The Banty House Read online

  “Maybe. I quit taking his calls because I . . .” He let the sentence hang.

  “I can’t even think about what kind of hell you been goin’ through all this time. I sure wish you’d have come around sooner, so you could get over it,” Teddy said. “Since you’re here, you want to come home with me for supper? Bobby Joe’s granny is cookin’ up a pot of chicken and dumplin’s.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve got a few more miles to go before I stop today, and I’ve got a dog in the truck,” Sloan answered.

  “Well, anytime you’re in this area, feel free to stop by. We’d love to hear stories about Bobby Joe. We still got all his letters. Maybe someday we’ll get them out and laugh about all the things he wrote about you boys.” Teddy stood up and started back to his truck, which was parked out near a big pecan tree.

  “I’ll sure keep that in mind, and thank you, sir,” Sloan called out.

  Teddy threw up a hand, but he didn’t look back.

  “Is he tellin’ me the truth, Bobby Joe, or just feedin’ me a line of crap so I’ll feel better?” Sloan muttered to himself. He sat there for a while longer, letting one memory after another of the good times with the team wash over him, and then he knelt again and touched Bobby Joe’s stone. “Goodbye, my friend. Maybe I’ll see you again in eternity.”

  He and Tinker drove on that evening to Paris, Texas. It was near dark when they got there, and he didn’t find a hotel that allowed pets until the third try. Once he was settled in, he ordered a pizza delivered to the room. Tomorrow, he would go visit Creed Dawson’s grave. While he waited on the pizza he found the commander’s phone number in his contacts.

  He hit the call button but hung up before it could even ring. If the military folks had just told Teddy that so there could be no blame issued, then did Sloan really want to know? Or would he rather just believe the fairy tale to assuage himself of the guilt he’d been carrying around all this time?

  Tinker hopped onto the bed and curled up on Sloan’s pillow, then growled at him.

  “So you think I should call no matter what?”

  Tinker growled again.

  “All right, but I might be an old bear to live with when I do,” Sloan told the dog as he found the contact and hit the call button again.

  “Sloan Baker, is this really you?” the man asked.

  “It is really me,” Sloan said.

  “How’re you doin’, son? I’ve called at least a dozen times,” Commander Watterson said.

  “It’s been tough,” Sloan admitted.

  “I imagine it has. You’ve got PTSD and we sent you home riding a guilt trip that you couldn’t shake. We were wrong in thinking that you could have defused that bomb in time, but we didn’t know it then. And I was afraid to put you anywhere near an explosive again,” he said.

  “I defused one in the local hospital two days ago. It helped.” Sloan wandered around the room as he talked, picking up the HBO guide from in front of the television and the little coffee pods by the sink, then putting them back where they had been.

  “Good for you,” Commander Watterson said.

  “Today I visited Bobby Joe’s grave and met his grandpa.” He poured a cup of water into the one-cup machine and slid a pod into the right place.

  “Nice old guy. I visit with him about every six months. Did he tell you what the reconstruction crew said about the bomb?” Commander Watterson asked.

  “Is that the truth or just some bullshit to cover up for me?” Sloan pushed the button to start making a cup of coffee.

  “Pure truth. I can even send you the report if you want,” Commander Watterson said. “I hated to lose your team. Y’all were so good at what you did that we still haven’t found another bunch like you. But if you ever want to go back to work in a civilian training capacity, I could sure use you to train new teams. I’ve never had a soldier learn as fast as you did. You’d make an excellent instructor. It would pay well, and you’d still keep your disability benefits.”

  “Thank you, sir, and I would like to see the report, and I’ll think about that job offer,” Sloan said. “Did y’all catch the guy who planted the bomb?”

  “We did, but he escaped after he confessed. The story I got out of him was that Chris Jones had slept with his sister, Basima, and then dumped her. That had made her unfit for marriage in that culture. The young man was simply avenging his sister’s honor,” the commander said. “If you hadn’t gotten drunk, you’d be dead right along with them.”

  “I told him that seeing Basima was asking for trouble.” Sloan groaned.

  “You were right,” the commander said.

  Sloan carried the phone with him when he heard a knock on the door. “I should go,” he said. “My pizza is here, and I’ve taken enough of your time. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “Anytime, son. I’m just glad we got to the bottom of this. Keep in touch, and if you’re ever in Atlanta, look me up. Bye, now,” the commander said.

  Sloan touched the “End” button, opened the door, accepted the pizza and handed the kid a bill. “Thank you. Keep the change.”

  “Thank you,” the kid said and whistled down the hall toward the elevator.

  He’d just taken the first slice out of the box when his phone rang. The picture that popped up on the screen was one he’d taken of Ginger on Easter Sunday. He laid the pizza back in the box and answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, how’s things in the Banty House?” he asked.

  “Betsy is cranky, but then she’s in a lot of pain. She still has headaches and her arm and leg hurt. I’d be in a pissy mood, too, if I was in her shoes,” Ginger answered. “So where are you tonight?”

  “Paris.” He chuckled.

  “I would’ve hitched a ride with you if I’d known you were going to France,” she said.

  “Paris, Texas.” He laughed out loud. “I had a great day, and I just hung up from a wonderful phone call.” He told her all about Teddy, and Chris and Basima, and that he’d found out the truth behind the whole story.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “I really do, and I’ve got you to thank for it. If you hadn’t made me defuse that bomb, I would have never taken the first step to recover from all this guilt I’ve been carrying around. Now I really believe that it wasn’t my fault. There wasn’t anything I could have done if I’d been there.” Just talking to Ginger made even more of the heaviness leave his heart.

  “So what do you do tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m going to see Creed’s grave, and then I’ll go on up to Hugo, Oklahoma, and find Chris. I imagine Tinker and I’ll stay there tomorrow night and then go on over to Randlett and finish up our circle in John and Wade’s town. Then we’ll come home on Saturday. Seems like we should go get that snow cone we were going for last Sunday as soon as I get home,” he said.

  “I’d like that,” Ginger agreed. “Hey, I’m going to put this on speakerphone so the ladies can talk to you, too.”

  “Is Tinker doin’ okay?” Betsy asked.

  “He’s lovin’ to travel. He’s liable to want to go every time the truck moves from now on,” Sloan answered.

  “And how about you?” Kate asked.

  “It was tough, but I got through it, and . . .” He went on to tell them about talking to his commander. Talking around the huge lump in his throat wasn’t easy, but he finally got the shortened form of the story out. “I hope he’s telling me the truth.”

  “Why wouldn’t he tell you that before they sent you home?” Kate asked.

  “They didn’t have all the details, and then I wouldn’t answer his calls,” Sloan admitted honestly, and his heart felt lighter for doing so.

  “And your old truck is running fine?” Kate asked. “Too bad the law wouldn’t let me send some shine for you to sell along the way.”

  “If I could have, I would.” He realized that she was changing the subject since no doubt she could tell just how emotional he was right then.

  “It’s been great to hear yo
ur voice,” Connie said. “But we’re going to let you two kids talk now, and we’ll go on out to the parlor and get our movie night ready to go. Safe travels, and it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Y’all enjoy your movies,” Sloan said.

  “I’m back, and we’re alone now,” Ginger said. “I miss you, and you’ve only been gone a day. The crazy thing is that I’ve only been here for two weeks, but it seems like I’ve known you and the ladies for years.”

  “A wise young lady told me once that everything happens for a reason,” he said. “It’s helped to talk about today, Ginger. And that wise lady was right.”

  “Oh, really!” From her tone, he knew that Ginger was smiling. “How could anyone have wisdom when they aren’t even twenty years old yet?”

  “Guess they’re born with it,” he told her, “and when will this lady be twenty, anyway?”

  “June first,” Ginger answered. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four last January.”

  “Oh, my! You are an old man.” She laughed out loud. “I should be going. I think they’re waiting for me to start the movie night. Will you join us next week?”

  “Sure thing, and I’ll bring the candy bars,” he offered. “Good night, Ginger, and thanks again for telling me that I needed to do this.”

  “You are so very welcome. Bye now.”

  He hit the “End” button and laid the phone to the side. He wished that he was home so he could kiss her good night, but all he had was a box of semi-warm pizza. He got out a slice and sat down in a chair in the corner. Being there kind of reminded him of when he and his buddies would order pizza from the little shop on base and watch a movie. For the first time, he didn’t feel like crawling into a dark hole when he thought of those guys.

  Ginger wished that her old friend at the café hadn’t died so she could call her and tell her everything that had happened in the past two weeks. But then, if she hadn’t passed away, Ginger wouldn’t have left and wouldn’t be where she was right then. She would still be working for tips at the café and wondering how on earth she was going to pay the hospital bill when her baby was delivered.

  She wasn’t sleepy that evening, and she was a little worried about taking Betsy to the doctor the next day, so when the movie ended, she slipped outside to sit on the porch swing. Crickets and tree frogs were having a competition to see which one of them could make the most noise, and a gentle breeze brought the smell of honeysuckle right up to her.

  “Mind if I sit with you a spell?” Flora didn’t wait for an answer but sat down on the other end of the swing.

  “Be glad for the company.” Ginger was startled but quickly regained her composure, “Are you out for your evening walk?”

  “Yep, and I’ve wandered a little farther than usual. Sometimes when I come this far, I just borrow the swing without asking. I just sit here and swing and try to think about things other than a mother that drives me crazy. I know Betsy and her sisters won’t mind because we’ve been friends since we were kids. We were kind of the misfits around these parts,” Flora said.

  “I always made up stories in my mind about my mama,” Ginger told her. “In my stories, she wasn’t anything like the foster mothers, and she always made cookies and had them ready for me when I came home from school. I hope someday I can be a mother like that.”

  “Belle Carson was that kind of mama.” Flora pulled a knee up and retied her shoe. “My mama was the opposite. She’s always been self-centered and never had any time for me. I always envied the Carson girls, and anytime they invited me to their house, I was delighted.”

  Ginger wondered which kind of mother hers would’ve been if she hadn’t died in prison. She and Ginger’s dad had both been into drugs, either using them, selling them, or maybe both, so it wasn’t probable that she would have been a cookie-baking mama. Would her mother have reformed and really cared about Ginger and the baby? she wondered.

  “So your mama didn’t care that you came to the Banty House?” Ginger asked.

  “She didn’t even know where I was most of the time.” Flora shrugged. “She had her television programs that she watched all afternoon and into the night, so I was a bit of a bother.”

  Ginger laid a hand on Flora’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “Honey, I’m sure I didn’t have it as bad as you. At least I wasn’t being shifted around in foster care,” Flora said. “Now, let’s talk about something else. I heard that Edith took out a restraining order on every person in the Banty House. She says that she came here to visit and the Carson sisters tried to kill her. I also heard that Betsy had to spend a night in the hospital over it.”

  “Yep.” Ginger nodded, not really knowing how much to tell. “They got into it when Edith bad-mouthed Belle. Betsy hit her and she kicked Betsy. Seems our new cats got in the way somehow, and anyway, Betsy fell and sprained her arm. She also got stitches in her head.”

  “Dear Lord, what are they going to do about church?” Flora asked.

  “We’re going to go to some over in Hondo starting this Sunday. I don’t want to see Betsy in jail.” Ginger figured saying that much wouldn’t be overstepping her boundaries.

  Flora threw back her head and guffawed. Her laughter was high pitched and so infectious that Ginger couldn’t help but join her, even though she had no idea what was so funny.

  When Flora got herself under control, she raised up her shirt and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Edith has done crapped in her little nest.”

  “What does that mean?” Ginger asked.

  “When we were kids, her daddy was the preacher, and she always said she would marry a man like him, and she did. Then, when her son James came along, she said from the day he was born that he would be the third-generation preacher, and he was. She’s built this nest of preacher men in her family. It takes money to run a church and pay James’s salary, and Belle was the lifeblood of the Rooster church when it came to donations. Her daughters continued what their mother started. Now that Edith has made it so they can’t go to James’s church, they’ll take their money and go elsewhere,” Flora explained.

  “Honey, that air-conditioning and those lights and the maintenance on the building isn’t free. Edith just crapped in her nest, like I said,” she repeated. “Tell Betsy tomorrow that I’d appreciate it if y’all would pick me up on Sunday morning. I’d rather go with you as sit with Edith. I’ll be waitin’ on the bench in front of the old post office.”

  “All right.” Ginger nodded.

  “On that note, I’m going home now. You have a good night.” Flora left as quickly as she had appeared.

  Ginger let the swing stop moving and stood up. She heard a ping on her new phone and pulled it out of her hip pocket to find a text from Sloan: Thinking of you as I fall asleep.

  She sent back a smiley face with hearts where the eyes should be, and went inside and up to her bed with a smile that not even sucking on a lemon could have erased.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Be still and stop wiggling,” Dr. Emerson told Betsy. “I swear to God Himself, you are worse than a kid.”

  “You’re yankin’ me bald-headed,” Betsy told him.

  He lifted the bandage and leaned in close to her. “It’s lookin’ good, and you’re only bald in one little spot. It does look a little like you have the mange, so you would be wise to wear this.” He handed her hat back to her and then looked at her leg and arm.

  “So, can I get rid of this sling and start cooking tomorrow?” she asked.

  “No, you cannot. No lifting for at least two more weeks, and then we’ll take some more X-rays to see how your arm is healing. Old people don’t mend as fast as the young’uns,” he said.

  Ginger patted Betsy on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ll be there to do whatever you want.”

  “What I want is a joint,” Betsy sighed. “It helps me sleep. I didn’t realize how much it helped my arthritis until I couldn’t have it.”

  So that’s why she was so cranky
, Ginger thought. She’s having withdrawal symptoms. For almost sixty years, she’d been growing and smoking the stuff.

  “Who told you that you couldn’t have it?” Ginger asked.

  “I asked a nurse in the ER when they brought me in, and she said definitely not,” Betsy said.

  Doc patted her on the knee. “Honey, if you want a joint before you go to bed each night, then you have one. Just don’t go down stairs or—”

  Betsy reached up and hugged him before he could finish the sentence. “I’ll see to it that Kate tucks in a pint of her strawberry shine next week Monday when I come to get the stitches out.”

  “That will be great,” Doc Emerson said as he took a step back and pulled Ginger’s chart up on his tablet. “Now, young lady, let’s listen to your baby’s heartbeat. Looks like you gained two pounds this week, which is about normal at this point in your pregnancy. We want to keep it below thirty pounds overall if possible.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ginger felt like a cow when she got onto the table and lay back. “I read that walking helps, so I’ve been doing that most evenings.”

  “Good girl.” He put the stethoscope on her tummy and listened for a while, then extended a hand to help her sit up. “Everything looks great. We’ll see you next week. Make an appointment when you leave. And Betsy can have her wacky weed, but you’d best leave it alone.”

  Ginger gave him her best smile. “I quit that and alcohol of any kind when I found out I was pregnant.”

  “That’s great. Liquor and smoking make for underweight babies,” Doc Emerson told her. “Looks to me like you got a good healthy one on the way.”

  “I hope so,” Ginger said.

  “Okay, then I’ll see y’all on Monday for Betsy and then on Thursday for you,” Doc said as he left the room.

  Betsy stood up and moved her hips from side to side. “I get a little taste of weed tonight. Life is good.”