A Change of Heart

by Nancy Frederick

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She looked at him, her eyes wide with terror, but she shook her head calmly, indicating that she was just fine, which was obviously untrue.

  Charles walked over to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Annabeth, what's the matter?" He pressed his hand to her forehead, which was cool, then asked, "Are you ill?"

  She bit her lip, still unable to speak, but the pain had a calming effect on her and so she volunteered, "That girl, the pregnancy test..."

  Charles' eyes opened wide. "Oh, no. That was your daughter?"

  Annabeth held both hands to her temples, looking wildly about, then trying to maintain her composure. Shaking her head, she answered, "No, my husband's girlfriend."

  "What a fool," said Charles.

  Annabeth, feeling embarrassed for confiding in him, started to rise, determined to get herself home. Clearly he thought she was overreacting.

  "What sort of fool would leave you for a little tramp like that?"

  She began to tremble then, and holding her hands to her eyes, Annabeth willed herself not to cry.

  Charles, seeing she was in deep need, stepped closer, reached out, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her head to his shoulder. Annabeth allowed herself to be held, but she did not let go and weep as she needed to. Instead she worked to regain her equilibrium, to compose herself and to show once again to her employer the cheerful, good-natured persona he was used to seeing.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, out of his embrace, and managed a slight smile. "Thanks, Charles. I'm better now." He looked so helpless, fumbling for some way to offer the assurance she needed that it was all right for her to let go with him, and Annabeth felt guilty to be taking his time and worrying him needlessly. "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Oh, my dear, don't be sorry. I know you're having a hard time now. And I think you're handling it so very well. Really. I just wish I could help you more."

  "That's so nice of you. You're very kind. And I appreciate it. I'll be better tomorrow, I'm sure. It's just been a difficult day. I'll just go home now, if that's all right?"

  "I don't think you should be alone just yet. Let me buy you dinner at least."

  Looking at Charles, she felt sorry for him and guilty for what she'd just put him through, and although Annabeth doubted that she'd have the energy to sit across the table from anyone right then, she didn't see a way to refuse without hurting his feelings. "What about Sara? Won't she wonder where you are?" Annabeth hoped that reminding him of his wife would provide her out.

  "No, it's Wednesday. She knows that if I'm late, I'm at the Rusty Lantern, laughing at the crooners. Now I won't take no for an answer. You need some looking after."

  "You're very nice," she said in a quiet voice, and followed him out the door and up the street, all the while wishing she could forget her manners and race away from him so that for once she could put her own needs first and just be alone.

  Doug Hawkins sat across from Patsy Clark at a table in the Rusty Lantern. When he spotted Annabeth and Charles entering the bar, he waved them over to his table and invited them to join him and Patsy, causing her to sulk a bit.

  "Patsy, Annabeth, you remember each other, don't you? And of course you two know each other."

  Charles nodded to both of them, "Patsy found Chuck's house for him. How are you?" He smiled at her, helped Annabeth to a seat, then sat down.

  "It's about time he started looking for a bigger house isn't it?" she asked, "What with the growing family and all."

  "Oh I think they're pretty happy."

  While Patsy queried Charles about the possibility of his relocation to a smaller home, Doug smiled at Annabeth. "Everything all right?" he asked in a low voice, looking closely at her and causing Patsy to glare at Annabeth.

  "I'm a bit tired. Fine though. And you?"

  "I'm glad to see you."

  "I saw your brother today."

  Doug's brow furrowed, "Oh?"

  "Chocolate shake." Annabeth smiled gently, wishing she could confide in Doug about his brother's invitation, but not knowing how to broach such a subject, she remained silent.

  "Furniture painting going well?"

  "I'm going to do a show with a friend. Then we'll see. I've sold a lot but I have a hard time setting prices."

  "What's your criterion?"

  "Well, the first time, Etta set them, and she paid well, I thought. Better than I expected. Then I sold to a store on my own and just doubled what I paid."

  "Have you done any research on the market?"

  "Like The Price is Right."

  Doug laughed, "Exactly. Visit a lot of shops, see how what they sell compares to what you have. Then ask for more than what you want to get. Let the store owners bargain you down--to the price you really want--that way everybody's happy."

  Annabeth nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll try to remember it."

  Noticing the way Doug and Annabeth were interacting, Patsy reached over and kissed Doug on the cheek, then focused on Annabeth, saying, "You two have to have some wine with us. We're celebrating. Seven months together."

  "How nice," said Annabeth and Charles simultaneously.

  Doug signaled to Wanda, the waitress, as Patsy said, "And Annabelle, where do you live? I'm always looking for clients."

  "It's Annabeth," said Doug.

  "Oh, sorry. Annabeth."

  "I live on Old Magnolia Bayou."

  Patsy's eyes opened wide. "Oh! I heard the most marvelous story about that street. Years ago--when I was first in the business." She licked her lips and continued, "Well, everyone knows the Parish Paper Company." They all nodded, so Patsy went on, "And they owned the whole street, all the land around it, just a pine forest really. This was, oh, in the twenties or thirties, I think."

  "Here you go," said Wanda, placing the opened bottle of Chardonnay on the table with four wine glasses. Want to order supper now?"

  "Come back in a bit, would you?" instructed Patsy without consulting the others.

  "No problem," said Wanda, walking to another table.

  "So! Old man Parish--Tyler was his name I think, though he wasn't any old man then--he was maybe forty--younger than we are now." Patsy laughed at this irony before continuing, "In fact, he was the youngest son, but I'm getting distracted here. Anyway Tyler Parish it was, and he got involved with some bootleggers, and one of them had a friend who was a grifter, and that guy had a girlfriend from up North--she was Swedish, I think, one of those pale, shimmery blonde types, stunning, not too bright. So Tyler built a house for the blonde. At the end of the bayou, in fact, he built the street. And he didn't just keep her for his mistress. He actually lived with her, dumped his wife. The wife had the rest of the town to offer her comfort, and she didn't much miss Tyler. He was kind of a sleaze."

  Doug filled the wine glasses and handed them out. Apparently he was far less interested in his girlfriend than she was in herself despite the fact that she was very beautiful.

  "So. The blonde runs off after a couple of years and Tyler eventually drops dead. The house on Magnolia sits empty for twenty years, maybe more. But Tyler and the wife had a son, Buster Parish, kind of a weakling, and he's into gambling, not that he has a knack for it. And one night he gets into this poker game with some local low life, a guy who everyone knows is a cheater, everyone but Buster, that is."

  Annabeth swallowed hard on hearing this part of the story, and she wanted to speak up and correct Patsy, but if she were to defend R.J., it would be like calling Patsy a liar, and that would be awkward for everyone, so she chose to remain silent. Instead of commenting, she picked up her wine glass, downed its contents and allowed Doug to refill it as Patsy continued.

  "So. They're playing five card stud, and the low life is dealing from the bottom of the deck, or whatever it is that cheaters do. Buster is too drunk to know. And the low life bets his truck--a new vehicle--against this house that Buster says he owns on the Bayou. And the cheat wins. He gets the house. So
this sleaze, thinking he got a valuable piece of property goes all around town talking about how he beat out a Parish."

  "What became of the house?" asked Charles.

  "They actually moved into that dump. The guy's wife fixed it up. Kind of a mousy somebody I heard. Was that who sold it to you?" Patsy asked Annabeth.

  Annabeth blushed when this question was asked of her, and stammered only, "No, don't think so."

  "You two here for supper?" asked Doug, changing the subject.

  Charles nodded.

  Doug signaled to Wanda, who appeared immediately.

  "What are the specials?" asked Patsy.

  "We have some nice fish tonight. Grilled Grouper or Snapper. Or you can have it fried or blackened. Also lasagna."

  "Grilled grouper sounds great," said Patsy.

  "Rice and salad?"

  Patsy nodded. "And another bottle of wine."

  Wanda looked toward Annabeth.

  "Oh a burger is fine."

  "No, come on, eat a proper dinner," insisted Charles. "You do eat fish?"

  Annabeth nodded.

  "Have that, please."

  "All right," agreed Annabeth.

  "Grouper or snapper?"

  "Either is fine."

  "We'll both have the grouper, but I want mine blackened. How about you?"

  "No, grilled please."

  "Rice and salad?" asked Wanda.

  Annabeth nodded, so Charles said, "Perfect. And a beer for me. Want a beer?"

  Annabeth shook her head. "No, thanks. Some water, please."

  "How about the grilled sirloin for me," said Doug. "Baked potato. And salad. Tanqueray and tonic."

  Wanda nodded, scribbling on her pad.

  Patsy leaned over, put her arms around Doug, kissed his cheek, then said, "Such a carnivore! He'll need all the strength he can get tonight."

  Doug reached out, took her hand and held it briefly, extracting himself from her public embrace.

  Wanda arrived shortly, placing Doug's steak in front of him, plates of blackened grouper in front of Patsy and Charles, and a burger plate in front of Annabeth.

  "Wait a second," complained Patsy. "This is supposed to be grilled."

  "And the burger's wrong too," said Doug. "It was another grilled grouper."

  "It's fine," said Annabeth. "I can eat this."

  "Don't be silly," said Doug, handing the burger plate to Wanda. "Probably a mix-up in the kitchen."

  "She's so fuzzy-headed," said Patsy, spearing a forkful of salad and eating it.

  The two men sat waiting for the rest of the food, but Annabeth said, "Oh please, don't wait. Your food will be cold. Eat."

  Doug refilled the wine glasses for Annabeth and Patsy.

  Wanda returned to the table with one order of grilled grouper, which she set in front of Patsy. "I'm sorry. We're out of grouper. Is the snapper all right?"

  Annabeth nodded, "Sure, it's fine. And a glass of water please."

  Before Annabeth's supper arrived, the phone in Charles' pocket rang, and he answered it. "Hello? Yes, dear. Are you sure? Look downstairs? In the kitchen? No Tylenol? No Advil? How's that possible? All right, I'll be right along." He flipped the phone closed then turned to his companions, "My wife needs some aspirin. Imagine that--a pharmacist's wife running out of aspirin."

  Annabeth rose to leave with him, but Charles insisted that she stay. "You haven't even had your supper."

  "Of course you'll stay. After all we've gone through this evening to get you some edible food," interjected Doug.

  Patsy remained silent.

  "I'll get the check," said Doug. "Sara's waiting."

  "Thanks," smiled Charles. "Next one's on me."

  "Does he ever get the check?" asked Patsy when Charles was beyond hearing. "Every time I see him in here, he gets a call and trots home to the wife."

  Wanda removed Charles' and Patsy's plates and set Annabeth's food in front of her along with a glass of water, and at last she began eating, along with Doug, who had waited for her.

  "You know, I think I'll sing a song. Need to show these people how it's done." Patsy winked at Doug, strode to the end of the bar and sang a passable rendition of "Walking After Midnight," although she posed no threat to the memory of her namesake.

  "She has a lot of energy," said Annabeth in genuine admiration.

  Doug nodded, "You know, I just realized it this minute. What it was about Patsy." He continued softly, watching his girlfriend sing, but speaking to Annabeth in an intimate way, expressing his ideas slowly as they were forming in his mind. "My wife always acted like she wanted me to be someone else, someone who was better, someone more up to her standards. And with her I felt like I'd captured a treasure, one I maybe didn't deserve. And she acted like that was the correct interpretation, right up to the end of our marriage. I always felt like it had all been my fault, that I just couldn't live up to the life--and the partner--I'd chosen, that I'd reached beyond my limits. With Patsy, there are no complications. She wants me for who I am, well as much of me as she understands."

  "You must have been very competitive," said Annabeth.

  Doug's eyes widened with insight. "Yes! I never thought of that."

  Before he could continue, Patsy had returned to the table, saying, "Look who I found by the cigarette machine." The man was tall, with the same dark eyes and fair skin that made Patsy so beautiful, although his face was marred with a number of pock marks.

  Doug rose from his seat, shook the man's hand and then reseated himself. "Annabeth Welner, this is George Healy."

  "My wonderful brother," said Patsy, smiling, "Now our table is less unbalanced."

  "Hello, Annabeth," said George, smiling at her. "Let me refill your wine glass."

  Before she could decline the invitation, she watched aghast as R.J., his arm around Linna, walked into the bar, his footsteps unsteady. Not even spotting Annabeth, he steered his girlfriend to a booth at the back of the bar and began kissing her in a manner that was far too intimate for a public place.

  "I don't believe it!" trilled Patsy. "That's the guy. The low life, cheater guy." Knowing better than to point, she nodded toward R.J., who by this time had his back to them.

  Seeing that her glass was filled, Annabeth lifted it and downed the wine, then held her hand to her temple. The headache that had begun at two in the afternoon was now a migraine.

  "Are you all right?" asked Doug.

  "I really need to get home. Headache for hours." Annabeth stood quickly, and feeling the room spin around, she steadied her hand against the table.

  "We'll drive you home," said Doug.

  Patsy jabbed George with her elbow, causing him to say, "Ouch!" followed by a hasty offer to see Annabeth home.

  "I'll be fine, really," said Annabeth, trying to regain her equilibrium by focusing on one corner of the bar.

  "It's no trouble at all," said George.

  "We're ready to leave anyway," argued Doug.

  Not wanting Patsy anywhere near her house, Annabeth said, "You two go on with your celebration. I'll be fine. Some fresh air will help. Thanks so much for supper." She took a couple of steps toward the door, expecting to be able to exit on her own, but George leapt up, and placed his arm on her shoulder to steady her, and he helped her out the door toward his car.

  11

  There's a certain feeling of electricity in the air before a thunderstorm, in the wind, even if it's barely ruffling the trees, and it was this charge that Annabeth sensed as she walked out the door of the Rusty Lantern. She held her face toward the sky, hoping to be refreshed by a mist of yet unfallen rain, but there was nothing but the faintest breeze, not even a noticeable drop in temperature. "It's going to pour any minute," she said softly, breathing deeply in the hopes that her throbbing head would clear.

  "Oh I don't think it will be so bad," said George Healy, opening the door of his car and helping her inside before Annabeth could insist once again that she was fine. "Where to?"

  "Old Magnolia Bayou," s
he said, wishing she could exit the car and run up the street to her own vehicle.

  Without comment, George pulled into the street and drove smoothly toward her house. He reached over and turned off the radio, then turned the air conditioning up. "The cold air ought to help you."

  Annabeth nodded.

  "You know, I've never seen you in the bar before."

  "I've only been a few times for supper. I'm really not a drinker."

  "Celebrating something?"

  Annabeth shook her head, then feeling herself rude for being so unresponsive to this man who was going out of his way to help her, she added, "Nothing to celebrate today at all. Horrendous."

  "I've had a few of those." Turning onto her street, George slowed down, then pulled smoothly up to her door. "Say. You have all the original gingerbread." He turned off the car, pocketed the keys, opened the door, then walked to Annabeth's side to help her out.

  "Thank you so much for the ride. But really, I'm fine."

  George silently steered her to the porch, then stopped to examine the railings, the shutters and some other details of the house. "I've restored a few of these myself. Talk about a labor of love. But what a fine job you've done here. And the embellishments are charming."

  Annabeth fumbled with the key, turning to answer him, "Oh you mean my little designs. Thanks. Some think they're pretty eccentric."

  George ran his hand along the wood of the door frame. "I'd love to see the rest of the house."

  Annabeth was searching for the excuse she needed to refuse him entry, but her mind was foggy and while she fumbled, the clouds above crashed together in a mighty clatter and then from them came the torrent that she had predicted earlier. She had no choice; she couldn't send him off in a downpour. "Come in for a minute then. The rain won't last long."

  George followed her into the house, waited while she fed the cat, retrieved a bottle of aspirin from the kitchen and downed a couple. "And you painted all the designs inside as well?"

  Annabeth nodded. "Could I offer you some coffee?"

  "Love a cup. Probably do you good as well."

  While the kettle heated, Annabeth led George through the house, answering his questions, stopping as he examined a piece of molding or built-in and then moving forward until they were back in the kitchen where she prepared two mugs of coffee and set them on the table. George remained standing, sipping his coffee as Annabeth asked him, "You're a builder?"