All Roads Lead to Texas

“Hmmph,” was the only response he got.

Wade and Tex walked to his car. As Wade opened his door, he saw Lucky in the pasture, a buckskin mare that Jock had given to Zach on his tenth birthday. How Zack had loved to ride that horse. Wade felt a catch in his throat. No one had ridden her since his death. He thought of Brittany and her desire to ride a horse. Maybe it was time.

But could he stand to see another child on that horse?

CHAPTER THREE

CALLIE SIGNED THE NECESSARY papers and everything that had happened seemed real for the first time. She and the kids would be living in Homestead and hopefully Nigel would never find them, or at least not until her lawyer had procured a hearing.

Her main concern was sleeping arrangements for the night. Miranda wanted them to stay with her and her mom until the house was ready, but Callie couldn’t intrude or involve Miranda any further in her situation. She had to make a home for the kids.

Miranda said the feed store carried sleeping bags, so after Callie unloaded the car she planned to go there. As she drove up to her house, she noticed an old tan truck parked in front. A rack was on the back with lumber. This had to be the carpenter—June Bug.

They got out and saw two men, somewhere in their thirties, inspecting the rotting column. One was tall and heavy-set, the other short and wiry. The short one walked toward her with quick steps. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap that read Dallas Cowboys. As he reached her side, she realized he was shorter than her. He couldn’t be more than five feet two inches tall.

“Howdy, ma’am. I’m June Bug Stromiski. Miss Miranda said you need some carpenter work done.” He talked fast, not even taking a breath.

“Yes, I do. Thank you for coming.” But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how this little man could repair her big house. He didn’t seem to have enough strength to drive in a nail. But she shouldn’t judge him. She needed his help and hopefully Miranda knew him well enough to be confident that he could do the job.

“This is my cousin, Bubba Joe Worczak. He’s my helper.”

Bubba looked like a lineman for the Dallas Cowboys and capable of doing anything. But after a bit of conversation, Callie realized that June Bug was the brains of the duo and Bubba Joe the brawn.

“Why they call you June Bug?” Brit asked.

June Bug shrugged. “That’s a long story.”

“’Cause he eats bugs, that’s why,” Bubba Joe spoke up.

“What!”

“That’s right.” Bubba Joe nodded.

“You do not,” Adam said, always the skeptic.

Bubba Joe plucked a bug from the grass. “Show ’em, June Bug,” he said.

June Bug popped it into his mouth and crunched away. Callie gasped and wanted to cover the kids eyes for some silly reason. They stood there with their mouths open, unable to speak.

“Tastes kind of like chicken,” June Bug said in between munching. “If you have a real good imagination.”

Callie found her voice. “Please don’t do that in front of my children. Please don’t do it at all. It’s very unhealthy.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I’ve been doing it since I was ten years old.”

“Why?”

“I’m little. I’ve always been little and boys picked on me at school and I got beat up almost every day. They called me runt and things like that. Billy Clyde Hemphill was the worst. He’d hold my face down in the grass with his knee on the back of my neck until I couldn’t breathe. He’d always say, ‘Eat dirt, runt.’ One day as he was coming toward me on the playground, I just got tired of it and knew I had to do something. I saw a june bug crawling on the playground equipment and I picked it up and put it in my mouth before I could think about it.” He wheezed for a breath.

“Billy Clyde stopped in his tracks and the kids gathered round. I found another bug and ate it, then I handed one to Billy Clyde and told him it was his turn. He backed off saying I was crazy and the kids started calling him chicken. He ran away, but he never picked on me again. No one did. And that’s the way I like it.”

Callie just stared at him. “Why do you still eat them?”

Just then a truck drove by and someone hollered, “Hey, June Bug, what’s for supper?”

“Anything flying,” June Bug yelled back, and they heard laughter all the way to the stop sign.

Callie knew why he kept eating the bugs. It made him taller in his eyes, bigger and able to take on the town. But she refused to call him June Bug.

“What’s your given name?”

“Odell, ma’am, youngest of ten kids and the only boy. I have nine sisters.”

“I’ll call you Odell.”

“Only my mama and my sisters call me that.”

“I’ll still call you Odell.” To her, calling him June Bug would be making fun of him and she couldn’t do that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

For the next thirty minutes he showed her what needed to be done to the column and veranda to secure it and she told him to go ahead with the work. They were unloading the car when an older lady jogged up in sweatpants, a T-shirt stretched over an ample bosom and sneakers. Her gray hair was curled in a tight perm.

“I’m Ethel Mae Stromiski,” she introduced herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and gasping for air.

“Nice to meet you,” Callie said, figuring this was Odell’s mama.

“I cleaned up two bedrooms and the bath like Miranda asked me to.” She talked fast just like her son, reminding Callie of the hum of a sewing machine. She listened close to catch each word.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow to do more cleaning.”

“I—ah—”

“I got to jog this damn mile like the doctor told me to. He said if I want to keep living I need to exercise more. What I need is a damn cigarette. Odell, what time you coming home for supper?” She didn’t even take a breath.

“I don’t live with you anymore. I’ll come home when I want to.”

“Smart-ass,” Ethel muttered to Callie and gulped a quick breath. “He built him a room in the back of my house and he calls that moving out. Kids always have to do somethin’ different. What’s wrong with living with your mama? You just better not be eating bugs again,” she yelled to Odell. “Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Go home, Mama. I got work to do.”

“Supper will be ready at six.”

“I won’t be there.”

“Where you gonna eat?”