Driven To Distraction

by Judith Duncan

  Maggie took the bowl, giving the tray a skeptical look. “That explains the bowl and mug,” she said, her voice croaky after the coughing spell. “But it doesn’t explain the pot, Parnelli.”

  “Ah,” he said, his tone mysterious. “That’s Grandmother’s Special.”

  He handed her the glass of water. “All the water and every bite of food, Burrows.”

  She didn’t have the energy to argue. She wasn’t sure about the toast, but he had cut it up with the egg, pretty much turning it to mush, and it went down better than expected. She finished and handed him the bowl and empty glass, then tried to slip out of her end of the deal. “Lord, but I’m so tired,” she whispered for effect. “I think I’ll just go to sleep.”

  He shook his head and gave her an amused look. “Nice try, lady. But it isn’t going to work. A deal’s a deal.”

  He lifted the lid off the pot, and the unmistakable odor of garlic wafted up. He took out a steaming towel, and Maggie realized it was folded into a pad that was filled with some sort of concoction. The smell of garlic and something else hit her respiratory system, and Maggie nearly gagged to keep from coughing. She scuttled back in the bed, holding up both hands. “Forget it,” she croaked. “You’re not coming near me with that.”

  He stopped and looked at her, then cocked one eyebrow. “Either you do what I tell you,” he said, giving her a smile that had I Dare You written all over it, “or I’ll do it for you. It’s entirely up to you.”

  She stared at him, not liking the determined glint in his eye. There was a brief, silent battle of wills; then she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. What am I supposed to do? Make spaghetti sauce?”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed facing her, his hip pressing against hers. The twinkle in his eyes got worse. “No, smart mouth. You’re going to put this on your chest, and you’re going to leave it there for twenty minutes.” She folded her arms, an obstinate set to her chin. There was another brief staring match, and Maggie considered her options.

  “You made a deal, Burrows,” he reminded her.

  Realizing he had her there, Maggie heaved a sigh and gave in. “Fine,” she said flatly, taking the towel. “Go away and I’ll do it.”

  With a knowing glint in his eyes, he folded his own arms and shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m going to sit here and make sure you do it.”

  Giving him a defiant glance, she unzipped her sweatshirt to expose the top part of her breasts, flattening the hot, moist compress against her chest. “There. Happy?”

  He reached out and zipped her up, then leaned down and pulled the sheet over her. “Not exactly,” he said, grinning broadly. “But it’ll do for now.”

  He set the cup of steaming tea on her bedside table and picked up the cookie sheet. “I’m going home to have a shower. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and if that plaster isn’t still there, we’re going to start right from the top, Maggie. Just so you know.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Feel Good,” she said, her tone as tart as she could make it under the circumstances.

  He gave her an amused look, then went over and lowered the blind. “And no cheating.”

  Suddenly exhausted, Maggie rested her arm on her forehead and closed her eyes, the fumes from the garlic plaster oddly soothing. Here she was, sick in bed, smothered in garlic and being treated like a child. It just didn’t seem fair.

  She was vaguely aware of someone coming in later and removing a weight from her chest, then covering her up. Rolling onto her side, she stuck her hands under her cheek and sighed. Maybe if God was kind, he’d let her sleep for a week.

  Tony wakened her again at ten to give her another dose of medicine and inflict another garlic plaster on her. She was so zonked out on medication that she was barely coherent, but she remembered giving him a very hard time, telling him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone.

  She awoke again just before two in the afternoon, her head amazingly clear. The whole bedroom reeked of garlic, and the bedding smelled like the inside of a salami factory. She could even taste it in her mouth. But as dubious as she was about most home cures, her chest was so much better she couldn’t believe it. She was still congested, but the congestion was loose and the searing pain was gone.

  Pushing back the covers, Maggie hiked herself up against the pillows and stretched her arms over her head to ease the soreness in her back and shoulders. She felt as if every muscle in her body had been pummeled. Closing her eyes, she raked her fingers through her tangled hair, then sighed and swung her legs off the bed. God, she needed some fresh air.

  Her legs still feeling a little wobbly, she went to the window and opened the blind, then the window. Folding her arms on the window frame, she rested her head on them and closed her eyes again, enjoying the feel of the warm breeze across her face. She smiled a little. Not a hint of garlic out there.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Her heart gave a lurch at the sound of Tony’s voice, but she didn’t lift her head. “I’m breathing fresh air.”

  “Breathe it in bed.”

  “Go away,” she said, her tone peevish. “I need to stand up for a while.”

  He grabbed her around the waist, and before she had a chance to react, he had her back on the bed and covered up. Jamming his hands on his hips, he glared at her. “You’re pushing your luck, lady. I talked to your doctor, and he said this is nothing to mess around with.”

  Gripping the edge of the quilt, Maggie stared up at him with wide eyes. “How did you get the name of my doctor?”

  He picked up the bottle of medication and held it two inches from her nose. “Where do you think?”

  Annoyed by his attitude, Maggie pushed herself up against the pillows and glared back at him. “This isn’t a big deal. I’ve had it before.”

  Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he leaned over her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I don’t know what your problem is, but it’s no crime to get a little help now and then. You scared the hell out of your daughter last night. I ran into her in the alley. She’d gone to get help from a neighbor, only she wasn’t home. Maybe you need to think about that damned independent streak of yours. And how it makes other people feel. I’m here because I told Kelly I’d look out for you.”

  Experiencing an awful sinking feeling in her middle, Maggie stared up at him, wondering what had gotten into him. Then, in a flash of stomach-dropping clarity, she recalled what she’d said to him when he’d come at ten. She had been rude and obnoxious, and not at all nice. Realizing how ungrateful she must have sounded then, and just now when she’d told him to go away, she made a disconcerted gesture with her hand. “Tony, I—”

  He shoved the medicine into her hand, picked up a covered cooking pot off the floor and slapped it on the bed beside her. “Here. You can do whatever you want with this.”

  Snatching up the jacket he had dropped on the foot of the bed, he turned and left the room. Maggie stared at the empty doorway, then closed her eyes. She had really done it this time. Flinging back the covers, she stumbled out of bed and started toward the hall, but the back door slammed before she got as far as her bedroom doorway. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the door frame, so ashamed of herself that she felt like crying. He had every right to be ticked off. She had been downright rude, and the fact that she was sick wasn’t a good excuse. Heaving a sigh, she straightened and raked both hands through her hair. Then she went over to the bed and dug through the jumble of covers for her prescription medicine, unscrewed the cap and drank a slug right from the bottle. She knew her prickliness was a defense mechanism. But it had backfired badly on her this time.

  Putting the top back on the bottle, she set it on the bedside table, then stacked up the pillows and got back into bed. Her throat was unbearably tight, so she lifted the lid on the pot and took out the steaming compress, then very carefully applied it to her chest. Then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, feeling totally wretched. Not once had she thanked him for what he had do
ne.

  Kelly arrived home at four and came straight to her mother’s bedroom. She smiled when she saw that Maggie was awake, “Hi. You look like you’re feeling better.”

  Maggie managed a faint smile. “I am. Much better.” Thanks to Tony, her conscience whispered. She tried to put a little more energy into her smile. “How was your day?”

  Kelly came over and sat down on the foot of her bed, crossing her legs Indian fashion. “Guess what?” she said, a sparkle of enthusiasm in her eyes.

  Feeling nearly unbearable affection for this child of hers, Maggie had to wait for the contraction in her throat to ease before she responded. “What?”

  Kelly gave a little shiver of pleasure. “Tony gave me a ride to school this morning, and we went in the Mustang. You should have seen the expression on the guys’ faces when we pulled into the parking lot. Their eyes were bugging right out of their heads. A bunch of them came over and started asking questions, and Tony pointed at me and said, ‘Ask the expert.’ I thought I was going to die. But it was so neat.”

  Remembering what it was like to be a teenager and not part of the in-crowd, Maggie experienced a heavy burning sensation behind her eyes. Tony Parnelli had handed her daughter a whole load of self-esteem that morning, and Maggie was certain his actions were no accident. Tony Parnelli saw things most people didn’t.

  Folding her arms against a twinge in her chest, she gazed at her daughter. “Did anything else wild and wonderful happen?”

  Kelly shrugged. “Not much. I got 98 percent on my math exam.”

  “Way to go, honey.”

  She made a sheepish little grimace. “I should have got a hundred. I made one stupid mistake.” She shrugged, then looked at her mother. “Do you want me to get you anything? I was going to go over to Stevie’s gym and work out for an hour, if it’s okay with you. She’s got a new step machine that she wants me to try out.”

  Maggie shook her head. “No. You go ahead. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Kelly bounced off the bed and headed toward the door, then stopped and turned. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. I stopped at the bakery on the way home and got Tony one of Mrs. G’s rumand-carrot cakes.” She gave her mother a slightly embarrassed, slightly shy smile. “He wasn’t there, so I put a note on it and left it in the shop, thanking him for being such a good neighbor. Was that okay?”

  Feeling lower than low over her own behavior, Maggie made herself smile. “Very okay, honey. Thanks.”

  Kelly waggled her fingers. “See you later.”

  Maggie listened to her leave the house, then leaned back against the pillows and stared out the window. She had really made a mess of things. Her whole life was out of whack since Tony Parnelli had sauntered up her front walk. Now she was acting like a child, and it was her fifteen-year-old daughter who was acting like an adult. At least someone in the family had the decency and good manners to let him know his efforts were appreciated. And maybe it was better if she just left it at that. Especially after the way she had acted.

  Feeling dangerously close to tears, Maggie shoved the pillows aside and stretched out on her stomach, burying her head in her arms. Damn it, she was not going to start crying again. It was better this way…except it didn’t feel better at all.

  It was going on eight o’clock when Maggie woke up again. She lay in bed, listening to the robins chirp in the backyard, trying to shake the dispirited feeling. Finally she sighed and crawled out of bed. She was going to have a shower, shampoo her hair and put on some real clothes, then make herself some tea.

  Kelly was doing homework at the kitchen table, her math book propped up in front of her against an empty milk glass. She looked up when Maggie entered. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  Maggie went over to the counter, got the teakettle out of the cupboard and filled it under the tap. “Better.” She plugged in the kettle, then turned, bracing her weight against the counter as she considered her daughter. Kelly was sitting hunched over the table with the headphones to her Walkman clamped in her ears, her feet wound in the rungs of the chair. Her thick, glossy hair was pulled back in the usual French braid, a few wisps loose around her face with blond highlights from the sun beginning to show, and her clear, flawless complexion appeared almost translucent in the evening light. She had been such a little tomboy, and now she was almost grown-up. Maggie wondered if her daughter had any idea how pretty she was.

  She moved her math textbook, and Maggie saw a partially eaten wedge of dark cake on a bread-and-butter plate. It looked suspiciously like Mrs. G.’s rum-and-carrot cake. Experiencing a funny flutter around her heart, she slid her hands into the front pockets of her slacks. Clearing her throat, she took a breath and spoke, her voice still hoarse. “Kelly?”

  Pulling back the headphones, Kelly looked up at her. “What?”

  Maggie indicated the cake. “Did you get another cake for us?”

  Kelly shook her head. “No. Tony brought it over.” She stuck her fingers in the crumbs, then licked them off her finger. “He’s leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Didn’t he tell you?”

  At the mention of her nemesis’s name, Maggie experienced an awful sinking sensation. She would give anything if she could just go back and retract all the thoughtless comments she’d made. On top of that, she hadn’t even had the decency to thank him. And now he was leaving town, which made her feel even worse. Maggie released a heavy sigh and answered, “No.”

  Propping her chin in her hand, Kelly stared off into space, a dreamy, wistful look in her eyes. “They’re taking six cars to a string of classic auto shows in the States. And in July, they’re going to hit the stock-car circuit.” She turned her head and looked at her mother. “Do you know how they move those cars, Mom? Mario and Tony’s partners are old racing buddies, and they bought one of those big car-transport carriers to haul them to shows. They must be loaded!”

  Trying to ignore the heavy feeling in her middle, Maggie unplugged the kettle, then opened the tea cannister. “All this to show some cars?”

  There was a sigh of exasperation behind her. “No. Mom. It’s not just to show them. They go to sell them. They buy a car, restore it, then sell it. Didn’t you ever go to car shows with Grandpa?”

  Recalling her experiences with her father, Maggie grinned and dunked a teabag in the cup of hot water. “No. Your grandfather taught me how to shoot pool and he took me to snooker tournaments. He took your aunt Katherine to car shows.”

  There was a giggle behind her. “Aunt Kate? At car shows? In her designer outfits?”

  Maggie tossed the teabag in the container for the compost bin and turned, giving her daughter a pointed look. “That was before your aunt became a high-powered lawyer, my pet. But I’ll have you know your aunt Katherine could rebuild a carburetor with the best of them.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not: I didn’t say she liked it, but she could do it.”

  Still sitting with her head propped on her hand, Kelly released an amused sigh. “Aunt Kate with dirt under her nails. I love it.” Narrowing her eyes, she gave her mother an unwavering stare. “How come you never told me about this before?”

  Cupping the hot mug in her hands, Maggie gave her daughter a wry look. “Because I didn’t want to encourage you.”

  Kelly grinned and made a sassy face at her, then began doodling in her notebook. “Well, if Tony’s Boss 429 is an example of the kind of work they do, they’re going to make a killing. The least-expensive car on that load will likely go for around fifty thousand dollars.”

  Maggie nearly choked, sloshing her tea. “Pardon?”

  Kelly looked up at her, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “These are classics, Mom. Collecting cars.”

  Her eyes watering from tea in her already congested lungs, Maggie wheezed, then finally gasped, “How do you know all this, Kelly Lynn?”

  Kelly grinned. “I read, Mother. And I go to car shows.”

&nb
sp; Still trying to quell the need to cough, Maggie held her breath.

  Kelly cocked one eyebrow, mimicking her Aunt Kate. “Nice show, Mary Margaret.”

  Finally suppressing the urge to cough, Maggie wiped her eyes and set down her mug. She reached for a paper towel in the dispenser under the cupboard, tore off a square, then crouched down and began wiping up the tea she’d spilled.

  There was a peculiar offhand tone in Kelly’s voice when she spoke again. “Did he stay all night?”

  Not at all comfortable with the tangent this conversation was taking, Maggie wadded up the paper towel and tossed it in the garbage, then fixed her daughter with a reprimanding look. “Honestly, Kelly Lynn. What kind of question is that?”

  Leaning back in the chair, Kelly began tapping her pencil on the table, studying her mother with far too much shrewdness in her eyes. She even had the nerve to smirk. “So did he?”

  Feeling pretty much cornered, Maggie avoided her gaze by dumping her tea down the drain. Knowing she was probably stretching the truth, but not sure she was actually lying, she finally responded, her tone crisp with annoyance, “I have no idea.”

  “Hmm,” said her daughter.

  Maggie put the lid back on the tea canister and pushed it into place, then wiped off the counter. She could feel Kelly watching her, and she wished she’d stop. Her daughter was just a little too sharp for her liking.

  The tap tap tap of Kelly’s pencil finally stopped, and Maggie let her breath go. She finished wiping off the counter, then folded the dishcloth and hung it over the faucet. Her little burst of energy gone, she was considering whether she should just go back to bed or curl up with a pillow and blanket and watch some TV, when Kelly spoke again. “Too bad he’s going to be gone for four weeks.”

  Maggie didn’t like the too-casual tone in her voice. Nor did she like how her stomach did an unnerving nosedive. Irritated at herself, she picked up a box of tissues and headed toward the living room. He was leaving. Good. Maybe now she would be able to get her head back together. Her reaction to Tony Parnelli was nothing more than a case of middle-age crazies.