• • •
Now it was later that evening and Charley, back home after a full day with Denton and Alison, leaned the push broom against the doorjamb, wiped her face on a strip of old bedsheet. Miss Honey’s sunroom opened onto the side yard where just weeks before all the family had gathered for the reunion. It felt like ages ago. Charley stepped out into the warm evening. “Maybe Walmart sells linoleum squares,” she called.
Hollywood had spent the entire day at Miss Honey’s and Charley couldn’t believe the progress he’d made. By the time she got home, he’d hauled all sunroom furniture into the yard so it could air out, pulled up all the waterlogged linoleum flooring — an enormous task — so the sunroom’s pine plank floors could dry. Now he tossed another tree limb on the burn pile — a smoldering heap of trash and leaves and splintered branches — he’d made in the yard’s far corner. “I reckon,” Hollywood said. “They sell everything else.”
Only now was Miss Honey’s yard beginning to look normal. Charley glanced at her watch. Almost seven o’clock.
“If you’re tired, I can finish up here,” Hollywood said, walking over. “Walmart’s open till midnight. I’ll go over there later to see what kind of flooring they got.”
Charley pictured Hollywood struggling to push a basket of linoleum squares all the way back to Miss Honey’s. “Tell you what,” she said. “We’ll drive together, then I’ll buy you dinner. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done today.” She looked at Hollywood standing there in fatigues now stained with sludge and ash. “Where would you like to go?”
“We could go to Sonic?”
“I’d rather take you someplace you’ve never been. You’ve gone above and beyond.”
Hollywood looked at Charley then back at the burn pile. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I’ve always wanted to go to Shoney’s in Morgan City. I’ve heard folks talk about the all-you-can-eat buffet. They say it’s real nice. I’ve seen the commercials on TV.”
“You got it,” Charley said, and imagined the family restaurant just off the four-lane. There were at least three restaurants between here and there that served better food, but oh well. “We can take the highway or the back roads. You pick.”
“I don’t know.” Hollywood’s face darkened. “I’ve never been to Morgan City.”
“Never been to Morgan City?” Charley laughed. “But that’s just down the road; couldn’t be more than twenty miles.”
Hollywood slid his hands into his pockets and Charley knew he was reaching for the comfort of his movie magazine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not making fun of you. I guess I’m just surprised.”
Her apology was enough to set Hollywood at ease again. His face blossomed. “That’s okay. I know you’d never do that.”
• • •
At Shoney’s, Hollywood spent fifteen minutes surveying the buffet choices, then joined Charley at the booth by the window. He tucked his napkin into his shirt collar and bowed his head to say grace. Charley put her fork down and bowed her head too, and when she opened her eyes, she watched with quiet amusement as Hollywood stared in wonder at the mashed potatoes, meat loaf, fried chicken, string beans, pasta salad, and fried catfish he’d piled on his plate.
“I think something’s wrong with Miss Honey,” Hollywood said, and took a sip of his Mello Yello. “She usually comes out to talk to me when I’m working. Today she hardly said a word.”
And because Hollywood sounded genuinely worried, and because Violet still hadn’t called her back, and she needed someone to talk to, Charley confided in Hollywood. She knew she was betraying Miss Honey’s confidence, but she repeated Miss Honey’s story anyway, including the part about paying Emily’s family. “I know she loved my dad, but I can’t believe what she did.”
“I remember Miss Emily,” Hollywood said. “She lived in a little house on Saint Bernard, right before you get to the boat ramp. Liked to sit on her front porch and smoke cigarettes.”
Charley sat forward. All these years and she’d never really thought about Ralph Angel’s mother. “Ralph Angel never talks about her. Maybe one day you could take me to meet her. Or if you don’t feel comfortable, just tell me where she lives and I’ll go. She’s part of the family. Miss Honey should have invited her to the reunion.”
Hollywood set his fork on the table. “Miss Emily’s dead.”
Charley gasped.
“She killed herself,” Hollywood said. “Jumped off the bridge. I remember ’cause she did it the same summer Ralph Angel went to live with his daddy in California. It was in the paper.”
• • •
Half a dozen small children, snaggle-toothed and barefoot, ran up to the gate and stared at Charley’s car as she pulled up to Hollywood’s family compound.
“I had a fine time,” Hollywood said. “Thank you. It’s gonna be a long time before I have that much fun again.”
“I’m glad we went,” Charley said.
“Shoney’s is even better than it looks on TV. Maman’s gonna be jealous.”
“Then it’s a good thing you brought something back for her.” Charley handed Hollywood the bag of takeout. “And thanks again for today. That was a lot of work to do all by yourself. You’re a good friend to Miss Honey, Hollywood — and to me.”
Hollywood wiped his hands on his fatigues. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure,” Charley said, and braced herself. Hollywood was looking at her with such urgency, such earnestness, she was afraid of what he might be about to confess.
“You know how I said I’d never been to Morgan City before?”
Charley nodded.
“Truth is, before today, I’d never been out of Saint Josephine.”
SEPTEMBER
21
Thirty days of dry weather, that’s what they needed. Thirty days with little or no rain, a whole lot of sun to bake the fields, an infusion of cash, and maybe, just maybe, they could save the farm — or at least that’s what Denton told Charley when she arrived at the shop. Debris still littered the fields, new ruts needed filling, drains needed redigging, johnsongrass needed cutting where it had grown tall and thick amid the cane, and so, for the first few days of September, Charley, Denton, Alison, Romero, and the crew spread out across the farm. They worked from seven in the morning until seven at night with a quick break for lunch. In the evenings, Charley staggered into Miss Honey’s to eat whatever she found in the fridge or whatever Miss Honey left for her under a covered dish by the stove. She showered before bed only because her own smell drove her to it.
After the first week, to Charley’s astonishment, the cane in the nearest quadrants actually righted itself, stretching toward the sun as if pulled by invisible wires, and they were able to assess how much they could salvage for planting. By the end of the second week, over in Micah’s Corner, the water had all but drained off the fields. Mud still made new planting impossible, though, and between the salt and the standing water, it was pretty clear the cane they’d planted earlier was ruined.
“Be glad we only dropped seventy-five acres’ worth,” Denton said as they ate lunch one afternoon, their sandwich papers smoothed out on the hood of Denton’s pickup. He balled his napkin and tossed it on the dashboard. “Farmers who started planting before we did lost everything. The Dugas brothers lost a thousand acres.”
Mid-September and still the weather held, with each day seeming a little better than the last. The humidity lessened, the nighttime temperature hovered in the mid-fifties, and for the first time, Charley thought she felt a hint of autumn in the air. Every day, she monitored their expenses, questioned each purchase, and sat on bills until the very last minute. She hadn’t found a bank that would lend her money, but they were scraping by. The Cane Cutter, meanwhile, rested on her dresser, frozen in his labor, but she no longer lifted the T-shirt draped over him; she could barely stand to look.