by Karen Young
“I know it’s a lot to ask, Ty, but I’d count it a personal favor if you’d consider my offer. I know you probably have a life in Memphis—”
“Like a wife and eight kids?”
“Holy—” Buck stopped himself. “Are you serious?”
Tyrone laughed. “Gotcha goin’, didn’t I? No kids, but I married Lily Thigpen, you remember her, don’t you?”
“I do. Lucky you.”
“She keeps reminding me. You say your lady’s okay after the crash? I’ve seen her at the games and she’s nearly as pretty as you are.”
“Anne. I’ll introduce you when you get here.”
“Sounds good.”
“So, you like the plan? You think you can wrap up things there in Memphis and be in Tallulah within, say a week or two?”
“For a chance to add to my credentials a patient whose name is as big as Buck Whitaker’s? I think I can manage that.”
For the first time in the conversation, Buck relaxed. “Then here’s my cell phone and the number of the Jacks sports medicine director who can give you the technical details of my injury and will no doubt tell you the treatment regimen he recommends, which you can decide to follow or not. Name’s Steve Grissom.” He reeled off the numbers and waited as Ty wrote them down. “Give it a day before calling Grissom, okay?” he added.
“Why? I assume the Jacks are okay with this?”
“They don’t know about it yet.”
“Whoa now, Buck! How can you—”
“I’ll handle it. And Ty…”
“Yeah?”
“I know what I’m asking is a lot, so I’m prepared to put my promises in writing. We’ll have a contract, all right and tight and legal. You think it over and if you decide it’s too risky or you just don’t want to go there, I’ll…well—”
“You’ll think of another incentive,” Ty said with a smile in his voice.
“Yeah, probably. But if you do this, I’ll owe you and I won’t forget it, Ty, I swear.”
“I’ll hold you to that, buddy.”
Five
On her way to the Spectator, Anne impulsively decided to stop at Beatrice’s shop. She’d probably be recognized, but now that Pearce had outed her at the gas station, she might as well satisfy her curiosity about her stepmother’s place of business.
A bell tinkled over the door of the Hodge-Podge as she entered and somewhere in the back of the store Beatrice called out, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“It’s just me,” Anne said, wandering over to a display of pottery. She had always loved pottery and had once joined a class to learn the craft, but like other projects she’d undertaken, she’d had to quit when Buck’s career forced yet another move. Somehow, she’d never re-enrolled.
“What a nice surprise,” Beatrice said giving her an affectionate hug. “You’ve decided to come out of hiding.”
“Might as well since my cover’s blown,” Anne told her. “I had to stop for gas and who else but Pearce pulled up at the same time. He assumes Buck is here with me and hasn’t bothered to call his mother.”
“Seems a reasonable assumption. Did you explain?”
Anne sighed. “No, I lied. More or less. I didn’t admit Buck was still in St. Louis. I thanked him for his invitation to Belle Pointe and told him Buck would be in touch.”
“Naughty girl.” Beatrice clicked her tongue and wagged a finger at Anne.
“I know,” Anne said with chagrin. “You can believe I’ll soon have to come clean because he’s counting on Buck’s endorsement for his campaign. I bet he’s trying to reach him right now, probably at your house, which is where he thinks Buck and I are staying.” She stopped. “But enough of that. I’m here to see your shop. It’s wonderful.”
“Do you think so?” Beatrice said with a pleased look around. “I mean, is it wonderful? I try, of course. What you see is mostly the work of Mississippi artists, pottery, candles, soap and all local whenever possible. I—”
She stopped as the bell over the door tinkled. “Oh, shoot! Let me take care of this customer while you look around and—” She stopped again, recognizing the woman entering. “Oh, Victoria. Goodness, it’s been a while. How are you?”
“I’m well, Beatrice.” With a regal nod, Buck’s mother headed toward them. “And you?”
“Good, I’m good.”
Victoria’s cool gaze shifted to Anne. “Hello, Anne. I thought I might find you here. Pearce called after running into you a while ago and no one answered the phone at the Marshes’. I was a bit surprised to hear you were in Tallulah.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Anne managed a smile, uncertain about greeting her mother-in-law with a hug. It would be like embracing a mannequin. When Victoria kept her distance, Anne relaxed. “And how are you?”
“Busy. Very busy. I imagine Buck has described the flurry of activity at Belle Pointe this time of year. We’re up at dawn and we don’t stop until dark.”
“It must be exhausting,” Anne murmured. In fact, Victoria looked tired. Upon meeting her for the first time, Anne had been struck by the woman’s vigor. She guessed her mother-in-law’s age at about sixty, but she’d always looked fifteen years younger. Today, however, even with skillfully applied makeup, she looked her age.
“Well, of course, it is exhausting, but not so much so that I couldn’t find time for a phone call, if not a visit, from Buck. His trips to Tallulah are rare enough that I would have decided to have a little celebration,” she said. “Of course, I would have to know he was here.”
Anne sighed. It was silly to think she could be in Tallulah and avoid explaining Buck’s absence. “Buck is not here, Victoria,” she admitted. “I came alone.”
“Really?” Perfectly penciled eyebrows went up a notch. “Does that mean he was more seriously injured in the accident than he told me when I called?”
“I don’t know what he told you.”
“Well, knowing the media’s habit of sensationalizing anything about him, I wanted to hear from him personally the extent of his injuries. When I finally got beyond his answer machine, he said the media exaggerated. He’d be up and playing before long.”
Anne sighed. “He had a concussion, Victoria, and he’ll need extensive physical therapy before he can pitch again. When I left, it wasn’t clear just how long that would be.”
“And you left…when?”
“We were both discharged from the hospital on Monday. I left Tuesday.”
“I’m finding it somewhat puzzling that you chose a time when Buck is…handicapped to take a vacation.”
“Buck would be the first to say he doesn’t need me to hold his hand at any time, Victoria. You must know that he isn’t the type to tolerate anybody hovering over him.”
“Hmm…yes.” Victoria paused, studying Anne as if sensing something more than what she was being told. “And have you recovered from your injuries? Buck danced around my questions about you, too.”
“I’m just fine.” If Buck hadn’t shared the fact that she’d miscarried, Anne wasn’t in the mood to tell her mother-in-law.
“So, how long do you intend to be here in Tallulah? Naturally, we’d like to have you over for dinner and soon.”
“Thank you,” Anne said. “In fact, I was just thinking today that I’d call and find a convenient time to visit. I’ve hardly done anything but putter around Beatrice’s house. She and Dad have been very gracious in just giving me the run of the place.”
“It’s been our gain,” Beatrice spoke up. “In just two days, Anne’s got everything in the house spic and span. Next, I expect her to start doing yard work.”
“That sounds as if you might be bored,” Victoria said, still studying Anne’s face keenly. “If so, there’s plenty to do at Belle Pointe.”
Anne smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about farming cotton.”
“And I wouldn’t expect you to. I meant there were other diversions. You’ve never spent much time with us and Belle Pointe has an
interesting history.”
“I’ve always thought so. I’d love to know more.”
“Well, now’s a good time, wouldn’t you say? I’ll check with Pearce and Claire about their calendars and we’ll fix it. Now, I should be on my way.” With a nod, Victoria headed toward the door. Just short of her destination, she paused and turned back. “By the way, with Pearce’s campaign in full swing, as he must have mentioned, it occurs to me you’d be an asset. I’ll have Pearce call to see how best to use you.” With a tinkle of the tiny bell, she was gone.
Anne met Beatrice’s amused eyes. “Use me?”
Beatrice laughed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Anne sighed. “That woman scares me to death and has from day one. I feel as if I’m back in the fourth grade and I’ve failed to turn in my homework.”
“She has presence all right,” Beatrice said. “But rest easy, you were very gracious and respectful. Which is as it should be.” She watched Anne pick up a platter from one artist’s display. “Maybe it would help to remember that Victoria hasn’t always been the chatelaine of Belle Pointe. She wasn’t born a Whitaker, you know. She married into the family.”
“I know that, of course, but it’s hard to imagine her as anything except the quintessential Southern matriarch.”
“Which is exactly how she wishes to be perceived.” Beatrice moved a beautifully glazed bowl to a different position. “However, in high school, she was Vickie Hinton.”
“Vickie?” Anne gave Beatrice an astonished look. It was hard to visualize Victoria Whitaker as a schoolgirl, let alone being called Vickie.
“Yes, Vickie. Before she married John Whitaker, her father worked for the Whitakers. Benny Hinton was a master mechanic and since farming at Belle Pointe is highly mechanized, his job was important. Still, he was hired help. In fact, he died in an accident while on the job and Victoria’s widowed mother moved somewhere up north, I believe.”
“That is so amazing. It explains why Buck’s memories of his maternal grandparents are pretty vague.”
Beatrice studied her thoughtfully. “The Whitakers figure prominently in Tallulah history, which is the reason I’ve suggested you might want to drop in at the Spectator and poke around a bit in the archives.” She paused, tweaking a quilt displayed on the wall. “If, as Victoria suggested, you’re a bit bored, I’ll bet that once you start digging, you won’t be bored for long.”
Anne wondered at Beatrice’s prediction as she surveyed the newsroom at the Spectator a while later, finding it as calm and quiet as a doctor’s office. The level of activity was nothing like the frenetic energy that characterized the news-rooms in a daily newspaper or a television station and, from her observation, unlikely to relieve anybody’s boredom. On the other hand, one reason Franklin gave for leaving his job in Boston was his desire to work under less pressure. He’d certainly managed that.
His face brightened when he looked up and saw her. “Anne!” He rose from his computer and motioned her inside. “Bea called and told me you were headed this way.”
“Don’t let me interrupt whatever you’re doing, Dad. I’ll just look around and get acquainted until you’re free to talk.”
“You aren’t interrupting anything and I mean that literally.” He looked at the screen of his monitor with disgust. “I’ve spent the afternoon trying to write next week’s editorial. So far, I’ve deleted almost everything I’ve written.”
He waved at a chair. “Bea suggested you might want to look at the Spectator archives. Curious about the Whitakers, are you?”
“The Whitakers and other Tallulah history. The Mississippi Delta is a very unique place. Maybe I’ll write a book.”
Franklin looked delighted. “Good idea. And I think you’ll find the Whitakers figuring pretty prominently in your research.”
“I was kidding, Dad.” Unwilling to interrupt him, she lingered at the door. “Actually, I was thinking that since there’s a political campaign going on I might do something with that. I ran into Pearce as I was pumping gas and he gave me the idea himself. Of course, he suggested an article favorable to him, but I thought it would be interesting to put Pearce and his opponent in the same article, showing the contrasts in their platforms.”
“Good idea. I’ll schedule it for next week’s edition.”
She gave a small laugh. “Just like that? What if it doesn’t meet your standards?”
“Then I’ll act like an editor and demand revisions,” he said.
“Gosh, you make it sound like I have a real job.” But she was smiling. Just the idea of working again and her adrenaline was flowing. “By the way, who is Pearce’s opponent?”
“Jack Breedlove, the current chief of police and a hometown boy who returned to Tallulah after a stretch in the army. He was discharged after an injury in the Gulf War. He’s about the same age as Buck, so I bet he could give you a few insights into Jack’s character.” He gave her a sly look. “Of course, you’d have to call Buck to pursue that source for your research.”
“Give it a rest, Dad,” she told him. “I think I can research the article without Buck, who probably hasn’t seen Jack Breedlove since they both graduated from high school.”
Franklin, still smiling, shrugged. “Just a suggestion, Annie.”
“Okay, now I’m really fired up.” She gave two quick taps to the door frame and stepped back, ready to begin. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started.” Without turning, she backed into a person hovering in the doorway. “Oh, excuse me! I didn’t know there was someone there. Did I step on you?”
“No.” The reply was terse, almost rude.
“You remember Paige, don’t you, Anne?” Franklin asked.
“Of course.” Somewhere beneath a mass of coal-black hair tipped with neon orange, Anne recognized the youthful and vaguely familiar face of Buck’s teenage niece. She had missed seeing Paige at Franklin and Beatrice’s wedding. The teenager had been away on a skiing trip to Colorado. “How are you, Paige?”
Appearing utterly bored, the girl turned, exposing an ear pierced with no fewer than six tiny silver rings. “I’m okay.”
In light of her bizarre appearance, okay was not the word that came to mind, Anne thought. Paige’s eyes were outlined in dark mascara, which matched the hideous purple on her lips and nails. Slim to near anorexic, she looked even more wraithlike in a long, straight black coat and boots, which appeared to be at least one size too large and more suitable for combat duty in a war zone than for the rigors of middle school.
“You’ve grown since I was here last,” Anne said faintly, hoping her reaction wasn’t revealed on her face.
“People grow.” She looked beyond Franklin to the window that framed a view of the town square. “Is Uncle Buck with you? Is he going to recuperate from his accident here in Tallulah?”
“No, Buck stayed in St. Louis.”
Paige frowned. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”
“He has tons of people helping him,” Anne said. “He won’t miss me.”
Paige turned then and studied Anne briefly. “They said you were in the accident, too. Were you hurt?”
“Not seriously.”
“Paige,” Franklin explained, “is spending some time here at the Spectator after school to earn extra credits toward her grade in English.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “He makes it sound like I volunteered or something,” she said to Anne. “It was do it or die. When my grades in honors English tanked, the Dragon spoke and the parents agreed, of course. I swear people in prison have more choices than I do.”
“The Dragon,” Anne repeated. “That would be your…teacher?”
“No, it would be my grandmother. My teacher is actually okay. Almost.”
“Isn’t honors English a class for students with exceptional talent?” Anne asked.
“I wouldn’t know since I don’t have exceptional talent,” Paige replied dismissively. “Which I tried to tell everyone, but when hav
e they ever listened to me? When has anybody ever listened to me? It’s like I’m expected to turn into Maureen Dowd or Ann Coulter or somebody.”
“Are you into politics?” Anne asked, trying not to smile at mention of the famous female pundits. It was remarkable that Paige even knew their names.
“God, no! One person in the family with politics on the brain is already one too many.” She huffed out a disgusted sound. “That’s all my dad ever wants to talk about and it’s so, like, boring.”
“You know, it occurs to me that Paige’s current project makes her the logical person to give you a tour of the archives,” Franklin said. “She’s organizing a shipment of records that came to me from the estate of a professor at Vanderbilt. Paige,” he turned to the teenager, “would you show Anne around down there while I try and finish this editorial?”
“I guess so.” Paige wasn’t exactly gracious, but she didn’t refuse. As Anne followed her down the hall, she wondered why Paige chose to dress as if auditioning for a role in a horror movie. What she’d read about kids who were into Goth was that they were, for the most part, troubled teens. Certainly, Paige’s bizarre dress, grades that had tanked and open hostility to authority were danger signs. As much as she longed for motherhood, Anne wasn’t blind to the challenges of raising kids.
“How is your mom, Paige?”
“Claire?” A shrug and an exaggerated look at her wristwatch. “Hmmm, probably on her way home from Memphis about now. She goes there at least three times a week. She’s a shopaholic. But when I want something really, like, cool to wear, she flips out. Like my taste in clothes just sucks and her taste is perfect.”
Claire was very attractive and dressed beautifully. Although Anne didn’t know her sister-in-law well, Anne guessed that Paige’s bizarre appearance probably drove her crazy. She wondered, too, what effect it had on voters that Pearce’s teenage daughter seemed a bit out of the mainstream compared to other kids.
