by Jacquie Gee
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I would have said something to you sooner, but you left in such a—”
“I know.”
“How did things work out with you and Jeff.”
“They didn’t.”
“Oh, sorry about that, too.”
“No worries. All water under the bridge now.” She smiles and shakes her head. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, I think you’re better off without him, in hindsight. I know you were engaged and all, but I always felt you could do better. Jeff and I were just… Jeff and I, but you. Things got pretty serious fast.”
“Thanks. I think you’re right. In fact, I know you are.”
She glances down then up again. Thunder rumbles. “Well, better make tracks before things get scary.” She raises the box in her arms. “And before everything wilts.”
She waves as she turns and I realize, not everything about Heartland Cove was a total waste of time.
I need to remember that.
Just like Trent said, this little mecca is pretty progressive—in its own historical way. The sky opens up overhead.
Chapter 36
I dash through the back door of Aunt Penny’s just as the sky opens. Thunder rumbles furiously, and lightning snakes the sky. I shed my rain jacket as I sweep into the room, shaking it out on the porch before tossing it onto the rack, having got a little wet in the process of crossing the parking lot. The room smells delicious. Trudy must have been at it again. Every meeting, Trudy brings baked goods, not that any of us need them, but man, they are good. Today the room smells like freshly baked ginger snaps. Wow, I can hardly wait!
“How are things going?” I say to the group, as I plop down in the empty chair at the kitchen table. Mom, Trudy, Pamela and Aunt Penny greet me with a groan.
They’ve been hard at it for about two hours now, while I drove up to Coldwater to arrange for some cart horses. Good news is, they’re all secured. Bad news is, we’ll need two more carriages.
I scoop a cookie up off the plate in the middle of the table and take a bite. “Mmmmm, you’ve outdone yourself this time Trud. Wow! Seriously.” I turn to her. “Where did you learn to bake like this?”
“Family recipe,” She answers, bashfully. “And thanks. You’re so good for my ego.”
“No. I mean it. When this is all over,” meaning the festival, “we need to talk.”
If things keep going the way they are at Fondant and Lace, Tia and I could use help up in New York, and Trudy would be a fantastic candidate.
“To answer your prior question,” Aunt Penny smiles, looking down at the list in her hand. She and my mom and Aunt Penny sit around the table in the center of the kitchen, stacks of papers scattered all around them. “Each of the volunteer stations has at last been covered.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
She nods.
“I’ve even got Betsy Billingsley to sign up for pie duty.” Mom leans forward, proud of herself, a squirrely smile on her lips.
She seems on. It must be a good day.
I live for good days with Mom.
“Yes, your mother’s been very helpful filling assignments,” Trudy nods, giving me the signal that yes, if fact, I’m right. Mother beams like a child given a candy at school for good behavior. This role reversal thing that comes with the dementia is killing me.
“I’ve asked the Auxiliary to plan the kissing booth,” Pamela pipes up. “So it looks like that’s a go.”
“Great.”
Trudy slides the coffee pot over in front of me. “Monique Thibodaux is gonna handle the lobster shucking contest, as well. And Sunset Bay Manor nursing home has guaranteed us enough volunteers to man the telethon phones for the night.”
“You think that’s wise?” I make a face as I crunch my cookie. “I mean, won’t they all be kind of old?”
“Becca,” Mother scolds.
“Just sayin’.’” I turn to the rest.
“They’ve guaranteed us the good ones.” Trudy jokes.
"This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, darling.” Mom reaches over and kisses me on the cheek sweetly. She drops her hand onto mine, rubbing the back of it gently. "A very wonderful, thing." She beams. “Everyone’s so excited. The whole town is abuzz,” she adds.
I feel like I’ve just won the science fair at school.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I look in her eyes, and it occurs to me how feeble she is, her hand like a moth fluttering against my own. Where is the strength of that widowed mother I grew up with, repairing the generator engine in the middle of a night storm, or opening pickle jars in one grunting sweep?
“Glad I can help," she says, losing the conversation thread. I squeeze her hand tight and turn to the rest. “What’s left to do, then?”
“For what, dear?” Mom interrupts. Her face has gone blank. Her forehead crinkles in utter confusion. The look in her eyes tells me she’s distressed.
“For the festival, Mom?” I try to bring her back, but her lips just part and she remains confused.
“We need to deal with getting the word out.” Trudy moves on with the conversation, scooting forward in her chair like nothing’s happening. She, Pamela, and Aunt Penny are far more used to this happening than I am.
“Yes, getting the word out—that’s critical,” Mom says. Her expression softens as if she catches up with the conversation again. She’s either back with us, or faking it, well. I squeeze her hand.
“I’ve been in touch with all the local papers.” Trudy holds out a spreadsheet of data. “But they want money for ads, and seriously, I’m not sure what good it will do. I think what little advertising dollars we have left should probably go into something else. No one reads the paper anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Mom objects. “Lots of old folks do. And they’re the ones who frequent the fairs.”
“She’s got a point,” I say.
“True. But it’s not a very profitable form of advertising standpoint,” Trudy adds. “We could get the same impact by hanging posters up at local haunts, don’t you think?”
“I can make that my mission.” Aunt Penny speaks up.
“I can help with that,” Pamela adds.
“What we need is to concentrate on ways to reach outside the region,” Trudy says. “To draw more than locals in.”
“Agreed.” I nod.
“So how do we do that?” Penny leans back in her chair.
“Social media, of course.” I take a second cookie and bite it. “We need to utilize stuff like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, maybe create a Facebook page for us. Trudy, maybe you could do that? I’ve seen the one for your daycare, it’s amazing.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She pulls back, shyly. “I’m not very good at keeping up with that sort of stuff.”
“Liar.” I smile. “I’ve been trolling your feed since you accepted me as a friend yesterday. You’re on there all the time. Come on,” I nudge her. “You’ll be great at it! You’re just the person we need at the helm of this project. Besides,” I crunch my cookie. “Now, you’ll have more to post about than just cats, kids, and baking.”
She grins. “I suppose, you’re right.” She writes it down.
“And I’ll help too,” I say. “Just put me on as administrator.” Trudy includes that detail. “Okay.” I sit back. “So what else is there left to do?”
“Who’s gonna tweet?” Pamela chirps.
“I will!” Mom’s hand shoots up. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know what a tweet means, but I don’t want to upset her. There’s an exchange of concerned glances darting around the table.
“How do you know how to tweet, Mom?” I turn to her.
“Trent taught me.” She purses her lips like that’s something I should know.
“Trent?” I trip on the word
“Yes. The young man I’ve been dating.” She wriggles straight-backed in her chair.
Aunt Penny’s eyes pop. As does everyone else's around the table, including my own
. My mouth falls ajar.
“You really should stop fighting with him all the time, Becca,” Mom adds. “I might want to marry him someday.”
I gulp back the breath of air that’s about to explode from my lips.
“More coffee?” Pamela snaps to a stand.
Aunt Penny eyes me sternly as if to say, let it be.
“Maybe we should let Trent do that,” Trudy says. Mom glowers her way. “Tweet, I mean. Considering he’s good at it."
Mom looks offended. “Fine,” she concedes. “If it’ll make him happy.” She sits back and folds her arm. “Don’t want Trent unhappy, now do we?” She looks to me as if I’m guilty of making him so. If she only knew how well we’ve been working together, and how well we’ve been getting on. Overly well, actually. Which, I’m strangely not minding a bit. Yeah, it’s happened, Becca. You’re falling for Mom’s boyfriend.
“Who’d like more coffee?” Pamela returns, slinging fresh, hot joe into everyone’s cup.
“Prizes—” Trudy picks up where we left off, bring up the next item on her list. “What are we going to do about prizes? Any progress to report in that department?”
“Horton Moreau has agreed to organize the greased pig grab,” Aunt Penny says.
“I think we need to get a better name for that,” I say.
“The Grand Pig Squeeze!” Mother shouts, proud of herself. “Or the Wild Wiener Catch!”
Trudy and I share a strained look. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she says.
“So, I have on that front,” Pamela says. She clears her throat as if making a major announcement. “The first one to catch a greased pig and hold it longer than thirty seconds wins a brand new 52” big screen TV from Schechter’s Appliances, graciously donated by the owner, Fred Schechter himself.” She pats herself on the back. “Just confirmed.” She holds out her phone, so we can all read the text. “It won’t be Pamplona’s running of the bulls, but it’ll be close.” Excitement trills in her voice.
“Oooo, I could use a new TV.” Mom rubs her hands together.
“Thirty seconds? That’s a pretty long, isn’t it? I mean, to have to hold onto a slippery pig,” I ask.
“If they can catch it in the first place.” Trudy grins.
“Why do you think the prize is so generous?” Pamela adds.
“Ain’t every day, old man Schechter offers up a prize!” Aunt Penny mumbles. “We're lucky to get it.”
“I’ll say.” Mom laughs. “Last time that man gave up anything for free his wife produced their sixth child.”
“Mother!” I shout.
“What?” she says. “It’s true.”
The rest laugh as my cheeks turn red. It's so unlike Mom not to have a filter.
It’s then I catch Mom writing things down on a little pad of paper on her knee, under cover of the table cloth. She’s struggling to keep up with the conversation, so she’s writing things down. Keywords to clue her into what’s going on like: pig, grease, big TV, Schechter. She hides it under her hand when she catches me glancing over. A small part of my heart breaks off and slides away.
So that’s how she’s doing it. That’s how she’s keeping up. Things with her have gotten that bad.
“That leaves only the photographer,” Trudy’s voice breaks through my thoughts. She sits straight and blows the hair from her face. The meeting’s wearing on her, I can tell. “What do we do about that? Where do we find one? The festival’s just three weeks out. We need to get that calendar shot, up, and working for us quickly? Any thoughts on who can take the snaps? I looked into a professional photographer, but they’re too much money. We need to find someone local and cheap.”
The room falls into momentary silence.
“The only one who fits that bill,” Aunt Penny says. “Is old sour cheeks.”
Mom giggles.
“Who’s old sour cheeks?” I turn my head.
“Vera Williams, The infamous gossip queen,” Trudy answers.
“Well, we can’t involve her,” I snap quickly. I’d rather die than ask that witch for a favor. “Maybe there’s someone else we can ask?”
The group frowns. They’d know better than me who we have to choose from.
Trudy taps her pen to her lip. “They have to be professional quality, or nobody’ll pay for them.”
“We’re not selling the photo,” I speak up.
“But we are selling the calendar.” She exhales. “Not that I want Vera Williams involved any more than the rest of you, but she does take a mean picture, and on such short notice, she does seem the best and most logical candidate.
Aunt Penny sits back. “Who’s gonna ask her.” She looks around the table.
“I’ll do it.” I raise my hand.
Mom snorts, clueing back into the conversation. “Good luck getting any cooperation out of the Queen of Zaïre.” She slides back in her chair and folds her arms.
“Why do you say that?” I turn to her.
“Well, you are my daughter.” She scowls.
I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, or whether Mom’s even on at the moment. The rest of the table sits tight-lipped. Either they don’t know either, or they’re not saying.
“I’ll tell you one thing, she won’t do it for free,” Mom adds. “That woman doesn’t do anyone favors?”
I get a sense there’s more than just this conversation going on.
I look to Trudy, who looks back at me. She shrugs and shakes her head.
“Your mother’s right,” Aunt Penny says. “She isn’t a generous woman.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“How’s that?” Mother snaps. Her eyes are small and angry. I know she and Mrs. Williams have never gotten along well, but she seems particularly agitated by the thought of her today.
“Don’t you worry about a thing," I stand and pat Mom’s hand. “I think I have just the thing to convince her.” Thoughts of Bert Williams lodging over at the Heartbeat Inn dance through my head. The perfect leverage.
Trudy looks to her paper and scribbles that down, as Mother’s look goes adrift.
“So, it’s settled then, we’ll count on free photos,” Trudy nods at me, “and I’ll sink what’s left of our funds into printing advertising on the lobster bibs at all the local restaurants. If that’s okay with everyone else.” She looks up.
"That's a super idea," Aunt Penny says.
“Agreed.” Pamela and I nod.
“Then that should about do it!” Trudy dramatically dots a ‘t.' “Keeping a little money back to print the calendars. Looks like we’re in great shape!”
Chapter 37
“Becca!” Aunt Penny’s voice calls out to me as I leave the porch. “Can I talk to you on the porch for a moment?” Aunt Penny’s eyes look full of concern.
“Sure,” I say. “What is it?” I double back.
I glide back up on the porch out of the rain. Aunt Penny shuts the door behind her. We stand together under the awning, raindrops strumming the tarp roof over our heads. Aunt Penny looks guiltily down at her shoes then back up at me. “I, ahh… I don’t know where to start.” She looks frazzled. “There’s some things you haven’t been told. And since you’re going to confront the Queen of Zaïre”— she says it sarcastically— “I think it’s best you know.”
“More secrets?” I say to her, then stand still and quiet, listening.
Aunt Penny lowers her gaze. “If you haven’t noticed, Mrs. Williams thinks herself pretty important around these parts.”
“That’s pretty much a given.”
“Well, truth is, she and her husband hold the purse strings of many a family in this area, on account of they run the bank. I suppose that’s where she gets her overinflated sense of importance. Anyway—” Aunt Penny shoos the thought away with a hand. “It’s gotten way out of control over the years, especially when it comes to your mother. Even worse ever since—” She stops herself. Her cheeks flush red.
“Since what?” I ask.
Aunty
Penny pumps her lips like she’s trying to force the words out. “Since the foreclosure,” she finally whispers, as if she was to say it any louder, it would shatter us both. It nearly does.
“What? What foreclosure?” I’m confused. I thought she sold the house to Trent.
Aunt Penny sighs, painfully, then starts again. “I’m afraid your mother's not been entirely truthful with you. She maybe hasn't told you, at all. She said she wasn’t. Told me not to either.” She looks wearily off. “I’ve often wondered if the stress of all of it, is what caused her to start to slip.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap.
Her gaze swings through the window to where my Mother sits at the kitchen table, and back again. Her lips quiver as she goes on. “Your mother didn’t exactly sell the house to Trent,” she says. “Trent got it when the bank foreclosed on it. That’s how he ended up involved. Trent found out at the last minute he was taking a house from an old woman and stepped up to offer her half to rent. He had no idea at the time he bought it. The realtor and Mr. Williams lead him to believe it was a clean sale. And it was, for them, but for your poor mother… Anyway, in the end, it all worked out, and Trent’s been more than fair.”
My lips part and my mouth falls open. “So, he bought that property at a foreclosed price?”
“That’s right. It was either him or your old boyfriend’s father.” Aunt Penny raises angry brows. “It wasn’t Trent’s fault. It was your mother’s. And mine. We didn’t let anyone know until it was too late. Your mother and her darned pride.” Aunt Penny drops her head. “She just kept thinking we could turn things around, and we couldn’t.”
“The Williams’ were involved in this, too?”
“I believe they were only conduits of the sale.”
“So, you don’t think Mrs. Williams had a hand in bringing Mom down? You don’t think that’s why Mom was so upset about things in there.” I glance back over my shoulder.
“No. I mean, not any more than usual. As I say, the Williams' are at the heart of a good many people’s downfall in this town. Them and a few others." She drops her chin and mumbles.
