Birds of a Feather (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Why don’t you quit playing psychologist and go back to bird-watching?” All thoughts of kisses in the moonlight had now vanished. Bill wasn’t like one of those would-be suitors her mother paraded through the house, those poor clods she then brushed off like so many pesky mosquitoes. His analytical CPA mind would not be satisfied until he had her figured out.

  He reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her face. “Don’t be afraid, Mary Ann. I would never hurt you.” The ball of his thumb made gentle circles on her cheek.

  The lazy movement of his thumb rekindled the aching need Mary Ann had felt when they had first kissed, before the talk of Gloria and the past. But it could not be a simple, uninvolved kiss now. Bill was prodding at ghosts, poking into dark corners, peeking behind closed doors. It was time for a dignified exit. Dignified exits were important to her. In the last year she had perfected them almost to an art. Bill made it hard, though.

  She stepped backward, away from the mesmerizing power of his gentle hands.

  “Why don’t you go into the woods and try to spot a wise old owl, Bill? You two have so much in common.”

  Head high, she marched off into the night. It was one of her better exits, and it was a masterpiece of deception. Mary Ann felt neither haughty nor contemptuous. She felt as if she had been plunged into flames and then dunked into ice water.

  The chill night air ripped through her dress. She had left her shawl at the lodge, but she’d rather have been burned at the stake than turn back to get it.

  She undressed in the dark in her tent and crawled into her sleeping bag. She tossed and turned, trying to rid herself of the disturbing emotions Bill had set loose inside her, the conflict over the past. And more than that. Ever so much more. He had turned loose wild things that licked along her nerve endings, delicious things that surged through her like magic.

  She closed her eyes, but it was a long time before she slept.

  Chapter 5

  Mary Ann had that dream again. The one where she was chasing Harvey through a maze of speedways, asking him where love had gone. Her legs and arms were heavy as she reached out to him and grasped only thin air. The dream shifted and his car was in flames, spinning out of control on the Talladega Speedway.

  She woke up drenched with sweat. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her cotton gown and sniffed. Why had Harvey gone and died before they had straightened out their marriage? And why had she felt guilty because he had stopped loving her? There had been no explanations, and now there never would be any. She just hated Harvey. That was all. He had left her children fatherless and her in limbo, in a world filled with men whom she dared not trust, a world that forced her to seek her happiness through independence.

  If he could have lived a little longer, maybe they could have patched the marriage, if not for themselves, for the sake of the twins. Maybe the love could have been put back together. Maybe all the misunderstandings and hurts, the guilt and pain could have been shoved under the rug and they could have started over, fresh and dewy-eyed as when they had first begun.

  And maybe elephants would fly next Tuesday.

  There was no use dwelling on the past. The best thing to do was to get on with her life, to make sure her boys were happy and to follow her wacky, wonderful mother’s advice to “get back on the merry-go-round and catch the brass ring this time.”

  Mary Ann took her brush from her duffel bag and began to untangle her long hair. She smiled as she thought of her mother. The last time she had taken her mother’s advice she had ended up spending the evening with a man who whistled through his teeth when he talked and pinched her backside at every opportunity. Her mother had said, “Go on, Mary Ann. He’s handsome and charming and loaded. You might end up with a rich husband.”

  Instead, she had ended up with bruises.

  It had been like that ever since Harvey’s death. First, there had been all the anger and numbness and guilt, and then the visit to her good friend Jack, a clinical psychologist, who had told her to cut out the guilt trip and start taking charge of her life. “Your boys need to see you getting on with life,” he’d said. “They need to feel secure in a world without their father.”

  Jack advised her to take the boys new places, to meet new people and do new things.

  Her mother had wholeheartedly and enthusiastically agreed with Jack. Every time Mary Ann turned around, her mother had another foolproof plan designed to bring Mary Ann eternal happiness and everlasting joy, and, of course, riches. Sometimes her mother had dollar signs instead of eyes.

  Mary Ann, lovely young widow, had sallied forth into the world—at her mother’s prodding—and tackled bowling, tennis, and skeet shooting, all in one day. She had ended up with two pulled calf muscles and a shoulder that stayed black and blue for a week. Last Thanksgiving she had taken the boys to New York where they went goggle-eyed at FAO Swartz, and then she’d taken all of them to the Florida Keys where she tackled scuba diving. Her mother had been certain she would meet and bring home somebody as rich as Donald Trump. She had brought home a sunburn that peeled. She had been urged—Mom again—to attend a workshop in Mexico City that promised to teach bullfighting. Her mother could picture herself with a son-in-law in a red cape. She had gone around the house for a week shouting “Ole.” Mary Ann had declined both the bullfighting and the bullfighter.

  Her mother had kept a constant parade of men going through her life. Men that Mary Ann rejected one by one. They were too fat or too skinny or too tall or too short. They talked too much or didn’t talk enough. She was sure one snored and positive another had false teeth. One talked through his nose and one didn’t talk at all. The boys’ big St. Bernard had scared him into yesterday.

  Her mother’s most frequent lament was “But, Mary Ann, Harvey’s dead! What you need is a good man.”

  Between trips to the beach with the boys and running her dress shop and dashing back and forth to concerts and shooing her mother’s parade of men out the back door, she had replied, “I don’t need a man, Mother. I’m too busy. Besides, I’m doing just fine by myself.”

  And it was true. Somewhere between the sunburn and the bruises, Mary Ann had started enjoying her independence. She had learned that she could meet the house payments and run her business and raise the boys by herself. And no one was there to criticize the way she did it. Nobody griped about not having any clean socks and nobody forgot to kiss her good-bye at the front door.

  She could do crazy, wacky, zany things that sometimes panned out and sometimes didn’t. But it didn’t matter. She was free to make the choice. That was the important thing.

  She answered to no one and enjoyed it. She hardly ever hated Harvey, except once a week on Tuesdays and every tenth Sunday. Every now and then she would look at a man—a man like Bill Benson—and wonder if love was possible. But the thought was always fleeting, for she had learned with Harvey that love didn’t last. It was best just to leave the whole thing alone. Be independent. Have fun. But don’t get involved. Hearts get stomped on when there is involvement.

  Mary Ann slipped into a pair of jeans and a bright red cotton knit sweater. The sweater reminded her of the scarlet tanager she and Bill had seen the day before, the bird that soared through the woods like a flash of fire, filling the air with its music.

  She pushed thoughts of Bill and the scarlet bird firmly aside and hurried to the lodge.

  Bill was waiting for her, standing near the front of the lodge under a spruce tree. Her shawl dangled from his hands.

  For a moment she thought of pretending she didn’t see him, and then rejected that idea as childish. She would just say hi and pass casually on by as if he were any other man. After all, he was just any other man, wasn’t he?

  He stepped into her path and her casual greeting died on her lips. The nearness of him jolted her like a bolt of lightning.

  “Good morning, Mary Ann. You look good enough to eat in red.” When he smiled like that, something inside her melted.

  “You’d prob
ably get indigestion if you tried.” She had to keep a wall between herself and the man standing before her.

  “You’re in your usual chipper mood, I see.” There was no rancor in his remark, just easygoing acceptance. “Are you always this grouchy in the morning?”

  “Yes. It keeps away pests.”

  He chuckled. “A new insect repellent? I’ll have to tell Harriet. She says mosquitoes are about to carry her off.”

  Mary Ann felt like stamping her foot. Why did he always have to be so calm and understanding and downright charming? Why couldn’t he be jealous and insufferable and easy to hate?

  “If you’ll hand me that shawl you’re dragging in the dirt, I’ll go to breakfast. I’m starving.”

  He hesitated, as if weighing her words. “I can think of several things better than handing you this shawl,” he drawled. “We could pretend it’s a magic carpet, like this”—he flipped the shawl so that it billowed between them—”and fly away together to Tahiti. Or I could capture you in it, like this.” Swiftly, he wound the shawl around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides and pulling her against him. His voice became husky. “And I could carry you off to my tent and make you forget about pests.”

  His eyes burned into hers and she was powerless to move. He smelled like pipe tobacco and wind and sun. He felt like moonlight serenades and passion-filled nights and Christmas-morning joy. Her heart was having a difficult time being hard.

  She stood for a moment in his warm embrace. Almost, she was tempted to yield to the feelings that possessed her. She was tempted to loosen her cocky grip on the world and cling to Bill.

  “That line would be perfect for a snake charmer, Bill,” she said. “Why don’t you go out into the woods and charm a few snakes?” It took a lot of guts to say that to Bill, especially with him standing close enough to hear the hammering of her heart.

  He brushed his lips across her hair before releasing her. “I think I’m going to enjoy our little morning chats, Mary Ann. There’s never a dull moment with you.”

  “Why don’t you go jump in a hole, Bill? I have to sharpen my claws.”

  “Yes, my Goldilocks.” He was grinning at her.

  “You know who Goldilocks’s companion was. A big black bear.”

  “You must know the rest of the story too. She slept in the bear’s bed. I can hardly wait.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she flung at him as she walked to the lodge. She purposely outdistanced him with her long strides. She had to get away from him or she might do something foolish, like attack him on the front porch. She giggled. What would Harriet say to that?

  Sally greeted her inside the door. “Mary Ann!” She was breathless with excitement. “Just wait till you hear! I’ve met the most wonderful man.”

  “Who is it, Sally? I want to hear all about him.”

  They sat down at a table and Sally reached for a biscuit, slathered it lavishly with jam and butter, and plunged into her tale of romance. “Well, you didn’t come to supper last night.... Were you sick, Mary Ann?” She looked up in quick concern.

  “No. Just tired. I fell asleep after that all-day trek in the woods. I’m not used to birding.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. By the end of this week you’ll be a pro.” She paused long enough to take a big bite. “Otho Riggs joined me for supper. He’s a retired lawyer, quiet, charming, intelligent, and skinny. Can you imagine that? Somebody as skinny as a rail taking a liking to a butterball like me?” Sally chuckled.

  “He sounds like a smart man to me, Sally. You have a warmth that lots of skinny women don’t have.” Mary Ann took a sip of her coffee, her eyes gazing across the dining room at Bill. He was deep in conversation with the Doctors Cottonby and looked magnificent and solid and—Mary Ann quickly averted her eyes. Looking at Bill made her feel warm and twitchy and restless.

  “After supper,” Sally went on, “we walked in the woods. Otho said he had heard the call of an eastern barred owl. We waited on the redwood bench in that clearing behind the bathhouse. Finally, we heard it—eight hoots, unmistakably the eastern barred owl.” Sally reached for another biscuit and then changed her mind. “I might just try to lose a pound or two. Otho’s wonderful, Mary Ann. He got so carried away when he heard the owl that he hugged me.”

  Mary Ann tried to enter into Sally’s excitement, but she was having trouble concentrating on the story. Bill was sending silent signals from across the room. Or was it the other way around?

  Sally was oblivious to everything except her own romantic encounter. “Otho’s early-birding it this morning, but we’re meeting later for the trip.”

  Mary Ann nodded and smiled and continued thinking of Bill. The word trip slipped by her unnoticed.

  The tweeting of Harriet’s whistle interrupted Sally’s monologue. “I have exciting news for all of you,” Harriet announced. “A record number of birds were spotted yesterday, and the Doctors Cottonby reported hearing the call of a red-cockaded woodpecker!” A murmur of excitement ran through the group. “While they didn’t actually see the rare bird, there is every reason to believe it is in the woods hiding and waiting for some conscientious birder to spot it.”

  Mary Ann figured the elusive woodpecker was the one who had decorated her head. If she ever spotted it, she would pull out its tail feathers.

  “And now I know you’re all dying to get packed for our overnight trip. Just bring bedrolls. The weatherman has promised a clear night. In case of rain, however, there is a lodge we can use.” Harriet held up her hands as if to ward off horror. “Big enough, of course, to provide separate sleeping quarters for the men and women.” Her voice rose an octave higher on separate and she blushed a vivid scarlet.

  Mary Ann turned to Sally. “What’s all this business about an overnight trip?” She panicked at the thought of being in the woods with nothing between her and Bill except a sleeping bag and the night air.

  “Harriet had it posted on the bulletin board last night. It’s just about five miles west of here, Mary Ann. Don’t worry about the walking.”

  Walking was the least of her worries.

  “We go there every year to record the warblers and to watch the night birds. You’ll love it.” Sally winked and punched Mary Ann in the ribs. “I can’t wait to get Otho out under a tree with a big old moon shining down. I bet we won’t see a single night hawk.”

  Mary Ann’s brain was reeling. She wouldn’t go. She couldn’t go.

  “I’m not feeling well, Sally. I think I’ll stay behind and rest.”

  “That’s an option you have, of course. The cooks will be here at the lodge. And the caretaker.” Sally’s face was filled with concern. “Maybe I should stay with you.”

  “I won’t hear of it.” Mary Ann put a hand on Sally’s arm. “I’m not that sick. I guess I’m just not used to all this outdoor living. A good day of lolling around the tent reading and I’ll be good as new.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” Sally looked relieved. “You run along, honey. I’ll tell Harriet so she can alert the cooks.”

  Mary Ann gave her a quick hug and left the lodge. She hadn’t told a white lie exactly, just a truth with spots. She was unaccustomed to that much exercise, and she did have an ache. But it was not the kind of ache that could be cured with rest. She kicked a stone in her path and hurt her toe then grimaced in satisfaction.

  At least now she had a legitimate pain. She bent over to rub her toe.

  “Temper, temper, Goldilocks.”

  She looked up into the amused face of Bill Benson. He was the last person in the world she wanted to see.

  “Why don’t you go chase after that rare cock-a-doodle bird and leave me alone?”

  “And miss all the fun? The way you kicked that rock, I expected it to go sailing into orbit around the moon. “ He knelt in front of her. “Let me take a look at that.”

  “Will you unhand me, you idiot? It’s just a bruised toe.” She struggled in vain against his firm grip.

  “Be still.” He stri
pped her shoe off and cast it aside. “Sometimes these injuries require a lengthy recuperation.” His strong brown fingers were massaging her painful toes with quick, sure strokes.

  “You are out of your mind.” Little prickles of heat shot up her leg.

  He continued doing those magical things as if she had not even spoken. “I strongly recommend that you spend the next few days in bed. With the doctor.” His brown eyes sparkled with humor.

  “That remark shows the workings of a depraved mind.” She pulled her foot free of his grasp. “Where did you put my shoe?”

  “How can you be thinking of shoes at a time like this?” He stood up and leaned so close she lost her breath.

  What was any sane, red-blooded woman to do but trace the buttons down the front of his shirt?

  “A time like what?”

  “Oh, a time of critical injuries and critical needs.”

  His lips brushed hers lightly before taking complete charge. Shoes and toes and cockaded woodpeckers were forgotten. Somewhere above her, a bird scolded, and if that thing slithering across her feet was a snake, she really didn’t care. She was only vaguely aware of the distant sounds of birders making ready for an overnight trip into the woods.

  “How’s the toe?” he finally said.

  “What toe?”

  He lifted a lock of her hair then watched as it drifted through his fingers. It was one of those breathless, golden moments you’d later wish you had captured in a glass bottle. Sunlight was everywhere around them, and the scent of orange blossoms was so strong Mary Ann was certain they’d been magically transported to a citrus grove.

  He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered. “Mary Ann, what am I going to do with you?”

  How could she think with all that citrus in the air?

  This would never do. She might get the idea the legend of Sunday Cove was real. He might get the ridiculous idea that she was attracted to him.

  Oh, help.

  “Find my shoe?”

  He gave her a look that heated her skin and probably sizzled the roots of her hair, and then bent down and to retrieve her shoe. Everything was going just as she’d planned until he put it back on her foot. And he took his time about it, too, nearly a week and a half, or so it seemed.