"Josephine, Sugar! How are you doin'?"

Now, no one calls me "Josephine" but Momma Eula and my momma, and I knew it wasn't Momma Eula, because we laid her to rest six years ago. Poor girl was all eaten up with cancer. I loved that woman! Well, it wasn't her, so it had to be Momma.

"Momma? Who up and died?" I questioned, resting the phone on my shoulder while I examined my manicure.

"No one," she replied, clearly confused, "Why you ask that?"

"Well, last time you called, we put Daddy down next to Ninna Flo."

"Aw, Josephine!" she laughed. "I ain't called for that reason!"

"So, why you called me? What earth-movin' event happened in your life that I'd care about?" I snapped, snatching the phone up in a death-grip.

Her voice beamed, "Josephine, Baby, I'm gettin' married!"

The phone slipped from my hand and swung down below my knees. I was in total shock. I fished in my back pockets for a cigarette and my lighter, then picked the phone back up.

"Momma" I began, putting the Camel between my lips.

"Josephine! Did you pass out? I heard the phone drop."

"Momma, I've got me a cig," I explained, lighting my nerves and drawing in a deep drink of smoke. "Now, I want you to tell me again what you said."

I heard her sigh, "Baby, I'm gettin' married, and you're gonna be my maid-of-honor."

I exhaled, "That's what I thought you said. Momma, clean out the spare room, 'cause me and the boys are comin' for a visit!"
 

Momma was waiting on the porch whenever I slung gravel upside the house. She came down as I got out of the car.

"Where is he? Where's the loser?" I hollered.

"Josephine, calm yourself! You're actin' foolish!" she fussed, approaching me.

I put a finger up in her face, "Me? You the one who's marryin' a man only two years after you widowed!"

I was going to bless her out further whenever the screen opened and closed. I looked toward her the house and saw a boy about my brother's age coming towards us. My stomach turned as he put his arm about Momma's waist.

"Jeremy, this is Josephine," she said, nodding towards me. "Josephine, meet your new daddy."

He landed spread-eagle in the gravel. Yeah, I lost my temper and decked him. Momma fell to her knees beside him with a cry and cradled his head in her lap. That's when Matt, Jr. came to my side, tugging on my pantleg. "Momma, who's that boy with Granny?" he squeaked.

"Just a boy, Junior. Get Annie Lynne and go inside," I ordered.

Momma looked angrily up at me, "Josephine Elizabeth Irving! You are in deep trouble!"

I walked past her and went around back where I knew Bud would be working on his Mustang. He was. I brought the hood down sharply on the back of his head, and he let out a swear that could have burned the grass brown. Naturally, he snapped upright in order to beat the stuffing out of his assailant. Fortunately, I am quicker. He spun about three times before he landed face-down in the grass.

"Louis Boudreaux Hackindacker the third! You're a dead man!" I exclaimed as he rolled onto his back.

He wiped the blood from his lip, stared at me in disbelief. "What you do that for, Jo Be!" he bellowed. "I ain't done nothin'!"

"Exactly!" I replied. "When I moved out with Matt, you swore on Daddy's grave that you'd keep Momma sane. I want you to convince me she's got her senses about her before I strangle you!"

He scrambled to his feet, "Now, Jo Be, don't go and get narrow-minded on us. Momma's just makin' herself happy, and if you can't handle it"

"You know dang well I can't" For emphasis, I slammed his hood again. "Dang, boy! He's your age! And for God's sake, Daddy ain't even rotted good!"

He grimaced, "Aw, Jo, did you have to put it like that?"

I realized I would get nowhere with him. I decided to go inside and end the day--no matter that it was only four o'clock.

The rest of the week was no better than my first day back home. Momma and I were at odds. Bud and I were at odds. Jeremy and I pussy-footed around each other, and my kids were uneasy with the way we were all acting towards each other. Things only got worse whenever Momma's poker pals came over to help her plan the wedding.

First of all, Mary Lou Thaber and I have never liked each other since her brat son shot my pet duck when we were kids. Secondly, I greatly disagreed on Momma wearing white again. Third, I refused to have Annie Lynne be flower girl for this blasphemous ceremony. Of course, I became the group's comment target for the duration of their visit.

"Well, Jo, Darlin', how could we make the weddin' more to your likin'? Mrs. Emma Hazel McGee asked. She was always the peacemaker.

Mary Lou added, "Of course, you would be the expert on weddin's--you've had two already!"

I felt my temper begin to boil like a pot of fresh tea. The ladies--I use this term loosely--around the table snickered at the joke. I gave into temptation.

"Yeah, I guess I am the expert on weddin's. But, hey, at least I ain't doing a Mexican hat dance all over good, moral conduct like my mother is doing now," I remarked with a pasted-on smile.

Needless to say, Momma wasn't too happy about that statement. "Josephine, outside, now!" she ordered.

I gave in to temptation many times that week, and I got many sermons that week, also. The final sermon ended with me in tears, and Momma falling victim to a heart-attack. We rushed her to the hospital that afternoon.

I was in the waiting room of Crosby Memorial, trying not to let Bud's angry stare stir any guilt in me. Annie Lynne and little Matt were by my sides, both wondering aloud at different intervals, "Momma, did you kill Granny?" I was beginning to believe I had in some way.

"Doc says she's okay," Jeremy said, joining us. "Her bypass went fine, and she'll be out in time for the wedding."

"Yeah," Bud scoffed. "But you'll have to tone the honeymoon down a bit, thanks to Jo!"

"Bud, we're in a hospital, and I'm in the mood to put you in a bed right next to Momma!" I growled, placing my hands over my young'uns' ears so they wouldn't hear such violence.

"Stop it, both of you!" Jeremy yelled. "Bud, lay off of her. She's under a lot of stress without your stupidity. And, you, Jo"

I bristled, "What about me, boy? Don't you even begin to believe you'll ever be able to order me down!"

He shook his head, "I ain't. I was going to say I'm sorry for being' so much of a thorn in your side. I'd hoped we'd be friends, at least."

I made my two go to Bud and motioned for Jeremy to join me outside. He did. I got me a cigarette, lit it, and tried to calm my frazzled nerves.

"Jeremy, I ain't gonna lie to you--I hate you. Plain and simple," I informed, blowing smoke into the night sky.

"Okay, but, why?" he questioned. "What did I do?"

"My daddy and momma were married for forty-six years. They swore to have and to hold till death they do part. Back then, that little death part meant death and beyond. For forty-six years, they held them vows as high as our good Lord's gospel without anyone's help," I explained.

"A-a-and, so?"

"I'll be DAMNED if I let them vows be broken now by some two-bit, low-downed, hormonal teenage punk who thinks he'll just sashay in and take advantage of a grieving widow!" I yelled, getting up into his face the best I could.

He didn't react the way I had expected him to. He merely nodded.

"Perfectly logical. Good thing I ain't what you said. Now, then, may I have your blessing? I can't marry her with a good conscience if I don't have your blessing," he said to me.

Well, I was in shock again. He was asking my blessing like I was her momma or something. Well, if he was just a womanizing sweet-talker, he won my vote. I put my cigarette out and faced him.

"Now, let me tell you this: I ain't usually this easy to win over, but okay, you can marry her--IF, and I mean IF, you treat her good," I said. "She and I don't get along good, but she's the only momma I got and I don't wanna lose her."

"She's the Queen of Sheba to me," he replied.

"Good boy," I remarked. "Now, tell me one good reason I shouldn't stick to my guns and say no."

His face went serious, "If I don't marry her, some jerk will. Your momma's quite a woman. I'd hate to see her hurt."

"I'd hate to actually fire the .45 I keep in my car. Keep that in mind, boy. I've said yes, but I still feel like you all are spittin' on Daddy's grave. I'm watchin' you."
 

Okay. So I'm a hypocrite. Who ain't? At least Momma was happy. The wedding went fine, and, yes, I stood in it. Annie Lynne was flower girl, and Momma wore white. It all went smoothly, although everyone was a little unsure of why Jeremy kept looking back nervously at me--especially on the "to have and to hold" part.

I guess he was the only one who noticed the .45 in my garter.