Momma Bear

Frampton was a low-slung Midwest town just off the highway. Its dark, shuttered windows and empty streets offered little welcome. It was the kind of place where the town clock had stopped, though the locals joked it was still right twice a day.

Its only bright lights were The Rusty Spur, an all-night diner with a giant red neon cowpoke, and the sugar mill that ran a twenty-four-seven shift.

It was early afternoon, the quietest part of the day. The next shift change was twenty minutes away.

Darlene kept glancing towards the lot. Every time a car pulled in, she wondered if it was him, only to watch another diner lock up and walk inside. Finally, the dark green Lincoln Continental pulled in.

She watched him climb out.

Principal Jackson was one of those prematurely white-haired men. He kept it cut close to the scalp. High and tight, as her daddy used to say. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black tie. Every inch the respected elder of the community that controlled Frampton.

Darlene felt a tinge of nerves as he entered the diner. He looked about him, seeing the diner was almost empty, and walked right up to Darlene.

“Principal Jackson, take a load off and I’ll be right with you.”

“Miss Withers,” he began, and as he did, she saw a drop of spittle leave his mouth and hit her bright clean overall.

“Principal Jackson, so nice to see you…” she lied.

“But let me correct you. It’s Mrs Withers, my husband might be dead, Principal. But he did give me the honour of his name, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Principal Jackson said nothing, just sat, but she could tell he was “out of sorts” as her mother liked to say. Of course, she would have just said pissed but with her mother now living with her she was doing her best to monitor her language.

Darlene poured a cup of joe for Jackson, then one for herself and placed down the heavy pot. She untied her apron, spoke briefly to Angie, who promised to watch her tables, and sat down.

"Darlene, I thought it best to meet you here at work rather than at my office to discuss Junior’s ongoing issues with Coach Fish."

Darlene knew why he was meeting her here. Jackson's secretary was the town busybody, and this wasn't the sort of conversation he wanted to get back to his wife.

“I thought we could discuss…,” he said.

“Junior? But of course, Principal,” she said.

Junior was Darlene's eldest and had always been a handful. But things had gone from bad to worse recently when Coach Roberts retired. The new coach, Fish by name and fish by nature, had failed to impress the team, particularly Junior. Riled up by what he saw as a lightweight coach, Junior had somehow talked the rest of the team into boycotting practice until the school got them a decent football coach.

Darlene remembered the warm, clammy handshake when she had been asked to attend the first of many parent-coach meetings.

She had rushed from the diner, still in her uniform, where a little cleavage helped with the tips. Coach Fish had admired her décolletage throughout the whole meeting, never once looking at her eyes. As ringleader, he decided that Junior was cut from the team. The school lost its star quarterback, and Darlene watched her son’s chance of a college scholarship fly right out the window.

That gave Darlene two choices. Either get her stubborn-ass son to apologise to Coach Fish or play dirty. Knowing her son, she had elected for the easier option and that option was occupying the booth in front of her. Principal Jackson stirred sugar into his coffee.

"Mrs Withers, I received your note, and I must say I am..." he searched for the right word. "Disappointed, yes, deeply disappointed that you felt the need to make such... scandalous accusations."

Darlene chose her words carefully. "A few months ago, Debbie Jennings, you know, Debbie, she taught English at the school, right?"

"I am somewhat acquainted with Miss Jennings." Jackson could always be trusted to be sarcastic.

"Well, that poor girl needed somewhere quiet to stop and think. Late one night, she made her way to the diner. I poured her coffee just like I am pouring yours, and she, in turn, poured her heart out to me."

Darlene thought back. The diner, being open all night, was the only refuge for people. On more than one occasion, women had appeared carrying sleeping kids wrapped in blankets, escaping husbands who, well, let’s just say, had acted unkindly.

Jackson surreptitiously looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could overhear and hissed, "I fail to see..."

"Principal Jackson!" Darlene mocked. "She was carrying your son's baby, and that sorry son of a gun didn't want a jot of it. When she told you, you really didn't want to add a bit of colour to the hen house, now did you?”

Her eyes bore into him.

“So, you made up stories about the poor little Hispanic girl. You know the type, that she wasn't of the right moral character, forgetting to mention, of course, that it was your son that led her astray. The next thing she knew, her probation was over. You didn't even give the poor girl a reference. Shame on you, Elias Jackson."

The principal's glare was rattlesnake mean, but Darlene gave it no mind.

"I guess you don't know you have a grandson now, do you? Debbie travelled back to New Mexico to be with family." Darlene smiled.

“After all family,” she emphasised, “is all we have.”

The principal took a sip of his coffee, clearly angry. The door dinged as a customer left.

"Darlene, you going to be long?" Earl called from the grill.

"Just five more minutes, Earl," she hollered back.

Darlene turned on Jackson. "Now Debbie tells me that you never told your wife about the baby. Now I just know how much Missy wants some grandbabies.  I think just about every woman in Frampton knows that. And grandbabies are grandbabies to a kind and gracious woman like that. She wouldn't care what colour he was. No, it's only you, Mr High and Mighty Jackson, who couldn't bear to have a little colour in the family. Now, if, and I say if, Missy was to somehow find out, she had a grandson and that you hid that grandson from her... Well, I guess she would take all of her daddy's money and kick your sorry ass to the kerb."

“You would dare…”

Darlene reached for a serviette. Jackson, rattlesnake fast, grabbed her wrist and squeezed it, hurting her.

"What do you want from me?" he hissed.

"What I want,” she paused as Angie walked past, “What I want is Junior back on the team. You can pull in some markers, make sure he gets a full scholarship, somewhere, anywhere. It don't need to be too special."

"All this is about football?" Jackson asked.

"No, Principal Jackson." Her voice dangerously cold. "It's about this momma bear making sure her cub doesn't end up in Vietnam.”

She picked up her coffee pot, feeling its heft, and looked at Jackson.

“Now take your goddamn hand off me before I break this coffee pot over your head."