narrow lapels was cuddling Eli and talking to him. When the man grinned, I nearly fell over ’cause I realized it was Forest Freebird holding my baby brother. His gray ponytail must’ve been tucked down in the collar of his suit, ’cause I didn’t see it at all. Maybe he’d cut it off, but I doubted it. Let me tell you something: Forest Freebird has never worn anything but overalls and T-shirts while I’ve known him. That night he even wore shoes! And you should’ve seen Temple. Her hair was all loose and flowy and shiny, and her darkblue, velvety dress had sparkles all over it. She even wore long silver earrings and slim, ballet slipper–looking shoes. You’d never believe in a million years either one could look like that unless you saw them for yourself.

  I didn’t have time to ponder Forest’s and Temple’s new images, though, because Isabel and Grandma came into the room right then.

  “Our guest of honor is finally available for gifts and food!” Isabel announced in that snooty voice of hers, but she wasn’t being snooty. She just sounds that way.

  Everyone turned toward the two of them, of course, and you could see then why she’d hauled Grandma down the hall earlier. Isabel had fixed Grandma’s hair in a poufy style and got her face all gussied up. Grandma wore a pretty dark-turquoise dress of some kind of shiny, satiny fabric with long gathered sleeves and lace on the collar, and a wide black belt. I was happy to see she was wearing nice black pumps, because sensible shoes with that dress might have made her look goofy. I did not want Grandma ever to look goofy.

  Isabel led her to a chair next to a pile of gifts, and just as she sat down, Grandma spotted me.

  “Tell me something, missy,” she said, with her eyes narrowed. “Did you need that notebook paper?”

  “I will someday.”

  Then everybody laughed because by then the story of how I’d fooled Grandma into making an emergency paperbuying trip into town had made the rounds at that party.

  “I’m sorry I had to trick you, Grandma. We were desperate.”

  She nodded. “I forgive you.” Then she grinned at me real big, and I knew she wasn’t mad at al
l. She reached for her first present.

  We all watched as she unwrapped gifts, everything from a handmade cross-stitched apron to a wind-up music box to a couple of cookbooks. Ernie Beason gave her a gold-colored box of Godiva chocolates and a book of poetry. I didn’t know Grandma liked poetry. Rob Estes gave her the biggest box of Russell Stover chocolates I have ever seen in my whole entire life and a bottle of some kind of expensive perfume. At least I figured it was expensive because Isabel went all nutsy over it, and the more expensive something is, the nutsier she tends to get. Reverend Trask Jordan gave her a medium-sized box of chocolates like you can buy at Wal-Mart and eighteen pink roses in a beautiful crystal vase.

  I looked around to see what everybody thought of all this poetry, perfume, roses, and chocolate business, and they were all grinning and nudging one another. Now, don’t get me wrong. As you know, I love chocolate as much as, if not more than, Grandma does, and I figured I’d be helping her eat all that candy. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. If those men were trying to outshine each other by getting Grandma something romantic, they should have thought of something more original than all that chocolate-covered baloney. They should’ve thought of something like a trip to Spain, or a cruise to some island, or even a car ride up to Branson to have dinner and see a music show.

  Right about then I noticed something: Myra Sue was nowhere to be seen. She’d been in the room when Grandma and I first got home, and she’d been in on the singing of “Happy Birthday.” Mama said she had helped get things decorated. So where was she now? I’d bet my piece of birthday cake she was upstairs in her room, looking at herself in the mirror, winking and making kissy faces because she thinks she’s so all-fired gorgeous.

  Boy, oh boy. Sometimes that girl has less sense than a fried egg.

  Ian and Daddy carried the biggest cake I’d ever seen into the living room. The icing was pale pink with lots of Barbiepink roses. That whole entire cake had not one candle on it, which I thought was a grand disappointment. But I reckon candles would’ve taken the place of those roses made out of frosting, and that would’ve been a pure shame. Following Ian and Daddy came Mama, bearing a single pink cupcake glowing with as many lit candles as could possibly be stuck into the top of a cupcake.