by Lyn Cote
“I’ll consider what you’ve told me.”
He couldn’t make himself move until he’d followed her with his gaze all the way into the sprawling white house. When she shut the double doors behind her, her spell over him was finally broken, and he slid into his car and drove away.
Something had happened between him and Spring just now, but what? Why had she spoken of his sister? And what did she mean he had seriously wrong ideas?
“Aunty?” Spring tapped on her aunt’s bedroom door that night.
“Come in, dear.”
Spring stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Ever since Marco had visited early in the day, she had turned over and over in her mind what he’d said to her, along with what she still needed to ask her aunt—plus her own turbulent feelings about both. Right now, though, she’d decided to concentrate on the question she’d been sent by her sisters to ask. That was the most important.
Dressed for bed in a flowing lavender caftan, Aunt Geneva reclined on her chaise longue by the window, knitting another bootie. “What is it, dear? You look worried.”
In her pale pink pajamas, Spring perched on the chair near her aunt. “There’s something I need to ask you. You may not want to give me the information, but I hope—we all hope—you will.”
Aunty’s eyebrows rose above her reading glasses. “This sounds very serious.”
“It is.” Spring gripped the arms of her chair.
Aunty removed her glasses and set them, along with her knitting, on the small table beside her. “Does it have to do with Marco?”
“Marco?” The thought startled Spring. “This has nothing to do with Marco. Aunty, I—”
“Why aren’t you married yet?”
Spring gawked at her aunt. “Marriage isn’t the subject I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Well, this is the conversation I’ve intended to have with you for a long time now. You are always so distant and cool around men. You never flirt or use your beauty in any way I can detect. You just don’t seem to know how to attract a man. Why not?” Her aunt stared at her.
Spring tried not to react to her aunt’s bald words, but they echoed too closely the things her sisters had been telling her for years. That awful sinking feeling slid through her. No one understood the pressures she’d faced.
“Aunty—”
“You’re beautiful!” Aunty flung her hands wide. “I should be fighting like a lioness to protect you. Men should be following you around like lovesick puppies—”
“Stop!” Spring pressed her hands to her warming face. Tears threatened to overflow. “I don’t want men around me…acting like lovesick puppies or…vulgar idiots!” Unwelcome images and words from the past crowded Spring’s mind, especially that night on campus that Marco had come to her rescue. She willed herself to block out the unpleasant sensations these memories carried with them. Goose bumps crawled up her arms.
“Dear, sweet child.” Swinging her legs over the side of her chaise longue, Aunty sat up and clasped her hands around Spring’s small wrists. “Tell me what has upset you. Please.”
Slowly Spring lowered her hands, but she averted her face.
Aunt Geneva let her own hands drop to her lap. “Tell me. Be honest.”
Spring drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t like that…kind of attention from men.” She shivered. “I don’t like it when they get close to me and…say things to me when they don’t think anyone else can hear.”
“You mean…sexual comments?”
“Sometimes…vulgar insinuations.” Spring’s face blazed as she recalled some of these, still vivid in her memory. “They act like I’m not a real person…like I’m just a face, a body….”
“You poor dear.” Aunty frowned. “Those kind of comments would wound someone like you, someone shy, especially someone raised like you were in a parsonage.”
“What was wrong with the way I was raised? Mother and Father are wonderful parents!”
Aunty clenched her hands. “They are, but they never told you how beautiful you are or prepared you for the power beauty brings with it. They didn’t warn you of the special demands of being so lovely—”
“You’re not making any sense!” Spring hated this! She’d come in to ask about Connie Wilson, not to discuss her “beauty”!
“We should have had this conversation years ago! I don’t know why I didn’t recognize this in you before. Now I can see how it all fits together.”
“What are you talking about?” None of this fits together!
Aunty leaned against the arm of her chaise. “You’re kind of young to remember Marilyn Monroe, aren’t you.”
“You mean the movie star in the fifties?” Shaken, Spring couldn’t understand where her aunt was heading with this.
“Yes, she was a beautiful young woman, but men never saw anything but her beautiful face and figure. She died young and all alone. A very sad story.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Spring’s temples started throbbing.
“Your parents being good Christians raised you to judge people not by their appearance, but by their value to God.” Aunty gave her a knowing look.
“Of course, they did.” They taught me what was right.
Aunty shook her head ruefully. “But most people judge by appearance only. Ethel and Garner should have taught you how to handle the extra attention you’d receive as a beauty, how to put men—rude men—in their place.”
“You can learn that?” Spring stared at her aunt.
Aunty nodded. “If only I had realized, I could have helped you. Why didn’t you say how much you were hurting?”
“I didn’t think…I didn’t know…”
“Sweetheart, we’ve got to do something about this. I can’t make you less sensitive, but I can help you come out of this shell you’ve built around yourself.” Aunty took both Spring’s hands in hers. “We can’t let this spoil your life. You are the sweetest, kindest girl in the world, and we’re going to get you over this, so you can find your one true love!”
My one true love. Longing swelled inside Spring. Her expression must have given her away.
“You are in love!”
“No, I—”
“Who is he?”
“Aunty—”
“Is it Marco?”
The rapid-fire questions overwhelmed Spring. Before she could stop herself, she nodded.
“Oh, but that’s wonderful! Marco needs a woman like you in his life! He’s just going to waste! You two would make a wonderful pair.”
“Aunt Geneva, no!” Spring gasped, trying to rein in her aunt. “Marco isn’t interested in me. He might be dating someone else—”
“No, I don’t think he is, but we’ll check with Matilde. How fortunate you two are both on the garden show committee.”
“You didn’t get him on the committee just because you knew I would be here—?”
“No.” Aunt Geneva shrugged and made an apologetic moue. “We insisted he join us mainly because the man has no social life.”
“Coming to garden show meetings would give him a social life?” The sweet foolishness of this plan released some of the tension Spring had been feeling.
“Of course not, but we decided it would get him to the country club, and we would see what developed from there.”
“Marco says he’s too busy. He wants to get off—”
Aunt Geneva shook her head adamantly. “Not a chance. Marco has got to start having a life, not just a career.”
Spring sighed. She felt beaten and shaken, as though she had just run through a hailstorm. She still hadn’t posed the big question she’d come in to ask Aunt Geneva. But she couldn’t make herself bring up another emotionally charged topic now. She rose and kissed her aunt’s soft cheek.
When she reached the door, her aunt’s voice stopped her. “What did you come here to ask me?”
Spring shook her head, too weary now to take up the task of asking her aunt about Connie Wilson.
&n
bsp; “Now, don’t you worry, dear. Tomorrow we’ll begin bringing you out of your shell and into Marco’s much-too-serious life. Dr. Da Palma won’t know what hit him!”
Dazed, Spring walked out, feeling like a condemned woman. The possibilities for embarrassment to both her and Marco loomed over her. Aunt Geneva and friends were capable of anything! Don’t worry, she says. Don’t worry?
The next morning, Spring and Aunty decided to have their breakfast in the airy patio off the kitchen. Warm sunshine, the rhythmic sound of the waves, and the call of gulls made an idyllic setting.
Still in her pink pajamas, Spring sighed, then rolled the tangy, fresh-squeezed ruby-red grapefruit juice over her tongue. “Thank you. I’ve dreamed about your breakfasts, Matilde.”
“Matilde,” Aunt Geneva in pink curlers and matching robe ordered, “sit down. We need to talk to you.”
Spring prayed, Please, Lord, don’t let her—
“My niece is interested in Marco.”
Plump Matilde sat down, then bounced in her chair. “Bueno, bueno. Marco’s mother will be thrilled—”
“Don’t!” Spring held up her hand the way a crossing guard would. This was exactly what she’d dreaded! “Don’t tell anyone, especially Marco’s mother! Please!”
“Oh, querida, don’t worry.” Matilde patted her arm. “I meant only that his mother will be thrilled when you and Marco are engaged—”
“He isn’t even interested in me!” Spring exclaimed.
“Yet,” Aunt Geneva pronounced. “Now, Matilde, I wanted to speak with you to make certain Marco has no romantic interest in anyone else.”
“No, no, he’s always working. Before he was always studying. His mother invites pretty girls to the house. She hints. But he’s always too busy. She wants grandchildren—”
Spring bent and rested her forehead in her hand. “You’re getting carried away.” These women were transforming her college crush on Marco into future grandchildren!
One on each side of Spring, Aunt Geneva and Matilde patted her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Spring,” Aunty replied. “You just need a little coaching.”
Spring cringed. She’d have to think of something to keep this from spoiling her friendship with Marco and making fools of both of them.
Aunty again turned to her smiling housekeeper. “You remember how quiet and unspoiled our Spring has always been. Well, she needs to overcome her natural shyness.”
Relieved that her aunt hadn’t mentioned her humiliating experiences with men, Spring gazed at the two older women, praying this conversation would end as soon as possible.
Matilde nodded, her double chin quivering. “Yes, I remember. And Marco, ever since his father died, has stayed so serious. Working, saving, studying. He needs you in his life, Spring.”
Matilde’s words touched Spring’s heart. Marco didn’t need her. But if what Matilde said was true, Marco certainly needed to make a change. He did take life too seriously. He had overreacted to his sister helping Matilde. He didn’t even want to take time to cater to three older ladies for a few meetings.
She would do what she could to help. If the ladies wanted to think she was “flirting” with him, well, it would provide them something fun to do, too. But she’d have to explain matters to Marco. She didn’t believe in manipulating a man, and Marco had always been too proud, too intelligent to be “molded,” anyway. But a life without fun wasn’t healthy for Marco.
The next week Marco, this time in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, towered over Spring sitting on the country club veranda. Her nerves thrummed inside her, but she kept her polite smile in place.
“Good afternoon.”
Aunty, Eleanor and Verna Rae echoed her, beaming at him from their seats around the same table they’d occupied last week.
Her pulse speeding up, Spring noted the way the lines around Marco’s mouth tightened even as he smiled. Please relax, Marco. He sat down beside her. Waves of tension radiated from him. Why are you wound so tightly, Marco? What is it deep inside you that makes you try so hard? She worked hard to reveal only a reserved mask. Marco, so close, drew her attention and awakened her senses to everything about him. The scent of his lime aftershave, his long slender fingers, the way his ebony hair glistened in the sunlight.
“Today we have to go over our list of sponsors,” Verna Rae began, intruding on Spring’s musing.
“What do your sponsors contribute?” Spring asked, fighting the effect of Marco’s nearness.
The three ladies turned their attention to her. Eleanor replied, “Our sponsors contribute money for advertising, dahling, and for the prizes we give the winners.”
Spring nodded. This kind of meeting was second nature to her. She held onto the familiar in spite of Marco’s presence. “How many entries were there last year?”
Eleanor glanced at her notes. “Fifty-three.”
“That many?” Spring gave a nod of approval. “Who were last year’s sponsors?”
The meeting droned on.
Ring-ring, ring-ring. Marco reached for the cell phone at his belt.
At the sound, Spring felt her neck muscles tighten. The three other women paused to gaze at him with worried pouts.
After a brief phone exchange, he rose, looking relieved instead of concerned. “I’ve been called to the hospital. One of my patients has been brought in. My apologies.” Then he looked pointedly at Spring. “Would you walk me to my car? I’d like to ask you a favor.”
Feeling conspicuous, Spring stood up, wondering if the plan she’d come up with would fit the bill….
With a polite nod to the ladies at the table, he ushered her down the central hallway. His sleeve brushed against her bare arm. She tingled.
“Did you think of a way for me to get out of the committee gracefully?” He spoke close to her ear.
His warm breath against her skin sent pleasurable chills up her nape. Spring stepped outside into the dazzling sunshine. Gathering her courage, she said, “Why don’t you take me to dinner tonight?”
“Dinner?” Marco looked puzzled. “What has dinner got to do with anything?”
“We need to go away somewhere and talk.” And my aunt and Matilde will think I’m coming out of my shell, so they won’t humiliate us by “helping.”
Confusion in his expression gave way to under standing. “I see! When would you like me to pick you up?”
“Seven.” I don’t think you do see, but…
“Excellent.” He slid behind the wheel of his car. “I really appreciate your helping with this. Thanks.”
Trying to suppress an unexpected elation, Spring watched him drive down the boulevard lined with rosy azaleas. She realized she was playing with fire: spending time with Marco could endanger her concealment of her secret feelings for him. You’re going to learn how to have some fun, Marco—and fast—so this risky strategy I’m following ends before disaster occurs.
But a smile played around the corners of her mouth as she walked back to the ladies on the veranda.
Three pairs of curious eyes gazed at her.
“Well?” Aunty prompted.
A grin Spring couldn’t stop lifted the corners of her mouth. “He’s picking me up for dinner at seven tonight.”
“Hot dog!” Eleanor squealed. The three octogenarians performed an impromptu high-five times three.
Spring felt a little giddy. She sank down onto the chair. It isn’t a real date, she reminded herself. But her heart refused to listen to her silly common sense. Dinner at seven with Marco!
Chapter Four
“I just know you’ve messed up.” Doree’s strident voice accosted Spring. She had picked up the beige front hall phone.
Spring frowned. “And hello to you, too. No, I haven’t asked Aunt Geneva yet—”
“Why not?” Doree shouted.
“Doree, I won’t let you abuse me over the phone. You think everything is easy about this, but it isn’t.” Grow up, Doree. “Asking about Mother’s family is not
easy.”
Doree groaned. “You don’t have all year. You only took a three-month leave of absence.”
Did Doree really think she was delaying everything on purpose? “I am quite aware of the amount of time I have. I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Well, you had better!” Doree scolded and hung up.
How could her sister think Mother’s health didn’t matter to her? For a few seconds, the urge to redial her younger sister and tell her to back off swept through Spring mightily, but she resisted it. Doree was very young and naturally brash. But Doree wasn’t the one asking the question. So far, all Doree had done was crack the whip over her two sisters. Maybe Doree would feel differently if the shoe were on the other foot. Dear Lord, help me ask soon.
“Are you wearing those shoes?” Aunty asked in a disapproving tone, coming up the hall behind Spring.
Spring looked down at the bone low-heeled pumps she wore. “Yes, are they smudged on the back or something?” She turned one heel to glance at it.
“You need a higher heel. Come to my room.”
High heels? Spring trailed after her aunt. “I don’t like to wear high heels. They’re uncomfortable—”
“Men love women in high heels.” Aunty nudged Spring in front of her into the bedroom, then led her to the huge walk-in closet. “It’s fortunate we wear the same shoe size.”
Spring tried to think of a way to avoid her aunt’s assistance. Aunty’s shoes fit Spring in size, but not in age bracket. And did she really “fit” high heels? Spring doubted this.
“Let’s pull out a few pairs I’ve saved.” Aunty deftly pulled open a drawer from the back of her closet.
Looking over her aunt’s shoulder, Spring glimpsed rows and rows of high heels in every color of the spectrum. Had Aunty saved every pair she’d ever owned? “I don’t remember seeing you wear any of these.”
“These are my favorites from the past. See this pair—my wedding shoes.” Aunty displayed a pair of white silk pumps obviously made when Franklin Delano Roosevelt still slept in the White House.
Her wedding shoes! Spring reached for them. “Oh, Aunty! I—”
“No time for nostalgia now. Marco will arrive at any time. Here, try these—” Aunty put away her wedding shoes and brought out a pair of gold-colored sling-backs with three-inch heels.
