The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade

by Virginia Smith

  Millie dutifully scanned the page, though she already had a copy tucked away in her magazine rack at home.

  A choking sound from Al’s direction drew her attention. “Eight hundred thousand dollars?”

  With his eye sockets open that wide, he resembled Mrs. Tolliver’s pug, Chumley.

  “Seven ninety-eight,” Louise corrected calmly. “After all, it is located in the historic district. And I’m confident the sellers are willing to flex a little on the price point.”

  “They’d better be willing to flex a lot! This is no fixer-upper. I’d call it a knock-down-and-do-over.” Albert turned his bug-eyed stare on Millie. “Six bedrooms? You can’t be serious. What in the world would we do with six bedrooms?”

  Now was when she needed to remain levelheaded and stick to her plan. Albert was one of the most intelligent men she knew, and quick to spot what he would no doubt refer to as one of her schemes. One wrong answer at this stage would set his mind down a path she wasn’t yet ready to reveal.

  She settled herself and replied calmly. “The grandchildren are growing, Albert. We can’t have them camping out on the living room floor forever. And of course each married couple deserves a private bedroom when they come for Christmas Eve. Alison’s husband won’t be stationed in Europe forever, and then we’ll be even more crowded.”

  “So let them go home after dinner! The boys only live a couple of hours away. It’s about time for them to develop their own Christmas traditions anyway.”

  The tears that sprang to her eyes were not forced. The very idea of Christmas morning without her grandbabies padding around the house in their new pajamas was enough to set her lower lip trembling. Not to have them run into Grammy and Papaw’s room and leap up onto the bed, screeching excitement and urging Papaw to put on his slippers so they could go to the family room and see what Santa brought? Unthinkable.

  Albert seemed unmoved by the appearance of tears in his wife’s eyes. If anything, his spine stiffened even more than its already ramrod-stubborn posture. “A six thousand square foot house is absolutely ridiculous for a retired couple. Even the twenty-two hundred we have now is more than an aging couple like us needs. But at least ours is all on one level.”

  Aging couple?

  Louise saved her from what may have been a sharp reply by stepping smoothly between them. “Let’s take a look at the front sitting room, shall we?” The noise of her heels striking the scarred hardwood sounded magnified in the awkward silence. “Just look at the scrollwork on the lintel over the doorway. Isn’t that stunning?”

  She pushed open a heavy wooden door. When Millie and Violet toured the house a few days ago, they’d agreed this door should be painted white, along with the tall baseboards and other trim. Before Millie entered the sitting room she saw Albert reach over and slip a finger beneath a piece of peeling wallpaper. His lips twisted and he shook his head.

  “Wallpaper is easily replaced,” she informed him as she swept past.

  Inside the doorway she stepped aside and let the room work its magic on her again. This room would be the heart of their home. The tall ceilings created a spacious feeling, and the ornate crown molding flooded the room with elegance. When this busy old wallpaper was stripped off and the walls painted a charming robin’s-egg blue, the carved mantle on the fireplace would become a lovely centerpiece to draw the eye. The chandelier was exquisite; those crystals would sparkle like diamonds when they were cleaned. And the bay window! She crossed the room and sank onto a dingy and faded window seat.

  A puff of dust rose and set her to coughing. With a look of alarm, Albert covered his mouth with his shirt collar. “I wouldn’t breathe in here if I were you. With that broken window, I’ll bet the place is full of mold. Might even be black mold. It’ll get in your lungs.”

  “A mold test is always advisable before you buy one of these historic homes.” Standing beside the fireplace, Louise sipped from her coffee cup. “But I haven’t seen any sign of mold. That window has been tightly secured.”

  Unconvinced, Albert cast one more glance around the room and made a hasty exit, his mouth still covered. Millie let out a sigh. He seemed determined to display his stubborn streak today. Though she’d fully expected resistance, in the recesses of her mind she’d harbored a hope that he would fall in love with the house when he saw it. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Oh, well. That just made the task a little more difficult. She heaved herself off the window seat and headed after her husband.

  As the tour dragged on, Al fell silent. He could find no new words to describe his opinions after he’d overused dismal, disaster, and catastrophe-in-the-making to the point that even Louise’s ever-present smile had begun to twitch with annoyance whenever he voiced an opinion. The hopelessness of this architectural calamity transformed his initial pessimism into a gloomy melancholy. How in the world could Millie wade through all the dust and gaze down at the crumbling stone fireplaces—seven of them, for cryin’ out loud!—and not want to run shrieking to the car?

  “And here’s one of my favorite features of this property,” Louise announced as she twisted the lock on a set of heavily-draped French doors in the rear wall of the dining room. “Just look at this verandah.”

  Millie gasped aloud, folding her hands beneath her chin in obvious delight. Glumly, Al followed her outside. He stepped onto a cracked flagstone that shifted beneath his shoe, and he wavered to regain his balance.

  “Careful there, Al,” Louise cautioned. “Some of these pavers aren’t in the best shape. But I’m sure you’ll agree that with some TLC and a little elbow grease, the potential for this outdoor space is practically limitless.”

  He bit back a sharp retort about there not being enough elbows in the entire town to take on this project.

  Actually, this was a nice back porch. It was deep and covered and ran the whole length of the house, with columns spaced evenly to support the roof. The waist-high railing needed to be replaced, of course—was there anything in this house that didn’t?—but it added the homey touch he’d been unable to achieve on his own redwood deck. Maybe he should have reconsidered the inexpensive metal awning he’d had installed over his deck. This sturdy roof made the patio feel like an extension of the house. Like the front yard, the lawn back here was in desperate need of tending. But the mature oaks scattered across the property promised an abundance of shady retreats during hot summer days. He could almost see himself parked beneath that big one in the center, a glass of lemonade in one hand, a book open on his lap and bullfrogs croaking from the pond behind him.

  Millie glided toward the railing, her gaze rapturous. “Just look at the lake! It’s beautiful.”

  “Pond,” Al corrected automatically.

  “Whatever. It’s big enough for a paddle boat.” She turned toward him, eyes shining. “I can see us floating out there, me wearing a sundress and a big floppy hat while you read poetry to me like you did when we were dating.”

  He could have come up with a suitable rejoinder, only at the moment his mind had conjured a memory of the time she referred to. She had looked so adorable in that yellow dress and hat, and she’d gazed at him with love in her eyes. That was the day he’d decided to marry her.

  He cleared his throat. “If you want poetry, I’ll read it from the comfort of my recliner. That way we won’t get skin cancer from overexposure to the sun.”

  Judging by the sudden snap of her teeth and narrowing of her eyes, that comment had tipped the scales. She didn’t bother to mask her annoyance as her chin jutted forward and she turned pointedly away from him.

  The realtor avoided eye contact with either of them. “Let’s have a look at the basement, shall we?”

  What was the point? Anniversary or not, Al was done. They’d already wasted an hour of their Saturday tromping all over the place. Millie was mad at him, as he’d known she would be, so the rest of the day would be awkward and uncomfortable.

  “Go ahead,” Al told them. “I’ll wait in the
car.”

  Millie turned a surprised look his way. “You don’t want to see the basement?”

  He replied as patiently as he could. “I didn’t want to see any of it. I agreed only to make you happy.” A longsuffering tone crept into his voice. “Apparently that attempt was a failure, so I see no reason to keep trying.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. A battle was taking place inside that head of hers, probably weighing the idea of blasting him with a sharp reply against the awkwardness of succumbing to an argument in front of an outsider. Propriety won, because all she did was nod once before she disappeared into the house. Louise awarded him one of her perky smiles and followed her inside.

  When the door clicked shut, an empty silence pressed on his ears. How could he salvage what was left of the day and smooth her ruffled feathers? A gift? Flowers? No, she might construe those as an apology, and he refused to apologize for acting as the voice of reason. In fact, if anyone had a right to be angry, it was him. She should be trying to come up with a way to pacify him, not the other way around.

  Movement near the big tree in the center of the yard caught his eye. A squirrel scampered across the ground. No, not one. Three squirrels. Just as he’d suspected, the place was infested with the pesky things.

  His resolve thus strengthened, he strode around the side of the house to wait in the car.

  Chapter Five

  Honestly, Violet, I’ve never seen him more stubborn.” Millie leaned closer, dodging a hairspray-cemented curl to speak quietly in her friend’s ear. “It was so embarrassing for Louise to see him acting like a cantankerous old poop.”

  They stood close together on the sidewalk outside the Woodview Community Church, waiting for the rest of their group. A line formed inside the church, worshippers waiting to shake Reverend Hollister’s hand before they trickled out into the sunshine. On fine spring days most of the congregation walked to church. Today was the first time this year the weather had cooperated.

  “He can be stubborn as a mule.” Violet nodded sagely.

  Millie spared a smile for Cheryl Lawson, who was attempting to wrangle her boys down the walkway. “It wasn’t just stubbornness,” she told Violet. “It was his whole demeanor. He never smiled once. Even when he wasn’t pointing out an endless list of repairs that would need to be done, he scowled the whole time. I knew he would be pessimistic, but I expected he would at least be polite.”

  “What did he think of the kitchen?” Violet asked. “Surely he admired that big stone fireplace.”

  “He pointed out the crumbling mortar and said he had no idea where to find a competent stone mason who could fix it for less than five hundred dollars.” Millie twisted her lips. “I think he was keeping a running total of all the repairs in his mind during the whole tour.”

  Violet shook her head. “Sounds like my Frank, God rest his soul. He was tighter than bark on a log.”

  Millie spied Albert shaking the Reverend’s hand. He descended the steps and joined a small cluster of people talking with Doc and Lizzie Forsythe on the sidewalk. “There he is. Don’t mention the house, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed.” Violet used her fingers to twist an imaginary lock on her thin lips. “I won’t let the cat out of the bag. I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.” She smiled, obviously pleased at the opportunity to use three appropriate clichés at once.

  They joined the group in time to hear Jacob Pulliam say, “I can’t believe you’re really gonna do it.”

  “You act like this is a surprise.” Doc nodded a greeting at Millie and Violet as he answered. “I’ve been talking about retiring for years.”

  “He’s been promising for years,” Lizzie corrected with a smile at her husband. “Ever since his mother moved to Florida. It’s long overdue, if you ask me.”

  Millie looked at her boss. “Does that mean the meeting the other night went well?” She’d known a potential buyer was coming to see the animal clinic, but since she didn’t work on Saturdays she hadn’t heard how things turned out.

  Doc nodded. “She called last night with an offer.”

  “She?” Fred Rightmier’s eyebrows arched high on his shiny red forehead. “You’re selling out to a woman?”

  Violet jerked upright. “You don’t think a woman can be a veterinarian?”

  Fred didn’t back down under her sharp stare. “’Course they can, but we’re used to a guy, is all. Not sure Goose Creek’s ready for a woman doctor, even an animal doctor.”

  “Careful, Fred,” cautioned Albert mildly. “Your narrowmindedness is showing.”

  Doc clapped a hand on Fred’s arm. “Give her a chance, will you? She’s going to be a good vet.” He held a hand out to Lizzie. “Ready?”

  Watching the couple stroll hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, Millie’s irritation with Albert softened. Yes, he was irksome at times, but she loved him. In twenty years, she fully intended to be walking down this street, holding his hand, just like Doc and Lizzie.

  The group headed out and bid Fred goodbye when he turned left on Cross Street. At the next intersection, Jacob and Doris veered off, leaving Millie, Albert, and Violet to cover the last block on their own.

  “Would you like to come for lunch?” Millie asked her neighbor when they reached Mulberry Avenue. “We’re having leftover roast beef from last night.”

  Before Violet could answer, Albert spoke. “Actually, we’re not having lunch at home today. We’re going out.”

  Surprised, she looked at him. “We are? Where?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  She studied him. A smile hovered around his lips, giving him a satisfied air. In fact, he looked quite pleased with himself. She felt a rush of warmth toward him. No doubt this lunch was an attempt to apologize for his brusqueness yesterday. He knew she was still irritated with him, and this was his way of making amends. How sweet.

  “I’ll take a rain check then,” Violet said as she veered off the sidewalk toward her front door. “Call me later.”

  Naturally, she would expect a full report on Albert’s secret plans.

  Millie waved. “I will.”

  Al sat on the edge of the dock and swung his feet into the canoe. He planted his weight and tested his balance before reaching up to take the picnic basket from Millie.

  “I still can’t believe it.” Happy tears sparkled in her eyes as she handed the basket down to him. “When did you arrange this?”

  “Last night, while you were out front talking to Violet. It was too late to go then, on our actual anniversary. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier in the day.”

  He truly was sorry. Had he remembered about this manmade lake on the outskirts of Lexington earlier, he might have spared himself the misery of his wife’s tight-lipped silence over the most uncomfortable anniversary dinner they’d ever spent. He drove by this neighborhood twice a day on his commute, and knew his coworker had built one of the giant new homes that circled the lake. Last summer Ben had showed him pictures of his kids paddling their inflatable canoe around the lake. All it had taken was a phone call, and he received permission to borrow the canoe for a few hours. Ben had blown it up with his air compressor last night, and his wife had even volunteered to pack a picnic lunch for them so he wouldn’t have to tell Millie of the plans until they arrived.

  Judging by her tearful and almost speechless reaction, this surprise would go a long way toward restoring matrimonial harmony in the Richardson home.

  “Don’t apologize,” she told him. “This just makes our anniversary last longer.”

  The basket stowed behind his bench seat, he helped her down from the dock. The canoe pitched unsteadily, and she emitted a nervous giggle. “It’s not as sturdy as a rowboat.”

  “No indeed.”

  Al held on to the dock to steady the craft while she got settled on her bench. She sat facing him, the way she would in a regular boat. The seats were so close together they had to sit almost sideways, knees pointing at opposite angle
s. If Ben’s family were watching from their house, no doubt they were enjoying a good laugh at the thought that the old folks didn’t know what they were doing. They’d be wrong. This wasn’t a canoe lesson. It was a date.

  When they felt comfortable with their balance, Al took up the plastic paddle and shoved off. The craft drifted slowly away from shore. He plunged the blade into the water and pulled. The canoe shot across the smooth surface, and then Millie’s end swerved inward. Another stroke, this one not quite as swift, and their circle continued, pointing them toward the shore.

  “It might take me a minute to get the hang of this.” Al lifted the paddle and swung it to the other side.

  “Oh!” A surprised exclamation escaped her lips, and she ducked forward. The paddle blade swept over her head, narrowly missing her skull, and the canoe teetered unsteadily.

  “Sorry,” Al muttered.

  He plunged the oar into the water, feeling the drag on his shoulders as the canoe’s spin halted. A few experimental strokes later, he achieved the right amount of effort, and the boat moved more or less smoothly toward the center of the lake.

  “There.” Satisfied, he slid the paddle beneath their seats. Though he’d been glad of his jacket a moment before, the exertion warmed him enough to produce a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. No doubt his muscles would complain about the unaccustomed activity later.

  “Nicely done,” Millie told him.

  “Thank you.” He glanced around. Houses surrounded the lake, all of them big and expensive-looking with windows facing their direction. “Not as private as the last time, I’m afraid.”

  “But every bit as romantic.” The smile she gave him was even more dazzling than the sunlight that sparkled on the gently rippling water.

  When they had eaten the sandwiches and carrots dipped in Ranch dressing provided by Ben’s wife, Al pulled a small book of poetry from his pocket.