Chapter 26
Technically it was Beverly’s turn to cook, but when Dottie offered to take her turn, all in favor said “Aye.” None said “Nay.”
Pot roast was on the menu with potatoes and carrots. That alone would have been enough but Dottie had her homemade rolls and also a broccoli salad with bacon, red onions, a sprinkle of cheddar cheese, topped off with a deliciously tangy and sweet dressing.
As they dug into the feast, Beverly said, “So, Joanne. Are you still seeing Bob?”
It came out pretty snotty, as Beverly had surely intended it. Joanne ignored the tone and said, “As a matter of fact I am. We went to the Blanton Museum of Art last week, and this weekend we’re going to take a ride out to Fredericksburg.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Mary Louise, ignoring the very pronounced eye roll from Beverly. Beverly was the one who asked the question. What had she expected in response?
“He has the cutest butt!” said Joanne, spearing a piece of broccoli from her specially prepared portion of salad that was sans bacon.
“John used to have a cute butt,” said Dottie. “Now he hardly has any butt at all. I think it sneaks off his and onto mine when we’re sleeping at night.”
The men were embroiled in a deep conversation about the pros and cons of synthetic oil. John had either not heard Dottie’s comment, or didn’t care. Probably the latter. Mary Louise felt relief at no longer having to worry about the Jerry situation. Why had she been so stupid? Why had she waited so long? Clearly Jerry was none worse for the wear, and Mary Louise didn’t have to worry about any unwanted advances.
The main source of stress on her brain tonight was the baby. Her baby was having a baby. It was too fresh for her to be able to discuss it with her friends just yet. It had been a huge shock, but looking back she should have guessed.
Carla wasn’t ready to discuss the matter in depth and Mary Louise was giving her space. Because Carla hadn’t answered all of her questions, Mary Louise wasn’t yet ready for questions from her friends.
The homecoming was not quite what Mary Louise had imagined. Her original expectation had been that Carla would come home, get settled, find a new job, then move back out of Mary Louise’s life with occasional visits. The new situation was a pregnant daughter with no job, no insurance, and no baby daddy in the picture.
Dinner conversations moved on to a debate about the shingles vaccine and then a rundown of the latest Medicare scams, which included someone in San Antonio sending expired COVID testing kits to seniors and then charging Medicare.
When the concert venue came up, Mary Louise filled everyone in about the golden-cheeked warbler.
“The golden-cheeked warbler is on the endangered species list and RogLee’s property is definitely a habitat for them.”
“That’s great!” said Beverly. “So it would be illegal for them to build anything there?”
“I’m not sure about that. I think because it’s private property, it’s still their right to do what they want, but maybe we can get even more people against this venue. Another prong in the pitchfork.”
“How in the world did you come up with that brilliant piece of information?” asked Joanne.
Mary Louise thought of Dan, the scent of him, his hands on her shoulders. Then his hands around that woman in the Home Depot. For goodness sake. She was being ridiculous.
“I had someone out to the property to look at the landscaping and give me some suggestions. He spotted one in my trees and told me about them.”
“What about the bird people?” asked Beverly “What’s that group called? The Aviator Society?”
Mary Louise thought for a minute. “The Audubon Society.”
“That’s them!” said Beverly. “Do you think they’d be interested in an evil and greedy company destroying the habitat of a sweet little warbler?”
“Maybe. I can certainly check into it.” Mary Louise had spent some time learning more about the Golden-Cheeked Warbler and the actions around saving them. “They are the only bird in the world to breed exclusively in Central Texas but a series of Texas Land Commissioners have sued to have the warbler removed from the endangered species list.”
“It’s a tough situation,” said Jerry. “I get that property owners should be able to make decisions for their own land without the federal government being involved…”
“But without protection,” interrupted Joanne, “they might go out of existence! What else did you find out, Mary Louise?”
“Well, I had a glimmer of hope when I stumbled on a page about IBAs, which stands for Important Bird Areas.”
“Oh,” said Larry. “I thought you said IPAs and I was getting a little excited.” Much to the chagrin of other men in the group, Larry was a die-hard IPA fan.
“IBAs are sites that provide essential breeding, wintering and stopover habitats for one or more bird species. The program is supposed to identify and conserve areas that are vital to birds like our little warbler friend.”
“That sounds promising,” said Dottie.
“I thought so too until I clicked on the nomination form. Ten pages asking for extremely detailed data that I don’t have and have no idea how to get. Hectares of the area. I don’t even know what a hectare is. A count of a species population at a site in a given year, including if they were adults, juveniles, breeding pairs and much more. Even if we could find experts to gather all of that information, they’d be a year away from even being able to submit the form.”
Mary Louise sighed. On one side was a group of folks backed by the Texas Land Commissioner claiming their rights were being trod upon by a sweet little golden-cheeked bird just trying to survive. On the other side were several entities doing their best to preserve natural habitats, relying on volunteers and donations to fund their fight.
Mary Louise knew who would win. Money. Money always won.
“What else we got?” asked John.
“I’ve left several messages for your friend at the Edward’s Aquifer Authority,” said Mary Louise.
John shook his head. “S.O.B. See if I ever join his foursome again for his charity golf events.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s not calling her back,” said Jerry. “Mary Louise, you shouldn’t have told him you know John.”
John just shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Did Jason call you?” Beverly asked Mary Louise.
Jason was Beverly’s nephew who worked at a local news station.
Heat crept onto Mary Louise’s cheeks. “Yes. He wants me to do an on camera interview.”
“That’s great!” said Beverly.
“I don’t know,” said Mary Louise. “I don’t want to be seen as the spokesperson for this. It involves a lot of people.”
“You don’t have to speak for everyone,” said Joanne. “Just tell your part of the story.”
“I don’t mind you speaking for us,” said Dottie. “You know as much about this deal as anyone.”
“Plus you’re good looking,” said Larry. “Better the information comes from you than one of us other old farts.”
Mary Louise’s blush deepened. Being in the spotlight was not her forte.
“I told him I’d think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” asked Jerry. “The more exposure we get the better. This goes beyond our little circle. This affects the environment. This affects traffic. This affects the safety of everyone living out on these roads, not just those of us close to the venue. Can you imagine what would happen if one of us had a heart attack right as a concert let out?”
Jerry paused to take a breath then looked over at Mary Louise and said, “I’m sorry Mary Louise. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
Mary Louise understood he was referring to Albert dying of a heart attack. She smiled at him and said, “Don’t give it a thought.”
Since they’d had their conversation Mary Louise no longer felt like a piece of meat on display at the butcher and her and Jerry had been getting along great, like real friends.
“As much as it pains me to say it,” said John, “Jerry’s right. Think beyond our situation. Stopping this idiotic venue will send a message to anyone else getting the bright idea to come out to our hill country and mess it up, all to put money in their pockets.”
Mary Louise thought back to when her and Albert had first moved to the area. They had to drive almost ten miles to get to a decent grocery store. There had been a Super S just a couple miles up the road, but it had apparently not been on the radar of any health department personnel. It didn’t look like the floors had been mopped since sometime in the late sixties. It was okay to grab an emergency half gallon of milk, but she’d learned to always check the expiration date.
Progress had steamrolled in with subdivision after subdivision popping up like wildflowers in the spring. There was a bank on every corner. Chain restaurants replaced sole proprietor restaurants. Apartment buildings rose with the morning sun.
“I sent an email to the county judge and one of the commissioners on the court,” said Larry. “Maybe we can get them to step in and help.”
“Good luck with that,” said John. “They’re politicians. All they care about is getting elected and lining their pockets any way they can.”
“John,” said Dottie. “Not every elected official is bad. Some of them actually care about what is going on in their districts. I hate when you make ignorant statements like that.”
“It’s not ignorant if it’s true,” said Larry in John’s defense.
“You two blockheads make me so angry sometimes,” said Dottie.
“You know what makes me angry?” asked Beverly.
“Everything?” offered Dottie.
“Three-quarter sleeves,” said Beverly, ignoring Dottie. “What moron in what universe ever thought three-quarter sleeves were a good idea? Clearly it was a man because you don’t see men walking around in shirts that look like someone ran out of material before they could make a proper sleeve.”
“Oh, those were so popular in the fifties,” said Joanne. “Maybe it was Coco Chanel.”
“She was a Nazi sympathizer,” said Jerry.
“Ooo. Look who’s been watching the History Channel,” said Larry.
“The style actually goes back farther than that,” said Mary Louise. “At one point in time the length of your sleeve indicated how wealthy you were.”
All conversation stopped. Then Jerry said, “I want to go to trivia night with you.”
Mary Louise blushed. “I took a fashion history course in college.”
“All I know is, they annoy the crap out of me,” said Beverly. “Have a sleeve, don’t have a sleeve. Make up your damn mind.”
“Let’s get back to the venue,” said Larry, replacing his ever-sliding glasses back to the top of the bridge of his nose. “What’s our next move?”
“Beverly, stop worrying about fashion and get your nephew to do that news story,” said John.
“Blow it out your ass, John. You’re not my boss.”
“Fair enough,” said John and started over. “Beverly, sweet Beverly, the most beautiful woman I know except for my Dottie. Could you find it in your kind, sweet heart to possibly follow up with your nephew about the news story?”
“That’s better,” said Beverly. “I’ll see what I can do.” She looked at Mary Louise and raised an eyebrow.
“How long ago did you send that email to the county judge?” John asked Larry.
“Last Friday,” answered Larry.
“Okay,” said John. “Let’s give them until Monday and then I’ll call to follow up. Try to get a face-to-face meeting. Dottie. What’s for dessert?”
“Brownie Sundaes.”
“Then I say this meeting is officially adjourned on account of dessert.”
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