Here’s an excerpt from the chapter about Maud’s relationship with Joe Piccupston. He’s the Good Ol’ Boy in the trailer. He’s also one of my personal favorites among Maud’s lovers.
One day, Joe called me at work and I could hear the excitement in his voice. “Darlin”, I’ve got something real special planned for Saturday night and I’ll give you a hint. I bought you a present today and I sure hope you say yes to the question I’m going to ask you.” The hint was a dead giveaway: He was going to propose. That night, I called Sybil and asked to borrow the little black dress again.
“You look good enough to eat, sugar,” he said when he showed up for our date on Saturday, dressed in his usual T-shirt, faded jeans, and cowboy hat. Fortunately, both Sybil’s dress and his hat were black, so our outfits were nicely coordinated. He must not have been kidding when he said the way I looked made him hungry, because when we got to the Cracker Barrel, he ate like a horse. When he failed to produce the engagement ring at dinner, I was so pissed I made him buy me one of those overpriced packages of candied fruit slices you can get at Wal-Mart for half the price.
“I thought you said this was going to be a special night and that you had a present for me,” I whined as we walked across the parking lot to his truck.
“I sure do, lover.” He reached behind the passenger seat and pulled out a long narrow object wrapped in pink tissue paper.
“This is for you,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I wrapped it myself. Open it quick, ‘cause I got something real important to ask you.”
I set the fruit slices down on the roof of the truck and tore off the tissue paper. It was a fucking rifle.
“Ain’t it a beauty? You’re so damn smart, I bet you guessed what it is I want to ask you.” Apparently, I wasn’t as smart as Joe thought, because I didn’t have a clue what he wanted to ask me, although I was fairly certain he wouldn’t hand me a gun and then ask me to marry him.
He propped the rifle up against the side of the truck and took a deep breath, his brown eyes glowing with anticipation. “Baby, do you want to come hunting with me when deer season opens?”
One thing I can say with absolute certainty is hunting has never appeared on any of my to-do lists. In fact, killing is so repugnant to me, I’m still consumed with guilt for euthanizing the African violet that had been clinging to life on the windowsill in the bathroom. It’s true I’ve never been squeamish about diving into a good steak, an interestingly prepared chicken breast, or a piece of endangered salmon, but I prefer to remain one-step removed from the execution of my entrées.
Still the prospect of spending a few days alone with Joe in a rustic cabin in the woods where he could yell “Yahoo!” to his heart’s content was damned appealing. So I accepted his invitation to go hunting and immediately began working on a plan that would keep us inside the cabin and thus prevent him from killing Bambi‟s mother. The plan I envisioned called for scented candles, a few items from Victoria’s Secret, and lots of whipped cream.
The first hint my plan was in trouble came when Joe told me his two brothers, their wives, and his father would be sharing the one-room cabin with us. His mother would have liked to go along, too, but had magnanimously offered to baby-sit for Joe’s five nieces and nephews. He also revealed for the first time that the cabin had no running water and the toilet was a hole in the ground out back.
As I saw it, the only option open to me was to wait until the last minute and then tell him I couldn’t go, laying the blame on an assortment of vague female problems. I was sure Joe, always the gentleman, wouldn’t delve too deeply into the particulars. Unfortunately, when he came to pick me up, he was like a kid on Christmas morning and I didn’t have the heart to disappoint him.
The first night at the cabin wasn’t too bad. Everyone staked out a spot on the floor by participating in the timeless hunting cabin ritual of the throwing down of the sleeping bags. Then we all sat around the wood-burning stove, drinking beer. Joe’s family made a big fuss over my new rifle, assuring me nobody knew more about guns than Joe. This sent his father into a tirade about how the damn liberals were trying to take away the people’s guns, and why couldn’t they understand how important the right to bear arms is in a free county like the U.S.A.? Apparently, opposition to gun control and finding a way to keep the damned foreigners out of America pretty much defined the Piccupston clan’s entire political ideology.
For the next two days, we all rose at dawn and marched off into the forest with our rifles slung over our shoulders like Continental soldiers to do battle with the wily deer. Each night, six people returned to that filthy cabin, whistling and singing like the dwarfs in Snow White, while the seventh dwarf—that would be me—returned in a self-induced catatonic trance. I knew if I allowed myself to emerge from that trance, the horror of my surroundings would drive me so far over the edge I’d never recover. After three nights sleeping on the floor with six snoring unwashed people and defecating in a hole in the ground, I began to think there was a chance I was going to survive the ordeal.
And then Joe killed a deer.
It was during the process of gutting the deer that I completely lost it. Screaming hysterically, I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around Joe’s legs, pleading with him to take me home. Although I could tell he was disappointed and embarrassed by my behavior, he was a good sport and didn’t try to talk me into staying. He drove me home and even stayed until I showered, put on my trusty old flannel nightgown, and climbed into bed.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently brushing the wet hair off my forehead. “You’re not the first person who didn’t make it to the finish line on a Piccupston family hunting trip. Next year you'll know what to expect and can just relax and enjoy yourself.” Then he kissed me goodnight and returned to the rustic cabin in the woods where his family and the deer carcass were anxiously awaiting his return.
After he left, I laid awake in the dark for almost an hour, waiting for the gargoyle to speak.
“Are you all right, Maudie?” he asked softly.
“I think so.”
“Do you want to talk about it or are you too upset?”
“I don’t think there’s much to say, is there?”
“No, I guess not. But I want you to know that I think Joe is a good person, even though he killed that deer.”
“He’s a lot of fun. I laugh more with him than I’ve ever laughed in my life. And he’s a great dancer.”
“You know that’s not enough. The two of you are from different worlds. He can’t live in yours and you can never be happy in his.”
“I know that, but I’m still going to miss him.”
“Maudie, there’s something you should know.”
“What is it?”
“The deer was a buck. It was definitely not Bambi’s mother.”
“Goodnight,” I said, allowing the corners of my mouth to turn up ever so slightly.
“Goodnight, Maudie. If you get scared, remember I’m right here on the dresser.”