Little Town, Great Big Life. Curtiss Matlock Ann

Catch ya’ later.”

      Thankfully, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Ricky Dale, was standing right across the hall.

      It was just bizarre.

      She could hardly remember ever seeing the woman, and then suddenly, on this day, every time she turned around, there was Ms. Huggins. What was up with that?

      Then—as Corrine was finishing lunch late, because she had stayed longer cleaning up in art class—she saw Ms. Huggins on the far side of the lunchroom with Mrs. Yoder. Seeing the two teachers rise and carry their trays to deposit at the counter nearby, Corrine remained seated, waiting for them to pass behind her.

      A napkin came flying off Ms. Huggins’s tray and skittered on the floor beneath the tables.

      “They pay people to pick that stuff up,” said Ms. Huggins, and went on out of the room.

      Corrine got up to deposit her tray and trash, and ended up going around to pick up not only Ms. Huggins’s napkin but a couple of others. She knew that Mrs. Pryne, the cleaning lady, had bad arthritis, but indelibly written in her mind was Aunt Marilee’s voice saying: “Clean up messes wherever you can. Let it begin with you.”

      At times that voice was just the ruination of her life.

      Aunt Marilee picked her up from school. Willie Lee had left earlier, with his girlfriend, Gabby.

      “Can I drive?”

      “Well, sure, honey.” Aunt Marilee scooted over rather than get out.

      “Hey, shortcake.” Corrine grinned at little Emily, who giggled at her from the car seat in the back. “Is Victoria home with Rosalba?”

      “Yes. That woman is a pure answer to prayer.” Aunt Marilee’s face lit with delight, then she sighed a long sigh. “But I cannot imagine how she does it all day in those heels. I really can’t. Oh, I need you to go by Blaine’s on the way home. I’ve got to consult with Belinda.”

      “Okay,” said Corrine, quite thrilled with the prospect of more driving and the opportunity to say, “I might as well go on by the Texaco, since we’re goin’ that way.”

      “We need gas?”

      “We’re down to half a tank.” Almost.

      Corrine glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. She had not dared to put on fresh lipstick. Thankfully Aunt Marilee did not seem to notice any difference in her chest, which really was not so reassuring.

      “Aunt Marilee?”

      “Hmm?” Her aunt dug around in her purse.

      “How much older than you is Papa Tate?” She was pretty certain she already knew the answer.

      “Ten years. Why?”

      “Oh, I just thought of it today,” said Corrine, sitting up a little straighter and shaking back her dark hair. Her hair and her eyes were her best features; even Aunt Marilee, who was knowledgeable about such things, said so.

      “Well, I cannot find my credit card,” said her aunt, with her head nearly into her purse. It was a large tote-bag size and had everything in there in case of emergency—moist wipes, tissues, first-aid kit, crackers, tea bags, collapsible cup. Corrine had even seen a pair of panties in there. Aunt Marilee pretty much believed in emergencies, and counted being ready for them on the same scale as righteousness.

      “We can just charge the gas to the account,” Corrine told her.

      “Well, yes. We can do that.” Aunt Marilee brushed her hair out of her face and sat back with a deep breath.

      What did age have to do with maturity? Corrine wondered. That was an enormous, unanswerable question.

      As Corrine pulled up to the gas pumps, she looked over to see Larry Joe coming out from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. She felt this silly grin come over her face, and she dared not look at her aunt, but she did catch sight of herself in the side mirror. She wet her lips.

      Larry Joe almost never waited on cars anymore. Usually Dusty or Rick did that. They even washed the windshields. The Valentine Texaco was one of the few gas stations that still provided such service. Lots of men who went there all the time pumped their own gas, but ladies always waited. Corrine had heard Larry Joe talking with Papa Tate and saying that women made the majority of purchasing decisions. It was well-known that he had been the saving of the Texaco when he took over managing it from old man Stidham. Aunt Marilee had said it was due to both service and cleanliness. The women’s restroom was now spotless.

      In fact, Corrine was delighted that Aunt Marilee got out to go use it (and check it out to see if it was holding up), leaving her alone with Larry Joe. He set the gas running into the tank and then stood there, talking through the driver’s window. He spoke first to Emily in the backseat, getting her to grin and show him her bottom teeth. Then he asked Corrine how old Emily was now, and she told him a bunch of things about her baby cousin. At least it was a topic that she knew, and he seemed interested. Larry Joe was something of a kid magnet, Jojo said. The idea, in that moment, was a little uncomfortable.

      Aunt Marilee came back and complimented Larry Joe all over the place for the good shape of his ladies’ restroom. She went on at great length about it, so that Corrine wanted to crawl under the seat. As Aunt Marilee slipped into the car, she said under her breath, “You just can’t encourage a man too much.”

      When the tank was full, Corrine followed Larry Joe inside, while he wrote out the ticket, and while she stood there, Rick came in. He grinned at Corrine and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, chicky, lookin’ fine today!”

      Corrine was both thrilled and embarrassed.

      “That’s her aunt Marilee out there in the car,” said Larry Joe, pointing with the pen. “You’d best watch yourself.”

      Rick winked and went on through to the garage.

      “Here you are, Miss Corrine.” Larry Joe handed her a yellow slip of paper, then touched the brim of his ball cap. “Thank you for your business. See you in the mornin’.”

      “See you.”

      She wondered if he watched her walk back out to the car. She was able to casually glance back as she opened the car door. Larry Joe was not looking. He was over in the garage beneath a car with Rick, deep in conversation.

      Disappointment and frustration caused Corrine to press harder on the accelerator than she otherwise might have.

      “Watch out when you pull into the street!”

      “I am watchin’, Aunt Marilee. I’ve been drivin’ for a year now—and I am not the one who has had a wreck and a ticket.”

      To this, Aunt Marilee responded in a dozen different ways, and all the way to the drugstore, including how it was her car and when Corrine got her own car (which they would not let her do until starting the next school year), she could drive any way she wanted. She also had to instruct Corrine on how to pull into the head-in parking place.

      Corrine was thinking, Let me in the convent now, just to get away from an overprotective mother. Would they let a Methodist in?

      Help Wanted.

      The sign was in the drugstore window. Corrine looked at it, and then again at the back of it when she got inside the store.

      “Hi, sugars.”

      Miss Belinda sounded more like her mother every day, something that Aunt Marilee often commented on, but then she would say, “Don’t say it to Belinda. She won’t appreciate it.”

      Belinda did not look at all like she was related to her mother. Aunt Vella was dark eyed, tall and statuesque, and Belinda was light eyed, short and voluptuous. One day Corrine had said that Belinda was a voluptuary, like Elizabeth Taylor. Belinda had been so thrilled with this description that she had forever after seemed to favor Corrine.

      Belinda told her