Crazy Rich Rednecks, page 9
The room goes silent, and Mackenzie slides her hand over her throat, signaling Ziggy to cut the camera. He does so and retreats to the kitchen to eat with the other guys.
Daddy is next and opens one of my gifts. He puts on his reading glasses. “Ten dollars to Double Drive.” He stares at me over the rim of his readers. “Son, if I want to ride a go-kart, I’ll just go there.”
“And now you won’t have to pay.” I fold my arms and grin.
Daddy sits down and tucks the card in his shirt pocket. He mumbles something, and by the look on his face, I’m glad the camera is off.
Liam is the last to open a gift and goes for a flat rectangular package in the corner. He must know what it is, or else he’d steal his dad’s Tractor Supply gift card.
He jerks the wrapping off and holds up a green road sign that reads, “Mayberry Road.”
“That’s where that went!” G-Paw jumps to his feet and scowls. “I’ve been looking for that all week.”
Liam drops the sign in his lap and holds up his palms. “I swear, G-Paw, I didn’t pull it down. It was on the ground when I got it.”
G-Paw leaves the room as usual. Liam smiles down at his sign, then straightens his face when he makes eye contact with his father.
“Okay, is that all the numbers?” Daddy asks.
Nods and yeses fill the room. “Number one, your pick.”
“Not fair,” one of the neighbor kids spouts off. His mom shushes him.
Bradley walks over to Liam and holds out the two-dollar bill. “I’ll take the sign, please.”
Liam sighs and snatches the money, then hands Bradley the sign. “Fine.”
Bradley tucks the sign under his arm and laughs. “Been a pleasure, Mayberry family, but I best get back to my patrol.” He tips his cowboy hat and starts toward the door.
G-Maw stops him. “Thanks for getting the sign, Bradley. How soon do you think it will be back on the road?”
Bradley shrugs. “That depends on when the county can make a new one. This one’s going in my office.”
I turn to Mackenzie. “And that is why we call it Dirty Santa.”
Mackenzie
I set the Boston butt and my Dirty Santa gift on the counter in Double Drive’s kitchen. Earl Ed retrieves a knife and some plates, while the hungry crew gathers nearby in booths.
Earl Ed tends to the butt as I sniff my candle. “Not bad. Very fruity.”
He peers over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s a G-Maw gift. She’s big on candles.”
“I prefer that to a flashlight.”
“Or a Double Drive coupon.”
I laugh. “I’d use it for mini golf. I need a break from go-kart driving.”
“But you’re such a natural.” Earl Ed winks.
I smile, my cheeks warming at our easy banter. I’ll miss him once filming wraps. When it comes to staying with someone easy to talk to and hospitable, he outshines all the fancy concierge people in New York.
“Hey, Mackenzie.” Ziggy rushes in with a smile that spreads ear to ear. “I got some great footage tonight.” He turns to Earl Ed. “Man, your family is a riot.”
“Oh, Lord, help us.”
“No, man. Your bunch will be famous.”
I hold up a hand. “Ziggy, dial it down a notch. Remember, this show is about Carla and her cookies, not the family.”
Ziggy drops his shoulders. “I know.” Then he perks up a bit. “But if the network ever wants a spin off . . .”
I take a plate of barbecue and shove it at his chest. “Go enjoy your after-dinner snack.”
Ziggy mopes toward the snack area like a teenager who’s been given a strict curfew.
“Thanks.” Earl Ed smiles at me when Ziggy disappears behind the wall.
“For what?”
He plates more barbecue, then wraps up what’s left of the butt. “For not letting him totally humiliate us on TV.”
I laugh. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”
Voices echo from the opposite end of the building. I stick my head in the main room. All the guys are laughing and talking as they eat in the booths. But there’s a more singsongy sound coming from the front.
“What’s that?”
Earl Ed lifts the bag of pork remains. “The scraps. I’ll feed them to Uncle Joey’s dog tomorrow. I cut all good stuff off for the guys.”
“Shhh, no listen,” I whisper. “Either I’m hearing things or someone is singing ‘Deck the Halls.’”
Earl Ed rolls his eyes. He washes his hands and joins me by the doorway. “If we ignore them long enough, maybe they’ll go away.”
“Who?”
“Carolers.”
“Like the singing Christmas song people in movies?”
“Yeah, except they’re on my porch, making stray dogs howl.”
“I didn’t hear a dog howl.”
Earl Ed lifts a finger. “Wait for it . . .”
Someone hits a high note and a dog belts out in the distance.
“Huh, how’d you know?”
“This happens every year. Of course, I haven’t been here a year yet, but they travel county-wide.”
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I start toward the front entrance.
“Mackenzie, what are you doing?”
Before Earl Ed can catch up to me, I open the door. At least a dozen people dressed like the cast of Scrooge stare back at me. They sing the last leg of the song in unison. I’ve never been much of a Christmas music fan, but this is starting to grow on me.
It’s refreshing to see people dressed like this, caroling to neighbors, when it isn’t part of a staged production.
Once the song ends, they smile at me and cheer, “Merry Christmas!”
I applaud them, then notice Carla among the mix. “Carla, why didn’t you tell me you were caroling tonight?”
“We didn’t think this needed filming. It’s just something we do every year to get people in the Christmas spirit.”
Misty pushes through the crowd. “Speak for yourself, Carla. This could be my big break.” She bats fake eyelashes at me.
I scan her wardrobe, which is way more saloon girl than Victorian. She slings her hair over her shoulder and starts belting out something about a hard candy Christmas.
Nobody backs her up, except for the stray dog in the distance.
A slurping sound catches my attention, and I turn to several of the crew members standing behind us. Dougy sucks down his drink and grins. Misty has captivated at least one audience member.
“I’ll volunteer to take the camera.” Dougy’s eyes widen with anticipation.
I turn to Carla. “Are you okay with me tagging along for some B-roll?”
She nods. “I actually have some cookies in my SUV for when we sing at the hospital.”
I look at Earl Ed.
He scratches his beard. “I can drive you and Dougy behind them.”
“Yes.” Dougy does the cha-ching motion with his arm. “Let me get the good camera.”
Before I can grab my purse and notebook, Dougy is back with the camera. We follow the carolers down the front steps. Earl Ed trails a few minutes behind as he tells the crew to lock up if they leave before we return.
I hesitate by the truck, before I realize I’ve grown accustomed to Earl Ed opening my door. After Dougy hops in the back, I get in, too. Earl Ed gets in a minute later and drives behind the van full of carolers.
The back of the vehicle reads “Wisteria Worship Center” in big block letters. I read it out loud.
“That’s our church,” Earl Ed comments.
“All these singers are from your church?”
“Except for Misty and Woody. They’re more like Chreasters.”
“What?” I wrinkle my forehead.
“Christmas and Easter Christians.”
“Again, what?” That didn’t exactly answer my question.
“They normally only attend church on Christmas and Easter.”
“Hmm. Kind of like how some people only travel in the summer?”
“No, nothing like that.”
I waver my head.
“It’s a shame. Misty has such a great voice, I think she should sing every Sunday.” Dougy talks through a lovestruck smile.
Earl Ed and I both turn to him.
“What, you don’t agree?”
We share a look, then face forward. After a few miles, the van turns at a traffic light. Almost immediately, we come to a sign welcoming us to Apple Cart, Alabama. I recognize Mary’s and Piggly Wiggly before we turn again and park in front of a hospital.
The church van door slides open, and Woody hops out first. My guess is Misty picked out his costume as well because he’s dressed as a Confederate soldier.
“Dougy, try not to get any close-up shots of Woody. That might paint the wrong picture.”
“Got it.”
We climb out of the truck and follow the group to the hospital entrance. Carla has a festive bag draped over her arm. She leads the crowd through the revolving door, which is somewhat of a challenge for Dougy. I take the camera before he drops it.
“Here.” I hand it to him once he’s in the lobby and standing steady.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, hey. We’ve been expecting y’all.” The woman at the front desk beams as she picks up a phone. “Dr. West, they’re here,” she speaks into the receiver.
A handsome young man in a white coat, along with other people wearing scrubs, appear in the lobby from every direction. Some are pushing patients in wheelchairs.
The carolers sing “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” as Carla passes out goody bags of cookies.
A little girl lingers near the tree in the center of the lobby. She isn’t wearing pajamas, so she must be a visitor. I cross the room and bend in front of her.
“Hi.”
She lifts one corner of her mouth. “Hi.”
“Do you have family in the hospital?”
She shakes her head. “I’m waiting for my mama to get off work.”
“Oh.” I glance at the group of people in scrubs and white coats. “Is she a nurse or doctor?”
She shakes her head. “She’s cleaning.” The girl turns toward the hallway, where a woman is rolling a large trash can toward the exit. “She works at nighttime.”
“Okay.” I grin and bite my tongue. My guts says it’s best not to ask about her dad.
“Would you like some Christmas cookies?”
She smiles widely, revealing a missing front tooth.
“Be right back.” I rush to Carla. “Can I have a bag for someone?”
She smiles and nods, while continuing to sing.
I retrieve a bag and take it to the little girl. She grins wider and pulls out the cookies. “Thanks. I’ll save the snowman for Mama.”
My heart aches. I hug her on impulse. She wraps her willowy arms around my neck and whispers, “Merry Christmas.”
I hold her for a long moment and suck in a breath. I’ve never been a crier, but it takes all I have to not break down. I want to tell her it will all be okay when she gets older. That I can relate to her life.
But I can’t promise that. All this Christmas togetherness—for real, not Hallmark—has me questioning the lack of family in my own life.
CHAPTER NINE
Earl Ed
I yawn as Mama goes over the details for a Santa cowboy cookie. She can call it a Santa all she wants, but to me it looks like Bradley with a beard.
She packs it in a container on top of a pile of other cookies, then closes the lid and smiles at the camera.
“And cut.” Mackenzie claps her hands. “Nice work, Carla. I love cowboy Santa.”
“Thanks, dear.”
That’s my cue to fill a bottle of ice water without anyone scolding me for interfering with the sound. I open the drawer to the ice maker. After I started Double Drive, Daddy had this installed to get the same small-pellet ice I have.
He swears it’s because he got addicted to my ice. However, he’s always trying to one-up me. I wouldn’t put it past him to install a fountain machine in the basement or add a golf course to the backyard. For all I know, he may have already tried and gotten blocked by Mama.
Mackenzie walks toward the cookies. “Do you want me to go ahead and load them before we start the next batch?”
“Oh no, they will stay here.”
Mackenzie wrinkles her forehead at Mama. “But we’re going to your sister-in-law’s house, right?”
“Yeah, then to G-Maw’s, then back here.”
Mackenzie cocks her head to the side, then thumbs through her notes.
“It’s a progressive dinner,” I chime in as I add water to my coveted rat-turd ice.
“Yeah, I wrote that down. Three courses. But it says we go to Robin and Joey’s house.”
I laugh. “We do, then progress to G-Maw’s for the main course, then progress back over here for desserts.” I emphasize the word “progress” each time.
“Interesting. I assumed progressive meant something else entirely.” Mackenzie closes her notebook.
“And on that note, I’m gone.” I slap a hat on my head and turn to leave.
“Where are you going?”
I open my mouth to answer Mackenzie, when Daddy steps beside me with a rifle. She arches a brow at the massive gun.
“To shoot things,” I say.
Mama grins. “Oh, take the boys some of these.” She opens a plastic bowl and pulls out some Christmas tree cookies.
Daddy takes them, then kisses her on the cheek. Ziggy raises the camera and steps closer to them.
Daddy shoves him against the cabinets by the camera. “Not filming me, son.” He drops his hand from the camera and pats Ziggy’s shoulder. “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”
He turns, takes his gun, and walks out, head held high. I wink at Mackenzie and try not to laugh at her shocked expression. Then I follow Daddy outside.
“What you packing, son?”
“My good buddies, Smith and Wesson.”
I stop by my truck for the gun and ammo, then get in with him. Numerous guns line the back seat and floorboard of his truck. One in particular catches my eye. It was G-Paw’s dad’s gun, and it rarely leaves Daddy’s gun room.
“What’s G-Daddy’s rifle doing in here?”
“Oh, I’m thinking of giving it to Michael.”
The blood drains from my face. Daddy hasn’t had it that long, and G-Paw passed it to him as his only son. Shouldn’t he save it for me?
“Why Michael?”
“So it can keep going through generations. He has a family now.”
I clinch my fists, trying to calm down before I unload on Daddy. Verbally, of course, not with the guns.
A few miles pass before I’m no longer tingling and can control my voice. “Wouldn’t you want to pass it on to our branch of the family?”
“Well, yeah, but you don’t have any kids.”
“Not yet.”
Daddy chuckles, offending me more—if that’s even possible.
“What’s so funny?”
We turn down the dirt road to Gamer’s Paradise, and I pray he hits a huge mud hole with his new truck.
“You’re not exactly close to getting married, and your sister’s still young. God only knows what she’ll marry.” His eyes narrow, and his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. No doubt, he’s worrying about his future son-in-law already.
So now we’re both mad. Great!
I swallow and decide now’s as good a time as any to discuss this. “So you’re assuming Carly will marry some tool who can’t shoot a gun, and I’ll never marry or have kids?”
We park near the massive dirt target where we shoot every Christmas Eve. He cuts the engine and faces me. “Sad to say, but that’s exactly what I’m assuming.”
I stare out the windshield and pout like a puppy passed over at the pound. That may be the answer I anticipated, but it still stings. Daddy gets out and collects his portable arsenal. I wait until he’s at the tailgate to get out with my one measly gun. The one he gave me the day I got out of jail.
Is it a great gun? Yes. But from a man who owns over a hundred, it doesn’t mean that much. Especially when he earmarks the most sentimental gun in the family for my cousin.
If Michael weren’t such a good friend, I’d have every right to disown him. Daddy’s always favored him over me, long before I got arrested.
I’m loading my gun when Michael walks up. Impeccable timing, cuz.
Colleen is strapped to the front of him in one of those baby-carrying pouches. She’s wearing camouflage like the rest of us, and some of those noise-canceling earmuffs.
“Hey, cuz.” He nods at my hand. “I see you brought the Smith and Wesson.”
“And I see you brought a baby . . . to a gun range.”
He grins. “Krystal’s busy fixing her food for the dinner tonight.”
“Yes, I can imagine it takes a while for Viennas to marinate in Cheez Whiz.”
Michael’s grin fades slightly, and he blinks, as if contemplating whether that was a burn or serious statement. And this is the family Daddy wants to give a gun?
I sigh and take my gun to the opposite side of the dirt pile. Bradley tips that dumb hat at me. “Afternoon, Earl Ed.”
“Officer.” I focus on the dirt pile and contemplate in what world have I chosen the company of Bradley over Michael.
Uncle Joey drives up with Liam and Collins, and they start unloading guns. They have a lot, but not as much as Daddy.
He brought more than we can shoot in the time we have, but I think that’s his way of showing off. As president of the Alabama Gun Club three years running, he likes to remind everyone of his gun knowledge and ownership.
Jack goes to the dirt and points to the Christmas tree shape spray painted in the center. Inside the tree are red dots of various sizes. He explains how many points each size dot is worth, then ends with, “Good luck.”
When he nods and steps back, I halfway regret not bringing Ziggy. This would make for a fun mini-segment, similar to an amateur Top Shot—Christmas edition.
As usual, Bradley volunteers to go first. Daddy offers to shoot against him. I hang back by the truck while several shooters compete, happy to stay in my own little world. I’m still a little rusty after not having shot much in the past decade.
