LaVyrle Spencer: Small Town Girl

Tess couldn't help shaking her head. The normal schedule of a professional musician meant rising near noon, doing studio work from about two till nine, with a caterer bringing food in around six. On concert nights it meant performing between eight and eleven and eating supper around midnight; if you were playing clubs and doing a bus tour, packing up at one in the morning and eating your last meal of the day while you were rolling down the highway.

But Tess dutifully hollered down, "I'll be right there, Mom!"

Her mother had already put the hot dish in the oven but she let Tess set the table and get the rest of the meal ready. Mary's suggested accompaniments to the fat-filled Tater Tot hot dish were toast (with real butter and homemade raspberry jam), coffee (with cream and sugar, of course) and pecan pie with whipped cream (the real kind, not Cool Whip-add forty calories for the whipped cream, Tess thought).

A discreet inventory of the refrigerator turned up a head of cabbage but no lettuce, cheddar cheese but no cottage cheese, sour cream but no yogurt, and whole milk but no skim. Just what were these groceries Judy had dropped off anyway?

In the freezer, thank goodness, Tess found a bag of frozen broccoli. "Mom, do you mind if I cook this?" she asked.

Mary stared at her daughter as if her feelings were hurt. "There's vegetables in the hot dish."

Potatoes soaked in oil, plus rich cream of chicken soup.

"If you're saving it for something else-"

"No, no, go ahead and cook it!"

Tess did, but when the main dish was hot and bubbling it smelled so delicious and looked so tempting she dug into it like a soldier after a foot march. She guzzled the damned whole milk, too, because it was the only milk in the house, and had a half a piece of toast slathered with butter and jam. Mary smiled in satisfaction, watching her.

When their plates were clean, Mary began slicing a piece of pie. "I'll just cut you a small one."

"I can't, Momma, honest. It looks delicious, but I just can't."

"Oh, nonsense." Mary pulled Tess's plate over. "I made it just for you. What's one little piece of pie going to hurt? If you ask me, you look like a scarecrow. You could use a little meat on your bones."

"Please, Momma, no. I can't."

Mary slapped a wedge on Tess's plate anyway. "Just don't put any whipped cream on it, that way it won't be so fattening."

Tess was eating a single obligatory bite of pie when someone tapped on the back door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

"Mary?" he said and stepped inside, into the tiny back entry, no longer wearing a business suit but a red wind-breaker, no longer carrying a briefcase but hefting a forty-pound sack of pellet salt on his left shoulder.

"Oh, Kenny, it's you," Mary said, going joyful in an instant.

"I brought your softener salt," he said, turning slowly beneath his burden and opening the basement door. "I'll take it right down."

"Oh, thanks a million, Kenny. Tess, get that light for him, would you, honey?"

"I got it!" he called as the basement light switched on. His footsteps thumped down, there was a pause while he slit open the bag, then the salt rattled into the plastic softener vat, and he came back up. Fast, as if jogging. "Got one more. Be right back."

When the door slammed Tess whispered, "He comes right into your house without knocking?"

"Oh, Tess, this is Wintergreen, not Nashville."

He was back in a minute with the second sack, carried it downstairs and emptied it into the water softener before returning to the main level. When he closed the basement door and climbed the single step into the kitchen, Tess stuck a second bite of pie into her mouth and fixed her eyes on her plate, as if he'd heard all the nasty things she'd said about him only minutes ago. She needn't have worried, for he gave her not so much as a glance. He shuffled to a stop beside Mary's chair, looking directly down on her, brushing off his hands and making his windbreaker whistle. "There. All filled. Anything else you need while I'm here?"

"I don't think so. That'll hold me for a while. Kenny, you remember Tess, don't you?"

He gave Tess a negligible nod that dismissed her as if she were still back in Nashville. It was brusque enough to be rude, and accompanied by not so much as a single word of greeting. She wasn't sure if he still had pimples or not because she couldn't find the wherewithal to raise her eyes.

While she went on eating her pie, Mary said, "How much do I owe you, Kenny?"

He fished a receipt out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Seven-eighty."

Mary said to Tess, "Honey, could you get my purse? It's hanging on the closet doorknob in my bedroom."

Tess went gratefully. In her wake she heard Mary telling him what time Tess had arrived, and him changing the subject, asking her if everything was set for tomorrow morning. When Tess got back with the purse, he stepped out of her way and said nothing. Mary dug out the money and handed it to him while Tess resumed her chair.

"There you are. Seven dollars…" After the bills she counted out some coins into his palm. "And eighty cents."

"Thanks," he said, dropping the change into a tight side pocket of his blue jeans and reaching toward a rear pocket for his billfold. He had turned his shoulder on Tess again, and a quick glance gave her a view of his trim backside as the billfold slipped out of sight. "So everything's all set for tomorrow?" he asked Mary. "Blood work turned out fine? And you've got that walker all polished up?"

"Yes, sir, I'm all set."

"Scared?" he inquired with an easy casualness.

"Not much. Been through it before, so I know what to expect."

"So you don't need anything?"

"No. Tess is taking me to the hospital in the morning at six o'clock. That is, if I can get in that little car of hers. I don't know what it's called but it cost more than this house. Did you see it in the alley, Kenny?"

The room grew painfully silent. What could Kenny do but answer, still avoiding a direct glance at the younger woman.

"Yeah, Mary, I sure did."

"She drove all the way up from Nashville just to take care of me."

When he turned to level his impersonal gaze on Tess, what could she do but acknowledge him?

"Hello, Kenny," she said colorlessly.

"Tess," he said, so coolly she wished he hadn't spoken at all. The dorky hairdo was gone and so were the pimples. He wasn't a bad-looking man, taller than she'd have guessed, brown-eyed, dark-haired, with conservative lines everywhere. But so cold to Tess. After giving her the requisite hello, he turned back to Mary and dropped to a squat beside her chair, resting his fingertips lightly on her knees. "Well, now listen, you…" While he went on encouraging Mary with warmth and deep caring, Tess escaped from the table, ostensibly to get the coffeepot, actually to hide her mortification at being ignored. Tess McPhail, who'd had her picture on the cover of Time magazine, and who'd been invited to sing at the White House, and whose appearance on a stage made fans scream and chant and sometimes get held back by police. Tess McPhail got snubbed by that nerd upperclassman, Kenny Kronek.

"I'll be thinking of you in the morning," he said quietly to Mary, "and I'll be up to see you as soon as you're feeling up to it. Casey says to tell you hi and good luck and she'll be coming up, too, when she can. Now, you be good, and no dancing till the doctor tells you to, okay?"

Mary patted his hands and laughed. "My dancing days aren't over yet, Kenny, so you better keep your eye on me."

He laughed, too, and rose. "Good luck, Mary," he said quietly, then took her by both jaws, leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks, dear."

The kitchen was small. He turned to leave and found Tess in his way, the coffeepot clutched in her right hand, her eyes bulging with anger. '"Excuse me," he said, and moved around her as if she were a stranger on an elevator. When the screen door closed, she was left behind, blushing.