Page 41 of Cocky Origins: May and Jerald Cocker

May laughs, and Ma directs her confusion to me. “What’s effusive?”

“Inside joke, my apologies.”

“Well now, those aren’t polite!”

Pop says, “I believe he’s referring to the avalanche of compliments you just paid our young May, dear!”

“And she deserves every one!”

Mrs. Kearns raises her voice, “Margaret! Matthew! Don’t eat those sticks!”

The crowd is beginning to lighten, parishioners dispersing to enjoy their Sundays.

Pops looks at me. “Picnic, eh? Never saw a better day for it.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t think it all the way through. You see, I…” It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t want to give away the fact that they weren’t coming to church today, if it hadn’t been for me. “I was so used to our coming to church together, that I didn’t think to bring our second car.”

Hank grins, “And you forgot the basket!”

Happy to prove him wrong, I smirk, “I take it you didn’t look in the trunk. No, why would you? But if you had, you’d find all the fixins for a proper picnic stashed away.” I tap my temple.

“Perhaps we can get a ride from you, Fred?” Pop suggests, “If you have the room.”

Mr. Kearns frowns by the probability that he’ll have to decline. “I drive a pickup truck.”

Our folks look at each other, and Pop surprises Ma with the heartfelt confession, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of one of those!”

“Raymond!”

“Well, I have. It’s settled then.”

“But your heart!”

“Needs more fresh air, I agree with you!“ He looks like he’s lost thirty years, light shining from his eyes. “If there’s one thing that nearly dying has taught me, it’s to take advantage of fun when it’s handed to you.”

Hank grins, “I’ll sit in the back with you, Pops!”

Conceding defeat, Ma throws up a gloved hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit in the front with you and your lovely wife.”

“It would be my honor, and please call me Fred.” He tips his hat.

With that settled, we walk to the parking lot, two seemingly miss-matched but happy families.

As they drive away, May and I wave goodbye.

It sure is a sight.

My old man waving from the bed of a black Ford pickup, and my kid brother happy to be along for the ride.

22

MAY

We’re tucked under a tree in the farmlands that surround Albany, the shade lowering the temperature by at least ten degrees. It’s a warm day, and Jerald removed his jacket, sitting back on the wool blanket in his slacks, suspenders and button up, wing tip shoes still on.

I didn’t wear a hat today, since I don’t own one that matches my yellow dress I love so much. But I do have yellow shoes, and that works just fine. Smoothing knots from the beautiful drive I smile, “Is this your Mother’s basket?”

He’s pulled so many things from it I’ve begun to believe it’s bottomless.

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