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A Little Supper Row
by Cesca Janece Waterfield Sure enough, supper was over before bread pudding. Margaret had spent the early part of afternoon preparing and the table was set by the bay window. It was not yet fall but the sky was heavy over the Rappahannock River and whitecaps broke the surface from Saluda to Tappahannock. For this generation, the turbulence was just to admire. Rough water was not daunting. The Lawworths hadn't been watermen since Fulton Scott Lawworth high tailed it into the Marine Corps during the Korean War and then through a series of night school classes culminating twelve years later in a college degree. After retirement, he only liked dawn's early light in patriotic songs and took a job in janitorial sales, leaving the crab pots and oyster dregs to his brothers and daddy. He still visited the rivah, but these days his fingers were wrapped around a cold can of beer instead of the tackle line that generations of his people snapped and tugged. Margaret had his beer today. She stood back from the table and dipped her head as she noted each item in place. Basket for the hot rolls, butter stick on a saucer plate, dish of chou chou, potato salad, green vegetable, ham, and he'd drink milk with supper. She heard the door open and the low rumble of male voices and heavy boots. Fulton had brought his cousin Bernard, which everyone pronounced Burn-udd. Hello, Peggy, Fulton used her girlhood name. He leaned in to embrace his sister. Burn-udd nodded at Margaret and said, How you. Mighty nice lunch looks like. Bernard, now you have a seat. Fulton swept out his arm to indicate the chair for Bernard. Margaret, I believe Bernard and me are about ready for a beer. They sat down and Margaret pulled the hot rolls from the oven, wrapped them in the same linen cloth they were using as napkins. She moved between the two men ensuring everyone had plenty to eat. While the men were chewing in between talk about John Deere's 9500 and 9550, Margaret sat down over her own plate. So Peggy, Fulton said, then washed down his food with a swallow of beer. So do they know what's wrong with Evie? Margaret looked at the bowl of potato salad in front of her while she finished chewing, swallowed, and looked at Fulton. She just needs some tests, maybe some work done. Well, I just don't understand why she couldn't get seen here, say, Mary Washington. What's wrong with Mary Washington, he raised his can of beer toward Bernard, who was cutting ham on his plate. Bernard winked one eye and nodded silently, That's right. His mama had taken her last breaths in a bed at Mary Washington Hospital. All the way in South Carolina. Don't make good sense. That's where she goes to school, Fulton. Fulton guffawed. Margaret looked at Bernard and said, She loves it there. Bernard shrugged and speared some more green vegetable. Fightin Gamecocks are pretty good. One weekend Evie had showed up with a Go Gamecocks! sticker on the rear windshield of her Escort. When she went out to her car later meet up with friends, her sticker had been covered up with duct tape. Her daddy stood out in the shed. I just don't know what people might think, Evie. I just don't. Well, love has nothing to do with it. She's there to work not love. They were quiet for a bit while everyone tried to make room for more. Fulton said, What exactly does the doctor in South Carolina say? Dr. Mazaltarim – Dr. Who? Fulton looked over at Bernard and the two men laughed. Bernard shook his head. He liked it here. Dr. Mazaltarim says it's just that Evie needs to - to - adapt her patterns of thinking. Fulton's eyes were crinkled, he looked like he smelled something. He sat listening to Margaret, his left hand on his waist, his right hand covering the blue ribbon on the can. Of thinking? What exactly are you saying, Peggy? Fulton looked over at Bernard. Did anybody know? Evie is very spiritual, Fulton. She's a very. Margaret looked at her hands. I only just talked to the psychiatrist but I think - Psychiatrist! You didn't tell me that, Margaret! Fulton stood up, his linen napkin stuck to his groin. You did not say that. Margaret reached for her iced tea glass to gesture that everything was fine. Fulton stood primitively, even the napkin resembled a fig leaf on primordial man. It was sliding down now. Fulton snatched it from his lap and threw it on the table. The nuthouse, Margaret. Say it. He enunciated precisely: Ev-ie is in the nut-house. Fulton nodded farewell to the two motionless faces at table and said with encouragement, I'd rather see her in a cathouse. He took his hat from the peg and stepped through the door. As the sky's geese struggled in V formation over the soybean field, he muttered to no one, Well, I always knew that one would go far. Sure enough. Inside Peggy and Bernard sat. Bernard was still chewing, but he swallowed, stood up and wiped his beard. Margaret was looking at her plate. She hadn't touched much. I sure do 'preciate it. I tell you. Burn-udd nodded his head back and forth. Margaret rose and took his rough hand. You come back anytime. She kissed the man on his cheek and walked him to the door.We'll do it again real soon. Real soon, now. Back
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