Where There's Smoke

“Yeah.” He paused. “I’ll try not to upset her while I’m here.” He looked at his sister and smiled wryly. “Is there a pair of crutches in the house?”

“Right where you left them after your car wreck.” She went to the closet and retrieved a pair of aluminum crutches from the rear corner.

“While you’re at it, get me a shirt, too,” he told her. “Mine didn’t make it home last night.”

He ignored her inquisitive glance and pointed at the shirts hanging in the closet. She brought him a plain white cotton one that smelled faintly of mothballs. He put it on but left it unbuttoned. Securing the padded braces of the crutches in his armpits, he indicated the door with a motion of his head. “Let’s go.”

“You look pale. Are you feeling up to this?”

“No. But I sure as hell don’t want to hold up Jody’s breakfast.”

She was already seated at the kitchen table sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette when Key hobbled in. Janellen went unnoticed as she began preparing the meal. Key sat across from his mother and propped his crutches against the edge of the table. He was keenly aware of his bearded face and mussed hair.

As always, Jody was perfectly neat, although she wasn’t an attractive woman. The Texas sun had left her complexion spotted and lined. Having no tolerance for vanity, her only concession to softening her appearance was a light dusting of dime store face powder. For all her adult life she had kept a standing weekly appointment at the beauty parlor to have her hair washed and set, but only because she couldn’t be bothered to do it herself. It took twenty minutes for her short, gray hair to dry under the hood dryer. During that twenty minutes a manicurist clipped and buffed her short, square nails. She never had them polished.

She wore dresses only for church on Sundays and when a social occasion absolutely demanded it. This morning she was wearing a plaid cotton shirt and a pair of slacks, both crisply starched and ironed.

As she ground out her cigarette, she addressed Key in a tone as intimidating as her stare. “What’d you do this time?”

Her w

ords were accusatory, clearly implying that Key was responsible for his misfortune. He was, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been a victim of whimsical fate. Accidents had always been his fault.

When he’d fallen from the branches of the pecan tree that he and Clark had been climbing together, Jody had said that a broken collarbone was no better than he deserved for doing such a damn fool thing. When a Little League batter hit him in the temple with a bat, giving him a concussion, he’d been lectured for not keeping his mind on the game. When a gelding stepped on his foot, Jody had accused him of spooking the horse. When a firecracker exploded in his hand and busted open his thumb on the Fourth of July, he’d been punished. Clark had gotten off scot-free, although he’d been shooting off firecrackers alongside his brother.

But there was one time when Jody’s wrath had been justified. If Key hadn’t been so drunk, if he hadn’t been driving ninety-five on that dark country road, he might have made that curve, missed that tree, and gone on to fulfill his mother’s ambitions for him to be the starting quarterback on an NFL team. She would never forgive him for messing up her plans for his life.

Based on past experience, Key knew better than to expect maternal sympathy. But her judgmental tone of voice set his teeth on edge.

His reply was succinct. “I twisted my ankle.”

“What about that?” she asked, raising her coffee cup toward the wide Ace bandage swathing his middle.

“Shark bite.” He threw his sister a wink and a grin.

“Don’t smart-mouth me!” Jody’s voice cracked like a whip.

Here we go, Key thought dismally. Hell, he didn’t want this. “It’s nothing, Jody. Nothing.” Janellen sat a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “Thanks, sis. This is all for me.”

“Don’t you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

She masked her disappointment behind a tentative smile that wrenched his heart. Poor Janellen. She had to put up with the old lady’s crap every day. Jody had an uncanny talent for making every inquiry an inquisition, every observation a criticism, every glance a condemnation. How did Janellen endure her intolerance day in, day out? Why did she? Why didn’t she find herself a respectable fellow and get married? So what if she wasn’t madly in love with him? Nobody could be as difficult to live with as Jody.

Then again, Jody wasn’t as critical of Janellen as she was of him. She hadn’t been that way with Clark either. He seemed to be cursed with a talent for inciting his mother’s anger. He figured it was because he was the spitting image of his father, and God knows Clark Junior had provoked Jody till the day he died. She hadn’t shed a single tear at his funeral.

Key had. He had never cried before, or since, but he’d bawled like a baby at Clark Junior’s grave, and not because his daddy had always been an attentive parent. Most of Key’s recollections of him centered around farewells that had always left him feeling bereft. But whatever rare, happy memories of childhood Key had revolved around his daddy, who was boisterous and fun, who laughed and told jokes, who always drew a crowd of admirers with his glib charm.

Key was only nine years old when his father was killed, but with the inexplicable wisdom of a child, he’d realized that his best chance to be loved was being buried in that grave.

As though reading his mind, Jody suddenly asked, “Did you come home to watch me die?” Key looked at her sharply. “Because if you did,” she added, “you’re in for a big disappointment. I’m not going to die anytime soon.”

Her expression was combative, but Key chose to treat the riling question as a joke. “Glad to hear that, Jody, ’cause my dark suit is at the cleaners. Actually, I came home to see how y’all are getting along.”

“You’ve never given a damn how we were getting along before. Why now?”

The last thing Key felt like doing was tangling with his mother. He wasn’t exactly in top physical form this morning, and Jody always disturbed his mental state. She was lethal to a sense of humor and an optimistic outlook. He’d wanted to make this reunion easy, if for no other reason than to please his long-suffering sister. Jody, however, seemed determined to make it difficult.