group?” asked Mildred.
Frances shook her head. “No, that might be too threatening. I think one of us should just casually pay a visit like a friendly neighbor. Who wants to go?”
Butch raised his hand.
“No, not you, Butch, it has to be a woman,” said Mildred.
Betty Kitchen said, “Well, I’ll go. I’m not afraid of any man. They fool with me and I’ll sling them into tomorrow and back.”
Dottie, who knew that Betty was not exactly capable of being subtle, said quickly, “I think you should go, Frances. You’re the nicest and least likely to get thrown out.”
The following Sunday, Frances parked her car at the store and walked down the white sandy path in her high heels, carrying a purse on one arm and a large welcome basket on the other, hoping she would live through the day. Throughout the years a variety of people had moved back up in the woods, and her husband had told her it was best to let them alone. Some were hiding from the law and were not very friendly to strangers. They usually stayed awhile, threw trash everywhere, and then moved on. A few years ago, the sheriff’s department had arrested some of them, so there was no telling what she was walking into today. A few moments later she suddenly heard a loud crack, which almost scared her to death. She thought she had been shot. She turned to see Butch, who had been darting back and forth in the woods trailing behind her and had stepped on a branch. “Oh, my God, Butch, what are you doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Still darting, he jumped behind a tree and said in a whisper, “Don’t worry about me, you just go on. I’m here just in case you need me.”
Oh, Lord, she thought. Butch had clearly seen too many movies. She continued on until she reached a clearing and saw a broken-down trailer sitting up on concrete blocks. An old rusted ice box lay on its side in the yard, along with an assortment of worn tires and motorcycle and car parts. As she got closer, some kind of pit-bull-mix dog came rushing toward her, barking furiously, baring his teeth, and straining at his chain. Frances stopped dead in her tracks. In a moment a five-foot-tall fat woman in a tank top and short shorts opened the door, yelled at the dog to shut up, and then saw Frances standing there.
“Hello,” said Frances, trying to sound casual, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I’m Mrs. Frances Cleverdon, and I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment.”
The woman stared at her. “If you’re a bill collector, it won’t do you no good. My husband ain’t here.”
Frances, trying to reassure her, said, “Oh, no, I’m just a neighbor lady come to chat and bring you a little gift.”
The woman shifted her small pig eyes to the basket. “You wanna come in?”
“Yes, thank you.” Frances climbed the concrete steps while the dog leaped up and down and literally foamed at the mouth. The place was a mess. She took note of the empty beer cans on the counter and a box of stale doughnuts. The woman sat down and crossed her enormous white leg with the tattoo of a snake around her equally enormous ankle. After Frances had moved a few things and made a place to sit, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Tammie Suggs.”
“Well, Mrs. Suggs, I really came here today to discuss your little girl.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about her, what did she do? Patsy!” she yelled. “Get out here!”
“No, that’s all right, she didn’t do anything—”
“If she stole something, I ain’t paying for it.”
Patsy appeared from the back of the trailer, looking frightened.
“No. It’s nothing like that, Mrs. Suggs. Hello, Patsy,” she said, and smiled.
Frances leaned forward. “I was hoping we could speak in private.”
The woman turned and said to Patsy, “Get out of here.”
Frances waited until she was gone. “Mrs. Suggs, it’s just that I . . . well, a group of us, actually—have grown very fond of
Frances shook her head. “No, that might be too threatening. I think one of us should just casually pay a visit like a friendly neighbor. Who wants to go?”
Butch raised his hand.
“No, not you, Butch, it has to be a woman,” said Mildred.
Betty Kitchen said, “Well, I’ll go. I’m not afraid of any man. They fool with me and I’ll sling them into tomorrow and back.”
Dottie, who knew that Betty was not exactly capable of being subtle, said quickly, “I think you should go, Frances. You’re the nicest and least likely to get thrown out.”
The following Sunday, Frances parked her car at the store and walked down the white sandy path in her high heels, carrying a purse on one arm and a large welcome basket on the other, hoping she would live through the day. Throughout the years a variety of people had moved back up in the woods, and her husband had told her it was best to let them alone. Some were hiding from the law and were not very friendly to strangers. They usually stayed awhile, threw trash everywhere, and then moved on. A few years ago, the sheriff’s department had arrested some of them, so there was no telling what she was walking into today. A few moments later she suddenly heard a loud crack, which almost scared her to death. She thought she had been shot. She turned to see Butch, who had been darting back and forth in the woods trailing behind her and had stepped on a branch. “Oh, my God, Butch, what are you doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Still darting, he jumped behind a tree and said in a whisper, “Don’t worry about me, you just go on. I’m here just in case you need me.”
Oh, Lord, she thought. Butch had clearly seen too many movies. She continued on until she reached a clearing and saw a broken-down trailer sitting up on concrete blocks. An old rusted ice box lay on its side in the yard, along with an assortment of worn tires and motorcycle and car parts. As she got closer, some kind of pit-bull-mix dog came rushing toward her, barking furiously, baring his teeth, and straining at his chain. Frances stopped dead in her tracks. In a moment a five-foot-tall fat woman in a tank top and short shorts opened the door, yelled at the dog to shut up, and then saw Frances standing there.
“Hello,” said Frances, trying to sound casual, “I hope I’m not bothering you. I’m Mrs. Frances Cleverdon, and I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment.”
The woman stared at her. “If you’re a bill collector, it won’t do you no good. My husband ain’t here.”
Frances, trying to reassure her, said, “Oh, no, I’m just a neighbor lady come to chat and bring you a little gift.”
The woman shifted her small pig eyes to the basket. “You wanna come in?”
“Yes, thank you.” Frances climbed the concrete steps while the dog leaped up and down and literally foamed at the mouth. The place was a mess. She took note of the empty beer cans on the counter and a box of stale doughnuts. The woman sat down and crossed her enormous white leg with the tattoo of a snake around her equally enormous ankle. After Frances had moved a few things and made a place to sit, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Tammie Suggs.”
“Well, Mrs. Suggs, I really came here today to discuss your little girl.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about her, what did she do? Patsy!” she yelled. “Get out here!”
“No, that’s all right, she didn’t do anything—”
“If she stole something, I ain’t paying for it.”
Patsy appeared from the back of the trailer, looking frightened.
“No. It’s nothing like that, Mrs. Suggs. Hello, Patsy,” she said, and smiled.
Frances leaned forward. “I was hoping we could speak in private.”
The woman turned and said to Patsy, “Get out of here.”
Frances waited until she was gone. “Mrs. Suggs, it’s just that I . . . well, a group of us, actually—have grown very fond of
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