“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Charles as he helped Annabeth to a seat.
The one waitress came over and took their burger orders almost instantly.
“Two burger plates with fries. Is that okay with you?” he asked Annabeth, who nodded. “I like mine well done.” Once again he looked toward her.
“Medium rare, please, but I like the fries well done.”
“I’m going to have a beer. Do you want one?”
“Just water for me,” answered Annabeth. “I’m not really a drinker.”
The waitress went toward the kitchen to order their food as Charles continued, “There’s nothing much else to do around here in the evening. I mean if you want to socialize.”
“And you said you usually go right home.”
“I do. Really. I hope I’m not making a bad impression on you.”
Annabeth looked down shyly, “No, of course not.”
“I don’t enjoy television as much as Sara does—that’s my wife. And she’s not much of a night owl.”
“My husband was on the road most of the time in the last few years.”
“And now?”
“Now he’s on the road permanently, so to speak.”
“You’re a widow? I’m sorry.”
“Oh gosh, no. I’m getting divorced. Just not used to telling people I guess.”
“There’s no harm in starting over. Could be kind of exciting, I’d imagine.”
“I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” Annabeth continued the conversation with this pleasant man, surprised that she could do so. It had been years since she had anything but the most casual of conversations with people other than those closest to her.
In a short span of time, the waitress returned, setting the food down in front of them. Two plates of well-done burgers with pale golden fries and two bottles of beer.
Charles picked up his beer and took a long swig, then said, “You know Sara always wants me to be more sophisticated. Drink wine. I never got the hang of it. Usually we drink iced tea.”
Annabeth glanced down at her food and lifted her own bottle of beer. “I drink water usually. But this is fine.”
They took their time eating, sharing bits of conversation, mostly of the insignificant variety, and eventually people started filtering into the bar. They politely kept their voices down when commenting on the quality of the singers, most of whom were only slightly worse than the echoes coming out of a neighbor’s shower.
“Why don’t you sing a tune?” asked Charles.
Annabeth blushed. “Oh no. You go ahead.”
He laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Doug Hawkins walked into the bar then, and approached their table. Charles rose and shook Doug’s hand and Annabeth smiled.
“How’s the Taurus?” asked Doug, clearly puzzled over why Annabeth was dining with the druggist.
“Sara never lets me drive it,” laughed Charles. “Why don’t you join us?” Doug sat down at the table, but before he could reply, the cellular phone in Charles’ pocket rang, and he flipped it open and began speaking. “Oh, hello dear. Oh! Really? Are you absolutely certain?”
While this conversation continued Doug spoke to Annabeth. “I tried to call you twice today, but there was no answer.”
“I was working at the drug store. Is something wrong?”
“I know this is crazy so soon after you bought the car, but we got a notice about the seat belts. You’ll need to bring it in and let us check them out. Actually a whole lot of cars need belt checks.”
Annabeth sighed, relieved. “I thought you were going to tell me it was something serious. I love that car.”
“I’m so glad,” said Doug, smiling into her eyes.
Charles said, “I’ll go right away. Don’t worry,” then flipped the phone shut, and turning toward the others said, “My wife thinks she left the iron on. She’s terrified the house will burn to the ground.”
Neither Annabeth nor Doug remarked beyond the sympathetic looks they offered.
“You can get to your car without me?” he asked Annabeth. “Okay then, see you tomorrow.” She nodded and smiled goodbye as he exited, stopping first at the bar to pay the check.
“I didn’t know you worked at Gleason’s,” said Doug.
“This was my first day. In fact, I should probably be leaving now. I only came along because Charles asked me to have a burger with him. He hates to eat alone.”
“Oh,” said Doug, clearly disappointed.
“Is anything else wrong?”
He looked into her eyes, took a deep breath and said softly, “My ex-wife is getting remarried this weekend.”
“I guess you’re depressed,” said Annabeth, wondering if she ought to make such a personal remark.
He sighed, “No, I’m happy for her.”
She hesitated once again, but then continued, sensing that he needed to talk, “Why do you seem so sad then?”
The waitress came over then, interrupting their conversation. “Hi,” she said to Doug.
“Hey, Wanda. How are you?”
She nodded. “Good. You?”
“Good.”
“What can I get for you tonight?”
“I’ll have a burger plate, please. And a Tanqueray and tonic. How about another beer?” he asked Annabeth. “Unless I can persuade you to eat another burger?”
She shook her head. “I would really love a glass of water.”
Wanda walked toward the kitchen and Doug resumed the conversation with Annabeth. “I am sad, I guess.”
“It’s normal, isn’t it—to feel left out when someone you’re close to moves on without you.”
Wanda returned with his drink, placing it in front of him, then said, “The burger will be right out.”
“Thanks, and a glass of ice water please.”
“Be right back,” said the errant waitress.
Doug once again returned his focus to Annabeth. With genuine interest and sympathy, he asked, “And how are things going with your divorce?”
“Nothing new yet. I have to go to a meeting in a couple of weeks to look over papers and discuss details. I can’t quite believe it yet, in fact. It’s all kind of a blur.”
“Being in shock is normal.”
“I guess.”
“I think you’re doing very well. You got a job, a new car. You seem to be very strong, to be taking charge of your life. I admire that.”
“Me? Gosh, I don’t know.” She wondered how he could have such a good impression of her from so little, and then confessed, “I usually feel terrified.”
“Starting over can feel so hard, once you’ve made a mistake. Nobody wants to screw up at all, let alone more than once.”
“It must have taken a lot of courage for you to come back here, to leave everything you were used to for so long.”
Doug’s voice lowered so that no one could overhear, “My dad asked me to come and help him with the business. I felt it was the right thing to do. Besides, there was nothing holding me in Atlanta on a daily basis any longer. I can drive up and see my kids any time I want to, but they’re busy with their own lives now.”
“Are they both married?”
“Betsy is—she’s the oldest—a teacher. Philip is in law school. His last year.”
Annabeth smiled. “Oh, how nice. My oldest—Laurel—is a display person at Saks in New Orleans. Sally works at the bank up the street, but all she wants is to be married. Actually it was her engagement party that you saw at Maggie’s. Of course now those plans are up in the air, but I’m sure it will all work out.”
Doug shook his head. “Who would have thought that we’d be parents of grown children, sitting here talking about adults who used to be our little kids?”
“Feel old?”
“I don’t know, kind of, not old exactly, just incomplete. But I don’t want to depress you. After all, it’s you going through the divorce, not me. Tell me, how are you doing with your art?”
“I don’t really
do all that much.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well, I paint on furniture sometimes. Flea market junk that I decorate. Just for fun. Though I just finished painting some pieces for Etta’s Knick Knack Shop around the corner.”
“You know I always thought you were so talented. I expected you to do great things.”
“Me? Nah!”
Annabeth thought about the evening as she drove home. She’d had a good time. It was pleasant to spend time talking to people she didn’t know well, pleasant to get to know new people better. She glanced at the dashboard clock. Gracious! It was after midnight. She had been talking with Doug for more than three hours. How quiet Gull’s Perch was this late in the evening. So few cars were out and most of the houses were darkened. She turned into Old Magnolia Bayou, and she rounded the corner to pull up in front of her house, which oddly was brightly lit. Sally’s car was out in front as was Jackson’s. Annabeth parked and walked toward her front door, but even before she could reach it, Sally came racing out.
“Mom! Where in the world have you been? I’ve been frantic. I just called Jackson to come over and start looking for you. I was an inch away from calling the police.”
Annabeth reached her arm out and encircled Sally’s shoulders in a calming gesture. “I went for a burger with Charles Gleason. Then I ran into Doug Hawkins—you know the one who sold me my car—my old high school friend. We got to talking and the time just passed. I’m sorry you were worried.”
“What were you thinking staying out so late without calling?”
Annabeth laughed. “The tables have turned is that it? Am I grounded?”
Sally scowled at her mother. “I never stayed out late and you know it. That was always Laurel.”
“I’m sorry, honey, really. It all just kind of happened. I’m sure it won’t happen again, so don’t worry.”
“All right, but if you do stay out late, be sure to call.”
“I promise. Now, aren’t you kids tired? You have to be at work early tomorrow, don’t you?” Annabeth let herself in the door, leaving Sally outside to say goodnight to her fiancé.
*
Annabeth lay in bed, the cat snuggled against her side. There was plenty of time before she had to leave for work. She glanced at the clock. Julie! She still had some telephone calls to make for her sister, reminding people of various commitments for today’s art show. Fluffing up the pillows and piling them behind her, Annabeth sat up in the bed and reached for the list she’d left on the nightstand before retiring. She placed the phone beside her in the bed and lifted the receiver to her ear. There was no dial tone. “Hello?” she said.
“Boy that was quick,” said Laurel, “It didn’t even ring.”
“Hi, sweetie, how are you? I was just going to make some calls for your aunt about today’s art show.”
“Guess what?” asked Laurel.
“What?”
“Southern Style.”
“The magazine?” asked Annabeth.
“Well, yes.”
“And?”
“And they’re putting my apartment in it. The November or December issue, I think. They were here yesterday to photograph it for a section on New Orleans.”
“You’re kidding! What did they photograph?”
“Pretty much the whole place. Especially your paintings. And all the furniture you painted.”
“Well, gee, how about that.”
“I thought it was exciting. I mean it’s not Architectural Digest or anything like that, but still it’s kind of fun.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“We did a great job. I’m surprised Design isn’t knocking at the door.”
“I’m glad you’re so happy, dear. How are things otherwise?”
“Oh, the same. How’s the job?”
“You know, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry.” Annabeth paused before continuing, “I shouldn’t joke. It’s fine really. Charles and Chuck Gleason are both nice men. I sell ice cream, do little displays, sometimes draw a sign for them.”
“And I hear one of them is in love with you.”
“What?”
“Sally says you’ve been out late twice since you started.”
“Well, gee, a hamburger and an hour’s conversation with my married boss. That’s not exactly violins. And how is your love life—now that’s a real question.”
“I’ve been dating this guy, Zach, if you must know.”
“Yes, I must. Tell me everything.” Annabeth listened as Laurel offered a few details describing her most recent boyfriend, then continued, “And how is your career?”
“It’s great, really.”
“I’m glad.”
After completing Julie’s errands, there was plenty of time before she was due at work, so Annabeth took some time to stroll along downtown at the sidewalk sale and arts and crafts show. There were tables with hand made dolls, which Annabeth admired and a variety of pottery and leather exhibits. One woman had taken some key racks and painted flowers on them, and Annabeth stopped to look at them more closely, smiling at the artist. “I paint on furniture too,” she volunteered.
“Oh, do you? I’ve mainly stuck to these key racks and these little boxes.”
“They’re pretty.” Annabeth examined the boxes more closely, stacking a couple smaller ones on top of a bigger on. “That makes a pretty display.”
“Yes, it does look better that way. Where’s your table?”
“Oh, I don’t have a table here. I’ve never exhibited anything, though Etta has some of my things—the first I’ve ever done to sell.”
“I saw those things at Etta’s. They’re beautiful. I love the birds. Your things are full of life. You could sell them at shows like I do.”
“Well, thanks. I never really thought of that.”
“I don’t make a lot of money, but I make some, and I get to do what I love.”
“Excuse me,” said a customer, “How much are these boxes? The whole set, I mean?”
“I should let you go,” said Annabeth.
“Take my card,” offered the woman. “Call me and I’ll give you some pointers.”
Annabeth took the card and walked off, ready to view the rest of the show. There were a number of watercolor artists, specializing in seaside scenes, as was typical of any art show in that area, plus there were oils of families and children, paintings of oversized flowers, and a general assortment of drawings and paintings of a multitude of subjects. Annabeth stopped to look at each artist’s work, enjoying being part of it, and when she had covered half the displays spread over the grassy center area of town, she walked along the sidewalk, noting the bargains available.
There were tables filled with glassware in front of the antique mall, a bargain rack of clothing in front of Eunice’s Dress Shop, and a display of furniture and cabinets in front of Etta’s. Etta herself was standing outside, helping a customer who was buying one of Annabeth’s cabinets.
When the woman walked away, Etta called out to Annabeth. “Hello! Having fun at the sale?”
“Yes, it’s nice isn’t it? Fun to combine a sidewalk sale with the art show.”
“I sold quite a few of your pieces, you know.”
“No, did you?”
“All but the child’s table and one cabinet. Come on in with me.”
Annabeth followed Etta into the shop and looked around. “You’ve sold quite a bit of everything, haven’t you?”
“Yes, we’ve been having a busy few days.” Etta reached under the counter and extracted a notebook, which listed the various items she’d sold of Annabeth’s, and then she opened the cash register and counted out some money, which she handed over. “Here you go. I think you should plan on painting a couple more rockers for us right away. Okay?”
Annabeth looked down at the cash. “This is more than you estimated. Is this right?”
“I decided to price them a little high for the sale.”
“That’s great,” replied Annabeth, clear
ly pleased. “Somebody actually wanted them.”
“Of course they did. Now how about those rockers?”
“Okay, sure.”
“I’ll have Rum drop some pieces off at your house.”
There were more artists displaying their work on the other side of the Pavilion, so Annabeth stepped out onto the grass once again and strolled some more, stopping to view each artist’s work until she heard her name being called. She turned and saw Doug Hawkins.
“We just bump into each other everywhere in town, don’t we?” she asked, smiling.
“It’s the best thing about living in a town this small.”
“Doug, look at this.” A woman turned from an exhibit of watercolors and seeing him talking to Annabeth she walked closer, taking hold of Doug’s arm. She was rather slender and tall, although not nearly so tall as Doug himself, and her coloring was vivid—dark hair and alabaster skin, with bright crimson lipstick.
“Annabeth, do you know Patsy Clark?”
“Hello,” Annabeth smiled.
Patsy tightened her hold on Doug’s arm as she smiled back. “Are you one of Doug’s million happy customers?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”
“Annabeth and I went to high school together,” interjected Doug.
“How nice. I wanted to show you this painting. So nice to meet you, Annabelle.”
“It’s Annabeth,” corrected Doug.
“Nice to meet you too,” replied Annabeth.
“Be sure to bring the car in for that seat belt check,” said Doug.
“Oh, I keep forgetting. I’ll try to do it soon.”
“Great.” Doug smiled at Annabeth then allowed himself to be pulled away by Patsy toward the watercolor exhibit she liked.
Annabeth continued her walk, and she enjoyed seeing the rest of the art on display. Noting some people walking along eating ice cream cones, she decided to go on to the drug store, even though she was half an hour early.
“Annabeth! I’m so glad you’re here,” said Debbie, the girl who usually covered the front register. “We’ve been swamped.”
Annabeth noted three people sitting on stools at the counter eating ice cream. She took her place behind the counter and began waiting on people as they entered in search of something cool in the still warm weather of early September. Close to a dozen people filed in and out, cones in their hands, and Annabeth enjoyed the busiest day she’d had since beginning her job.
Hungry for Love Page 29
