by ML Gardner
“As if I would ever darken her doorstep again. She was practically calling you a swollen heifer as soon as you crossed her threshold!” Arianna slipped on her dress, the stains reduced to large red and pink patches. “Lovely.”
Ava put her fingers to her lips and opened the door.
Arianna sat down with as much grace as she could muster.
“Donna, why don't you loan Arianna one of your dresses?” Marvin suggested. She seemed to debate it for a moment before she rose quietly and left the room.
“She feels bad, honestly she does,” Marvin said. “Sometimes she rubs folks the wrong way. She just blurts things out sometimes, and if she feels—” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Threatened in any way, she tends to be a little nasty.”
Arianna moved her hand to flip hair that wasn’t there anymore. “A little nasty?” she echoed.
Caleb nudged her under the table.
“What?”
“Don’t be rude to our hosts, Ahna.”
“Me? Rude? What the hell!”
He nudged her again and she turned, growling. “Don’t you nudge me, Caleb! I saw you looking at her breasts.”
Jonathan choked on an olive and Ava came up, patting him on the back. He spit and coughed into a napkin while Arianna covered her face with her hand.
“Here, this might work,” Donatella said, holding out a folded dress, with a polite smile.
Arianna threw her napkin on her cold food and took it with a terse, “Thank you.’”
The dining room was awkwardly silent, with only the occasional throat clearing or clink of silverware.
She returned moments later, still wearing her stained dress, still looking like a bull ready to charge, holding the dress out to Donatella.
“If it’s all the same, I'd like to wear my own dress. We'll be leaving shortly anyway.” She shot a pointed glare at Caleb.
“Didn’t you like it?” Donatella asked. “I could find something in another color.”
“No, it's fine.”
“But you can’t just sit there in that wet dress, I’ll find another color.”
Arianna closed her eyes and growled through her teeth, “It doesn’t fit.”
“Oh.” Donatella struggled against a smile. “I could ask Marvin’s cousin. She might have something...bigger.”
Her nostrils flared. “No, thank you.”
Donatella rose from her seat with the dress and walked behind Arianna's chair. She stopped, tilting her head with a grin and poked a finger at the near bald spot at the back of her head.
“I’ll ask my beautician if there are any creams to help that balding you have there.”
Arianna's eyes came up slowly. “What balding?”
“Oh, it’s just really thin, is all. Not quite bald.” She walked away with a snide grin and Arianna turned her rabid eyes on Caleb.
“Caleb. Do I have a bald spot on my head?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I was going to tell you.”
“You were going to tell me? WHEN?” She slammed her fist down on the table so hard the silverware jumped.
“Arianna, please, it's not that bad,” Caleb pleaded.
“Not. That. Bad? I' m sitting here with a bald spot, stains all over my dress and—”
“Psst. Arianna.” Ava bared her teeth and picked at the front.
Arianna slowly and gracefully ran her tongue over her teeth, dislodging a large piece of lettuce.
“Were you going to tell me about that, Caleb?”
“Stop making such a big deal over everything. You’re embarrassing yourself and everyone else. It isn’t that bad,” he said, glancing over her.
“Not that bad?” She was trembling with rage as she reached out and grabbed a handful of spaghetti off her plate. She slowly and deliberately smeared it down the front of Caleb’s shirt. He watched incredulously as she then took her napkin and dabbed at it.
“It's not that bad.” she whispered.
“Christ.” Jonathan's head swung over to Marvin. “I'm so sorry. I thought we left the kids at home.”
“It's alright. Let's just all calm down and have some dessert, eh?”
As Caleb began to wipe his shirt, a loud mewing from the doorway grabbed everyone’s attention. An orange tabby cat, just past being a kitten, sauntered in and circled Marvin’s legs under the table in a figure eight pattern, mewing urgently.
Arianna gasped as small wet spots on her bodice grew larger as her milk let down.
“IT'S TIME TO LEAVE!” Arianna bellowed, shoved her chair back and started for the door.
Caleb nodded to Marvin, apologized and followed her out.
∞∞∞
Jonathan took a deep breath before starting the car. He glanced over at Ava and they exchanged a frustrated look. Everyone was silent, Caleb and Arianna staring in opposite directions in the backseat. Arianna’s entire posture was wound up tight, ready to explode like a firework. Caleb pulled a flask out of his back pocket and took a deep drink.
“Oh, great,” she said glancing at him. “Don’t even wait until we get home. I sure hope you were planning on sleeping in the barn because there’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room after the way you acted.”
“The way I acted! You acted like a spoiled little brat putting on airs! You didn’t even try to be polite or make friends!”
Jonathan pulled quickly into the road with a squeal of tires.
“Make friends! MAKE FRIENDS! As if I would even consider counting that snide bitch as one of my friends!” She snatched up her handbag and started hitting Caleb about the head and shoulders. “You…couldn’t…stop…looking…at…her…long…enough…to….tell…me…I…had…lettuce…in…my…teeth!”
Jonathan reached back, grabbed the assaulting handbag and threw it in the floorboard at Ava’s feet.
Arianna’s head snapped from Jonathan back to Caleb. “She was flirting with you right in front of me, and you didn’t do anything about it!”
“How’s it feel, Ahna?” he grumbled under his breath.
“What?”
He swung his head around and glared at her. “For years I watched you parade around barely clothed and never sober, while every man in the room ogled you. And now you lose your mind when a beautiful woman pays the least bit of attention to me.” He took another drink and turned away from her.
“She wasn’t that beautiful.”
“Actually, she was.”
With that, Arianna flew across the seat at him like a feral cat, hissing and cursing.
Jonathan swerved to the side of the road, skidded to a stop and turned around in the seat.
“Get out!”
They froze, hands at odd angles on each other’s face and throat, and stared at him.
“Get the hell out of my car. Now.”
Caleb removed Arianna’s hand from his throat. “Sorry, Jon. We just–”
“Get…out.”
Caleb nodded and exited the door quietly. Arianna watched him in disbelief before her eyes snapped back to Jonathan.
“You, too.”
“Honestly, Jon, you don’t expect us to walk!”
He threw open his door and then hers, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out. She yelped in disbelief and stumbled back, landing on her rear in the dirt. Jonathan slammed his own door again and sped off in a plume of dust and gravel, tossing her handbag out the window.
“Well, great. This is just great, Caleb. We’re stranded.”
“Don’t look at me. This is your fault.”
“My fault! You inconsiderate ass! This whole ordeal wouldn’t even be happening if you had just taken up for me in the first place!”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I left my flask in the back seat.”
Her eyes flashed and she growled again, picking up a handful of pebbles, hurling them at him.
August 20th 1930
Gordon sat in his truck, debating whether today should be the day he asks Claire out t
o dinner. He had rehearsed a half dozen different ways to ask her, ranging from horribly romantic to extremely aloof, and couldn’t decide between them. He rubbed his eyes hard with his fists for a moment, and slapped his cheeks. With a check of his hair and breath, he stepped out of the truck. Opening the back doors of the truck, he pulled out Claire’s crate and as he turned, the living room window curtain fell quickly.
Getting to the porch, he set the crate down and noticed the empty milk bottles missing. He grinned to himself, finding a good excuse to knock on the door. Claire opened it a moment later with a fresh face and clean hair. Gordon stumbled on his words right from the start.
“They're missing…the milk…I mean the bottles. Do you have…I brought the order.” He pointed down to the crate full of fresh dairy.
“Step inside, Gordon, and I’ll get them straight away,” Maura yelled from somewhere deep in the house. Claire stepped aside and they stood awkwardly, staring in different directions while Maura banged around the kitchen.
“Hot outside.”
“It is,” Claire said, glancing at the window.
“Fall’s coming.”
“Eventually.”
“It will be nice to have some cooler weather. Easier to breath. And to work.”
“It will.” Claire nodded and folded her arms, staring at the ground between them.
“Listen, Claire. I know that it really is too soon, but I was wondering if you’d–”
“Here’s the empty milk bottles, Mr. Gordon. They’re washed but not boiled, I’m sorry.”
Gordon gave a laugh of mingled frustration and relief at being interrupted.
“It’s alright, Maura. Sterilizing the bottles is part of the service.”
Maura glanced at each one of them and bit her lip when she realized what she had interrupted. She thought quickly on how to remedy it.
“Mr. Gordon, you don’t look so well.” She moved in front of him and inspected his face closely.
“I’m fine, Maura, just a bit hot out is all.”
“No. No, I do believe ye look very poorly indeed. Yer face is flushed and yer eyes are bloodshot and swollen!”
“Are they?”
“Aye. How many more deliveries do ye have to make yet?”
“Eight or nine.”
“Well, I worry about ye drivin’ around alone in such a state. What if ye were to pass out?” She winked at him.
“Well, not much I can do, Maura. Have to make the deliveries.”
“Claire. Why don’t ye go with Mr. Gordon.”
Gordon’s eyes flew open. “Why, she can’t lift the crates!”
“No, but she can drive the truck. I don’t think it wise for ye to be behind the wheel on the verge of passin’ out from the heat.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, Claire. But I guess I could use the help, if you’re willing.”
She hesitated, looking at Gordon. “But I’ve only ever driven that one time.”
“Well, it’s not that hard. Consider this your second lesson. We can just go real slow until you’re comfortable.” He looked up with a smile, speaking of much more than driving.
She agreed silently and pulled her eyes from his. “I guess I better get my sweater.”
“It’s ninety five degrees out!” Maura cried.
“Oh. Well, I should grab my purse.” She wandered off distractedly.
A few moments later, Claire pulled out, the truck jerking and weaving down the road.
“You’re doing great,” Gordon lied, gripping the door handle with white knuckles and praying all the milk hadn’t toppled over. “I really appreciate you doing this for me. I’ve known folks who have passed out from the heat. You’re a lifesaver. A guardian angel, even.”
He bit his lip at the reference to an angel, and reminded himself to think a sentence through several times before speaking it.
“And this is only your second time?”
“Yes.”
“Right here–This white house on the right is the next stop.”
She pulled up slowly and carefully. One tire rolled up onto the curb.
“I’ll be right back.” He stepped out, made his delivery, gathered the empty bottles and containers and slid back into the seat.
“Great. Only eight more.”
She nodded and pulled back out, the truck giving a hard jolt when it came off the curb. Finding an even speed she was comfortable with, somewhere around ten miles per hour, she visibly relaxed and unlocked her elbows, settling into the seat. Gordon was quiet and calm, looking out over the scenery, but inside his mind, he was screaming at himself to find conversation.
“Sure is hot.”
“It is.” She glanced over at him, then back at the road. “I’m afraid I’m no good at talking. I’m sorry.”
“You do fine at talking. I’m no good at sparking conversation.”
They rode in awkward silence a few minutes more. Suddenly, they both spoke at the same time.
“How many cows do you have?” “How long have you been painting?”
They both laughed awkwardly.
“Ladies first.”
“I was just wondering how many cows you have to tend to. It must be an awfully hard job to do alone.”
“I have almost fifty cows, but I do have help. I’ve got a few hired hands…Maura said you love to paint.”
“I do.”
“What do you paint?”
She visibly tensed and took a deep breath. “I’ve always painted…” Her eyes threatened tears and the road became blurry. “I’m looking for something new to paint these days.”
“I have cows.”
She glanced at him sidelong. “We established that. Almost fifty, right? That’s where you get the milk.”
He laughed. “Yes, but what I meant was, if you were looking for something new to paint, I have lots of cows. You could choose any one you wanted. They stay real still and you could–Oh shit! The next delivery was right there.” He pointed as they sailed past the house.
The truck skidded to a stop and when Gordon pulled his head up from his lap, he laughed.
“I can back up–”
“No, no, I’ll just walk it. Stay right here.”
∞∞∞
A few moments later, he returned, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
“As I was saying, I wouldn’t mind at all if you wanted to come out to the dairy. Paint cows and pastures and…stuff.”
She didn’t answer, but started out again at a slow steady pace.
“I could make some coffee. Or, no. It’s too hot for coffee. I can make lemonade. You could come out and we could–you could paint the lemons, even.”
She stared at him with a cocked eyebrow.
“Oh, you know, I’m sure you’ve seen the paintings of bowls of fruit and vegetables and all that…that’s what I meant. If you like that kind of thing.”
He shut his mouth, mentally cursing his awkwardness. Finally, still staring out the window, he sighed heavily.
“I’m sorry. I must sound like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
“What I’m trying to say, in a really awkward, stupid kind of way, is that I would love it if you would come out to my place and paint my cows. Or my pasture. Or whatever you want. And I’ll make lemonade.”
She smiled briefly, but he could see she was shrouded in sadness and it visibly weighed her down.
“I’ll think about it,” she said quietly.
He instructed her to take a few more turns and made a few more deliveries. He stayed on the safe topics of his customers and insignificant tidbits of information about each one.
Walking back from the last delivery the idea came to him, as he passed the wooden panels of the enclosed delivery truck, with its faded and peeling paint.
He slid back into the seat, smiled and smacked the dashboard.
“I’d like to hire you to paint my truck,” he blurted out. “The paint is old and I need a fresh job done on it. What d
o you think?”
∞∞∞
A few hours later, he dropped Claire off at her house and spoke to her from inside the truck. “So I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll discuss a design for the side and a price, alright?”
She nodded, smiling faintly and turned to the house.
“Thanks again for driving me around today!” he called out after her. “You did great.”
She waved as she disappeared into the house.
“So, how was yer second driving lesson?” Maura asked with dancing, curious eyes.
“It was fine. I didn’t wreck, at least.”
“That’s always good. Did you and Mr. Gordon have a nice time?”
“He was working.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a nice time of it. Did ye have good conversation, at least?”
“He wants to hire me to paint his truck.”
“Well, now. That sounds interesting.”
“It’s charity.” She huffed and poured a tall glass of lemonade. “The paint on the side isn’t that bad. He’s doing it because he feels sorry for me.”
“Well, I doubt that. I think he sees an artist that could do a good job at a fair price and he has the need of your services. Don’t read so much into it, Miss Claire.”
“So, I shouldn’t assume that he wants to spend time with me? Or that you are playing the most obvious matchmaker?”
“Well, would that be such a terrible thing? Mr. Gordon is a nice man.”
“He is a nice man. But does he know?” She looked down at her stomach.
“Aye, he does.” Ian stepped around the corner and leaned against the wall. Maura’s head spun around and she pinned him with a disbelieving glare.
“Ian! You told him!”
“Maura. T’was only fair. I know ye want to make the match, but tis best to be honest. And now we know he wants to spend time wi’ Claire, knowing everything.”
Claire grew increasingly uncomfortable being talked about while she stood in plain sight.
“I don’t need you to play matchmaker, Maura.” She stood with a huff, and Maura grabbed her hand.
“Love. I’m going to be straight with ye, alright. I understand you’re still grieving Aryl. You will be for years. But that babe is growing every day and is going to need a father. You are going to need a husband. I know it seems impossible to think of right now. But, if it’s a good match, and ye could at least be happy, ye should give Mr. Gordon a chance. I know it’s not what your heart wants to hear, Miss Claire, but that’s the reality of it. These are hard times, and you’ll likely not make it alone.”
