Spring Fever

by Mary Kay Andrews

  The recipe for Quixie baked beans was illustrated with a color photo of an immaculately coiffed housewife offering the gooey-looking brown concoction to a trio of eager children. The woman in the photo was definitely a dewy-eyed, probably not more than nineteen-year-old Sallie Bayless, although the children were young models, since Sallie’s own children weren’t even born yet.

  “Mrs. Glendenning M. Bayless proudly serves her family healthful dishes from her personal recipe files,” the photo’s caption proclaimed.

  That one gave Annajane a laugh. She’d eaten countless meals at her former mother-in-law’s house, and never once had Sallie served anything as pedestrian as baked beans. Sallie Bayless would have slit her own throat before following a recipe that called for combining canned baked beans, bacon, Vienna sausages, pineapple tidbits, and, yes, a twelve-ounce bottle of Quixie.

  Still, the box was a miniature treasure trove of the company’s marketing history. She shuddered now to think how close she’d come to trashing all of it.

  Annajane slid the ruined box off the hand truck and lifted the lid on the bottom box. So this was why her load had been so heavy! Inside she found a dozen old glass Quixie soda bottles, each of them different. Of course she’d glimpsed some of the same bottles in the glass display case in the company foyer, but they’d been there so long, she’d really never taken the time to examine them.

  Most of the old bottles were either clear or the same pale green tint that was used in the current Quixie bottle. But the shape and silhouette and labels varied. One in particular drew her attention. She lifted it out and held it up to the sunlight.

  The bottle was short and squat, an eight-ounce size, and its base bore concentric rings. On the label, the winking face of Dixie leaned out from the Q in the company name.

  “Adorable,” Annajane breathed, turning the bottle this way and that. At the same time she was admiring it, she realized that she was thirsty, parched, dying, actually, for an icy-cold glass of delicious, even nutritious Quixie cherry cola. Talk about a subliminal message.

  Suddenly, she heard the loading dock door open behind her and the familiar tap of heels and that overly loud voice.

  “Well, hey,” she heard Celia say. “What on earth are you doing, Annajane?”

  Reflexively, Annajane shoved the top on the file box.

  “Just cleaning out my office,” she said, struggling to her feet.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing that!” Celia exclaimed. “I promised Tracey we’d get the office spiffed up before she moves in, but the last time I peeked in there, I realized we’ll have a lot of work to do before the painters can come.” She favored Annajane with one of her twinkly smiles. “I realize you’ve still got another week to work, but that’s really just a technicality. I was hoping you’d get the place emptied out a little early. I know Davis wouldn’t mind if you quit a few days earlier.”

  In other words, Annajane thought, “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?”

  Annajane forced herself to return something like a smile, without Celia’s phony wattage. “That’s very sweet of you, but I wouldn’t dream of taking off work until I get every last loose end tied up. And I’ve still got lots I need to accomplish, especially with the summer sales promotion.”

  In other words, back off, bitch. I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.

  “Well,” Celia said reluctantly. “I guess you’ve got a better grasp of those kind of nitty-gritty details than me. Mason and Davis really want me focused more on the big-picture stuff.”

  Like selling off the company? Annajane wondered.

  Annajane pointed at the cartons on the loading dock. “While I was emptying boxes I did find some interesting old files and old bottles I think Mason might want to keep.”

  Celia looked as fresh as a daisy. She wore a pale gray-blue sleeveless sheath that showed off her tanned arms, a chunky silver chain necklace, matching earrings, and gray-blue kitten-heel mules that brought her up to just about chin level with Annajane.

  “Throw it all out,” Celia said, waving a hand in the direction of the Dumpster. “I swear, this place has mountains of old crap that these people have been hanging onto since God knows when. And don’t even get me started with Cherry Hill. Do you know that Sallie told me she actually still has all of Pokey’s old baby dresses? What is it with you Southerners? Doesn’t anybody ever throw anything away down here? Don’t even bother Mason with that junk, please. He’s got enough to worry about these days.”

  He sure as hell does, Annajane thought.

  Instead, she gave Celia a pleasant smile. “I’ve thrown out most of it, but if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just box up some of the stuff and take it home myself. Sort of a memento from my time with Quixie, you know?”

  “Really?” Celia said, cocking her head and crossing her arms. She looked Annajane up and down and shook her head. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be sentimental about something like your ex-husband’s family’s business. But then, I can’t pretend to understand much about your arrangement, which even you have to admit is pretty unusual.”

  So now the claws come out, Annajane thought. Mee-owwww.

  “I was born in Passcoe, and my daddy and my stepfather both worked for the company. And Mason and I had a life together,” Annajane said finally. “Quixie was an important part of that, even after the marriage was over. Some of our times were good, some of ’em not so good. Just because I’m moving away doesn’t mean I want to forget all of it.”

  “Help yourself, then,” Celia said. She stepped daintily over the pile of advertisements.

  14

  “Look who I brought!” Annajane announced when she walked into Sophie’s hospital room. She held up the DVD so Sophie could see it.

  “Milo and Otis!” the little girl cried.

  Annajane brushed a kiss on Sophie’s forehead and looked over at Mason, who was sitting in a chair at his daughter’s bedside. “Is she being a good patient?”

  “She’s an awesome patient,” Mason said, standing. “She’s letting the nurses take her temperature and pulse and check her incision, and she just had a little Jell-O for lunch. Here,” he said, gesturing toward the chair he’d just vacated. “Have a seat and I’ll put in the movie.”

  As he was fiddling with the controls for the DVD player, the hospital room door opened.

  “Aunt Pokey!” Sophie said. “We’re gonna watch Milo and Otis.”

  “Thank Gawwwd,” Pokey said dramatically, dropping a large pink beribboned gift bag on Sophie’s bed tray. “I haven’t seen Milo and Otis for hours and hours.”

  Sophie was tearing the tissue and ribbon from the gift bag. She held up the slightly dingy pink plastic purse that was her most treasured possession. “My pocketbook!” she exclaimed. She unsnapped the catch and took a quick peek at the contents.

  “You left it in my car,” Pokey volunteered. “I threw out the chicken nuggets because they were getting a little, um, stinky. But you can keep everything else.”

  Pokey looked over her niece’s head to Mason. “She had one of my lipsticks, the baby’s silver teething ring, some beer-can pop tabs, a key that I don’t recognize, and an empty Altoids tin.”

  “Treasures,” Sophie said, tucking the pocketbook under her blanket. She dove back into the gift bag, exploring the rest of her loot. “New crayons!” she exclaimed, holding up a box of sixty-four Crayolas.

  “And some coloring books. Pocahontas, Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Mason picked up one of the books and laughed. “How did Spider Man get in here with all these Disney princesses?”

  “That’s a gift from those brutish boy cousins of hers,” Pokey said. “They seem to feel that Little Mermaid is strictly sissy stuff.”

  “Can you stay for a while?” Mason asked his sister quietly. “Letha’s insisting on spending the night in the room with Sophie, but I sent her home to get a shower and some rest. I’ve got some stuff I need to do at the office. I’ll be back in an hour.
”

  “Why not?” Pokey said. “Pete took the boys out to ride around on the ATV around the lake. They won’t be home for hours and hours. With any luck,” she added, with a wink to her niece.

  “Now it’s just us girls,” Pokey said, perching on the side of the hospital bed. “I love movie night with the girls. Think the nurses would make us popcorn if we ring that buzzer of yours, Sophie?”

  “I can only have Jell-O. And apple juice,” Sophie reported sadly.

  “Never mind,” Annajane said. “We’ll have popcorn and Milk Duds next time for girls’ movie night. And Quixie, of course.”

  “When?” Sophie asked, not missing a beat.

  Pokey looked at her best friend and raised one eyebrow. “Yes. When, Annajane? Soon?”

  “Pretty soon,” Annajane amended. “Maybe Aunt Pokey will bring you to Atlanta to visit me after I move, Sophie. And we can have a whole girls’ movie weekend.”

  “I don’t want you to move to Atlanta,” Sophie said plaintively.

  “Me neither,” Pokey added.

  “Thanks,” Annajane said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just watch the movie now, okay? We’ll worry about coming attractions later on.”

  Ninety minutes later, with Otis and Milo trotting bravely across country, while Sophie snored softly, Pokey eased off the bed, stood, and stretched.

  She glanced at her watch. “Ugh. This is what I hate about being pregnant. I’m always hungry. Have you had lunch?”

  “I could eat,” Annajane admitted. She moved over to the bed and smoothed a strand of Sophie’s hair behind her ear. “Do you think we should leave her like this?”

  “Mason should be back soon,” Pokey said. “Anyway, she’ll probably sleep for at least another hour after that last dose of pain meds.”

  They were getting ready to slip out of the room when the door swung open and Celia stepped inside. She held a huge stuffed pink rabbit under one arm and a plastic-wrapped slab of wedding cake in one hand, with a bobbing bouquet of balloons in the other.

  “Oh,” Celia said, taking a half step backward when she saw Annajane and Pokey. “Oh. Hi.”

  “We were just leaving,” Pokey said, taking Annajane by the elbow and steering her toward the doorway.

  “Where’s Mason?” Celia called.

  “Isn’t he with you?” Pokey asked innocently. “He left here nearly two hours ago.”

  Celia frowned and put the bunny, cake, and balloons on the table by Sophie’s bed. “He was supposed to meet me here.”

  “You know Mason,” Pokey said with a shrug.

  Outside, in the hallway, Annajane gave Pokey a stern look. “You know he’s just out running errands. Are you trying to start trouble between Mason and Celia?”

  “Yes,” Pokey said. “I am. It was only by an act of God that they didn’t get married yesterday. So now, I aim to do everything I can to get this wedding completely called off. Forever.”

  “You’re crazy,” Annajane said, walking as fast as she could through the hospital corridor. “And it won’t do any good. By now you know Celia. She’s unstoppable. She gets what she wants. And she wants Mason.”

  “Tough shit,” Pokey said, trotting along beside Annajane. “How long have you known me?”

  “Too long,” Annajane muttered.

  “How long?”

  “Going on thirty years, God help me,” Annajane said.

  “Do you remember Toni? With an I?”

  Annajane wrinkled her brow, trying to remember anybody from their shared past named Toni.

  “I give up. Who was Toni?”

  “Toni the Pony,” Pokey prompted. “When we were ten?”

  “Ohhhh, that Toni,” Annajane said. “Poor old thing. How old did she live to be?”

  “She was seventeen when she just laid down in the pasture and went to sleep,” Pokey said proudly.

  “And how does Toni the Pony have anything to do for your loathing of your future sister-in-law?” Annajane asked.

  They’d left the hospital and were in the parking lot, headed, by unspoken mutual agreement, for Pokey’s Land Rover.

  “Do you remember how Toni came to live at Cherry Hill?” Pokey asked, sliding into the front seat of the unlocked car.

  “You wanted a pony. Your daddy bought you a pony. That’s how things usually worked in the life of Pokey Bayless,” Annajane said.

  “Not just any pony. I wanted Toni. I guess you’ve forgotten. Mama hired some company that had pony rides to come out to Cherry Hill for my tenth birthday. Remember, we had the cowgirl theme?”

  Annajane laughed. “I just found my monogrammed cowboy hat and personalized cap pistol when I was packing stuff last week. And I still didn’t throw them out, for some reason that escapes me right now. Your mama did throw some amazing birthday parties, that’s for sure.”

  “The company brought four ponies to my party. And Toni was just … pathetic. She was so skinny, I wouldn’t let anybody get on to ride her. She had sores on her neck, and her eyes were all runny. I begged Mama to get Daddy to buy her for me, but Mama wouldn’t even consider it. She pointed out that Toni was about half-dead.”

  “So you went to your daddy.”

  “Exactly,” Pokey said, nodding. “Daddy agreed with Mama. Said I already had a dog and a cat and a lizard, and we didn’t even have a place to keep a pony, which was ridiculous, because we totally had a fenced-in pasture and the old dairy barn out at Granddad’s farm.”

  “It’s coming back to me now,” Annajane said. “You pitched a fit and didn’t quit.”

  “Toni would have died!” Pokey said. “She was sick, and those awful people treated their animals like crap. I begged and I pleaded. I got that woman’s phone number and called her up and told her I was gonna report her to the police for being mean to animals.”

  “You were ten,” Annajane said, marveling at the memory. “How on earth?”

  “I just knew I was the only person who could save Toni. I told Mama I would never ask for anything else the rest of my life. I prayed every night that they would buy Toni for me. I went on a hunger strike, refusing to eat.”

  “Of course you ate when they weren’t looking,” Annajane reminded her.

  “But not dinner,” Pokey said. “I kept it up for a whole week, pestering and whining and carrying on, until I finally wore Daddy out and he bought Toni just to shut me up.”

  “You got your way,” Annajane agreed. “So that’s the moral of this story?”

  “Toni came to live in a stall I fixed up for her at the farm. We got the vet to see her, and she got healthy and fat and happy, and I rode her every day until I got too tall to ride her without my feet dragging on the ground. So Toni lived out a long and happy life. And that, my friend, is the moral of this story. Never underestimate the power of Pokey Bayless Riggs, especially when it involves something or somebody she loves.”

  “Hmm,” Annajane said. “You know I am your biggest fan and best friend for life, right? But you may have met your match with Celia.”

  Pokey whipped the Land Rover into the parking lot at the only restaurant in Passcoe that was open on Sunday. The Smokey Pig. She put the car in park and turned to give Annajane an appraising look. “You know something you’re not telling me?”

  Annajane shrugged. “I was in my office this morning. At Quixie. Trying to get some last-minute memos and reports out. I had my door closed, but I could hear her as she was walking down the hallway. You know how loud her voice is.”

  “Celia?”

  “Yeah. She was talking to somebody on her cell.”

  “About?”

  “I only heard one side of the conversation,” Annajane admitted. “She was telling somebody named Jerry that they had to go slow—because these people’s business was their life.”

  “People—as in us?”

  “That’s what I assumed,” Annajane said. “Look, I don’t really know what they were discussing.”

  “But you have an idea. Let’s hear it.”

  “Sh
e talked about Davis—and how since he’s the middle child, he always thinks he has something to prove to the world.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Pokey said under her breath.

  “And that he was in favor of whatever Celia and her pal were discussing—because he wants to spread his wings, because he has bigger plans for himself. And she said she thought Davis was the key to the deal.”

  “Good old Davis,” Pokey said. “Always scheming something. What else?”

  Annajane laughed. “She said it might be tricky because the younger sister—you—didn’t really like her very much, but that you probably have a substantial ownership interest in the company.”

  “Quixie!” Pokey exclaimed. “You think she was talking to this guy about trying to sell Quixie?”

  “I don’t know,” Annajane said. “Maybe?”

  “Son of a bitch,” Pokey said slowly. “What else did you hear?”

  “Nothing. She walked on past my office, and then my phone rang, and it was Mason asking if I was going to come to the hospital because Sophie was asking for me.”

  It was another beautiful spring day, so they found a wooden picnic table on the patio and placed orders for two Smokey specials—sliced pork, cole slaw, and potato salad. The waitress brought them jelly jars full of sweet iced tea, and they waved and greeted neighbors and acquaintances.

  “We have got to stop Celia,” Pokey said, leaning across the table to keep from being overheard.

  “Stop her from what? We don’t even know that she’s up to anything,” Annajane pointed out.

  “First, we stop her from marrying my brother. Then, we stop her from whatever nefarious other plot she’s scheming in that adorable little blond head of hers,” Pokey said with a scowl. “This is war.”

  “We don’t even know what she’s up to.”

  “So we’ll figure it out,” Pokey said. “You’re smart and I’m conniving. Are you in, or are you out?”