Joan Hess - Maggody And The Moonbeams

"Ruby Bee," I said, "how about you let Estelle finish that so you can do me a favor? You'll be back in time to sprinkle on the cheese and put them in the oven."

"What kind of favor?" she said suspiciously.

"A small kind of favor. It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours." I gave her my most beseeching look. "I really need your help."

Estelle butted in, as she's been known to do on more than one occasion. "I don't reckon I heard myself being consulted. What if I was aiming to get in some fishing this afternoon?"

Ruby Bee took off her apron and dropped it on the table. "All you have to do is finish patting down the other crusts. Cover 'em with damp dish towels and go fish your heart out. Maybe you can win a tournament and be named the reigning Miss Crappie."

"Better than being Miss Crabby," she retorted.

"Somebody must have baited your hook with a sourball," Ruby Bee said with a sniff of disdain. "Come on, Arly. I can always make another batch of dough later."

When we were in the dining room, I looked her over. She was wearing a skirt and a pink blouse. Instead of the support hose and orthopedic shoes she usually wore at the Bar & Grill, her legs were bare and she had on sneakers.

"What're you staring at?" she asked. "I got a bug in my hair or something?"

"I'll explain in the car. Let's go."

I gave Mrs. Jim Bob a vague smile as we went across the porch and out to Estelle's station wagon. Larry Joe scratched his head as he watched us from the edge of the water. Of the kids, only Jarvis bothered to look over his shoulder as we drove away.

"You planning to tell me what we're doing?" said Ruby Bee as she yanked the rearview mirror around so she could inspect her hair. "If this is nothing but a wild goose chase, I'd just as soon go fishing with Estelle. I'm getting too old for tomfoolery."

"No, you're not."

She returned the mirror to an approximation of its previous position, and leaned back. "I was thinking I ought to get myself a job as a cook in one of those smarmy retirement homes. That way, they'll feel obliged to take me in when my mind goes and I can't tell the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon. Just this morning, I came close to dumping cinnamon 'stead of black pepper in the gravy. The day before the fire, I made half a dozen apple pies and left out the sugar. When Roy Stiver took a bite, he puckered up like I'd used green persimmons instead of perfectly good Granny Smiths."

"Everybody has lapses now and then," I said comfortingly. "Last week I left a load in the washing machine at the Suds of Fun for four days."

"Elsie McMay calls them 'senior moments.' She said she heard it on one of those afternoon talk shows. I'm surprised she remembered the phrase. She's still looking for her upper plate."

"Let's worry about that later," I said. "Now listen up so I can tell you what I want you to do."

"Dahlia, my dearest, I brung you a little present," called Kevin as he came into the house. He paused, bumfuzzled, when he saw her sitting in the darkened living room, the blinds all closed like a dead man's eyes. "Is something wrong, my lusty warrior princess?"

"The babies is napping," she muttered as she sucked on a can of grape Nehi. "I been up since dawn, dressing 'em, feeding 'em, burping 'em, and changing their diapers. Then your pa has to go and insult me like I ain't any smarter than a mess of collard greens. First, he goes saying that Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie ain't identical-"

Kevin sat down beside her on the couch. "You know how Pa can be. Most mornings Ma makes him eat his breakfast on the back porch so she don't have to listen to him. Doncha want to know what I brought you?"

"What?" she growled.

"A great big ol' gallon of fat-free frozen yogurt. You want I should fix you a bowl?"

"Your pa just doesn't understand about twins," she said, refusing to be distracted. "I carried them in my belly, side by side like ying and yang, or whatever they call it."

He tried to stroke said belly, but she batted his hand away. Scooting down the couch, he said, "How's little Earl doing today?"

"Or Earlette," she said, glaring in case he attempted another move on her. "The doctor ain't told me if it's a boy or a girl. After what your pa said to me today, I ain't so sure I want to name this baby after him. Maybe we ought to name him after my grandpa Eckzemma."

"You think?" said Kevin.

Dahlia squinted at him with a real unfriendly expression. "You got a problem with that?"

"Whatever you want, my lotus blossom." He put the frozen yogurt into the freezer and came back to the living room. "There is something I ought should tell you, though. When I stopped at the supermarket to buy the yogurt, I happened to mention to Idalupino about the ad you saw for child models."

"You went talking to Idalupino about our private business?"

Kevin braced himself. "She said her cousin Charo saw the very same ad and called the number. Turns out it was a motel room down by the airport. Charo made an appointment and showed up real promptly, thinking she'd come away with a modeling contract. What happened was she found herself obliged to write a check for more than four hundred dollars just so this feller would take a bunch of pictures of her baby for what he said was a portfolio. When she gets the photographs in the mail, she's supposed to submit them herself to advertising agencies in California and New York."

"Identical twins are different," said Dahlia.

Kevin had to work on this one for a minute. He had a gut feeling that no matter what he said, it wouldn't sit well.

He was saved when Dahlia continued. "Babies are cute enough, most of them, anyway, but identical twins are special."

"Kevvie Junior and Rose Marie are real special," he said diplomatically, "but that don't mean this feller in a motel room can guarantee they'll be making a million dollars this time next year. We've only got six hundred dollars in our account, and we need to be saving up for the blessed arrival of"-he gulped-"little Eckzemma. We're gonna need another crib and more diapers. The washing machine's likely to explode any day now."

Dahlia didn't have the heart to tell him that they didn't have six hundred dollars in the account, but more like twenty dollars and seventy-three cents-and that the washing machine had spewed water on the floor before it had burped one final time and died.

"I ain't much of an actress," said Ruby Bee as she, Bonita, and I got out of the station wagon at the Beamers' campsite. "I was the tooth decay fairy in a play in third grade, but all I had to do was leer at the audience. I disremember having any lines. If I did, I most likely flubbed 'em."

I squeezed her hand. "Do you recollect when that snippety woman from the health department tried to issue you a citation for the mouse droppings in the pantry? You squared your shoulders and told her that you weren't taking any guff from her. That's all I want you to do. You don't have to initiate any exchanges, but just make it clear that you're the authority figure. Remind yourself of that morning when you caught me crawling in the window and damn near blistered my skin with your stare. I'll do the rest."

"You think they'll fall for this?" asked Bonita.

"As long as you back me up, they will," I said with such confidence I almost fooled myself. "Ruby Bee, you are now Mrs. Coldwater from the Department of Family Services. You are empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged."

"I don't know anything about foster care," she protested, getting antsier than an understudy peering from behind the curtain on a Broadway stage.

"Keep repeating this to yourself," I said. "'I am empowered by the state to remove these children and place them in shelters until foster care can be arranged.' That's all you have to say."