All God's Creatures

by Carolyn McSparren

  "How are the boys?"

  "The three in the back are over there, scared sober and sick as dogs. The blood belongs to the bull. That was the driver and the front seat passenger in the ambulances. Paramedics think they each have a couple of cracked ribs from the air bags, mild concussions and the worst hangovers of their young lives. If this doesn't turn them teetotal, nothing will."

  "Where are your cows?" I asked Rick

  "I thought you might have to help with the roundup, but apparently freedom wasn't all it was cracked up to be. My boys have already driven them back into their pasture. They're fixing the fence now."

  "LIh, doc," Barrows said. "Might some ofyour boys give me a hand getting of Ralph here back into my pasture?"

  For a moment I thought Rick would deck the man. Then he shrugged. "Sure. I'll call'em." He turned to me. "It looked a lot worse than it was."

  I looked in the SLIV's window one more time on my way by. Stuffing and tattered upholstery protruded from the hole in the front seat around the hole the bull's horn had made, but the hole itself was as neat as a bullet hole.

  An inch or so to the right, and that horn would have been every bit as deadly as a bullet.

  The young deputy who had let me through the barricade grinned at me. "Lucky little bastards, weren't they?"

  "What's Barrows's liability?"

  "His bull was loose, but this is a semi-private road, and those kids were drunk and driving well over the speed limit. I'm ticketing everybody. Let the judge work it out."

  On the way home I thanked God that no matter what stupid things Nathan and Sarah had done when they were the age of those kids, neither one of them ever got mixed up with drugs or alcohol. So far as I knew, that is. The line between stupid teenaged behavior that causes an end to teenaged lives and stupid teenaged behavior that turns into a prank is very thin. Kids can cover up and act independent as long as they escape the consequences of their actions. The minute they get into real trouble, however, they turn into children seeking sanctuary with Mom and Dad.

  Let Rick hug his little Meg and pray for her safety. I said a silent prayer for Sarah and Nathan. The world is never safe even for those of us who are careful.

  Chapter 43

  In which Maggie makes travel plans

  I walked into the Paradise Travel Agency in Memphis shortly after a solitary lunch. I'd spoken to one of the agents, Olivia Overton, on the phone, and when I shook her hand, she said, "I was sorry to hear about Morgan."

  "You knew him?"

  "I have booked and cancelled lots of flights for him."

  "My fault. This time I promise I'll carry through."

  "So where do you want to go and when?"

  I stared at her. "I'm not sure. Where did Morgan want us to go?"

  "We're not talking Morgan, Dr. McLain. This is your trip we're planning. Have you ever been abroad?"

  I shook my head.

  "Got a passport?"

  "Brand new."

  "Have you ever considered joining a tour group? I always recommend that for someone who's never been overseas before."

  "With a bunch of total strangers?"

  "There are groups that cater to all age groups, all economic levels, even hobbies. Would you be interested in joining a Jack the Ripper tour to London?"

  "Good grief, no."

  "It is getting late in the season. September is a wonderful time to go to Europe, but much past that the weather can be tricky." She smiled at me. "Unless you go to Spain or Majorca. Look, how about I get together a packet of brochures on tours to the British Isles. That way you won't have to worry about the language barrier. As a single woman, you're sure to get a place, although you'll have to share with a roommate to avoid paying the additional single supplement."

  I had a roommate my first six months in vet school," I said. "She was in engineering, I think. I don't even remember her name. We hated each other."

  "You have a business partner, don't you? Ask her to join you."

  "She won't close our practice for that long."

  "Then, I'm afraid it's either pay the single supplement or share." She became all business. "I'll make you up a big packet and send it to your home. You can go over it, call me with any questions you have, the let me know what you decide. There are some marvelous tours at Christmastime."

  "Christmas away from home?"

  "Plenty of people would pay their last dime to avoid Christmas at home. Too many memories, too much family."

  That hit me. God, if I could just avoid Christmas at home this year... I wanted to see the children, but not under those circumstances. I didn't think I could bear to put up a tree, decorate the house, act as we've always acted, but without Morgan. "What kind of Christmas tours?" I asked.

  "Skiing in Switzerland or Austria..."

  "That's out. I don't slide down mountains."

  "Tours to the South of France or the Middle East."

  "Nix on the Middle East. And I don't speak French."

  "Then how about a Dickens Christmas in London? Museums, shopping, lots of good theater. You'd stay in marvelous places. I have one that starts a week before Christmas, spends New Year's in a castle, and flies home on January second. A small group. I think it would be perfect for your first trip."

  Christmas in London. A completely new tradition to take the place of the big Christmas tree, the big dinners on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the presents. Sarah and Nathan could start their own traditions in their own homes. And the English spoke English. I'd been an English major in college until I switched to science.

  Christmas in London sounded better and better.

  I could afford that single supplement. I was too set in my ways to share happily with a strange woman.

  "Book it," I said, and started to hyperventilate.

  On my way back home, I had to pull into a Starbuck's for a decaf latte to keep my hands from shaking.

  Now all I had to do was to tell my children and Eli that Christmas as they knew it was off.

  "Okay," Nathan said when I told him about the trip. "But I want quid pro quo."

  "What sort?"

  "Come to Lisa and me in Connecticut for Thanksgiving."

  I did not want to spend Thanksgiving with Nathan's in-laws. I knew them only from the wedding. They seemed nice enough, but I had the feeling they felt Morgan and I didn't quite measure up to what they considered appropriate for their daughter's family.

  I didn't really know Lisa, although she seemed very nice. She was a hotshot corporate attorney, beautiful, brilliant, and dressed like Sex in the City, whereas I wasn't certain who Manolo Blahnik was, exactly. To tell the truth, she intimidated me. "I couldn't possibly get a flight this late."

  "Let me worry about that," Nathan said. "Come Monday and stay until Sunday."

  "Fish and house guests go bad after three days."

  "Mothers don't. You and Lisa need to get to know one another."

  "Her family is eastern seaboard rich, Nathan. A pair of her shoes costs more than my entire wardrobe. Her mother wears sable."

  "Then go buy some clothes. I'll pay for them."

  "I can afford my own clothes, thank you. I tend to prefer L. L. Bean and Land's End to Bergdorf Goodman is all."

  "You're a doctor. You don't have to live up to anybody else's opinion."

  Well, of course I did. I wanted Nathan's in-laws to be delighted with me for his sake. There was an awkward silence, then I said, "Eli will barbecue me if I leave her to handle the practice alone over Thanksgiving."

  "I'll talk to her. You'll be closed Thursday and Friday. Won't she be spending the weekend with Shep anyway?"

  Damn. Trapped. "All right, but I arrive Tuesday and leave Saturday. Deal?"

  "Deal. Oh, and Mother, think seriously about having Christmas the way we always do."

  The minute I hung up from talking to Nathan, I called Patsy. "Did I or did I not say I'd get my own back on you for sticking me with Loba?"

  "You did." Patsy sounded suspicious.
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  "How about we both drive down to Hernando and have lunch at Timbeau's on the square? They have great spinach salads."

  I spent ten minutes hunting for a parking place on the square in Hernando. Court must be in session. The neo-Georgian courthouse in the center lorded over the steamboat gothic storefronts around the square in a sorry attempt to look as though it had been built before the War of Northern Aggression. In reality, I was almost certain General Grant burned its predecessor down on his way either to or from the Battle of Shiloh, I never could remember which.

  Grant seemed to have a vendetta against Southern courthouses. Patsy, who was big into genealogy, said Grant's arson made tracing Mississippi family records in Grant's path before 1860 darned near impossible.

  Over lunch I told Patsy about my trip to Connecticut forThanksgiv- ing with Nathan's in-laws. "I do not want to embarrass Nathan."

  "Don't be ridiculous. You're a professional woman, a doctor, and a banker's wife. You act as though you are some country mouse who doesn't know which fork to use at dinner."

  "The point is that down here everyone does know me. I do have a reputation. I am who I am, and if somebody doesn't like it, who cares? I haven't been shopping for anything other than jeans for two or three years. I like my lifestyle, but its not the lifestyle that Nathan's parents-in-law live. Yes, I want to fit in-or at least not fit out. If that's stupid and shallow, then it is. I don't have the right clothes or the right jewelry. Lisa's people are Connecticut rich, Cape Cod rich."

  "Well, I'm Mississippi rich and I think you look fine." Patsy speared a fat shrimp off the top of my salad.

  "Hey, cut that out!" I leaned forward protectively. "Down here you can't tell country rich-rich from dirt poor without a program. Your Dan wears Wranglers, work boots, plaid shirts and a John Deere cap everywhere but to church."

  "So do I." Patsy stuck out her left hand. "It's easier to tell about the wives." She waggled the six-carat diamond ring on her fourth finger. "Darned thing looks like a Zircon. I wear it out to impress my friends and when I go to New York or Paris or someplace. It's insured, but Dan would kill me if I dropped the thing in a bucket of horse liniment." She grinned. "Want to borrow it?"

  "On me they would think it was a zircon. Ordinarily, I like what I look like-a hard-working, country vet."

  "To tell the truth, you're downright dowdy. When was the last time you had your hair cut? You're gray as an old possum, too." Patsy forked half a piece of bacon into her mouth and eyed me. "Those hands look like you been digging ditches."

  "That's a damned sight too much truth."

  "I am telling the truth so you know what we got to fix before you go." Patsy buttered a piece of French bread. "We got two weeks before you fly to New York. That's plenty long enough. Let Patsy handle things."

  "Patsy, don't go off half-cocked."

  "Full-cocked, honey." She put down her fork and signaled to our waiter. "Dahlin', put these things in some take-out boxes, would you, please?"

  "I'm not finished," I said.

  "Yes, you are. You can have the rest of that for dinner tonight. Now, pay the check while I collect the takeout boxes. We'll drop your truck at the clinic and take my car to Memphis."

  "Where?"

  "Shut up and come. First we fixyou, then we fixyour clothes. Don't worry about jewelry, you can borrow mine. And my sable coat."

  "I wouldn't dare be responsible for your jewelry, and I couldn't fit into your sable coat."

  "Of course you can. It's cut long, and you're a whole heap thinner than I am."

  After we dropped my truck, Patsy headed for Memphis. I had forgotten how harrowing driving with Patsy could be. Patsy could barely see over the steering wheel of her Suburban, and kept up a running commentary on what I should wear in Connecticut so I wouldn't look like a hick.

  Patsy peeled off 1-55 just past the turnoff to Graceland. As usual the parking lot was full of cars, and there was a line waiting in front of the wrought iron gates to the mansion. After Patsy managed to avoid hitting anyone running across the wide street, I finally felt safe opening my eyes.

  Twenty minutes later, Patsy did a two wheel drift into the parking lot of Mona's Spa in East Memphis.

  I can't afford this place."

  "My treat." Patsy trotted inside, closeted herself with Mona, the owner of the Spa, came out of her office to introduce her to me and give me the schedule of my appointments for the next two weeks, then dragged me out and shoved me into the car before I could say more than two words.

  "I go there all the time," Patsy said. "You could certainly afford it once a month. You make plenty of money. What do you have to spend it on?"

  "How much is all that going to cost?"

  "Bad manners to ask. Next, hair. We may be able to take care of that today." She glanced at me. "God, I hope so. When was the last time you had a hair cut?"

  "I've been letting it grow."

  "Letting it go, you mean. Dragging it back from your face like that into a rubber band makes you look like an aging gay ballet master." She shook her head, sped across two lanes of traffic and turned left at a yellow light that turned red before her front bumper cleared the intersection.

  I gasped. "That one was puce," I said.

  "Nonsense. Pale lemon. Here we are." She pulled into the parking lot of a salon so chic even I recognized the name. "Come on."

  "I should never have called you. You're on one of your darned crusades." By the time I got to the door of the salon, Patsy had already gone inside and closed the door in my face.

  I went in after her.

  "May I help you?" a stunningly beautiful brunette behind a tall reception counter asked.

  "LIh, I'm with Mrs. Dalrymple."

  "Oh, of course. She said to wait right here. Just have a -seat."

  I picked up a brand new copy of Vogue and perched on a faux French chair upholstered in Prussian blue watered silk. I spent the next ten minutes staring morosely at anorexic fourteen-year-old girls dressed in bizarre finery and made up to look fifty. "Here she is."

  I looked up. Patsy stood in front of me with her hand outstretched as though pointing out a bloody wreck.

  The tall young man beside Patsy was every bit as anorexic as the young women in Vogue. "My God," he said. He strode over to me and dug his fingers into my hair. He ripped off my rubber band.

  "Ow."

  "Oh, definitely color. All over. And short-tons and tons of layers." He stuck his index finger under my chin and lifted my face. "Wonderful cheekbones. Too much nose, of course, but that adds character. Amazingly unwrinkled for her age, wouldn't you say?"

  I felt like somebody's prize heifer. Did the animals also understand the buyers who assessed their futures as beef or brood? I wanted to scream, "Not to the slaughterhouse! " I kept my mouth shut.

  He drew back. "Come with me, sweetie. Patsy, darling, go away this minute and don't you dare come back for two hours."

  "I'm going shopping for you, Maggie," Patsy said. "You can take everything home and try on there. See you." She disappeared.

  "Young man," I said as he led me away, "I'm not your sweetie, nor are you mine. How about you try calling me 'Doctor?' It's never safe to antagonize a woman who uses a scalpel."

  Three hours later I dropped Patsy's accumulation of shopping bags in my kitchen and walked over to the clinic. As I came down the hall, Tonesha looked up from her magazine and said, "Woo-eee! Look at you. You look hot! "

  Eli and Wanda Jean stuck their heads out of contiguous examining rooms.

  "My God," Eli said.

  "Hey, great color," Wanda Jean said.

  "The man practically shaved my head," I grumbled. "I look like a mahogany newel post."

  "Ten years younger is how you look" Eli said. "Think he'd do mine?" She ruffled her curly silver hair.

  "You dye your hair and I quit," Wanda jean said.

  "Me too," Tonesha said. "But you could do with a new cut. Yours is kind of old ladyish."

  "Thank you so much," Eli s
aid. "Call Patsy and ask her to make me an appointment, or he probably won't see me for six months."

  "Done." Tonesha picked up the telephone. "Since we're spiffing up, how about we buy some new couches for the waiting room?"

  Eli slammed the door on her and I scooted out the back.

  Chapter 44

  In which Maggie discovers she's still got it

  I stepped off the plane at LaGuardia and made my way to the luggage area without seeing Nathan. I felt like an abandoned child. God, I hated cities, New York most of all, although after my Christmas tour, I might hate London worse.

  I scanned the crowd until the maw of the luggage carousel disgorged my gigantic suitcase. Patsy had forced it on me because it was the largest Louis Vuitton made and could hold all the clothes Patsy had conned me into buying.

  "I'm only staying Tuesday through Saturday," I had told her.

  "You'll have to change at least twice a day and maybe more. Here, take my Judith Liebman evening bag." She produced a small apple covered with jet, and with a ruby clasp curled up like a worm.

  "Patsy, that thing couldn't hold a handkerchief, and it's probably worth ten thousand dollars."

  "A bit more, but who's counting. Now if you won't take my diamonds, take some of the good costume jewelry. See, these jade earrings will go perfectly with that green dress."

  I put my foot down over the sable coat. I bought a new black cape, and wore my new red parka that I'd get a damn sight more wear out of in the coming years.

  So here I stood in my parka and my new haircut, my semi-footlocker at my feet, and no sign of my son. I had no directions to his house in Connecticut, and it was too late in the afternoon to call his office. I dug out my cell phone to call him. He was probably stuck in traffic.

  "Mother! Hell, I'm sorry. Got stuck in an accident. This your bag? Come on. Before we get home it'll be time for dinner. Lisa's dying to see you."

  I closed my eyes as I hugged him and drank in the smell of wet wool and after-shave. He felt so big. How could he be my baby?

  We drove away in Nathan's gray BMW.

  After I brought Nathan up to date on Eli and the people at home, Nathan asked, "Are you really planning on retiring? Totally, I mean?"