Located on the border of Louisiana and Arkansas, everyone bought beer at Earl’s Half & Half. It was a goldmine. The liquor half was in the state of Louisiana and the grocery half, in Arkansas. Customers joked that you could go from one state to another in less time than it took to sign your name.
The owner, Rae-Ann, was my best friend. I helped her husband pick out her engagement ring; he’d proposed to Rae-Ann right after high school graduation. Once they had kids, Rae-Ann opened a day care in her house, put a large blue sign in her window with a picture of Tinker Bell. But after twenty years, she couldn’t keep up with the babies, and started working alongside Earl. His death put all the weight of the store on her shoulders. I brought her a kitten to keep her company. She’d named him Whiskers, an orange and white tabby that hid behind the kitchen curtains and attacked her feet every time she walked by.
“You scamp,” she’d pick him up by the fur of his neck and scratch the white fur on his belly. “What am I going to do with you?” She always did the same thing—gave him a hug and placed him back on the ground until Whiskers was distracted by a crumb on the kitchen floor, or by some fly that had gotten past the screen door. She loved that cat to death, and once she got home, fed him the choicest left-overs. He’d disappeared once. I’d never seen her look so upset, even when her girls had the colic. She made me take walks with her up and down her street, and my street also, looking beneath every car and truck calling his name. She finally found Whiskers. He’d settled himself into a warm corner of her closet. She called me when he walked into her kitchen.
People trusted her. She knew about the pastor’s wife, Eudora Franklin who had blurted out how she had become pregnant with their fifth child, but never told her husband. He was pastor of The Living River. “You have to understand, it’s not like I wanted to do that,” and bit her lower lip. Eudora had gotten an abortion, which was no biggie for Rae-Ann, but she did have big problems with Dwayne McCullor. He came into the store every Friday to load up on several cases for the weekend. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t like him. “I can’t put my finger on it. There’s a loose screw somewhere. I don’t like his eyes.”
One of her customers, Jeff Corkle’s dad, was getting milk and orange juice from the freezer and talking about car parts. His friend was having problems with his starter and wanted to know where to get it fixed. A small TV on the counter was tuned to the Weather Channel with news of a cold front moving in by afternoon.
Dwayne looked like any one of the mill workers, broad shouldered, wearing a windbreaker and a Razor Backs cap. Now he was walking down Aisle 3 and heading toward Rae-Ann. McCorkle’s dad described how a stream of morning sunlight had shone on cellophane packages of whole wheat bread. Dwayne had picked up a can of Vienna sausage with a pop-up aluminum top and placed it inside his shopping basket. “That’s it. Except this.” He handed her his thermos, battered from years of use. “Fill ‘er up,” as though she was a gas station attendant. She turned on the spigot of the coffee pot and kept her finger on the spout. “Also a pack of Marlboros,” he said.
Dwayne stood at the cash register, his eyes darting back and forth almost like he was on the verge of a fit. That’s what Jeff Corkle’s dad had testified at the trial. Then he opened his wallet. It was a few minutes before eight o’clock in the morning. Rae-Ann looked at the TV screen above the cash register. The broadcaster continued talking about weather—some artic plunge.
“Ever try one of these?” Rae-Ann pointed to a pack of tobacco-less cigarettes. His eyes started spinning in his head. “You feeling okay?” she asked, and offered him a Tic-Tac from her pocket.
He rested his beer on the counter. “He screwed me.”
Rae-Ann swept his change into his palm. She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t know who he was talking about. “Thanks, Dwayne. Have a good day,” which is when it happened. Dwayne took out a pistol and started shooting. Everywhere. We’re not sure that he meant to hit Rae-Ann, but he did. Why? Why I asked myself a thousand times.
Her daughters asked me if I wanted to take home a few of her begonias. The girls found a small cardboard box and told me to pick out whichever ones I wanted. Whiskers jumped into my lap and started purring. “I’d like to take him home.”
The girls made space in the begonia box, and Whiskers came home to live with me. And the Half & Half? It became a dialysis center. I’m not sure Rae-Ann would’ve like that…