Cold Tea on a Hot Day

by Matlock, Curtiss Ann

  His eyes were intent upon her, blue as the summer sky, and with a hint of something that caused her to hold her breath for a fraction of a second.

  Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I already have dinner plans.”

  “Well now…there’s always another night. How about Sunday night? What’s your preference—steak, chicken fry or Mexican?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She brushed at imaginary stray hairs and looked at the door.

  “I suppose this is because you have a standing date with Lindsey.”

  “I am dating Parker at this time, yes.” Which he well knew. She moved a half step toward the door, indicating that she wanted to go.

  Her editor, however, leaned his shoulder against the door, fully blocking her in with him.

  “Just what is goin’ on with you and Lindsey? I have it from him that you two are engaged, and I have it from you that you two are going together and considering being engaged. Which is it? Engaged or not engaged?”

  “Parker’s and my relationship is not any of your concern.” She felt trapped.

  “I have the concern of being attracted to you.”

  She gazed at her boss, and he gazed at her. A certain glint came into his eyes.

  “You’ve known Lindsey for many years, I take it, both of you livin’ here in this small town. Since Lindsey is the one who told me you two were engaged, and you are the one who has said you’re goin’ together and considering engagement, I’m assuming you aren’t wild about acceptin’ the man’s proposal. It seems to me that your behavior could be considered a little on the rude side. Just how long do you intend to keep the poor man in suspense?”

  “It seems to me that your training as a journalist has caused you to do a lot of supposin’ into private lives that are none of your business.” She reached out and took hold of the door handle.

  His jaw tight now, he moved aside. She jerked the door open and left.

  When she was halfway to her desk, where she had left the children with coloring pens, a loud banging came from behind her in Tate’s office. She, Charlotte and June, who was nearby at the copy machine, turned. Nothing could be seen through the partially opened door.

  Charlotte immediately marched herself into his office and seconds later returned and said, particularly to Marilee, “He kicked his trash can across the room.”

  She had provoked him, she knew it very well, but was too wrought up to feel remorse. He pricked her in the wrong places. She hoped she did not get fired.

  The only car in the lot of the Lindsey Veterinary Clinic was a blue Honda that belonged to Deedee, the receptionist. It had white silhouettes of different breeds of dogs stuck all over its rear window.

  Marilee pulled to a stop beside the Honda. Munro needing shots gave her the perfect excuse to stop by. Parker had mentioned the shots from the very first day and had kept forgetting to give them to the dog.

  Why would she need an excuse to stop by?

  Whipping down the visor, she checked her face in the mirror to make certain she didn’t have mascara smudges. Come to supper tonight, Parker. No, that wouldn’t do. She needed to speak to him alone, which meant going out.

  Her lipstick had faded, but she would not freshen it and appear so obviously after a man with Corrine looking at her. Good heavens, what was happening to her? She flipped the visor back up and grabbed her purse.

  Let’s go out to supper, Parker. She didn’t think she should be the one to ask. She had asked him last night if he still wanted to get married. It was his turn to speak of the matter. He had said he would call her, but he hadn’t. Although he might have called that morning, after they had left the house.

  I’m sorry about the interruption last night. The rain wasn’t her fault, though. Her son busting his mouth open and needing her attention had not been her fault, either. Why in the world did she feel so at fault?

  She realized then that Corrine was out and walking to the clinic door, while Willie Lee remained sitting in the back seat. She opened his door.

  “Why aren’t you and Munro getting out?”

  “Mun-ro doesn’t want to go in there.” His blue eyes blinked behind his thick glasses.

  “Oh. Well, he has to, sugar. He needs to get vaccinated so he won’t get sick. Parker will give him a shot, so that Munro won’t get rabies. He could get rabies from a skunk that might bite him.” She gazed at both her son and the dog, who sat with his chin as if permanently stuck to Willie Lee’s thigh. “Besides that, honey, you and Corrine both have flea bites from Munro sleeping with you. We need to get something to help Munro with fleas…so he can continue to sleep with you,” she added in a deliberate and measured tone.

  She waited, gazing at him.

  Willie Lee gave a big sigh and inched out of the seat. “Come on, Mun-ro.”

  Marilee followed her son and the dog to the building. I am ready to talk about this thing, Parker. Are you? She was ready to get this thing settled between them. I’ll marry you, Parker.

  She took hold of the glass door and they all entered; Corrine in the lead, Willie Lee trudging inside, and Munro slinking with his tail dragging.

  Marilee, stepping into the waiting room that smelled of disinfectant, didn’t think right this minute, in front of the children, was the place to have any sort of marriage discussion. But if she didn’t, maybe neither one of them would have time to get together to get it said. Maybe she should just say it, and they could work out the details later.

  “Doc’s not in,” Deedee told them immediately.

  “Oh.” She had not given this possibility a thought.

  Deedee popped chewing gum. “He’s out on a couple of calls.” She stood and looked over the counter at Munro, who had lain down, his paws on the floor, trying his best to sink out of sight. “I can page him if this is an emergency.”

  “No…it’s not an emergency. We were just going to get Munro his shots.”

  “I don’t give shots, but I can sell them to you, and you can do it to your own. Lots of people do.”

  Marilee looked down at Munro, whose eyes popped wide and stared at her.

  My thoughts exactly. “I think I’d better wait for Parker.”

  Munro got to his feet, ready to go.

  Aunt Vella was asleep and snoring in the big wingback chair. Willie Lee went straight to the chair, leaned on the arm and watched her with fascination.

  “Willie Lee, come away from there. Don’t wake Aunt Vella.”

  Marilee spoke in a hushed voice, but Aunt Vella’s eyes popped open. “I’m not asleep. I was just restin’ my eyes.”

  “You were snor-ring,” Willie Lee said.

  “Oh, you’re a little wild boy.”

  Willie Lee gazed at his great-aunt, judging the truth of what she said, not grinning until she poked him in the side with her finger. “I am,” he said, giggling.

  “Has Parker called?” Marilee asked.

  “You had some phone calls, but I didn’t answer them. Two came while I was hanging clothes on the line, and I wasn’t about to run in here from the yard. It’s a lot easier to let the answerin’ machine get them. That way I won’t mess up and forget to give you the message.”

  Marilee saw the light blinking on her machine. Three blinks. She punched the button.

  “Marilee, this is Charlene. I wanted to let you know we’ll be bringing my cousin Leanne to Parker’s barbecue on Saturday. I don’t know if you know, but she’s livin’ with us for a while. That’s why her horses are here. Oh, Jojo will be coming, but Danny J. won’t, so really we’ll be the same number as expected. Leanne’s makin’ her salsa recipe and bringin’ it. It’s really good. Bye.”

  The machine beeped, and a deep male voice said, “This is Rick returnin’ your call, Marilee. I got the steaks for Saturday. All set.”

  One more beep. “If you are thinking of siding your house, call Martin’s Home Siding. We’re runnin’ a special. 555-2323.”

  That was the end of the messages. Nothing from Parker.<
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  In the kitchen, Aunt Vella was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the children. Marilee poured glasses of apple juice and asked Aunt Vella if she would be available to watch the children that evening.

  Aunt Vella said she would love to do so, and Willie Lee, grinning, said, “You will watch me, a wild boy.”

  Aunt Vella poked him and got him giggling, then she asked Marilee, “Where are you going, dear?”

  “I think I may have a date with Parker, if I can get ahold of him.”

  A couple of hours ought to be enough time to find out if Parker still wanted to get married, and to tell him that she would. She would like to be back home in time to put the children to bed.

  Marilee, sitting at her desk and writing club reports on the new whiz-bang computer, cocked her head to listen to the voices float from the kitchen.

  “Hello, missy.”

  “Hello, Mr. Tate.”

  Marilee’s heartbeat fluttered. Which is it—engaged or not engaged? She recalled his blue eyes, so intense when he had asked.

  He was her boss, the man who paid her salary, the man who irritated her and who she found too attractive by far.

  “How are you today?” His voice could charm birds from trees.

  “Fii-ine.”

  Marilee found herself leaning forward, as if to see around the door. Ridiculous. She got up and went to the kitchen, where her boss stood in the middle of the room. Corrine was beside him, looking at Marilee with deep, dark eyes.

  “Peace.” Her boss and neighbor held up offerings—a fresh pitcher of tea with one hand, and a small square bakery box with the other. “Cake…a double-chocolate from Miss Bonita’s. She puts pure chocolate chips in them, she assured me.”

  She gazed at him, trying to get perspective on this thing. He wore his enticing, although at the moment reserved, grin.

  Turning, she went to the counter and picked up the clean pitcher waiting there. “Here’s your other pitcher. You sure have a lot of them.”

  “Muriel left her dishes. When she left her old life, she really left it.”

  He set his offerings on the table. “I apologize for my behavior this mornin’, Miss Marilee. You are right—your relationship with Lindsey is not my business. I behaved rudely, and I’m sorry.” He looked her in the eye.

  It took her several seconds to find a response.

  “Apology accepted.” She took a deep breath and then went for it. “I believe I owe you an apology, as well. I perhaps have not been clear about where I stand. Parker and I have a long-standing relationship that is precious to me. It’s not that I don’t find you an attractive and charming man. It’s that I am committed to the relationship I have with Parker.” The statement, once given voice, gave her a clear focus.

  “I respect your choice.” His summer-sky-blue eyes met hers without wavering.

  “Thank you.”

  Then his grin came soft and sweet, and he opened the bakery box, saying, “If you would go ahead and cut this cake, I could help y’all polish it off.”

  Tate Holloway not only could make an apology, he could sweep everyone along with him.

  At that moment Vella and Willie Lee came to the door and spied the cake. Corrine was already leaning across the table, putting her finger in the icing.

  “I have vanilla ice cream for those who want it,” Marilee said.

  They all sat round the kitchen table, where Tate regaled them with stories of being a boy in East Texas and eating homemade ice cream laced with overripe peaches salvaged after the pickers had finished with an orchard.

  “We cut off the bad places. Mmm-mm…nothin’ sweeter than overripe peaches. They’re one secret to life.” He bestowed his wonderful grin upon the children, casting a side glance to Marilee.

  Marilee took a bite of rich chocolate and thought that she would not have any appetite for supper with Parker.

  The television flickered black and white—the old movie channel which was showing the musical 42nd Street—although Marilee was too busy obsessing about how Parker had not called her to be following the movie’s story line. There really wasn’t a story line, anyway, just excuses for dancing that was nice to watch.

  When the telephone at her elbow rang, she jumped six inches, then snatched it up before it could ring again. The hands of the mantle clock read 10:55.

  “Hello,” she said, clicking off the television at the same time. Aunt Vella’s snores continued with rhythm from the front bedroom.

  “Hi, Marilee.” It was Parker—at last.

  “Hi.” After all the waiting, she was now uncertain of what to say.

  “I got your message, but I just got in. I’ve been out on calls all day.”

  “Oh. You must be pooped.”

  “I am.”

  A pause.

  She plowed on into it. “I called because I was going to suggest we go to dinner. Aunt Vella was going to watch the children for a couple of hours.” Explanation seemed in order. “We need to talk, Parker. We’ve kept getting interrupted, I know.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier.”

  “Oh, I understand. I know you’re busy.”

  She wished she did not feel so annoyed at hearing him say yeah. Yeah had no sense of positiveness about it. She really needed some positiveness from Parker.

  He said, “Yeah. It’s been one of those weeks, I guess.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  When she had not said anything for a full minute, he put forth, “Do you think you could get Vella to watch the children tomorrow night? We could go to Rodeo Rio’s.”

  Whew. He had spoken slowly, but at least he had taken part.

  “Vella has her Rose Club meeting. But I’ll see if I can get Jenny. And let’s go up to Michelina’s. It’s quieter there.”

  There she went, taking charge again. That was a major problem between them. But Parker simply did not think of things like atmosphere in a restaurant.

  Main Street in Valentine shut up by nine o’clock on weeknights. Now, at eleven, a few flags that shop owners did not take in remained, seeming to have lost color in the lights from the old-fashioned pole lamps. Fred Grace, who had been balancing his accounts, wearily closed the door of his florist shop and got into his car and drove away, leaving a totally empty street.

  Belinda, gazing out the open window of her apartment over the drugstore, watched Fred’s car turn left at the Church Street stoplight. Behind her, from the bathroom, Lyle called “Ba-lin-da,” in a tone that struck her as being very much like her father’s. He wanted to know had she bought him any new shaving cream. She always insisted he shave before they went to bed. The one good thing she felt she had was her complexion.

  Over at the newspaper, Tate turned off the light in his office. A security light in the rear of the big room cast a dim glow, illuminating his way to the front door. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and made certain the door had caught, then stood there for some seconds giving The Valentine Voice sign a look, before shoving his hands into his pockets and heading home.

  A big red one-ton truck coming down Church rumbled to a stop at the red light at the intersection of Main. He saw the barrel-racing logo on the door and then recognized the blond woman jogger behind the wheel. He had learned her name was Leanne Overton. She turned right, heading out of town, and he crossed the street.

  At the police station, light flowed out through the glass doors, and officer Dorothy Jean Riddle could be seen inside, standing at the reception desk.

  Tate briefly considered stopping in and chatting. Coming back to his office and working had not been able to banish his blues. Maybe what he needed was some good conversation.

  Deciding that the last thing he wanted was idle chitchat, he headed on up Church Street in long strides.

  I am mad, God.

  He had done the right thing in going over and apologizing to Marilee. It had sure been hard. He had thought that by now he would find apologizing a little easier, having been obligated to
do it so many times in his life.

  I let her go, God. I let go of this woman, but I don’t seem to be able to let go of the desire for her.

  He kicked at some pebbles as he crossed the alleyway running behind the row of Main Street buildings. He kept on walking and found his hands were fists in his pockets. He pulled them free and began to jog lightly.

  Whatever is meant to be or not be with Marilee James is in Your hands. I give it all over to You, right along with all the other parts of my life.

  There. He had done it, yes-sir. But there was no way he would like it.

  The Valentine Voice

  View from the Editor’s Desk

  by Tate Holloway

  Next week, our good congressmen and women up at the state house take up a discussion about whether or not to change the law so that coffins can be purchased at places other than funeral homes. Although this idea has been kicked around for a long time in private circles, this is the first time it has made it to the state house. I predict this first official discussion will be quickly tossed aside; however, the idea is not going to go away.

  As far as I know, every single person who dies is buried in a coffin purchased from the funeral home that handles the funeral. There is cremation, but discussion about that is better saved for another editorial. Now, one may call different funeral homes and shop around for price, however, the only place to get a coffin is at a funeral home. The point I am bringing forth is that what we have is a monopoly on coffin sales by funeral homes, and when there is a monopoly, higher prices are generally the result. It seems to me that corporations in this country have been broken up because of just such situations.

  What if one could purchase a coffin at any number of stores? What if, say, one could shop for a coffin at Kmart or Wal-Mart? No doubt a person could save considerably on the cost of the coffin, maybe as much as half in comparison to private funeral home prices.

  It is this editor’s view that not only would one save quite a bit of money, but I suspect the selection would be greater should coffins be readily available in regular stores. Also, anyone who is forward-thinking would be able to watch for a sale, buy the coffin and keep it in their garage, right on hand, and save their loved ones a lot of expense and trouble when the inevitable time comes. I think this sounds like a good deal all the way around.