Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) Read online

  Saturday afternoon I hadn’t found the strength to shower and nursed an ice water from a straw. The only energy I mustered came from shifting my butt, so it didn’t go completely numb in Macy’s black beanbag. Katie Lee lounged in her floral robe and debriefed us on the latest in the Nash-car-accident turned trespassing-forgery-saga.

  “Y’all, Daddy’s not pressin’ charges. Nash went over to our house and apologized. He’s goin’ to wash and wax our cars and boats to pay for the grief and minor damage he caused at the house. The entire misunderstanding has been forgotten.”

  I stared at Katie Lee in wonderment. Did she make this stuff up? A car wreck that involved detectives from the police department, patrol cars at the 7-Eleven, a pharmacist, and Dr. Brown’s office receptionist. How could Katie Lee and her parents’ brush the incident aside?

  When Katie Lee’s updates wound down, my eyes hung on her in a hypnotic stare. I wasn’t sure of an appropriate response and an uncomfortable silence clouded Macy’s room.

  Macy drenched a cotton ball with polish remover and offered her two cents of insightful feedback. “That’s fucked up.”

  I laid my head back and closed my eyes. “You need to find another boyfriend.”

  I LAUNDERED MY BEDDING every Monday, whereas Katie Lee was of the do-laundry-when-you-run-out-of-clean-underwear mindset. She hadn’t developed a relationship with the basement washing machines and electric dryers since we arrived and her closet floor held an avalanche of clothes. I suspected she regarded her underwear as reversible.

  Frustrated that I wasn’t in a regular party scene and hadn’t met a selection of available guys, except Hugh, I slumped around our dorm room and smoked cigarettes. After squaring the corners of my freshly laundered sheet, I sprawled on my bed and told Katie Lee, “Waves of guilt wash over me regarding my newly acquired habit of nicotine consumption.”

  Huddled over her notebook, with her back to me, Katie Lee wrapped her ankles around her desk chair legs. “Fortunately your memory becomes a blank slate when you pick up a lighter.”

  I bent a row of matches back before I ripped one out.“The nagging conscience I possess is the kind that only extremely crafty PUs are capable of instilling in their children, even though they are physically hundreds of miles away.”

  “Come on, Rachael. You feel guilty even though your mother’s in Sedona? She hasn’t even called. Her behavior doesn’t exactly set an example.”

  “Maybe it’s because Mom’s gone. Like I should be the model student, perfectly behaved otherwise I’ll end up like her, chasing illusions.”

  Pretending to have a spasm, I dropped to the floor and winced. “PTT, Parental – Telepathy - Transmission coming through.”

  The slim white filter I placed between my lips bobbed like a teeter-totter as I spoke. I pointed to it. “I have a love-hate relationship with these. Damn. Two transmissions. One from Ohio--and another which pisses me off, from Arizona.”

  Without glancing up from the love letter she penned to Nash, Katie Lee asked, “What’re they telling ya?”

  “It’s serious. I can’t shake the image. I’m being escorted by the earlobe into the order of ‘The Nuns of Perpetual Silence’ for permanent residence to refurbish Bibles--forever.”

  Capping the pen, Katie Lee licked the back of a lavender envelope. “Damn Rachael, where do you come up with this stuff?”

  I didn’t have an answer.

  She relocated her backside on the edge of my desk and bummed a Benson and Hedges slim cigarette from an open pack. “Next weekend is New Bern’s high school homecoming football game. Wanna come? All my girlfriends will be there. It’ll be a blast, and I’ve found someone to drive us.”

  “Who,” I asked.

  “Hugh.”

  “The guy from the Holiday Inn who wore a beer down his pants?”

  She nodded. “He’s headed to his dad’s house in Wilmington, and he’ll drop us off along the way. My mom will pick us up from Warsaw.”

  More than once, Katie Lee droned on about how her hometown on the coast “is an official historic North Carolina tourist location, founded in 1710.” She would ramble, “New Bern is the second oldest town in North Carolina with over one-hundred-fifty landmarks-some dating to the eighteenth century.” She also swore it was a hell of a place to party.

  Katie Lee liked drama, her boyfriend was proof, and she had a tendency to exaggerate. I suspected she added umph to the New Bern fun factor attributes, but it didn’t matter. I kept my expectations low. Going away for a relaxing weekend, eating normal food, and getting ahead on my studies were my only requirements. “I’d love to visit New Bern,” I told her and meant it.

  KATIE LEE AND I WERE meeting Hugh in half an hour. My head was in the clouds and I’d dawdled outside my Friday Psychology class feeling bittersweet. Wait until I told the girls. Mystery man has been behind my back, literally, since day one. The lecture hall I’d left had over two-hundred students and I always sat near the front of the auditorium, away from the arctic air conditioning vents. Plus, I liked to decipher the scribbly notes the professor etched on the board in case they ended up on a test. Today I had a Where’s Waldo sighting. The hot guy in the green jacket that I’d spotted at the Holiday Inn freakin’ sits in the nose bleed section. On the plus side, I didn’t see any tall, blue-eyed redheads near him. Maybe someone had the foresight to lock her in a padded room. Now, I just had to figure out if hot guy and She-Devil were involved.

  HUGH DROVE HIS POOP-COLORED rusted Datsun hatchback well below the speed limit the entire trip. He and Katie Lee carried on a conversation in the front seats of the car, which I couldn’t hear above the busted muffler that hummed in my ears. Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward to avoid the cracked, plaid-plastic upholstery stuffing that pricked at my shoulder and the underside of my knees. The gray duct tape that held the passenger door together had lost its money back guaranteed adhesive-stick, and I listened to shredded strips flap like a flag in high winds. Driving above fifty would’ve left generous mementos, in the form of vital engine parts on highways across the state, so neither Katie Lee nor I complained to granny-snail-speed behind the wheel.

  By the time Mrs. Brown picked us up, an hour outside of New Bern, daylight had succumbed to dusk. The trip across the state took four excruciating hours, and Katie Lee complained, “As sweet as Hugh is, his car is a dump. We’re lucky we made it to meet my mom.”

  Mrs. Brown had a heavy foot, and in no time, her headlights reflected past magnolia trees to a detached garage. I stepped out of the car, and inhaled a pine tree, woodsy smell. Clustered like matchsticks, the dried needles formed a carpet along the berm. Soft churns of rippling water lapped the shore and a night owl called.

  “Come on y’all,” Mrs. Brown said. “Let’s get inside.”

  Gas porch lights flickered on a two-story brick home. Moss baskets draped with beech-ferns and vinca-vine hung between half a dozen columns on an elevated porch. Rushing past a pair of high back plantation rocking chairs, Katie Lee moved inside the front door. I stopped to admire the handmade needlepoint bolster pillows and watched the rockers sway in harmony with the night breeze. Mrs. Brown rested her hand on my shoulder. She whispered, “Late at night, I sit here to rest my bare feet on the floorboards and ponder. It’s my favorite spot.”

  I turned to her. “If I take one of these chairs for a test rock, I may never go back to school.”

  “Hey Daddy,” Katie Lee shouted above hound howls. Dr. Brown’s neck rested against a soft leather recliner in the living room. I guessed the two furry companions with droopy ears had kept his feet warm until we arrived. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and planted a kiss on the peak of his graying hair before cooing the dogs that stuck their wet noses into her knees. “Okay Uncle, okay Sims. Settle down.”

  Folding what looked like a medical periodical, Dr. Brown stood and hugged Katie Lee. I’d briefly met him the first day on campus, and he was dressed exactly the same, khaki pants with pressed creases down the center.
He probably rotated between dark polo shirts in the winter and bright ones in the summer. Tucking the folded paper he held between the arm of the chair and the cushion, he greeted me, “Well hey there, Rachael.”

  “Y’all must be hungry,” Mrs. Brown said. “Come on into the kitchen, I have crab cakes and slaw waiting.”

  Mrs. Brown liked decorative plates, and Dr. Brown killed furry things. Both their tastes merged in a display on the high shelf that wrapped around the eat-in kitchen.

  “Mama, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I hope you don’t mind, we have to eat and run otherwise we’ll miss the game.”

  Pulling the crab cakes from a warming drawer, Mrs. Brown placed them on a Lazy Susan. She offered me a clear ketchup bottle with pink sauce. “It’s my secret recipe. Puts kick in your crab cakes.”

  “Daddy, I still get the van tonight, right?” Katie Lee confirmed. She’d told me that her dad was particular about who drove the van and normally only used the vehicle for special occasions and on road trips. Tonight Katie Lee had volunteered to chauffeur. She told her parents, “I’m picking up a few friends, and there’s more room in the cruiser.”

  Mrs. Brown lowered her red-rimmed glasses down the bridge of her nose. “What friends, exactly, are y’all drivin’?”

  “The usual. Patsy, Shelby, and Addie.”

  With piercing eyes, Dr. Brown told Katie Lee, “No Nash. Understood?”

  “Oh Daddy, he’s old business.” That was news to me.

  “Alright then,” Dr. Brown said. “Drive safe and don’t be too late.”

  A PLASTIC ODOR CLUNG to the van interior and a light dust coated the dashboard. Clicking the power window switch, I let river air subdue the upholstery smell. “We’ll pick up Patsy first. You’ve probably heard me talk about her. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade. She’s a senior at New Bern High.”

  Riding around in a van full of girls didn’t hold much promise for meeting guys and partying. I figured we’d go to the football game and then end up on someone’s porch, shooting the shit. I guessed I’d shadow Katie Lee as she caught up with her high school friends. I’d try not to be the clingy roommate, but not knowing anyone in New Bern, that could prove to be a challenge. Not my idea of a killer night, but it was better than staring at dorm room walls.

  A mile from her house, Katie Lee eased off the gas and glided into an oyster shell-covered driveway that popped and cracked under the van tires. Headlights illuminated Patsy McCoy. Wisps of honey-streaked hair entwined her thin gold loop earrings, and she wore a silk scarf as a headband. Patsy’s patchwork denim skirt had been several pairs of Levi’s in a prior life. Leaning on a mermaid mailbox, she impatiently tapped a flip-flopped foot. Uncrossing her arms, she uncovered a peace sign logo on a tie-dye tee.

  “Patsy,” Katie Lee said. “Rachael.”

  Patsy slammed the door shut. “Y’all are late. What happened?”

  Katie Lee had never fully depressed the brake and the van lurched when shifted into reverse. “Lord, Patsy, our ride, as sweet as he was, drove below the speed limit the entire way home is what happened. Then Mama went and made crab cakes. The table was set. We couldn’t leave.”

  Holding her hand on her heart, Patsy’s gaped her mouth open. “With the pink sauce?”

  “Rachael and I are wrecked. The trip took an hour n’ twenty longer than it should’ve. Hugh’s car isn’t road trip safe. We’re not ridin’ with him on Sunday.”

  “Katie Lee, how are we going to get back?”

  “You just leave that to me.”

  Patsy unzipped her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Pick up Shelby next. Leslie is over at Addie’s. I told Trish, Sarah, and Delany we’d be there in twenty.”

  “Patsy, no smoking in the van. If Daddy smells tobacco, he’ll make us look at x-rays of lung cancer patients again.”

  Katie Lee may as well have driven a oversized yellow bus. Lost in a maze of names and conversations, I decided to stop paying attention to the body count at the fifth driveway. I knew there were enough girls in the back to clear a drug store’s shelves of lip-gloss and hair spray. With the van seating at capacity, Katie Lee pulled into the 7-Eleven.

  Sucking on an unlit cigarette, Patsy held out her hand. “Everyone who wants BJ’s, pitch in a five.”

  “Sounds good. I’m in,” voices mumbled.

  Handing five singles to the back of the van, BJ, I thought, didn’t sound right. I’d lived in North Carolina for a month and still found myself confused when a southerner spewed slang, tall tales, colloquialisms or idioms. “So,” I asked Katie Lee, “they’re getting BJ’s?”

  “And cigarettes,” she told me.

  I still didn’t have a clue what my five dollar donation would be purchasing.

  Two girls left the van and moments later, a rap, rap, rap noise startled me. They climbed back in and emptied paper bags in the middle of the seats. Patsy handed me a green glass bottle with a silver label. “Rach, you like Bartel & James wine coolers, right?”

  Katie Lee spun the driver seat around. “Y’all, listen up. I’m drinking. Who’s gonna drive?”

  Moments lingered between whispers. Without a volunteer, we were stuck at the 7-Eleven until I heard Patsy grumble about already having missed the first half of the football game. She called out, “Move over.” Yielding her wine cooler to an open hand in the back, she clambered her way into the driver seat and turned the ignition over. “Ladies, to the high school football field.”

  Sitting in the front with Patsy, I listened to gossip and guy-scoop from Chapel Hill, Meredith College, and NC State, but if tested on who said what, I’d fail miserably. Katie Lee relaxed her no cigarette rule, as long as the girls exhaled out the window.

  A hand from behind passed a makeup bag forward. “This is for Patsy.”

  Stuffing the small case between her legs, she unzipped it with one hand and pulled out a bowl and a palm-size baggie of hooch. Patsy had the gift of ambidexterity. She could steer with either her left or right while she packed the pipe. For an encore, she lifted both hands off the steering wheel and drove with her knees so she could light up.

  “Are you okay there?” I asked.

  Patsy sucked the pipe and ballooned the sweet smoke in her lungs. She exhaled out the open window. “I’m great. Want some?”

  I found it curious that Katie Lee wouldn’t drink and drive, but it was okay for Patsy to inhale and drive. I’d never smoked weed. It was on my “to do,” list, but I thought it best not to stink up the Brown’s van. I didn’t want Dr. Brown lecturing me on the hazards of inhaling. I declined with a nod. “I’m good.”

  I noticed Patsy’s post-pot driver foot power through three yellow lights. Beneath the traffic lights, she licked two fingers and stuck them onto the carpeted roof above her head. “What’s the saliva finger thing all about?”

  She informed me, “It’s good luck to lick and stick under a yellow light.”

  When we entered a residential neighborhood, she executed two stop sign roll-bys. I would’ve been more comfortable in the back where I couldn’t see Patsy’s navigational finesse flash before my eyes. Since I was trapped in the cockpit, I reached behind the visor flap and familiarized myself with state maps.

  Oak trees framed the underside of an illuminated stadium where autumn leaves had gathered between the parked cars. Patsy drove up and down the aisles looking for an open spot. “Crap y’all, we’re late, and there’s no parkin’.”

  Turning a fast, not-wide-enough left, we heard a CRUNCH-SMASH noise and Patsy locked her eyes with mine.

  “Shit y’all,” someone shouted. “Was that a fender bender?”

  Another voice sent a newsflash. “I see a hunk of metal lying on the ground back there.”

  The hairs on my arm stood straight, and I thought three lick and sticks had been overkill. The third one probably jinxed us. Midway down the aisle, Patsy put the van in park, and everyone piled out. As we assessed the situation, no one seemed to be around, and the noise
from the cheering crowd stayed contained inside the stadium. After a pause, the consensus of our huddled group became: What crunch? What noise? Fender? I don’t see a fender lying in the parking lot without a car attached to it.

  In a serious tone, Katie Lee professed, “Y’all, what just happened, didn’t happen.”

  My internal bells and whistles blared. I worked hard to block an urgent PTT – parental-telepathy-transmission. Not wanting to create a confrontation or add to the drama, I quickly rationalized: It’s their town. It’s Katie Lee’s van. These girls must know what they’re doing.

  The dozen girls from inside the van who’d been witnesses were eager to move away from the accident and scattered like fiddler crabs beneath the rising tide. Patsy, Katie Lee and I found a distant parking spot and examined the van under the haze of a street lamp.

  From the curb, Patsy and I watched Katie Lee pace. “They’re a few nicks along the side,” she said to herself. “No big dents or missing parts. When the van is in the garage, the scratches will face the wall. No one will notice.”

  Katie Lee had mentioned that New Bern is a hell of a place to party, and I found myself wondering if she meant to say, “New Bern is a hell of a place to get arrested.” Her “No one will notice,” proclamation was ostrich-head-in-the-sand bullshit. Someone could go to jail. It had better not be me.

  NOTE TO SELF

  Katie Lee’s home is over the top southern. If I were from New Bern, I’d brag about it.

  BJ. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a wine cooler brand.

  Hit n’ run fantasy –- Imagine it never happened. My gut tells me that’s highly unlikely.

  6

  Deer Steaks And Bathtub Dew, Who Knew?