“Feels like it sometimes,” I quipped. Then I added quickly, “Though in a good way.” Though she was being good-natured, I wasn’t sure how far I could push my joking.
“Don’t believe her for a minute, Mom,” Gabe said, pouring the first set of pancakes. “I’ve tried her patience more than once or twice in the last few years.”
“I can well imagine,” she replied.
Though she said it in the most bland way, not meaning, I was certain, for her words to harbor any sort of undertone, I could see Gabe’s back stiffen.
Let it go, I sent a mental message to my husband.
Maybe it was my psychic message or maybe his own good sense, but in a few seconds his back relaxed, and he didn’t answer her. Fortunately, Ray walked into the kitchen at that moment whistling Steve Goodman’s “The City of New Orleans.”
“Hey, Ray,” I said. “That’s one of my favorite songs. Have you ever actually ridden on that train?”
“I have,” he said, going over to Kathryn and kissing her cheek. “Good morning, Katie-do.”
Gabe turned around to look at Ray, his eyes surprised, then annoyed. It threw me too. Katie-do? I couldn’t imagine a less appropriate nickname for his very proper Midwestern mother. I imagine Gabe was thinking the same thing. I wondered briefly what his father used to call her.
“Good morning, Gabe,” Ray said evenly, not at all flustered by Gabe’s less than hospitable look. “Something smells delicious.”
Gabe murmured something and turned back to his pancakes. I glanced at Kathryn, whose face showed the same annoyance that her son’s held, though hers was directed at his broad back.
We stuck to neutral subjects while we ate, and again I noticed that Gabe never actually spoke to Ray. It was going to be a long day. Forget that, it was going to be a long holiday season. After breakfast, we coordinated plans for going out to the ranch at noon. Gabe would take Kathryn and Ray in his comfortable city-issue car; I would take the dogs in my truck. It would be a tight fit in the front seat of the truck for me, Scout and Boo in his car seat, but we’d manage.
As we dressed, I told Gabe I was going to take Boo and Scout for a walk down to Elvia and Emory’s house to try to burn off some of Boo’s puppy energy. “I’ll use the time to call Constance, see what she says about not telling me about Francie being blackballed.”
Gabe, to his credit, didn’t reiterate what he said last night about this investigation being fake. He just shrugged, his mind on something else. Should I say something to him about the way he was treating Ray? I decided to keep quiet. It would just be better if we all walked on eggshells around each other until this awkward visit was over. A big blowup was something no one needed right now, least of all my husband, who’d been on edge since his cousin died last month.
“In case you’re gone by the time I get back, see you at the ranch.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed the bottom of his chin.
On my, Boo and Scout’s very slow amble to Elvia and Emory’s house—I’d forgotten how easily puppies were distracted by every little flower or bug—I dialed Constance’s number. Fortunately for both her and me, she answered.
“Hi, Constance, it’s Benni. You never called me back.” I didn’t try to hide the irritation in my voice.
“I wasn’t feeling well last night,” she said, her high voice thin and, indeed, sick-sounding. “One of my migraines. I’m still feeling woozy. What did you want?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that Frances McDonald had been blackballed once already by the 49 Club?”
“What difference does that make?”
“A big difference, Constance!”
“How did you find out about it? Our membership vote is supposed to be private.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you? One of the things Dove always says is that the only way something is kept secret is if it is between you and God and no one else.”
“The 49 Club members are different,” she said, her voice haughty. “We take an oath.”
“Whatever,” I said, unwilling to waste time arguing about this. I was almost at Elvia’s house. “Are there any more little secrets about these three ladies that you forgot to tell me?”
“I didn’t forget to tell you about Francie. I just didn’t think it had any bearing on the subject.”
That last statement just about did me in. Tired, I did not have time for this pseudo-investigation, nor time to pander to Constance, no matter how bad I felt about her losing her friend. “Honestly, Constance, I found nothing that led me to believe that any of those women would murder Pinky. Bobbie doesn’t really care about being in the club. Both Francie and Dot do, but I doubt that either would slit their wrists if they weren’t chosen. Are you absolutely certain you want me to continue with this?”
I’d reached Elvia’s house and wanted to cut our conversation short. I meant what I said. Though each of the ladies had a bit of troubled history with Pinky, none of them was capable of killing someone. I was certain of it. Well, almost certain. I’d also been surprised enough by people in life to never state unequivocally that someone was innocent.
“You need to come to the 49 Club Christmas tea this Wednesday,” she replied. “Maybe you can find out some more information then.”
“Constance, there’s nothing to find out. I’m really, really sorry that Pinky died, but I think you are searching for something that doesn’t exist.” I waved at Emory, who’d come out on his front porch holding a dark blue mug and wearing an expensive-looking navy blue jogging suit. He gestured at his mug, asking me if I wanted coffee. I nodded yes, and he disappeared back into his house.
“I need you at the tea,” Constance said, her voice just this side of pleading. “I would consider it a great favor.”
That gave me pause. Having Constance owe me was not something to sneeze at. “All right, I’ll come. But I still think you should let this obsession about Pinky go.” I couldn’t believe how nervy I was being. Then again, what did I have to lose? Right now, I’d gladly turn my curator job and the constant care of Madame Sinclair over to anyone who’d take it.
“Thank you,” she said, garbling the words as if they were ones she was not familiar with pronouncing, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. “I’ll call you with the details.”
“Okay.” I turned off my cell phone, slipped it into my pocket, scooped Boo up and climbed the wooden stairs to my cousin’s wide front porch. Scout followed, flopping down on one of their hand-braided rugs. My cousin stood at the top step with a cup of hot coffee, creamed and double sugared just how I like it.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that Sunday is a day of rest?” he asked, handing me a mug of steaming coffee. I reciprocated by handing him Boo.
“Make yourself useful. I don’t want the Booster falling down these steep stairs.” I sat down on one of the hickory rocking chairs Emory bought from an Appalachian artisan in West Virginia. It made a soft, homey-sounding squeak with every rock.
Boo licked Emory’s hands and settled down in his arms as if he were meant to be there. Emory stroked Boo’s silky head. “Looks like I made myself a friend.”
“Don’t get too proud,” I said, inhaling the nutty smell of my coffee. “He likes everyone, especially if you have a treat in your pocket.”
“Don’t burst my bubble, sweetcakes,” he said, sitting down on a rocker that was a twin of mine. “How’s life in the Ortiz household?”
I grimaced and shook my head. “Awkward as heck. Gabe and his mother bounce between not speaking and pretending to be a fifties television mother and son, and Gabe hasn’t said two complete sentences to Ray since they arrived. I tried to talk to him about it last night, but he sweet-talked his way around me, basically telling me to mind my own beeswax.”
Emory massaged Boo’s neck absentmindedly, and I could see the puppy’s eyes start to close. Maybe I could talk my cousin into taking Boo for an overnighter, convince him that getting up in the middle of the night for potty patrol would be good practice for thos
e two a.m. feedings that were in his near future.
“I can’t help you there, cuz,” he said. “You know my mama died too early for me to go through that resentful, adolescent stage. But I’ve had enough friends stuck in a time warp relationship with their mamas to know that it’s always a lot more complicated than it appears. And with Kathryn springing her new husband on Gabe with no warning, I’d say that’s just the last onion on a truckload of old resentments that are sitting there idling away. Keep in mind, it’s not your job to unload the truck.”
I sipped my coffee and rocked slowly back and forth, comforted by the motion. He was right. But like a truck idling outside your motel window at five in the morning, it was irritating, and there would be no way I’d get any sleep or peace until they resolved their conflict . . . or Kathryn left. It would more than likely be the latter.
“You’re right, Emory. You really should have stuck with that psychology major in college. You’d make a good therapist.”
He shifted Boo in his arms, and the puppy let out a little chirp of disapproval. “Sorry, young fella, my arm was getting tired. I’ll be needing a therapist my own self, sweetcakes, before this child of mine is born. I don’t think I’m going to make it through this pregnancy. I’m about ready to go nuts.”
I laughed. “Don’t be cryin’ in my soup. You were just as much responsible for bringing this baby into the world as Elvia, and she’s the one suffering the most. But you listened to my woes, so I’ll do you the favor back, what’s going on?”
So I listened to his complaints about Elvia’s up and down emotions, her crying jags, her morning, noon and night sickness, his dashing out in the middle of the night for crazy food cravings. Cracker Jacks was the latest.
“Not caramel corn, mind you, but Cracker Jacks. It had to be Cracker Jacks. Do you know how hard it is to find Cracker Jacks anymore? And she ate them while drinking tomato juice. I tell you, Benni, I had to leave the room before I threw up!”
I nodded sympathetically, giving up my plan to have Boo stay over. It looked like Emory already had his hands full.
“So,” I said, when he stopped to catch his breath. “Are you guys coming out to the ranch today? I know Kathryn would love to meet you.”
“I’ll have to ask the admiral. It depends on how the smell of barbecuing meat is affecting her these days.” He leaned closer to me. “Tell me, does it get any better?”
I shrugged. “Emory, you’re asking the wrong person. Remember, I’ve never been . . . never had a baby.”
I almost said I’d never been pregnant, something that wasn’t entirely true. Once, during my first marriage to Jack, I’d been pregnant, for two months. We were so excited, had lain in the dark at night watching the shadows dance across the ceiling and discussed names, wondered what it would be like to be parents, talked about the whole amazing thing of our genetics mixing to make another human being. We didn’t tell anyone, and when I lost the baby, we were glad we hadn’t. It was something that happened so long ago, I felt sad but distant from it. Like my life with Jack often felt, it was like the incident happened to another person.
Emory’s face grew concerned. “Is this . . . is us having a baby . . . are you . . . ?” His face flushed pink as he struggled to articulate his feelings.
I reached over and placed my hand on my cousin’s forearm. “I’m fine, Emory. I’m so happy for you and Elvia. I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me and Gabe to have children and, you know, I’m surprisingly okay with that.”
As I said the words to him, I knew them to be true. It was something I’d thought a lot about, prayed about, something I’d only talked to Gabe about, this strange but certain feeling that if we never had children, I would be fine. Though we did nothing to prevent it, I had no intention of going through the barrage of tests and infertility treatments other people choose to go through. I just couldn’t stand the thought of all the poking and prodding, the loss of privacy. Maybe I just didn’t want a baby badly enough. I loved other people’s babies, just didn’t feel this overwhelming urge for one myself. Did that make me a horrible person, an emotionally sick person like some would say? I didn’t think so. What was so great was Gabe didn’t think so either. One of the things I loved the most about him was he didn’t find it odd, didn’t say I was odd, for feeling the way I did.
“No one knows your own heart better than you, querida,” he’d said, the last time we talked about it. “And, children or no, I will love you till I die.”
“Good,” Emory said, obviously relieved. “I’ve been wanting to say something. Elvia too. We just didn’t know how to bring it up.”
“You nut. I can’t believe you’ve worried about this. It’s me, Benni, your best friend. Elvia’s best friend. I mean, what more could a girl ask for than her two best friends marrying each other and having a baby? I feel like little niño or niña Aragon-Littleton is partly my baby too.”
“We want you and Gabe to be godparents.”
“I’d punch your lights out if you asked anyone else.” I stood up and scratched Boo under the chin. “Could you watch him for a few more minutes? I want to say hi to Elvia. Then I need to get out to the ranch and help Dove.”
“Sure, I’ll watch the pup.”
Inside, I found Elvia in her clothes room again, tossing pants left and right, leaving them in blue, gray and tan piles around the shiny wooden floor. I groaned inwardly. Another clothing meltdown.
“Need any help?” A pair of navy wool slacks flew past me.
“I have nothing to wear to the ranch.” She glared at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a beautiful gray silky nightgown with matching robe, trimmed in ecru lace. I could see her little baby mound under the thin fabric.
“Just wear one of your baggier dresses. You’ll be inside the house all day anyway. It’s not like you’ll be rustling any cattle.”
She closed her eyes and, I was guessing, said Hail Marys or whatever it is Catholics pray when they are upset. Maybe it was like that oh-so-common Baptist prayer: Grant me patience, Lord, and give it to me right now!
Elvia opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tomorrow. Two o’clock. Meet me in my office. We’re going shopping.”
I knew better than to argue with her. I didn’t mention that I’d be virtually no help when it came to shopping, seeing as I did most of my own clothes shopping at the Farm Supply or with a Cabela’s or L.L.Bean catalog. I’d go along for emotional support, to hold her handbag and water bottle, to tell her everything looked great. “Okay, just wanted to see how you were doing. Kathryn’s looking forward to meeting you.”
Elvia turned around to look at me, her makeup-free face concerned. “How’s her visit going?”
“Up and down. You can hear the details from Emory, but I think that Gabe and his mama have a lot of things they need to get off their respective chests. Unlike my crazy Southern family who, except for Daddy, believes that no emotion or opinion, no matter how trivial, is worth keeping to yourself, Gabe and Kathryn are being consummate, good-mannered Midwesterners. They pretend like nothing is wrong except when they are shooting invisible arrows at each other’s backs.”
For the first time in weeks, I saw Elvia smile. “Do you think a confrontation is coming?”
“Probably not, though I think one would certainly clear the air and help everyone feel better. I think they’ll just snipe back and forth and Kathryn will go home and life will get back to normal.” I leaned against her eggshell-colored wall. “Frankly, I was hoping her visit would make him feel better, maybe help him open up some. Since his cousin was killed, he’s been so wound up. It worries me.”
Gabe’s cousin Luis had sadly initiated a hostage situation that resulted in his death. There were suspicions that it was suicide, suicide by cop was the term, and Gabe felt responsible for his cousin’s death, even though it appeared that Luis knew exactly what he was doing. Gabe and I had danced around the subject, with me willing to talk and him avoiding it. Typical of our relationship.
“You were traumatized too,” she said, reaching over to touch my cheek. Elvia was normally not a very demonstrative person, but since being pregnant and me being held hostage, she’d taken to touching, hugging, even kissing cheeks occasionally.
“I’m doing fine. I’ve talked to Pastor Mac about it and the Big Guy upstairs. And I have Dove. And you and Emory. See, I have lots of support.”
“We’re there for Gabe too,” Elvia said.
“I know, but we aren’t his family. I mean, his blood family. He can barely speak to me about it. I was hoping that he could talk to his mother. If he doesn’t, once she leaves, I’m going to try to get him to see someone.”
“Gabe talk to a psychiatrist?” Elvia gave a soft, unbelieving laugh. “That is almost as hard to imagine as my own papa going to one.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said wryly. “But there’s always Father Mark. He has a degree in psychology, so it’s sort of the same thing, or maybe Mac. He really likes Mac.”
She impulsively hugged me, enveloping me in her . . . Jean Naté?
I pulled back, aghast. “Is that Jean Naté cologne you’re wearing?” My label-conscious friend would never be caught dead wearing that traditional drugstore cologne of grammas and great-aunts everywhere. Ralph Lauren and Armani were more her style.
“I know, I know,” she moaned. “It’s the only scent that doesn’t make me throw up. I’ve had to ask Emory to stop wearing cologne completely. All his colognes make me gag.”
“Boy, will you have a lot to hold over this child’s head someday,” I said, laughing. “And that doesn’t even count labor.”
She laughed too, and the rosy bloom in my best friend’s cheeks, her obvious happiness, made my heart hurt with gladness.
“I gotta hit the road,” I said. “This will be my last fun day for the next week. I’ve got a full schedule including my fake investigation, and Boo isn’t going to make things any easier.”
“Fake investigation?” Elvia’s face was confused. “Boo?”
“I guess I haven’t talked to you since so much in my life has changed. Follow me downstairs, and I’ll introduce you to my new godson.”
Tumbling Blocks Page 13
