Nelly was parked in the living room at Big Jim’s wake after the memorial service. Alone until Minister Lucas walked in balancing two plates in his large white hands.
“Miss Nelly, I hope you like barbecue.” He bent down and slid one heaping plate onto the end table next to her wheelchair. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“By all means,” she said, ignoring the messy pile of ribs, baked beans, and potatoes, and wished instead for pecan pie.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.” Everything except pecan pie. He took a seat and set his plate, which held a single slice of white bread and a small dollop of potatoes, next to hers.
“Much appreciated Minister.”
“They tell me the potato salad is a Hoegarth family recipe. Is that true? Maybe you can tell me the secret.”
“Never heard of Hoegarth potato salad, but if it is was Sally who made it, I can still tell you the secret. It’s one jar of cheap mayonnaise per skinny potato. And, here’s another secret: don’t eat it.”
Lucas threw his head back and released a deep, resonant laugh. Nelly could feel it vibrating in her bones. “Thank you for the advice, Miss Nelly. I guess I should have left off the potatoes when making your plate then.”
She didn’t return his smile.
He leaned toward her slowly so that she could smell his fresh green smell and study the clean planes of his good face. “Miss Nelly, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is everything alright at home? We haven’t been seeing you Sundays. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even had a chance to see your new plaque.”
“I told you I don’t need a plaque. I just need Sunday service to be under 90 degrees. Don’t need a marching band to announce that I bought the church a new air conditioner.”
“Well, we are very grateful, and I can assure you that the plaque is very discreet. Of course, I could take it down if you’d like...”
“Don’t bother. It’s up, it’s up. What’s done is done.”
“The Shiner parishioners appreciate it. I appreciate it.” One of his warm hands had found its way onto one of Nelly’s cold ones, which was balled into a tiny upright fist on the arm of her wheelchair. She felt like a baby bird in his hand, trapped but calmed by the gesture.
Squeezing gently, he said, “I know it’s difficult.”
In spite of herself, she found herself nodding in agreement and felt the strange urge to rest her head on his shoulder.
“It’s a hard day for you,” he continued, “for your family, especially Big Jim’s closest. Sally’s holding up well, considering. It’s a good thing she has such a supportive family to help her through these times.”
Nelly snorted and snatched her hand out from under its captor. At the funeral, Sally had cried openly in the arms of her eldest son, and the image had reminded Nelly of Big Jim and Sally’s wedding day, the bride blubbering and sniffling up the aisle before the ceremony had even begun.
“I know she and her boys count you as one of their supporters,” Lucas persisted, “and I know you’d want to help any way you could.”
Nelly’s face calcified into a hard stare, trying to hold off Lucas’s words, which kept crashing into her rocky silence, “Big Jim would be relieved knowing that you were looking after them. Your presence means a lot. Your generosity…”
From Nelly’s vantage point she could see Sally glancing nervously at them from the kitchen. With her cried-out eyes and plump lips, her face looked overripe. The way she was biting her lip made Nelly think of a dull knife on the skin of an August tomato.
“If Sally wants my money, let Sally come and ask me herself. Then maybe she can put up a plaque for me on the front of her house: Nelly Hoegarth, Deep Pockets of the South.”
“Miss Nelly, I hope you like barbecue.” He bent down and slid one heaping plate onto the end table next to her wheelchair. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“By all means,” she said, ignoring the messy pile of ribs, baked beans, and potatoes, and wished instead for pecan pie.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.” Everything except pecan pie. He took a seat and set his plate, which held a single slice of white bread and a small dollop of potatoes, next to hers.
“Much appreciated Minister.”
“They tell me the potato salad is a Hoegarth family recipe. Is that true? Maybe you can tell me the secret.”
“Never heard of Hoegarth potato salad, but if it is was Sally who made it, I can still tell you the secret. It’s one jar of cheap mayonnaise per skinny potato. And, here’s another secret: don’t eat it.”
Lucas threw his head back and released a deep, resonant laugh. Nelly could feel it vibrating in her bones. “Thank you for the advice, Miss Nelly. I guess I should have left off the potatoes when making your plate then.”
She didn’t return his smile.
He leaned toward her slowly so that she could smell his fresh green smell and study the clean planes of his good face. “Miss Nelly, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is everything alright at home? We haven’t been seeing you Sundays. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even had a chance to see your new plaque.”
“I told you I don’t need a plaque. I just need Sunday service to be under 90 degrees. Don’t need a marching band to announce that I bought the church a new air conditioner.”
“Well, we are very grateful, and I can assure you that the plaque is very discreet. Of course, I could take it down if you’d like...”
“Don’t bother. It’s up, it’s up. What’s done is done.”
“The Shiner parishioners appreciate it. I appreciate it.” One of his warm hands had found its way onto one of Nelly’s cold ones, which was balled into a tiny upright fist on the arm of her wheelchair. She felt like a baby bird in his hand, trapped but calmed by the gesture.
Squeezing gently, he said, “I know it’s difficult.”
In spite of herself, she found herself nodding in agreement and felt the strange urge to rest her head on his shoulder.
“It’s a hard day for you,” he continued, “for your family, especially Big Jim’s closest. Sally’s holding up well, considering. It’s a good thing she has such a supportive family to help her through these times.”
Nelly snorted and snatched her hand out from under its captor. At the funeral, Sally had cried openly in the arms of her eldest son, and the image had reminded Nelly of Big Jim and Sally’s wedding day, the bride blubbering and sniffling up the aisle before the ceremony had even begun.
“I know she and her boys count you as one of their supporters,” Lucas persisted, “and I know you’d want to help any way you could.”
Nelly’s face calcified into a hard stare, trying to hold off Lucas’s words, which kept crashing into her rocky silence, “Big Jim would be relieved knowing that you were looking after them. Your presence means a lot. Your generosity…”
From Nelly’s vantage point she could see Sally glancing nervously at them from the kitchen. With her cried-out eyes and plump lips, her face looked overripe. The way she was biting her lip made Nelly think of a dull knife on the skin of an August tomato.
“If Sally wants my money, let Sally come and ask me herself. Then maybe she can put up a plaque for me on the front of her house: Nelly Hoegarth, Deep Pockets of the South.”
