Golden Malicious

by Sheila Connolly

Was she interested? Meg felt strangely responsible for the whole string of events. If she hadn’t remembered, or hadn’t said anything, what would have happened? She hit reply and typed in a quick Thanks—keep me informed, please, and as an afterthought added, I’m having a potluck cookout here tomorrow at six. We’d love to see you—as a guest, not a consultant!—if you can break away. Then she shut down the computer, went upstairs for her much-needed shower, and drove to the supermarket.

  As she had predicted, entering the cool supermarket was close to stupefying: she stopped dead just past the entrance and breathed deeply of delightfully refrigerated air. How long could she spin out her shopping? What was the greatest amount of food she could get that required the least amount of cooking? Something the kids would eat, for a start, lots of liquids, charcoal for the grill . . . An hour later Meg stood in the checkout line and for once wished that the young checker would run through her cans of cat food more slowly. No such luck, so Meg took a last lingering breath of the chilled air before plunging back outside into the parking lot, where the acres of asphalt intensified the heat. She all but threw her food into the trunk, then shut herself into the car, turning the AC up full blast. She waited until the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees before setting off for the liquor store and finally the farmer’s market.

  Meg arrived home as hot and tired as when she had left, despite her brief intervals in the cooler air. When she struggled into the kitchen, clutching all her bags, Lolly, draped across the shadiest corner of the floor, opened one eye to look at her, then closed it again. Meg had just finished putting the groceries away when she heard rapping at her screen door. It was Lydia Chapin, Seth and Rachel’s mother. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Meg said quickly as Lydia opened the screen door. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Lydia waved a vague hand. “Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

  Meg filled two glasses with iced tea, added ice, and sat down again. “So what brings you here, and why aren’t you at work?”

  “My boss closed down the office a couple of hours early. Nobody was getting any work done, and he figured he’d save on air-conditioning. As for why I’m here . . . I understand Rachel told you about the baby?”

  “She did. I think it’s great! Why—is there some problem?”

  “No, not at all. She’s thrilled, Noah’s pleased, the kids are excited, and I love being a granny.” Lydia stopped.

  Meg looked her in the eye. She had an idea about what Lydia wasn’t saying. “How does Seth feel about it?” she asked carefully.

  “He’s happy for her, of course. He loves her kids. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but has this created some friction between you?”

  Meg didn’t rush to answer. “I guess I’d have to say yes. Somehow I made an offhand remark that I couldn’t imagine having children anytime soon because I’m so busy with the orchard, and Seth just shut down. What have I done wrong?”

  “Nothing, Meg,” Lydia said gently. “But you should know that it was one of the central problems when Seth was married to Nancy. He wanted kids then, and she was looking for a bigger, better life first, and maybe kids later. So I’d guess your remark, no matter how innocent, brought that all back again. If he didn’t tell you, you couldn’t have known. And he probably wouldn’t be happy if he knew I’d told you, but I wanted you to know.”

  She still ought to have guessed, Meg thought. “I never meant to hurt him. I just thought it was something we would discuss—later. When the time was right.”

  Lydia leaned back and gave her a long look. “Meg, do you want children?”

  Meg fought back a moment of panic at the direct question. “I think so. It’s just that I’ve never been in a position to seriously think about it. Seth kind of caught me by surprise when we were talking. But I hope he didn’t hear what I said as a ‘no.’”

  Lydia nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Give him some time. When he thinks about it, he’ll know you didn’t mean anything final. Believe me, I understand your position. Full-time farming takes a lot out of you. Our female ancestors here managed, but they had more help—and frankly, many of them died too young as well, simply worn out from struggling with both work and childbearing.” Lydia took a long drink of her tea. “All right, that’s all I had to say about that. What do you want me to bring to dinner tomorrow?”

  “Whatever you feel like. Don’t overdo. Oh, by the way, I asked Christopher Ramsdell if he’d like to come.” Meg watched Lydia and thought she detected a hint of a blush. “And Bree’s Michael, too, so it won’t be just family.”

  “I think that sounds lovely, dear,” Lydia said, with a small smile. She stood up. “Don’t worry about this misunderstanding with Seth. We’re all hot and stressed out, and not always thinking clearly. This, too, shall pass!”

  “I hope so,” Meg said, holding the door open for Lydia.

  • • •

  The next morning dawned fair and fine, as usual. Why can’t we stockpile these days for when we really need them, like in February? Meg grumbled to herself as she brushed her teeth. Downstairs, the thermometer outside the kitchen window read eighty-two degrees, and it was only seven o’clock. Meg started slicing fruit for a fruit salad for dinner. At least it would be cool and juicy. She’d stocked up on plenty of ice cream and had crammed her refrigerator with as many bottles of juice and iced tea as it could hold. She was debating whether it would make sense to set up the tables and take out the chairs and benches now, before the day got too hot, when Bree came downstairs. “Morning,” she muttered.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Bree turned from the refrigerator and looked curiously at her. “Is what?” She gathered up English muffins and butter and set about making herself some breakfast.

  “It is morning. To be followed by afternoon and evening. We are entertaining this evening, if you recall.”

  “Meg, you’re getting strange. I talked to Michael—wave free food at him and he’s interested. But he’s not much into meat. There’ll be plenty of salad stuff, right?”

  “Sure, no problem. Can you help me haul some tables and folding chairs out back in a few minutes, while it’s still cool out?”

  “Okay. You figure maybe a dozen people?”

  “More or less. And a dog.”

  “Max doesn’t need a chair.”

  “No, he does not,” Meg said, making a face at Bree, then continuing, “I invited Christopher by e-mail, and I hope he comes—it seems like I only talk to him when I have a problem, which isn’t much fun for him. He’s a sweetie, and I’d love to hear more about his life. So that makes us an even ten, with you two, me and Seth, Rachel and her family, Lydia, and Christopher.”

  “You’re not playing matchmaker, are you?”

  “What, you mean with Lydia and Christopher? Well, they did seem to be getting along nicely the last time I saw them together, but I’m not pushing anything. If it happens, it happens. Lydia’s not an old woman, though, and it would be nice if she had somebody in her life, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bree said dubiously. “She’s old enough to make up her own mind. What if she likes living alone? It’s not like she’s isolated—she knows plenty of people around here, and she still goes to work. And I don’t notice you joining things around town. So far you’ve got me and a cat. And sometimes Seth. Which one of us is going to last the longest?”

  “The cat,” Meg said, refusing to be drawn into the argument. “Lolly loves me. You just want a paycheck.”

  “Sure do—I earn it. And Seth? Where’s he fit?”

  “The jury’s still out on that one. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  15

  Seth arrived at six as promised, bringing Lydia and Max with him, and started to set up the fire on the grill. He seemed his usual cheerful self, although Meg sensed that there was a certain ease missing between them. Still, in the midst of preparing to feed a hungry crowd, there was no way they could talk about anything personal.

/>   There was a shady nook on the uphill side of the house, where there was a rickety lean-to, and some previous occupant of the house had made a halfhearted effort to lay down a patio large enough to hold two tables and a bunch of folding chairs. Meg brought out several coolers to keep the salads and drinks chilled until it was time to serve, and Seth positioned the barbecue grill a few feet onto the grass, a safe distance away. The air was so still and almost physically dense with heat that when he lit the fire, the smoke rose nearly straight upward. Meg looked beyond, where rows of her apple trees marched over the crest of the hill. Did they look a touch yellow, or was she just feeling anxious?

  Rachel and Noah, their two kids in tow, arrived shortly after six. Seemingly impervious to the heat, the children threw a Frisbee for Max to catch. Meg was rinsing some lettuce at the kitchen sink when Christopher arrived, carrying what had to be a couple of bottles of wine. She dried her hands and went out to greet him.

  “Christopher, I’m so glad you could make it! I was telling Bree that the only time I seem to see you is when I have some kind of problem. Should we swear not to talk shop tonight? At least, not too much?”

  “It is difficult, though, isn’t it? I was delighted by your kind invitation, and please accept my humble offering.” He held out the wine bottles, beaded with condensation.

  “Wonderful, thanks,” Meg said. She sent him around back to the others while she finished up in the kitchen, then went out to join the group herself. Bree and Michael rounded the corner just as Meg settled in a chair next to Rachel, who was watching everyone with a smile on her face.

  “Well, the gang’s all here,” Meg said. “I’m so glad I don’t have to cook. If this heat keeps up, Bree and I are going to find ourselves gnawing on raw vegetables. You have AC, don’t you, Rachel?”

  “We do. The B and B wouldn’t stay open long if we didn’t, drat those demanding tourists.”

  “Window units?” Meg asked.

  “No, there’s something else between a window unit and a full installation. I saw it on a This Old House episode a few years ago, and Seth approved of it, so he installed a partial system. I think we were his guinea pigs, but it’s worked really well. You should think about it, at least for some part of your house.”

  “Oh, I think about it a lot—I just don’t do anything about it. No time or money yet. I thought putting in the new septic system was a bit more critical than cool air. I’m still waiting for my bank account to recover.”

  “I agree with your priorities.”

  Meg watched Seth retrieve an errant Frisbee and send it sailing across the lawn to Max, the kids chasing after, giggling. She felt a pang again—he was having so much fun with his niece and nephew. “So, does everybody know about . . . ?” Meg nodded toward Rachel’s midsection.

  “Yup. I’m calling him—or her—Pumpkin, which sounds better than Turkey, which is closer to when the newest Dickinson will make an appearance. Probably December.”

  Meg turned to survey her guests: Lydia and Christopher were deep in discussion about something or other; Seth came back to the grill to flip a variety of meats and even a few large slices of vegetables like eggplant and zucchini, with Michael nearby; Bree and Noah were chatting about something; and the children and Max had all finally collapsed on the grass, panting. A nice, happy scene.

  The relaxed mood carried through dinner. As they ate, the sun set slowly behind the orchard hill, casting their little patio corner into deeper shade, and Meg lit a number of citronella candles and offered insect repellant all around. Barn swallows swooped through the air, catching any insects foolish enough to be out this late; the swallows would turn over their shift to the bats as soon as it was dark.

  “Much as I hate to break up such a nice party,” Rachel announced, shortly after eight, “I’ve got to get these two home to bed.” She nodded toward the kids, subdued now, as her husband yawned widely. “Or maybe I mean three! Thanks so much for having us, Meg—this was really nice. Don’t get up. We can find our own way out.”

  Rachel gathered up her family and herded them around the house. Meg followed orders and stayed where she was. She could hear their SUV start up in the driveway, and a moment later she waved as they passed on the road in front of the house, heading toward Amherst.

  Christopher, still seated next to Lydia, looked around as though startled that night had crept up on them all. “I, too, should make my exit. Thank you so much, Meg, for including me in your get-together. It has been a pleasure not to have to deal with building codes or university politics for at least a few hours, and in such delightful company. I’ll keep you informed on that other matter.”

  Did he mean the ALB problem? She was glad he hadn’t brought it up over dinner, and that they’d all avoided talking about David Clapp’s death, so they’d managed to have an untroubled, pleasant meal.

  “That would be fine, Christopher. Let me walk you to your car. If I sit here any longer I’ll fall asleep,” Meg said. Christopher made his good-byes to the others, and he and Meg walked around to his car on the other side of the house. Meg sniffed and smelled smoke. “Seems like the rest of the neighborhood had the same idea we did about cooking outside.”

  “It was indeed an excellent idea. We’ll talk later.” He got into his car and followed the same road that Rachel’s family had taken. As Christopher pulled away, Meg admired the view over the Great Meadow, looking so peaceful in the growing dusk . . . except for the wisp of smoke that came curling out of the woodlot on the far side. Meg stiffened and focused her attention. Yes, there was another wisp—and then she saw a tiny golden flicker of flame, somewhere within the stand of trees. The smoke she’d noticed wasn’t from a grill, it was from a real fire.

  What should she do? Ask Seth, of course. Meg turned and ran back around the house, to where the remaining people were gathering up trash and stuffing it in a bag. “Seth?” she panted.

  He looked up from his task. “What?”

  “I think there’s a fire in the woods down the street.”

  His demeanor changed instantly, as he shifted from relaxed social to official mode. “Show me,” he said brusquely.

  Meg led him around the house and pointed. Now there was no mistaking it—more flames were visible, extending from the edge of the road to a point about twenty feet into the trees; they’d moved fast in the minute she’d been away. Seth took a brief look and said, “You’re right.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched some speed-dial button. When someone answered he said tersely, “There’s a fire in the woods on the Ludlow road, about a quarter mile past Route 202, on the north side. Send a couple of the trucks, just in case, and let’s see if we can catch it now before it spreads too far.” He ended the call quickly, and his eyes went back to the fire.

  “Do I have anything to worry about?” Meg asked quietly.

  He turned to her as though he had forgotten she was there. “Here? No. It’s not likely to cross the Meadow, and the ground around the house is clear of brush. I can’t say as much for the properties on the other side.” Seth was shifting from foot to foot in his eagerness to take some sort of action.

  “Does Granford have its own fire department?”

  “Yes. Paid, not volunteer. Three engines, plus a tanker and some other smaller vehicles. Plus an ambulance. There are over two hundred fire calls each year, and I’d bet this year will go higher. They should be here fast.”

  Meg thought wryly, If it was a volunteer department, Seth would be part of it, no doubt. “Where is the station?”

  “It’s on the far side of town, in the same building as the police department, so you must have seen it.” Seth showed no signs of leaving his post, where he could oversee the fire activity. The trucks did indeed arrive soon; there were two, and Meg wondered if the second one had been dispatched because of the risk that the fire would spread quickly, with so much dry underbrush. As the first truck approached, Seth signaled the driver and waved him farther down the road. The second truck followed behind. While th
e sun was mostly gone, the flashing lights illuminated the night, flashing erratically off the trees.

  After a few minutes, Art Preston pulled up and stopped at Meg’s driveway. When he climbed out of the car, Seth called out to the police chief, “Couldn’t stay away, eh?”

  “Yeah, guys and fires, right? Looks like they’ve got it under control. It’s not the first one this week.”

  “Firebug?” Seth asked.

  Art shook his head. “Nah, probably some idiot tossing a cigarette. Can you believe people still do that?”

  “And all our public service announcements can’t stop them,” Seth said. “Anything else we should do?”

  “Nah, but the summer’s not over yet. Let’s make sure all the fire equipment is in good working order.” Art took one last look at the scene and watched as one of the trucks pulled away. “I guess I’ll head home now.”

  As he left, Lydia came out of the back door.

  “Did you miss all the excitement?” Meg asked.

  “No, I was watching from the kitchen window. The fire department seems to have handled it quickly.”

  “Yeah, they’re good guys,” Seth said. “I’m just worried that they’re going to be busy until this damn drought breaks.”

  “We can expect more fires?” Meg asked.

  “It’s all too likely. And unfortunately the town hasn’t been keeping up with clearing brush—including in that park we were talking about—which raises the danger. That’s another casualty of budget cuts—we can’t afford to hire the crew to do it.”

  “That’s too bad. But you said my property is okay?”

  “I’d say so. Which reminds me—I should put out a mass e-mail to the rest of our good citizens and remind them to clear flammable items away from their homes and outbuildings.” He stood up. “You ready to go, Mom?”

  Lydia glanced between Meg and Seth before saying, “I guess this heat has taken a lot out of me. Thank you, Meg—this was a good idea, and it was nice to see Christopher again.”