Sweet Talking Man

by Liz Talley

  “And Abigail.”

  “Of course she was. She likes meetings and colored tabs and making spreadsheets.” Even though he was flippant, jealousy rose in him. He could see Abigail and Cal sitting together, looking like they fit each other, both with dark sleek hair, prominent jaws and a sense of belonging to the world around them. Oh, and there was that whole “having a daughter together” thing that united them.

  Maybe he should have done as Birdie suggested—step aside. Abigail might have accepted Cal’s renewed interest. Without Leif popping her buttons, she may have relented. He’d trod into Abigail’s world as if he belonged in it. She had known he didn’t. That’s why she hadn’t wanted anything more than sex.

  And though his heart and body craved a different ending, his mind could sift through the facts and conclude that staying away from Abigail was for the best.

  Hilda cleared her throat. “So if I get nothing on Abi, why not tell me about the search for you father? Or is that, too, none of my business?”

  “Well, I’ve pared the list down to one name. After that, it will be back to the drawing board…or perhaps I’ll just forget about it.”

  “And who is this final possibility?”

  Leif hesitated for a second, then decided Hilda’s reaction might be telling. “Everett Orgeron.”

  “Whoa. Now that’s something,” she breathed.

  “He’s the only other guy Carla Stanton mentioned my mother knew or dated.”

  “Does Abigail know?”

  “No, why would she?”

  “Because she loves you?”

  Leif gave a wry laugh. “I don’t think so, Hilda. But nice try. Abigail and I are no longer engaging in the undoing of buttons, zippers or snaps.”

  “Oh, dear. You must tell Auntie Hilda what in the hell is going on.”

  Leif shook his head. “Nothing to tell. I’m essentially at the plate with an oh-two count.”

  “That’s a piss-poor attitude from a determined man.”

  Leif looked at the dog, who ambled in wearing a duck sweater. “Hilda, no offense, because I really think you’re the bomb diggity, but you don’t know me. As much as I want to belong, I know I don’t. And even if I wanted a future for me and Abigail, I know there isn’t one. I’m not made to stick.”

  “Bull to the shit,” Hilda said, lifting her chin. “That’s a bunch of malarkey piled on malarkey. I knew the minute I saw you there was something special about you, and being around you, watching you work on this festival and generously giving your time and charm to Abigail, I knew you fit this town like a glass slipper.”

  Leif gave a humorless laugh. “Hilda, that slipper was dropped and shattered weeks ago. I fit this town like a pair of too small Birkenstocks. Look, I’ve loved my time here, but when the school year is over, regardless of whether I’ve found the man who fathered me or not, I’m heading west. Abigail’s better off sticking to what she knows.”

  “Like Cal?”

  “Or a man who fits her world better. We had fun, but that’s all it can be.”

  “Well, shit on a shingle, you fell in love with her.”

  It felt as if she’d punched him. Not love. Anything but love. Daisy had talked him out of that, right? He simply missed Abigail right now. That was it. “Remember how you said approval’s given too easily?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, the concept of love is brought up too easily these days.”

  Hilda’s brow wrinkled much like her cousin’s did when confronted by something with which she disagreed. “So you’re discounting love because…?”

  “It doesn’t lead to anything.”

  Hilda tilted her head. “Did I ever tell you about Sherburne? My late husband?”

  Leif looked desperately toward the front door. He needed to get home and crack open a beer, not get a lecture about love from Hilda.

  “Well, he was a horrible man.”

  Leif made a face. “So why did you marry him?”

  “Because he was rich as hell and spent almost all his time at the office.”

  “You could be doing more harm than good here, Hilda.”

  “Anyway, Sherburne worked incessantly to make money, never really caring what I did with my time as long as I attended his business and family functions in New Orleans. When he died, he was a millionaire several times over with absolutely nothing to show for his life aside from his picture hanging on the wall of the firm he slaved years working for.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I was the moron who thought I didn’t belong here with Denny Trosclair. Denny was a plumber and wanted nothing more than a snug little house in Magnolia Bend, a bunch of babies and me in his bed every night. My mama told me I was too good for Denny. She told me Magnolia Bend was a Podunk town full of backward, fashion-challenged busybodies.”

  “And it isn’t?”

  “No, this town is full of the fashion-challenged, but my point is I believed what someone else told me about myself. Do I like having Sherburne’s millions at my disposal without having to look at his sour face every night over dinner? You betcha. But I’m jealous as hell of Kathy Trosclair with her cute window boxes and three pretty grandbabies. Who in the hell was my mother to convince me I was this?” Hilda waved a hand over her silk pantsuit, the large diamond rings catching the light from the crystal chandelier above them.

  Her intense gaze caught his. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t belong somewhere…that you are destined to be their image of you. You can take that however you wish, but just because you’re pretty and you’ve left a string of broken hearts doesn’t mean you are only that.”

  Leif watched the strong emotions storm across the face of a woman who normally reveled in her own bored indifference. He saw through to her pain and regret. There was nothing left to do but hug her.

  “Oomph,” she wheezed as he gave her a squeeze.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me. You’re a remarkable woman who smells fantastic.”

  “Well, I can afford good perfume,” she said, giving him a squeeze before releasing him.

  “I know I’m more than what most people think of me, and I don’t suffer from low self-esteem. But lately, I’ve felt like I’m walking across a sheet of thinning ice. I can’t find my footing, my heart is in my throat and any second I’m sure it will end in disaster.”

  “Yeah, sounds like love to me,” Hilda said, catching one of his hands. “I would have loved a son like you. You’re one of a kind, honey.”

  As Leif left Hilda’s, he wanted to think he had a better grasp of what he needed to do, but he didn’t. He felt more confused because his heart and his mind were at war, and sitting between the two was the search for his father. Perhaps if he could settle all that, he would have a clearer picture of where he belonged in life. He didn’t know why he thought this way, he just did.

  But the road ahead lay obscured by indecision, fear of rejection and all things Leif Lively was unaccustomed to being.

  *

  ABIGAIL PULLED UP to Leif’s house the morning of the gala and stopped the car. “I contacted Mr. Lively—”

  “You mean Leif?” Birdie’s tone showed how little progress Abigail had made in modifying her daughter’s behavior.

  “Yes. Your art instructor. His text said he left your matted prints on his workbench in his bedroom. Use the key in the birdhouse and make sure you relock the door.”

  “Why didn’t he just take them with him and save us a trip?”

  “Because I told him I’d pick them up last week, and I forgot. He took the other piece days ago. It’s my fault.”

  “Well, then why don’t you go inside and get them? You’ve been in his house before.”

  Yeah, and that was the main reason she hadn’t picked up the two pieces he’d volunteered to mat and frame. She’d been doing her best to remain strong and that meant staying away from Leif. Any glimpse she caught of him made her feel as if her heart were being filleted. So she’d turned into something she
’d never been—a procrastinator. Lately she’d become the queen of avoidance, a shadow of herself. “Do you want to enter the contest or not?”

  “I do.”

  “Then go get your art pieces. You want to be independent? This is how we start.” Abigail motioned toward Leif’s house, déjà vu washing over her as she recalled months ago sending Birdie up the same steps to apologize to Leif. So much had happened since then. Abigail had changed so much…opened her eyes to a bigger world.

  “Fine. Jeez, you’re as uptight as ever,” Birdie said, sliding from the car.

  After Abigail had embarrassed Birdie in her English class, they’d had a heart-to-heart. Hadn’t been easy, but Abigail had laid out how much Birdie’s attitude hurt her. Thankfully, Cal also had taken the time to talk to Birdie, telling her that he and her mother were over. Since then, Birdie had gone back to being a normal mercurial preteen. At times she settled into almost pleasant. Emphasis on almost.

  “I’m not being uptight. Go. We’re on a schedule.”

  “We’re always on a schedule. I can’t believe you’re waiting to the last minute. Not like you, Mom.”

  Well, maybe that was because she was an emotional wreck. She’d tried to be distant and hated every moment of playing the ice queen. Seeing Leif’s reaction made something wither inside her. This was not who she wanted to be…again. So she’d had a come-to-Jesus meeting with herself, looking hard at the woman she’d clung to being. “I’ve been preoccupied.”

  “Because you broke up with Leif? I get it.” Birdie’s eyes flashed with sympathy. “It’s always hard.”

  “Yeah, but we’re still friends.” But not really. Friends didn’t avoid one another. Friends also didn’t cry themselves to sleep from missing the other person.

  “At least you tried, Mom.” Birdie jogged toward the front porch.

  Yeah, she’d tried. Crash and burn.

  Abigail gave a heavy sigh. A week ago, she’d decided to hell with protecting herself. She would tell him she’d do whatever he wanted as long as they could be together…for as long as he stayed in Magnolia Bend. Twice she’d started down the path to his house, only to turn back.

  The whole thing was stupid, really.

  She didn’t know how to undo the hurt between them. Did she merely apologize for making him feel like she was embarrassed about being with him? Did she hurl herself into his arms and beg for forgiveness, inhale his scent and the strength he always gave her? Or did she lay it all out on the table, logically giving the reasons he should take her back?

  But the old fear of rejection, of the crunch of tires as yet another man drove away, reverberated in her gut.

  Why couldn’t she let go of the fear?

  She had to stop clinging to past hurts and step into the light. Dance near the fire. Take a leap…toward Leif.

  Before time ran out.

  Abigail looked at her watch. She had forty minutes to get Birdie and her entries to the judges’ table before her hair appointment. The gala would be held at the newly renovated country club and the attire was dressy for once. Hilda insisted they move toward more black tie than work boots, so Abigail had dragged out an old bridesmaid’s dress of inky blue, cut the skirt off to midthigh and bought a pair of silver stilettos that matched the streak in her hair. When she’d tried on the outfit last week, she’d nearly tossed it for her standby modest black dress with the satin bow. But then she imagined Leif seeing her in the blue one, and she’d decided to be bold.

  She wanted to be sexy tonight…because she’d decided tonight was the best opportunity to change things between her and Leif.

  Birdie came out carrying her two pieces and an additional piece that looked to be hastily wrapped. She slid both in the back before sliding into her seat up front.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mr. Lively left a note asking me to bring it. He must have left it behind.” Birdie clicked her seat belt, then stared straight ahead, shoving her earbuds into her ears.

  Abigail pulled the left earbud out. “Are you sure? The committee has already placed all the items to be judged in the storage area.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just being nice and taking it for him.” Birdie shoved in the earbud, sealing Abigail out.

  “Guess we can do that,” Abigail said, pulling away from the curb, heading for the subdivision exit. Birdie’s mood had once again changed. Weather conditions ten minutes ago—balmy. Present conditions—freezing drizzle.

  After several minutes, Abigail tapped Birdie’s shoulder. “I’d love to see how your drawings turned out.”

  “Why? I won’t win. Nicholas Severson’s stuff’s much better and he’s in my division.”

  “Don’t think that way.”

  Birdie started tapping on the new iPhone her father had bought her last week, ignoring Abigail.

  “Birdie.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to be called Birdie anymore.”

  “Sorry.”

  Her daughter grunted, still staring at the damn phone.

  “Come on, it’s hard being a mom sometimes.”

  Birdie didn’t move. “So you remind me all the time. If I’m so hard to deal with, maybe I should go live with Dad.”

  Abigail’s heart dropped into her stomach and bounced several times. “Do you want to live with him?”

  “Maybe. I’m tired of living in a hotel.”

  Abigail wanted to punch the steering wheel. “I thought you loved Laurel Woods.”

  “I do, but I want a house like a normal kid, and it’s obvious I’m in your way. You don’t want Dad but you want some man in your life.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Birdie looked up. “You were hooking up with Leif.”

  “Leif and I were friends.” Not a total lie. Just a half truth.

  “Just friends?” Birdie asked, her voice dropping in temperature.

  Abigail didn’t want to lie to her daughter, but she wasn’t going to admit to sleeping with her art teacher. The way Birdie said hooking up made what Abigail had shared with Leif sound sleazy when it had been anything but. But maybe Birdie, like so many others, would see only black or white. They would never see the healing the relationship had given Abigail, and they would never see the tenderness, the laughter and the sheer goodness of being with Leif. “I told you that my love life—or lack of one—is off the books. Now, we need to get to the festival grounds and then to Fancy and Pops’s house.”

  “Nice avoidance tactic,” Birdie muttered, again tapping on her phone, “but as you remember, I’m not a little kid. I know the score, Mom.”

  Abigail fought against quizzing her daughter on exactly what she meant, mostly because she didn’t have time for the usual drama. She’d been reading books for the past year on dealing with rebellious teens and last week she’d spent time visiting with another mother who had a daughter Birdie’s age. She’d assured Abigail the surging hormones were normal for a nearly teenaged daughter. Pairing that with Cal coming home and the fact Birdie seemed to have withdrawn from her friends meant a rockier-than-normal ride for a while.

  God help her, but Abigail felt plum tired when it came to being a parent these days.

  So she remained silent while she drove the last few miles into town. Pulling up at the gate to the fairgrounds, she shut off the car. “I’ll wait here while you go enter your work.”

  “You’re not going with me?”

  “As a not-so-little kid, there are things you can do for yourself. Here’s the check for the entrance fee. It’s only enough for two entries. If you want to enter more, you’ll have to use your own money.”

  Birdie stared at her for several seconds before saying, “Okay.”

  Abigail sat there for a full fifteen minutes before texting Birdie.

  Come on. I have an appointment in ten minutes.

  RayAnne, her hairdresser, had squeezed Abigail in last-minute and there wasn’t time to spare. She’d have to see if Fancy could meet her at Salon 86.
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  Birdie replied:

  Coming. Had to take Mr. L’s art thing to Jolene. BRB.

  Abigail drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to decide whether to go with an updo for her hair, or leave it down. Probably the latter.

  Finally, Birdie hurried to the car.

  “Sorry. I had to find the chick cataloging the art going to the country club,” she said, sliding inside.

  “Oh, guess that was one of the pieces they’re displaying tonight during the gala. Glad you were able to get it logged in for Mr. Lively.” Abigail started the car and pulled out, while dialing her mother.

  “Yeah, lucky for him,” Birdie said, turning her head to stare out at the dreary afternoon.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Abigail shrugged off the weird vibe sleeting off her daughter as Fancy answered. After settling things with her mother, Abigail headed to the salon. Definitely hair down so it brushed her shoulders. That would make her more approachable.

  Hopefully, Leif wouldn’t avoid her and she would get the opportunity to reopen the dialogue between them. All she could do was be honest about her fear of being hurt again. She would tell him about how she’d started down the path to his house several times. About how she missed him and the way he made her feel. Then she would ask him to consider a different relationship, one that was in the open. She would tell him he’d taught her to love again.

  Because she would rather have Leif to love for a little while…than not at all.

  She said a prayer for guidance as she parked the car, waving at her mother, who had just arrived wearing yoga pants and a breast cancer awareness T-shirt. She looked hard at her mother, a woman who had fought cancer years ago and won. A woman who had been scared of her hair falling out and people looking at her. A woman who had feared death no matter how many times she’d nodded in agreement with her husband in the pulpit when he declared eternity with God the ultimate reward. Her mother had taught Abigail to fight, chin up, shoulders back, while wearing fabulous shoes.

  No, Fancy hadn’t raised Abigail to be scared.

  She hadn’t raised her to allow the pain of betrayal to sideline her from life.

  Tonight Abigail was letting go of her past.