11
Well," Biggie said, after we had driven about a mile toward town, "it must not have been much of a storm, only a few limbs blown down."
"Shoot, I've seen lots worse." Monica was bouncing around like a monkey trying to see out all the windows at once. "Last year a storm blew the roof off Elvis Moton's barn. It landed in a chinaberry tree a half mile away."
"Would you sit still!"
Monica didn't hear me. She was leaning across the front seat between Biggie and Rosebud. "I bet you've seen lots of storms down in south Louisiana, Rosebud."
"Hurricanes, mostly," Rosebud said. "I recollect the time Audrey come through Cameron Parish. Now that was a doozy. Dern near wiped out the town of Cameron. My Uncle Buddy… Godamighty, look at that!" He drove the car onto the shoulder of the road and stopped.
For once, Monica couldn't think of a thing to say, just stared open mouthed at a fifty-foot-wide tunnel through the forest swept clean by the storm. It went as far as we could see into the trees on both sides of the road. Limbs and whole tree trunks lay in piles beside the road left there by the cleanup crews. Power lines had come loose from their poles and dragged on the ground. It looked like a giant bulldozer had come through and cut away everything in its path. Tall pines were snapped in two like toothpicks and leaned this way and that, while the oaks and gum trees were stripped bare.
"I'm getting out," Monica said, going for the door. "I see a dead cow."
"Don't you move!" Rosebud barked at her.
"Huh?"
"You ain't going anywhere with those wires down. You crazy, girl?"
"Oh… I didn't think." For the first time in her life, Monica actually seemed embarrassed.
"Rosebud, get home quickly." Biggie pointed. "That storm path leads right straight toward Job's Crossing."
The car coughed and hesitated as Rosebud gave it the gas. I doubt if that old funeral car had ever been driven as fast as we drove getting back home.
When we came to the outskirts of town, we saw the storm's path again. It had wiped out the Fresh-As-a-Daisy café. The big sign for the Big Eight Motel lay across the parking lot, and our only convenience store, the Wag 'n' Bag, was nothing but a pile of rubble.
"Well, it looks like it missed the main part of town," Biggie said, with a sigh. "I can't wait to get back home."
As Rosebud pulled the car into the driveway, I could see Willie Mae sitting on the front porch watching for us. She got up and came down the front steps. "I knew y'all was all right," she said. But I could see a tear creeping out of the corner of her eye as she grabbed me in a big hug. "Come on in the kitchen. I got cookies and coffee already set out."
"Willie Mae, how did you know when we'd be here?"
I might as well have saved my breath. Willie Mae is a voodoo lady, and she never gives away her secrets.
"I want to go to my house," Monica said, in a little bitty voice.
Biggie put her arm around her. "Honey, I know you do. Rosebud will take you in a little while. In fact, we'll all go."
Inside the front hall, I took a deep breath, drinking in the smells of Biggie's house, furniture polish and talcum powder and, best of all, chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. We followed Biggie into the kitchen where we sat around the table eating cookies and telling Willie Mae everything that had happened.
"And now I've got a new granddaddy," I said.
Just then, my dog, Bingo, came skidding into the room chasing Booger, who jumped up on the counter and sat licking himself. Willie Mae swatted him with a towel.
"Hey," Monica said. "I thought you were keeping Prissy Moody."
I put down my milk glass. "I forgot! Willie Mae, have you seen her?"
Willie Mae shook her head.
"I've got an idea," Monica said. "Willie Mae, why don't you do a voodoo spell to bring her back?"
"Yeah!" I've seen Willie Mae do some amazing things in my time.
"I got a better idea," Willie Mae said. "Why don't you two go looking for her?"
"Come on." Monica headed for the back door. "I bet I find her before you do."
I didn't have much hope of finding her after two days and a bad storm to boot, but I walked around the house and down the sidewalk thinking it wouldn't hurt to ask the neighbors if they'd seen her. Monica disappeared behind Mrs. Moody's garage. I knocked on every door on our block and some on the next block over, but nobody had seen her. As I walked back home, I thought maybe I could make some signs and nail them on utility poles around town. But the minute I opened the front door, I heard a familiar sound, a shrill, annoying bark. Prissy! I hurried to the kitchen and there she was, growling at Booger around mouthfuls of Alpo. Monica was sitting at the kitchen table with a satisfied grin on her face.
"Where was she?" I didn't know whether to be relieved or ticked off.
"Under her own back steps, of course. She'd gone home. J.R., you're such a dodo. Why didn't you look there in the first place?"
I chose not to answer that.
Later, we all got back into the car and drove out to Monica's. The farm belongs to Biggie, but the Sontags, Monica and her parents, live there rent-free for taking care of the place. When we drove into the rutty driveway, Mr. and Mrs. Sontag came running out of the house. Monica jumped out of the car and ran toward them.
"Did y'all see that storm?" she babbled. "We did. Boy, was it a doozy. Blew away half the town. I'm not kidding."
Monica has a tendency to exaggerate.
Mr. Sontag pointed toward the barn. Its roof was gone. The chicken house was nowhere to be seen. The corral fences were broken in several places. And Buster, Monica's dog, came limping out from under the house.
"Buster!" Monica knelt to pet him. "What happened?" She looked up at Mrs. Sontag.
Mrs. Sontag, who is round and rosy like an apple, smiled. "He's just bunged up a little, honey. Daddy found him under a piece of tin that blew off the henhouse. He'll be okay in a day or two."
After Biggie wrote out a check to have the buildings replaced, we got back in the car and headed for town. Personally, I don't remember ever being so glad to get rid of Monica. She was really getting on my nerves.
After supper, Butch and Miss Mattie dropped by to find out how things had gone at the ranch.
"What kind of diet do they have those girls on?" Miss Mattie wanted to know. "I'm putting on a little myself. I might want to try it."
Butch eyed her. "More than a little, if you ask me. Mattie, you ought to exercise more. Me, I never gain an ounce. It's my metabolism. Mama used to always say, 'Butchy, honey, slow down once in a while; you're just wired like a fiddle string.' And I am. I can eat anything I want." He patted his flat stomach.
Miss Mattie ignored him. "So, tell us, Biggie, did you see Rex?"
"I saw him," Biggie said. "He seems to be in real poor health— but happy to meet J.R."
"I bet he was glad to see you, too," Butch said.
"That, too, of course."
"The diet," Miss Mattie prodded.
"I'm not sure," Biggie said. "They seemed to eat the same as everybody else."
"Not exactly, Biggie," I said. "Remember, they drank something before we ate." I turned to Butch. "They drank it out of coconut shells."
"Did they make a face when they drank it?" Butch sipped his tea with his pinkie raised.
"Not that I could tell," I said. "We're going back tomorrow. I'll see if I can find out what it is."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," Biggie said. "It's none of our business. Now, you scoot up to bed. I want to talk to Butch and Mattie alone."
* * *
I stayed awake until Biggie came upstairs. I went to her room and stood at the door in my pajamas. She stopped brushing her hair and looked at me. "What?" I told her what Monica and I had overheard. "Well," she said, "I'm not surprised they're upset at having you show up out of the blue. Don't worry about it. They can't do any harm. Now, scoot off to bed."
Lying in my bed, I thought about Monica, wondering why she got on my nerves so much lately. She had always been my best friend. I admired her for so many things. She could ride and hunt and fish with the best of them, and if she ever met old Freddy Kruger face to face, she'd probably just walk up and spit in his eye. Next to Rosebud, she was the bravest person I knew. Why then, all of a sudden, did she seem so…? I couldn't put words to it. I was still trying to figure that one out when I fell asleep. You would think, under the circumstances, I would have dreamed of Monica that night. But I didn't; I dreamed about Misty Caldwell instead.