“Dead? Naw, just in a crazed stupor. My personal opinion? I think it was the raisins in the meat loaf. He came around sometime late the next morning.” He leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I’ll tell you something else—raisins are not good for a dog’s digestive system. I made him sleep in the other room.”
Beth giggled and blushed deeper under his close assessment. She’d forgotten what easy company he was. “Let’s not talk about the mutt. You and your aunt have a special relationship, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose we do. She and my brother are the only family I have.”
His smiled faded. “I enjoyed Saturday afternoon, Beth. It’s really good seeing you again. I miss Morning Sun more than I thought.”
“It’s nice seeing you again. Same old town, same me. Same Aunt Harry.”
He chuckled. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Aunt Harry has to be the luckiest person alive.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
Beth smiled and quickly continued, “She’s a whiz at sweepstakes and puzzles. If the contest rules state the first ten people to enter will win an extra prize, you can be guaranteed that her entry will be there first. But for the bingo group to think she cheats, is absurd. She just has this uncanny luck.” For some reason, Beth felt he needed to understand the situation. “Unfortunately, Aunt Harry keeps everything she wins. I can’t convince her to sell anything, much less give it away.” She frowned. “So, the house is full of appliances and trinkets.”
“Too bad she didn’t win a mattress.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, pushing back her empty plate. “I always wonder why contest prizes are rarely ever what a person needs. Well,” she said, wishing she could think of a more clever way to end this pleasant interlude. “I do need to go. It’s been a long day.”
He piled napkins and unopened packets of salt on a tray. “I’ll do the dishes and walk you to your car.”
“Oh, no, thanks. I’m parked way out at the edge of the north lot. The weather’s terrible—”
“I’m out that way, too. Only spots left when I got here. I don’t mind, Beth. I need the exercise.”
He was far too agreeable, far too congenial, far too enjoyable to be with, she decided. The meal was fun, and now the fun was over. Back to reality. But a moment later, she trailed him out the double doors, lamely allowing him to carry her packages.
The wind bit her cheeks and whipped around her collar. She pulled her coat tight and crowded closer to the sleeve of Russ’s leather jacket for protection. By the time they reached the car, he had his arm around her, shielding her against the blowing snow.
“Aunt Harry predicts this will turn into a doozie of a storm by morning.”
“Awfully early for this kind of weather.”
He stored her bags in the trunk, then slipped the key into the lock. Standing between her and the wind, he held the door as she got in. Sliding behind the wheel, she looked up when he didn’t immediately shut the door. For an awful moment she had nowhere to look but straight into Paul-Newman-blue eyes.
He smiled as if he could read her thoughts, and Beth felt a warm flush creep up her throat. She was glad the car’s interior was dark.
“There’s a coffee bar on Ninth Street. I found it yesterday. Care to top off that potato with a latte?”
She would like nothing better. But she wouldn’t go. “No, thanks, I really do have to get home. It’s late, and Aunt Harry will be worried.”
His gaze skimmed her face, and she felt it as surely as if he had physically touched her. Goose bumps broke out on her arms. For one crazy moment, she toyed with the idea of accepting the invitation. Why not go, and read nothing into it? A cup of coffee with an old schoolmate. Nothing could be more innocent. He was lonely, looking for a way to pass time. At least she was smart enough to recognize that. Another time, another place, she might not. In the end, her common sense ruled. She and Russ Foster had nothing in common other than they shopped the mall during Moonlight Madness sales, and enjoyed loaded baked potatoes. Here today, gone tomorrow, she reminded herself again. She didn’t need any more complications in her life.
“Thanks, Russ. Maybe another time.”
“You name it. Drive safely. The roads are getting bad.” He leaned past her to switch on the headlights for her, then closed the door.
As she drove off the lot, she risked a last glance in the rearview mirror. He was standing beside his car, watching her leave. Something told her she’d missed a rare opportunity. One she was likely to regret when she thought about it in the morning. Or…before.
4
BETH OPENED her eyes to bright sunlight, and groaned. This was the last time she would get up feeling as if she’d spent the night in a hammock. Her new mattress would be delivered this morning. That was cause for a celebration. Perhaps an official mattress burning or something. Uh-oh, was she Aunt Harry’s niece or what? She could hang coil springs from the eaves on the front porch. She covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. Oh well, it would be wonderful to have a good night’s sleep tonight.
The old mattress lost its support decades ago, and as a result, she slept in a wallow. Getting up was an art. Turn on her left side, hurl herself to the right while thrusting both feet over the edge, levering herself up on her right elbow. By the time she was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, her head was spinning.
Beth limped to the bathroom, stretching to one side then the other, trying to work out the kinks. Since the episode with the table, she’d suffered from periodic back spasms. If it wasn’t better soon, she’d have to see a chiropractor. One more expense she didn’t need.
She put on a pair of worn jeans and a navy sweatshirt, then pulled a brush through her tangled hair. After stripping the bed, she carried the sheets downstairs.
“It’s a beautiful Saturday,” Aunt Harry chirped when Beth entered the kitchen. “Wonderful spring day.”
“Fall, Aunt Harry.” She tossed the sheets into the washer and dumped in detergent. With last week’s snowfall, it was already winter as far as she was concerned. She peered out the window. There wasn’t a trace of the early snow on the ground this morning.
“I’m baking muffins. Blueberry, cranberry, orange and cinnamon. Be out of the oven in a minute.”
Yawning, Beth poured a mug of coffee and wondered what was really baking in the oven. It smelled like chicken.
Harriet put a glass in the dishwasher. “What are you doing today?”
“My new mattress is being delivered. After that, I intend to locate the source of that water leak in the basement. I think it just needs a little liquid solder.” Beth took a sip of her coffee. “What about you?”
“I’m going to plant tomatoes.”
Plant tomatoes? In October? “Have you forgotten Aunt Harry? It’s October—before we know it Thanksgiving will be here.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I’m going to call Greg about the Halloween party and see if he can join us for dinner this year.”
Beth wasn’t sure she could stand to be around all that affectionate cooing and wooing. Her brother was on his fourth “true love,” ad nauseam.
She had yet to find one that materialized into anything. But then, she wouldn’t be the first to die an old maid. Maybe love wasn’t in the cards for her. In her late twenties, living with her aunt. She loved Aunt Harry, but this wasn’t how she envisioned her life. Nor did she envision herself working for a dull environmental committee in her own hometown.
By now, she’d hoped to be living in New York, LA., San Francisco, or Seattle, firmly ensconced in a career, perhaps married to a bright, going-somewhere executive, maybe even with a child, with another planned later. But it hadn’t happened. Buying a new mattress was the high point of her existence, and that was pathetic. If something didn’t shake up her dreary life-style, she’d be as batty as Aunt Harry. The thought rocked her.
“Achoo!” Aunt Harry sneezed.
“God bless you,” Beth said automaticall
y, reaching for the cream pitcher.
“Achoo!” She sneezed again, snagging a tissue from the box sitting on the counter. Harry opened the oven, and peered in. Beth glanced at the meat. Roast. Not chicken. So much for muffins.
“A-a-achoo!”
Beth frowned. “You’re coming down with a cold. Do you feel bad?”
“Fit as a fiddle.” Aunt Harry blew her nose.
“Nonetheless, you’d better stay in today. There’s a new strain of flu going around.”
“Oh, pooh! Achoo!”
Beth pushed back from the table. “Let me take that roast out of the oven for you, Aunt Harry, then I’ll run down to the drugstore and get you some cold pills.”
Aunt Harry looked as if she were going to argue, but the doorbell intervened. When Beth opened the door, she found a man in a blue uniform with Sam embroidered above his shirt pocket
“Beth Davis?”
“That’s me.”
“Got a mattress for you.”
“Wonderful!” For once, something was delivered on time. She peered over the man’s shoulder looking for his helper. “It goes in the first room at the top of the stairs.”
Sam glanced at the stairs, frowning. “Stairs? Nobody said anything about stairs.”
“Are stairs a problem?”
“Today they are. My partner’s out sick, and I got a bad back. Didn’t know stairs were involved. No one said anything about stairs.”
“You can’t take the mattress upstairs?”
Sam looked leery. “Can’t by myself. With a helper maybe, but I can’t get it up there alone, not without help.”
“Shoot.” Beth glanced up the steep flight of stairs. Her own back was giving her fits, but she had to get the mattress upstairs. At this point, she would gladly attempt to move the house for a decent night’s sleep. “Okay. I’ll try to help.”
Sam looked doubtful.
“No, it’s okay. I can handle my end.”
“Okay. Whatever you say, ma’am.” He shrugged, heading for the truck.
Ma’am? Why didn’t he just say madam? She felt a hundred years old.
Beth followed. She was going to be out a chiropractic bill anyway. Sam raised the door on the back of the truck, and Beth peered inside. A mattress leaned against one wall, but it wasn’t her mattress.
“That’s not the right mattress.”
Sam consulted his clipboard. “Says here it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Sam shrugged. “Is it close?”
“No, not even in the ballpark. My mattress has cloth on one side, silk on the other. That isn’t it.”
“Well, I have to call the store—unless you’ll settle on this one. If not, you’ll have to go down to the store and change paperwork.”
“No, I want my mattress, and I don’t intend to be inconvenienced by having to make another trip to your store.” First the table leg, and now this. She’d saved for months for the mattress. She wasn’t settling for that thing in the back of the truck. It looked as uncomfortable as her old one.
Sam scratched his head. “In that case, I’ll have to call my boss.”
“Fine. The phone’s in the kitchen.” Beth trailed him up the porch stairs and into the kitchen, and listened as he called the store.
Aunt Harry offered Sam a plate of roast beef. He shook his head, glancing skeptically at Beth.
“Pete? Put the boss on the phone.”
Within a few minutes, Sam had the mistake straightened out. He returned to the truck, pulled the back overhead door down, and sped off. He would return. Eventually. Hopefully she’d still get that decent night’s sleep.
“What was that all about?” Aunt Harry asked, as she shuffled into the living room, holding a tissue to her nose.
“The store delivered the wrong mattress. Nothing ever goes right,” Beth mumbled.
“I always say you make your own luck.”
“You have all the luck in this family, Aunt Harry. I’m going to the grocery for your cold medicine.”
Aunt Harry peered over the tissue. “Aren’t you going to spruce up a bit first?”
This, from a woman who put on an inner tube to go shopping? Beth glanced down at her worn jeans and tennis shoes. “I’m only going to the store.”
“But you might see someone. You might see that nice Foster boy.”
Yes, or Harrison Ford. The odds of either one of the men noticing what she wore were even up.
Aunt Harry dug into her apron pocket and produced a grocery list. “While you’re out, can you pick up a few items I need? I want to get started on that garden.”
Beth’s eyes scanned the list: flour, eggs, tomato plants, cabbage plants, one scarecrow. She shoved the list into her pocket. “I’ll see what they have.”
By the time she finished errands and returned home, it was close to eleven. She killed the engine, glimpsing the furniture store’s delivery truck turning the corner at the end of the street.
Sam wheeled the big truck into the drive, and braked. Cranking the window down, he called out, “Think I got the right one this time.”
“Let’s hope,” Beth muttered.
A moment later Sam slid open the overhead back door, and they both peered inside. She lifted the plastic covering. There lay her mattress, satiny medium-blue on one side, cotton powder-blue on the other.
“That look like it?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Great. Can you give me a hand gettin’ her out of the truck?”
While Sam pushed, Beth pulled until the new mattress slid off onto the drive. Together they wrestled it across the lawn.
Grunting, Beth tried to hold on to the bulky end as Sam dragged it up the steps.
“How do they expect you to deliver one of these by yourself?” she panted, pushing while Sam pulled.
Sam paused, snagging a hanky from his back pocket. He mopped his brow. “They just say deliver it, ma’am. It’s up to me to figure out how.”
Ma’am again. Couldn’t he just say miss?
Aunt Harry held open the door while the unlikely pair wrestled the unwieldy mattress inside. Beth suddenly found herself on the bottom end as Sam blindly groped his way backward up the staircase.
“Okay, you pull, I’ll push,” Beth panted. “First door on the right.”
It took forever to get the mattress up the stairs and inside her room. Beth sagged against the dresser as Sam grabbed hold of the old mattress, and leaned it against the wall. With one fluid heave, Beth helped flop the new one onto the bed. Sam eyed the discarded one.
“Does that go back to the store for their charity thingee?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s a trade-in.” Beth fought the urge to collapse on the new mattress and stare blindly at the ceiling. Her back was killing her.
The trip down was easier, until they reached the landing. The old mattress wasn’t as flexible as the new one. A wood bottom frame prevented it from bending around the newel post.
“How old is this thing?” Sam grunted, sweating profusely now.
“I wouldn’t venture to guess.” Beth stopped, sinking onto a step. She sat for a moment, wondering why she paid the twenty-five-dollar delivery charge. Had she known she would be hauling the mattress up the stairs, she’d have saved her money.
“Well, the only way to get this thing out of here, short of chopping it in pieces, is to tip it on one end and twist it around that post.”
“Would setting it on fire be a consideration?”
Sam either didn’t get the quip, or he got it and didn’t find it amusing. Mopping his face again, he grunted. “Let’s get to it. You push, I’ll pull.”
Maneuvering the mattress around the light fixture, they tilted it on one end, scraping paint off the wall as they worked it around the newel post. They let it slide the last thirty feet. It bumped nosily down the old staircase, landing in the foyer.
“All right!” Sam said, now fully into the challenge.
Propping the door open, they tipped the
mattress on its side and shoved it out onto the porch. With Sam at the front, Beth on the back, they pushed it to the edge of the steps.
Halfway down, her shoe caught, and the mattress leaped out of her hands. She made a grab for it, and off the porch and down the steps it bounced, with Beth only inches behind.
She landed flat, halfway on, halfway off the mattress. Sam stood to the side of the walk, the cloth handle from his end of the mattress dangling in his hand, his eyes wide.
Pain shot up Beth’s back and down both arms and legs. She clamped her eyes shut tightly and held her breath, suppressing a groan. When she opened her eyes, she quickly shut them.
Not again. Please, God, no.
She slowly reopened her eyes and met Russ Foster’s puzzled look as he stared down at her.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She groaned, struggling to sit up.
Kneeling, he gave her a hand. He gently helped her to a sitting position. “Sit still for a moment. I don’t think you’ve broken anything, but I’ll call 911 if you need me to.”
“I’d consider myself lucky if just one thing is broken,” she moaned. Even her teeth hurt. Russ had caught her in yet another humiliating situation. A perfectly wretched end to a perfectly wretched week. Would it never end? Beth tried to clear her spinning head. “Don’t call 911. I’m fine, really.”
Jasper sat on the grass, his tongue lolling out. Hearing her voice, the dog ventured closer and Beth tensed, praying he wouldn’t decide to be friendly.
The dog slurped her face and Beth twisted to avoid a second lick.
“Get! Jasper!” Russ shooed the dog aside, then bent to gently help her to her feet. “I think a doctor should take a look at you.”
“I’m all right—really. Just bruised.” And embarrassed.
“Maybe we should call an ambulance, ma’am.” Sam stepped forward and handed her a strangely familiar piece of blue cloth.
She tried to focus on the object, laughter bubbling up inside her. This was ludicrous. What was she supposed to do with the detached mattress handle? “No, I just need a minute to get my breath.”
Russ’s worried expression relaxed, and a smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style Page 6
