Page 37 of After 5
“Tootles, girls! Put the ham in the oven on three fifty for an hour. I know I can count on you.”
Gertie and I examined the spread on the table. Strawberry glazed ham cooked to perfection. Accompanied by green beans with the right amount of garlic to keep away the vampires, and chocolate cake, iced like a pro and topped with curly cue chocolate shavings. Gertie and I inhaled the aroma of home baked food.
“I love your ma,” Gertie said, munching on a crispy green bean. “But sometimes she’s a little intimidating.”
“Just wait. We’re going to pay for this meal. Darryl is a handful.”
“Yep, but I heard he’s trying to turn over a new leaf. He’s got a new side business and he’s a real good singer. He’s trying to raise money to try out for one of them contests, like American Idol, or that other one with Blake Shelton.”
I had a vision of Darryl onThe Bachelor. A new mission to find a woman who will take him off my hands began to take shape. I filed it behind strangling Caiyan and buying Gertie new dishes.
I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured Gertie and me a glass. “Drink up, we need to prepare for Darryl.”
* * *
Gertie slidthe ham and green beans in the oven to warm for dinner, then joined me on the couch to watch the next episode ofBig Little Lies.
I had just poured myself a second glass of red wine when country music blared from a radio outside the house. Gertie paused the show, and as we made our way to the front door to locate the cause of the ruckus, a gunshot made us flinch and drop to the ground. I managed to keep all my wine inside of the glass.
“Someone’s shootin’ at us,” Gertie yelled, covering her ears.
I peeked out through the front window. A rusted-out Ford F350 Dually, hooked up to a one-horse trailer, sat idle at the curb. The truck was raised six inches off the ground, had a stocked gun rack—and a Confederate flag flying from the antenna.
The truck let loose a window-rattling backfire, and I informed Gertie she could uncover her ears.
She joined me at the window.
“Is that Darryl?” I asked Gertie.
“It’s either Darryl or the president of Willie Nelson’s fan club.”
The engine on the Ford gagged then died, Cousin Darryl jumped down from the cab and sauntered in our direction. Neighbors gawked at Darryl from their windows. His straw Stetson sat high on his head. His lean frame wore wranglers and a faded t-shirt that readget high on life.
He stopped and looked up at the townhouse next door.
“We should go out and say hi. See if he needs help unloading,” Gertie said.
I upended the glass of wine and downed the contents. “OK, I’m ready.”
Gertie opened the front door, and we went outside. The smell of corn dogs and cow shit met us as we stepped off the front porch.
“Hey Darryl,” Gertie said as we approached him.
“Well I’ll be, if it ain’t Gertrude.” He grabbed her by the waist and swung her around rag doll style. Placing Gertie back on her feet, he turned toward me. I held up a hand to fend him off.
“Cu-zin Jen.”
My mom would have a field day with this one.
He ignored my hand and embraced me in a hug that lifted me off my feet. Darryl’s grandma was my dad’s sister, making him my second cousin and Gertie’s third. He’d spent more time with Gertie when she lived in Mount Vernon because his grandma, my aint Loretta Lynn, lived in the same town. His mother had MIA, or what my family refers to as musician induced amnesia. She ran off with a musician and forgot she had a kid.
He released me, then stepped back and tipped his hat at me. “My, my, cuz, you sure filled out in all the right places.”
Ick. I forced a smile. “Mom told me you were moving in today.”
“Yep, it was awful nice of your parents to let me move into the brick house.” He turned and admired the townhouse.
I raised my eyebrows at Gertie, and she interpreted softly, “As opposed to living in the houseonbricks.”
