Free Cemetery Silk by E. Joan Sims Page A

BEST USED CARS” was a circus of flapping flags of every color, and balloons that bounced madly around in the wind. It looked like a fun place to part with your money. All of the salesmen had big smiles and big meaty handshakes.
    There was a tent in front of the lot. Underneath were lots of pretty young things in shorts handing out free coffee and doughnuts or cokes and hotdogs depending on your inner clock or digestion.
    One of the smiling salesmen approached me when I parked in the sunniest spot on the lot. I posed the car to send out a bright ruby beacon of pristine fenders and shining chrome fittings. The man’s smile and the hope of a commission faded when I told him I was a friend of his boss. I feared for a moment he was going to snatch back my cup of really good hot coffee.
    I leaned gently back against the Beamer and surreptitiously gave it a farewell pat. I had never really been too fond of the car. Cassie had talked me into buying it so I could take her to school in style. I always thought cars should do more than represent fashion or money. Automobiles were, after all, built to perform a service and I thought utility should be one of the services. After a year of sending suitcases ahead by UPS, I wanted a trunk big enough for more than an overnight bag.
    Bubba hurried across the lot towards me all smiles and flexing muscle. There was nothing stereotypical about him. He was tall and slim with a Henry Fonda gait and a tan as real as fishing and mountain climbing. His hair was still thick and flaxen and just unruly enough to keep him from being pretty. He grabbed me with one big arm and swung me around like a sack of feathers.
    â€œPaisley, darlin’! Boy, are you lookin’ good! I’m gonna dump Donna this time for sure and run away to Tahiti with ya!”
    He gave me a big old chaste smack on the cheek. He truly did adore Donna and their four little white-blond toddlers.
    â€œHow’s your Momma?”
    â€œShe’s great, Bubba”
    â€œAnd that beautiful daughter of yours?” he asked.
    â€œCassie is fine, too. She’s a student at Emory.”
    â€œMan, I can hardly believe that.”
    His country accent slowly faded as we walked and talked. He held my hand in his as easily as he had twenty years ago when we walked across that same college campus.
    There had been a brief moment when we had imagined we were lovers instead of friends, but as friends we had more fun. We stayed that way through thick and thin. It had been mostly thin for him for a long while.
    After I met and married Rafe, Bubba married an apparently sweet young debutante from Atlanta. Marie Lynne turned out to be a complete shrew. She made Bubba’s life miserable for ten long years until she finally partied and drank herself to death.
    Bubba came to see me after she died. He cried on my shoulder for a whole month until I found a shrink who made him see that it was truly not his fault. He went back to Atlanta, sold his law practice, and returned to his hometown. He bought some fantastic farmland and found pretty little Donna who had the strength of mind and character to match his. Four beautiful blond babies later they were happy and successful. I hoped he wanted to give Donna a Beemer for Christmas.
    In less than two hours I drove off the lot in my almost brand new bile green four-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee with Bubba’s check for the difference in my back pocket.
    I passed a western boot outlet going out of town and decided impetuously that I had to have a new outfit for my new wheels. I hung a rather large and ungainly U-turn. The Jeep had a much bigger turning radius than the BMW, and I almost took off the toe of the neon boot in the parking entrance. I emerged from the store thirty minutes later sporting red hand-tooled boots with green and yellow leather roses. I also topped them off with a soft fawn colored hat with a leather and turquoise band. Yippee!
    The two-inch heels on my boots made