The Secret's in the Sauce

by Linda Evans Shepherd

  “Who? Who’s Jack Dippel?”

  I blushed at my twist of words, if they were indeed that. “He’s my husband, that’s who!”

  “Look, Goldie . . . I didn’t mean . . . I only thought that you . . . that you and I . . . that you were feeling the same thing I was feeling.”

  “All I’m feeling right now is nausea!”

  Reginald turned beet red, then shifted in his seat and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  Well, I never!

  “Well, I never,” I said to Lizzie on the phone as I waited at Gate B-2 in Atlanta’s massive and remarkably hectic airport. “I mean, what a slap in the face that was for me, Liz.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Jack and all his consorts.”

  “Consorts? Goldie, have you been reading romance novels again?”

  I crossed one leg over the other and took a long swig of my Starbucks café latte with a shot of caramel. My favorite, though I rarely get to splurge on it. “I have never nor do I now read romance novels. Not those kind, anyway.” I glanced down at the latest Beverly Lewis bit of Amish fiction I’d brought with me but had not yet read.

  Lizzie paused before continuing. “I understand what you’re saying, Goldie. It’s easy to see how quickly women might fall for a smooth-talking man.”

  “Like Jack.”

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “I know.” I looked over at the gate, where the flight crew was heading into the Jetway. “Lizzie, keep your eyes on Jack, okay?”

  “Goldie, you either trust Jack or you don’t.”

  “I don’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Well, my friend, I don’t know what to say about that.”

  “I know. So, you will keep an eye on him?”

  “Now, how do you expect me to do that, Goldie?”

  “He works at the high school . . . you work at the high school . . .”

  Lizzie gave a deep sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Then I paused before adding, “You sound upset this morning.”

  “I have a throbbing headache.”

  “Did you take anything for it?”

  “Mmm . . . yes. It just hasn’t kicked in yet. What’s the news on your father?”

  “I called Tom’s cell phone before I called you, but he didn’t answer. His wife is supposed to pick me up at the Savannah airport.”

  “Is your whole family there? At the hospital, I mean.”

  “Yeah. Daddy’s been moved to one of the hospitals in Savannah— St. Joseph’s—and so pretty much everyone is there. When I spoke to Tom in Denver he said that Preston was driving down from Atlanta.” Preston is our older brother. Hoy Jr. was the oldest in the family, but he died years ago.

  “It’s a shame Preston couldn’t just wait for you to get there. You could have ridden together.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll let you go, Lizzie. I’ll be boarding shortly.”

  The flight between Atlanta and Savannah was short. We barely lifted off the ground but what we were making our “initial descent,” as the pilot informed us. The seat beside me was, blessedly, empty.

  As soon as we landed and it was safe to use our cell phones, I turned mine on and waited for it to boot up. Before I could dial Melody’s number my phone indicated that I had three messages waiting.

  The first was from Olivia. “Hi, Mom. You’re obviously in the air still. Call me when you get to the hospital and let me know how Pa-Pa’s doing. I love you. Don’t worry about anything on the home front, okay?”

  Hmm. My daughter knew enough about me to know where my concerns were.

  The second call was from Jack. “Hey, babe. I’m taking a break at work and wanted to call you. I don’t know if you tried to get me earlier or not, but it’s been a crazy morning around here. Senioritis is already striking, if you know what I mean. Well, anyway . . . let me know what’s going on and know that I love you. My prayers are with you and your father.”

  I played the message back again, this time listening for any background voices. Specifically, background voices of the female persuasion. But there were none, and I mentally kicked myself in the rear for having made such an effort.

  The third message was from my baby brother, Tom, who worked the farm with Daddy. I couldn’t imagine the stress Daddy’s heart attack might be on him from the business point of view. “Goldie. Call me when you land. I’m at the airport—not Melody—and I’ve got my cell phone with me.”

  I hung up and started to dial Tom’s number, then stopped and put my phone in my purse. Our small aircraft had reached the gate and we were about to deplane. When I was inside Savannah’s airport, I stepped into the women’s restroom for personal matters, then walked over to a row of chairs and sat down to call my brother.

  “Hey, Goldie.” He sounded so tired.

  “I’m here, Tom. I’m just outside my gate. What happened to Melody picking me up?” Melody and Tom live, as Mama puts it, “a good hollerin’ distance” from the family home with their six children, so either one of them could easily have made the trip. But, between dealing with Mama and Daddy at the hospital and the kids everywhere else, Melody’s plate was, no doubt, full.

  “I’m here. I’ll meet you at baggage claim. I’m at carousel three. That’s where your luggage will be.”

  I stood, hoisted my purse over my shoulder, and began to walk toward baggage claim. “How’s Daddy?”

  Tom didn’t answer right away.

  “Tom? Did I lose you?” I glanced over at a small shop that boasted Georgia pecans and peanuts, Georgia T-shirts, and books about Georgia, including recipe books from every ladies group in the state, each one complete with a recipe for Southern pecan pie. I decided that on my way back through I’d pick up a few for our catering company. Lisa Leann would be nearly beside herself with glee knowing she could throw a Southern-style party of the Georgia kind. “Tom?”

  “I’m here, Goldie. I’m waiting for you at baggage claim.”

  Another turn and I’d be seeing him face to face, so I decided to just let him tell me about Daddy’s condition once I saw him. “I’m almost there. See you in a minute.” I hung up my phone, rounded a corner or two, and then spotted my brother standing along the line of luggage carousels. He looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen him, which was nearly a year ago. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, and his hair—still dark but thinning—looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days.

  I waved and he waved back, taking the steps necessary to meet me in the middle.

  As he wrapped me in a tender hug I hooked my chin over his shoulder. “Oh, Tom.” I squeezed him. “How’s Daddy?” I attempted to pull away from him.

  But Tom held me all the tighter. “Daddy died,” he said, the words choked back in a whisper.

  My knees buckled and I felt myself sliding, held up only by the strength of his arms.

  Vonnie

  8

  Dinner Guests

  When David called and said he was bringing a friend to dinner, it was as if a chill had seeped in from my closed kitchen window and frosted the room.

  Oh boy.

  I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I took the whistling teakettle off the burner. “That’s fine, David, as long as your friend likes Italian.”

  “Of course. Are you making your famous apple pie?”

  “I’ve already sliced the apples.”

  Mother began to ring her bedside bell. “Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Mother, I’m on the phone, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  The impatience in my mother’s voice outdid my own. “Vonnie, I need you now.”

  “Okay, Mother, okay.”

  “Sorry, David, I gotta run. I’ll see you and your friend at seven?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  I hung up and ran toward the guest bedroom as the bell continued to clatter. “Vonnieeeeee!”

  Mother was sitting in her rocker, rubbing
her leg. “I’ve gotta get to the bathroom.”

  I grabbed Mother by an elbow and pulled her into a standing position. “Why didn’t you just use your crutches? They’re right here.”

  “My ankle just hurts too much,” Mother huffed as she leaned on me and hobbled toward the bathroom.

  “It’s probably just irritated from the cast.” I gritted my teeth as she rested her ninety-five-pound frame on me. “You see the doc Friday, maybe he’ll take it off. Won’t that be a relief?”

  She was wearing her favorite pink velour jogging suit and would have looked cute if it weren’t for her sour expression. She ran her fingers through her short but stylish white hair. Her blue eyes flashed. “I don’t think I can last till Friday.”

  I got Mother to the bathroom door. She practically slammed the door in my face. “I can manage from here.”

  I let out a sigh and tried not to cross my eyes. It was bad enough Mother had slipped on the ice outside her condo in Frisco and broken her ankle those weeks back, but when Dad dropped her on my doorstep, she’d become my problem.

  Oh sure, Dad visited, but I think the man was enjoying his freedom from her crabby disposition. I knew I was looking forward to saying good-bye.

  I headed back to the kitchen, straightening the pillows on the couch as I passed. The house never looked tidy when I played caregiver. But it helped to be surrounded by so many friendly faces from my doll collection.

  But that was only one more thing Mother hated about moving into my house.

  “Aren’t you ever going to grow up?” she’d ask as she’d shove my favorite dolls off the couch. “There’s no room for real people in here.”

  I stopped and straightened a newly framed photo of David that was propped on the hearth. He was the spitting image of his handsome father, Joseph Ray Jewell. Joseph had been killed in Nam and had been my first husband, a husband I’d never mentioned to my Fred—that is, until David had showed up on our doorstep. I was happy to have found my son after a lifetime forced apart, a separation for which I blamed Mother. So, in many ways David still felt like company as Fred and I were just getting to know him. Though I had to hand it to Fred. He was starting to adjust to the news that I’d held such a secret for three decades of marriage. Surprise, dear. Here’s David, my long-lost son who was raised by that famed Hollywood actress, Harmony Harris.

  It had been touchy between the two of us for a while, but Fred was beginning to accept David as the child the two of us never had, God bless him.

  Once in the kitchen, I finished slicing the apples and sprinkled them with cinnamon, sugar, and butter. It wouldn’t be long until my little house smelled sweet and cozy.

  My mother’s voice shrilled, “Vonnie! How do you expect me to get back to my room?”

  “Coming!”

  I slid the pie into the oven then rinsed my hands in the sink.

  “Vonnie, what’s taking so long?”

  “Just a minute.” I sprinted across the house to find her holding on to the doorjamb. I offered her my arm, and she locked on with a vise grip as she hobbled back toward her room. “Does your ankle hurt more than usual?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll have to ask Dr. Galloway about that when we see him.” I helped her back to her rocking chair, daring a smile. “Aren’t you looking forward to moving back home with Dad?”

  The deep line between her eyebrows furrowed. “I can just imagine the mess he’s made of the place.”

  “Fred says it’s not so bad. He was over there helping Dad install your new microwave after dinner last night. He said Dad seemed to be doing well.”

  “Humph. Well, the man’s had all his evening meals here with us,” Mother said. “So hopefully I won’t have to face a sink full of dirty dishes. But I know he’s not dusted or swept. And I can just imagine the laundry. It will take me forever to get the place in shape.”

  “I’m sure things will get back to normal quicker than you think,” I tried to encourage. “I’ll come over and help.”

  As I lowered Mother into her rocker, she winced. “Careful.”

  “Sorry. Is there anything I can bring you?”

  “You already promised me a cup of tea, and don’t forget my lemon wedge this time.”

  I hurried back to the kitchen. “Coming right up,” I called over my shoulder.

  I was glad I hadn’t asked David the identity of his mystery guest, though I could have guessed. But at least this way, I could try to feign ignorance. Don’t fret about it. There’s no need to borrow trouble, I repeated to myself for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

  I was in the kitchen pulling the pie out of the oven when David and his date scampered in from the cold February evening. I could see into the entryway from my vantage point in the kitchen. The couple and their coats were dusted with a few stray snowflakes. David called out, “Smells good, Mom.”

  I set the pie down, speechless.

  David’s eyes twinkled as he helped Velvet out of her coat. “Mom, you’ve met Velvet James?”

  I nodded as I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile that didn’t connect with my heart. I looked into Velvet’s thinly veiled glare and saw Donna’s look-alike sister. An evil twin sort, if you ask me. And the way she was dressed. Let’s just say the poor girl hadn’t been taught a thing about modesty.

  She was wearing skintight black jeans and a shimmering black top that was so low cut it was almost no-cut. She had Donna’s blue eyes and blonde curls, though her hair was longer and pulled up into a high ponytail. Sprigs of ringlets framed her face, making her look even more like Donna, which had me asking, Is this why he’s dating her, because he’s still in love with Donna? I mean, it hadn’t been that long ago that he’d proposed to Donna, though she’d turned him down. It appeared to me David was dating Velvet on the rebound.

  “David, Velvet, welcome,” I managed to stammer as I wiped my hands on the white bib apron I’d tossed over my red sweatshirt and jeans.

  Mother’s bell started to ring, and I turned to David. “Be a dear and help your grandmother to the table.”

  “Sure thing.” He turned with the blonde still attached to his arm. They dropped their coats on the couch and headed for the back.

  I took a deep breath and tried to look calm as I reminded myself, Velvet is only his date, not his fiancée. A relieved smile curled my lips until I thought, At least, not yet.

  I was busy putting a basket of fresh hot rolls on the table when David returned with his grandmother hanging on to his elbow. Velvet sulked behind them.

  I hesitated for a moment, watching Mother with David. Something struck me about the way she looked, a little too frail, a little too pained. Goodness.

  Fred was coming up from the basement, where he’d been tinkering in his workshop, and Dad had just walked through the front door, wearing his fleece-lined denim jacket over his khakis and his black-and-red-plaid flannel shirt. He hung his jacket in the hall closet and shook off the snowflakes that were rapidly melting into his thick gray hair. It’s funny how a home-cooked meal has a way of gathering men.

  “What’s for dinner?” Dad called, rushing in to pull out a chair for his wife.

  “Italian casserole.” I plopped the bubbling dish on the ceramic Raggedy Ann trivet in the middle of the table.

  Dad looked up. “Well, hello, young lady, who might you be?”

  Velvet had reattached herself to David as soon as his elbow was free.

  David grinned. “Hi, Grandpa, this is my date, Velvet James.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like Donna Vesey?” Dad asked.

  Velvet shifted her weight and cocked her head in an almost defiant look. “Unfortunately, she’s my sister. My half sister.”

  Dad’s gray eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he glanced at me to see how to respond. I’m guessing my smile must have been stoic if my dad’s expression was any indication. “I see.”

  Mother shot Velvet a glare. “Young lady, you look like you’re going t
o catch pneumonia, dressed like that.”

  Velvet laughed as she took a seat next to David. “Flaunt what you’ve got, I always say.”

  Fred had been busy washing his hands in the sink. “Want me to get the iced tea?” he asked me.

  I sat down. “Please.”

  Fred was soon seated beside me. I asked, “Fred, could you say our blessing?”

  He bowed his balding head and reached for my hand. “Sure thing.”

  One thing I could always count on with Fred was his long-winded blessings. And for once, I didn’t mind that the food was getting cold. I needed to catch my breath. I needed to ask God to help me get through this evening.

  It was bad enough that Mother had never warmed up to David. Not that he’d seemed to notice. But I did. She was the reason why David had been adopted out to that Hollywood actress in the first place.

  She’d only gotten away with it because she’d taken advantage of the circumstances.

  She and her foolish pride. She’d been embarrassed that I’d married a man who was half-Mexican. She was even more appalled that I, her precious Swedish daughter, was carrying his baby. So, when she learned that Joe had been killed in Vietnam, she’d swooped in. There I was, out cold in an L.A. hospital because of the shock of Joe’s death, the onset of labor, and a cocktail of heavy medications given to me by the labor and delivery team. My lack of consciousness had set the stage to her advantage. As soon as David was born, but while I was still sleeping, she’d called in a Hollywood attorney.

  “Here’s the release you need to sign for the baby’s burial,” she’d told me the moment I’d opened my eyes.

  In my shock, I’d had no idea I was signing David’s adoption papers.

  I’d only discovered the truth when he’d shown up in Summit View last fall, looking for me.

  I still couldn’t get over the fact that my son had been raised by Harmony Harris, the star of the musicals of the sixties, God rest her soul.

  So, it was ironic that Mother had moved in with me, only months after I’d learned of her betrayal. How I’d managed to hold my tongue these past few weeks, I don’t know. Because to tell you the truth, I was still seething.