Dearest Dorothy, Slow Down, You're Wearing Us Out! Read online

  “Earl,” Dorothy said in her most tender and assuring tone of voice, “I’m just fine, honey. See, Sheba’s helping me, aren’t you, girl?” Dorothy stroked Sheba’s head with one hand and then the other. “I was just too quick for my own good. Really, Earl, I just stood up too fast.” He stopped pacing and stared at her, then looked to his mom, who smiled and nodded her head. Although that helped him to stop pacing, he didn’t stop wringing his hands and staring.

  “I’ll sit here with Dorothy a moment, honey. Why don’t you go to the house and get her a glass of water?” Although she didn’t really believe Dorothy needed water, May Belle knew Earl needed to be doing something. As soon as he left the barn, May Belle asked Dorothy if she was really okay, remembering she’d recently seen Doc Streator to get her heart medications refilled. “Now, Dorothy, you don’t be hiding things from me, okay? Tell me true blue and swear on a stack of Bibles, are you okay?”

  Dorothy chuckled at May Belle’s resurrection of their childhood expression. Not to tell the truth after that personal-pact challenge would surely invite trouble. Besides, not to tell the truth anyway would also cause her immediate repentance in order to get things right with The Big Guy, as she often referred to God, such was the sensitivity of her spiritual self.

  “Okay, true blue,” Dorothy said. She raised one hand in the air and pretended to put the other on a stack of Bibles. “I am fine…although Doc says my old ticker’s probably slowing down a bit. What the heck, though, it’s been banging away in there for eighty-seven years!”

  “Dorothy Jean Wetstra! When were you planning on letting your oldest friend know THAT?”

  “May Belle, it’s just not important. I’m not giving it another thought.”

  “What on earth do you mean, it’s not important?” May Belle yelped more than asked. “And you out here dragging stuff around in the barn! It’s time you slow down, Dorothy Jean Wetstra!”

  “Now you tell me true blue and swear on a stack of Bibles,” Dorothy said. She paused for a moment until she and May Belle were locked in eye contact. “Do you think for one moment I’m going to let that little bit of health information slow me down? Truly? Do you believe I even have another gear? Do you honestly believe that anything either one of us could do would change God’s plan for my life anyway?”

  The two friends silently sat next to one another, the refreshing breeze swirling around Dorothy’s pink sweat suit and May Belle’s faded green housedress while the glorious fragrance of hay and history wafted up their noses. When they heard Earl’s footsteps thumping on the gravel outside the barn, May Belle quietly said, with a tone of surrender, “No. No, I don’t reckon you do have a slower gear, and I guess you’re right about our days being numbered. Anyway, you’d probably plumb explode before you’d idle down. I imagine when it’s your time, the good Lord will have to hog-tie you to get you to go!”

  “Right,” Dorothy responded as she laughed and patted May Belle’s hand. They each put an arm behind the other’s back and rested their heads together, soft hair fluttering around their faces. They were peacefully grinning, resting in the security of their faith, when Earl ran in. He froze in the doorway for a moment, staring at them. Then he broke out in a smile. He handed Dorothy the giant iced tea glass clutched in his hand. Most of the water had splashed out as he’d run back to the barn. What remained was the perfect amount to wet her whistle before getting back to work. It wasn’t long, however, before May Belle insisted they needed to call it a day so she could return home—although for what, she couldn’t exactly remember.

  When Dorothy returned to the farm after dropping May Belle and Earl off in town, even though she was bone-tired and ready for a nap, she was eager to retrieve her e-mail. She was hoping to find her daily installment from Katie Durbin’s son, her new and solid friend Joshua Matthew Kinney, a.k.a. the Joshmeister, as he called himself in the land of electronic mailing. Since they’d met, around the time of his aunt’s funeral, he’d become one of her favorite people in the universe, and he’d taken to Dorothy as a blank piece of paper receives its first splash of true color. Although Josh and his mom loved each other, Dorothy had quickly discerned that their relationship was a strained one. “Sometimes divorce leaves more in its wake than anyone imagines,” Dorothy’d said to her own grieving son Vincent soon after his divorce from the mother of his sons.

  Making her way up the steep stairs, Sheba close on her heels, Dorothy had to stop twice and catch her breath. Finally, she made it to the smallest bedroom, which she jokingly referred to as her office, since she said it’s where she mostly did monkey business. The ancient and massive mahogany desk in the dining room was where she kept her important documents and paid bills.

  While she booted up her computer, Sheba curled up beneath her desk next to Dorothy’s feet. After retrieving her e-mail, she was delighted to discover Josh’s familiar greeting, which began with the screen name she used with everyone who wasn’t a blood relative. To Josh, the name not only made him laugh out loud the first time he saw it, but it summed up the way he viewed her and her driving.

  Dear Outtamyway,

  I can hardly STAND it! We’re gonna be THERE in THREE DAYS! Coming back to Pardon Me Ville is even more exciting than school getting out for the summer! Finally you and Alex, my two best friends, are going to get to meet! (My English teacher would say I’m using too many exclamation marks. But she’s not reading this!!!)

  Your last e-mail about the committee meeting was so funny that I forwarded it to Alex. I hope you don’t mind. He needed a good laugh since he was grounded. (He got a D on his Spanish final.) “Forward and progressive thinking,” you say, huh? I only kind of remember meeting the mayor at the dinner at the farm after the funeral. As I recall, she didn’t seem nearly as much fun as you, and obviously she isn’t. But then who IS, aside from Alex?

  And speaking of Alex, he had a super idea! (There I go again with the exclamations!) He said you should buy some pages of small computer labels and print up a bunch of price tags. That way you could just slap them on the stuff. You know, like bunches of nickel and dime and dollar tags, or whatever you’d need the most of. Think that would work?

  I was glad to learn that the Wild Musketeers are still playing ball. I’m anxious to watch the oldsters (that’s what *you* call them, but mom doesn’t like it when *I* do, which is okay since she’s not reading this either!!!) round those bases. Alex said he can’t believe you’re a cheerleader and wants to know if you have your own pom-poms. (Do you?) Of course ever since I met that catcher at the dinner, I’ve been especially anxious to see her in action. Maybe she’ll want to catch ME, think? (Hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?) She is exactly my age, right? I mean she’s not seventy-five and just looks really, really young for her age, right? (Not that there’s anything wrong with being seventy-five-or eighty-seven! ;>))

  Gotta go. Mom’s standing in the kitchen yelling for me to take out the garbage, which I already did two hours ago! I think it will be good for her to get back to the country again, even though she CLAIMS she hates it. She’s been acting weird again, staring into space a lot lately, making secret-type phone calls. Feels like something’s up.

  Joshmeister! King of EXCLAMATIONS!!!!!

  Dear Joshmeister! King of EXCLAMATIONS!!!!! I, too, have been counting the days until your return! I remember when I was a kid, we used to make those paper chains at Christmas, using leftover newspapers since we couldn’t afford pretty construction paper the years crops were poor. December 1, we’d break off the first of the chain of twenty-five, removing another each day until Christmas Day finally arrived! (I guess exclamations are catching!) That’s just what it will feel like when you and your mom come up my lane: Christmas Day!

  Of *course* I don’t mind if you shared my letter with Alex, although I imagine he was pretty bored by the ramblings of an old lady carrying on about her band of United Methodist Church Committee Ladies. HA!

  And speaking of committee things, Earl and May Belle and I worked in the b
arn a bit today, rearranging some of the piles into different piles. But first we cleared the leftovers out of my refrigerator (Smorgasbord Time!). I’m no dummy; I knew if I invited May Belle, she’d bring dessert! She packed up a couple of her award-winning double chocolate brownies. Remember *those* from the dinner? I made a plumb pig of myself and didn’t even share them. Good for me!

  By the way, do you happen to remember where at your aunt’s house you found the bedpan with the plastic flowers in it? We were just wondering…

  Tell Alex I DO have pom-poms. One red and one black, although they’re looking pretty ragged. I bought them about three years ago at the Now and Again Resale Shop in Yorkville. Couldn’t resist. Tell him I can’t do split jumps, though. In fact, I can’t jump high enough to clear the cracks in the sidewalk lately. That’s okay, though. It’s the next generation’s turn (make that a couple next generations) to be jumping anyway.

  Sorry to be so short but I need a nap. See what a little work does for me?

  Tell your mother hello and tell her I said she should drive carefully on the way down here. If it takes you less time than I remember it should, I’ll know your mom goes as fast as I do! HA HA!

  Bye for now. SEE YOU SOONER THAN LATER!

  Outtamyway XO

  As soon as she pushed the “send” button, she turned off her computer and slowly shuffled down the hall to her bedroom, where she flopped down on her bed. Sheba snuggled up beside her, and within minutes they were both snoring.

  3

  Alex tossed Josh his duffel bag, the last of the items to be packed. Josh put the bag on top of the cooler his mom had filled with yogurt, carrot sticks, energy bars, granola and soy milk. He slammed the rear tailgate door to the cashmere beige Lexus LX470 SUV, then both boys bounded back toward Josh and Katie’s Chicago brownstone, leaving Katie sitting behind the wheel.

  “Hey! Where do you two think you’re going?” Katie hollered after them, leaning out her door. “I’m ready to hit the road!”

  “I gotta send Dorothy a quick e-mail. I told her I’d let her know what time we’re leaving.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “So she doesn’t worry we’re late arriving when we really just left later than we thought.” As soon as the door slammed behind them, Josh said to Alex, “And so Dorothy can find out how fast Mom really drives.” They both laughed as they leaped up the stairs two at a time.

  Katie’s distant voice followed behind them: “You two be back out here and buckled up in five minutes, you hear me?”

  “Okay!” they responded in unison.

  Josh had left his computer on so he could just bang off a short note. All it said was “Dear Outtamyway, we’re outtahere at 10:30 A.M. We might stop for lunch. Will phone when we arrive at the Lamp Post. Joshmeister.” Josh sent the e-mail, turned off his computer and whirled around to find his mom standing right behind him. Before he could change his momentum, he’d plowed right into her.

  “Joshua Matthew! You nearly knocked me over!”

  “Gads, Mom! What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

  “I had to come in and make sure you locked things up before we leave. You know there’s been a few robberies around our neighborhood, and I don’t want to leave the door open, just inviting burglars in for the next week or so.” Josh thought they were only going to be in Partonville for five days, but he’d be thrilled if it lasted longer.

  “Mom, I think I’m old enough to know to lock the door behind me,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. He kept from making eye contact with Alex, since it embarrassed him when his mom treated him like a baby. Alex just stood back, uncomfortable in the tensions that often hung in the air between these two. The only time it seemed to dissipate, at least for a spell, was when they’d last returned from Partonville. Yes, for a while they’d just been friendlier to each other.

  Sometimes Alex wondered what it would be like if Josh’s mom and dad had stayed married. Josh almost never talked about his dad, other than to say, after occasional visits, that his dad seemed to care more about his new “daily kids,” as Josh referred to them, than he did about him. Alex remembered Josh once saying, “I feel like Invisible Boy when I’m there, aside from questions about how I’m doing in school.”

  “Let’s go, Alex,” Josh said. Alex stepped in behind Josh as they brushed by Katie, then scurried back to the car, allowing Katie to do her thing. In a few minutes they were on the road. When Katie turned up the volume on her ever-present National Public Radio station, Josh turned to Alex, made a cross-eyed face and dragged out his headset. Alex followed suit. All three lost in their own sounds and thoughts, they headed south.

  Dorothy looked at the clock, figuring Josh and his mom might call from the Lamp Post in a little under an hour and a half, by the time they checked in and caught their breath a bit. When it occurred to her that they might just accept an invitation to dinner, if they got to town in time—especially knowing Katie’s dislike for Lester K. Biggs’s hometown, greasy-spoon cooking at Harry’s Grill—she decided to do last-minute grocery shopping.

  The Tank’s bucking and coughing behavior had steadily become worse the last few days; the entire journey to town and back was a rough one. Sheba, whose head normally rode outside The Tank in good weather, had settled herself in the middle of the backseat halfway home from Your Store after getting tossed to the floor twice during the herky-jerky journey. Even though there were frozen foods and milk in the trunk, The Tank just seemed to turn herself toward her personal hospital, as Arthur had often referred to his toolshed, once his official AUTO REPAIR, as said the worn sign that was propped up along an outside wall.

  Arthur and Jessie Landers owned the adjacent farm, townside to Dorothy’s, and rather than pass by, up their drive The Tank went, coughing and bucking all the while. As if announcing her arrival, she backfired shortly before Dorothy pulled straight into the shed like she owned it and shut off the engine. Since the day The Tank was brand-new, Arthur was the only mechanic who’d ever been allowed to work on her. Sometimes Jessie believed her husband had as much of a personal relationship with The Tank as he did with her—and that was close to being the truth, what with the cantankerous decades of bickering the Landerses had seemingly learned to coexist on. Arthur, who had nodded off in his recliner for a mid-morning nap, sprang to wakefulness at the sound of the backfire.

  “The Tank’s here,” Jessie hollered from the kitchen. She had seen Dorothy pull up the drive and disappear into the shed.

  “Yup,” Arthur replied. “So I heard.”

  “How’d you know it was The Tank?”

  “Cuz Dorothy’s been a-ridin’ her lame for a few days now. I’ve heard her sputterin’ up and down the road. I figured she’d be here sooner or later. I’m just glad she made it before it was too late and she got herself stranded somewheres. And of course you just know who’d she’d call for help when that happened! I guess I better get out there before Dorothy comes a-bellowin’ to the door.” As much as Arthur always let on that he was put out when The Tank arrived, truth was, he always enjoyed the challenge, as well as the opportunity to jaw some with Dorothy. For that matter, Arthur liked jawing with just about anybody.

  “Arthur Landers!” Dorothy called out as she flung the screen door open without knocking. “Did you hear THAT?”

  “Yup,” Arthur said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. “I reckon the whole county heard it and has done took cover.”

  “Howdy doody,” Dorothy said to Jessie, ignoring Arthur’s wisecrack. Jessie flung the kitchen towel over her shoulder, rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans and extended a hand to her friend. Jessie, having been a tomboy her entire life, wasn’t into that hugging stuff like Dorothy and the rest of her friends. The two women shook hands like a couple of truck drivers as Jessie cast her eyes to Dorothy’s ankles, looking for Sheba.

  “She’s undoubtedly out there chasing chickens,” Dorothy said. It seemed there were always a few squawking friends hanging ar
ound the shed for Sheba to torment. “Well,” Dorothy said, turning to Arthur, “The Tank’s been—”

  “Yup. I know,” he said, cutting her off.

  “Arthur Landers, you don’t even know what I was going to say!”

  “You don’t have to tell me, woman. The Tank’s been complainin’ about it for a few days now,” he said as he walked past her and out the door. “I could hear her clear out in the back forty!” Dorothy spun on her heels and followed close behind.

  “Arthur Landers!” Jessie yelped after them. “You haven’t been to the back forty since you quit farming and leased our land to Challie. And you two behave yourselves out there in that shed, now,” she said. It had been their standard joke for years.

  Sheba came running from the field, cockleburs stuck in her scraggly tail. “Well, I do declare!” Dorothy said. “Now you surely do look like the Queen of the Mutt Dogs!” Sheba cast her eyes toward the ground as she approached Dorothy, understanding that the tone in her master’s voice—although some wondered who mastered whom—wasn’t a happy one.

  As though circling The Tank to corral her, Arthur went around to the front of the corncrib turned auto repair shop and opened the single sliding door. Dorothy entered through the back, sidling her way past the rear of The Tank and through the narrow passageway up to the front door of the car. She slid behind the wheel, already knowing what Arthur was going to say after he raised The Tank’s giant hood.

  “Fire her up, Dorothy.” Dorothy cranked a time or two. The Tank didn’t fire but instead ground away, sounding more like a growling bear than a V-8. Dorothy turned the key off, waited a moment, pumped on the gas a time or two, then began cranking again. Just when it sounded like The Tank might turn over, she backfired, sending Sheba scampering toward the house.