The Unfortunate Aneurysm of The Potato Blossom Queen

Garrett Socol

As Melinda Wild headed south on North Dahlia Drive, she felt a familiar sense of dread.  This was the second month in a row she hadn’t read the assigned book that her five neighbors had surely tackled.  At least Darla Nutter had an excuse when she neglected to pick up the lengthy Jack London earlier in the year; her husband had hip replacement surgery and her fifteen-year-old was arrested for drug trafficking.  But Melinda had no solid reason for her lack of preparedness.  She just couldn’t seem to immerse herself in the social, cultural and religious history of salt.  (The assigned reading was Salt of the Earth: A Well-Seasoned Journey.)
…..The sun was beginning to set, casting pink puffs of light into the darkening blue sky.  Ordinarily Melinda would have appreciated this celestial beauty, but something inside her was off-kilter.  Jangled nerves along with a sense of hopelessness were consuming her.  Then there was the pressure of the women awaiting her arrival.  For a fleeting moment she considered fabricating a story, but she knew her voice would quiver and her face would turn the color of Pepto-Bismol.  Melinda realized another option existed: She could make the announcement that her marriage had disintegrated beyond repair, and the only reading material of interest to her was a paperback from Deb’s Books & Beverages called Divorce in the New Millennium.  This plan certainly had its strong points, but one pesky question plagued her:  Was it appropriate to announce this jarring news to the women of the book club before announcing it to her husband Clay?

§

When Melinda Wendt first arrived in Kettle Falls, Nebraska three years earlier, she assumed she’d spend the rest of her life in the scenic community with her then-fiance Clayton Wild.  Charmed by the rhapsodic rolling hills, the quaint Mom and Pop shops, and the quaint Moms and Pops, Melinda felt utterly, blissfully content.
…..Prior to arriving in Kettle Falls, Melinda toiled in the high-stress milieu of Manhattan advertising.  She thrived on the pace and pressure, not to mention the phenomenal perks like being flown first-class to Paris and Fiji and staying at five-star hotels.  But the excitement began to wane.  The duplicity of her colleagues became as obvious as their cosmetic enhancements.  Staring at a BlackBerry during staff meetings was de rigueur as was the relentless pursuit of more: more money, more success, more power.  More reasons to brag.  Demoralization had set in to an alarming degree.  Almost as if on cue, Clay breezed into Melinda’s life.
…..Clayton Wild, a pharmaceutical sales rep, had flown in from Nebraska for his older sister’s wedding to a high-powered attorney.  After checking into the trendy Gansevoort Hotel, he headed for the bar where Melinda happened to be meeting a client for drinks.  The attraction was instant and intense.  Clay was the polar opposite of the pompous, arrogant guys in tailored suits who tried to impress with their penthouses and portfolios, the ones who thought the world and its women revolved around them.  With his sunny persona, Clay seemed refreshingly genuine.
…..They spent every possible moment together until it was time for Clay to fly back to the Midwest.  Just before leaving for the airport, he proposed marriage.  There was no doubt in Melinda’s mind that this was the man with whom she wanted to spend every birthday, holiday and Saturday night for the rest of her life.  There was only one drawback.  As a little girl in Montvale, New Jersey, Melinda made a vow to hold onto her maiden name if she ever became a wife.  (An only child, she didn’t want the family name to vanish.)  But Melinda Wendt Wild sounded like the title of an adult film.  In the end, the Wendt went.
…..Melinda had no qualms about leaving Manhattan, and her first few months in Kettle Falls were idyllic.  Her second few were less idyllic.  By the third few months, nothing resembling idyllic existed in Melinda’s narrow world.  Her duties as Arts & Entertainment Editor of the Kettle Falls Chronicle weren’t particularly challenging (there was no art and little entertainment within a ninety mile radius), the quaint Mom and Pop shops were getting on her nerves (she longed for one big corporate-owned retail outlet with salespeople who didn’t know about her husband’s ulcerative colitis), and she missed the cacophony of street noise caused by cars, buses, trucks, and empty beer cans rattling against the curb.  She found herself moseying through each interminable day in a hazy  trance.
…..Melinda’s restlessness impacted her marriage in unexpected ways.  The couple seemed to have an argument every other night, and their sex life had taken such a tumble that Melinda accused Clay of having an affair, which he vehemently denied. (She believed him.)  It was much too early in the relationship for banal routine, much too soon for strained silence around the dinner table.  They had settled into a state of stifling domestic anomie, and neither knew what to do about it, though Melinda was seriously leaning toward a return to her former life.

§

Pulling into Fern McCracken’s circular driveway, Melinda was almost blinded by six white hatchbacks.  Two belonged to the McCracken family, and the other four to the members of the book club: Darla Nutter, Polly Tufts, Berta Lynn Best, and Violet Cornish.  Dusk was beginning to envelop the area, and Melinda knew that Fern was silently cursing her for being late.  (The hostess liked to start promptly at six.)  She opened the door and managed to pull herself out of her dusty red convertible into the unseasonably warm December air.
…..Melinda was one of the few residents of Kettle Falls who drove a car that wasn’t white.  This was the single thing she had in common with her next door neighbor Sable Tully.   A former Miss Potato Blossom Queen, Sable loved tooling through town in the vivid red Corvette she bought after her husband Randal was struck by a falling boulder on a hiking expedition.  Whether behind the wheel or strolling down the street, the strawberry blonde Sable always turned heads.  Some people whispered that she also turned tricks (the authorities became involved at one point), but this scurrilous rumor was started by Art Rosekrantz, a twice divorced carpenter whose crude advances Sable rejected shortly after the tragic incident involving Randal and the plunging rock.
…..Melinda dragged herself across Fern’s immaculate front lawn to Fern’s immaculate front door which always seemed freshly painted.  Before she had a chance to knock, the door flung open and Fern stood before her, overdressed and on the express lane to menopause.  “You’re fourteen minutes late,” she said with a sweet smile.
…..“I’m sorry,” Melinda said, stepping into the house.
…..Polly Tufts, lounging on the leather recliner with a coffee cup in her right hand, motioned with her left for Melinda to join her.  Smart, savvy, and sarcastic, she was Melinda’s one true friend.
…..“What did you think of the book?” Fern asked once all her guests were seated. Instantly, the women took an unexpected turn for the terse.  “Did anyone bother to read it?” the hostess inquired as poison darts shot from her small demon eyes.  Again, silence.
…..“”Maybe you could assign more provocative material,” Polly suggested.  “I mean, who wants to spend two weeks reading about salt?”
…..“I couldn’t get past the first page,” Darla confessed.
…..“I couldn’t get past the first paragraph,” Polly mumbled.
…..“I wrongly assumed you ladies took your responsibilities seriously.”
…..“When was the last time you had an orgasm, Fern?” Polly asked.  The question elicited loud guffaws, none of which came from Fern.  “I better get you out of here,” Melinda quietly said as she grabbed Polly’s hand and pulled her to the front door.
…..Like felons escaping from prison, Melinda and Polly bolted from the house and flew into Polly’s Buick Lucerne.  “Step on it!” Melinda ordered as she picked up a stuffed dinosaur and several empty juice boxes from the floor.
…..“Throw all that in the back seat,” Polly said, starting the engine.  “I don’t know about you, but I need a cocktail.”
…..“Let’s go to CPR,” Melinda suggested.
…..Named for the initials of its owner Caitlyn Paige Rooney, the immensely popular restaurant was occasionally mistaken for a trauma clinic, but those who rushed into CPR   seeking emergency treatment were directed to the Muriel Miramontel Memorial Medical Center six blocks north.  With its romantic lighting, full bar and intoxicating scent of French fries, this was the town’s premiere destination for wining, dining, proposing marriage and discussing divorce.  The corner booth in the back, with its comfortable burgundy leather, was Melinda’s favorite spot.  She and Polly seated themselves.
…..“Tell me what’s wrong,” the always observant Polly said.
…..“Same old story.”
…..“Hey there, I’m Misty,” announced a cheerful twenty-year-old in a frilly turquoise  outfit.  “Can I take your drink orders?”
…..“Apple martini,” Polly said.  “Light on the apple.”
…..“I’ll have an iced tea with a dash of cyanide,” Melinda said.
…..“We have Sweet‘n Low, would that work?” Misty asked, slightly confused.
…..“It’ll do.”
…..“You got it,” the perky girl declared before darting from the table.
…..“Is Misty her real name or do you think it’s short for something?” Melinda asked.
…..“Probably short for Mistake,” Polly offered.
…..“I wanted this to work so much, remember?” Melinda asked.  “I gave it a year.  Then another.  I don’t want to be sitting here five years from now, wondering if I should hang in six more months.”
…..“Don’t worry, we can sit at another table,” Polly suggested with a smile.   “Did you hear the rumor about Natalie Valentine?”
…..“No,” Melinda said, her eyes widening with expectation.  She didn’t know Natalie well, but she was so dazzled by the woman’s natural beauty, so struck by her charisma and charm that she wondered if latent bisexual feelings were brewing under her skin.
…..“Supposedly she goes to Omaha once a month, rents a swank hotel room, and entertains one guy after the next.  Pockets a thousand bucks in a day.”
…..“Natalie Valentine?” Melinda asked with disbelief.  “She volunteers at the Red Cross.”  Polly shrugged with both shoulders.  “Listen, I have something important to tell you.”
…..“I’m listening,” Polly said.
…..“I’m pregnant,” Melinda replied.
…..Polly looked at her friend with an expression of deep concern.  “Oh my my my my my.  What does Clay think?”
…..“He doesn’t know,” Melinda confessed.  “Nobody does.”
…..“Oh my my my my my my my.  When do you plan to tell him?”
…..“Tonight.”  It was obvious that the pregnancy only magnified Melinda’s feelings of despair; having a baby meant she’d be stuck in Kettle Falls for the rest of her life.
…..After splitting the check and leaving Misty a generous tip, they trudged to the car. Barreling down White Oak Road, both women became lost in their thoughts.  “Watch out!” Melinda shouted as the stoplight turned red.  Polly slammed on the brake as two pedestrians were crossing Impatiens.  It wasn’t until they were directly in the bright headlights that their faces were revealed.  “Goodness,” Melinda whispered without moving her lips.  “Speak of the devil.”
…..“Devil in a tight blue dress.”
…..Some of the inescapable power of Natalie Valentine’s allure lay in the way she carried herself.  Head held high and spine straight as a flagpole, she walked with unqualified confidence, exuding a potent sex appeal.  “She’s so poised,” Melinda said with a touch of awe.  “And you have to admit she’s awfully pretty.”
…..“Yes, but she won’t age well,” Polly remarked.  “Her features are too fragile.”  The stoplight turned green and Polly proceeded with caution.  When she took a sharp right turn onto Jonquil Drive, Melinda gasped.  Flashing red lights illuminated the street, portending trouble if not tragedy.  Though they were a half block from the activity, Melinda was sure the collection of cars was assembled in front of her house.  “What on earth is going on?” Polly asked as she swerved into a parking spot.  She turned the engine off as an ambulance sped past.
…..“Damn, I’m blocking the driveway.”
…..“Don’t worry,” Melinda said.  “It’s Ollie’s house.”  The heaviest resident of Kettle Falls, Ollie Ober tipped the scale at six hundred pounds.  He was so obese that he never ventured outside except in the most urgent situation.
…..“I should introduce him to my anorexic cousin Dorine,” Polly said.  “Their kids would be the perfect size, don’t you think?”
…..Up ahead, neighbors were gathered on the sidewalk, spilling into the gutter.  Polly grabbed Melinda’s hand and they headed toward the commotion with a stomach-turning sense of dread.  Three police cars were parked in front, blocking Sable’s red Corvette which was sitting in her driveway.  A lanky guy in a rumpled white shirt seemed to be in charge.  “Excuse me,” Polly said.
….. “Is one of you Mrs. Wild?” he asked, munching on a scone.
…..“I am,” Melinda said.  “What happened?”
…..“There was a robbery,” he announced.  “Your husband accosted the cat burglar in the driveway, then gunshots blasted.  At least five, maybe six or seven.  Maybe even fifteen or twenty.”
…..“What the hell are you doing, Woodhatch?” a uniformed officer shouted as he ran up to the guy in the rumpled shirt.  Officer Kevin Garber grabbed the guy’s arm, causing his scone to fall to the ground.  “Lock this psycho in the car, would you?” he called out to a nearby female officer.  “And cuff him.”
…..“You got it, Officer Garber,” she replied as she ushered the trickster into the night.
…..The concerned officer turned to the ladies.  “I’m sorry.  He’s harmless, just a little off his rocker.”
…..“What he said isn’t true?” Melinda asked.
…..“I don’t know what he told you, but your husband is alive.  Facts are a little fuzzy, but this is what we think took place.  Clayton Wild was having a drink with Sable Tully in her dining room.  Sable had an aneurysm and fell to the floor.  Clayton rushed to the land line in the living room and called an ambulance.  As he ran back to Sable, he tripped and hit his head on a life-size statue of her that looks like she was in some pageant.”
…..“Potato Blossom Queen,” the dazed Melinda mumbled.
…..“Did you know she has a life-size, stone statue of herself?” Garber asked.
…..“I can’t say I was aware of that.”
…..“It fell on the floor along with your husband.  He either hit his head on the statue itself or the hard wood floor, maybe both.  We think the potato might’ve struck the back of your husband’s skull once he was on the ground.  He’s on his way to Kettle Falls Memorial.”
…..“How do you know they were drinking?” Melinda asked.
…..“There were two glasses of Scotch on the table,” he said with a doleful expression, despising this part of his job.  “You’re welcome to go in and take a look.  You can also see a pool of your husband’s blood, if you like.”
…..“That’s truly thoughtful of you,” Polly said before Melinda had a chance to respond, “but we’ll pass.”
…..Dazed and wobbly, Melinda followed Polly to the car.  Before opening the door, she noticed Ollie Ober, all six hundred pounds of him, peering out the front window of his ramshackle house.
…..Clayton Wild had suffered a blunt impact to the head.  Dr. Harvard Nemecek, a Yale educated neurologist, explained that the patient had lost all motor capability, but with regular physical therapy he’d most likely walk and talk again.  Then he broke the news that Sable Tully had suffered a ruptured cerebral aneurysm, but there was a good chance she’d pull through.  “Just in case you wanted to know,” he added.
…..“Thanks,” Melinda said.  “Is my husband conscious?  Can I see him?”
…..“Of course,” the doctor said.
…..In a deep sleep, Clay seemed comfortable under a flimsy white blanket.  Melinda sunk into a worn, cushioned chair next to the bed, wondering why her husband had been boozing in Sable Tully’s dining room at eight in the evening.
…..Clay’s mother Deirdre, an imposing figure with thick eyebrows and thin lips, drove her Dodge Charger from the neighboring town of Newcastle.  “I used to be a nurse,” she reminded Melinda.  “So don’t expect me to leave my son’s bedside anytime soon.”  Her buzz-saw intensity combined with her booming voice intimidated even the strongest of personalities.
…..Three days later, Clay was released from the hospital.  Moving his fingers and toes was the extent of his motor capabilities.  Physical therapy would begin shortly.
……It was determined that a full-time nurse was a necessity, and though Deirdre insisted on moving into the house for the foreseeable future, she wasn’t against the idea of bringing in another body.  “This way I’ll be able to keep my appointments in Newcastle,” she explained.  Two nurses were hired, one for weekdays, the other for weekends.  It was sheer coincidence that they were named April and Mae.
…..The home Melinda had shared with her husband took on a disturbing new vibe.  With Deirdre and April (or Mae on the weekends) tending to Clay, a chilly formality prevailed.  Melinda felt like an uninvited, unnecessary guest.  “With the domestic situation being what it is,” she explained to Polly, “I can go to New York and clear my head, knowing Clay will be in good hands.”  Then she modified her comment.  “Well, he’ll be in hands.  And I can take care of my little situation before it becomes a big one without Clay ever knowing.”
…..“Is that what you decided to do?” Polly asked with concern.
…..“Frankly, I’m still on the fence,” Melinda said.  “But I like having the option.”
…..Deirdre seemed pleased, almost relieved, when she heard her daughter-in-law was leaving for a while.  “Take all the time you need.” she said.
…..Saying goodbye to Clay proved more difficult than Melinda imagined.  Even though his face remained stone still, Melinda wondered if her husband understood what was happening.  She kissed him on the cheek and told him she would return soon, though she didn’t know if soon meant weeks, months or ever.
…..The clouds were thick and gray as Polly drove Melinda to the airport.  “Did you hear Sable Tully was transferred to a rehab facility in Pretty Prairie?  She’s paralyzed from the knees down and suffering long-term memory loss.”
…..“She’s better off forgetting her sleazy past.”
…..The dramatic sight of the airport, with its large green signs announcing arrivals, departures, and car rentals, jangled Melinda’s nerves.  She kissed her friend on the cheek, grabbed her suitcase and headed into the terminal.
…..After making it through security in record time, she meandered from airport boutique to airport bookstore to airport eatery.  In the sea of strangers, she suddenly noticed a familiar face leaning against the wall, sipping coffee from a large Styrofoam cup.  Natalie Valentine, in a sky blue V-neck cashmere top and tight white pants, lit up with a wide grin when she saw her neighbor approaching.
…..“Hello Melinda Wild,” she said in a lilting voice.  “What a surprise.  Where are you flying?”
…..“New York.  How about you?”
…..“Omaha, but just for a day.  I sure hope this fog lifts.”
…..“You’re going for one day?” Melinda asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
…..“Just one day.  I visit my brother,” she said.  “He lives there.”
…..“I see,” she said, not seeing at all.  An awkward silence followed.
…..“He’s in a mental health facility,” Natalie explained softly, almost in a whisper, “and I prefer doing a forty-five minute flight than an eight-hour drive.”
…..“Understandable,” Melinda said, slightly mortified.  “I cannot stand long drives.”  She felt an urgent need to apologize.  “I’m so sorry, Natalie.  I didn’t mean to pry.”
…..“It’s fine,” Natalie assured her.
…..Without thinking about it, Melinda lost herself in Natalie’s soulful eyes.  “Do you know how extraordinarily beautiful you are?” she asked.
…..“You’re too sweet,” Natalie replied.  “Listen, I’m running late.”
…..“Have a good flight!”
…..“You too.”  Natalie scurried off, and Melinda wondered if she’d ever be able to face her again.
….. After boarding the flight, the aircraft sat on the runway for a solid fifteen minutes, and Melinda wondered if Natalie had been telling the truth.  Concocting a mentally challenged brother would have been shameful, she thought, so she concluded that the outrageous rumor about being a part-time prostitute was undoubtedly false.
…..The plane finally lifted off the ground.  As it took Melinda farther and farther from Kettle Falls, her anxiety grew.  She felt as if she’d left something behind, something she wouldn’t be able to pick up in a Manhattan department store.  She couldn’t help wondering if this flight was a permanent one from her life.  She felt herself receding into some gigantic void, a vast, empty, indoor oblivion with no exit.
…..She closed her eyes and relived her marriage, watching it unfold like a black and white movie, month after month, year after year.  The leading man continued to be the strong, kind, thoughtful person he’d always been.  It was the leading lady who changed; she became distant and restless for reasons having nothing to do with her co-star.  But he loved her so much that he didn’t leave.  He became the hero, the character to root for, and sitting in that tight window seat thirty thousand feet off the ground, Melinda rooted for him, realizing she was the only person who held the power to provide him with a happy ending, the denouement he deserved.  There was no doubt in her mind that if the situation had been reversed and she’d been the stricken one, Clay would have remained by her side, catering to her every need.
…..Somewhere over Indianapolis, Melinda began to see the submissive, grossly insensitive person she had become.  Allowing Deirdre to roar into town like a tornado and take over her son’s life was bad enough, but Melinda could hardly believe she was considering an abortion without even discussing it with Clay.  She could hardly believe she was leaving her husband when he was about to embark on the most challenging journey of his life.  This was the same man to whom she’d willingly, joyfully given a piece of her heart.
…..As the aircraft came in for a landing, Melinda was engulfed by a powerful undertow of emotion that caused tears to stream down her face.  She was the last passenger to deplane.
…..The terminal was packed with people running and rushing.  They all seemed to be on some kind of amphetamine, and they were all warmly dressed as if ready for a heavy New York snowfall.  Melinda stepped on the crowded down escalator and followed the signs to baggage claim.  Standing by the carousel, she watched the luggage drop like gobs of soft ice cream from a leaky machine.  Her tears had subsided, the fog she’d been living in had lifted, and she knew she had more than luggage to claim.  After grabbing her suitcase, she mounted the escalator leading back up to the terminal.
…..The line to purchase tickets was fairly long but seemed to be moving at a decent pace.  No more than ten minutes later, she found herself standing in front of a fair-skinned agent with a kind face and a name tag that read Kendall.  “Can I help you?” Kendall asked.
…..“Yes please,” Melinda said with considerable urgency.  “I’d like a ticket on the next flight to Lincoln Airport, Nebraska.”

–
–

→VOLUME 11