Chapter 4

The burgers at Sassy’s were truly delicious. The flavors of the Picking’s Sodas were unusual; Maryse decided she just had to see what a blueberry soda tasted like and after some deliberation, Stevie decided on an Apple soda.

Halfway through the meal, Maryse cast a furtive glance around the crowded restaurant. As far as she could tell, no one was paying them any attention. Leaning forward, she whispered to Stevie that she had something to tell the girl.

“Maryse, you fixing tell me you’re gay?” Stevie asked, voice a little too loud for Maryse’s comfort.

“I, uh, I, yeah, uh yes,” Maryse stammered, flustered.

“Shit. I, God, is, is everyone all of a sudden…” Stevie snapped.

Maryse felt the sting of tears at Stevie’s reaction. Numbly, she continued eating while Stevie angrily chomped her way through her meal. Just after the waitress dropped the check onto the table, Stevie apologized.

“It’s just that, I mean, shit. I’m friendly, you know? I got to be; I need them tips,” Stevie said. “Don’t mean I want to fuck all y’all.”

“No, no, I, it, it’s all right,” Maryse said, grabbing the check.

The summer semester kept Maryse pretty busy; she’d signed up for nine hours. In truth, Maryse was glad she’d decided to go to the summer semester. The classes were shorter because there was only seven weeks of actual class, and it gave her the opportunity to learn the campus at a somewhat leisurely pace.

She also saw several students riding bicycles to school. The third time she filled her car with gas, Maryse shook her head in disgust.

“That is a beautiful bike,” Maryse commented to an attractive African-American girl one morning as she prepared to enter a building.

“Thanks,” the girl smiled, taking her helmet off and shaking her beautiful mop of dreadlocks free. “Got it over at that um, that, that cash for gold pawn shop over there on Conner.”

That particular pawn shop didn’t have anything worth looking at. The one in Flowers had an impressive array of nearly every style of bicycle and Maryse managed to pick up a well-maintained 21 speed shiny red bicycle for a very fair price. But she did see that skirts and dresses would be somewhat impractical for cycling if she cared to maintain her modesty.

The Ministry of Faith shop sold her an impressive selection of pretty slacks, cute shorts, and even a pair of racy black jeans. The jeans had strategic cut-outs along the legs of the jeans and Maryse loved the button-fly closure. With a soft pink lace top and her white sneakers, Maryse saw that she still portrayed a soft, feminine image.

At eleven forty three that evening, her cell phone rang, waking her from a deep, contented slumber. She fumbled to locate the damned buzzing, chiming cell phone, knocking it to the floor. Finally locating the phone, she saw that she now had a message.

The St. Ann Parish fire Department apparently cut a severly intoxicated Albert Boudreaux from his brand new F150 pickup truck. When the St. Elizabeth Parish Trauma Center released him, the St. Ann Parish Police Department then took custody of him.

“Sorry, Dad,” Maryse sniffled, deleting Albert’s belligerent demands that Maryse come and bail him out. “You’re on your own.”

At ten nineteen the following morning, a Carter Fullilove left a short message on Maryse’s phone, letting her know Albert had retained his services. Upon getting out of class, Maryse returned the lawyer’s telephone call and let the man know she would not be responsible for her irresponsible father.

“Mm, I see,” Carter said tersely.

“Mr. Fullilove, my father’s a drunk,” Maryse said bluntly. “He’s in jail? He won’t be running over some kids on their bicycles or crashing into someone’s Aunt Mary. So, leave him in jail. Maybe they can sober him up.”

“Very good,” Carter said, not looking forward to telling the antagonistic and argumentative man he would not be representing him.

With a determined stride, Maryse went to her next class. Her face and her stance might be hard, but inside, she was confused; was she doing the right thing?

The few times Maryse stopped off at Clark’s, Stevie was friendly. So was Gabby. But Maryse felt some barrier or wall had been erected between herself and the beautiful blonde. Gabby did not have any walls up, but she did wear a knowing smirk whenever she and Maryse chatted.

In August, Maryse was scraping the last granules of laundry detergent from the economy sized box. Pulling the box down to discard of it, Maryse saw the two small light green plastic buckets on the shelf. A stab of nostalgia washed over her as she looked at those two light green buckets.

It was always the last weekend before school. She and Aunt Mary would take those buckets and march into the back yard. They would pick the blueberries from the long row of blueberry bushes that bordered the yard.

When she was young, it took all day Saturday. Then, Saturday night, they would bake two blueberry pies. One was to eat after supper, the other was to take home to her mommy. On Sunday morning, her last morning with Aunt Mary before going home and getting ready for another school year, Aunt Mary would make blueberry pancakes and blueberry syrup.

“Aunt Mary, I…” Maryse sobbed, affectionately clutching the two buckets to her chest.

A sudden flash entered her mind. In truth, she’d not even thought of the attractive blonde and her two adorable twin girls since leaving the Ministry of Faith thrift shop a few months ago. But Maryse thought to herself that two four year old girls would probably love picking blueberries.

“And making blueberry pies,” Maryse smiled, putting the two buckets onto the shelf again.

Entering the small building, Maryse glanced around. She felt a stab of disappointment, even though she knew that the likelihood of seeing the blonde mother and the two girls shopping the Ministry Of Faith at that very moment was extremely unlikely, she had hoped that somehow they would be here.

“Hi! Help you?” an old woman asked.

“Oh shoot! I, I don’t even remember their names,” Maryse said. “Wait, wait, it was kind of unusual.”

“Ma’am?” the woman asked, eyebrow cocked at Maryse’s blathering.

“The other day, oh okay, about two months ago, I was in here,” Maryse said.

“If it’s not still on the shelf or rack…” the woman started, sensing Maryse was about to ask about an item she’d seen two months ago.

“Huh? No, no, there was a woman and she had her two girls with her,” Maryse said. “Um, one of them was named, they were twins. Once was named Alisa Dmitry, No, Alisa Carter and the other was Elmira or something like that. I didn’t get the woman’s name.”

“You mean, that stripper?” the woman sneered, her disapproval evident.

“Ms. Young,” another woman said, voice hard.

“What? That’s what she is,” Ms. Young snapped. “Dancing around like a floozy, showing off her flesh…”

“Ms. Young, thank you. I don’t believe we’ll be needing your assistance any longer,” the other woman said, stepping to the cash register. “Miss? I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a friend’s information.”

“Oh! You, you’re friends with her?” Maryse asked, delighted. “So, you could give her my…”

“Ma’am, that’s what we call everyone who shops here,” the woman smiled indulgently.

“Oh,” Maryse said, deflated. “It’s just that, I mean, those two girls were just so adorable and I’ve got some blueberry bushes and…”

“If you remember their names, have you tried Facebook?” the woman suggested. “A lot of people use that social media stuff these days. Personally? I don’t understand a bit of it, but…”

“Ah!” Maryse gasped and dashed out of the store.

“That’s what she is; she’s nothing but a whore,” Ms. Young was still complaining as she too left the store.

“Katya! Katya Carter,” Maryse said, finding the Facebook page.

She sent a message to the young woman, reminding the beautiful blonde about meeting her and her two girls in the Ministry of Faith store. Then she told Katya about her blueberry bushes, and how it had always been a tradition with her and her aunt; picking blueberries just before the summer officially came to an end for the two of them.

Maryse squealed with delight when her cell phone rang two hours after sending the message.

“Hi! This Katya?” she asked.

“HiMissMarysethisisAlisayougotsomeblueberrybushesandwesupposedpickblueberries?” a little girl’s voice squealed into Maryse’s ear.

“Yes! We’re supposed pick a million blueberries!” Maryse said happily.

“A million!” Alisa shrieked.

“Nuh uh!” Elmira gasped. “Miss Maryse! We just little girls! We can’t…”

“Oh I bet you can,” Maryse said.

“Hi! I don’t know if you can tell, but they are just dying to pick blueberries,” Katya laughed.

They made plans to come over for lunch the next day; Katya had to work that evening. Maryse made no comment about Katya’s place of employment. After all, she didn’t know if that woman, if Miss Young was right or not. Then, after lunch, they would grab their little green buckets and start on picking a million blueberries.

Maryse cautioned Katya to dress the girls, and herself in clothing that could withstand getting stained. She assured them, no matter how careful they were, they would get stained.

“And then, after we’re done? We’ll make a blueberry pie for after supper and one for y’all to take home,” Maryse promised.

“A blueberry pie?” Katya said and two little girls cheered. “Well then! You two little kittens better not lose your mittens.”

“Mittens?” Maryse asked over the girls’ squeals and giggles.

“These two little kittens, they lost their mittens and they shall have no pie,” Katya reminded Maryse of the old nursery rhyme.

“Oh my goodness!” Maryse laughed.

After ending their phone call, Maryse drove to the grocery store and bought the fixings for hot dogs and chili; the perfect summer food. She also grabbed a good sized watermelon; it would not be a perfect summer day without a cold watermelon in the afternoon. They could sit on the back porch and practice spitting watermelon seeds.

“Laundry detergent, you goof,” Maryse reminded herself, grabbing the giant box from the bottom shelf.

Even though the tee shirt and shorts were stained, what her Aunt Mary would have deemed ‘grubby,’ Maryse wore a pretty bra and matching panties underneath. She carefully cleaned the two buckets. On a whim, she checked the chest freezer in the garage.

“Well, speaking of a million blueberries!” Maryse said, seeing the sealed packages of blueberries from last year’s mini-harvest.

At eleven thirty the next morning, a small car came to a stop in front of the house. Maryse looked through the kitchen window when she heard the car; there was not much traffic on this street. She laughed happily as she saw two adorable little blondes spill out of the rear seat. They were followed by a blonde beauty and all three were smiling widely as they traipsed up the driveway.

“Hi!” Maryse called out, excited.

“Hi Miss Maryse!” Alisa squealed.

“Hi, Miss Maryse!” Elmira echoed.

“Hi! Oh I am just so happy you’re here! See, there is just no way I could pick all them blueberries without your help,” Maryse said, letting them enter the living room of her home.

“Oh, well, they are ready to help,” Katya smiled.

“Oh? And what about you, Mommy? You ready to pick blueberries?” Maryse asked, shutting the door.

“Yeah, Mommy,” Alisa demanded.

“Yeah Mommy, you got to pick blueberries too,” Elmira insisted.

Both girls had excellent appetites and were not fussy eaters. Katya helped Elmira and Maryse helped Alisa prepare their individual wieners. Katya and Maryse then fixed their own hot dogs. Katya asked if Maryse had any hot sauce and Maryse found a bottle of Crystal’s Hot Sauce in the refrigerator.

“Sorry,” Katya explained, voice low. “Growing up, my Babushka couldn’t cook; I used to drown everything in ketchup. Then when my taste buds grew up, I switched over to hot sauce.”

“Babushka?” Maryse asked.

“Grandma,” Alisa offered, happily chomping on a fistful of potato chips.

“And then, when I moved in with Weston,” Katya continued.

“Weston?” Maryse asked.

“My husband. Ex-husband,” Katya smiled tightly.

“That’s my Daddy,” Elmira spoke up.

“Mine too!” Alisa yelled at her sister.

“He couldn’t cook and of course, I had no clue how to cook,” Katya admitted.

“I don’t know if I’m a good cook or not, but…” Maryse said.

“You’re a very good cook, Miss Maryse,” Elmira said, patting Maryse’s arm reassuringly.

“Oh! Well, thank you!” Maryse smiled at the girl.

After their meal, after hands were washed and two girls went potty, Maryse grabbed the two buckets. She herded them to the door, smiling as Alisa and Elmira were already chattering about who was going to pick the most blueberries.