Ethel and Velma 2

Chapter 1

Velma sat on her favorite park bench and wiped the sweat from her forehead. ���There���s got to be a word for people like us. Crazy? Stupid? Insane?��� She untangled yarn which had rolled out of her bag and down to the other end of the park bench past Ethel���s feet.

���What do you mean, Velma?��� Ethel sat beside her, content as a mouse on a block of cheddar, and didn���t miss a stitch working on the blanket she was crocheting.

���My piece is the size of a hand towel, and I���m already burning up with it in my lap. I don���t see how you can sit and crochet those big blankets in this September heat.���

���I find it quite comforting,��� said Ethel with a little shrug. ���With summer winding down, fall is in the air. Aren���t you excited for cooler weather?���

Velma grumbled. ���The only thing in the air is humidity. I should shove straws up my nose to drink the air instead of breathe it. I���ll be excited when the cooler weather is actually here, but you and I both know that we still have another month of boob sweat before any real changes happen.���

The Texas heat wasn���t a joke. By nine in the morning, the temperatures were already in the upper nineties, and the midday sun had been shining for hours.

Ethel continued to work her hook, double-crocheting her way down the row. ���Well, I for one am going to be prepared for the cooler weather.���

���Hell, if we crochet anything else, Ethel, we might as well wrap the entire house in yarn. Everything we own is crocheted.���

���It is not,��� said Ethel with a frown.

���Oh yes, it is. I can���t even sit on the damned toilet without seeing something you���ve made. There���s the pink toilet-tank cover, the purple tissue-box cozy, and let���s not forget your knitted toaster cover in the kitchen. One day you���ll burn down the house with one of your insane creations.���

Ethel shrugged. ���You made a lot of those things too, and the plastic canvas tissue holder doesn���t count. It���s not crocheted.���

���It���s got enough yarn to knit a set of mittens, so it might as well be. Besides, I haven���t made anything worth sitting around collecting dust. Hell, Ethel, even our clothes hangers didn���t escape your obsession with yarn.���

Ethel scoffed. ���Now even you have to admit that it made those wire hangers look a hundred times better. And I didn���t make everything. Let���s see. There���s the blanket on the back of the couch.���

���You,��� said Velma.

���The cat���s sweater?���

Velma rolled her eyes. ���Definitely you. And the next time you want to crochet that cat something, how about a pair of nut warmers?���

���Velma!��� Ethel gave her a nudge. ���Now, why would Miss Vicky need such a thing?���

���Your persistent and constant state of denial is either admirable or annoying. I can���t tell which.��� Velma was sick of arguing with her over the gender of the damned cat. Even Ethel wasn���t that dim-witted, just in a constant state of denial for never having a daughter.

Ethel sighed. ���Miss Vicky looks adorable in her little blue coat. Like a proper lady.���

���The only thing you got right was the color. I���d have protested if you���d made it pink. The cat has enough problems.���

Wanting to change the subject, Ethel looked over at Velma���s work and examined one end of it. ���You���re doing a great job on this one, Velma. You���ll catch up to me in no time.���

���I don���t know. It���s one project after another. I feel like I���m slowing down.��� Velma sank back into the bench and glanced up to see that her little beggars were back. ���You saw me coming, didn���t you?��� she asked the three squirrels who were creeping closer, one twitch of their tail at a time. She reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of peanuts. ���This is all I got today. They���ll have to do, you little gluttons.��� She tossed the peanuts, shell and all, to the ground and watched as the three squirrels quickly snatched them up and ran back to their tree.

���One day, they���ll cut that thing down and find petrified peanut shells,��� said Ethel. ���You���re nothing but a sweetie at heart, looking after the little animals. God will reward you in Heaven for that, someday, Velma.���

���Let���s hope it���s a big trophy so you can crochet a cozy for it,��� she said with syrupy sarcasm. ���I���m just trying to get rid of those stale peanuts you bought us two months ago. Only those little tree rats could appreciate them.���

���Say what you will, but I know you love all God���s creatures.��� About that time, Calvin Wallace made his way down the sidewalk with a big smile and a sack full of letters. Ethel giggled. ���Especially that one.���

Velma gave her a hard look and turned her eyes down to her hook as Calvin approached. ���I was hoping I���d see you two ladies here. I see you���re enjoying the lovely benches you bought.���

The fact that Mayor Sheffield had conned Velma into buying the new benches was still a sore spot with her, but it beat having splinters in her butt. ���Don���t you have letters to deliver?���

���And packages too,��� he said, digging into his bag. ���Here���s one for you, Ethel. Seeing you here will cut down on my deliveries, and maybe I can make it home early today.���

���Do you have a busy night ahead or something?��� asked Ethel, giving Velma the side eye to see if that got her attention. She took the package from Calvin.

Velma glanced up at him, but Calvin didn���t seem to notice. ���Well, I might have something planned.��� He gave a devilish grin.

Velma took a deep breath and sat up straighter on her bench. ���Well, then you should get moving. You wouldn���t want to be late.��� She didn���t want to hear about him and his big plans with some other woman.

���Aww, I really don���t have anything special. Not tonight anyway. I just thought I���d get home and watch the news. Then find me a good western. Do you like westerns, Velma?���

���Maybe. If they have Robert Mitchum.��� She had always liked a good Mitchum picture.

Calvin smiled. ���I���m more of a John Wayne fan, myself. No one does it better than the Duke.���

Ethel smiled wistfully. ���My Alfred loved John Wayne movies. We went to one on our first date.��� She held the package to her chest and closed her eyes as if she were still with him.

���My brother had horrible taste,��� said Velma. ���And from what you���ve told me, he was a cheap date.���

Ethel gave her a sideward look and then turned her attention to the postman. ���Thank you for the delivery, Calvin.���

���Just doing my job, ma���am. I���ll see you ladies around.��� He sauntered away, and Velma did her usual peek to watch him go.

���I don���t know why you have to be so curt to that man.��� Ethel shook her head. ���He���s always so nice to you, and why is a mystery.���

���Let���s not go there again, Ethel. I���m more interested in what���s in the box. What the hell did you order this time?��� She had been ordering things online since her grandson, Landon Jr., had shown her how to get connected, but since she couldn���t remember from one visit to the next, he had shown her at least four times in the past two weeks.

���It���s a surprise,��� she said, packing away her crochet. ���I want to get home to open it.���

���I want to get home and cool off. I say we stop off for ice cream again.��� Velma clutched her handbag close.

���Oh, I don���t know,��� said Ethel, patting her middle. ���I think all the ice cream is wreaking havoc on my digestives.���

���I���d guess all of that cheese you���ve eaten hasn���t helped things either. At least the gas has stopped.��� Velma had gone to bed early the past two nights because of Ethel���s flatulence. It was hard to watch TV with your eyes burning.

���I told you, that wasn���t me. It was Miss Vicky. She always gets that way when she eats from the table.���

���Then stop feeding him,��� Velma said.

���I have to feed her something until we get to the market. Someone ate up all of her tuna.���

Velma froze. ���Did you say tuna?���

Ethel nodded. ���Yes, his little canned vittles I bought. They were tuna flavored this time. I thought we���d try a different brand too. She was tired of eating chicken every day.���

���Ethel, didn���t you make a cheesy tuna casserole for your church ladies��� meeting two nights ago?��� Velma had thought the stuff was extra pungent, and that explained her burning eyes.

���Oh dear,��� said Ethel, holding her stomach. ���I think you���re right, Velma. What if I���ve killed them? I haven���t heard from anyone since.���

���Relax, you can���t die from eating cat food, but it explains why no one went back for seconds.���

���I had two more helpings at home because I hated to see it go to waste.��� Her face paled as she walked slowly to the car. ���I thought it tasted a little stout.���

���Well, look on the bright side. You didn���t get the bends, and your hair will have a nice sheen.��� Velma imagined the melee that could have been if twenty church ladies started fighting over the only working toilet at the fellowship hall.

Ethel opened the heavy car door, feeling a little weaker. ���You won���t tell anyone about this, will you, Velma?��� She had a reputation to uphold, and she���d never live it down if anyone found out about it. ���I���d never be able to go back to that church again.���

Velma looked at her sister-in-law over the top of the car. ���Of course, I won���t tell anyone, Ethel. Your secret is safe with me, but I think I���ll do the cooking until you go and have your glasses strengthened.��� Her prescription was a few years past due, but then again, so was Velma���s.

Ethel eased in behind the wheel, feeling as if her stomach would never be right again, and Velma got in beside her. ���Maybe we should stop by the store on our way home and get Miss Vicky some dry kibble.���

���As long as you don���t mistake it for our breakfast cereal, I think that���s a good idea.��� Velma enjoyed giving Ethel a little friendly ribbing, and while the church ladies would never know, Velma would never let her forget it.

As they headed home in the old, brown Buick, which spat and sputtered so much that Velma wondered to herself if it had eaten the casserole, Velma looked back to the box in the back seat. ���So, you never did tell me what���s in the box.���

���I did so, Velma. It���s a surprise.���

���As long as it���s not another damned cat, I guess I���m good with it.���

Ethel put her hand over her mouth. ���Oh my. You don���t think they actually mail out cats these days, do you? I���ve heard the internet has changed the world.���

Velma couldn���t miss the opportunity to mess with Ethel. ���Yes, but they do it with cryogenics.���

Ethel crinkled her nose. ���What���s that?���

���You know when they freeze people���s bodies so they unfreeze them later?���

���Didn���t they do that with Walt Disney?��� asked Ethel. ���You mean, they freeze the poor little kitties?���

���Yeah, then you just let them thaw in your sink, and they���re as good as new.��� Velma could hardly keep a straight face.

���You���re pulling my leg,��� said Ethel in a scolding tone.

���The internet has changed the world, Ethel, not science.��� Velma wondered about her sister at times. ���Cats still need air to breathe, and unless you remember ordering one, I don���t think you have anything to worry about.���

���Well, if you keep being mean, I won���t let you open it. And even I know that it���s going to bug you until you do.���

���Fine, I���ll be nice.��� Velma eased back in her seat as the smell of rancid tuna filled the air. ���Dammit, Ethel. Crack a window!���