by Ann McMan
“David . . .”
He shook his head. “I know I’ll live to regret this, but, okay. I’ll help you.”
Maddie sat back and smiled.
David took a sip from his glass of wine. “Now, pray tell, what part will I be playing in this little Greek tragedy?”
“Ah,” Maddie said, as she tented her fingertips. “You’ll be cast true to type.”
David eyed her with suspicion. “As?”
Maddie shrugged. “My alibi, of course.”
“Your alibi?”
“Yeah.”
David exhaled in frustration.
Maddie pressed her advantage. “Oh come on. It’s not like you don’t have experience at this.”
“Sure . . . but convincing your father those copies of Playboy he found stashed under the sofa cushions belonged to me was a cakewalk, compared to this.”
“Now, why do you say that?”
“Hello? Seen the woman you’ve been keeping company with, Cinderella? Isn’t she now like some kind of brown belt in Tae Kwon Do, or something?”
“Green belt. But what’s your point?”
“My point is that I value my gonads. And I know Syd. If she suspects that you’re up to something clandestine—and that I’m protecting you—she’ll body slam me first and ask questions later.”
Maddie was growing impatient with this. “In the first place, if Syd ever body slams you, you’ll be too . . . titillated to care about anything else. In the second place, I promise not to let it go that far. I only need an alibi for a couple of nights. Her birthday is in two weeks, as it is.”
“I know when her birthday is. I remember last year, Miss ‘Oh, by the way, I’m gay.’ I’m still pissed at you about that little Valentine’s Day revelation.”
Maddie sighed. “I’ve apologized to you for that. A lot of times, if memory serves. Can I help it if it came out before you were able to join us?”
“Yeah. All kinds of things came out that night.”
Maddie made no response, but sat drumming her fingertips on the tabletop. They stared at each other. All they lacked were ambient cricket noises.
David blinked first. “Okay. All right. I’ll do it.”
Maddie gave him one of her most brilliant smiles. Then she sat back and told him the details of her plan.
Michael was a harder sell.
It was his kitchen, after all, and Michael was very . . . specific about his kitchen. And especially about his stove.
“I don’t know about this,” he said, as he regarded Maddie with crossed arms. “What were you thinking about making?”
“I have a few thoughts,” she replied.
“Like?” he prompted.
Maddie sighed. “What difference does it make?”
“You’re joking, right? It makes a huge difference. I mean, honestly, Maddie. Sauces alone can take months, even years to perfect.”
Maddie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t see that, Dr. Strangelove. Being able to cut up a cadaver with your ham fists and your crude medical implements doesn’t automatically qualify you to prepare a perfectly proportioned platter of crudités.”
“Fine. I’ll buy precut vegetables.”
Michael stared at Maddie like she had just suggested they roast a goat on his range—without a drip pan.
“Okay, okay,” she offered, in her most conciliatory voice. “We’ll do it your way. What do you want to know?”
“For starters, what kind of cuisine, and how many courses?”
Maddie hauled up a stool and sat down. Clearly, this was going to be a long conversation.
“I was thinking . . . French.”
Michael gasped.
“And, maybe, four courses?”
Michael paled. “Four?”
Maddie nodded.
“Only four? Why not six? Why not eight? Why not just drive a stake through my heart and get this nightmare over with now?”
Maddie sighed. “You know . . . I’m not an imbecile.” She fluttered her hands in front of him. “Look. I actually have opposable thumbs. And I did manage to graduate at the top of my med school class.”
Michael still looked unconvinced.
Maddie decided it was time to haul out the big guns.
“It’s for Syd, Michael. Help me do this for her?”
He folded like a cheap suit. Then he sighed and sat down on a stool, facing Maddie. “All right, but with one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I need time to have the deductible lowered on our fire insurance.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on,” Michael gestured at the file folder in Maddie’s hand, “Show me what you got.”
Maddie finally pulled into her barn at home well after eight that night and parked her Jeep next to Syd’s Volvo. She regretted that she’d missed dinner with Henry—although she’d called Syd from the hospital to tell her she’d be late. She just hadn’t volunteered the reason why, choosing to let Syd draw her own conclusions.
This was going to be the hard part—inventing reasons for her absences from home while she worked on honing her culinary skills with Michael.
Shit. Maybe David was right, and I should just let them cater the whole damn meal?
No. She wanted to do this for Syd. After all, Syd was willingly leaving her own comfort zone to learn how to fly. Learning how to cook one decent meal seemed like the least she could do to pay her back. It would be a selfless and loving quid pro quo.
At least, she hoped so.
She glanced at the workbench in her barn. Edna Freemantle’s toaster oven sat there—in about five pieces. Edna dropped it while trying to empty its crumb tray, and she desperately wanted Maddie to fix it, even though Maddie told her it would be cheaper to just go to Walmart and buy a new one. But Edna refused, and now Maddie was waiting on replacement parts to arrive from . . . someplace.
Damn David for reminding her about that regrettable incident with her Easy Bake oven. How was she supposed to know that it wouldn’t work with pizza rolls? Those damn things went up like mini Roman candles. Her parents punished her for weeks. She remembered that Celine was furious with her, but she thought her father had a hard time concealing his grudging pleasure that she had expressed a desire to try and cook anything. She shook her head and walked on toward the house.
Pete met her at the kitchen door. She let him outside before taking off her jacket and announcing, “I’m home!”
“We’re up here.” Syd’s voice carried down the back stairs.
Maddie took the steps two at a time. They were down the hall, in Henry’s room—the big room at the front of the house that had been Maddie’s when she was a girl. Henry was already under the covers. He was wearing his sock monkey pajamas—a Christmas gift from Celine—and Syd was reading to him.
Maddie bent over and kissed Henry on the head, then turned and kissed Syd. “Hello my little family. I missed you both tonight.”
Syd smiled at her. “We missed you, too. Did you get some dinner?”
“Yes. I grabbed something on the way home.” She looked at Henry. “How was your day, sport?”
“I got to ride in a fire truck, Maddie. And I got to make the siren go.”
“You did? How did that happen, pal?”
“They came to my school. They told us not to start fires.”
Maddie nodded. “That’s very good advice, Henry. I hope you never will.”
She was glad David wasn’t present to hear this conversation.
Syd was staring at the stains on Maddie’s scrubs. “Do I want to know what that is on your clothes?”
“It’s iodine.” Maddie sighed. “I went ten rounds with a four-year-old who needed stitches. Believe me when I tell you that she fared much better than I did.”
Syd laughed. “Why don’t you go change, then, and I’ll put those in to wash?”
“What’s eye-dine, Maddie?” Henry asked, with wide eyes.
Maddie sat down on the edge of his bed. “It’s a yucky, brownish liquid that we use to clean cuts and boo-boos before we can sew them up.”
“I don’t want any of that,” he said.
“Then be very careful, and maybe you’ll never have to have any.”
“Okay.”
“Why don’t I stay here while Syd finishes reading your story?” Maddie looked at her Syd. “Syd never reads to me anymore.”
Syd raised an eyebrow. “I don’t really have to read to you anymore. You generally find other ways to unwind before bedtime.”
Maddie cleared her throat. “On the other hand, why don’t I go and change out of these dirty clothes?” She stood up and kissed Henry again. “I’ll come back to listen to the rest of your story, Henry, and to say goodnight.”
“Okay, Maddie.” He shifted his small frame around in the big bed and pulled the blankets up closer to his chin.
Maddie ran a hand down Syd’s back as she walked toward the door. “And I’ll come up with something special for you, blondie,” she whispered.
Syd leaned into her hand. “Oh, I just bet you will, stretch.”
As she was walking back down the wide center hallway toward the master suite, she smiled as she heard the soft tones of Syd’s voice as she read to Henry.
“On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool . . .”
Maddie fared pretty well coming up with convincing explanations for her cascade of evening commitments—at least for the first three sessions with Michael. By the fourth night, Syd was beginning to chafe at her continued absences and was struggling to contain her growing concern about what might really be behind them. It didn’t help that once or twice, she’d walked in on Maddie while she was engrossed in phone conversations with someone, and Maddie’s reflexive and abrupt efforts to terminate the calls only ratcheted up Syd’s anxiety about what might be driving Maddie to be so illusive and secretive about her nocturnal activities.
But Syd was a mature woman, and she reminded herself that she loved and trusted Maddie, and had no reason to suspect that Maddie was up to anything . . . untoward.
She didn’t, did she?
Of course not. She understood that the biggest part of what drove her to worry about Maddie’s unusual behavior was her own ill-fated tenure as the spouse of a philandering husband.
But Maddie wasn’t Jeff—not by any stretch of the imagination. And she knew that her reactions and fears were reflexive, and not rational.
Still, her conscience argued, what would the harm be to check it out?
Her first course of action simply would be to ask Maddie about it—circumspectly, of course. She didn’t want to appear paranoid or over-anxious. Needy would also be bad. She wanted to avoid that appearance as well.
Even though “needy” pretty much summarized how she was starting to feel.
She got her chance to broach the subject when they met for an impromptu lunch on Thursday. Maddie had a long break between appointments that day and called Syd at the high school to see if she could sneak away before her afternoon orchestra practice to grab a fast bite at Freemantle’s market. Syd agreed at once, and the two of them sat close together at a small table behind a towering display of motor oils and fuel injector cleaners.
They dined on the inevitable hot dogs and Diet Coke.
Syd finished hers and licked a stray drizzle of chili from her fingertips. “I’ll live to regret this.”
Maddie withdrew a foil-wrapped pill from her pocket. Smiling, she slid it across the tabletop. “Here you go. I raided the supply closet.”
Syd picked it up and examined it. “And this would be?”
“Twenty milligrams of Famotidine.”
“Just what the doctor ordered?”
“Just what this doctor ordered—at least, for you.”
“Why, thank you. I wish my other needs were as easily met.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Really? That sounds ominous.”
“I wouldn’t say ominous, exactly.”
“Well, whatever you would say, I’d be happy to hear about it.”
“Do you mean that?”
Maddie’s blue eyes looked genuinely concerned now. “Of course I mean that.” She extended a hand and rested it on Syd’s forearm. “What’s up, honey?”
Maddie’s worried expression made Syd feel awkward . . . and ashamed of her suspicions. She laid a hand on top of Maddie’s and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.”
“It’s not nothing if you’re worried about something. What is it? Come on, sweetie. It’s me.” She smiled at her. “Sit back and tell me where it hurts.”
Syd sighed. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
“Syd—”
“No. Let me finish.” Syd twisted her Diet Coke can around while she tried to find the right words to ask Maddie about what was really on her mind.
Maddie slid her chair closer and took hold of Syd’s hand. “Okay. You’re really starting to scare the shit out of me.”
Syd gazed at her. God, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous. She still took her breath away. There were a thousand things she wanted to say.
“I love you,” she said instead, opting for the only one that really mattered.
Maddie eyes softened. “I love you, too.”
“I know you do.” And she did know it—in her viscera, where real truth resided. She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I think I’m just hormonal as hell. And all these make-up snow days are driving the kids nuts, and they’re all getting on my last nerve. I’m just . . . tense.”
“Tense?” Maddie looked unconvinced.
“Yeah. Tense. Honest.”
“That’s it? The stuff at school?”
Syd nodded.
“Nothing at home? Nothing with Henry? Nothing with us?”
Syd smiled and squeezed her hand. “Never.”
Maddie exhaled and sat back in her chair. “Well, thank god.” She lowered her voice and said in conspiratorial tones, “Lucky for you, I did a standard rotation in stress relief. I think I can help you out with your problem.”
“My problem?” Syd was beginning to think that approaching Maddie about her tension might prove to be one of her better ideas. “Do tell, Doctor. I’m all ears.”
Maddie gave her a look that was anything but chaste. “Once again, I’m happy to point out that you are anything but.”
“I’m suddenly feeling very dirty.”
“Again, lucky for you. I have a cure for that, too.”
Syd was preparing to ask Maddie when and how she might prove the veracity of her claims when Maddie’s cell phone rang.
She answered it.
After a short conversation, Maddie pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’m going to have to run off, honey. That was Peggy. Zeke Dawkins sliced his hand open with a box cutter, and he’s at the clinic now.”
Syd smiled at her. “It’s okay, Dr. Kildare. I know where you live.”
Maddie squeezed her shoulder. “You certainly do. And I’ll see you there later on.”
“Count on it.”
Syd watched her go, wondering what she had ever been worried about.
Maddie wasn’t at all lacking in sensibility where Syd was concerned, and after their lunch conversation, she almost gave up on her double-whammy, Birthday cum Valentine’s Day Culinary Extravaganza. She said as much to Michael the next day when they met over coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts to confer about the details of their next practice session, but Michael encouraged her boldly to soldier on.
“You can’t stop now,” he said. “We’re at a crucial stage. Tonight, we clarify butter. And you know how important that is. The success or failure of this entire enterprise hangs in the balance. If you walk away now . . . well. I can’t even find the words to describe the breadth of disappointed hopes you’ll leave in your wake.”
Maddie looked at him in wonder. “You sound like we’re planning the invasion of Normandy. It’s only a birthday dinner, Mi
chael.”
He stared at her with an open mouth.
“Hello?” Maddie prompted, snapping her fingers in front of him. His face looked like it was etched in stone.
“Never was so much owed by so many to so few.” His voice was a whisper.
“Oh, please. You’re not seriously playing the Churchill card? Can we dial this back a bit?”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t see how. Not when you seem determined to cast aspersion on my entire craft.”
“Oh, come on. Syd thinks I’m cheating on her, for god’s sake. I just can’t keep this deception up.” She sighed and shook her head. “I should’ve listened to David.”
Michael reached across the table and slapped her. “Snap out of it.” His voice rang out across the restaurant.
Stunned, Maddie raised a hand to her cheek and looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted horns. Patrons at other tables turned around in their seats to stare at the two of them.
“What the hell was that for?” she hissed.
“For saying you should have listened to David.”
“Oh.” Maddie rubbed her cheek as she considered that. “Thanks. You’re right.”
Michael nodded and picked up his cup of coffee.
Maddie turned to the other diners. “Finish your donuts, folks. There’s nothing else to see here.”
Slowly, the other patrons returned their attention to their lattes and Bavarian Kreme Sticks.
Maddie turned back to Michael. “By the way, big guy. Nice job channeling Cher.”
He smiled at her.
“I guess attending all forty-two of those farewell tours finally paid off.”
“I’ll say.” He leaned forward. “Now, about tonight . . .”
When Maddie called Syd late on Friday afternoon to say she’d be out again, Syd gave up trying to be understanding and not jump to conclusions. She’d had it, and all bets were off.
Maddie said she’d been called in to help Tom Greene out in the ER that night—that the plague of upper respiratory crud that had been blazing a trail across the county had finally hit the hospital staff, and half of Tom’s employees had called in sick. She said she’d try not to be too late and apologized profusely for missing yet another evening at home with Syd and Henry.
