“Are you going to buy The Bee Hive?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “I’ve kind of enjoyed it this week, but I’m not sure I want to do that every day for the rest of my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be the forever thing, just the next thing,” Maggie said. “How are your parents?”
“My dad’s a mess,” Claire said, “and my mom is worn out taking care of everyone. I want to make their lives better, easier somehow.”
“Good thing you’re rich, then,” Maggie said. “You can fix everything.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Claire said. “My mother thinks I should just accept things the way they are.”
“That’s very Zen,” Maggie said. “I sometimes think Buddhist philosophy is basically that shit happens and you’re stupid for thinking it should be different.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Sure there is; I just like my version better.”
“How does that compare to Catholicism?”
“The Catholic philosophy is that not only does shit happen, but it’s all your fault because you’re such an awful sinner.”
“The protestant faith I grew up with is like the surfer dude of religions,” Claire said. “We’re all ‘hey man, just be cool, and like, don’t hurt anybody; but if you do, just say ‘my bad, bro’ and it’s all good.’”
“I love to reduce thousands of years of theology into short, pithy sentences.”
“And to think some people like to crochet,” Claire said.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Maggie said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you came back.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t want to expose your weakness.”
“I’d deny it,” Maggie said with a yawn, “even if you did.”
“I’m glad to be home,” Claire said. “And no one is more surprised about that than me.”
“I’m still mad at you for not telling me you went skinny-dipping with Scott.”
“That was a long time ago,” Claire said. “Nothing happened.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “I can’t help it, this jealousy thing. I don’t want him but I don’t want anyone else to have him; even though I know that’s not fair.”
“Oh, for mercy’s sake! If you love Scott you need to do something about it,” Claire said. “He doesn’t deserve to be treated like this, and you’re only hurting yourself.”
“Your accent came right back,” Maggie said. “It’s been less than a week and you’re back to talking like you never left.”
“Shut up and listen to me,” Claire said. “Two very wise people recently told me that I wouldn’t really be grown up until I put aside my selfish wants to do what’s best for someone I love.”
“Your point being?”
“Maybe it’s time for you and me both to grow up.”
“I’ve changed my mind about missing you,” Maggie said.
“Too late,” Claire said. “No take-backs.”
Scott’s mother was struggling to breathe; the rattle in her chest sent panic rushing through his nervous system so that he felt like he might jump out of his skin. He could hear Penny on the phone in the kitchen exhorting the 911 operator to send an ambulance right away. He had done everything he knew to do and still his mother couldn’t breathe. He held his mother’s hand and tried the pursed lip breathing, encouraging her to do the same.
Doc Machalvie arrived and immediately gave his mother another breathing treatment, injected her with something, and then adjusted her oxygen to a higher level. He looked so gravely concerned that it made Scott’s heart thud hard in his chest.
Doc nodded toward the kitchen and Scott said to his mother, “I’ll be right back.” The panic in her eyes had changed to sadness, and there were tears on her face. He left, shutting the door to his mother’s room behind him.
“Do you really want to drag her to the hospital?” Scott asked his sister, as soon as he entered the kitchen. “The trip alone might kill her; and if she does live she’ll probably catch something in the hospital that will kill her there.”
“We have to do something!” Penny cried.
“Stop it. Just stop and look at what’s happening,” Scott said. “You’re not helping her; you’re making it worse.”
“She needs to be in intensive care,” Penny insisted. “They can build up her strength so she can take the chemo treatments.”
“You’re the only one who believes that,” Scott said. “She’s dying, Penny.”
Penny burst into tears and fled to her old bedroom.
Scott went out on the front porch and looked up at the dark clouds passing beneath the full moon. The wind was sharp and wet, and it chilled him to the bone, but he didn’t want to go back in the house for his jacket. What he wanted to do was run screaming down the hill and jump in the river; anything to get away from what was going on inside.
He thought he might pray, but what would he ask for? A merciful death? A miraculous recovery? What did he really want for his mother, for Penny, for himself? He took out his phone and chose a name out of his list of contacts. It was all he really wanted; his call was his prayer.
A little while later he saw someone coming down the street, running down the street, her long hair flying out behind her like a flag. When she reached the steps to the porch she leaped up two at a time until finally she reached him, embraced him, and hugged him so hard it took his breath away
“Thank you,” he said through his tears. “I need you.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Maggie said. “I’m here now.”
It was so early on Friday morning that stars were still twinkling in the dark sky. Claire had to hurry to catch up with Ian, who was pushing his walker down Pine Mountain Road with Mackie Pea in the basket.
“Wait up!” Claire called after him.
Her feet were so sore she was having trouble walking, even in her mother’s gigantic pillow sneakers.
“We’re late!” he called over his shoulder.
“It’s not even the crack of dawn,” Claire protested as she caught up to him. “It’s practically still yesterday.”
“I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, even though he was the one who taught it to Claire.
There were several cars and trucks parked outside the Laurel Mountain Depot Bar and Grill; Claire was surprised to see it so busy. Her father led her up the wheelchair ramp and in through the side door, where several people greeted him by name. A dark-haired waitress whom Claire judged was showing way too much cleavage for this time of day called out, “I saved your table for ya, Chief.”
Ian led his daughter to a table in the corner by the window, which would have a great view of the river had it been light enough outside to see it. He parked the walker, lifted Mackie Pea out of her basket and tucked her in the crook of his arm before he sat down. Claire looked around and realized that besides the waitress she was the only woman in the room.
Many of the men were locals; she recognized them but couldn’t place names to faces. Most were dressed in the blue collar uniform of ball cap, tan cotton canvas jackets, overalls and work boots. There were a few students who looked like they’d been up all night. There were several men in suits who looked out of place but seemed to feel right at home.
The waitress brought them two coffees and winked at Claire.
“I thought you stood me up,” she said to Ian in a deep smoker’s voice.
Claire immediately cast her as a hooker with a heart of gold. She looked to be in her late forties or early fifties; her eyes were hard, her makeup had been heavily applied, and the smoker’s wrinkles surrounding her lips made her look even older. Her hair color was a few shades too dark, and the big, teased style had been more suited to music video vixens in the eighties.
“This is my daughter,” Ian said. “She’s home for a visit.”
“I know Claire,” the woman said, but it took Claire several awkwa
rd moments to superimpose this woman’s face over that of one of the wildest teenagers who had ever attended Rose Hill High School. Claire was appalled to realize Phyllis was younger than she was by at least two years.
“How are you, Phyllis?” Claire asked.
“Oh, I’m alright,” Phyllis said. “I can’t complain; and even if I did no one would care. How about I give y’all some sausage gravy and biscuits?”
“What’ll you give me?” a man at a nearby table asked her.
“The only thing I can give you, old man, is a heart attack,” Phyllis said, and rolled her eyes at Claire while the other men laughed.
Phyllis went back to the kitchen and Claire sipped her coffee.
“This is good,” she said.
“We were late,” Ian said. “I leave the bakery at six and Scott gets me here by 6:05. It’s 6:38 now.”
His head started bobbing and his mouth turned down into the exaggerated frown.
“I think it will be okay,” Claire said quietly.
“I have a schedule,” her father said loudly. “My mind isn’t what it used to be. I need to keep track of things.”
“Okay, Dad,” Claire said. “It’s okay now. Phyllis is going to bring your breakfast and we’re in no hurry, we can take our time.”
“I get to Curtis’s station by 8:00,” he said, almost shouting. “We have to leave here by 7:50.”
“We will,” Claire said, acutely aware of the attention he was drawing to their table. She was embarrassed and then mad at herself for caring so much what other people thought. She thought if she heard even a hint of a snicker from anyone in the room she could easily do grievous bodily harm to the snickerer. But instead, everyone seemed to be accommodating, some even sending her kind, sympathetic smiles. Claire remembered what her mother had said about the townspeople protecting her father. They were probably used to his outbursts. With this thought she was flooded with a feeling of gratitude toward everyone in the room.
‘As the Mood Swings,’ she heard Tuppy say in her head.
‘It is kind of a soap opera,’ she thought. ‘I’ve got to get hold of myself and calm down.’
Phyllis was having a heated discussion with the college students, who looked like they were giving her a hard time. Claire couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like she knew them better than just as customers.
Someone came in through the front door and several people greeted him.
Her father called out, “Ed! Where ya been, buddy?”
Claire recognized Ed Harrison, Scott’s best friend, who owned The Rose Hill Sentinel. He made his way over to their table and Claire got up to accept a hug. He sat down across from Ian and seemed to instantly gauge his agitation level.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Ed told Ian. “We got back so late last night we both overslept; we almost didn’t get to the office in time to meet the Pendleton paper delivery.”
“We were late,” Ian said. “Claire couldn’t get out of bed this morning; she’s been staying out all hours of the night.”
“It’s true,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry.”
Ed winked at her and said, “You’ll just have to try harder in the future.”
“Why didn’t Scott bring me?” Ian asked, for the fifth time that morning.
“His mother’s really sick,” Claire told him, and Ed nodded to show that he knew about it. “He needs to be home taking care of her.”
“His mother?” Ian said, again very loudly. “Delia’s his mother. Is Delia sick?”
“No, Dad,” Claire said. “Scott worked for you when you were chief of police; he’s not your son.”
“I know that,” Ian said. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“I forget things, too,” said Ed. “All the time. It’s no big deal.”
“I think I’m losing my mind,” Ian told Ed, and there were tears in his eyes.
Claire felt tears spring to her eyes as well.
“Oh, Dad,” she said. “It’s going to be alright; I promise.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Ed reassured him. “Claire and Delia will take good care of you, and all your friends will help.”
“That’s good,” Ian said, and was immediately cheerful again, while Claire felt like she’d been put through a wringer.
Ed smiled at her in a way that felt like a pat on the head.
“You and I need to talk,” Ed said. “I guess I missed all the excitement.”
“I’m not sure Sean will let me talk about it,” Claire said.
“About what?” Ian said.
Claire couldn’t think of a lie quick enough, but Ed didn’t hesitate.
“Claire’s movie star was here in town,” Ed said. “I wanted to take her picture with Claire.”
Claire gave Ed a grateful look and he smiled again. She hadn’t remembered how attractive he was; a little nerdy but very appealing. Maybe he was improving with age.
While her father talked to Ed, Claire studied him. Ed and Scott had been friends all their lives, had played baseball and wrestled on the same teams. Ed had been studious and always got perfect grades; Scott was more athletic and cared more about baseball cards than books. Ed had always been quiet; had always hung back or watched from the periphery of what was happening; observing, analyzing, and recording. These skills made him a natural as a reporter; he had attended one of the best journalism schools in the Northeast and worked at a Philadelphia paper after he graduated.
When his father died of a heart attack Ed came home and took over The Rose Hill Sentinel, the paper his grandfather had started. His wife Eve, whom he’d met in journalism school, had not factored a small town weekly paper into her career plans, and they broke up.
Ed started losing his hair at a young age and was now almost completely bald; what hair he did have was buzzed close to his scalp; Claire bet he did it himself with clippers; no nonsense and cheap. He wore glasses now, the wire and black plastic ones that were a throwback to the fifties; they suited his face, which no one would call handsome, but Claire thought it was actually kind of nice. When she thought of him as a character to cast she realized he was already exactly who his character would be.
“Where were you?” Claire said. “On vacation?”
“Kind of,” he said, and didn’t say anymore, so Claire let it drop.
“Where’s your young man?” Ian asked him, and Claire’s curiosity was piqued.
“Tommy had to catch the bus to school,” Ed said. “He goes to Pine County Consolidated.”
“Rose Hill has a perfectly good school,” Ian said. “You ought to send him there.”
Claire started to say Rose Hill High School had been closed years ago and made into a community center, but Ed gave his head a quick shake and spoke first.
“You know these kids, Ian,” he said. “They want to do what they want to do.”
“Liam will go to Rose Hill High School,” Ian said. “I won’t stand for any of that nonsense from him.”
It had happened almost every day since she came home, but it still felt like a kick to the stomach. Ed looked at her in concern but she shook her head.
Phyllis brought Ed his breakfast: oatmeal and bacon.
“The bacon giveth the cholesterol,” he explained to Claire, “and the oatmeal taketh it away.”
“So it’s a balanced breakfast,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Who’s Tommy?” she asked.
“You know Tommy,” Ian said. “He’s Mandy’s boy.”
“I’m afraid to ask who Mandy is,” Claire said under her breath.
“I’ll tell you later,” Ed said under his.
“Do I still drive the school bus?” Ian asked Ed.
“Nope,” Ed said. “You’re retired now.”
“I am tired now,” Ian said. “But Claire’s making me do all the work.”
Claire was puzzled by this statement but Ed just smiled.
Phyllis set
a huge plate of beige food in front of Claire. She looked at the two halves of a gigantic biscuit covered in sausage gravy, and decided if it weren’t for how heavenly it smelled she could convince herself not to eat it based on appearance alone.
For several years now she had subsisted on a steady diet of steamed vegetables, poached chicken breasts and grilled white fish, with only a semi-annual chocolate cupcake cheat-a-thon to reward her. She decided one bite wouldn’t hurt; she’d get back on the wagon tomorrow. Before she knew what had happened, however, the entire plate was bare and Ed was staring at her in amusement.
“I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” she said.
“Phyllis can bring more if you need it,” Ed said, smiling. “I guess those five-star establishments you’re used to don’t dabble in the country-fried food genre.”
“They do, they just call it sauce instead of gravy,” she said.
“I bet it’s not the same, though.”
“Why does it feel so right?” Claire said. “I feel like I’ve been craving this food for twenty years.”
At 7:45 Ian insisted they leave. Claire tried to use her credit card to pay but it was declined.
“That can’t be right,” she said, embarrassed.
Ed quickly paid with cash, and said, “You can get the next one.”
“I’ve never had a problem before,” she said.
“It’s probably nothing,” Ed said.
But it wasn’t. After dropping her dad and dog off at Uncle Curtis’s service station Claire crossed the street to unlock The Bee Hive. Once inside she called the customer service number on the back of her credit card and was informed it had been reported as stolen. When she called about her other two cards she was told the same thing.
“Damn you, Sloan,” she said, and proceeded to recite all the curse words she knew, ending with the worst one she could think of.
“Excuse me,” someone said, and Claire turned around to find that, to her horror, Sister Mary Margrethe was standing in the doorway of the beauty shop with a look of shocked disappointment on her face.
“Oh, Christ,” Claire said, which didn’t help matters.
Scott woke up spooning Maggie in his childhood twin-size bed. She was awake, reading a Hardy Boys mystery from the collection in the bookcase headboard.
Peony Street Page 28
