by Susan Sands
The judges had been invited from several different talent and modeling agencies by the pageant committee. Emma wasn’t to have any say in who the judges were to keep things fair to the contestants coached by others. She was the emcee, but not part of the committee, preventing any possible conflict of interest.
When they’d gotten through to the last contestant and everyone had filed out, the big shindig was finally over. “What a way to spend a Saturday night,” Jo Jo flopped down in a kitchen chair.
“Oh, my God, did you see the mom who stood in front of the stage and mimed the entire dance routine, step-by-step and nearly blocked the judges from seeing her performance?” Ben had helped Cammie with crowd and overall damage control.
“They had to wipe the stage with 409 to clean up the puddle of makeup so the others wouldn’t slip and fall.” They all laughed good-naturedly as Ben regaled the drama.
And on it went. The tales from this year’s pageant.
“As always, the one who didn’t cry, fall down, wore the most makeup, had the biggest hair and smile won.” Maeve said.
“Just as it should be.” Jo Jo chimed in.
“All my girls, especially the older ones did a great job. I’m so glad to see they did me proud tonight.” Emma had taken off her shoes and appeared relaxed and satisfied. The older contingent of the pageant was taken more seriously, complete with a talent component in the competition.
“Jacy Johnson has an incredible voice,” Grey said, and the others agreed. Somehow he’d ended up back here with them. His father had taken Samantha home as it was getting late. Grey had stayed to help with the clean up.
“Things went off without a hitch, thanks to everyone,” Mom said. She’d sneaked down just as the show began.
This post-pageant gathering in the kitchen was an annual tradition. Cammie hadn’t been here for it in a very long time. She’d seen photos, videotape, and heard the retelling of it, but hadn’t physically been here in several years. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Except, somehow Grey had gotten in on the mix, too. He stood in the corner of the kitchen, his bowtie loosened and his hair disheveled as if he’d run his hand through it a time or two. So hot. He appeared relaxed and right at home with the rest.
A loud clanging noise from outside got their attention. Ben jumped to his feet and opened the side kitchen door, trying to make out the source of the racket.
A woman shrieked and yelled, and the loud clank sounded again, like metal hitting metal. An angry female shout responded to the first. Uh-oh.
“Sounds like a brawl,” Ben said, and made a face. It wasn’t his first catfight, and they all knew it. Fortunately for Ben, he wasn’t the reason for the clash this time around.
As he started to head out, Grey was on his heels, “You might need help.”
Everyone spilled out the door, except Mom, who stood inside the threshold. Cammie pulled out her cell phone, should they need to call the police, or worse.
It was dark as pitch, and hard to see across the yard, but easy enough to make out where the action was from the sounds. The screeching continued, and the conflict seemed to revolve around tonight’s contest judging. Oh Lord. Not this again. More than a few of these pageants had ended in near fistfights between angry parents whose little darlings hadn’t brought home the big trophy.
Ben and Grey had made it to the far edge of the parking area along the creek, under one of the largest oak trees on the property. Rumor had it; duels were fought on this very spot, back in the day. How fitting, Cammie thought unkindly.
The group moved a bit closer to hear what the commotion was about.
The women became aware of their encroachment.
“She hit my truck with a damned tire iron; did you see that? I’m gonna sue you!”
“I’m gonna hit you with it if you talk about my baby girl like that again!”
“Are you kiddin’ me? Your…” Ben leapt quickly to wrestle the tire iron out of red, manicured nails, while Grey stood between the other and her target.
“Ladies, the pageant is over, and there’s no need for this kind of violent behavior or trash talking.” Grey soothed them with his honeyed voice.
Cammie recognized that persuasive tone.
“Think of the example you set for your children,” Ben suggested carefully to the women.
Both men positioned themselves in case the women decided to have a go at one another. They were circling in a slow, catlike way that made Cammie very nervous.
Ben and Grey managed to call the husbands of the women and keep any physical blows from landing; these two had had words at the luncheon last week, though it had been minor and pretty typical pageant mom stuff. The little girls had gone on home after the pageant with their daddies, and the women stayed to gather up the remains of the fray. That was when the trash talk had begun, and apparently continued outside as they’d loaded up.
Cammie walked Grey out to his car after all the hubbub ended. “Thanks for stepping in to break up the ruckus,” Cammie said.
He grinned. “At your service, though it got pretty hairy there for a little while. Those ladies don’t play.”
“Yeah, well, it was a good thing you and Ben broke it up when you did. The last thing we needed was a pageant mommy murder on the property to make national headlines and put Evangeline House on the map.”
“I thought you already did that,” he joked.
“Funny. You’re funny.” She shoved at his chest, playfully. They hadn’t discussed that hot kiss they’d shared in Mom’s office the other day. There hadn’t really been an opportunity since then.
“So, Cammie, I was hoping we could get together before you leave to go back to Virginia. Maybe for dinner?” Grey suggested.
Was he suggesting a date? He’d overheard her awkward conversation with Jason, whom she’d also not had a chance to speak with since that day and was overdue.
She heard herself suggesting, “How about I cook dinner for you one evening next week? I need to try my hand at Papa Bean’s gumbo recipe.”
A satisfied smile lit his handsome features. “That’ll do.”
*
“My dears, I’m planning to spend a few days up at the cabin,” Maureen announced to her children as soon as Cammie returned from seeing Grey out.
They erupted in a cacophony of protests. Maureen held up her well-worn hand as a signal to cease their objections.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already worked out the details. Anna will drive up and stay with me. She will assist with my medications and meals—not that I require this type of nursing care anymore, mind you.”
“Mom, we know you’re getting better; it’s just that having you here while you’re still under a doctor’s care is a good idea,” Ben said.
“I’m fine. I already spoke to my doctor, and he says as long as someone is within shouting distance, there shouldn’t be an issue. All the infection is gone, and thank goodness it wasn’t that awful staph business, so my healing is progressing. It’s only for a few days, and I will continue the physical therapy when I return. I have exercises to do every day on my own, too.”
“Mom, are you sure about this? Why don’t you let one of us drive you up?” Maeve suggested.
“Thank you, honey, for offering, but my plans are set. I simply knew you all would not want me to leave your sight. So, my decision is made, and I’m leaving tomorrow at noon. I expect you will all find a moment to say goodbye. I haven’t gone to the cabin in ages, and it will do me good. The leaves are changing, and you know how I love fall in the mountains. It reminds me of your father.” They all fell silent whenever she mentioned their dad, which she rarely did. It made everyone too sad.
“The cabin reminds us all of Dad,” Ben said with a small smile. The others nodded.
Changing the subject, she said, “Thank you all again for such a wonderful job tonight. Besides the catfight outside, things went off without a hitch.” Maureen moved toward the door and bid her children goodnight.
As
she slowly made her way upstairs, Maureen let out a relieved sigh. It was the first step in removing the threat of Howard’s return and the potential damage his coming back could inflict on this family. They must speak to one another—alone. She’d called the number he’d left for her on the last note. There was no answer. Part of her had been relieved, but she’d heard an older man’s voice on the recording, but it had been his voice. She’d simply said, “I’ll be at the cabin soon. Wait for my call.”
Shutting her door firmly, she continued her packing for tomorrow’s journey to the mountain lake. She couldn’t let herself go back in time and fall into the memories with Howard. He’d been her first love—her first lover. It had been magical. And it felt like what it was—another lifetime.
Her children’s remembrances of the cabin on Lake Burton held treasured memories with their dear father. Each time they went there as a family, she was conflicted with special memories of a man who stole her heart and left her alone with a secret. Justin understood to some degree that she had a past and it got the better of her occasionally. Maureen believed he liked to think she tortured herself for her mistakes instead of pining for another.
Rosie’s daughter, Anna, was like one of her own. She’d played in the house with her kids as Rosie worked alongside Maureen all these years. Anna came to Maureen when she felt at odds with her own mother during the difficult teen years, just as her girls had gone to Rose for mothering when they’d needed her. Anna would do as Maureen asked when the time came to give her some space up at the lake.
It might be a gamble, but it was worth taking to handle this situation once and for all. Maureen climbed into bed after taking her medications. Goodness, when had she gotten so old that she took this many pills? After all the surgery business was far behind her, maybe there wouldn’t be so many things to remember. A good night’s rest was essential to prepare for the coming days. Tomorrow was Sunday, which for most folks around here was a day of rest. For her, who knew what tomorrow would bring? Maureen had the sense it might be the first day of the rest of her life somehow.
Chapter Thirteen
‡
The car ride up to Lake Burton launched Maureen back in time. As they passed the many landmarks, so familiar, memories of family weekends and summer getaways played in her head like movies on a reel—the laughter, fights, and pranks the children shared as they squeezed together seat beltless in the old station wagon telling jokes, playing card games, and eye spy while their parents absorbed their laughter and shenanigans from up front. She wouldn’t trade a moment.
But earlier flashbacks snagged her consciousness as well; before the children and Justin Laroux, she’d made this same trek with her parents. They’d driven a different car, she’d fought with her own siblings, but the memories were just as dear. As a young teen, Maureen looked forward to entire summers at the cabin. Her parents had both been educators in the local school system; her father was the principal at the high school, and her mother a kindergarten teacher in the district. Memorial Day weekend marked the end of work and school for the family and the beginning of idyllic summers on the lake.
Rope swings ending with a splash, devouring books snuggled into shaded hammocks, and the unlimited supply of homemade lemonade and cookies available all hours of the day created a sense of rightness with the world she hadn’t quite managed to recapture in the many years since.
Those endless days of innocence were long gone but never forgotten, framed in a kind of faded sepia within Maureen’s mental files, enjoyed privately; perhaps on a rainy morning with a hot cup of tea on the veranda before the flurry of the day’s activity began. These were treasured moments, ones she’d not trade for anything in tangible form.
Certainly, the memories made with her own children were just as special and treasured, but Maureen’s parents were no longer of this earth, nor were her siblings, God rest their precious souls. So, the times they’d shared were all the more guarded in mind’s box of memories, lest she forget as time and age took their toll. That was a real fear, having lost her mother to the wickedest Alzheimer’s. The very notion that her own children might watch her lose her cognizance of who they were and their personal history together made her sick in her gut.
“Miss Maureen, you alright?” Anna broke into her depressing train of thought.
“Yes, Anna, I’m alright,” Maureen patted Anna’s arm and smiled. “I’m just woolgathering, I guess. Lots of memories making this trip, you know. Even some with you in the car when you were a little girl.”
“Yes, ma’am. I love it up here. Nobody needs me for anything, and I can put my feet up and relax.” Then Anna appeared a bit uncomfortable. “Oh—I mean, I’m here to help you as much as you need me to—”
“Anna, here’s what I need…” Their situation would work out perfectly. Anna so obviously hoped for some time off, and Maureen wanted some privacy.
*
The Bean family reunion was the most fun Cammie could remember in a long while. Her entire family pitched in to assist with the event, and they all ended up making new friends in the process.
The Beans were a great big mixed-raced Creole family originally from Southern Louisiana. They’d opted for a huge, Lowcountry boil as the catering option, along with Papa Bean’s seafood gumbo.
“Cammie, did you see the contraption Papa Bean brought with him?” Ben pointed to the edge of the property where the elderly man had unhitched a small flatbed trailer and set up an enormous cook pot and portable countertop on which he proceeded to chop vegetables and meats for his famous gumbo. He danced in time to the music rocking on a sound system provided by DJ Juicy Jimmy Bean, known to most as Jelly Bean.
“Yes. Mom told me about this reunion, and how they wanted to use our facilities, but include some of their own catering as well. She okayed it because it wasn’t something she could provide to their satisfaction. Plus, at the time she was planning to have someone else cater the food,” Cammie said and shrugged as she looked across the grass at Papa Bean in action.
She planned to mosey over and watch him work his magic in a few minutes. She knew how to put together a gumbo, but loved to learn cooking secrets and tips from old hands of any heritage. They were the masters.
There were stations set up for the children’s games; the hula-hoop competition was fierce, the jump-ropers, better than any Cammie had ever seen, and the tetherball was swinging around the pole so fast she thought someone might lose a head. The Bean adults competed at corn hole, ladder ball, and had tables set up for checkers and chess. There was some adult/child overlap on all the games, and she believed they were all dancing with Jelly Bean as they played.
Papa Bean hailed Cammie, and she seized the opportunity to learn more about the gumbo. She had placed her own large pot filled with water its gas burner and propane tank nearby and set it to boil with Old Bay seasoning, halved lemons, and cloves of garlic. A pile of new potatoes and shucked ears of fresh corn were ready to throw into the pot with the jumbo heads-on Gulf shrimp. Cammie had perfected the Lowcountry boil from working so closely with Jessica Greene, the Queen of Southern Cuisine. Some good things had come from her association with the woman. She was an awesome cook—just not a stellar person.
As she reached Papa Bean, he grinned a great big white smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you, honey. I saw you on television, but I never believed anything that woman said.” Instead of shaking her hand, he stepped around the table and pulled Cammie in a giant bear hug.
Papa Bean hung onto both her hands as soon the hug was over, but before he let her go, looked deep in her eyes and said, “Now girl, don’t you ever allow anybody take you down again the way that woman managed to. Anybody with two eyes could tell you didn’t set her on fire. She got too damned close to the flame is all. When you’re cookin,’ you can’t lean in over your flambé as soon as it catches. That’s just plain good sense.” His dark eyes twinkled as he grinned and released her hands.
Papa Bean did make good sense. In fac
t, after all the mud-slinging, his words made more sense than she’d heard up ’til now. Maybe the flashpoint temperature of the specific butter hadn’t had a thing to do with the fire on Jess’ head. Could it really be so simple a thing as she’d put her head too close to an open flame while wearing loads of flammable hair product? Cammie wanted to hug Papa Bean again for the sheer genius of his reasoning.
“I’ve thought of about a hundred ways I could or should have prevented the whole thing from happening, but it never occurred to me that she might have been the cause all by herself.” Cammie said.
“Sometimes when it’s staring you right in the face, it’s easy to miss the real way of things,” Papa Bean nodded.
“Oh, but I really shouldn’t discuss any of this because of my contract verbiage. She could sue me if I speak in public about the incident.”
“Let me get this straight. The crazy woman lights herself on fire, goes on every talk show in our great nation making fun of her idiot sous chef for bringing her the wrong butter, then makes sure you can’t defend yourself because of how your contract is worded?” Papa Bean appeared angry enough to spit fire.
Cammie just shrugged.
“Honey, I look forward to that day. You deserve a halo, that’s all I’m gonna say.”
“I do have a favor to ask.”
“Name it, dahlin’” She recognized the slight New Orleans accent coming through.
“I’d like to get a few tips on making this famous gumbo you’ve got going here, if you don’t mind sharing a few of your secrets.”
“There’s no secret to a good gumbo; just like anything else that works—it takes practice.” He motioned her over to have a look. “You start by making a dark roux almost the color of chocolate…”
*
Ben regaled the family with stories of the day during cleanup after the Beans’ departure. “Uncle Joe Bean says there are black Beans and white Beans, but when the white Beans get sunburned, they call ’em red Beans.”
