Mother Knows Best

by Barbara Bretton

  "I'll supply the beer and soda and ice cream."

  "And the guests."

  "And the guests." It wouldn't be a large gathering: his receptionist and her son; his partner and his very pregnant wife; Gregory, Diana and the girls. "You sure?"

  "Positive," she said with conviction. "It's about time Mother got some hands-on experience."

  "You're something else, Diana Travis. Most women would run."

  "It beats sitting around thinking of my ex-husband walking down the aisle."

  "Yes," he said slowly, "I guess it does."

  "Besides, the Fourth of July isn't the Fourth of July without a barbecue." She was still leaning toward him, close enough to catch the smell of sunshine and spice that seemed to be his own unique scent. His expression changed, angled sharply down into something dark and thrilling and for one long shimmering moment she had the notion he might kiss her but a car pulled into the lot next to them and the mood was broken.

  "Around noon?" he asked as he climbed out of the station wagon.

  "Around noon," she said, smiling broadly and shifting into drive. "Prepare to feast, Dr. Stewart. This is going to be a Fourth of July you'll never forget."

  Chapter Seven

  "You've lost your mind," said Paula through the crackly long-distance connection from Monte Carlo later that afternoon. "Absolutely, stark-raving mad."

  "Speak up," said Diana, perversely. "I can barely hear you."

  "I said, you're nuts!" Paula yelled from her villa on the Riviera. "Inviting total strangers over for a barbecue. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

  "Research."

  "Research? It must be the connection. You're just not making any sense, Diana."

  "It would cost you two dollars a minute to have me explain, Paulie. Why don't you just take my word for it: I know what I'm doing." She'd spent the past seven minutes explaining her plans for the Fourth of July in excruciating detail to her sister and had no intention of doing a repeat performance.

  "You don't even know the man."

  "I know him well enough and besides McClellan must trust him: he's Boris's vet."

  "How reassuring," Paula drawled. "He has a way with mynah birds."

  "I think you're forgetting something very important, Paulie: I'm the sensible one; you're the flake."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "You're the ones who said 'fine' to renting a mansion without furniture. If I hadn't gone out searching for cribs, the girls would be sleeping on the floor."

  "The floor!"

  "That disaster has been averted, thanks to Dr. Stewart. I have two gorgeous junior beds set up in the master bedroom next to that monstrosity McClellan fancies. The girls are just fine and will continue to be just fine until you swoop down and whisk them back home to your love nest in New Jersey. Until then, quit worrying, okay?"

  Fortunately Paula's critical analysis of Diana's plans for the Fourth of July was cut short by the arrival of a phalanx of delivery men bearing the rest of the bounty necessary for Diana's month at Gull Cottage.

  By five o'clock Diana had cups and dishes, glasses and pots and pans, a television and VCR, a transistor radio and a card table covered with a flannel-backed red vinyl tablecloth. She'd discovered daisies growing rampant in a patch on the eastern side of the house and she'd picked a bunch earlier and stuck them haphazardly into an empty soda bottle. Now that makeshift bouquet graced the center of the fold-up card table.

  "Little touches mean a lot," she'd written blithely, never understanding the meaning of the words. "Just a few blossoms can make a wonderful difference in your surroundings!" Once again Mother had been dead on. She doubted if Gull Cottage had ever known such affordable elegance.

  Laughter floated toward her from the solarium: Kath and Jenny's high-pitched trills, Mr. Rogers's gentle chuckle, and Boris's ear-splitting guffaw. Ignatius slept on in a pool of sunshine near the card table while dinner bubbled on the stove. Thick stacks of computer printout paper marched along the far counter, bearing every recipe she'd ever included in one of Mother's columns.

  Her portable computer also sat there on the far counter but Diana averted her eyes. Cooking for the Fourth of July barbecue would constitute working toward her deadline she rationalized, cadging a taste of chili from the pot. Didn't Mother owe it to her readers to taste-test her recipes so the "best of the best" lived up to their name? And, Diana admitted, didn't she owe it to Gregory Stewart and his friends to give them a Fourth of July feast to remember?

  There'd be plenty of time after the barbecue to get down to real work on her book. She'd have weeks with nothing to do but play with the girls on the beach by day and work diligently at the computer by night. Surely her schedule would survive a minor amendment. As it was, she had less than forty-eight hours to get ready for her introduction into East Hampton "society."

  With apologies to her editor, she sat down to make up her grocery list for the party.

  #

  Joey's freckled face curled up on itself as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Ouch!" he said, his voice high and scared. "That's gotta hurt."

  "It does," said Gregory, "but sometime's pain is a part of life."

  "She must hate it."

  "I don't think she thinks about it one way or the other, Joey. Daisy's just doing what she's meant to do."

  Joey gave a snorting laugh and opened one brown eye to look at Gregory. "My mom would punch you for that. She says women are more than baby machines. She says -- "

  "I know exactly what your mom says and she's right, but in case you haven't noticed, Daisy's not a woman. She's a cocker spaniel."

  "She's still a girl."

  "A female, Joey. There's a distinction."

  "I don't get it."

  "You will," Gregory said with a chuckle. "Soon enough."

  Why Daisy had chosen the morning of the Fourth to be delivery day was beyond Gregory and he was glad the boy hadn't asked that question. Females were mysterious and never more mysterious than when embarking on the wild seas of motherhood. The female of the species -- any species -- lived by her own rules and the male -- no matter how well-schooled in biology -- would never be privy to her secrets.

  And so it was that Daisy's six puppies arrived two days ahead of schedule while Dave's wife Peggy was two weeks behind. Go figure. "Should we warm some milk or something?" Joey asked, wide-eyed, as Daisy licked the last arrival clean.

  "I think Daisy can take care of the milk herself," Gregory said, rocking back on his heels as he watched the pups root around, searching for their mother's teats. "Take a look, kid. It isn't every day you get to see a miracle."

  They watched quietly for a long while, the man and the boy, as Daisy adjusted to the demands of motherhood and it wasn't until they heard the sound of Mary Ann's horn in the driveway that either remembered it was a little after dawn and they were both exhausted.

  "Your mother's waiting," said Gregory as he stood up then gave Joey a hand. "Why don't you motor and I'll finish up around here before Charlie gets in?"

  "Aw, she just wants me to go home and take a nap,"

  Joey said, with a wave of his hand. "I don't need one."

  "Humor her," said Gregory, tugging at the ubiquitous Yankee cap on the boy's head. "Mothers need that sometimes."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. It's too early to show up at Gull Cottage any way." He forced a yawn and stretched broadly. "As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind catching a few Z's while I wait for coverage."

  Joey did his best to stifle his own yawn but failed miserably. "Well, maybe."

  "Do me a favor, pal, and go home with your mom. I'm getting too damn old for these night-shift maternity cases. If I don't get some sleep, I'll nod off during the barbecue."

  "You old guys have problems like that, huh?" asked Joey, with a big grin.

  "Us old guys can still run rings around you youngsters," said Gregory, walking Joey out to the front door. "Don't you forget that."

  Mary Ann, dressed in pajamas and a flowered co
tton robe, sat behind the wheel of her Hyundai, puffing on a cigarette and tapping a finger on the doorframe. She gestured impatiently for her son to get a move on.

  "You'd better hustle your butt," said Gregory. "I think she means business."

  "I think she's in a bad mood," said Joey, playfully ducking behind Gregory's broad frame. "You really gonna make me go home with her?"

  "Better you than me, pal." He grabbed Joey by his bony shoulders and gave him a push down the driveway. "See you back here about eleven-thirty."

  He waited until Mary Ann, who was never her best that early in the morning, disappeared down the main drag then went back inside the hospital. Life renewing itself, Gregory thought as he bolted the top lock then made his way back to the spaniel and her litter. Six times over Daisy had replaced herself on the earth and there was something immensely moving about that fact.

  Such a simple feat.

  Such an incredible miracle -- even for a cocker spaniel.

  Such an unlikely dream.

  "Damn," swore Gregory softly as he looked down at the new mother nursing her young. "Damn..."

  #

  "...and then you can play in the sand." Diana gave a last touch of the comb to Kath's cap of blonde curls while Jenny stood by watching. It was late morning on the Fourth of July. "How does that sound?"

  "Big Bird, too?" asked Kath, who had dubbed Boris with that nickname.

  Diana laughed and straightened the straps of the toddler's red-white-and-blue sunsuit. "Boris can't go down to the beach, honey. He has to stay inside his cage."

  "Bring cage," said Jenny, ever the practical one. "Birds don't go to the beach," Diana repeated, leading the girls down the back stairs to the kitchen.

  "Why?" asked Kath. "Seagirls do."

  "Seagulls, honey." Just yesterday Diana had delivered a beachfront lecture on seagulls and their place in the ecological scheme of things. "Seagulls like the beach. Mynah birds don't."

  "Why?" asked Jenny.

  "They get sunburned," said Diana. It seemed as good a reason as any.

  "Why?" asked Kath.

  "I don't know," Diana admitted. "Maybe their beaks get burned. Why don't you ask Boris about it?" Please ask Boris about it. It would serve that arrogant batch of feathers right.

  The girls seemed to find the idea funny and they giggled as they ran through the kitchen to ask Boris about birds with sunburned beaks. Diana exhaled on a sigh. How did Paula do it day after day, she wondered. Her own daydreams of a sweet and adorable Gerber baby were a pale imitation of reality. The twins' minds seemed to race all across the board like amusement park bumper cars; when they weren't saying "No!" at the top of their lungs, they were asking, "Why?"

  Why was Iggy so fat? Why did he sleep so much? Why could Boris talk while Iggy only meowed?

  And why was it Diana fell asleep last night at dinner with her eyes wide open when they were all ready to watch Lady and the Tramp, Cinderella, and Mary Poppins, in their own private Gull Cottage Disney Film Festival?

  What on earth would happen once they turned three?

  It boggled the imagination.

  To think Diana had once teased Paula mercilessly when she bemoaned the difficult existence of the housewife/mother. Little did she know, her sister Paula was a saint.

  Digging ditches was probably less exhausting than motherhood -- and Diana was certain it paid a lot more in the bargain. But it was hard to imagine any job on earth with dividends like the ones that came along with parenthood. Two days ago, as she strolled around the village of East Hampton with the girls and Gregory Stewart, she had a glimpse of what it could be like with a family of her own. Once in the Ladies' Aid shop, an elderly woman had commented upon how wonderfully well Diana's husband took care of their children and Diana had simply smiled and not bothered to correct her. Foolish, yes, but for a few moments it had been very nice to pretend.

  Today, however, she didn't have time to pretend. In the next fifteen minutes her guests would begin to arrive and she had a score of details to check before the doorbell rang. She swung open the refrigerator door and looked at the stacks of containers crowding the shelves. Potato salad with onion and hard-boiled egg; tomato and mozzarella vinaigrette with just a hint of fresh basil from the farm stand in Amagansett; macaroni salad with carrot and red pepper; a huge bowl of fruit salad laced with a touch of honey; baked ham; fried chicken; corn on the cob ready for the pot; and, of course, hamburger and hot dogs all set to be grilled to perfection.

  She'd been tempted to try out a cold broccoli-lemon-and-garlic salad and a shrimp and bacon appetizer but good sense had, at last, prevailed and Mother put her recipes away. As it was, the assortment would be bountiful enough to make King Henry VIII's mouth water. Up until now, she hadn't exhibited the slightest sign of competence in anything from child care to driving to basic shopping skills. She owed it to herself to redeem her good name.

  "Oh, admit it," she said out loud as she closed the refrigerator door with a bang. "You want to knock the good doctor's socks off!"

  She wanted Gregory Stewart to think she was the greatest thing since color TV. Why else would she have spent an hour fussing with her hair when the warm sea breeze outside would send it curling around her face the second she stepped outside? Why had she ironed her white cotton pants three times in order to get the creases just right? Insanity, that's why.

  Diana wasn't used to anything less than perfection and the fact that the good doctor had seen her quite a few notches below her best bothered her more than she cared to admit.

  And when the good doctor in question was young and strapping and magnificent to look at -- well, it made the situation darn near intolerable.

  Mother deserved better than that, and Diana was determined that she get it.

  She was just about to race upstairs and change from her red-and-white t-shirt to the blue one when the front door chimed. Her heart zigzagged against her ribcage and her attempt to take a deep breath was not very successful. She straightened her shoulders, mustered up her best smile and opened the front door.

  "Happy Fourth of July!" she beamed, all red-white-and-blue enthusiasm. "Welcome to Gull Cottage!"

  "One more word out of you," said the receptionist, "and the barbecue is off!"

  Chapter Eight

  "I beg your pardon?" I must be hallucinating. I don't even have a home to get sent to... Diana stared, open-mouthed, at the small red-haired woman and wished she'd listened to her sister when Paula said, "Don't speak to strangers."

  "I said we'll talk about it later and I meant it."

  "Aw, Maa-a-a!" Diana blinked and turned toward a short skinny boy with a Yankees baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. "Just one, please? They're real little and I'll do all the work, I promise. You'll never even know we got one in the house."

  "Right," said the woman, "and when it's thirty degrees below zero and the snow is piling up, who's going to be out there? Me, that's who! Not on your life, Joey."

  Suddenly Gregory Stewart appeared out of nowhere, carrying a huge case of soda. "Puppies," he said by way of greeting.

  Diana's smile had trailed off into something she feared resembled a grimace. "Puppies?"

  "Pros and cons. Our resident pet had herself a litter this morning."

  "Oh." She felt a tug at the leg of her white pants and looked down to see Kath smiling up at her with lips and hands stained chocolate. Her beautiful, pristine white pants.

  "Puppies!" Her twin joined her. "Where puppies?"

  "Gregory's dog had puppies," she told the girls.

  "Where?"

  "At his house," she said, praying the next question wasn't "Why?"

  The red-haired woman crouched down and stared solemnly at the twins. "I'm Mary Ann. Who are you?"

  "Jennifer," said Kath.

  "Kath-a-ryn," said Jenny.

  "Reverse that," said Diana with a helpless shrug of her shoulders. "They like to play games with people."

  "One of the benefits of being twins." The woman s
tood up and extended her hand to Diana. "I'm Mary Ann Marino and I apologize for being rude."

  Diana shook her hand. "Diana Travis and no apology necessary." She glanced at the young boy in the baseball cap. "Hi. And you're -- ?"

  "Joey," he said, looking down at the twins as bright red color flooded his freckled cheeks. "Hullo."

  Gregory grinned at the group of them assembled on the front steps of Gull Cottage. "I should've introduced everyone, shouldn't I?"

  "You clod," said Mary Ann. "And don't you dare blame it on lack of sleep. I'm just as tired as you are."

  Whoa! thought Diana with a start as some of her more elaborate fantasies began to crumble. Was there something between Mary Ann Marino and Gregory Stewart that she should know about?

  Gregory met her eyes and the message in his gaze was easy to understand. "She brought Joey over to watch Daisy deliver."

  "Daisy?"

  "The cocker spaniel."

  Diana passed a hand across her forehead as an aged Volvo limped up the driveway and pulled under the porte cochere.

  "We have more company," she said as a man in his late twenties helped an extraordinarily pregnant woman from the car. From the look of the woman, Diana wondered if she should start boiling water.

  "My partner Dave and his wife. She's due any day," said Gregory.

  "Really?" Diana murmured. "I hadn't noticed."

  "Fat," said Jenny (or was it Kath?), pointing toward the woman walking toward them.

  "Fat as a cat," said Kath (or was it Jenny?) as Ignatius the Huge ambled out onto the front step.

  Was it too late to back out of this barbecue?

  #

  By two o'clock, Diana had set up the trays of appetizers, served drinks all around, made a second pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade, changed the twins' diapers, arbitrated a fight between Boris and Ignatius over ownership of the solarium, and decided she should retire upstairs to Cleopatra's barge.

  "What an idiot," she said to the empty kitchen as she arranged fresh vegetables on her brand new dinner plates. If she had half a brain, she would grab the keys to the rented station wagon and disappear until this particular debacle was over.