The Angel Tasted Temptation

by Shirley Jump

  "Why are you two doing this?"

  "Cause Momma told us to."

  "You are almost thirty years old, Ray Jr. You can stop doing what your Momma tells you."

  "Not if I want to eat tomorrow. And you better do what she says, too, or you'll get the hundred-dollar lecture."

  Momma's dollar lecture was a quick, five-minute, "do you think we live in a barn, shut the damn door" kind of talk. Ten dollars netted a half-hour talk, about the importance of washing after using the restroom or disinfecting the door handles efficiently. At a hundred dollars, they got the full-blown, all-night affair, filled with lines about "how could you throw your life away" and moaning wails of despair from Martha that her children would be end up homeless, strung out on drugs and wearing the same clothes for more than two days in a row because they'd missed curfew.

  "Rebecca needs me. I can't leave."

  "Aunt Gloria said she'd be glad to step in and cook," Ray Jr. said.

  "Aunt Gloria? She can barely make a peanut butter sandwich."

  Ray Jr.'s face bunched up in a grimace. "I know. But she and Momma talked and they made up their minds."

  Meredith wanted to scream. This was exactly what she had run from Heavendale to get away from. Other people deciding her life. Other people telling her what was best.

  "I'm not going home. Period." Meredith wriggled more against the rope and blanket bindings. This time, she was rewarded with the rope dipping to waist-level, leaving her less of a burrito and more of a messy taco.

  "J.C. said—"

  "I don't care what J.C. or Momma or Caleb or anyone has to say. I'm done letting other people run my life. Including you." The anger at what they had done bubbled inside her and she gave another jerk against the blanket. This time, it loosened and she was able to push one arm out, then the other, yanking the Fighting Irish off and to the floor. "Now take me back to Travis or I'll tell Momma about that night you took Cecil's truck up to Strawberry Hill."

  "You wouldn't."

  "I certainly would."

  Ray Jr. scowled, still driving. "Mer, I can't let you go. Not till you come to your senses. Momma said you were acting crazy. I mean, you ran off one day. And now, you won't come home. She says you don't even answer your phone and when she does talk to you, you say crazy things about how it's over with Caleb."

  "It is over with Caleb.''

  "I thought you loved him."

  Meredith let out a sigh. This was going nowhere. Why did everyone in her family think they knew her better than she knew herself? "You know that pet rabbit you used to have?"

  "You mean Whitey?"

  "Yeah. You had him for years. Fed him, took him out of his cage and pet him once in a while."

  "Even showed him at the 4-H Fair a couple years in a row. Whitey got a blue ribbon one year."

  "Then he died, remember? And you buried him out back and never got another rabbit. Why?"

  "Well, cause I don't really like rabbits. I like dogs. At least you can teach 'em tricks."

  "Exactly."

  Ray Jr. took a left, sending Vernon swaying in the back of the truck. "What the hell does that have to do with Caleb?"

  "You kept feeding Whitey and taking care of him because he was there. You'd had him for a long time and you didn't know anything else. But then, when he was gone, you realized what you were missing out on by having just a rabbit and not trying any other animals."

  Ray Jr. scratched his head with one hand, leaving the other on the steering wheel. Cecil's truck bumped along the road, its shaky exhaust leaking fumes everywhere it went. "Meredith, it's late and I'm tired. What are you saying? You don't want a pet rabbit? Or is there some deeper-meaning crap here I'm supposed to get?"

  Meredith let out a gust of air. Ray Jr., as much as he tried, was like all the rest of them. He didn't understand her and he never would. "Never mind."

  "Well, you can deal with whatever the hell it is you're talking about later. We're supposed to hold onto you until you're home and in your Miss Holstein costume."

  "I am not putting that thing on." She shuddered at the thought of the black-and-white cow print outfit. "Ever."

  "You have a contract. J.C. showed it to me."

  "I don't care. I told him I resigned and I had to go out of town—"

  "And he told you he needed his Miss Holstein at the Tractor Pull this Saturday." Ray Jr. pushed the brim of his ball cap up a little higher on his forehead. "Who's gonna ride on the front of Big Green?" he asked, referring to the giant tractor that led the Bovines-n-Beans Parade each year.

  "Annie Wilson can do it. She was last year's Miss Holstein." And looked better in the cow costume, too. Annie had filled it out in ways Meredith never would.

  "Everybody needs you, Meredith. You can't stay here forever."

  Guilt washed over her. They always needed her, as if she was the one in the family that everyone had pinned their hopes on. The donkey at the never-ending family birthday party.

  But it was her turn now, and she refused to feel guilty anymore. "Rebecca needs me too, Ray Jr.," Meredith said. "And I need some time away from Heavendale."

  Ray Jr. didn't say anything else on the long ride to Rebecca's house and didn't slow down enough for Meredith to clamber out of the window. She was stuck, riding along in Cecil's truck, waiting for an opportunity to escape. It came too late, when he parallel parked the truck between Aunt Gloria's and Rebecca's. She climbed out of the window, refusing Ray Jr.'s offer to open the door for her.

  "Are you going back to get Travis?" she asked her brothers.

  Vernon chuckled as he climbed out of the back and leaped onto the pavement. "Eventually."

  "You two need to take care of what you did. If you don't, I won't go home with you." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And if you try to kidnap me, I'll scream holy hell the whole way back to Indiana."

  "Oh, all right. Let me grab a snack and then we'll head back over there." Vernon tossed a nod at Ray Jr. "You got her?"

  Ray Jr. nodded and watched his younger brother lope up the stairs and into Aunt Gloria's house. "I don't get it, Meredith. I thought marrying Caleb and being Miss Holstein was everything you wanted."

  She looked at Ray Jr., his hat in his hands, standing on the concrete sidewalk, in his thick-soled work-boots and faded Levi's 505s. He was the mirror image of their father, from his sun-kissed skin and his sandy hair to his view of the world. To Ray Jr., the smell of freshly cut hay and the sweat of a hard day's work were the essence of heaven.

  "I want more than that," Meredith said. "I want something that makes me feel alive. I'm finding that here, in this city."

  He studied her for a long time, then shook his head. "I dunno, Meredith. Seems to me you were pretty alive back in Indiana. And you could breathe a hell of a lot easier there, too."

  "I didn't fit in there," she said. "And I didn't realize how much I was missing until I got away from Heavendale."

  "Seems to me that's running away from your troubles, 'stead of facing them. Doesn't make them go away. You think stirring up a hornet's nest is gonna make things better?" Without waiting for an answer, he plopped his hat back on his head and headed up the stairs and into the house.

  Leaving Meredith holding the blanket and wondering whether she should have done what Ray Jr. did.

  And just got a damned dog instead.

  Travis's Can't-Forget-About-Her-If-You-Try Oyster Stew

  32 oysters, shucked (reserve juice)

  1 tablespoon lemon juice

  1-1/2 cups heavy cream

  1 cup milk

  Salt and pepper

  Cayenne pepper, to taste

  1 tablespoon chives, chopped

  That woman has your blood—and everything else inside you—running at a fever pitch. Time to eat something that's simmering as hot as you are. Maybe it'll take your mind off her.

  Yeah, right. Might be better off throwing yourself face-first into a glacier.

  Put the oysters, their liquid and the lemon juice in a pan an
d cook for two minutes over low heat. In a separate pan (hey, the extra dishes are something to do while you're trying not to think about her), heat the milk and cream, just to a boil. Add to the oysters.

  Season with salt, pepper and cayenne, then sprinkle with chives. Eat immediately, preferably while watching a good, manly boxing match. Avoid any show with blond women who have pretty blue eyes and making love on their minds.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the second time in a week, Travis found himself down on the ground with a throbbing headache and wondering if dying might be the easiest way to solve the problems in his life.

  It would certainly be cheaper than therapy.

  And a lot easier to come by than a pocketknife and a third arm.

  He wriggled against the duct tape binding his arms together for the twentieth time since Meredith's psychotic brother had hogtied him and left him for the seagulls, or worse, tomorrow morning's tourists. With no one around at this late hour, and the only sound coming from a biting night wind off the water, Travis was left to his own devices.

  He tried to rub his ankles together and loosen the tape that bound his legs together but got nowhere. His wrists had about a centimeter of wiggle room.

  Travis twisted to the left and managed to get his cell phone unclipped from his belt. He jerked and flipped, nudging the phone until he could get it around and press one of the speed dial buttons with his nose. He aimed for Kenny but ended up with his mother.

  "Travis? Why are you calling me this late, dear?" she said, answering on the first ring, which meant she probably hadn't been asleep.

  "Sorry, Ma. I was ..." He couldn't say he'd dialed the wrong number. "I was just thinking of you."

  "Is everything all right? You're not in jail, are you?"

  There was his mother, always thinking the best of him. In the background, he heard the theme music for Law & Order coming from her wide-screen TV. "No, I'm not in jail."

  "Good. Did I tell you about your cousin Richard? He was arrested for bigamy. Can you believe that? I swear, the men in this family. They're either not marrying, or not staying married, or marrying women with all the choosiness of fleas on a dog. And then, your Uncle John—"

  "Ma, I really don't have time for a family rundown right now," Travis said. "Can we catch up later?"

  His mother paused, clearly not happy at having her gossip interrupted. "Have you talked to your father?"

  "No." And since his father's number wasn't on his speed dial, there was no danger of that particular conversation tonight.

  "Well, I think you should. Brad's getting married, you know, and we're all going to be together at the wedding. It would be nice if you mended a few bridges."

  Travis shifted to get more comfortable. In the distance, he could see the white bow light of a passing boat on the water. "There aren't any bridges to mend."

  "I swear, you're just like him. Stubborn as all hell."

  "Ma, I'm kind of busy right now." Travis moved again but found the words "comfortable" and "concrete" didn't go together very well. "Can I talk to you later?"

  "As long as you promise you'll support Brad's marriage. He's your brother, and he deserves that at least."

  Travis sighed. "I will. I promise."

  "And you'll be there, in a tux and with a date?"

  "I'll be there." Assuming he could free himself from Vernon's idea of a good time, he would.

  Finally, he seemed to have made his mother happy because she said good-bye and went back to watching one of the hundred different incarnations of Law & Order on her television in her condo in Miami.

  On his third attempt, Travis managed to rhino-dial Kenny. He lowered his head beside the phone and waited for his roommate to answer.

  "Call 9-1-1," Kenny growled after three rings, "because this line is busy."

  "Kenny! Don't hang up!" Travis said. "I'm in a bind. Literally. And if you don't get your ass over here and help me, I'm going to be devoured by seagulls. Or worse, end up as a sex toy for some gigolo with a tape fetish."

  On the other end, Kenny told someone to put that thought on pause, he'd be back. "Can you repeat that, Travis? There was a tongue in my ear. I thought you just said you were taped up."

  "I am. I'm out at Castle Island, about halfway down the path to the fort. Just get out here and bring a sharp knife."

  Travis swore he could hear Kenny laughing even after he'd hung up the phone.

  When Kenny showed up a few minutes later, he started laughing the minute he rounded the corner and saw Travis on the ground. Travis raised his head off the pavement and saw the stubborn outline of a female standing a few feet behind Kenny. Under the soft glow of the streetlight, he could tell two things: she was blond and she was mad.

  "Don't tell me you've crossed over to the light side of S&M," Kenny said, still chuckling. "Or in your case, the dark side of glue guns and tape."

  "It's a long story. One I'll never tell you if you don't help get me out of this." Travis jerked his chin in the blonde's direction as Kenny bent down and started working on the tape with a pocketknife. "Is that your date?"

  "Yeah. That's Delia. Though, after your untimely... interruption, there's been no dealing with Delia, if you know what I mean. She's the kind of woman who likes to see things to completion." Kenny released Travis's wrists and moved down to his ankles.

  Travis sat up and ripped off the remaining tape, wincing when it took half the hair on his forearms with it. "I could have waited. Maybe."

  "I'd much rather owe Delia later." Kenny paused in sawing through the gray tape and grinned at Travis. "For a guy with hairless wrists, you're not so bad looking."

  Travis glanced down and let out a groan. A two-inch wide white stripe ringed both of his arms near his hands. "Aw, shit. How am I going to explain this at work tomorrow?"

  Kenny tore the tape off Travis's jeans and released his ankles. "Don't worry about it. Just tell Larry your date got a little kinky. When his sense of morality is offended, his toupee always leans a little to the right." Kenny rose and slipped his knife into the back pocket of his jeans. "Now, if you wouldn't mind driving back to the apartment, I need to work on apologizing to Delia in the backseat."

  Momma's Get-Better-and-Get-Home Corn and Crab Chowder

  1 tablespoon vegetable oil

  2 tablespoons butter

  1 clove garlic, minced

  2 potatoes, peeled and diced

  1 onion, chopped

  2 celery stalks, chopped

  1 green pepper, diced

  1 bay leaf

  Dash each of salt and pepper

  1 tablespoon Old Bay seasoning blend

  3 tablespoons flour

  2 cups chicken broth

  4 cups milk

  3 cups corn kernels, scraped from the cob

  8 ounces cooked lump crab meat

  Your baby is sick! Move fast on this one, because there's nothing like a good chowder to make her feel like her old self. Heat the oil and butter in a deep pot, then add the garlic and sauté. When it's as nice and fragrant as the air back home, add the potatoes, onion, celery and green pepper.

  Season with salt, pepper and Old Bay. Cook for five minutes, then sprinkle with the flour and stir for a couple of minutes until the flour is cooked (raw flour isn't good for your sick girl). Add the broth and stir some more. Next, pour in the milk. Keep on stirring; don't complain to me about your arms hurting, this is, after all, for your ill daughter.

  I mean, she has to be sick. What else can explain the way she's been acting? She's simply not herself, that's all there is to it. A little of Momma's cooking and she'll be back to normal in no time.

  Once the chowder boils, add the corn and crab meat and simmer for five minutes, then taste it. Adjust your seasonings as necessary to make it perfect for your loved one's overall health.

  Serve it to her with love and a big napkin. And if she tells you she's just fine, don't believe her. Instead, send in reinforcements as needed.

  Chapter Fourteen


  Kleenexes, a hot water bottle, three cans of Campbell's chicken noodle soup, a bottle of Vick's VapoRub, a package of Hall's cough drops and a can of Lysol disinfectant spray stared back at Meredith from inside the box. Marked on the included note were the words, "From home, with love and worry."

  "Are you sick, dear?" Cordelia asked from beside her. Maria and Candace had left on sales calls, leaving Meredith alone to run the shop. It was still early in the morning and everything was quiet in the little set of stores located off of Atlantic Avenue. Cordelia, as had now become her morning custom, had stopped in the gift basket shop first, to share a cup of tea and, Meredith thought, find a bit of company.

  Meredith sighed. "No. My mother thinks I have a cold. So she sent me some get-well items."

  If her mother thought she was deathly ill, that could work in her favor. Too ill to travel, she could claim. Why hadn't she thought of that yesterday?

  After last night, she and Ray Jr. had talked again and he'd agreed to a truce, thereby buying her some time. She'd dangled every bit of blackmail in her arsenal over his head... and it had worked.

  Never underestimate a baby sister.

  "Oh," Cordelia said with a smile, holding up the hot water bottle. "She's one of those mothers."

  "Those mothers?"

  "I had one when I was a child. Every sniffle meant a call to Doc West. Every cut was a chance to parade out the entire contents of the first aid kit. I loved my mother, but she was a suffocator."

  Meredith laughed and closed the lid on the package that had arrived at Rebecca's that morning just as Meredith was leaving for work. She hadn't had time to open it then, and, half afraid Caleb might have included something morbid that would scar Rebecca's four-year-old daughter for life, she'd taken the box with her to work. "It's good to know I'm not the only one."

  Cordelia patted her hand. "Our mothers love us, in their own way. You'll survive. I did." She withdrew her palm and straightened her little hat. "Though I thought she might have a heart attack at my wedding."