The Secrets of Rosa Lee

Isadore glared at him with disgust but spoke to her daughter. “Aren’t you going to have more than coffee, Lora? I know the magazines say you can never be too thin, but you’ve lost so much weight since the divorce. You look like a coat hanger. If you get any thinner, you’ll never catch another man.”

To Lora’s dismay her father joined the assault.

“That’s right, hon.” Calvin didn’t look up from his food. “Men like their barbecue and their women with just the right combination of meat and fat.”

Though Isadore slapped at his arm, he didn’t bother apologizing.

Lora thought of telling her mother that she planned to get a doughnut on the way to work, but didn’t want to hear the lecture. Isadore had set out the same breakfast for her family all her married life. Lora could go down the neat little silver servers and tell what was in them without opening the lids. Eggs, always in the first. Ham, if a serving fork rested beside the second dish. Bacon if there were tongs. Toast, if butter and jam were on the table. Muffins if only butter sat out. On weekends, pancakes, or if company was there, Belgian waffles. Always served with fruit Isadore bought frozen and never bothered to let thaw before serving.

“I really have work to catch up on.” Lora put her coffee cup on the silver tray closest to the swinging door leading to the kitchen.

Calvin set his plate at the far end of the table. “Let her go, dear,” he mumbled, giving equal support to his girls. “It’s a fact, she’s got work waiting.” He turned his attention to Lora. “I signed on as one of the rodeo sponsors yesterday. Told them you’d give the new president a hand. Real nice fellow running the show this year. Talk is he’s planning to run for the state senate next year, so being in charge of the rodeo will get him in front of the public.”

Lora wasn’t surprised. Her father had always been an easy touch for any fund-raiser. He seemed to believe a marketing degree made her an expert in the field.

In the six months she’d been home, she’d talked him into giving Cadillac Cash instead of real money. Some charity would auction off a thousand dollars in Cadillac Cash or have it as their special door prize. The clubs wrote thanking him for the donation, which the business wrote off. He honored the “cash” on any new car. Everyone won and at worst the dealership sold a new car for a few hundred less than they’d planned.

“Is he single, by any chance?” Isadore asked.

“I have to run.” Lora moved fast, knowing that if she didn’t, Isadore would snare her in meaningless conversation. Her father had already opened his paper. At least he could read while he pretended to listen.

“But—” was all Isadore got out.

Lora grabbed her case at the foot of the stairs and hurried through the side door leading to the garage. She climbed into her Audi, adjusted her seat from where her mother had played with it the day before, and backed out of the driveway as if she were auditioning for a part in a chase film.

At the café near the downtown square, Lora ordered her usual chocolate-covered cinnamon roll and black coffee before she spotted the reverend at the counter, with a worried frown wrinkling his forehead as he read the paper. Yesterday, he’d been all calm and strong. This morning he looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

She hesitated. He hadn’t seen her. She could grab her food and run. But, to her surprise, she wanted to talk to him. She needed to touch base, make sure he was okay, learn any news. She slid onto the swivel stool next to him and motioned for Polly to bring her order to the counter.

Polly turned away, but her head wobbled back and forth as it always did when she talked to herself about all the extra work she had to do. If friendliness determined tips, Polly would be working for pennies.

“Morning, Preacher.” Lora returned his smile as he glanced up from his paper. “How’s today treating you?” His eyes didn’t seem so sad when he smiled. He blinked as if she’d caught him deep in thought. Studious. That was the word for him.

“Morning, Miss Whitman. How are the battle scars?”

She twisted on the stool and showed him the huge Band-Aids covering her knees. “They hardly show under my hose.”

He glanced down, then looked away.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled and straightened.

“For what?”

“Guess I shouldn’t be showing my legs to a preacher.”

He lost his grin. “Guess not,” he answered. “After all, we’re not men. Not quite human.”

If she could have, Lora would have pulled Micah Parker to her and hugged him. She’d never heard someone sound so miserable in her life. She hadn’t thought of it before, but he was right about the way people think of men in the church. Ministers weren’t like other people.

Polly delivered Lora’s breakfast with a thud. “It’s still hot from the fryer, so be careful.”

The chocolate sauce bubbled across the top of the round cinnamon roll. Lora took a deep breath. “Chocolate and grease, my two favorite food groups.”

Micah’s smile returned. “How often do you indulge in this slow form of suicide?”

“Every Tuesday,” she answered as she cut off a bite and blew on it. “I came home on a Monday after my divorce. We moved what little I had left into storage, set me up an office next to my father’s at the dealership, and I went to sleep in the twin bed I’d slept in most of my life. The next morning I thought I couldn’t get out of bed. Nothing…nothing would make me want to face this town, this job, my failure.”

Micah winked. “And then you remembered.” He pointed to the roll.

“Right,” she laughed. “My reason to live.” She pushed the first bite in her mouth.

Micah folded up his paper as Polly slammed down his oatmeal and wheat toast. “May I have one of those rolls?” he asked politely.

Polly groaned. “Instead of this?”

Micah quickly added, “Oh, no, for dessert. I still want this order.”

Polly mumbled something about breakfast don’t have no dessert as she moved away.

“You’re very brave, Preacher. Not many locals have the nerve to change their order once Polly writes it down.”

He tasted his oatmeal. “I must be living dangerously lately.”

“I’ll say,” Lora agreed.

As they ate, they talked about yesterday. Neither had much in the way of news, but it felt comforting to rehash the details. They were like veterans in an unknown war.

After Polly delivered his roll, Micah said, “Sidney’s getting out of the hospital today. I talked with the sheriff when I came in and he said Will’s driving the ambulance over to pick her up at no charge.” He tasted his cinnamon roll and shoved the oatmeal aside. “I really don’t know her, but I feel like I do. I’d like to go check on her this afternoon and make sure she’s settled in at home, but…”

“But it might not look right.” She could see his problem. Single minister visits single teacher in her home alone. The town would fill in the blanks. Lora fought the urge to swear. Living in Clifton Creek reminded her of stepping back in time. They might have the Internet and cell phones, but sometimes she expected the theme song from Mayberry R.F.D to start playing out of thin air. She handed Micah her business card with all her phone numbers on it. “Call me when you’re heading over and I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks.” He shoved the card into his vest pocket. “You worried, too?”

“In some way we all became a family yesterday. Billy even commented about how we need to watch one another’s backs.” She shuddered. “I’ll be glad when we can vote on what to do with that old house. Give our recommendation to the mayor. Forget about the committee. That old place has years of bad vibes. I’ve heard stories about it all my life.”

“Maybe the drill bit flying was just a onetime, freak thing that happened,” Micah mumbled between bites. “It probably had nothing to do with us, just kids playing around. Maybe they wanted the house to fall thinking there would be a park or something else put in its place?”

“Maybe. But if it wasn’t?” She pictured zombies running down Main Street all carrying drill bits as they screamed the committee members’ names. Horror movies always had a group of people on the monster most-wanted list. “What if someone singled us out?”

“Then we fight.” He plopped the last bite of the roll in his mouth and stood.

“Great,” Lora whispered as she waved him goodbye. She was going to war with a regiment from the monster appetizers menu and the preacher thought they could fight.

Ten minutes later, when Lora made it to her office, she could still hear Micah’s determined words. He surprised her. Weren’t men of the cloth supposed to be meek? He seemed kind and thoughtful, but meek wasn’t a word that fit that minister. Yesterday when he’d removed his coat and only wore a shirt and trousers, he’d definitely been relaxed. Today in his brown suit he looked more official.

As she turned toward the car dealership’s set of offices along the back wall of the showroom, Lora wasn’t surprised to see a man sitting on the corner of her desk. Her father thought the floor plan of see-through office walls and no doors except on the restrooms made the place look welcoming and honest. Lora thought it more a bother. Anyone trying to sell her anything could camp out in her office until she showed up. Dora, her father’s secretary and the unofficial hostess, would even serve them coffee.

She waved at Dora. The middle-aged greeter waved back. Her father’s statement about the right combination of fat and meat crossed Lora’s thoughts. She shook the possibility out of her head. Her mother would kill her father by slow endless conversation if he even looked at Dora.

Walking into her cage of an office, Lora ignored the young man dressed as if he had just stepped out of a line dance. She put up her purse and removed her jacket. She couldn’t miss the width of his shoulders, or his Western clothes right down to his fifteen-hundred-dollar boots and pressed jeans. He wasn’t here to try to sell her pencils and caps with the logo of the dealership.

She raised an eyebrow in interest as she shoved her briefcase under the desk. If he needed a car, he would have been waylaid by one of the salesmen before he could make it to her office.

Finally, with everything in order, she faced him. “May I help you?”

His smile seemed calculated. Not too wide, not too innocent. “I certainly hope so, Miss Whitman. I’m Talon Graham. My friends call me Tal.” He waited as if expecting her to recognize the name.

Lora had seen his type before. In fact, she’d married one of the tribe. Handsome, well-mannered, high-maintenance, used to getting his way. The kind of man who wanted a blonde on his arm. Trouble was, she’d been that blonde once before and no longer wanted the role.

Since he obviously knew her name, she asked again. “How may I help you, Mr. Graham?”

He stood. “I’m in oil exploration by profession, but I’m here as president of this year’s Rodeo Association. I’d like you to help me make next year’s rodeo the best Clifton Creek has ever seen.”

“The rodeo’s nine months away. We don’t need to plan advertising yet.” She wanted to add that, hopefully, she wouldn’t be in town nine months from now, but with what her father paid her, it was a possibility. Also, men in oil exploration weren’t known to stay long in one place.

“I know, but it may take some time.” He winked. “First I plan to organize a huge fund-raiser to improve what Clifton Creek laughingly calls a rodeo grounds. Second, I’d like to get to know everyone in town, or at least anyone who will help.” He stood, towering over her. “Your daddy told me yesterday that you wouldn’t mind introducing me around. As an outsider, I’ll need to move in the right circles fast.” He glanced down, seeming almost shy. Almost. “He said you would be at my disposal whenever needed.”

Lora swore she felt smoke coming out of her ears. She could almost hear her father telling this man that his poor daughter had nothing to do with her life and would be happy to take him around. After all, divorced women don’t have an easy time getting back on the horse.

Talon had the nerve to grin when he added, “So, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months?”

She’d have to kill Daddy, she thought. “I’ll talk with my father,” she managed to say as she glanced through her glass walls.

He’d finally gone too far, pimping her out to a rodeo. And because Isadore would be impossible to live with as a widow, Lora would have to murder her, too. Maybe she could get a deal when buying double caskets and plots. She saw it all now, the church packed, the funeral procession long and loaded with the newest models on the lot. The coffins would be matching champagne white. Too bad the funeral home didn’t have Casket Cash.

Eleven

The afternoon rain drove Billy Hatcher’s roofing crew inside. Most of the guys called it a day. Sam Davis and Billy drove over to do cleanup on the window replacement job at the Altman house.

The sky hung low, bringing the shadows of twilight early. Billy heard more than one person say the rain might freeze after sundown. If so, there would be no work tomorrow until the sun warmed everything up. He didn’t care. Unlike the others, he had plenty to keep himself busy. Roofing was seasonal work anyway, but it paid well. He figured he had enough put away to last three months in an apartment when bad weather hit. A few inside carpentry jobs should carry him through till spring. If his plan worked, he wouldn’t have to move back in with his father and whatever old lady he had playing house with him now.

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