He scratched his belly and stood there in the kitchen. He knew it was there somewhere, and he’d been wanting a piece since the aroma got him out of bed that morning. It was always the best when it wasn’t oven hot but not room temperature cool either.
He lifted up everything on the counter that had a cheesecloth or dishrag across it. So far all he’d found was that awful Ritz cracker pie Arzella Tater had brought over yesterday and a few biscuits left over from breakfast.
“Now where would Maw Maw hide that?” He said to himself and got down in the floor and started going through the cabinets. He had half the pots and pans out and his head stuck way back in the corner when the kitchen screen door slammed.
“Broderick Ray Moretz! What on earth are you doin’?” his mother slammed the basket of pole beans on the counter and yanked him by the waist of his jeans, banging his head on the frame of the cabinet he was digging through.
“Gol’ dang, Mama.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at her from his sprawled position on the floor. “That hurt.”
“Didn’t mean to bang your head, Brod honey, but ya looked like you were tryin’ to crawl into the walls.”
“I was lookin’ for somethin’.” He stayed on the floor and double-checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.
“In the cannin’ cupboard?” She said turning back to her freshly picked beans.
“I thought Maw mighta hid it there.” He said finally pushing himself up on the old linoleum with one hand.
“Hid what?”
“The honey bun cake she made this morning.” He got no response. He stuck his hands in his jeans. “She did make a honey bun cake this morning…didn’t she?”
“Yes she did.” His mother opened the cabinet over the sink and got down two bowls older than she was down putting them on top of the basket of beans. “And she took it with her.”
“Where’d she go?” Brod followed her out to the front porch, holding the screen open as she carried her load. “Maw Maw never goes anywhere.”
“She got invited to a tea party.” His mother sat down in the wicker chair farthest from the screen door and sat down. “She said she hadn’t been to one since she was courtin’ Poppy, so she made her famous honey bun cake, put on her best dress and headed to town just as happy as a lark.”
Brod sat in the other chair, picked up a newspaper and unfolded it in his lap. “You reckon there’ll be some left over?”
His mother put a handful of beans in the paper on his lap and put a pile in hers. “I doubt it. You know how much ever body loves it.”
“Damn.” He tossed a handful of snapped beans into the old bowl on the floor.
“Watch yer mouth, honey.”
Without a beat, the old truck came screeching to a halt. Brod and his mother couldn’t help but hear the old brakes slam to a stop and whip their heads in time to see the old Ford slide a good five inches in the gravel.
The driver’s side door kicked open and out came Maw Maw, hunched from 86 years of hard country living, straw hat askew and letting loose a coarse string of profanities neither of them was used to hearing, especially strung together by the winner of the county fair blue ribbon for quilting, 18 years running mind you.
The old woman stormed up on the porch and practically hit her grandson with a glass cake pan. “Here.” She stomped in the house, continuing the profanities until they both heard the bathroom door slam.
Brod turned to his mother. “I take it the tea party was nice.”
They heard the old woman open the bathroom door up and scream, “Oh my god! What on earth died and what possessed you people to eat it?” before the door slammed back.
“I haven’t seen Mama this upset since Daddy died and Uncle Milford came and got the chickens.”
“I’m sure it weren’t no fun for him either drivin’ back to Delaware with all 27 of them things in his Honda.” Brod snapped another bean. “Them chickens was mean.”
“I just worry about her heart, getting that upset over something. I wonder what happened?” The woman put her unsnapped beans back in the basket and stood, wiping the front of her khakis off with her hands.
“It must been big, whatever it was.” Brod said.
“I never heard the like a cussin’” She peered into the kitchen from the safety of her side of the screen. “Especially from her.”
“Cussin’?” Brod snorted. “I didn’t know she used the bathroom!”
His mother whipped her head to him. “Course she uses the bathroom. She’s old, not constipated.”
“Vista Kay!” Came a much calmed down voice from the back of the house. “Let me change m’dress an’ I’ll be out to help with them beans d'rectly.”
“Okay, mama!” Vista yelled back. “Guess the storm has passed us by.”
“Guess so.” Brod mumbled slamming a handful of cake into his mouth.
“Mercy, Brod.” Vista complained pulling the Press’n’Seal back over the glass pan and placing it carefully on the porch rail. “You act like you never had cake before.”
“This is so good mama.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “The best, even cold.”
She sat back down in her seat and returned a handful of beans to her freshly papered lap. “At least we finally got some pole beans. Been too hot, and the bugs ate m’ half runners.”
“Sorry, mama.” Brod wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I sprayed and sprayed. Musta been some kinda June bug and Arnold Schwarchenegger hybrid. I could get nothin’ to kill ‘em.”
“It’s fine, honey.” Vista continued to snap. “We won’t starve to death.”
“Corn ain’t very tall, but it looks like the ears’ll be meaty.”
“Whose ears are meaty?” Maw Maw let the screen door slam behind her.
“I said the corn ears look like they’ll be meaty.” Brod explained.
“If the deer don’t eat it all and the neighbors keep that stupid pot belly pig outta the garden.” The old woman put her hands on the red flowered print of her house dress and peered over at the cake pan. “You just grab a handful of that cake, boy?”
“Well…” Brod blinked at her in mid-snap. “Yes’m.”
“Ever hear of a knife ‘n’ fork?”
“Did’je have ‘em handy?”
“Lan’ sakes.” The old woman shook her head and the rubbed the blonde curls on her grandson’s head. “Gimme a handful of them beans.”
She groaned as she seated herself in the old rocker and proceeded to out string and out snap the two younger.
“Mama…” Vista hesitated. “I hate to rip the scab off a skinned knee, but do you wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever got you so upset.”
“Not worth talkin’ over.” She tossed a handful of beans in the bowl on the floor. “What’s done is done.”
“How was the tea party?” Her grandson casually inquired. “I take it they didn’t like yer cake.”
“I didn’t give ‘em the chance to eat it!” The old lady’s face got red.
“Sorry, Maw Maw.” Brod tried to change the subject.
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” She slammed a handful of snapped beans toward the bowl so hard they splattered all over the front porch. “Them bunch a fools!”
“Okay, Mama, okay.” Vista patted her mother on the knee. “You don’t wanna talk about it, and Brod was just trying to make conversation.”
“Yeah, Maw Maw, just calm down. We ain’t seen you this upset since…”
“Hush…” his mother cut him off.
The old woman stood, letting more beans fall to the floor. “Harlon did not will Milford them chickens!” She put her gnarled fists on her ample hips. “And it twernt no real tea party neither!”
“El, Mama…” The old woman’s daughter shushed her down. “Just sit down…sit down…your gonna work yaself into a heart attack.”
Maw put her hand on her heart and took a deep breath. “Sorry, sugar. It jes makes me so mad!” She brushed the back of her dress before she calmly sat back down in her rocker. “I shoulda knowed something was up when Arzella dropped that Ritz Cracker pie off last night. Any one who ain’t got the good sense to use real fruit in a pie shouldn't be let off the chain in the back yard.”
“What’s Miz Tater got to do with upsettin’ you so?” Brod asked, wondering if it would set her off again if he snatched another handful of that cake from the porch rail.
“It was her effin’ tea party.” Maw snapped.
Brod couldn’t hold back the laugh. The two woman turned to him with dirty looks. “What’s so all fired funny?” His mother asked.
“I sorry, Maw Maw” the boy apologized. “But never heard you say poop, let alone come out with the string of cuss words you railed the earth with when you come outta that ol’ truck.”
The old woman smiled. “Well, I allus said if yer gonna do somethin’, go ahead and do it to the best of yer ability.” She looked at her grandson. “Did I use ‘em all right?”
“I guess so.” Brod told her. “I haven’t heard that many in one sentence though since we watched that “Pulp Fiction” movie we bought at the Five ‘n’ Ten fer a dollar.”
“Just forget that, Brod.” His mother shot him a dirty look. “Now Maw why did Arzella’s tea party get you to cussin’ like a sailor?”
“Well, you know I was so excited.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was expectin' pretty table cloths, china tea cups and sugar biscuits…”
“Didn't they have none?” Brod asked giving up the thought of more cake and grabbing a handful of dirty beans instead.
“Wrong kinda tea party.” Maw said with a bad taste in her mouth.
“I don’t understand, Maw.” Vista said. “What other kinda tea party is there?”
“Well, this was of one of them po-lick-tical rally things.” Maw shook her head. “Now I consider m’self a conservative Christian, a good Southern Baptist…but I swan.” She reached over and refilled her lap with pole beans. “There just ain’t no sense in that at all.”
“Yer kiddin!” Brod looked up from his lap. “Arzella Tater’s messed up in that crap?”
“Messed up in it?” Maw sniped. “The ol’ bats a-stirring the whole mess!”
Vista shook her head and tisked. “Oh, Mama, I am so sorry. I heard about them people, but it never occurred to me…”
“I shoulda knowed.” Maw waved the blame off her. “Now I believe ever body’s entitled to their own opinion, but let’s not make up ya own facts. Them people’s outta their heads.”
“Purdy bad, was it?” Brod asked scooping up a last handful.
“Let’s just say I grabbed m’cake and got outta there afore they started sacrificin’ virgins in honor a Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin.” She whisked her hands together to get the dirt off of them. “Thems a nice mess a beans, Vista Kay. They come from the garden?”
“Picked ‘em this mornin’” She dumped the snapped ends and strings in the now empty basket. “At least one of us got somethin’ useful done.”
“Well…” Maw balled up her newspaper and shoved it on top of the husks. “Before Arzella got everyone riled up, I did enjoy chattin’”.
“You mean gossipin’” Brod teased.
Maw tried to hide a little wicked smile. “Tain’t gossip if it’s true.”
“An’ it’s true if you say so.”
“Wouldn’t tell no lie.”
“Course not, Mama.” Vista picked up the two old bowls full of fresh snaps. “Brod, honey, take them husks and toss ‘em on the burn pile.”
Maw held the screen door open for her daughter and followed her into the sink. “Did ‘ja hear Wilton Mullin done left town?”
“Left town? Why for?” Vista asked as she stopped up the sink and started filling it with water.
“Don’t know, but good riddins. Course now they'll be a lookin' fer a new pricipal a the high school”. Maw dumped the first bowl of beans in the sink. “Gonna put part of ‘em in the pressure cooker fer dinner or just can ‘em all?”
“The mess ain’t big enough to do both, mama.”
“Well, we can have half fer supper and I’ll take the other half over to yer sister.”
“If that’s what you want.” Vista scooped up a handful and held them under the tap stream. “How’s she doin’?”
“Oh, honey.” Maw shook her head and bent down to find the cooker. “I’m sure she’s a mess.”
Vista plopped the washed beans into a colander. “The usual heartache or a new drama?” She asked half smiling.
“You don’t know, then?” Maw plopped the pressure cooker on the stove eye. “Where’s the little top thingy?”
“In that drawer over there.” Her daughter dutifully pointed. “Don’t know what? Is Vonda Kay all right?” Her twin sister was always the dramatic one, and she drove her crazy, but she was still her sister.
“Well, your cousin Ronnie’s back in prison.”
Vista let out a breath and shook her head. “That boy. What for this time?”
“Murder.” Maw dumped the full colander in the pot.
“Again?”
Maw nodded her head. “That boy’s just gonna hafta learn he can’t go around shootin’ just anybody.”
“Mama!” Vista scolded her.
“Well, ever body knows no body liked that first man he kilt.”
Vista pulled the Press ‘n’ Seal out of a corner cabinet and stretched a piece across the bowl of unwashed pole beans. “Mercy. Who’d he shoot this time?”
They barely heard the screen door slam. “Ya’ll talking’ about Ronnie?” Brod asked.
“You know about this?” His mother asked as she set the wrapped bowl on the kitchen table.
“Ever body does.” Brod put his precious cake on the counter. “An’ he didn’t shoot nobody...this time.”
“Then what’s he in prison fer, mister know it all?” His grandmother snorted as she struggled to twist the lid on the pressure cooker.
“He runned over Myrtle Lewis with the columbine. Here, Maw Maw, let me get that.” She stepped aside as the young man easily fit the top and the bottom together. “He claims he didn’t know he did it until he saw her hand stickin’ outta one of the bails a hay.”
“Wait!” Vista piped in. “He runs her over with a bailer and claims he didn’t know it until he come back to gather up the hay?”
“Says he was a listening to his I-pod and a fantasizin’ about Lady Gaga.”
“That alone oughta get ‘em twenty to life.” Maw said as she turned the burner on.
“Well, no wonder Vonda’s upset. I’d be too, if my son farmed his neighbor’s girlfriend and tried to feed her to the cows, hip hop induced or no.” Vista wiped her hands on a tea towel. “Brod, get the truck keys. Your gonna take us all right over there.”
“But Mama, I was getting’ ready to go over to R.D.’s. We gotta rehearse for this weekend.”
“You can sing “Salty Dog” off key later honey. Your family needs ya.”
“Aw, Mama…”
“I don’t ask much of ya Broderick.” Vista picked up the bowl of beans and headed to the door.
“We don’t do bluegrass!” He yelled as she headed for the door. “And I do not sing off key!” He yelled louder as she rushed out of sight.
“Child, child.” His grandmother tapped his check. “You can lead a horse to water but that don’t make him a duck.”
“What the hell does that even mean, Maw Maw?”
“Shush boy, just get the keys and take us over to yer Aunt’s.” Maw Maw untied her apron. “Better she hear it from her sister than me. I ain’t got the heart to tell ‘er.”
“Huh?” Brod said as he snatched the truck keys off the wooden key rack he made in shop in the seventh grade.
“Brod, somebody bought the old Quisenbury home place.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Arzella Tater says it’s yer daddy.”
