Birds of a Feather (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Now, Mary Ann. You know what your doctor said.”

  “I do, and I don’t care. It’s time for me to settle back down and get on with our life here in Sunday Cove.”

  Judy sniffed. And then she moved closer to Mary Ann and sniffed again.

  “Is that orange blossoms I smell?”

  “It is NOT.” Truth to tell, the sweet mysterious scent had followed her all the way from the mountain retreat and was with her still, giving her goose bumps and making her feel slightly off kilter, as if she had lost something important but couldn’t quite remember what it was. “It’s that forsythia blooming outside the door.”

  “Forsythia has no fragrance. Besides, I know orange blossoms when I smell them. It’s the legend. You met somebody, didn’t you?”

  Mary Ann was saved by Mitch tugging on her hand and asking, “What’s a legend, Mommy?”

  “I’ll explain later. Let’s go get some of Clara’s pie.”

  o0o

  Bill’s car had somehow picked up a strange scent of citrus while he was on the retreat. He stopped on the way home to purchase one of those little sachets that was supposed to make the car’s interior smell like cedar. All it did was give him a headache and the creeping conviction that he should be heading south instead of east.

  Still, he was not unhappy to get back home where a stack of tax forms waited in his office. Every year, no matter how he pressed his clients to get their information to him early enough for an April 15th deadline, he ended up filing late forms for people who wouldn’t know deadline if they tripped over it. They were the unconventional ones.

  Like Mary Ann.

  He wasn’t going to think about her, about the things he’d do differently if he could. He wouldn’t tease her as much and call her Goldilocks. He’d try to find out what she wanted to do instead of insisting she trail along behind him in the woods. He could have even taken her back down the mountain to a real restaurant, on a real date. Bob, the cook he’d known for years, would have lent him a car.

  He turned on his computer and opened a tax file. Numbers, that was the ticket. Math was precise, predictable, even soothing.

  Bill started crunching numbers, but that crazy citrus scent had followed him to his office. He got up and opened a window, stood there looking out over the mountain he thought of as his own, Doe Mountain. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, but the smoke curling around his head didn’t smell like tobacco at all. It smelled like orange blossoms.

  It smelled like Mary Ann’s skin.

  He could call her. But what good would it do? She was no more likely to say yes over the telephone than she had at the retreat.

  And besides, she had a point: he knew nothing of her life in Sunday Cove, her boys, her mother, her business.

  Though Bill had dedicated his professional life to numbers and had failed in his marriage, he had a fanciful side. He still believed in things like fate and magic and true love.

  He also believed in patience. If you asked him whether he had a motto, he’d probably tell you, “All good things come to those who wait.”

  So he returned to his desk and the comfort of his numbers.

  And he waited.

  Chapter 11

  Mary Ann wrestled with the ladder as she dragged it from the storeroom in her shop. Perspiration trickled from under her ponytail and ran down the sides of her face. She wondered for the sixteenth time why she had come to her boutique on a Sunday afternoon in the hottest day in July to put up new shelves.

  She hummed a little tune to keep up her confidence as she shoved the ladder into place and climbed upward, hammer in hand. She glanced around to be certain the closed sign was on the door. She had left the door unlocked because Sunday Cove was that kind of town, but she didn’t want a customer to walk in and catch her looking like last year’s bird’s nest.

  Satisfied that the sign was in place, she turned back to her task. The first two nails hammered into place like a dream. There really was nothing to this carpentry business.

  She scrambled down and measured her shelves again to be sure she knew where to drive the next two nails. She was beginning to feel like a squirrel. As she lifted the shelf and started to mount the ladder, she discovered she couldn’t climb with her hands full.

  Finally, she decided to lean the shelf against the ladder, climb up, then reach down and drag the shelf up behind her. Positively brilliant, she told herself. That just proved that she had been right to reject Bill’s proposal last May. She didn’t need a man.

  Still, she never failed to think of Bill without smelling those mystical orange blossoms.

  She shook her head to clear it. She hadn’t heard from Bill Benson since the retreat. It was ridiculous to still be thinking of him as if it were only yesterday. He was just like Harvey after all, declaring his love and then disappearing in his blue sedan, never to be heard from again. Not one letter, not one phone call, not one word from Bill Benson since May.

  Love didn’t last. How easy it was for Bill to say “I love you” and drive off into the mountain mists.

  She leaned down, got a grip on the shelf, and started dragging it upward. The ladder wobbled.

  “If you collapse on me, I’ll burn you for kindling,” she threatened her precarious perch.

  Biting her lower lip in concentration, she jerked on the shelf. It was caught on something.

  “Come on, stupid. Why don’t you cooperate?” She was perspiring in earnest now. Her shorts and tee shirt were beginning to feel like a second skin.

  “Need any help, Goldilocks?”

  Suddenly there was Bill, leaning casually against the doorjamb of her shop as if he were accustomed to popping in every day. And he looked positively, absolutely, scrumptious. His white polo shirt contrasted sharply with his sun-bronzed skin.

  Her shelf clattered to the floor. Backing up the ladder, she seated herself on top. She was having a hard time deciding whether to kill Bill dead as the dodo or to take a flying leap into his arms. She settled for glaring at him.

  “You have some nerve, barging in here without so much as a phone call. Not one word since May!”

  “I thought you said no. Have you changed your mind?” He flashed that persuasive smile she remembered all too well, and continued that lazy, big-cat lounging against the door.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t go for love ‘em and leave ‘em types.” She thrust her jaw out. “How did you get here anyway?” If he had come to resurrect a dead affair, he would get no encouragement from her.

  “Through the door. It was unlocked.”

  “Not that, silly. I mean, when did you come?” She wanted to ask why he had come, but she was afraid of his answer.

  “I arrived just after lunch. I’m staying at the Sunday Cove Inn.”

  She squirmed uncomfortably on the splintery ladder seat. Not only was she losing her stinger at Bill, she was losing the battle with herself. Uppermost in her mind was the desire to feel his arms around her. What a mess! She wasn’t made of stern stuff. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist this irresistible man.

  “I suppose you’re here for the beaches?”

  Instead of answering, he let his gaze travel upward from the tip of her toes to the top of her head.

  “You’re not here for the beaches? Business then?” That had to be it. Men didn’t pop out of nowhere after two long, lonely months to start up a defunct affair. She felt like somebody had taken a blow torch to her. Some defunct affair.

  Still, he still said nothing.

  “Why, Bill?”

  “Don’t you know?” His voice was gruff. She was desperate to know...and equally desperate not to. “I’ve come to marry you.”

  “I’ve already told you no.” She spoke softly, as if the least sound would destroy the electric stillness between them.

  “I’ve decided not to accept no for an answer.” He strode to the ladder and smiled. “Are you coming down or am I coming up?”

  She clung to the top of the ladder as
if it would save her, but he stepped onto the bottom rung, reached up, and plucked her off like a ripe plum.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to kiss you and court you, in that order.”

  “Mother thinks I’m at my shop putting up shelves.”

  “We’ll do the shelves later.”

  Mary Ann knew there was something sassy she should say, but then Bill kissed her and she forgot everything.

  o0o

  It was after dark when they left the shop.

  “Just because you put up my shelves doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you.” Mary Ann locked the door as they left her shop.”

  “Do you want a large church wedding or a small, private ceremony?”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. How long will you be here?”

  “Until the wedding.”

  “No. I mean really and truly.”

  “Until a little after the wedding.”

  “I give up. You’re impossible.” She started around her shop to the parking lot and Bill kept pace. “I’m going to my car. Where are you going?”

  “To your car.”

  “The Inn is in the other direction, Bill.”

  “I know. I have one more thing to do before I pick you up for dinner.”

  “I don’t know why I agreed to have dinner with you.”

  “Because, deep down, you really like me.” He kissed her then, proving that what he said was true. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  He went off whistling and Mary Ann kicked her car tires as if her easy capitulation was all their fault.

  The inside of her ancient station wagon smelled like lollipops and dog. “I’m going to have to give Rover a bath,” she muttered as she turned the key in the ignition.

  After a couple of anxious tries, the old car backfired and caught.

  When she got home her mother met her at the door. “Did he find you?” Judy asked. She took one quick, assessing look at her daughter’s face and plunged on. “I can see he did. I’ve never seen anybody look so much like the cat that swallowed the canary. He’s incredibly gorgeous, Mary Ann. Where did you find him?”

  “Mom, slow down. What on earth are you talking about?” She sank into a chair. She was beat. That was the last time she’d spend all afternoon putting up shelves with Bill.

  “Bill Benson.” Judy tucked her trim legs neatly under her in the chair and ran a hand through already spiky hair. “He came by here around lunchtime looking for you. He’s by far the most charming man I’ve ever met.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Is he rich?”

  “I really don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, of course it does. If he’s rich, he’ll have all sorts of stuffy, stuck-up relatives, and I’ll have to get something suitable.”

  “Suitable for what?” Mary Ann had a sneaking suspicion she already knew.

  “The wedding, of course, Mary Ann. Don’t be dense.” Judy had a pleased look on her face. “It’ll probably be a summer wedding—he looked terribly eager to me, dear—and I’ll need something in chiffon or voile. Which do you prefer, Mary Ann?” She turned innocent blue eyes toward her daughter.

  “Mother! You’re just as impossible as he is. There will be no wedding, and if he told you there will be, he’s going to regret the error of his ways.”

  “Now, Mary Ann, get that look off your face. Just like your father, God keep his soul. He always needed a little coaxing to see the right way.” She paused as she remembered her beloved Michael. “He had that same stubborn tilt to his chin.”

  “Did Bill tell you we were getting married?” Even the smallest hint would send Judy off shopping for a mother-of-the-bride dress.

  “Of course not. He merely inquired politely of your whereabouts and told me he was a friend of yours. I read between the lines.”

  Mary Ann rose from her chair and started upstairs. “You read wrong, Mother. Forget the voile and the chiffon.”

  “How about velvet, Mary Ann? Do you think you’ll wait until Christmas? He struck me as the kind of man who wouldn’t want to wait.”

  “He can wait till a blockheaded woodpecker nests in his hair. I intend to make no changes in my lifestyle.”

  Judy followed her up the stairs. “Then you met him at that bird watchers’ retreat, didn’t you? I knew it! You haven’t been the same since you came home.”

  “There you go again, Mom. Reading things that aren’t there. I’m just the same as I’ve always been.”

  Judy followed Mary Ann into her bedroom, warming to her favorite subject. “You’ve watered that poor little philodendron in the kitchen until it’s almost dead.”

  Mary Ann walked to her closet and reached inside it for a robe. “Do you mind? I have to take a shower.”

  “It’s hard to kill a philodendron, Mary Ann.”

  “It was puny.”

  “And George has rung the phone off the wall, begging you to see him. You used to like George.”

  “You liked George. I can’t stand George. He talks through his nose and has as many hands as an octopus.” Mary Ann entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. She could still hear Judy over the water.

  “George isn’t pretty like Bill, but he’s loaded. You never did tell me if Bill’s loaded.”

  Mary Ann stepped under the hot water and didn’t answer.

  “Never mind, dear. Anybody that sexy doesn’t have to be rich.”

  Mary Ann deliberately blocked out everything except the feel of hot water on her aching shoulders. It had been nice to have Bill’s help with the shelves. He’d been patient and cheerful, just the way she remembered him from the retreat. He was probably the kind of man who loved to mow the lawn and take out the garbage. He probably even knew his way around a kitchen. Still, marrying somebody so she could have a handy man was the silliest thing Mary Ann ever heard.

  She toweled herself dry and slipped on her robe. Downstairs, she heard her neighbor bringing the boys home. They had been next door playing with Beverly McLendon’s sons.

  She flipped through the dresses in her closet, seeking one that shouted “Mary Ann means business.” Her hands kept coming back to the black strapless one that fit like a second skin.

  Mitch and Mike burst through her door as she was zipping up the black dress. She bent down to receive their sticky wet kisses.

  “Mommy! Guess what!” Mike’s aqua eyes twinkled as he talked. With his tousle of golden curls and his apple cheeks he looked like a cherub.

  “Let me tell!” Mitch interrupted. “I saw him first.” He was the mirror image of his brother except that his eyes were gray.

  “Who, darlings?” Mary Ann straightened and reached for her brush.

  “That nice man,” Mike said.

  “The one Rover liked,” Mitch added.

  The brush stopped in midair. “Bill?” she asked.

  “That’s him,” they chorused.

  “He asked was our mama Mary Ann and Rover knocked him over....” Mitch ran out of breath.

  “And licked him all over the face and used him for a chair ‘til we said, ‘Get off, bad doggie,’ “ Mike finished for him.

  “It sounds like you really initiated him.” Mary Ann laughed. Somehow Bill had not looked as if he had just been sat on by a 150-pound St. Bernard.

  She put the finishing touches on her makeup for her enthralled audience of two. When she stood up from the dressing table Mitch looked at her with solemn gray eyes and said, “Mommy, do you like Bill?”

  “Yes, darling. Why do you ask?”

  “ ‘Cause I heard him tell Gramma he was your friend. Friends like each other, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do friends marry?” Mike asked.

  “Sometimes, but...”

  “Oh, goodie.” Mitch and Mike spun about the room, clapping their hands. They stopped clapping long enough to announce, “Rover wants you to marry Bill.” Then they both scampered from the room.

  Even the
dog was conspiring against her. She’d have to be particularly adamant tonight. Bill must be told in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t marry him no matter what her family said. Especially the dog.

  A commotion downstairs meant that Bill had arrived. As she descended the stairs she saw Bill swing both her boys high in the air. It was wonderful to see them having such a good time. Harvey had patted himself on the back for fathering boys and then had mostly ignored them, preferring instead to spend his time with his head under the hood of a race car.

  Rover bounded in from the kitchen and nearly knocked Bill down with his greeting. Judy followed closely on Rover’s heels, looking like Christmas had arrived in July. Mary Ann was surprised she wasn’t humming “Here Comes the Bride.”

  So here it was, right in front of her, evidence that Bill fit as naturally into her family as butter on grits. And the boys needed a father. Oh, they were fine now, resilient in the way of the very young, but in the blink of an eye they’d be teenagers with all the headstrong, rebellious attitudes of coming-of-age boys. They’d need a firmer hand than either Mary Ann or Judy could provide. They’d need a good male role model.

  The fragrance of orange blossoms swirled around Mary Ann’s legs, twined around her waist and formed a sweet cloud around her head. She felt befuddled and overwhelmed and not at all certain about anything.

  Suddenly Bill looked up and saw her.

  “I would have come sooner if I had known you would be wearing that dress.”

  Judy’s eyes sparkled and Mary Ann knew she was already listing the guests she would invite to the wedding reception. She beamed her approval on Bill and Mary Ann. “It’s her vamping dress. Bill. She wears it only when she really likes somebody.”

  Bill winked broadly at Judy.

  “Mom, this is nothing more than a friendly dinner at Clara’s.”

  “Perfect!” Judy clasped her hands over her chest. Too late, Mary Ann remembered that Clara was every bit as romantic as her mother. And just as meddlesome.

  Bill took her arm and escorted her toward the door. Behind them Mike piped up, “Gramma, what’s a vampire dress?”

  “I didn’t see any fangs, Gramma,” Mitch added.