We Are All Welcome Here by Elizabeth Berg Read Free Book Online Page A

said. “Today’s my first day.”
    “Where are you from?” Mrs. Beasley asked, and he told her Odessa, Texas.
    “And what brings you here?” she asked.
    “Just here doing a favor,” he said. “For a friend.”
    “I see.” Mrs. Beasley handed him his change. “Well, welcome to Tupelo.”
    He put his hat back on and tipped it. “Thank you kindly.” Just before he pushed out the door, he smiled at Suralee and me. His eyes were an arresting light blue. He had one dimple on the left side. Straight white teeth.
    “Kill me dead before I die,” Suralee said.
    I swallowed. “Do you still want ice cream?”
    “Are you crazy?”
    We always got along this way. We understood each other. We started out the door and Mrs. Beasley said, “Don’t you girls want your cones?”
    “We’ll be back,” I told her.
    “Your
Seventeen
?” she asked.
    Suralee and I looked at each other, and I ran back to the counter. Mrs. Beasley put the magazine in a bag and handed it to me, then put her finger to her lips; her husband was emerging from the back room. I thanked her, then ran outside to join Suralee, who was waiting impatiently.
    We quickly crossed the street, Shooter trotting behind us. Debby’s Dress Shop was located next to the hardware store, and I saw Mrs. Black, the owner, standing at the window with her arms crossed, watching us. She was probably afraid we were headed her way, coming in to finger the Ship’n Shore blouses we couldn’t afford but liked to look at anyway. If we tried something on, she always checked for smells, and made no effort to disguise it. When Suralee told Shooter to lie down beside a parking meter in front of the hardware store rather than the dress shop, Mrs. Black gave a fake-friendly wave. Hating myself, I smiled and waved back. I had to. Debby Black had once donated a set of saucepans to us. Most had scorch marks and one was missing screws at the handle, but LaRue fixed it for us.
    Inside the hardware store, Suralee and I saw not Dell but Brooks. He was standing by a display of paint cans near the front of the store, dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt, shiny navy blue pants, and white socks with his black tie shoes. He was talking to an old colored man; they were laughing about something. “
Hey,
Diana!” he said in his overly hearty way. Suralee always said he should do used-car ads. Brooks only jutted his chin at her—he always forgot her name.
    “Hey,” I said. “This is my friend, Suralee. Remember?”
    “’Course I do. What can I do for y’all?”
    I looked around the store as though trying to locate what I needed, when in fact I was looking for Dell. Suralee began moving across the heads of the aisles, doing the same thing.
    “My mom needs something,” I said, at the same time that Suralee pointed and said, “Right there!”
    “Plumbing supplies?” Brooks asked, for that was the aisle Suralee had gone down.
    “No, that’s for Suralee’s mom,” I said. “My mom needs you to look at her icebox.”
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Not keeping things cold.”
    “Again?” Brooks looked at his watch. “I can’t leave right now, but I can come by after dinner. Tell her we’ll have a TV date, how’s that?”
    I shrugged. She wouldn’t mind his company, but I would. They would talk in low voices and ignore me. Sometimes my mother winked at Brooks. Once, I’d seen him rub her hand. He’d used only two fingers and had moved them along slowly; it had made the back of my neck cold.
    “Tell her I’ll be there about seven-thirty, and I’ll bring her a Dairy Queen—doesn’t she like Dairy Queen milk shakes?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, I’ll bring her one.”
    “I like them, too,” I said. “Especially chocolate.”
    “Yeah, I believe that’s your mother’s favorite, too.” He turned again to the colored man. “I’ll tell you what,” he told him. “I ’bout busted a gut, watching old Randy try to throw that ball. Looked like a goddamn