Free A Trashy Affair by Lynn Shurr Page A

hope.”
    “No, I was telling Jane how pretty the flowers are, purple and gold, my favorite colors.” That pink, wrinkled face stayed perfectly innocent.
    “Merlin, baby, go across to the Fast ’N Fun and get your granny some scratch-offs.” Miss Olive fumbled with a net bag on her walker and took out a change purse. “Get me twenty of different kinds. You know, the casino bus comes twice a month to Magnolia Villa to take us Indian gambling, but I don’t get out enough to get my scratch-offs,” she informed Jane.
    Her grandson waved the folded twenty away. “I got it, Granny.” He loped off to do her bidding.
    “He’ll be gone a while. People certainly do like their fried chicken boxes and Sunday plate lunches. The line is out the door around this time. I just wish their trash didn’t end up in my ditch. Oh well, can I get you more coffee, Miss Olive?” Jane asked.
    “No, thank you, cher. I’m wearing my good drawers, not my diaper.” She placed a wrinkled, veiny hand over Jane’s lying on the swing. “I want to talk to you about Merlin. On the outside, he’s this big, tough man, but inside he hurts. He won what they call the Distinguished Flying Cross in Afghanistan for saving six lives. He was coming back from an insertion of troops when he saw a squad pinned down with no way out. Why, he swooped right in and rescued six of those men, two of them riding on the struts of his helicopter. Got them to safety, called for help, but by the time another helicopter got there, the rest were killed. He can’t get over not saving them all. I wouldn’t know a word of this if the army hadn’t sent the papers and the medal to us. Merlin won’t talk about it, but his mama blabbed. Just made it worse that the town wanted to give him a parade, and he refused to attend.”
    “He should be proud of saving the six.”
    “That’s what everyone thinks, but not him. He has lots of other hurts he holds inside from before he went into the army. You know about his mama?”
    “That she’s—simple-minded.” Jane used Merlin’s own term. Retarded sounded too harsh, special too precious.
    “Yes, my Herve, being a small farmer, didn’t have much insurance. I waited too long to go to the hospital trying to save on money. Foolish. Anyhow, nothing wrong with her body. She’s tres petite like me, but pretty as a buttercup when she was young. I’ll bet you a winning scratch-off Merlin didn’t tell you my Jenny gave birth to him at just fourteen. A smart college guy, a young man who oughten to have known better, knocked her up. When Herve threatened to go to the police to report it, the boy’s rich daddy comes running. Please don’t ruin his son’s life. Oh, he’ll see Jenny and the child are supported until the kid reaches eighteen. A thousand dollars a month, he offered. Sounded good at the time. All our daughter had to do was say she didn’t know who fathered the baby. They had a slick city lawyer draw up papers with one of those non-disclosure clauses. All three of us signed.”
    “No, he didn’t tell me any of this. Merlin doesn’t know who his real father is?”
    “He certainly does. Smart boy, he figured it out by himself, but I can’t tell you. I doubt he will. We had to take Jenny out of school because she got a reputation for being loose after that, a girl who didn’t know who fathered her baby. She would of earned only a certificate of completion, anyhow. We kept her close where we could watch over her and the baby until she turned eighteen. Then, Herve asked old man Broussard to give her a job at his dance hall. They were friends from childhood, so Broussard promised to watch out for Jenny. I guess he did his best, but she come up pregnant again. Harley David ain’t much, can’t keep a job, hardly raised a sweat on the farm, but he stepped up. Every night she works, he’s at the bar watching out for her. All of them lived here, Jenny’s second and third babies, then her baby girl’s baby, too,