Be Sweet

by Diann Hunt

  “Daniel promises to fix this place up with nice lights one of these days.”

  Yeah, probably right up there with the carpet. But, hey, it’s their house.

  “Evening, Elsie.” Janni edges over to the black-and-white Jersey’s stall, and I follow. Elsie gives the appropriate moo, her bell jingling slightly as she stamps in place. Janni scratches ole Elsie behind the ear. I give her a couple of pats on the head and I’m good.

  “You’re really not a farm girl anymore, are you, Char?” Janni moves on to Mr. Ed, their horse. Weird, I know, but I didn’t name him. He snorts and stomps about for attention.

  “Me and farm life? Think Green Acres, Zsa Zsa Gabor. That’s me. Okay, maybe I’m not a total big-city type. I love seclusion, but I’m not a farm girl either. Just give me a cottage tucked away on a craggy bluff overlooking a breathtaking view. Oh, and throw in a few trees, and I’m good.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?”

  I shrug.

  Janni gets a faraway look in her eyes. “I can only imagine.” Mr. Ed’s muzzle nudges against Janni’s hand. She pats the white patch between his eyes. “Okay, okay.” Walking a few feet to her right, Janni scoops a handful of grain from an open burlap bag and gives it to Mr. Ed.

  “I’ve invited you to stay with me on more than one occasion, you know,” I say.

  It’s really quite disgusting how that horse’s lips flap over her hand to get the grain.

  “I know.” She wipes horse slobber on her coat, and I think I’m going to be sick. Dust and grit grind beneath her feet as she makes her way to the back stall. “It’s just so hard to get away.”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed that your boys’ rooms are empty?”

  “True, but Daniel can hardly fend for himself, and who would look after the animals?”

  “Last time I checked, Daniel was over eighteen. And as far as the animals are concerned, don’t you have an animal-friendly neighbor?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not that easy to get away.”

  “It’s your call. I’m just saying you’ve been invited. Who’s this?” A bleating white goat peers over the rough, wooden door.

  My sister brightens. “This is Tipsy, our fainting goat.”

  My gaze pins Janni in place. “An inside squirrel and a fainting goat? You’re scaring me.”

  She giggles. “If Tipsy is startled, she’ll faint. Isn’t that right, Tipsy?” Janni coos while scratching the goatee beneath Tipsy’s chin. Poor thing must be menopausal, all that hair. “I fell in love with her when we visited a farm in Tennessee, and Daniel bought her for me.”

  The barn door slides open and we turn. A gust of cold wind follows Daniel inside, stirring hay and dust about the room.

  “I see you’ve met Tipsy,” he says, brushing the dust from his hands and stomping clumps of dirt from his feet. “Hey, let’s show Char what Tipsy can do.”

  “Daniel, don’t make her do it now. It’s cold,” Janni says with a pout.

  “You know it won’t hurt her. Come on.”

  “Oh, all right.” Janni unlatches the door in front of the stall and lets the goat out. It’s been too long since I’ve been around farm animals, so I step back. Besides, I don’t want that thing fainting on me.

  “Time to eat, Tipsy. Time to eat,” Daniel says with far too much enthusiasm while clapping his hands.

  Tipsy circles in place once then suddenly keels over onto her back, legs shooting straight up like broomstick straw. Her little tail wiggles lickety-split while she’s down, and she’s back on her feet in two seconds flat.

  Everyone laughs.

  “No matter how many times I’ve seen her do that, I still get a kick out of it,” Daniel says with a chuckle, rewarding Tipsy with food.

  I’m beginning to wonder just what kind of life Janni and Daniel have here.

  “So, is it a trick that she does to get food or what?”

  “No, she fell over because she was excited. Food excites her,” Janni says.

  At that very moment I share a sort of Freaky Friday bond with Tipsy.

  Daniel grabs a shovel and scoops into the burlap bag, causing a misty spray of grain to shower the air; then he heaves it over to the feeding trough for Mr. Ed.

  “We’ll have to clean these stalls tomorrow,” he says.

  “I know.” Janni lifts a pitchfork and spreads fresh hay in the stall. I grab another one and spread hay in Tipsy’s stall; then Janni leads the fainting goat back inside.

  Once the animals are fed, watered, and bedded with hay, we step outside.

  “Did you see much sap in the bags, Janni?” Daniel asks, his boots stomping across the hard ground. Good thing the ants are hiding, or they’d be history.

  “Yeah, they’re filling up.”

  Daniel pushes his baseball cap further up his forehead. “Sure wish those boys were home to help.”

  “Can’t you get some teens from the church to help?” I ask.

  “We might have to. I hate to bother other folks, but we could sure use a few more hands. It works best if we can get a couple of shifts going. Janni needs help in the kitchen to make food for the workers too.”

  “Char’s right. Let’s check with the kids at church. Teenagers always want spending money.”

  “We got some retired guys that might be able to help out too.” Daniel’s beefy arm reaches over and pulls Janni to his side as we step up to the porch. “Right now I’m getting mighty hungry. Whatever you got in that Crock-Pot is driving me wild, woman.” Daniel nuzzles Janni’s neck, and she giggles.

  Please. First horse slobber, now this? My stomach can only take so much. One glance at my watch tells me I haven’t much time before Russ will be here. I’ll just grab my handbag and head to Mom and Dad’s.

  Once we step inside the house, I rush past Daniel and Janni and up to my room. After running the brush through my hair, freshening my lipstick, and grabbing my handbag, I trot down the stairs.

  “I’ll see you guys later tonight.”

  “You aren’t staying to eat with us?” Daniel’s lips form a pout.

  “I need to go see Mom and Dad.”

  “Janni made beef stew.”

  He knows that’s my favorite, doggone him. “I know. She’ll have to save me some.”

  “No promises,” Daniel says with an evil grin. Remembering how he chowed down those cookies, I figure I’m out of luck on the beef stew.

  “Come on, Daniel, let her go. Mom will give her what for if she doesn’t get over there.”

  “Hey, you’re not leaving because Russ is comin’, are you?” Daniel asks, fidgeting with the keys in his pocket.

  Do you see this, God? They’re pressuring me. You promised to help me through this, not give me more than I can bear and all that.

  “Danny, we’ll talk later.” Janni’s voice is firmer now, for which I’m grateful.

  After tossing her a smile, I edge for the door, reach into my handbag, and dig for my keys. Once I find them, I yank a little too hard on the doorknob, causing it to fly open and my keys to drop to the floor. Bending over, I reach down and pick them up when I hear a deep-throated cough coming from the outside. I shoot upright and make a desperate attempt to smooth my hair.

  “I was just getting ready to knock,” says the man on the other side, who’s dressed in khakis, a blue Polo shirt, brown loafers, and a toothy grin that melts my heart like a clump of chocolate in a warm kettle. “Charley, is that you?” His teasing blue eyes penetrate mine, setting butterflies loose in my stomach.

  Charley. It’s hard to remember the last time someone called me that. I think I was in high school.

  As awkward as this moment is right now, I’m thankful I’m not a fainting goat. Falling on my backside with my legs shootin’ straight up isn’t quite the look I’m going for.

  “Hi, Russ.”

  four

  “How’s the geometry coming along?” Russ says.

  My mouth clamps shut just short of drooling. The heat in my face cranks up a hundred d
egrees. This is that skinny, gangly kid with the big, perfect teeth? Let’s just say he’s grown into his teeth. His hair has thinned a little, but it’s still a rich mocha brown. The added wrinkles around his sparkling blue eyes give him a rugged, handsome appearance.

  Okay, God, maybe I can bear this.

  I let out a delicate chuckle. “I’m afraid my geometry days are over.” The good news is he recognizes me—extra twenty pounds and all. ’Course, with the way I’m sweating, I just might lose five pounds right here in the doorway—which would be a good thing, because right now I’m struggling to inch my way past him. He takes a side step. We’re caught in this face-to-face, trying-to-get-around-each-other thing. It feels as though someone is trying to beat her way out of my chest, and if Russ stands any closer, she’ll clobber him. The smell of his woodsy cologne makes me want to set up camp. And I can’t stop staring at those rippling biceps. Boy, he must work with some pretty heavy teeth.

  “You leaving?” His words are so close, his fresh breath grazes my face. Somebody gulps out loud, and I think it’s me.

  “I haven’t seen Mom and Dad yet.” If only I had some gum. It’s one of those Dentyne moments where you’re caught off guard. Speaking of guard, I sure hope my deodorant is working. A facial blotter would come in handy right about now too. “Just got here a little while ago and thought I’d better head over and see them.”

  A flicker of disappointment flashes in his eyes and my heart somer-saults.

  “It’s been thirty years, and I only get an ‘I’m afraid my geometry days are over’?” Though the sparkle is still in place, his eyes droop.

  I just stand there smiling with teeth that are three months overdue for their semiannual cleaning. My feet have deserted me, I’m sure of it. I want to check, but if I look down, my head will thump against his chest, and we could be wedged between the door frame for life. I con-sider it, but only for a moment.

  “Will you be back soon?” he asks, with a definite “I hope so” look on his face.

  “Probably not tonight,” I say apologetically. My heart is drumming so hard, I could give Ringo a run for his money.

  We stand there another second or two, though it seems a millennium. “Um, well, I guess I’d better go.” I edge past him.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around. I live in Tappery now, you know.”

  “Yeah, I heard that,” I call over my shoulder. “See ya.” I wave, then dash to my car. By the time I settle into my leather seat, my mutinous heart is beating ten times its normal rhythm. It has to be the thyroid meds. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll have it checked when I get home.

  My fingers fumble with the keys, then I stick them into the ignition and, with a flick of the wrist, start the engine.

  “Deep breaths, Char. Deep breaths.” Breathe in and out, slow breaths. Inhale, one, two, three, four; exhale, one, two, three—

  A tap sounds at my window, and I scream. Once my heart kicks back into its natural beat, I reach for the button and roll down the glass.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Russ’s face is too close again. For a fleeting moment I’m tempted to grab him by the neck and drag him into the car, caveman-style.

  “I’m fine,” I say, sounding like Snow White sucking helium.

  “All right. You were just out here awhile, and I wondered if some-thing was wrong.”

  “Oh, uh, well, I was, uh, looking for something in my purse.” That was the best line I could come up with? My entire vocabulary leaves me with one glance into his eyes.

  He hesitates. “Sure you won’t stay?”

  My brain screams yes, but Mom’s stern face comes into my mind, and I hear myself say, “I’m sorry, I had better not stay tonight.”

  He nods. “See you later.” He gives the top of the car a quick pat.

  I smile, roll up my window, and peel rubber, no doubt flipping pebbles and twigs upon Russ’s pants legs as I go. Who am I kidding? I could have kicked up a boulder the way I peeled out.

  My emotions are out of control. I’ve probably been watching too many romantic movies lately. It’s unnerving, that’s what it is. The last thing I need is a romantic complication in my life. Okay, so he’s handsome. Those kind of guys are a dime a dozen. I married one, and look where that got me.

  Needing time to calm down, I realize going to Mom and Dad’s isn’t an option right now. With a flip of the car’s turn signal, I head for another place. Just like old times.

  Lord, please help me while I’m here to keep focused on what I have to do, and please keep the painful memories away.

  I’m doing fine sticking to comfortable friendships. That’s what I have with—um, well—okay, I’m just stressed right now. His name will come to me as soon as I calm down. I’m sure of it.

  Turning my car onto the road, I settle in for the ride when my cell phone rings. Once the earpiece is in place, I flip open my phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Charlene.”

  The nameless man. Little neurons reach to the far corners of my brain and finally bring it to me. “Hi, Peter.” Peter McDonald. Friend, broker, and owner of McDonald Realtors. The one person who refuses to shorten my name. In fact, if he heard Russ call me Charley, Peter would probably duke it out with him. No, maybe not. A fight would mess up his hair—saying nothing of the grime it would leave on his Cavalli pants. Anyway, he hates nicknames, period. He says names are given to us for a reason and out of respect for our parents, we should use them in their entirety.

  Our relationship is like a comfortable pair of shoes. Nothing to get excited about, but at least there’s no pain involved. I suppose that’s why it works in the office. Slightly more than great friends, we’ve managed to keep work separate from our personal lives.

  Not that he isn’t good-looking. Quite the contrary. With a lean body—that he works out daily—stretching to a full six foot two, some would say he borders on perfection. He combs his thick, sandy hair back from his forehead, and, trust me on this, it does not move for the rest of the day. When I first met him, I thought his hair wasn’t real because it never moved. One time I feigned a moment of passion just so I could run my fingers through it. When it didn’t shake loose, I figured it was real. Passionate moment over.

  His stuffy ways have cramped my flair for fun on many a day, but we have real estate in common, and that seems to work for us. In fact, sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t “wine and dine” me because I’m the most profitable realtor in the office. Guess he’s just like everyone else.

  “Good to hear your voice,” I say.

  “Yeah? Maybe you’re missing me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So how’s life on Sunnybrook Farm?”

  “Don’t get me started.”

  “Want me to come and rescue you?” he asks.

  “Your last name is McDonald. I don’t trust you. Farming is in your blood.”

  “When are you coming home?” Like my mother, he ignores my jokes.

  “I just got here, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Papers stir in the background. No, wait. I’m sure there are tidy little stacks. He would never have papers strewn about his desk. That would be me. “Have you spotted any land for the Scottens yet?”

  “Peter, I have been here less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Sorry. When are you going to give up the syrup and just enjoy the good life?”

  “Give up the syrup? Never! Besides, my family is here. I have to come back sometimes.”

  “I guess.”

  “Working late?”

  “Yeah. I just sold the Sanderses’ house.”

  “That’s fabulous, Peter.”

  “And my best girl isn’t here to celebrate.”

  The fact that he says best girl doesn’t elude me. There’s that safe relationship thing again. Peter made it clear from day one that he was never going to marry, and that was fine with me. I’ve gotten along by myself for all these years, and I don’t need a man telling me what to do at
this point in my life. We are free to have other “friends.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s great news, though. Such a beautiful property.”

  We move on to discuss how things are going at the office, and by the time we hang up, I’m driving through the brick-lined streets of down-be town Tappery and soon pull my car up to a beach by the shores of Lake Michigan.

  A fresh gust of icy air grazes my cheek when I climb out of the car. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Lifting my face toward the dusky skies, I watch the twinkling stars and take a breath, the chill reaching deep down into my lungs. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a maple mac-chiato with a triple shot of espresso right about now.

  Moonlight shimmers across the lake and illuminates my path toward the shoreline. Pulling my coat closer to my neck, I carefully avoid the cascading wall of ice that has formed from the icy winds and breaking freshwater waves near the shoreline. A few diehard beach lovers stroll along and lift a smile as we pass one another in the misty twilight.

  The howling of the wind, the somber call of the lake, and the isolation of the moment all cause me to pause and reflect on my life. How many times did I come here when I needed to think and clear my head as a teenager? When life hurt too much, I always met God in the forest or on the beach.

  As the smell of lake water mingles with the misty air, my gaze lifts skyward. I love the sense of worship that falls over me when I stand before Lake Michigan or the sea by my cottage—or even when I’m tucked away on my favorite tree limb where no one can see me or hear me but the Father. “Why do things have to change?” A gust of wind circles and carries my words out to the lake, while my feet trudge along the sand and my heart whispers heavenward. With my bad attitudes lately, I’m surprised He’s still listening.

  By the time I make my way back to the car, I realize it’s too late to visit Mom and Dad. It’s just as well. I’m not sure I’m up to it tonight.

  “And how long have you been here, young lady?” Mom barrels through the front door of Janni’s house in a huff. That’s one thing about my mother that never ceases to amaze me. Upon meeting her, it always seems we’re in the middle of a conversation—or confrontation.