Pie and Sympathy

They gathered in the fellowship hall for the monthly "fuss and cluck" they called FCW, aka the Fellowship Of Christian Women. On the second Thursday of every month, Colonel Sanders or a crock pot cooked the family supper while these dedicated ladies joined forces in an effort to solve the world's problems, one household at a time. 

     Vi and Vettie were the newest and youngest members of the group. Not yet 34 years old, these lifelong friends had just graduated from the CYW, Christian Young Women, after languishing there nearly five years beyond their expiration date. Their unfortunate names – one in honor of a favorite flower and one handed down from a beloved grandmother – spoke of a time gone by and could have been what initially bonded them together.

Violet, named for the diminutive and delicate purple flower, was shortened to "Vi" around the time of her tenth birthday when it became obvious she would never be small or delicate. She had a better chance of turning purple. This was only the second meeting of the CYW for Vettie and Vi, and they were enthusiastic about the prospect of making a positive and lasting impact in their community. 

        Vonnie McIntyre blew the whistle and the chatter died down. Iva Baumgartner opened the meeting with a word (or rather a desperately long paragraph) of prayer that prompted Betty Tyson to motion that they adjourn afterward. The room rippled with laughter, quickly silenced by the glare Miss Iva leveled in Betty's direction. 

The first new order of business was a plea for monetary donations and ideas to ramp up giving. The Kripsy Kreme efforts had dwindled significantly since two sixteen-year-old female church members walked smack dab into a police investigation of a house being used as a meth lab. Granted, the fella bought a box of crullers before the house exploded, but two traumatized teenagers proved to be a poor calling card for volunteers.

And, forget wrapping paper. It was nice, it was thick, and it was beautiful, but people complained that the paper looked better than the gifts they wrapped in it, so sales were down. Most folks were opting for the one-ply at the Dollar Tree. 

The bake sale the month before had put them in the red because all the gluten free, organic, sugar substitute ingredients needed just to attract new age clientele had eaten up all their profits. No one was satisfied with a cute little sugar-laden cupcake with an M&M smiley face carved in the icing any more. Fundraising just wasn't what it used to be. So, the discussion was tabled til the next meeting. 

      Next was discussion and prayer for missions, the preacher, family, and friends. Gertrude added and deleted names to the prayer list with the vigilance of an armed guard. She didn't like for anyone to linger there too long, as folks might get discouraged and think prayers weren't being answered. This practice led to words between Gertrude and Iva, whose granddaughter had been on the prayer list for months.

     "Iva, Cara Beth is not even sick. This list is for the sick and injured. I told you she cannot remain on this list unless she has a chronic illness."

"Gertrude, she is a stripper. She takes her clothes off and gyrates in front of strange men every night not two miles from here. Every night!!! Is that chronic enough for you? The girl needs help. And her name better stay on that list, 'cause if it don't Gertrude, your name is gonna wind up in the injured section."

    (Two years later Cara Beth's name was still on the list even though she had met a nice man, married, and moved to Hendersonville.)

    The final topic for discussion was a matter that was heart wrenching and hit much closer to home for Vi and Vettie; news that both shocked and moved them to tears.

     "Dwayne Whitman has been arrested for the murder of Hovey Lyle."

"What? You can't be serious" Both the V's nearly screamed their response

"We went to school with him." Vettie closed her eyes, not wanting to believe it.

Vi piped up, "He even went to church here for a little while. I had the biggest crush on him. His mama taught our Sunday school class"

The oohs, ahhs, and head shaking that ensued were nearly unparalleled in church history. Once everyone settled down, Vonnie explained that Dwayne had discovered his wife cheating with Hovey; and in a drug-addled fit, he gunned them both down. The news was more than Vi and Vettie could take. Tears began flowing. Audible sobs filled the fellowship hall.

"He was the sweetest boy" 

"Drugs, he turned to drugs?

"He had a paper route."

“He used to come to our house and go swimming."

"Lord, I didn't even know he was married. He told me one time he never was gonna get married. Women were too much trouble. I guess he was right."

"Girls, girls . . ." Miss Betty broke up their speculating long enough to inform them that it was customary for two of the women to visit the incarcerated will two others checked in on the family members.

Vettie said " I could bake a pie and . . .”

Gertrude interrupted, "The only way a pie will do any good is if you put a file in it."

"As I was saying," continued Vettie, "I could bake a pie and Vi and I can take it over to his mama. She is the sweetest lady."

Vonnie spoke up, "I think it would be best if our younger ladies went to the family home. I've seen enough Law and Order to know that prison is no place for the young. Me and Iva will go see Dwayne."

"What about me?" Gertrude's voice was like that of a petulant child. 

"Gertie, you've avoided jail this long; don't want to jinx it." Vonnie winked at her before she motioned that they adjourn and closed the meeting with prayer. 

   On the drive home, Vi and Vettie stopped at TCBY and ate their swirled yogurt in the car while they tried to digest the information that they had just been given about one of their own: a peer, a contemporary-gone-bad. No doubt he would spend the rest of his life in prison. And his mama, his poor mama, what would she do? 

Finally, after they were all talked out, and hashed and rehashed all they should have done to stay in touch with Dwayne over the years, the two women left the TCBY parking lot and headed for Vi's apartment just over the hill. Vettie dropped her off at her front door and the girls agreed to meet up tomorrow after lunch and take their pie and sympathies over to Clara Whitman's house 

"Thanks for driving tonight, I'll pick you up tomorrow. Night Vettie. Be careful."

"I will. Try to get some sleep. See you tomorrow."

     When Vi arrived at Vettie's the next day, her house smelled like a bakery, an aroma that would inspire a visitor to enter and never leave. On the counter were six, no seven, freshly baked pies. 

     "What on earth?" Vi was incredulous. 

     "I have a coconut creme and lemon meringue in the fridge."

"She's a small woman Vettie, she can't eat nine pies."

     "I know. I got a little carried away. I thought we could take them all and then see which one is – I don't know – more appropriate."

    "Well, I think nothing says we're-sorry-your-son-murdered-somebody better than coconut creme."

      "That's not funny."

      "Just trying to lighten the mood."

    The two women loaded up the ice chest and portable warmer and headed to Clara's house. Meanwhile, across town Vonnie frantically dialed Vi's cell phone trying to reach her before it was too late. Vi had switched her ringer to silent and in all the rush of pie-packing, Vettie had left her phone on the kitchen counter. So, exactly one half hour after Vonnie and Iva realized the only resemblance between Jail Dwayne and the Dwayne they knew was in name only, Vi and Vettie were being thrown out of Clara Whitman's house to the sound of expletives no Sunday School teacher should even know the meaning of, much less scream with such loud and perfect articulation. 

      Vi and Vettie peeled out of Clara's driveway as if afraid the next sound they might hear was the unmistakable click of a shotgun. They were completely silent as Vi drove past both their houses, the church, and miles further to the edge of town. Vettie didn't protest when Vi pulled into the parking lot of the Neon Dancer Bar and Fill. 

      "How will we ever blend in here?" Vettie asked as they got out of the car and headed for the door.

"Hi Vi"

"Hey Vi"

"Hey girl. Been awhile"

 Vettie looked at Vi in disbelief. "What? We don't go everywhere together. Sometimes I have to blow off steam, and I DON'T bake."

    Vettie decided to focus on one shock at a time as they found a small table in the corner, soon to be well lit by the looks of shame and embarrassment that radiated from both of their faces. 

     "I had no idea Dwayne was living in Hilton Head," Vi's voice was a whisper.

     "Hilton Head? That's what threw you off was Hilton Head? Not the part that he is a gay artist with a thriving gallery on Hilton Head – something we found out right after you told his mother that there was no sin God wouldn't forgive and that we were praying for his safety and that none of those awful men would cause him any harm?"

     "Well, Vettie, I think you could see the whole thing threw me off. That's why I just kept on babbling like a brook, 'cause that's what I do when I get nervous, I babble."

   "Well, that was a prize winner. And telling her we thought he was in jail for killing somebody wasn't the ice breaker we'd hoped for, now was it?"

      "Well, I'm sorry, but you didn't exactly throw on your mask and cape and save the day either, did you?"

     They both grew quiet. Vi reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette.

     "You smoke too? You go to bars, smoke. Do you take home strange men too?"

     Vi shrugged her shoulders in a non-answer that told all. 

     "Well you’re just unfolding like a flower, my friend."

     The waiter took their drink order: Vi wanted Baileys and Vettie ordered Kahlua. 

     Vi fished her phone from the bottom of her purse. "19 missed calls from Vonnie. And what do you suppose that's about?"

     For the first time since the incident, both women smiled, and then burst into laughter. Vi put her phone on speaker and let Vettie listen to the messages. 

     "Vi, it's Vonnie. Please call. You're not gonna believe this."

    "Vi, if you and Vettie haven't left yet, please don't It isn't our Dwayne; it's somebody else’s. His last name is Whiteman. Gertie got it wrong when she heard it on the police scanner."

     Vi and Vettie listened to 14 hang ups and the story of how Vonnie and Iva prayed with the New Dwayne and sang "Til the Storm Passes By" with him. The last two messages were apologies because Clara had been in touch with her and given her an ear full.

     "I hope this doesn't put a bad taste in your mouth about the FCW girls. It was just one of those things. It'll all blow over. Sometimes you just gotta make lemonade"

    "I don't make lemonade. I make pies," Vettie reached into her large bag and pulled out a chocolate pie and two forks. 

    Vi smiled, "It has become evident, my friend, that our mission outreach needs some fine tuning."

They both chuckled and swore off ever going to or joining any meeting or group again. Right then and there over Bailey's Irish Cream and Chocolate Silk Pie they made their decisions. They weren't going to try so hard. They were going to party and drink and smoke and go to Cancun. They were gonna drive the coastal highway, stop in a different town every two or three weeks, take temp jobs, and set out to seduce handsome town locals and leave them wanting more. 

But that was tonight, and they weren't driving anywhere. By tomorrow the sting of humiliation would be replaced with a hangover and regret; and they would go back to trying to make the world a better place, whether they wanted to or not. Because inside their women's hearts, they were still sweet little girls. But tonight was theirs, and all they needed was a little pie and sympathy.