The Ultimatum

by Nancy Moser

  Dottie was hanging her order on the clip-turnabout in the kitchen pass-through. “What's going on?”

  Annie grabbed her purse. “Avi fell on the playground. The school nurse said she needs stitches. They'll take her across the street to the ER, but I'm heading there now.”

  She didn't wait for permission.

  Annie ran into the ER of the Steadfast Hospital, her eyes darting, searching for her daughter.

  The receptionist stood and pointed to the right. “Avi's in there, Annie. She's fine.”

  Annie had to see for herself. She found her daughter lying on an examination table. A doctor was sewing up her knee. A slightly pregnant nurse invited her in. Annie's stomach grabbed at the thought of seeing a needle puncture skin, so she avoided looking at the wound and moved beside Avi, taking her hand, scanning her face.

  “Hey, sweet-apple, how you doing?”

  “I'm okay.”

  “She'll be just fine,” said Dr. Grant.

  The nurse looked up from the work and smiled. “She's quite the brave girl. Not one tear.”

  “I did erf at school,” Avi said.

  Annie stroked her long strawberry blond hair. “It's okay to cry. You don't always have to be brave.”

  “She's not a crier?” the doctor asked.

  “Never has been.” Annie flicked the end of Avis nose. “Even as a baby when I'd check to see if she was wet or hungry, she'd look right back at me with a crease on her little brow, as if studying the situation.”

  “Mama says I'm low maintenance.”

  The nurse laughed. “That's a good thing to be.”

  Dr. Grant stood erect. “There. That's that then. Susan will finish up here.” He patted Avis knee. “You take care of yourself, little lady. Don't run so fast next time, okay?”

  He left them, and the nurse got bandage supplies out of a cupboard. Annie nodded at the nurse's belly. “When are you due?”

  “March.”

  “Is this your first?”

  “Biologically, yes. But I also have a fifteen-year-old daughter. Technically she's my niece, but her parents were killed in a car accident so she's mine now.”

  “How awful. I mean, it's nice you've found each other.”

  Susan nodded. “Sim's a great kid. We just moved here in time for her to start school. Hey, she's a great babysitter. I'm sure she'd love to sit for Avi.”

  “Sim! I've met her!” Avi said. “Over at Cassie's house. Cassie's sister is fifteen, too.”

  Annie realized she and the nurse hadn't really met—which was strange in a town the size of Steadfast. “I'm Annie McFay.”

  “Susan Kellogg. Glad to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Now let's get a bandage on this.”

  “Can I see the stitches first?” Avi asked.

  Annie put a hand to her midsection. “Ugh! Leave me out.”

  Susan laughed. She helped Avi sit up, and the girl studied the medical handiwork as if the wound belonged to someone else. Annie listened to Susans instructions but was heartily glad when the bandage was secured. She helped Avi to the floor.

  As she walked them out, Susan said, “Would you and Avi like to come to our house tomorrow afternoon? A few friends come over every Saturday, and the women have a Bible study while the kids hang out. Sim usually does some craft with them.”

  Avi yanked at Annie's sleeve. “That sounds fun, Mama. And you don't work tomorrow.”

  Annie thought of her run—and her prayer. Maybe she'd get some advice on how to reach Cal. Merry had been asking her to go to her Bible study for a month now, but with Cal's attitude Annie hadn't wanted to risk it.

  At Annie's hesitation, Susan said, “Hey, don't worry. We don't force anyone to believe anything. It's just a time a few of us can get together and talk about life, which naturally means letting in some God-talk.” She smiled. “Can't rightly have one without the other, can we?”

  It sounded perfect. “I'll be there.”

  “Super. Come at one-thirty. I'm making my famous death-by-chocolate brownies. You like chocolate, don't you?”

  Avi's hand shot up. “I do!”

  “Then it's settled.”

  Okay then.

  Even though Annie didn't feel much like cooking, she had to. There was a point to be made and an argument to win through creating a wonderful family meal they would eat together—around the table. Proof to Cal that Bailey's restaurant idea was off the mark.

  She'd just shut the oven after checking the lasagna when Cal walked in the kitchen door, hung his jacket on a hook, and headed toward the front of the house to go upstairs to change. He was tracking in mud. “Shoes!”

  He looked behind him. “Oops. Sorry.” He backtracked, undid his work boots, and put them on the back stoop.

  Cal never forgot his shoes. Ever. “What's up? Bailey drain your brain today?”

  He didn't answer. When he came back in, he avoided her eyes. Two times in one day? He stepped toward the oven. “What do I smell?”

  “Lasagna.” Like a game show hostess she took a step back, revealing a tray of garlic cheese bread on the counter. “And for your dining pleasure, you also get bread. And salad. With a grand prize of apple cake.”

  He nodded once, but his brow was tight.

  “Hey, babe. What's wrong?” she asked.

  He blinked twice, managed a smile, then kissed her cheek and pulled her close. “I'm starved.” He kissed her again.

  She nudged him away. “Go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  He unbuttoned his shirt. “Where's Avi? How's her leg? You never called me back.”

  “Sorry, I got busy. She's doing fine. She's up in her cubby reading.

  “Isn't it a little cold in there?”

  Annie had thought the same thing. The unfinished storage space off of their bedroom closet was Avis hideaway. The fact she could barely stand up inside didn't matter. It wasn't a standing-up space; it was a close-the-door-on-the-world snuggling-up space, a playing dolls space, a place to think and dream dreams. “Avi assured me she'd be fine. She has blankets and all those pillows. And her lamp. She's quite cozy.”

  “How'd the stitches go? Was she upset?”

  Annie put a hand to her chest. “Our Avi? Upset? Surely you jest?”

  “She's a tough one.”

  He headed for the stairs. Annie watched him go. Toughness ran in the family.

  It happened in slow motion.

  With a move right out of a Frisbee game, Cal's plate of lasagna left his hand and slid onto the edge of the counter. But the weight of the uneaten food worked against it, and the plate teetered on the edge, then fell facedown onto the kitchen floor. The thickness of the lasagna absorbed most of the shock, saving the plate from destruction. Most of the plate. One chip fell away, a blue triangle against the white of the floor.

  Annie found her voice, even as her hands lunged helplessly and too late. “Cal!”

  “You started it. I come home, hoping for a peaceful—”

  Annie pointed to the mess. “I'm not the one who overreacted. I made an innocent comment about how this meal is proof that what Harold said at the diner today was—”

  “I can't believe you're taking Harold's side over mine.”

  They'd been over this. “Just because you're my husband, doesn't mean I have to agree with every make-it-rich scheme you come up with.”

  He emptied his glass in the sink, the ice cubes rattling. Annie was glad when he set the glass down safely. “Who makes the real money around here? Me or you?”

  She hated this point. “That's not—”

  He took a step toward her, his voice louder. “Me or you?”

  “You. But I don't think—”

  “You bet you don't think. I'm the man. I'm the one who's trying to better our lives.”

  “And I'm not?” She looked at the fallen lasagna. Certainly he could see that a nice meal made their quality of life better.

  “I'm talking important stuff here. Fi
nancial stuff.”

  Why did everything always go back to money? She lowered her voice. They could both give as good as they got, but luckily, it was usually over quickly as long as one of them made the first move toward retrieving calm. If it was usually her, so be it. “Our lives are fine just the way they are, Cal.”

  His arms swung wide, encompassing the room. “You want to be stuck in this old house forever, Annie?”

  “This house has character. It's fine.”

  “It's not fine, and you know it. If I did the work that needed to be done on this house, I wouldn't have any time to do my real work—”

  “Fixing up other people's houses.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back.

  He took a breath in, then out, then in. “I'm trying to lift us out of this middle-class mediocrity.”

  Mediocrity was not a Cal word. “Where'd you hear that phrase? From Bailey?”

  He shoved a chair, making it topple, then headed toward the front of the house.

  “Get back here and clean this up!” she called after him.

  So much for calm.

  Cal stomped up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed. Annie's chest pounded and her mind swelled with biting comebacks. How dare he ruin her beautiful dinner? How dare he not allow her to have an opinion about his misguided restaurant idea? Hooking up with Bailey was a huge mistake. Couldn't he see that? All Bailey cared about was status and money and walking around like the rest of Steadfast was gum on his shoe. He never did anything for anybody without getting something—

  She held in a breath. Bailey is using Cal just like all the other con men have done. Otherwise, why the sudden interest in treating him like a partner instead of a peon?

  She looked at the ceiling, toward the master bedroom. She had to tell Cal! In fact, she would take great pleasure in telling him. She glanced at the mess on the floor. Cal deserved to be taken down a peg. Two pegs. She'd douse his fire but good.

  Annie took two steps toward the stairs when a thought hit her: Your words are fire. All it takes is one spark…

  She pulled up short. Huh?

  Shhh.

  Shhh? No way.

  Enough.

  She shook her head against the treasonous thoughts. It wasn't enough. She still had things to say.

  Be silent.

  Annie put a hand to her chest and tried to get her bearings. This argument with Cal was not over. There were points to be made. Good points. Jabbing points. She tried to remember the idea that had fueled her anger. She held her breath a moment, searching for it in her memory bank.

  It was gone. Something about Bailey… What was it?

  A few more seconds of heavy thought brought up nothing.

  What gives?

  The sound of the TV blared from the front room. The familiar sound she'd heard a thousand times cut through whatever was left of her anger.

  But I want to he mad! I deserve to be mad. God, don't I deserve to be mad?

  She glanced at the fallen lasagna and the broken plate, hoping to get stirred up again. She was shocked to find they had no power over her anymore.

  How odd.

  She grabbed some paper towels. Ten minutes later the floor was clean, the broken plate washed and dried. Annie sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of glue and the broken piece. She read the directions on the glue to make sure it would work on the plate.

  Cal stood in the doorway separating the kitchen from the front hall. “I wondered what happened to you.”

  I've been cleaning up your mess; thats what happened to me. Somehow the words remained unspoken. She shrugged her answer.

  Cal took a step toward the table. “Can you fix it?”

  “I hope so.”

  He took the bottle of glue and read the label. “This won't work on stoneware. I have some glue in the truck that should work.” He kissed the top of her head.

  And that was that.

  Three

  Starting a quarrel is like breaching a dam;

  so drop the matter before a dispute breaks out.

  PROVERBS 17:14

  BAILEY SHUT OFF THE ENGINE and angled the rearview mirror for one last look. He adjusted his hair, then left his car to enter the Steadfast Library.

  He took the steps two at a time, hoping—if Merry happened to be looking outside this fine Saturday morning—that he looked nonchalant and virile. A man with purpose. All that from a few strides up the step?

  Such deliberate plotting was silly, but Bailey couldn't stop himself. He was who he was… Or was he who he hoped to be? It was confusing. But what he hoped to be was Merry Cavanaugh's boyfriend.

  He went inside and deliberately did not look toward the front counter where he assumed she would be working. Instead, he turned to his right and saw the mural on the wall. The last time he'd been in, that old man Ivan had been messing with it, trying to restore it to its 1930s glory.

  The mural was complete now, a rural Kansas scene of soft hills, groves of trees, lush farm fields, and winding streams.

  “Not bad, eh?”

  Bailey turned to find Ivan standing close, his hands in his pockets. “You did this?”

  “Don't sound so surprised. I'm not good-for-nothing. Not yet.”

  Bailey took another look and was greeted with a flash of memory: Ivan had placed a block of red tiles where blue was supposed to be. He searched the mural. There was no such grouping now. Obviously, Ivan had realized his error and rectified…

  Then he knew. He'd had help from Steadfast's new resident mosaic artist. “Claire Adams did this, didn't she?”

  Ivans arms crossed. “She most certainly did not.”

  Bailey raised an eyebrow. “She didn't help?”

  Ivan hesitated. “Fine. Maybe she helped a bit.”

  “Ah-ha.”

  Ivan flipped a hand at him. “Move on. I don't have time for this.”

  The statement was ridiculous. As far as Bailey knew, in his pre-mural existence, all Ivan did at the library was read magazines and hang around with his crony Blanche.

  Bailey allowed himself to turn toward the counter. Merry was busy helping a little boy check his books out.

  Ivan grinned. “Oh, I see. Oh, yes, I see quite fine what's going on here.”

  Bailey felt himself blush. “I thought you didn't have time?”

  “Oh, I have time for this.”

  “For harassing me?”

  Ivan shook his head, looking way too smug. “For watching the doings of a love triangle.”

  Triangle?

  Bailey wanted to ask for details but wouldn't give the old man the satisfaction.

  “You do know she's been dating Ken for two months now, don't your

  Baileys mind leafed through his file of Kens. There was only one. “Ken Kendell?”

  Ivan pointed a finger. “You didn't know, did you?”

  There was no way for Bailey to save face and get information. He pulled Ivan into a stack of books. “Fine. You win. Bring me up to date.”

  Bailey endured the look of satisfaction on Ivan's face. “It all started when Ken and the Steadfast police got involved looking for Sim's relatives a few months back. Since Sim was staying with Merry most of the time…” Ivan wiggled his eyebrows as if Bailey was supposed to fill in the blanks.

  “They've gone out on dates?”

  “Tons.”

  “Define tons.”

  “In the teens. Maybe twenties.”

  Tons. This was not possible. Bailey had been interested in Merry ever since she moved to Steadfast the previous March. Surely she wouldn't choose a boring cop over his status as town entrepreneur.

  Ivan took his arm. “Ken even had a birthday party for her.”

  Birthday? When was that? Had he missed her birthday?

  It didn't matter. While Bailey had been playing hard to get, while he'd been consumed with the addition to Bon Vivant, Merry had moved on and gotten seriously involved with another man. He felt like messing his hair and pulling his shirt out of his
pants, a ridiculous notion—and something he would never do. But to know that all his primping, all his prep work to make himself irresistible to Merry was for nothing…

  “They're not engaged or anything,” Ivan said. “But Blanche and I did have dinner with them over at Merry's the other night, and—”

  Bailey raised a hand. He rebelled at the very idea of showing his true feelings to this old coot. His broken heart would not be the next item of gossip around the Steadfast grapevine. “You'll have to excuse me, but I have an appointment.” He turned to leave and nearly ran into Merry.

  “I thought I saw you over here.” She glanced at Ivan. “What are you two doing, whispering in the stacks? Conspiring to take over the library or something?”

  Bailey saw Ivan open his mouth to speak and racked his brain trying to think of something to say before the old man blurted out something embarrassing.

  “We were talking about Jered,” Ivan said.

  The two men exchanged a glance. It was not a subject Bailey wanted to talk about. If only he could rewind the last five minutes, he'd never come into the library at all.

  “Have you heard from him?” Merry asked.

  Bailey looked at his watch. “I really have to go.”

  Merry put a hand on his arm. “Bailey…”

  He was a sucker for her eyes. He let his shoulders drop. “I haven't heard from him.”

  “Have the police found anything?”

  You should know. You re dating one. “He's been put on the missing children's network, but so far, nothing.”

  “I'm sure he's fine, Bailey. He's almost eighteen, isn't he?”

  “Next week.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Oh, my. Away for his birthday. But he's always been independent. Hopefully, he's gotten a job and is living in a little apartment somewhere.”

  “He had free room and board here. At home.”

  “Maybe he's pursuing his music.”

  Bailey stifled a laugh and glanced at the exit. Yet the music thing, it was a possibility. Just after Jered had run away, Bailey received a phone call from a Jamison Smith from Hiptone Records, wanting to get in touch with Jered. Sim had been the one who'd pulled a few strings in that direction, and Merry had helped Jered look up how-tos about getting started in the music business on the Internet, and…