The Pecan Man(9)

His friends, to this point standing in silence, began to laugh uneasily, too. I called them each by name.

“Donnie Allred. You old enough to be treated like a man?”

“Yes’m, I reckon I am.”

“Then you don’t need any candy, now do you?”

“No ma’am, I don’t reckon I do.”

“Allen Madison. You old enough to be treated like a man?”

“My daddy don’t think so.” He elbowed Skipper, who was the only one of the four who no longer laughed.

“James Robert Hardy, you old enough to be treated like a man?”

Allen answered for him. “Jimbo’s still in diapers, Miz Beckworth. I think he should still get some candy.”

Jimbo turned and walked away. “Come on, y’all. Let’s get outta here.”

Skipper didn’t move, nor take his eyes from mine. The other three boys turned and laughed their way down the sidewalk, pushing and heckling each other, no doubt wondering what had gotten into this crazy old lady. Skipper stayed put.

“You got something to say to me, son?”

“I could ask the same of you.” His voice held more contempt than fear. I stood my ground anyway.

“Are you asking, Mr. Kornegay?”

Silence.

“I didn’t think so.”

Knowing what he had done to Grace, I probably should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. Skipper was defiant, but puzzled. It occurred to me that he had not made the connection between Grace and me. I wanted to confront him right there. Wanted to call his daddy and tell him to come pick up his deviant son and do something about him. But my loyalty was to Blanche and I bit my tongue.

I stared at him for several minutes until, finally, he fidgeted a bit and looked away. I pulled a handful of candy from the bucket and tossed them on the ground at Skipper’s feet.

“Here’s your candy, boy.”

I turned my back on him and went into the house, flipping the porch light off as I did. Moments later I heard the clatter of wrapped candy hitting the front window like hail. I don’t know when he left or which direction he went. I went to bed and picked up the candy the next day.

By the time we started making preparations for Thanksgiving, Blanche’s entire family had gotten used to the changes in our relationship. It wasn’t unusual now for Blanche’s twins, ReNetta and Danita, to show up of an afternoon, just to do their homework on the front porch or watch T.V., which they didn’t have at home. Patrice had made the cheerleading squad at the high school, so she was no longer home in the afternoon to watch them anyway.

One of the mixed blessings of living on Main Street is having a front row seat for all of the local parades. I never tired of seeing the homemade floats made from chicken wire stuffed with colorful paper napkins. And, though the very thought of having a child of my own in a beauty pageant sent me into fits of revulsion, I secretly enjoyed waving at the little girls perched on the backs of sporty convertibles. I could even forgive the mothers who dressed them in layers of tulle and satin, curled their hair into tiny ringlets and plastered their sweet faces with enough makeup for three grown women when I thought about how wonderful it must feel to be a princess for a day.

The closest I ever came was the day I was married. That went by so quickly that, when you factor in my nerves, I was left with not much more than a long list of do's and don'ts and thank you notes etched in my memory of the event.

This year's homecoming parade was particularly exciting for the girls. Patrice would be leading the Mayville High Cheerleading Squad. I helped take up her uniform at the beginning of the year. The skirt was a little short, but I have to admit Patrice was striking in it. Her long dark legs contrasted beautifully with the orange and white pleats of the skirt and she carried her willowy body with extraordinary grace. She was then and remains today, a simply beautiful girl.

Blanche's children had seen many a parade from the porch of my house, but never one with their own sister in such a prominent role. They had school banners to wave and spent hours practicing the chants they'd watched Patrice learn at the beginning of the season.

The parade started at 4:00 p.m. on Homecoming Friday. The game would start at 7:00 that night, but none of us would be going. I think Blanche always wanted to go see Patrice cheer, but I imagine the thought of negotiating those wooden bleachers was enough to give her pause. We were all excited for the opportunity to see her in action.

Blanche put on a pot roast for supper and settled us on the porch with sweet tea, Kool-aid and popcorn. The fall weather was perfect for a parade. I do not ever experience the metamorphosis of summer to fall without hearing the distant sound of marching bands and police sirens in my head.

I should have been prepared, should have thought ahead to what might happen but, as usual, I didn't and the day was nearly ruined before it even got off to a good start.

First in line in every hometown parade is always the police chief, followed by squad cars of various officers not on duty at the time.

Blanche had gone in to check the roast. Danita and ReNetta were standing on the sidewalk, with Gracie hopping about on the flat stoops at the base of the columns flanking the porch steps. She might not have even looked up if Ralph Kornegay hadn't chosen the moment he passed our house to flip on his blaring siren. Gracie squealed and covered her ears, then craned her neck to see the source of the commotion. There, waving from the front seat of his father's squad car, sat Skipper Kornegay, his white hair gleaming in the low pitch of the afternoon sun.