"We wanted you to know that the funding came through for excavating those leaking gas tanks under Dick’s Gas E Bait. I already told your grandfather, but I knew that it was worrying you. Isn’t that wonderful? That old gas station won’t be polluting our environment anymore, and your grandfather won’t have to foot the entire bill."
On my list of things to fret over, the leaking gas tanks had slid to the bottom of the pile. But she was right, before the mess with Kathy and the break-in, I had been concerned about the damage the old tanks had done to our environment and the cost of getting the problem fixed. When Poppy had learned about the leak, he stopped refilling them with gas rather than getting the tanks fixed. While that was one way to stop the flow of gasoline into the environment, it certainly wasn’t optimal.
"That's great news," I said, trying not to look at Cooper.
“Good to see you, Cara,” he said. “Glad to see that the glass worked out.”
“The glass?”
“MJ called. I sent a truck and a glazier over.”
“I didn’t know. Thank you."
“She didn’t say how it came to be broken,” he continued.
“An accident.”
An uncomfortable silence would have ensued had Philomena not chattered on and on about one thing after another. I gave her the briefest nods of encouragement and did my best not to look at Cooper.
My mother had conspired with my father to get me out of Florida, to keep me away from him, because she feared I’d get pregnant just as she had. Over the next two years, I gave up on Cooper, married the wrong man, had a baby, and got a divorce. I figured that Cooper would have moved on with his life. But then we bumped into each other and sparks flew.
Each time I thought I was over him, his presence melted all my carefully constructed emotional reserve. While Philomena chattered on and on, I could feel myself growing smaller and weaker.
As if summoned by a magic, Honora appeared at my side. "Cara Mia? I have someone for you to meet. If you’ll excuse us," she said to Cooper and Philomena, as she smoothly guided me away.
Blinking back tears, I let her shepherd me off the sales floor. With a deft move, she closed the door to our private space.
"Take a deep breath and put some starch into your panties," she said.
"B-b-but—"
"But nothing. That man's fiancée was standing on the other side of the room glaring at you while Cooper Rivers has 'love' written all over his face. You have 'despair' on yours, and she was seething with anger. She might have his ring, but you have his heart. And he’s acting like a total ninny. Putting up with her and her nonsense. Are you really interested in a man who can’t stand up for what he wants?"
"How…?" I could only muster one word. I hadn't seen Jodi in the crowd. Frankly, I was glad I hadn't.
"Little girl, this is a small town. Everyone knows what happened between you and Cooper. The receptionist in his office is a big blabbermouth. To make it worse, you two are giving everyone a front row seat to high drama. Didn’t you notice that all the conversations came to a grinding halt while you two faced off? People were waiting for you to melt into a puddle. And you almost did. For goodness sake, child, show some spunk!"
To my shock, she leaned over and shook me hard enough to make my teeth rattle. Instinctively, I pushed back.
“Oh, my, gosh, I am so sorry!” I said, as she took a stumbling step to regain her balance.
"Don't worry about it! I'd rather see you angry than acting like a whipped puppy. Cara, I am not a feeble old lady. Not by a long shot." Squaring her shoulders, she said, "Don't waste your time on a man who's not willing to fight for you. Because while you're wasting your time, there's a man out there who'll be your champion. Now duck into the bathroom and fix up your face. A good coat of war paint always makes it easier to face down your enemies.”
32
~Cara~
The bathroom mirror showed that my lipstick had faded. A fleck of mascara rested on my cheek. Dark circles under my eyes gave me a vampire-ish look.
We kept a stash of girly products in a basket under the sink. In it were thrown any samples we came across. I found a small block of blusher that put a healthy glow on my skin. Then I dipped into a sample of Cotillion by Bulgari, my new favorite fragrance. The heady mix of flowers and musk tones makes me feel elegant.
It had never occurred to me that I might have to fight for Cooper. Why hadn't I thought of that?
I was only sixteen when my parents whisked me away from him. Now I was thirty-seven, and who was I going to blame if I lost him again?
Not Mom. Not Dad.
Just me, myself, and I.
Honora was right: Jodi should be worried, because Cooper looked like a starving dog on the end of a frayed rope. If the rope unraveled, he'd run off and to find what he really wanted…me! It was up to me to cut those threads. I had to claim what was mine! Cooper and I were meant to be together. He'd said as much. He'd also hinted at a dark reason that kept him bound to Jodi's side.
What was it?
I lifted my chin. I'd find out what made him afraid to leave her. I would not lose him a second time. Especially not to my sister. I didn't know a lot about Jodi, but I knew that a.) she didn't love Cooper for himself, b.) she wasn't a nice person, and c.) she was conniving.
Honora had reminded me that I didn't need to roll over, bare my jugular vein, and wet the floor. I could ruffle up my fur and growl. I could claim what was mine—and while I was at it, I'd also show that no good, sleezeball ex-husband of mine that I was tired of him playing games with our son. That nonsense had to stop. I was tired of being treated as an afterthought. Tired of having other people set my agenda.
The woman who walked out of the bathroom was a different sort of person than the beaten-down teenager who walked in.
She was a woman with choices.
And I had Honora to thank for that.
I walked onto the sales floor, fully expecting to encounter Cooper and Jodi. But a quick scan didn't locate them. Philomena seemed to have left as well, but the place was still wall-to-wall people. “Mingle, mingle, mingle,” I told myself as I moved from one knot of people to the next. Compartmentalizing was hard, but I packed my negative emotions into a box and taped it shut. I would not let Jodi defeat me. I would worry about Tommy and feel bad about Kathy Simmons some other time.
A crowd of onlookers watched as Skye demonstrated how to fuse plastic bags together. Sid darted in and out, alternately carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and trays of beverages. MJ buzzed around, talking about our amazing recovery of Essie Feldman's lost Highwaymen paintings. And Honora? She seemed to know everybody! What a social butterfly!
“By the way,” said MJ, sidling over to me, “Honora sold a Highwayman painting by Mary Ann Carroll. That’s in addition to the two paintings another customer asked me to reserve for her and the painting that Captain Davidson wants you to pick out for him. Best of all, the night is still young.”
Indeed, it was. I checked my cell phone and noticed it was only half past seven.
“I have someone who wants to meet you,” Honora said as she, dragged me to where an older couple stood staring up at the Old Florida Photo Gallery.
“Senator Josiah Wentworth and his wife, Jenny Beth, live over on Jupiter Island,” said Honora. Neither the Senator nor his wife was wearing name badges.
They’d crashed my party.
No matter. I was still happy to have them.
Josiah Wentworth had a youthful mop of white hair, but poor posture had bent his spine so that his head jutted out at right angles from his shoulders. His wife, Jenny Beth, reminded me of a tiny bird, except on second-look, she was small but strong with a muscle tone that I envied. I discounted the bird imagery. More like a hungry Florida Panther.
“These bring back memories,” said the Senator, gesturing at the pictures on the wall. “Do you have any of the white house—”
“Like ours before we remodeled it.” Jenny Beth interrupted him. “I
am charmed to meet you, Cara Mia. Honora will have to bring you for a visit at our little place on the island. We have dozens of albums with pictures that you might enjoy. That will give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“I’d like that.”
“The pictures will go in my book, isn’t that right, Jenny Beth? Are there any photos of the boys? So many of them over the years.”
Jenny Beth hurried to answer. "Although we were never blessed with children of our own, the Senator worked with so many youth groups. He was a role model for boys all over the state. That’s all fresh in his mind because he’s been working on his scrapbooks.”
"But I want to see the boys—"
"They've all grown up, darling," said Jenny Beth firmly.
"Not all of them. Some of them—"
"Have passed on, sweetheart. We're at that age," she said, as she patted his arm. "Let's go and see the plastic bag demonstration, shall we?"
"Boys?" repeated the Senator.
"Come along, darling," said Jenny Beth.
As they toddled off, Honora glanced over at me. “What a shame,” she said.
33
~Cara~
Thirty minutes later, the crowd had thinned appreciably, but we still had a significant number of guests wandering around the store. Although I was dog-tired, I made an effort to talk to as many as possible.
Poppy was chatting with a trio of admiring women, who looked to be about his age. One of them tucked a small piece of paper into his shirt pocket and winked at him. Florida is chock-full of single women of a “certain age” who’ve lost the men in their lives. Now that we’d gotten my grandfather’s diabetes under control, and he was no longer working at his gas station, he had started kicking up his heels. That included going out on the occasional date.
“I’d call this a resounding success,” said MJ, as she carried a pair of vintage palm tree salt-and-pepper shakers to our cash station. A well-dressed woman followed, carrying one of EveLynn's quilted throws.
“The sales figures will tell the tale,” I said. I’d learned from my father not to judge an event until I’d run the numbers. “Busy” did not necessarily correlate with profitable. I’d have to deduct all our expenses to see how we’d really done.
From across the room, Skye smiled at me. The demo she’d devised had been a real hit, generating a lot of conversation about recycling. Unfortunately, plastic bags are ubiquitous in Florida. Unlike many other states, we haven’t taxed them. When they find their way onto the beach, sea turtles think they are jellyfish and gobble them down. The bags fill up their tummies, and as a result, the turtles slowly starve to death. Skye’s demo included passing out bumper stickers that read: “Recycle a bag and save a turtle.” Underneath I’d added our store details. I noticed many of our guests, pocketing these mini-signs with pleasure.
All in all, it seemed we’d done what we’d set out to do. We’d introduced ourselves to new faces, sold merchandise, and positioned ourselves as “green.” Maybe I would be able to afford Tommy’s tuition after all, despite the fact I’d added two new employees to my payroll. At the very least, I could make a down payment on next year’s fees while I searched for the legal agreement that would force Dom to live up to his promise.
As a well-earned treat, I’d poured myself a glass of red wine. I’d just taken one sip when I noticed Poppy standing toe-to-toe with the Senator.
“While you’re bragging about all your accomplishments, don’t forget to mention all those folks who died because you were busy lining your pockets,” my grandfather said.
I set down my glass and raced over to see what Poppy was on about.
“How dare you?” Jenny Beth Wentworth’s eyes narrowed in anger. “My husband has had an honorable career, putting the needs of his constituents first.”
“That’s what Peter Minuit told the Indians when he traded beads for Manhattan Island,” said Poppy. “Your husband’s idea of service has been to walk around with his hand out, grabbing money as fast as he can. Whoever paid the most has always bought his attention. He can tell all the lies he wants, but facts is facts.”
“Poppy!” I said, reaching for him.
He twisted away.
Honora managed to slip between Poppy and the Wentworths. Her voice rose to a high pitch as she diverted the conversation. "Dick? I didn’t know you were back from the Keys. Come and tell me all about your fishing trip!"
"I ain't done here!" hollered my grandfather.
“Poppy!” I grabbed him by the back of his belt. “Let’s go see—”
“Did you invite this man?” my grandfather asked as he jerked out of my grip. “Because if you did, you ain’t no kin to me. Senator Wentworth is a murderer, pure and simple. Take a good look at him, Cara. This here is the fool who killed your grandmother.”
34
~Cara~
Sid and MJ had bracketed Poppy and ushered him out through the back before I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him. With that, the party was officially over. People couldn’t leave my store fast enough. A few took the time to thank me, but in the main, they made a mad dash for the front door.
Thanks to my grandfather and his big mouth, the cleanup would go on and on. The food and trash would be easy enough to clear away. But the memory of my grandfather calling Senator Wentworth a murderer would linger like a red wine stain on a white damask tablecloth. I thanked my friends for hustling Poppy out the door.
“Bummer,” said Sid.
“You’ve got that right,” said MJ. “Especially after all the hard work we’d put into this event.”
“Poor Dick,” said Skye. “Emotionally, he has more ups and downs than a roller coaster.”
“Poor Dick?” I whirled on her. “My grandfather spoils a terrific evening, and you feel sorry for him?”
“Yes, I do,” said Honora, although I’d been talking to Skye. Honora was busy ladling leftover punch into a pitcher. “I know what it’s like to lose your spouse. I’d been with Frank for nearly fifty years when I buried him. Poor Dick only had fifteen with Josephina, and she was the love of his life.”
That shocked us all into silence. In the heat of self-pity, it’s easy to forget that others have their own aches and pains. When we focus on ourselves, we forget our common humanity.
“You know what I need? I need a pencil,” I said.
“A pencil?” Skye paused while sweeping up little bits of plastic bags that had littered the table where she’d done her demonstration.
“That’s right, a pencil. I'd like to poke myself in the eye so that maybe the pain will end." I was sorting the recyclable goods from uneaten food.
"Can’t help you there. I don't carry a pencil, just a hatpin," said Honora. “Many’s the time I used one to poke a groping hand while riding the subway in New York City. Came in very, very handy.”
“Forget the pencil. I think we need to get you a padded desktop,” said MJ. “That way you could bang your head against the wood, but you wouldn’t make any noise.”
“I think I need a padded cell,” I said. "Otherwise I might hunt Poppy down and kill him."
“Good idea. At the very least, you could lock your grandfather in the padded cell and we could take turns throwing darts at him. Sort of like pin the tail on the donkey, but we’d be using a real, live jackass,” MJ tidied up the leftover paper napkins, putting those that hadn’t been used in a plastic bag.
A shared burden is always lighter. The banter with my friends eased my anger. I tried to count my blessings. At least most of the guests had already left when Poppy went on his rampage. Because he’d lived here his whole life, his reputation as a hothead had preceded him. Maybe some of my guests like Honora would have been willing to cut him slack because they, too, had lost a spouse.
Intellectually, I knew that I wasn’t responsible for Poppy’s behavior. Emotionally, I began the arduous process of wresting my guilt to the ground.
As she passed by our new display window, MJ said, “It�
�s raining buckets outside. At least it held off until after the event to start pouring. I might need to call a cab to get home.”
“Worried about the canal flooding?” I asked. I knew her house was a block from a waterway that often overflowed.
“No. My Cadillac is pretty high off the road. It’s not the rain so much. It’s the fact that I plan on drinking all the half-empty bottles of wine.”
“You can’t drink all the leftover bottles of wine. Not if I get to them first,” said Skye, pulling up a folding chair and plopping down. “This one is mine,” she drank directly from a bottle of Merlot as she picked through the plastic bags, trying to separate those she had ironed from those that were in their raw form.
“Girls, I would join you, but I brought my own flask,” said Honora. Reaching into the depths of her handbag, she withdrew a silver vessel. When she tippled it, the strong smell of bourbon roiled free.
MJ brought the remains of two bottles of wine over to the table where I’d been working. I’d lost my original glass of wine when I played referee with my grandfather. Sid contributed a stack of eight-ounce paper cups. I drank a couple of sips, but I was too upset to enjoy it. MJ knocked hers back in a wink. Skye finished her bottle and let out a hearty burp.
"Gracious! Excuse me!" she said and turned a pretty pink.
“I wish I was old enough to drink. Do you mind if I light a spliff?” Sid asked.
“Don’t you dare!” I said.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, Cara. I can’t afford to buy dope. Wish I could. Seems like a good time to get high. Especially after your grandfather ruined the mood.”
“Tomorrow, first thing, I am lighting all the sage smug sticks I own,” said Skye, refilling all our cups. “Starting with the dead guy we found when you first moved in and now this, enough is enough.”
“Why stop there?” I asked. “Why not burn down the building? I’ll donate the lighter fluid. Why not take down my whole business all at once instead of letting Poppy ruin it one visit at a time?”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 102
