by Diann Hunt
“Are you all right?”
Janni’s voice startles me, and I jump, causing the kitten to saunter off of my lap in search of a more restful place.
“I’m sorry, I thought you heard me come up.” She climbs off the ladder. “Seeing that pad in your hand, I guess I should have known better. Always working.” Boots scuffing against the floor, she walks over to me. Her bones creak as she kneels down.
“I’ve told you before, I don’t sell residential property anymore.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Just sketching.”
“So, what happened back there?”
“I’m not really sure, but I had to get out of there.” A front porch would be nice on this house, a small one, but big enough for the family to sit out and visit with the neighbors.
Her hand stops my pencil in place.
“What?”
“You need to deal with things, Char. You’re not the only one with a past, you know.”
This from Miss Perfect. She knows nothing of my pain.
She stares at me. “I know they hurt you. It was awful what they did. But you’ve let them stop you from living. You don’t come home because of something that happened over six years ago.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. She doesn’t understand. No one does.
“I don’t mean to minimize your pain, Char. I know Eddie hurt you, but he didn’t deserve you.” Janni takes my hand, causing my pencil to fall and my sketch pad to teeter on my lap.
“Who says it had anything to do with them?”
“Russ is worried it’s all his fault because he was talking about Eddie.”
My gaze is fixed on a hay bale. “I tried to play by the book, do every-thing right. It doesn’t work.” My voice sounds hard and it startles me. Hadn’t I worked through all this?
“There are no guarantees in this life, Char.”
“Then what’s the point of it all?”
“We do the best we can, leave the rest to God.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I won’t bother you any longer. See you in the house,” Janni says, edging down the stairs.
I know she’s trying to help, but she only makes me feel worse. There’s no way she can help me.
Someone like Janni could never understand.
Before leaving the hayloft, I decide to place a call to the Scottenses. It’s better to do it in private so I don’t have to hear my sister harping about me being a workaholic. After several rings, I get the Scottenses’ answering machine and leave them a message about the possible property out east of town and how I will look into it unless they tell me otherwise. Just as I flip my phone closed, someone’s scream brings all of us out into the cold night air. Mom’s kicking and fighting, while Dad’s trying to hold on to her.
“Dad, Mom, what’s going on?” Janni asks.
“You see there? He’s trying to kill me.” Mom yanks herself free from Dad’s grasp and points at him. “Milton, now what are you going to do? They caught you red-handed.”
Dad lets out a tired sigh. “Forevermore, Viney, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to hold you still long enough to talk some sense into you. And to see why you were peeking through the windows of our home this afternoon. You’ve got a key. Why didn’t you just come on in?”
Mom hikes her nose. “I wasn’t peeking.”
“You were too.”
“I thought I spotted something on the window blinds. Wanted to check it out.” A rush of sharp air whips past us, and Mom shivers.
“You tried to run over me this afternoon. Admit it!” She jabs the air with her wild finger.
“You had me so flustered I put the car in reverse instead of drive. I didn’t mean to do it.”
“You see there?” Mom says to us. “He tried to kill me.” Mom gives him one of those “mom looks” that has always struck fear in my heart. “Don’t you get me started, Milton.”
“Well, why don’t we all go in and have some hot coffee, talk this out a little bit?” Janni suggests.
If Dad doesn’t kill Mom, Janni’s coffee will. No, that’s not true. It’s too weak to kill someone. Torture, yes. Kill, no.
“Don’t you leave me in the room alone with him,” Mom says in no uncertain terms. It does seem a little odd, the rat poison and the “accidentally almost running her over” thing. Still, I know my dad, and it makes no sense.
By the time we all settle at the kitchen table, everyone’s calmed down a little. Though I have to say, Mom is keeping her distance. She’s at the farthest point away from Dad. In all my life, I have never seen my mom afraid of anything.
“Why did you come over here?” Mom’s boxing mitts are back on before the start bell can ring.
“My daughters and grandsons are here.”
Mom folds her arms across her chest. “Hmmph!”
“How are the boys, Janni? I haven’t seen them yet.”
“They’re good, Dad. They’re looking forward to seeing you.” Janni pours Dad a cup of coffee, adds two scoops of cream and one package of sweetener. She then fills cups around the table.
“Stop coddling him, Janni. He’s trying to kill your mother.” It’s kind of creepy that Mom’s talking about herself in third person.
“If you don’t have something nice to say—” I begin, but Mom cuts off my air supply with one glance.
Okay, I see how it is. Do as I say, not as I do.
“Tell them how you stalked me today at the grocery store.” Mom’s lips are drawn together so tightly they’re turning white.
“I wasn’t stalking you, Viney. You were in the produce department. I needed tomatoes. I wanted to make that spaghetti sauce you used to make when the kids were little.”
At this I let out a chuckle, and let me say, if looks could kill—well, I’m thinking there’s someone walking on the wrong side of the law at this table, and just for the record, it ain’t Dad.
Janni puts down the pot of coffee. “Okay, this has gone on long enough.” She turns to Mom. “What possible reason could Dad have for wanting to kill you?”
“Two words. Gertrude Irene Becker.”
Dad rolls his eyes.
“That’s three words,” I point out with a chuckle before taking a drink from my mug.
Janni gives me a dirty look. “What does Mrs. Becker have to do with this, Mom?”
“He wants to get rid of me so he can have her, that’s what.”
At this, I cough.
“My goodness, Viney, what has gotten into you?” Dad shakes his head.
Okay, now I have to say that even after I get my voice back, Mom’s comment renders me speechless. Mrs. Becker is four times the size of my dad. She’s a sweet lady, but that woman could swallow him whole. Why, if she was in the same room with him and she sneezed? She’d blow him into eternity. My head hurts just trying to wrap around the idea of these two together.
“Mom, please!” Janni says. “Mrs. Becker is a nice lady, and she would never—”
“She could charm the feathers off a chicken, that one.” Mom sits ramrod straight in her chair, face pinched, sassy attitude in place.
“If you don’t have something nice to say—”
Mom scoots her chair toward me, looking every inch the Terminator, and I lean back, palms up. “Okay, okay.” By the time this evening is through, she will never use that phrase on me again—either that or I’ll be dead.
“I saw the way she gave you that ‘come hither’ look last Sunday at church. I’ve seen you whispering too.”
“Mom!” Janni’s doing everything she can to keep from cracking a smile. “Everyone knows Mrs. Becker always has spots on her glasses. She never takes time to clean them, so she’s always trying to look around the smudges. There is no way she would even know how to give a come-hither look.” Janni and I both giggle together.
Mom’s nose points heavenward, mouth pursed, white eyebrows arched in proper form, giving her the appearance of high society
. Give her tea and crumpets, and she could pass for royalty. “Well, I know what I saw.” She shifts on her chair. “Besides, your father always favored her peanut-butter pie over mine.”
Dad’s mouth sags open. “I never said any such thing.”
“You didn’t have to. I saw you take an extra piece of her pie at the church gathering a couple of weeks ago.”
“Well, I eat more than that of your pies! Remember that pie you made—”
“Not the way you ate that one. You went after it as if there was no tomorrow. He’s trying to get rid of me to get to her, girls. You mark my words.” Her knobby finger wags at us.
“It’s those doggone books you’re reading, Viney. I told you that.”
“What books?” I ask.
“Don’t you try and change the subject, Milton Haverford,” Mom snaps, all the while shoving something behind her back.
“What books? What’s behind your back, Mom?” I know she’s going to be so mad at me when this is all over that she’ll no doubt try to put me up for adoption, but I’m not exactly in her good graces anyway. “Come on, hand it over.”
“I will not. It’s a romance book, and it’s none of your concern,” she snaps. “You mark my words, he’s after Gertie Becker.”
“All I know is since you started reading those books, you’ve been acting strange.” Dad runs his hand through his balding head of hair.
“Well, now, that’s real funny.” Mom leans toward Dad across the table. “Tell me this, did you come up with the rat-poison idea or did Gertie?”
“Viney, that woman is your friend. She doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
The way Mom is pointing, her finger looks lethal. “You’re in cahoots. I just know it, Milton Haverford. You old goat.”
“Aw, talk some sense into her. I’m going home.” Dad rises from his chair. His pants bag, shoulders stoop. “Tell the boys I’ll be back to see them later.” He shuffles into the next room where he mumbles some-thing to Daniel then steps through the front door.
“Mom, you’re wearing him out with all this nonsense,” Janni says.
“I’m going to bed.” Mom marches over to the sink, rinses out her cup and saucer, stacks them in the dishwasher, then stomps out of the room.
I turn to Janni. “Well, that went rather well, wouldn’t you say?”
ten
“Now there’s the Char we all know and love,” Janni says as I slug my way into the kitchen the next morning, complete with tattered robe and Garfield slippers. “Want some coffee?” She must think I’m desperate.
I am, so I nod. At least it will get me through until I can go to the coffee shop. “Thank you,” I say, sagging into my seat at the table. “What day is this?”
“Tuesday.”
“I can’t believe I’ve been here over a week already.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Janni says.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“With all the money you make, Charlene Marybelle, why don’t you buy yourself a decent robe?” Mom asks, joining us in the kitchen. “Hmm, that smells good, Janni.”
“She spends all her money on specialty coffees,” Janni says in a hoitytoity voice while lifting her pinkie.
“Bring the coffeepot over here, Janni,” I say, trying to mask the growl in my voice. There is no way I can handle my mother or Miss Perfect this early in the morning without coffee. Even bad coffee will do.
Completely clueless, Mom spreads jam on her toast as though she’s just having the best time.
“I like this robe,” I say with upturned nose. Taking a sip from my cup, I try not to wince. “I bought it ten years ago. It’s comfy, warm, and lived-in.”
“Anyone can see that it’s lived in,” Mom says. “Wouldn’t hurt to clean it once in a while.”
Drink your coffee, don’t say a word.
“You remind me of someone.” Mom stares at me a moment then snaps her fingers. “Got it. That Maxine cartoon. You know, the one who always wears a tattered housecoat.” She laughs.
Oh sure, she can joke, but I can’t. I would point it out, but I’m just too tired to squabble this morning.
“Did you tell her about Russ?” Mom asks Janni.
My nerves come to life despite the small swallows of caffeine. “What about Russ?”
“Nothing really. He just called last night after you went to bed.”
“Stop twinkling, Mom.”
“What?” She acts all aghast. “I can’t help it if I twinkle.”
“Trust me, I know you can’t help it.” It’s nothing short of a miracle if my mother twinkles. She’ll sputter, spurt, and shock, but never twinkle.
“Well, it’s nice, just the same. I don’t know what’s the matter with you, Char, passing up a perfectly good man like Russ Benson.”
“I’m not passing up anybody, Mom. There’s nothing there. I’m dat-ing someone back home. I told you that.”
“Dating, schmating.” She tears off a hunk of toast and brings it to her mouth. “You haven’t had a decent date since—”
Janni gives a slight gasp.
Mom stops herself—another miracle—and holds the toast at her mouth as though someone has clicked the remote, and we’re on pause. I stare at her.
“Well, no one is forcing you to date Russ, Char. But there is no denying he is a good man,” Janni says, bringing motion, and air, back into the room.
“I know.” Lifting my cup, I take another drink of coffee, which, by the way, reminds me of car oil—weak car oil, mind you—though I’ve never actually tasted it before, I’m almost positive this is how it would taste.
“Did you look outside?” Mom asks, pulling back the kitchen curtain so we can see. “Bet we won’t get much sap today.”
Beyond the window, snowflakes swirl and flutter about the air before piling on the ground.
“Aw, it’s supposed to be gone by afternoon,” Daniel says, his boots scraping across the kitchen floor when he enters the room. “I’m covered at the store, so I’ll be collecting sap today. The boys will be down in a minute. They’re helping. You coming?” he asks Janni, point-blank.
“Yeah, we’re coming. I’ve already taken care of the animals.”
Excuse me, people, but is it too much to ask to start my day with a cup of coffee, albeit bad coffee, and a moment of silence? I may have to change my Bible reading to morning so I’ll have the strength to face all this.
Just a few more weeks and my life will be back to normal in Maine—hopefully, my mind will be too.
By the time we ’ ve finished bottling the last bit of syrup for the day, my joints are screaming like a woman in labor. Okay, I don’t know anything about that, but I’ve heard stories.
Everyone else has left the Sugar Shack. I told Janni I’d lock up as soon as I put away the last crate of bottles. Once I’m done, I pull on my coat and step outside into the cold air. We didn’t get a lot of sap today. Hopefully, the days will grow milder soon.
Just outside the door, I roll my head from side to side to ease my aching muscles, then I lock the door.
“Tough day, huh?”
My hand flies to my throat, and I swing around. “Russ, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I was sure you heard me crunching through the snow. I’m not exactly graceful.”
That makes me laugh. We fall into step with one another. We hit a rough patch of ground and Russ tenderly reaches for my arm, guiding me forward, causing my throat to constrict.
“I came down here to see if I could help, but Janni told me every-thing was done for today, and you were finishing up.”
I stop to look at him.
“What?”
“Why are you doing this? You work all day then come here. It’s exhausting work.” We walk again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The way he says it makes my heart catch. “Janni and Daniel are my good friends.”
A flicker of disappointment shadows my heart and heat climbs my face. “Oh sure, I know, um, well, right.” I st
umble over my tongue and trip over a littered branch all at the same time. Russ grabs my arm once again to steady me, causing my face to warm.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I brush away the comment. “I’m fine.” I’m a fine—idiot. This is Janni’s fault. She’s filled my mind with ideas about Russ. Ideas that obviously aren’t true. He isn’t here for me, he’s here for them. He’s just nice to me. I was stupid to think it was any more than that.
Russ gazes up at the sky. “It’s great being outdoors. Doesn’t matter if it’s cold or hot. Since I’m stuck in a stuffy building all day, I can hardly wait to do something outside.”
We talk along the way about the party plans and the string quartet I hired for the elaborate affair.
Large, fluffy snowflakes drift among the trees, muffling our footsteps to soft patters. As we edge closer to the house, a thump wallops my backside and I swing around.
“You’ve been hit,” Russ says with a throaty laugh. He points to my coat where a snowball has obviously splattered and fallen away, leaving a dusty, white powder behind.
We glance around us. Quiet giggles fringe the air.
“There!” Russ scoops a chunk of snow between his gloves, packs it into a ball and wallops Blake in the arm as he runs for cover. Soon Ethan, Candy, and Stephanie shoot out from behind trees, laughing, darting through the snow, torpedoing us with more snowballs. I haven’t had a workout like this in days. Okay, months. Years?
“Hey, let’s build a snowman,” Blake says when we reach the backyard.
“You go in the house and get a scarf, hat, and buttons for his face,” Stephanie says. For being the new kid on the block, she’s a little bossy. Reminds me of someone—oh yeah, me.
“How about while you’re doing that, we’ll go in and get some hot chocolate started?” I smile at the kids. They agree and set to work. As Russ and I head for the porch, he grabs my arm and turns me to him.
“Hang on a second.” Pulling off his glove, he reaches up and brushes snow from my face. The warmth of his fingers flames my skin. “I thought you might get cold.” His words are thick as his eyes search mine, taking my breath away. He smiles, and we once again make our way to the porch.
