’em, June Bug,” he said.
June Bug popped it into his mouth and crunched away. Callie gasped and wanted to cover the kids eyes for some silly reason. They stood there with their mouths open, unable to speak.
“Tastes kind of like chicken,” June Bug said in between munching. “If you have a real good imagination.”
Callie found her voice. “Please don’t do that in front of my children. Please don’t do it at all. It’s very unhealthy.”
“Sorry, ma’am, I’ve been doing it since I was ten years old.”
“Why?”
“I’m little. I’ve always been little and boys picked on me at school and I got beat up almost every day. They called me runt and things like that. Billy Clyde Hemphill was the worst. He’d hold my face down in the grass with his knee on the back of my neck until I couldn’t breathe. He’d always say, ‘Eat dirt, runt.’ One day as he was coming toward me on the playground, I just got tired of it and knew I had to do something. I saw a june bug crawling on the playground equipment and I picked it up and put it in my mouth before I could think about it.” He wheezed for a breath.
“Billy Clyde stopped in his tracks and the kids gathered round. I found another bug and ate it, then I handed one to Billy Clyde and told him it was his turn. He backed off saying I was crazy and the kids started calling him chicken. He ran away, but he never picked on me again. No one did. And that’s the way I like it.”
Callie just stared at him. “Why do you still eat them?”
Just then a truck drove by and someone hollered, “Hey, June Bug, what’s for supper?”
“Anything flying,” June Bug yelled back, and they heard laughter all the way to the stop sign.
Callie knew why he kept eating the bugs. It made him taller in his eyes, bigger and able to take on the town. But she refused to call him June Bug.
“What’s your given name?”
“Odell, ma’am, youngest of ten kids and the only boy. I have nine sisters.”
“I’ll call you Odell.”
“Only my mama and my sisters call me that.”
“I’ll still call you Odell.” To her, calling him June Bug would be making fun of him and she couldn’t do that.
“Yes, ma’am.”
For the next thirty minutes he showed her what needed to be done to the column and veranda to secure it and she told him to go ahead with the work. They were unloading the car when an older lady jogged up in sweatpants, a T-shirt stretched over an ample bosom and sneakers. Her gray hair was curled in a tight perm.
“I’m Ethel Mae Stromiski,” she introduced herself, wiping sweat from her forehead and gasping for air.
“Nice to meet you,” Callie said, figuring this was Odell’s mama.
“I cleaned up two bedrooms and the bath like Miranda asked me to.” She talked fast just like her son, reminding Callie of the hum of a sewing machine. She listened close to catch each word.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow to do more cleaning.”
“I—ah—”
“I got to jog this damn mile like the doctor told me to. He said if I want to keep living I need to exercise more. What I need is a damn cigarette. Odell, what time you coming home for supper?” She didn’t even take a breath.
“I don’t live with you anymore. I’ll come home when I want to.”
“Smart-ass,” Ethel muttered to Callie and gulped a quick breath. “He built him a room in the back of my house and he calls that moving out. Kids always have to do somethin’ different. What’s wrong with living with your mama? You just better not be eating bugs again,” she yelled to Odell. “Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Go home, Mama. I got work to do.”
“Supper will be ready at six.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Where you gonna eat?”
“Maybe I’ll have a beer at the Lone Wolf. I don’t know. It’s my business.”
“Kids—you give ’em your heart and they stomp on it. Now if he was meeting a woman at the Lone Wolf instead of Bubba Joe, I wouldn’t mind. I gotta find that boy a woman.” With that she jogged off down the street, panting.
“Is this a circus or what?” Adam asked.
“Be nice,” Callie scolded, but she could feel herself wanting to laugh and she hadn’t felt that way since her mother had died. She hadn’t felt much of anything besides fear. Homestead was going to be good for them—a simple way of life with some interesting characters. Though she couldn’t get too friendly with the townspeople. To guard their safety, she had to keep a low profile.
With all the luggage in the house, Callie decided that buying sleeping bags was the next order of business, but first she had to call her lawyer, Gail Baxter. She got her answering machine so she called her friend, Beth, in New York, for an update.
She’d bought the phone under the name of Amy Austin so if the FBI starting checking out her lawyer or her friend’s phone, they couldn’t trace it to Callie Lambert. She didn’t want to use her first name—it might give her away. She’d had no problem getting the phone in that name.
Beth picked up on the second ring.
“Oh, Callie, I’m so glad you’re okay. Just don’t tell me where you are because I’m not good under pressure.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to. How are things there?”
“Not as much commotion as you’d think. The FBI is investigating and they questioned everyone here at the restaurant, but they were actually nice. I told them that if you took the kids then they were safe because Nigel was abusing them. They asked what kind of abuse and I told them all the things you’d told me and how worried you were.”
“Did they believe you?”
“I suppose so because Nigel came into the restaurant and accused me of spreading lies about him. Someone called the police and they picked him up. One of the agents came in yesterday and said your lawyer had called and informed them that you had the kids and you weren’t bringing them back until a hearing was set. He told me to call if I heard from you.”
“I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this.”
“Don’t worry. If I don’t know anything, I can’t tell them anything. Just take care of yourself and those kids.”
Callie hung up hoping her lawyer could get something done. She could wait as long as the kids weren’t with Nigel.
The kids were outside watching Odell and Bubba
