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She laughed. “Oh, no.”
“You can see where this is going.” Leaning back in the chair, remembering that day fondly, I said, “We fashioned a small cardboard box onto a swimming pool float with a little strap to hold him in there. It was ridiculous looking. But we were proud of our invention.”
“Masterminds at work,” she said with a wink.
“Exactly.” I chuckled. “We took Joey down to the bayou, and he was happy as could be to play our game. Let us put him in the box, buckle his collar to the strap. Then Hale went a few yards down on the ice and I slid Joey to him. It worked. Hale caught him, no problem. It was awesome,” I laughed as I drank down the rest of my wine. “Joey barked as we laughed about it. Then we got overconfident. I kept stepping farther and farther back. We wanted to see how long we could make him slide. It became a competition.”
“Just like boys. Always comes back to competition. And idiocy.”
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “It was Hale’s turn to shove off. He took a few steps back and the ice broke.”
“I knew it.”
“At first, I laughed, but then I realized it was a lot deeper there than I thought. Fortunately, Joey had jumped out of the box, his collar still attached to it, which was now sinking. But Hale started thrashing around, and I panicked. I ran to him and leaped into the bayou. The water was fucking freezing.”
Betty’s expression was one of sheer anguish as if she were witnessing the event firsthand.
“The water was up to my chin, and Hale was almost a foot shorter at the time. The cold was turning my limbs numb within seconds. I could barely move my arms and legs. I managed to grab hold of Hale around the waist and haul him above water. Still, the thought of his wide eyes looking up at me makes me panic. Then I managed to grab the box and toss it onto the bank at the same time. Otherwise, it might’ve pulled Joey into the water as well.”
“Oh, my God. How is this a good memory? You could’ve died, the both of you!”
I’d known it then, too. At thirteen, I’d come face to face with my own mortality. It had scared the hell out of me.
“Be patient,” I told her. “So Joey was yapping like crazy, which had our mother racing into the yard. She saw us down by the bayou just as I was dragging Hale onto the bank. He was conscious, but his lips were already turning blue. And he couldn’t say a thing.”
I swallowed hard against the remembered fear I’d felt that day.
“My Aunt Mary was there, my mom’s sister, and they helped us both back up to the house. Then into a warm shower. Of course, I didn’t want my mom or aunt to see me naked, so I let them help till I got to my underwear. I mean, Iwasthirteen.”
Betty laughed, her eyes softening as I continued on, telling her how once Hale and I were warmed up and dry, they had a steaming bowl of gumbo ready for us and hot cocoa afterward.
She shook her head. “How in the world is this a good memory?”
I drank the last sip of my wine. “Because Mom and Aunt Mary doted on us like kings. And even better, they didn’t tell my dad, which would’ve landed us in a hell of a lot of trouble. He was fortunately out picking up a brisket from my grandfather’s store.” I held her gaze as I told her the real reason. “Most importantly, it proved to me in the few split seconds when Hale’s head went under how important he was to me. How important my family was to me. It solidified in my heart and head at a very young age that the people you love are the most important thing in your life. Not money, not ambition, not anything else.”
Betty’s expression warmed and softened even further. I wasn’t saying these things to impress her. I was telling her because it was something about me that I felt deeply. And I wanted her to know me.
“Now you,” I told her. “Give me a happy childhood memory.”
She sputtered out a laugh. “Well, mine won’t be as grand or have the long-lasting effects of a lesson learned. Let’s see.” She looked up, trying to recall something. “Okay, your story reminded me of one of my favorites at the same time of year. My sister Emma and I always wondered why people didn’t go Christmas caroling anymore. We would see it in older movies, how people would just adore listening to the carols and give them treats and so on. So we decided to go caroling around our neighborhood.”
“Can you sing?” I asked, wondering why she never auditioned for musicals.
“Not at all. I’m terrible. The reason I only do straight plays at BPAL.” She heaved a sigh. Straight plays were non-musicals. “Anyway, Emma and I set off with some lyrics of Christmas songs. The first door we knocked on, they never opened. We went to another neighbor who opened the door and nearly jumped out of his skin when we launched into a very loud and awful rendition of ‘Joy to the World.’”
I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining these two young girls singing their hearts out. Very badly.
“That neighbor was Mr. Viator, and he was ornery to begin with. He listened to us sing one song then waved us away without a word and closed the door.”
“But you two didn’t give up.”
“Um, not on your life. You have no idea the tenacity of the Mouton sisters.”
“I can imagine.”
She arched a brow at me but kept going. “Then we went to another neighbor, and they actually listened to us sing three songs. Then gave us each a candy cane. You’d have thought we won the lottery. Emma and I were ecstatic. Our plan to sing and bring cheer to the hearts of our neighbors while being paid in sweets was working.”
I smiled, watching her face light up at the memory. Her laugh tumbled out as she told how they sang to every house on the block and had racked up two candy canes, a handful of Hershey’s kisses, and five dollars.
