7 Short Stories

by Curry, Edna

  Seven Short Stories

  By Edna Curry

  Copyright 2010 by Edna Curry

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. All names and events in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without express written permission of the author, except for short excerpts for reviews.

  ###

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  Candlelight and Silverware

  by Edna Curry

  “Ow!” Carol exclaimed, pulling her hand back quickly from the spitting grease in the frying pan where she basted her husband's eggs. She turned down the gas flame to low where it should have been if she’d been paying attention to her cooking instead of stewing about their argument.

  “Burn it?” asked Tom, looking up from the toast he was buttering. He jumped up and held her hand under cold water at the sink. “Better?”

  “Yes. It's nothing serious. I'm just nervous this morning.” She frowned at the angry red mark on her hand, sighed, and served the eggs.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. The Jamisons are coming to dinner tonight.”

  “Yes.” Carol turned away to get his coffee, pursing her full lips. Forgot! After that big fight the other night when he had casually told her he had invited them to dinner? Fat chance he'd forgotten! They'd hardly spoken a loving word since.

  The Jamisons were Tom's latest important clients at his advertising firm. And Tom had known Carol felt terribly inadequate beside Lori Jamison, yet he'd gone right ahead and invited them to dinner without consulting her. So inconsiderate of him.

  True, he often invited clients home to dinner on short notice, but not someone like her. Lori always looked like she'd just stepped off a fashion magazine cover.

  “Aw, honey, don't let it upset you. They're nice people, just like you and me,” Tom pleaded, running a large hand through his dark curly hair.

  All Carol's anger flashed back as she poured his coffee, then her own and sat to eat her breakfast. “Just like us? Ha! What a laugh. We hardly ever leave this Minneapolis area. We’re just plain old suburbanites. We go to church and school activities, shop at the local mall. They've been all over the world, visit all kinds of people--why, they're rich! Our rambler may be fairly new, but it's nothing fancy like they're probably used to. I do all my own cooking and housework while she's used to servants and everything. How will my dinner and home look to them?” She waved a hand around her nice, but nothing fancy kitchen.

  Tom looked around, clearly puzzled. “We have one of the nicest homes in this neighborhood. They won't expect it to be fancy, honey. Please, I've got to run! Just relax and be yourself. I'll see you with them at seven. Aren't the kids ready yet? They'll be late for school.” He shrugged into his brown coat and pulled his furry cap down around his ears. With a hurried goodbye kiss, he was gone.

  Carol sighed and drank her coffee, then got up and began fixing eggs for her teenagers. “Bob, Cathy, breakfast is ready! Hurry up!”

  Bob appeared his curly brown hair so like his father’s, uncombed. As usual, he wore faded Levis, with his backpack of books under his arm. At fourteen, he was quiet and studious. He dropped the backpack on a chair, sat and ate quickly and noisily.

  In a minute Cathy appeared. “Ugh, eggs and toast again? Why don't we ever have anything romantic?”

  “You would say it was fattening and refuse to eat it anyway. Hurry, now, you'll be late.” Tall and slim at sixteen, Cathy was at the independent, impossible age between girl and woman. Still, she shouldn’t complain. They were good kids, usually cooperative and polite. Both did well in school and had many friends.

  Five minutes later Carol was alone with an empty house and her thoughts. She seethed at Tom's lack of consideration for her feelings. But the invitation couldn't very well be cancelled. She went through her usual morning routine with extra care. Would her suburban Minneapolis home seem poor to the Jamisons? How would they act?

  She had met them only once, at a company dinner at a restaurant a few weeks ago. Lori had worn a fantastic low-cut evening gown and a blonde wig, though another friend had told Carol that her real hair was dark brown. She had looked gorgeous.

  And I felt plain and ordinary beside her. All that talk about Paris and Rome and Tokyo— whatever am I going to discuss with her tonight? I've only read about all those places!

  She worried all morning as she worked. The children were going to an away football game on the bus after school, so they wouldn't be home until late. So there would be just the four adults at dinner. At least that will eliminate the usual dinnertime teenage drama.

  Carol wished she could have invited a few others, so she and Lori wouldn't be alone. But Tom had said no, since he and John had to work out details of their new contract after dinner.

  She’d chosen a simple dinner menu– roast beef for the main course. She went over the grocery list again, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Oops, she hadn't made ice cubes for cocktails. She glanced at the clock as she slid the ice cube tray into the freezer. Eleven already! Where had the morning gone?

  She slipped into a clean pantsuit and got out her red Volkswagen. She spent the next couple hours getting her hair done, shopping for groceries and doing errands.

  Home at last, she went through the familiar routine of preparing a company dinner. Roast in the oven, potatoes ready to put in. She’d made a dessert and rolls the day before. She always depended on make-aheads to take the pressure off the party day.

  She always kept her silverware polished and company tablecloths clean and ready. Candles. She added leaves to the dining room table and began to set it. Good china, candles, centerpiece, napkins, and butter dish—better put out the butter to soften a bit. Would they like her homemade rolls? She could warm them in the microwave at the last minute.

  She checked the roast. It looked fine, and the delicious aroma reminded her she had skipped lunch. She nibbled hungrily on the hors d'oeuvres as she made up a pretty tray of them, mixed a sour cream and chives topping for the potatoes, prepared a tossed salad, and put the potatoes into the oven to bake.

  What else could she do? Five-thirty. How about some time for me? A leisurely soak in the tub sounded better than a shower. Maybe the hot water would relax her. She carefully covered her hairdo so the steam wouldn't ruin it, and enjoyed a soak as long as she dared. Then makeup, her favorite perfume, charm bracelet, and her best hostess gown, a red pant-suit. She surveyed herself nervously in the mirror.

  She went back to the kitchen. Rain still spattered on the window. The children hadn't come home, so their game must be on. She worried about them as always when they were away in bad weather.

  She was putting the vegetables on to cook when the doorbell rang. Lori stood there, her hairdo blonde, unusual and perfect to the last detail. Her blue outfit looked new and expensive, but she was a bit wet. The drizzle was changing to sleet.

  “Sorry to be early, dear, but the men said to come ahead and they'd be here later.”

  “Of course. Come in, Mrs. Jamison.”

  “Call me Lori, please,” she laughed, shaking out her fur coat. “My, but it's cold out there!
”

  Carol hung up her coat. “Yes, the weather is nasty tonight.”

  “Mmm, smells delicious in here! Can I help with something?” Lori sounded sincere.

  Carol relaxed a bit as Lori followed her to the kitchen. She opened the oven to check on the potatoes and roast. The meat thermometer read close to rare. Carol prayed the men wouldn't be late. Why had she chosen simple foods, which had to be perfect? I should have made a fancy meat mixture which wouldn't be ruined by waiting in case they were late, she thought desperately.

  “What a huge roast! Is someone else coming?”

  “No, but I have two teenagers. They had a game tonight, but will be home later.”

  “Of course. I'd forgotten your children. What can I do?”

  Was she condescending? Or did she really want to help? “Everything is about done except to watch the food cook. I'll put the vegetables on. The men should be here any minute. Do you want to put these hors d'oeuvres on the coffee table in the living room? Here's a little fork for them—oh, dear, I forgot to put on the silverware!”

  “I'll do it,” Lori offered. “I hear John's car.”

  “Thanks. The silverware chest is in the top drawer of the buffet beside the table. I'll mix the drinks,” Carol answered, relieved that Lori was making herself at home, and the men were not late.

  She heard Tom and John's voices as they came in, and carried in the tray of drinks.

  “What a night!” Tom exclaimed, kissing her lightly. Everything under control? his eyes asked her. She smiled reassuringly and handed John his cocktail.

  “Lori, you look lovely as usual,” Tom greeted her as Lori joined them.

  “Of course,” John laughed. “She always does. Is that a new outfit, dear? This gal should own a clothing store—she's always shopping!” He sat on the couch and opened the buttons of his expensive sports coat to make room for his ample middle.

  “Yes, it’s new,” Lori admitted, “I stopped at this darling shop this afternoon and just couldn't resist it. The shop reminded me of that cute little place in Paris where I got so many things when we lived there, remember, John?”

  “Sure, I remember the bills. But at least it wasn't as expensive a place as that 'Maries' in Milan. I thought I'd go broke that summer!” He laughed indulgently to assure the rest of us he didn’t mind and could well afford her whims.

  Carol smiled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she wondered how plain she must seem to them, when they could compare shops and cities all over the globe.

  Carol went back to the kitchen to serve the meal. Lori followed. She seemed to really want to help and Carol began to relax as Carol put out the food and Lori lit the candles.

  They sat down to eat and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves when Tom looked questioningly at her across the centerpiece. Now what? Whatever was wrong must not be something he could ask out loud. What had she done wrong? Drops of nervous perspiration slid down Carol’s back and her throat tightened.

  She smiled and nodded agreement to whatever John had said, hoping that was a suitable response and picked up her fork. Only it was her spoon.

  And then she knew. The silverware! The knives and spoons were on the left and the forks were on the right. But how? Of course. Lori had put the silverware on. Carol wanted to laugh or cry. But Lori and John didn't seem to notice. They were eating and talking to Tom.

  How could Lori not know the correct way to set a table—Lori who had raised a family herself—had eaten elegant meals in expensive restaurants all over the world? Even if she hadn't done the work herself, wouldn't a person remember where the silverware went just from picking it up to eat with it? Tom had noticed immediately, and he'd never set a table in his life.

  Suddenly the nervousness left Carol. Lori might be beautiful and glamorous and experienced in some ways, but she was ignorant in others. I'm superior in some ways, too, Carol thought, her confidence returning.

  “Terrific food, Carol,” John was saying. “This roast is perfect. And your homemade rolls are delicious.”

  “Aren't they, John?” Lori said. “I never learned to bake. Never had to, I guess, or was just too busy. There was always some social event or other to get ready for or attend.”

  “True, Lori.” John agreed amicably. “Yeah, it's a real treat to eat home cooking, Carol. Sure is nice of you to have us over.”

  “My pleasure!” Carol smiled and meant it. “I'll get the dessert and coffee.”

  After dessert, the men moved to the den while Lori and Carol put away leftovers and loaded the dishwasher.

  Lori asked for the dessert recipe, so they settled in the kitchen with Carol's recipe box on the table in front of them. While Lori copied Carol's pistachio pudding cake recipe onto a fresh index card, Carol wrote down the name and number of Lori's hairdresser on another. “And I want that recipe for Rhubarb Custard Pie next,” Lori said. “I missed the tangy taste of Rhubarb so much when we lived in the southeast. Do you know I tried three times but couldn’t get it to grow there?”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “I’m not sure if it was the soil or the hot climate. I found it frozen in a large supermarket once, though. But my own little market didn’t have it.”

  When her teens returned from their football game a while later, Carol looked up happily, thankful for her children’s safe return from the nasty weather.

  “Any food left, Mom?” Bob bounced in first. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I forgot you were having company.” He stopped uncertainly, standing awkwardly on one foot as Carol introduced him to Lori.

  “Hi,” smiled Cathy, behind him. “And I’m Cathy. What a lovely outfit, Mrs. Jamison.”

  “Thank you. How was the game?”

  “Terrific. We won even though the field was kind of muddy,” Bob said enthusiastically. “But it was too cloudy to see the Northern Lights tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Cathy explained to Lori. “They’re usually gorgeous driving out to the ball field, away from the floodlights. All red and yellow and green, dancing flares of color, you know.”

  “Yes, they are. I’ve seen them,” Lori agreed.

  “Can I heat up this roast beef in the microwave for a sandwich, Mom?” Bob asked from behind the refrigerator door.

  “Sure, honey, and there's cake, too.”

  “But you just had three hamburgers at the game,” Cathy exclaimed. How can you eat all that already?”

  “They weren’t very big hamburgers,” Bob protested.

  Lori laughed. “My three were the same when they were growing up. It seems so long ago now. But then, we lived in so many places, and they went off to boarding schools so young.” Her voice trailed off, as she sat thinking. For a moment, her face didn't look glamorous, just tired and sad.

  “Boarding schools. Why?” Cathy asked in an appalled tone.

  “Tom and I traveled so much for his business. We thought it would be better for them to be in one school, rather than having to change schools and make new friends all the time.”

  “Oh, yeah, Bummer. I’d hate leaving my friends and moving around, too.” Cathy agreed as she grabbed a can of diet coke from the refrigerator and popped the top. She and Lori exchanged sympathetic smiles.

  And in that moment Carol stopped envying her and began to genuinely like her. Maybe this business association wouldn't be so bad after all. They might even become good friends.

  Much later, after the Jamisons had left, Carol and Tom got ready for bed.

  Tom said, “See, the dinner turned out terrific, as usual, Hon.”

  “Yes, it did.” She folded the quilted bedspread, laid it on the cedar chest, and smiled indulgently at her husband’s attempt at making up. That’s probably as good an apology as he can handle. And he’s right. It turned out fine. I am a good hostess, even if I’m not a world traveler.

  “You always worry for nothing.” Forgive me? his eyes pleaded as he got into bed.

  She cuddled up for a goodnight kiss to tell him all was well between th
em again.

  “But what was that business with the silverware? Or was I the only one who noticed?”

  “I'll explain it sometime,” she murmured sleepily.

  The End.

  Circletop Capers

  By Edna Curry

  Jody opened the blue louvered shutters on her dining room windows to let in some light. But the morning was typical for December in Minnesota, gray, overcast and cold.

  “Breakfast is ready, Bob,” Jody called up the hall.

  “Be right there,” her husband, answered.

  She put the glasses of juice and plates of scrambled eggs on the table, and dropped whole wheat bread into the toaster. As she heard Bob’s footsteps coming down the hall, she poured their coffee, then got the toast, sat and began buttering it.

  Detective Bob Miller seemed to always be in a rush getting off to work and appreciated her efforts to smooth his morning. She grinned, reminding herself it was her fault he was usually in a hurry. He often came home too tired to make love, so they made up for it in the mornings. If she hadn’t kissed him back earlier, he’d have gotten right into the shower…her lower regions tightened again, remembering. Yes, it had been worth it.

  He appeared smartly dressed in his blue cop’s uniform and plopped into his chair. “Mm, smells great.” He picked up his toast. “Got any honey?”

  “I’ll get it.” She got up, found the honey bear and handed it to him.

  He dribbled honey on what was left of his slice of toast and covered a second slice. He stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth and talked around it. “I don’t know what time I’ll get home tonight, hon. If I don’t think I’ll make it for dinner, I’ll let you know. Two of our guys are out on leave right now, so the chief may have us working late again.”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee. “I suppose he would be upset. That’s five robberies in your district in just these past few weeks, isn’t it? Want more coffee?”