East Texas Proud

Beverly’s mother walked to meet Beverly and exchanged a hug while she answered. “This nice gentleman had to come to my rescue. I guess I made a wrong turn and I sunk into a mudhole.” Beverly glanced toward Stark and smiled a “hello” and “thank you” rolled into one simple gesture. “Mom, you didn’t try to go down the dirt road, did you? I’ve told you to stay on the pavement. It’s not a whole lot smoother, but it’s safer – especially right after a rain.” She turned to Stark, “Thank you, Stark. Mom’s lucky she didn’t have to sit there until some rancher came to check on his cows in a day or two.” Stark grinned. Beverly’s shorts were loose, but they clung to the crease of her hips and jiggled when she moved. He liked what he saw when she danced around, both greeting and scolding her mother. Her body had not been subjected to the rigors of child bearing, though her face appeared gaunt – probably from the stress of her divorce. “I just happened down that way to check on my hunting ground. I guess I need to complain louder to Maxwell Cantily about the mudholes on that road. All it needs is one big load of gravel. As our Precinct Commissioner, it’s the least he could do for our votes.” Stark laughed and flashed his brightest smile. In a scolding tone, Beverly continued, “I don’t know how many times Jack and I have told Mom to never drive on the dirt roads.” Her eyes flickered briefly when she invoked the name of her ex-husband. Her twelve-year marriage to Jackson Johnson had too many good memories to simply forget “Jack and I” was not one word, even though the divorce had ended all hopes of reconciliation six months earlier. She knew her mother was there to try to talk her into moving to Sulphur Springs, but she didn’t want to run back to mama just because of an upset in her life. She only needed a shoulder to cry on occasionally. Today was one of those days. Seeing Stark, a man, reminded her that she had always relied on Jack, a man, for certain things, things like changing flat tires, mowing the lawn – though Jack wasn’t particularly good at that – and comfort when it was needed. She knew she could make it, would make it, but she was alone for the first time in her life. More critically, if her mother had called for help from the mudhole, she would have been no help extricating the car – except to call a neighbor, maybe Stark. Stark continued to smile and leer. “I’m glad I could help.” An invitation didn’t seem to be forthcoming, so he opened the subject. “If you have a water hose nearby, I need to wash some of this mud off before I traipse it home … and, maybe I can hose off some of the mud from your mother’s car.” He laughed and grinned at the older woman standing next to Beverly. “I’d like to see what color it is.” Startled from her own thoughts, Beverly exclaimed, “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, we … I have a hose around back. It can hook to the faucet at the corner there.” She almost jumped to walk toward the back of her house. Stark moved to be close to Beverly as she walked around the house, but far enough back to watch the crease of her rear-end tug at the cotton shorts with every step. He waited until she bent over to pick up a coiled and tangled hose from tall grass next to the house. He leaned and reached, perfectly timing his reach so that his hand fell atop hers. “Here, let me get that. No need you getting your clothes dirty. I’m already a mess.” He laughed, and his eyes twinkled when Beverly self-consciously – but slowly - withdrew her hand from the hose. His hand gently lingered on top of hers even as she stood upright. “You seem tense. It’ll be alright. Your mother’s fine, and the car just needs a good cleaning; probably better than I can do with a water hose, but it’s not damaged.” He knew that wasn’t the cause of her reaction to his touch, but he also knew he could sway her thoughts with the comment, by offering the excuse for her behavior. Stark picked up the wad of hose and half carried, half dragged it to the water faucet that protruded from concrete blocks that made up perimeter of the pier and beam foundation. Beverly lagged slightly behind him, nervously watching him, wondering why her heart was pounding uncontrollably. The two women watched as Stark sprayed the mud from the white car. He didn’t scrub it, so it didn’t emerge spotless, but at least it was once again recognizable as white. He grinned when he was finished. He noticed the grass was unmowed. He knew Jack was not a stickler for the yard’s appearance, but at least the man mowed on a semi-regular basis to discourage rats and snakes. Beverly was probably forced to work more hours - if Wal-Mart allowed it - to make ends meet; or she had taken a second job and had no time to mow. In either case, the grass was raggedly tall. He knew the rent for the house was not very high – not for a two-income family – but Beverly was probably struggling. He coiled the hose carefully and carried it back to where he found it. A faded and rusted push mower was shoved against a small shed, a weathered shed that probably once served as its shelter. He glanced to see if Beverly had followed him, hoping but not expecting. Undetected, he walked to the mower and looked it over. Other than the fact that it was needlessly weathered, it appeared to be okay. He grasped the starter cord and pulled on it. He almost tipped himself over; the rope didn’t budge. He braced his foot on the mower deck and tugged again. It was solid. The motor was seized. That explained the yard grass. He smiled to himself. He knew what to do. Beverly and her mother were standing at the porch steps, waiting for Stark to return. He glanced at his hands, studied them and then acted as though he was going to wipe them clean on his jeans. Beverly’s mother gasped, “Oh my goodness. Don’t do that. You can come inside and wash your hands. Can’t he, Bev?” Beverly was momentarily at a loss for words. Her mind raced, trying to recall whether her house was presentable. Finally, she realized that she had cleaned and straightened everything in advance of her mother’s arrival. “Sure. Stark, don’t do that. You can wash up in the bathroom.” Stark smiled. “Thank you.” He noticed her eyes drop to his muddy boots. “I’ll kick my boots off on the porch, so I don’t track mud.” He saw Beverly’s nervously appreciative smile. Stark went into the bathroom. He knew where it was. He had visited Jack a few times over the years that Jack and Beverly had lived in the rent house, usually to help the hapless man with a vehicle issue. As he washed his hands, he overheard Beverly’s mother whisper too loudly, “Bev, you need to meet someone nice like him. The only way you can get past what Jack did to you is move on.” He couldn’t hear Beverly’s response over the running water, but he smiled. Mothers are always helpful. After he wiped his hands, he checked the medicine cabinet. Few people actually used them for medicine, but he was compelled to peek behind the mirror. Mundane toiletries filled most of the spots. Mascara and lash curlers were squarely in the middle of the middle shelf. Beverly did have pretty eyes, pretty lashes, appealing eyes, sultry eyes, eyes that could make a man swallow his tongue. On the bottom shelf, to the right, he found what he was searching to find – a prescription bottle. Diazepam. The prescription was relatively new, less than six-months old. He opened the bottle. Probably half gone. Apparently, Beverly required something to calm her nerves after the divorce; she was struggling and vulnerable. He could use that information.