The old oak tree at the corner of Washington and First Streets extended its knobbly limbs like an old wise man stretching after a long nap. Its shade nearly covered the entire parking lot of the McMillian Family Funeral Home. For a century, it witnessed the pomp and circumstance of the living. Today, its shade covered the vehicles of those paying their respect to Jacqueline Stroud, “Jackie,” to her friends and family. Near the front of the funeral home was a dark, shiny funeral car waiting to take Jackie’s body to her grave.
A tall, slender woman with auburn shoulder-length hair was the first to exit the funeral home. Betty Jo Hargitt, unlit cigarette in hand, strolled down the steps toward the old oak. Positioning herself in its shade, she lit the cigarette and filled her lungs. She listened to the crackling sound of the tobacco leaves burning. She liked that sound. It relaxed her.
An older woman in her geriatric prime was led down the sidewalk by a man Betty Jo assumed was her son. “That was a nice service,” the old woman said. “She really looked good and peaceful.”
Betty Jo watched them, smoked, and kicked acorns around with the toe of her pump. The smoke caught their attention. The woman nodded politely in her direction. The son furrowed his brow. Betty Jo wondered if they were members of Shady Grove Baptist, Jackie’s church. Tossing the butt to the ground, she crushed it under her shoe and wondered how a dead person could look unpeaceful.
More funeral attendees made their way outside. Men, women, couples, and families walked to their vehicles, eyes cast down, and shoulders heavy, perhaps from the guilt of getting on with their lives.
The southern September air was undecided, and Betty Jo was beginning to feel its coolness. It was difficult to tell whether the weather or the bleak occasion was to blame for its chilly bite.
Offbeat, rhythmic footsteps approached Betty Jo from behind. She knew exactly who it was. Mary Anne Jennings’s gait was a half-beat off-kilter due to a metal plate in her right hip – the result of a car accident four years ago.
Betty Jo turned to look at her friend. She looked pretty in her navy double-breasted pantsuit. The suit was tailored to fit her petite frame nicely. Along the top of her blazer, embossed, dome-shaped buttons hung for dear life. Mary Anne wore the green and blue paisley print scarf Betty Jo gave her for her fortieth birthday around her neck like a stewardess. Jackie had given her a burgundy scarf just like it and a box of Little Debbie oatmeal cakes. “This is my best birthday ever!” Mary Anne had the car accident that night.
“Woo! Glad that’s over with BJ?” Mary Anne walked up to Betty Jo and smacked her on the arm with Jackie’s rolled-up funeral program. She had rolled into a tight little tube until it was the size of a small dowel.
“Don’t call me BJ.”
“Why not?” She knew it got under Betty Jo’s skin.
“It’s undignified.”
Betty Jo, Mary Anne, Jacqueline or Jackie, and Suzanne Watson had been friends since entering the ninth grade at Pinder High. Jackie brought them all together during lunch, and they’ve been a quad of best friends since.
Mary Anne planted herself under the tree beside Betty Jo. “What are you waiting on, Betty Jo? Are you going to the cemetery?”
“I don’t know. I’m just waiting, I guess. This, all of this, was a lot to take in today. We’ll never see her again. Things will never be the same.” On cue, she began rummaging through her purse for another cigarette.
For twenty-six years, Mary Anne watched Betty Jo’s ritual of tapping out a cigarette, placing it between her lips, and fingering a generic gas station lighter until it produced a flame. Today, she watched Betty Jo struggle with the wheel until her thumb was red and a small flame appeared.
“Get a new lighter, Betty Jo.”
“It worked!”
“Shouldn’t you feel guilty about smoking out here?”
“Why?” Betty Jo blew out a fresh cloud. “It ain’t church!”
“Heathens!” Mary Anne chuckled at her friend’s obstinate behavior. Mary Anne heard a familiar booming voice and looked toward the exit doors. It was the portly Pastor of Shady Grove Baptist. “Lord, look. There’s your Minister.”
Betty Jo turned to see the shepherd congregating with his flock. “Doesn’t he kind of creep you out?” Disdain crawled up Betty Jo’s spine and gathered on her shoulders like tiny mites. She quivered.
They watched as the Minister awkwardly tried to angle his large, portly body through the single doorway, stopping now and again to talk with Jackie’s family and friends. The funeral director came to his rescue and released the latch of the closed door. The Minister smiled, nodded at the man, then pulled out a white handkerchief to dab his brow.
His massive stomach caused his white robe to lift higher in the front than in the back. His stole was deep burgundy with embroidered gold crosses on the front. Shady Grove members who have hosted him for dinner will tell you that the way to their Minister’s heart is through his stomach. Some would say that it’s through your wallet.
Betty Jo and Mary Anne watched his bee-like movements as he pollinated the crowd of loiterers. He laughed with a couple here, shook hands with members there, and shared the Word of God with anyone willing to listen. “And to God be the glory,” they heard someone say. His jet-black hair, dyed and thin, was combed from left to right. Thick pomade and heavy-handed combing caused streaks resembling cultivated rows in a field.
Pallbearers bringing out the casket stole the women’s attention. Like two birds on a branch, Betty Jo and Mary Anne watched them ease the gilded box into the back of the dark, shiny funeral car waiting to take Jackie’s body to her grave.
“Oh my,” Mary Anne said. Betty Jo looked to see what caught her attention. An usher led Jackie’s mom to the family limousine parked behind the dark, shiny funeral car.
“She is moving slower than I did after I had my hip surgery.” Mary Anne said.
“Bless her heart. She looks like she has one foot closer to the grave since Jackie passed,” Betty Jo sighed. “It’s too much!”
“It seems like yesterday we were at this same funeral home, supporting Jackie and Mrs. Caroline when Mr. Randolph died,” Mary Jane said.
Stratford Randolph died from liver failure when Jackie was a teenager. As long as Jackie could remember, he drank cheap, brown liquor until it finally caught up to him. He was a mean drunk, but Jackie worshipped the ground he walked on. Mrs. Caroline loved him so much that she let him hurt her. But he never put a hand on Jackie.
“It is sad to have to bury your child, but it is divinely cruel to have to do it alone.” Betty Jo said.
Muted thunder rolled in the distance. Heads turned to look at the sky.
“Did you hear my stomach growling during the prayer? Mary Anne’s eyes were back on the busyness of the funeral procession. “I bet you Jimmy Matthews heard it, and he was sitting two pews up from me.”
“No. Why didn’t you wait for me so we could sit together?” Betty Jo said, throwing her cigarette butt to the ground. “Was that his new girlfriend sitting beside him?” She briskly ran her hands up and down the front of her green and blue wrap dress, pressing out imaginary wrinkles.
“Yep.” Mary Anne said.
“Is she from Sandy Bottom?”
“Uh-huh,” Mary Anne said. “She used to be married to Perry Taylor. You know Perry Taylor. He got all that money when he got hit by that train a few years back. He used to own that little store they turned into a pool hall over by Jenny White’s hair salon.”
Betty Jo knotted her forehead, searching the ground as if her memories were scattered among the fallen leaves and acorns. “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about! Short guy, locked Tabitha McMillian in the boys’ bathroom on the eighth-grade field trip. Dumb as dirt!”
“She was!”
“I was talking about him.” Betty Jo laughed.
“He’s the one,” Mary Anne swatted at an insect with the rolled-up funeral program. “I’m ready to go.”
“Me too.” Settling into her new relaxation, Betty Jo adjusted her posture and her purse strap. A faint thunder rolled again. She looked at Mary Anne. “Okay, I heard your stomach that time. Do you want to go get something to eat?”
“Yes, Lord!”
“Queenie’s?”
“Ooooh, that sounds good. I could go for some barbeque chicken and corn on the cob. God, I hope they have that today! But shouldn’t we go to the burial site? Is throwing Jackie’s repast off for Queenie’s wrong?”
“Jackie would!” Betty Jo said, remembering her friend’s love for Queenie’s food. Jackie loved food. Period. Is it okay if Suzanne comes? She’s riding with me. She may not even want to go, tell you the truth.”
“Aw hell, is that who you’re waiting for?”
“No! I wanted to see Mrs. Caroline, too!”
“Too?” Betty Jo wasn’t buying it.
“Yeah, I mean…yeah. Betty Jo. We know she comes with drama, and batteries are never included, but Jackie was her friend, too.
“Let me guess,” Betty Jo said. “Her car didn’t have insurance, and Harold took the pick-up to Pinetops looking for hunting equipment.”
Mary Anne mocked in a deep male voice, “You know hunting season opens up in the middle of October. Last season, I killed three deer. Two are still in the freezer right now!” To Betty Jo’s surprise, she nailed the imitation.
The women laughed at Suzanne’s expense. Mary Anne’s mocking of Harold was a surprise, and Betty Jo loved it.
Mary Anne never married but always wanted a family. She gave up on marriage but adopted Jessica, her fifteen-year-old daughter, to help fill the void. She was the most stable person Betty Jo knew. Right out of high school, Mary Anne began working downtown at The Woodington Insurance Agency. She bought a house at 21, has been a pillar in the community, president of the PTA, and the unrelenting organizer of the school’s yearly food drive since she adopted Jessica.
“The crazier thing is, that damn truck ain’t got insurance on it either,” Mary Anne added. We courtesy-called him last week, reminding him that he only had 15 days before the insurance lapses.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said it’d just have to lapse because he was between jobs and couldn’t make the payment. But…somehow, he’s got money to go looking for hunting equipment.”
“I can’t determine who should be slapped harder,” Betty Jo said. “Suzanne or Harold.” Like most people, Betty Jo wasn’t quick to credit Harold for being decent. He should have been at his wife’s side at her best friend’s funeral.
Suzanne and Jackie had known each other the longest. Jackie introduced Suzanne to Harold and wrestled with the guilt ever since. Suzanne was a beautiful girl in high school – cheerleader beautiful. But it often caused her a lot of grief. After she started messing around with Harold, her life traveled downhill faster than her panties hit the floor.
“Just don’t tell her where you’re going. Or better yet, just tell her to get her skinny ass in the car and don’t ask questions. That’s your best bet. Suzanne can’t make a clear decision to save her neck. You know that, right? Because if she could, she’d left Harold’s sorry behind a long time ago.”
That made Mary Anne laugh. “Shh, Betty Jo! Here she comes.” Disguising her laughter, Mary Anne began to look through her purse for the car keys she knew she’d placed in the side pocket.
Suzanne Watson sashayed down the sidewalk toward her friends. Although she looked frail and worn out, somehow she still looked beautiful. She always seemed to glow, even at her worst times.
Her dark path down the road of Methamphetamines started right after high school, right around the same time Mary Anne started working at the insurance agency. Almost every boyfriend Suzanne had before she married Harold ran Meth Labs. A few of them were still doing time for drug-related charges. She’d been clean for about ten years, but the sensation was always riding her back. Betty Jo couldn’t figure out whether it was the addiction or guilt that always made her friend look ten years older than she was. Before Jackie introduced her to Harold, Suzanne had her own bag of troubles. But there was something about Harold that somehow compounded her issues.
Jackie used to live beside Harold’s family growing up. Harold came from an upstanding Christian family. Jackie had hoped that Harold, a college graduate, would be a good switch from Suzanne’s past bad-ass choices. Jackie was wrong. And it didn’t take long for her to realize it.
It’s because of me,” Jackie admitted one night when she and Mary Anne were at Betty Jo’s. Suzanne traded one bad addiction for a new one—Harold. I thought he would be good for her.”
Betty Jo lowered her shoulders, “It’s not your fault, Jackie. Suzanne has a helpless air about her. Maybe she was born with it, or maybe it attached itself to her. Either way, she’s having difficulty getting life right. She just needs to make better choices.”
Suzanne finally caught up with the girls. Breathing in years of Meth fumes compromised her respiratory system. She was out of breath after traveling from the parlor steps to where Mary Anne and Betty Jo were standing under the tree.
“Heeey ya’ll.” She greeted them through a breathless whisper. There was something about the nasal, sing-songy way Suzanne talked that sounded like she had been a Loretta Lynn backup singer in a past life. “Y’all waiting for me?” Without pausing for a response, she continued. “Sorry it took so long, but I got to talking to the Minister. We just couldn’t stop talking about God. You know? And how good He is and all. I swear I could just talk to that man all day. Really a man of God, isn’t he?” She looked at Betty Jo and smiled. “Hey Betty Jo, how are you?”
Betty Jo gazed at Suzanne. To her, Suzanne talking with the Minister is the equivalent of mixing religion with a pile of cow manure. She finally replied dismissively, “Hey Suzanne, how’s it going?”
“I’m blessed is aaall I can say.” She smiled and did a happy dance before going over to Betty Jo for a hug.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Suzanne’s hug was as tight as a vise. Betty Jo’s was loose, but it was enough for her to notice a difference in Suzanne’s weight from the last time she had seen her. Before, her shoulder blades felt like bony protrusions. Now, she couldn’t feel them as much.
Mary Anne cut in, “Suzanne, honey, I’m hungry? And Betty Jo was thinking about going to Queenie’s. You wanna go?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Mary Anne looked over at Betty Jo, who hid a smirk.
“I kinda need to be home when Harold gets back. I gotta cook him supper, and I’m kinda still depressed about Jackie and stuff, you know? I don’t know. What time is it?”
Looking back at Mary Anne, Betty Jo massaged her temples to ease away a preliminary headache and mouthed, “I told you.”
Mary Anne shooed Betty Jo’s words away with a flick of her hand. Betty Jo braced herself. Something was coming. Mary Anne was as nice as nice could be, but little came between her stomach and food. That was one thing Jackie and Mary Anne had in common. They loved to eat, and they loved going to Queenie’s.
“So what you gonna do, honey?” Mary Anne pulled her keys from her purse. Cause I’m hungry. Do you want me to drop you off at the house or what?”
“Naaaaaw.” Suzanne held the word out like a slide whistle, “‘Cause that’d just be out your way, Mary Anne.”
Just…,” Suzanne let the word hover in the air for a little too long.
“Look, Suzanne, get in the car!” Mary Anne walked off while she spoke. “I am feeling light-headed and out of patience. Harold is your problem, not mine.”
And there it was! The crackle of high-pitched laughter Betty Jo held in erupted from the bottom of her belly. Mary Anne took off walking as if she were the only one going to Queenie’s, which made Betty Jo laugh even more. She loved it when Mary Anne got fed up. It didn’t happen enough in her book. Satisfied, Betty Jo brought her laughter back into first gear, shifted her pocketbook strap on her shoulder, and followed Mary Anne to her car parked in the nearly empty parking lot.
Suzanne trailed behind them. “Um, Harold took all my cash out of my wallet this morning,” she said, stopping in the parking lot to wait for a reaction.
“Don’t worry about it,” Betty Jo threw back. “We got you covered, as usual.” Catching up to Mary Anne, who already had the car running and her seatbelt on, “Can I ride with y’all? We gotta come right back by here to go home anyway.”
“No problem,” Mary Anne said, looking at Suzanne, who was taking her time getting to the car. “You can keep me from choking Suzanne. She’s done made me ill, plus her newfound religion has been getting on my nerves lately.” Mary Anne yelled out the window, “Suzanne, girl, get the lead out!”
“Cool.” Betty Jo opened the rear door behind Mary Anne and settled into the back seat. As Suzanne walked in front of the car, their heads moved in unison as they watched her pass. Mary Anne wondered why she was moving so slowly. What was really going on in Suzanne’s head? Would she really be in trouble with Harold if she weren’t there when he got home? Was she thinking about something the Minister had said to her? Did she really think she was blessed? Maybe she was thinking about Jackie.
“I’m riding shotgun,” Suzanne said as she opened the car door.
“Suzanne, be sure you put on your seatbelt” Betty Jo said. “The state of North Carolina just made it a law just for skinny, slippery people like you.”
Mary Anne turned her entire body around to look at Betty Jo. She couldn’t believe some of the stuff she let fly out of her mouth. Mary Anne knew that Suzanne was very sensitive about her weight. Suzanne thought everyone knew her weight loss was due to her drug use. Mary Anne had always treated Suzanne’s addiction like it was a big, hairy mole on her face. She didn’t want to look at it or talk about it. She’d just assume remove it if she could, or ignore it altogether.
“Betty Jo Hargitt! You’ll just say anything, won’t you?”
“What? She knows she’s skinny. We’re doing her a favor by dragging her ass to Queenie’s.”
“Shut up, Betty Jo. I gotta a high metabolism,” Suzanne said in her defense.
“Everybody knows that.” Mary Anne glanced at Suzanne before turning around and putting the car in gear.
“There you go!” Betty Jo shrugged and gave Mary Anne an innocent look. “Your hooping and hollering just made the matter worse, Mary Anne. That’s what I was talking about anyway – her muh-tab-you-lism.” She winked. “What did you think I was talking about? What was going on in your head?”
“Betty Jo, don’t get me started with you,” Mary Anne said, trying not to smile while looking at her through the rearview mirror.
“Please, get started with her,” Suzanne fastened her seatbelt and adjusted the strap. “She’s just mad because I’m riding shotgun.”
“Oh, whatever,” Betty Jo said. “You two have nothing on me.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me! We’d reach Queenie’s, eat, leave, and never run out of stuff to say about you.”
Mary Anne looked both ways before turning onto the main road. The last time Mary Anne ate at Queenie’s, it was with Jackie. “Aw man, Jackie.” Her laughter and hodgepodge way of telling her crazy life stories flooded her thoughts. It made Mary Anne’s eyes feel wet.
Like a rancid aroma, the day’s weight lingered inside the car. “We need some music,” Mary Anne said. She began fidgeting with the radio knobs.
Aretha’s voice filled the car. A sparkle with the fire. You always take me higher. Mary Anne stopped scanning. Pulling out of the parking lot, she headed up East Washington Street toward Main. Suzanne shifted her seat belt and turned to watch the houses ease by through her reflection in the window. Betty Jo thought about Queenie’s and what she may order when she got there.
Get ready to be inspired by stories of friendship, resilience, and the unbreakable bonds between families and friends. Their stories will remind you of the power of southern women and the strength that comes from supporting one another. Queenie’s: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems will be available April 2026.