Chin Up, Honey

Oh, Winston, you dear old friend!

Vella, heart full and eyes misty, smiled while happy birthday wishes rang out all around the soda fountain. Vella found herself near tears. Jaydee Mayhall even lifted his cup and said gallantly that she was a fine-looking woman, for her age. He was a pompous ass, but she appreciated the backhanded compliment.

“I didn’t know today was your birthday, Aunt Vella,” Arlo said. “I woulda’ baked you a cake.”

“Oh, sugar, that’s sweet, but I don’t need any cake.” Vella was again rapidly punching numbers for the radio station into the phone. This time the call went right through, and when she got Winston on the line, she said in her most sultry voice, “Thank you for my birthday present.”

“You’re more than welcome, darlin’.”

When she hung up, she turned to see little old Minnie Oakes approaching from over at the pharmacy, her purse swinging on one arm, while her opposite hand swung a bottle of Milk of Magnesia. Minnie was a childhood girlfriend who was actually two years younger than Vella but had always seemed twenty years older.

Minnie came up to Vella and shook the blue bottle at her. “You are not no sixty-five years old!”

And Vella replied, “I know it’s hard to believe, sugar, but I am. You heard it on the radio.”

“That was Randy Travis, singin’ ‘Satisfied Mind’ right here at 1550.” Winston pressed the left earphone tight against his ear. His hearing, like other parts of his body, let him down on occasion. “We got Wynona Yardell on the line, to tell us about a right absurd sign. Go ahead, Miss Wynona.”

“Hi, ever’ body…I’m callin’ about the sign on the highway goin’ east. It says…” She started giggling. “…well, you may not think it is funny, but it seems funny to me. It says…Caution, Wet Pavement When It Rains.”

She went into gales of laughter, and everyone listening to the radio laughed as much at her laughter as at what she’d said.

Out on the highway heading into town, Belinda Blaine turned up the volume of the radio in her champagne-colored Cadillac, saying, “My word, one thing about Winston’s show—it is a never-ending source of entertainment.”

Receiving no comment from her passenger, Belinda glanced over at the woman. Emma had seemed distracted all morning. A little pale, actually, when usually Emma Berry was one of the most bright and shining women in town.

Then Winston drew Belinda’s attention again, with an advertisement for the Merry Male Maid Service, which was offering a special all month.

Belinda’s thoughts went from musing about hiring the Merry Males to the fact of her mother having six years shaved off her life right on the radio, which put Belinda back in her early thirties, and because it was on the radio, everyone was going to believe it.

“We can get you interviewed on Winston’s show,” Belinda said, the idea coming suddenly. “He loves to do that, and then we’ll be gettin’ advertising for free.”

Belinda and Emma Berry were on their way back from a gift shop up in Lawton, where Belinda had placed Emma’s greeting cards and framed calligraphy on consignment. Emma’s cards had sold so well at the drugstore that Belinda had decided to branch out. She was having energetic fantasies of a line of cards, calendars and framed prints, then on to tea towels and teacups and T-shirts. Marketing was the key, and that, Belinda knew, was her own specific and golden talent.

Her rapid thoughts caused her foot to press on the accelerator. She whipped around vehicles as she came to them. Basically, Belinda drove with the attitude that no one would dare challenge her.

“And there’s the Fire Department Auxiliary’s summer craft fair comin’ up. I’ll check the dates on that. We’ll have to stock up for it.”

Realizing Emma had still not said a word, Belinda glanced over to see her looking out the side window.

“Sugar, did you hear me?”

Emma’s head nodded. “I…”

Belinda glanced over again and saw that her friend had pressed a tissue to her face.

Crying? Was Emma crying?

As if in answer to the unasked question, the woman burst into sobs.

The next instant a siren sounded from behind.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Belinda knew even as she glanced in the rearview mirror that it was her husband, Deputy Lyle Midgett, f lashing his patrol car’s lights.

She might have ignored him, but he tended to get into such a sulk when she did that. He drove up right up beside her, indicating she needed to pull over. She shot him a warning look. He knew that she did not like to take her Cadillac off the pavement and expose it to more dust and dirt than absolutely necessary. She went on another quarter mile and turned onto a small paved road.

“Now, honey, how do you think it looks for you to always be speedin’, and me the first-deputy?” Lyle said right off, bending down to her window. He was tall. “I really, really wish you wouldn’t speed, darlin’. Oh, hello, Emma. How are you today?”

“Fine.”

“I don’t speed on purpose, Lyle. I don’t think, I’m gonna speed and make Lyle look bad. And no one thinks a thing when I speed, ’cause I have been drivin’ this way my whole life—every bit of those years we lived together—and you never felt it reflected on you. Now I’m stopped, and in fact, Emma and I are gonna sit here a minute and discuss some things, so you can go on. I want to put the window up. This wind is messin’ up my hair.”

“Okay, darlin’,” he said in his gentle tone. “But please don’t speed anymore. At least not anywhere near town.”

“I won’t, sugar,” she said, blowing him a kiss as the window slid up. “Until next time,” she whispered. Belinda knew herself well and without apology.

In her side-view mirror, she watched Lyle as he walked back to his patrol car, running her eyes from his broad shoulders downward over his lean hips. She had not married Lyle Midgett for his brains. It was for everything below his neck, all of which was quite large and strong, and that included his heart.

Then she turned her attention to Emma. In Belinda’s estimation, blue-eyed pale blondes were generally really high-strung, even if they were not natural blondes, which Belinda knew that Emma was not. Every six weeks, Emma came into the drugstore and bought L’Oreal No. 9.

“I’m all right. It’s nothin’…I was just…” Emma gave her a wan smile, then broke off, her gaze going to the radio. Her eyes widened, and then her face crumpled.

Belinda looked at the radio, which seemed innocent. Don William’s voice was singing out, “…another place, another time…”

She reached over and punched the Off button, then pulled tissues from a box in the backseat and shoved them at Emma, who was bent over and just boo-hooing her heart out.

A practical woman, Belinda checked her watch and waited. After a minute and a half, Emma was coming back to herself.

“You have mascara smears, sugar,” Belinda said. “Here’s some lotion. There’s a mirror over the sun visor.”

Emma repaired herself. “I’m sorry…it was hearin’ Don Williams. You see…John Cole…and I…went to see him in concert once for our…anniversary.”

Oh, dear, she might go again. Belinda handed over more tissues, and Emma took them but managed self-control, which Belinda both admired and appreciated. Displays of emotion wore on her nerves.

“John Cole and I have separated,” Emma said. “We’re gettin’ divorced.”

Belinda, who was rarely surprised about anything, was stunned. “Oh, honey… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

She shut up, not wanting to say anything to get Emma started again, and to calm her own emotions. Good Lord, if this could happen to Emma and John Cole, two simply lovely people who seemed like the perfect couple, what did that say about her own chances as a fairly new and somewhat reluctant married woman?

“Thirty-two years. We’ve been married thirty-two years.”

Emma’s voice was a hoarse whisper filled with so much sadness that Belinda felt struck to the core.

“Well, these things happen,” Belinda said at last, swallowing down a lump. “What is it? Another woman? Men just lose their minds when they get middle-aged.” She had seen it time and again, although she was quite certain her Lyle never would. It was the really intelligent ones who did. Women were so stupid about intelligent men.

“Oh, no! At least I don’t think so. John Cole isn’t like that.”

Belinda thought the wives were always the last to know.