Рита Браун: Pawing Through The Past

"From the sound of it-chicken thieves." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pewter valiantly struggling to haul the half-chicken to the truck. Mrs. Murphy tugged on the other side of the carcass.

"Let me help." Tucker gleefully leapt toward them.

"No, you don't," Mrs. Murphy spat, then saw Market. "Pewter, quick, into the crepe myrtle!"

The two cats dragged the chicken under the pinkish-purple crepe myrtle.

"Here." Harry dug into her pocket, handing Market a ten-dollar bill.

"It's not a gold-plated chicken." He fished in his pocket for change.

"Forget it, Market. You do plenty for me and I'm sorry Pewter behaved so badly."

"Breathed her last?" He turned his attention to the truck.

"No, just the battery."

"You've got cables, don't you?" Miranda smiled at Market, who was getting a little thick around the middle.

"I do."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'll let you two recharge Old Paint here. I am determined to dust for Japanese beetles. And I'm enduring a grub attack, too. Maybe I should get some chickens. That would take care of that." Then she saw the two cats crouched under the crepe myrtle, passionately guarding the plucked corpse. "Then again, I think not."

Harry laughed. "Go on, Miranda. Market and I will fix this."

As Miranda walked back to her lawn, Market hopped in his Subaru, next to a large new dumpster, backed out, maneuvering his car so that its nose was at a right angle to the blue truck. This saved Harry from attempting to coast backwards.

"The cables will reach." He clipped the tiny copper jaws onto the battery nodes. "Off?"

"Yep."

He switched on his ignition. "Just give it two minutes. Did you check for a loose connection?"

"I did."

Market slid out from behind the wheel and came over to lean on the truck. "Harry, it's time to bite the bullet. You'll never get through another winter with this baby."

"I know," Harry mournfully agreed.

"Call Art."

"I can't afford a new truck."

"Who said you had to buy a new one? Buy a used one."

"Market, the bank won't give me a loan on a used truck."

"They will if it's a recent one, like two or three years old."

"Yeah, but then the price will be way up. It's damned if I do and damned if I don't."

Market, hearing the distress level in Harry's voice, put his arm around her shoulder. "Chill out, honey. Art is one of our buddies. He'll help. He makes enough money off everyone else. Go talk to the man."

"Well . . ." Her voice weakened. "I don't want to be disappointed."

"There are worse disappointments than that and we've both had them," Market genially encouraged her.

He was right, too. They'd both had a few hard knocks along the way-his divorce being more acrimonious than hers, but no divorce is happy. He had one beloved daughter, now in college. Poor Market had married the day he graduated from high school. His senior superlative was Friendliest and that friendliness meant his daughter was born seven months after the wedding.

"You know, time forges bonds of steel, doesn't it?" Harry said.

"What do you mean?"

"You, me, Miranda, Herbie, the gang. We know everything about one another-almost." She smiled.

"Yep. I can't believe we're having our twentieth. I'm"-he hummed a minute, a habit-"half-excited and half-apprehensive. How about you?"

"Same."

"Well, let's see if this baby is fired up." He walked back and cut his motor. "Crank her up."

Harry hopped in. The engine turned over, then rumbled. "I think I'd better let her run for a few more minutes."

"Good idea. How are you coming along with ideas for the reunion?"

"Okay. We had our first meeting yesterday. I've gotten everything written out for the calendars of local newspapers for all the major towns in the state. And I've written up ads to run the week before the reunion-ads with photos. I'll have to fight BoomBoom for the money. The publicity part I can do with no problem. It's coming up with some special moniker for everyone that's driving me crazy."

"Speak of the devil," he said under his breath as BoomBoom, in a new 7-series BMW-to replace one wrecked during a theft attempt-rolled down the alleyway. She pulled over. The electrical windows purred as she lowered them.

"Hi." BoomBoom's voice purred like her windows.

Marcy Wiggins, Chris Sharpton, and Bitsy Valenzuela said "Hi" along with her.

Harry returned the hellos of the trio, all neighbors in theDeepValley subdivision. Bitsy had married E.R. Valenzuela, a classmate who'd worked inSilicon Valley and moved back home last year to establish a cellular phone business. Since E.R. worked all the time no one ever saw much of him, including his wife. Marcy, a somewhat withdrawn woman, had married Bill Wiggins, who'd gone to medical school in upstateNew York , returning to the University of Virginia Hospital for his residency in oncology. No one saw much of Bill either, but he was conge-nial when they did.

"How'd you do?" Market asked the ladies, who all wore golf clothes.

"Not bad. We played in the Cancer Society tournament, captain's choice, and we each won a sleeve of balls. We came in seventh out of a field of twenty teams," BoomBoom bragged.

Chris leaned out the back window. "I've never played at Waynesboro Country Club. It's fun. I don't think I'll ever win boxwoods from Susan, though."

"Keep trying. Anyone roped into working on our reunion deserves boxwoods," Harry replied. "Do you all need mail?"

"No, everyone's husbands did their duty."

"Except for me," Chris laughed.

"Stay single, girl, believe me. Marriage is work," Marcy grumbled.

"Need your mail?" Harry inquired of Chris.

"No, I'll get it tomorrow. We're on our way to the big sale atFashion Square ," Chris answered. "Next time you see any of us-complete makeover." She crinkled her freckled nose.

The ladies waved and drove off.

"Cute, that Chris." Market winked.

"Yes. She reminds me of someone but I can't place it."

"Meg Ryan in a pageboy."

"You have made a study, haven't you?" Harry poked him.

"Hey, she's living in one of those new houses. She isn't going to look at a guy who owns a convenience store. I'm realistic. She's a stockbroker. Stockbrokers don't date grocers."

"The right man is the right man. Doesn't matter what he does."

"Bull. Especially from you."

"You trying to say I'm not romantic?"

"You're as realistic as I am and you always were. The Minors are solid people." He referred to Harry's paternal ancestors. She'd kept her married name, Haristeen.

"I wish someone in our family had had a head for business. Solid is good but a little money would have been wonderful."

"Mim Sanburne's got enough brains and money for the whole town, I guess." He folded his arms across his chest. "This morning a lady came in as Mim was picking up a big rack of lamb, beautiful piece of meat. She's having another one of her 'dos.' Anyway, these two ladies come in, tourists. They'd crawled overMonticello and Ash Lawn and they'd driven up toOrange to seeMontpelier . They were on their way toStaunton to see Woodrow Wilson's birthplace and they needed gas. Anyway, they wound up right here in the middle of Crozet. The tall one says, 'This is kind of a dumpy town, isn't it?' The short one, maps under her arm, replies, 'Yes.' Then she looks at me and says, 'Is there anything of interest here?' Before I could open my mouth, Mim says, 'Me.' Gives them the freeze stare"-he rubbed his hands when he said that-"then opens the door, gets into her Bentley Turbo R, which these two ladies had no appreciation for, and drove off. 'Well, who does she think she is?' says the short one. 'The Queen of Crozet,' says I." He chuckled. "Guess they complained all the way to Fisherville. By that time they were probably consulting their maps again."