Leaving Carolina

by Tamara Leigh

  “The good news is, you woke up alive.” Luc slips off the barstool and strides toward us.

  I narrow my lids at him. “That is good news.”

  He ruffles Devyn’s hair. “So what do you think of my new commercial, kiddo?”

  “It’s good.” She hands him a slipcased DVD. “You spoke clearly and not too fast, looked directly into the camera, didn’t overdo the hand gestures, and the navy polo was an excellent choice.”

  She sounds a bit like me.

  “However, I think you ought to reconsider the mustache, Uncle Luc.”

  He smoothes the whiskers beneath his nose. “Too much?”

  “Too stereotypically ‘used-car salesman,’ meaning you’ll have all the stigma and preconceived notions that come with that.”

  “But Tiffany will throw a fit if I shave it off.”

  The blond bombshell I saw him with at church?

  “She says it makes me look distinguished.”

  Aunt Adele harrumphs. “You might want to point out to that wife of yours—number three, isn’t it?—that the more trustworthiness you exude, the more cars you’ll sell and the more money you can fork over for those designer clothes she’s so fond of. I’m with Devyn—shave the thing off. It makes you look slimy.”

  He leans toward me in a conspiratorial manner. “A used-car dealership is not what Mom had in mind when she sent me to college.”

  “If you had stayed in college, rather than get kicked out just like your father, maybe you would have made something more of yourself,” Aunt Adele says.

  Luc tilts his head at me. “You’re the expert on projecting the right image. What do you think of my mustache?” He strokes it. “Shave it?”

  I could say something sarcastic in support of truth in advertising, but I won’t. “I think Devyn’s objections are valid.”

  “So if I were a client, you would advise me to get rid of it?”

  “I would.”

  He thrusts the DVD at me. “Before you make your final determination, have a look at my new commercial.”

  On an empty stomach? “Er…”

  He puts an arm around my shoulders and turns me out of the kitchen. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Stunned by the physical contact, I’m unable to summon a protest as he leads me away. Soon I find myself in the sitting room on a sofa facing the television.

  “Wait for it.” Luc steps back from the DVD player. “And… there!”

  The name Pickwick Regal Motors flashes on the screen, followed by a closeup of a mustached Luc. Grateful his attention is fastened on the screen so I don’t have to worry about my twitching lips, I watch as he sweeps a hand over the hood of a sporty red BMW and extols its virtues in a subdued twang and deeper-than-natural voice.

  “This baby will go fast.” His television persona strokes its gleaming fender. “So hurry in to Pickwick Regal Motors and take her for a spin.” He crosses his arms over his chest, assuming a stance reminiscent of the Jolly Green Giant. “I’m Luc Pickwick, and if I can’t cut you a deal, no one can.” He points at the camera, smiles wide beneath the mustache, and winks. “Come on down!”

  Luc, in the flesh, whips around. “So?”

  There’s a lot I could say, but as he only asked about the hair on his upper lip, I’ll stick with that. “The mustache is too much.”

  Hope slides off his face. “Tiffany won’t be happy.”

  I rise. “Perhaps break the news to her when you take her shopping for a new outfit.”

  He lights up. “Great idea.”

  I start to turn away, but he grabs my arm. “While I’ve got you here, we need to talk about the mess Uncle Obe will make of the Pickwick name if he starts changin’ his will.”

  As delicately as possible, I extricate my arm. “That’s why I’m here, to talk sense into him. And I’ll do my best as soon as the timing is right—meaning when he’s fully on the road to recovery.”

  He settles back on his heels. “Glad to hear it, although I was surprised when Artemis told me you agreed to help. I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

  “A call went out and I answered it.” Grudgingly and with a good serving of self.

  Luc gives a crooked little smile. “Can I be honest with you?”

  I’ve always thought that an odd opener, begging the response, “No, please lie to me,” but coming from Luc it works. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’m thinkin’ you have something to hide, like most of us Pickwicks—something that Uncle Obe’s will could drag out into the open.”

  Steady, girl. He doesn’t know anything. But if he knows that Trinity Templeton stands to be one of Uncle Obe’s heirs, he might suspect. Heat creeps up my face, and I think a happy thought: Grant leaning across the conference table, careful not to disrupt the papers spread across it, laying a hand atop mine, saying we make a great team, wondering aloud what the IQ of our children will be.

  I feel better, though not as much as expected. I downplayed the hit to the head, but it would have been nice if Grant had checked on me last night.

  “If your expression is anything to go by,” Luc says, “I’d say you have as much to lose as the rest of us.”

  I flubbed that. “It’s in all our best interests that a solution is found to satisfy Uncle Obe and the family. If there is some way to make restitution to those he believes the Pickwicks have wronged without him writing them into his will—”

  Luc holds up a hand. “Restitution? This is about protecting the family name, but it’s also about protecting our inheritance. If Uncle Obe starts throwing our money around, there won’t be much left when he finally passes away.”

  I don’t like this conversation, and I decide not to hide it behind strategic body language. “It’s his money, Luc. If he wants to use it to help those who—”

  He takes an aggressive step toward me. “You sound like Axel and Bridget!”

  My first thought is to return aggression for aggression, but I’m struck by the second name. “Bridget sides with Uncle Obe?”

  Disgust gurgles from his throat. “You know her and her big mouth—hangs it out there for any and all. Doesn’t care what others think about our family.” He jabs a finger at the windows overlooking the front of the house. “She’s the one who exposed the truth about the great crop circle. And just when nearly every authority on the subject concluded it was genuine. Oh no, she had to own up to it, and you know why?”

  Because it had served its purpose and she wanted to thumb her nose at those gullible enough to believe aliens were responsible?

  “Because Buck Horton was cashing in on it, charging admission to the visitors who trampled his field and threatened the habitat of her little woodland buddies more than those big old harvesters.”

  Oh.

  “She has a twisted sense of right and wrong, that Bridget. And she doesn’t even attend church.”

  Meaning her sense of right and wrong should be discounted? The thought surprises me since I never expected to defend her, even if only in my head. “Regardless, it’s Uncle Obe’s right to do with his money as he sees fit.”

  “Providing he’s competent to do so.” There’s my shifty-eyed cousin. “He’s not right in the head. Everyone knows it, and if it means having him declared mentally incompetent, I will make it my mission. So you had better—”

  Movement at the front windows draws his attention, and Axel’s Jeep pulls into the front parking area next to what must be Luc’s car—a black Corvette.

  “Gotta go.” Luc the aggressor is so suddenly gone, it’s almost laughable. He steps away. “Think about what I said. It’s in everyone’s best interest, including Uncle Obe’s, that we nix the changes to his will.” Turning down the corridor toward the kitchen, I hear him call to his mother.

  I open the front door as Axel reaches the landing.

  He nods over his shoulder, and I catch sight of the rubber band that grips his hair at the nape of his neck. “I can guess who your visitor is.”

  “Too b
ad you weren’t here to intercept him.”

  “And guard Piper, hmm?”

  I’m going to ignore that. “I don’t trust him on the property, and as Maggie must have buzzed him in, it’s all the more reason why it wasn’t a good idea for her to stay the night.”

  “You would have preferred that I stay?”

  “No!”

  “Then?”

  I open and close my mouth and then wave him in. “Fortunately Luc and his mother are leaving.”

  Axel walks past me. “That explains why Maggie let him in.”

  I close the door and step into the sitting room. “What explains it?”

  “If Luc hadn’t brought their mother along, Maggie probably would have turned him away, since she’s well aware of the boundaries you talk about.”

  She is? “I’d hoped when I saw him going into church the other day, he might have changed some.”

  “He has, though I wouldn’t measure that change against church attendance.” Axel smiles. “Apparently Luc believes quite a few members of the congregation are in need of a good used vehicle.”

  I envision him passing business cards down the pews and wince. “You said he’s changed. How?”

  “He’s supporting himself and by legal means.”

  I recall Luc’s mustache and Jolly Green Giant stance. “As a used-car salesman.” Hellooo! Why don’t you play that back and see how it sounds?

  A frown forms between Axel’s eyes. “We can’t all be high-profile image consultants.” He looks down his attire—an olive green T-shirt and worn jeans that fit loosely and yet somehow emphasize his solid physique.

  Reluctant snob or not, there is a side to me I don’t like. Has it always been present, lying dormant due to the situation Mom and I found ourselves in? Waiting for the moment I could prove myself as good or better than those who were snobs to me?

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry Clearly I have repressed feelings that are surfacing now that I’ve returned to Pickwick. I shouldn’t have come home.”

  Home… Emotion lodges in my throat (must be approaching that time of month).

  “Your uncle is glad you came,” Axel says, “and I think you will be too once you settle in.”

  My emotions scurry for cover. “Settle in? I’m not going to be here that long.”

  “That’s your decision. I just hope you’ll stick around long enough to make sure Obe gets back on his feet. He’s counting on you.”

  Guilt trip. “I’ll help out however I can, but I do have a life outside of Pickwick.”

  He’s thinking about challenging that. I can see it in his eyes, but Luc and Adele come to my rescue. Peripherally, I see the two head for the black Corvette, and when I face the windows, it’s obvious Adele is having a hard time keeping up with her son. A rash of color has spread across her cheeks, hanks of bleached hair have escaped her French roll, and the heels of her designer pumps barely touch down.

  Taking advantage of the moment of levity to avoid further talk of my stay in Pickwick, I say, “You have a curious effect on people, Obadiah Axel Smith.”

  He draws alongside me, and his arm brushes mine before he sidesteps.

  A very curious effect. Wherefore art thou, Grant?

  “I have noticed that.” His tone is droll. “And that back doors seem to be the exit of choice.”

  I feel the tug of a smile as Luc bundles his mother into the low-slung car. “Maybe it’s your military background.”

  Axel doesn’t respond. From the muscle ticking in his jaw, it’s obvious I said the wrong thing, but it stills and his eyes meet mine. “Or it could be the ponytail.”

  The smile tugs again, and I give in to it.

  As Luc starts down the driveway, Axel reaches into his shirt pocket and removes a business card. “You asked about a cleaning service.”

  I pluck the sparkly pink card from his fingers. “CSI—Cinderella Sanitation Inc.”

  “It’s a new business, but the owner has worked for another cleaning service. She’s building her clientele, so she’s more flexible and reasonably priced than others.”

  “I’ll give her a call.”

  His gaze moves up my face. “How’s the head?”

  “Better. In fact, I don’t see any reason to disrupt Maggie’s and Devyn’s lives further by asking them to stay another night.”

  “Doctor’s orders.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You prefer that I pound on your door every two hours? Or throw pebbles at your window? Of course, if I can’t wake you, I’ll have to break down the door again.”

  “I think I’ll stick with Maggie.” I start to turn away. “Er, have you heard from Uncle Obe? I’d like to drive to Asheville to visit him later.”

  “He called this morning and sounded more like himself—on the cranky side.” Axel’s lips tilt upward. “He wants to come home, but his doctor won’t release him until Thursday.”

  “Complications?”

  “No, the doctor just wants your uncle’s first few days of rehab to be closely monitored.”

  I look at the card and my sparkly fingertips. Uncle Obe is not coming home to a dusty roost. “I’ll give our Cinderella a call.”

  Silence unrolls between us, the kind where something has been left unsaid. “Thank you, Axel. For the card and… uh… cutting short my visit with Luc.”

  Blue eyes crinkle at the corners, drawing attention to the permanent lines that evidence he’s a man of the outdoors. “You’re welcome.”

  Now what? “Well, I’m going to get something to eat before I start my day.”

  “Would you mind telling Devyn to meet me in the garden? She’s conducting a study on earthworms and asked if she could help with the weeding.”

  I’ll have to get a handle on the new Pickwick dynamics. “I’ll tell her.”

  Ten minutes later, savoring toast spread with Uncle Obe’s blackberry jam, I stand alongside Maggie, peering out the kitchen windows as Devyn drops to her knees beside Axel and digs in the dirt with her bare hands.

  “Maggie?”

  “Um-hmm?”

  “When did you find out that Uncle Obe’s heart condition was broken heart syndrome?”

  “Friday. Why? Oh.” She grimaces. “You overheard Seth and me at Cracker Barrel.”

  “Sorry.”

  She shrugs. “I should have corrected him about Uncle Obe’s condition, but I was ticked off. He… well, I just want to be friends, and he says he’s good with that, but then he lays guilt trips on me. You would think I’d learn.”

  “I guess there’s no getting over you.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I want what’s best for Devyn, and while Seth is a decent guy, he’s not what either of us needs.”

  We stare at each other until Devyn’s laughter returns us to the garden. She’s sitting on her heels, laughing with Axel, and then she’s back to digging.

  “Now Axel…,” Maggie muses, “he would make a great dad.”

  For Devyn?

  “He’s good for her.”

  And Maggie? Though I have no reason to feel jealous, I do, as if she’s taking Axel from me as she took Seth. But Axel isn’t mine. And besides, I have Grant.

  “Axel lets her talk and he listens—really listens. And no matter what he’s doing when we come around, he either includes her or puts it aside and gives her his time.”

  Might Axel have a thing for Maggie?

  “At last year’s parent night at school, I came down with the flu. I asked Luc to take Devyn, but he was busy. My mom said she wasn’t up to it, and Uncle Obe wasn’t feeling well either. I was trying to figure out how to break the news to Devyn when Axel called and offered to take her. She was thrilled. Of course, Seth wasn’t happy when he found out.” Maggie’s mouth curves. “And neither were the single ladies in town when the grapevine worked its way around to them. Thought I was stealing him out from under their noses.”

  Was she? It’s not as if she doesn’t have experience with that kind of thing. “So
you and Axel—?”

  “No.” She looks at me. “I like him as a friend. But even if I felt more than that, it takes two, and Axel is not interested in me.”

  He’s in the minority then. “So… does he date?” Oh, I can’t believe I asked that!

  “Some, but not seriously. I sometimes wonder if he’s self-conscious about—”

  The window panes rattle, and Maggie and I jerk our chins around to find Devyn grinning at us from the other side. Axel has hoisted her up by the waist so she can wiggle a fat, slimy earthworm at us.

  “Devyn!” Maggie jumps back.

  Her daughter laughs, as does Axel, who winks at me as he lowers Devyn to the ground.

  With a wave, they return to their weeding and earthworm studies.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Maggie steps back to my side. “How did a girly girl like me end up with a daughter like Devyn?”

  Not what I was thinking, but it is funny. I don’t mean to laugh, but when I clamp my lips on the sound, it comes out my nose.

  She looks sharply at me.

  I shake my head. “It’s just that I was expecting a mini-Mag, not young Einstein.”

  She returns her gaze to the two outside. “So was I, and though it hasn’t been easy, Devyn is my proof that God knows what He’s doing.”

  I’m struck by her sincerity… by the softening around her eyes and mouth as she watches her daughter work beside Axel… by the fingers that reach for and close around a cross suspended from a delicate chain around her neck… and by how much closer to God she sounds than I feel. How did that happen? Adversity? That as my situation improved, I had less time for God? That as her situation worsened, she made time for Him?

  Regardless, Uncle Obe may be right—some Pickwicks do get better with age.

  The car that put-puts and shudders heavily as it reaches the crest of the driveway is the first indication that my world is about to wing further out of whack. The battered old VW Bug is an astonishing orange—not professionally painted by any means—sectioned by vertical green lines and topped by a stem and curling tendril. Cinderella’s pumpkin-inspired coach. The second indication is the woman who swings her legs out of the car—begrimed ballet flats, seriously tattered dress and apron, and a kerchief tied over her dark brown shoulder-length hair. Disney’s version of Cinderella. But this last is the clincher. As she ascends the stairs, a clipboard clasped to her chest, green eyes big and blinking, mouth stretched wide to affect a smile of confidence, my heart lurches.