Unfinished Business

by Inglath Cooper

  “Thank you,” Addy said.

  Both men offered a “Yes, ma’am,” before getting in the car and heading up to the fire site.

  Addy stood silent for a few moments, processing what she’d just heard. Claire sat down on the bottom porch step, dropped her forehead onto one hand.

  “They’ll find who did it,” Addy said.

  “I’m not sure it really matters.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it does.”

  “I don’t know,” Claire said, setting her gaze on the driveway. “The last few years, it’s been one thing after another. First we had the problem with Alar. After we stopped using it, the trees at the north end of the orchard wouldn’t grow. We had to cut every one of them down. And, of course, that cut back on our production. We had a freeze a couple springs ago that really hurt the next year’s crop. And the temporary labor costs have gotten so exorbitant, it’s hard to make ends meet. At some point, you have to start wondering if the good Lord is trying to tell you something.”

  Addy had never heard this kind of resignation in her mother’s voice. For as long as she could remember, her mother had gone at the task of running the orchard with bulldozer determination. “Every business has its rough spots.”

  “True,” Claire said, trying to smile. “But when there’s more rough than smooth…”

  “I’ve never known you to give up on anything.”

  “There’s something to be said for going out gracefully. Anyway, I’m keeping you from your run,” Claire said, standing.

  Running had become Addy’s way of burning off the hard stuff, stress, worries. But to do so now felt as if it would be about her needs and hers only. She glanced at her mother and said, “Come with me.”

  Claire shook her head, looking surprised. “I couldn’t run five feet.”

  “We’ll walk,” Addy said. “Start at the beginning.”

  Claire met her gaze, and something nice passed between them. She nodded once, then stood, and they headed down the gravel road, the morning sun warm on their shoulders.

  * * *

  SORE ANKLE, his foot.

  Harold Carter had succumbed last spring to a massive heart attack, after decades of fried chicken and its accoutrements—mashed potatoes, gravy and hot buttered biscuits.

  Since then, his young widow, Mae, had been in Culley’s office no less than eight times. This Monday morning marking another visit during which Culley had yet to find anything wrong with her.

  She leaned back on the examining table with one knee propped up while her other leg extended in a graceful ballerina point. Mae was attractive, some would have said beautiful. She had the well-kept look of a woman who spent most of her time at the task.

  He lifted her delicate ankle, gently probed the area where she had complained of pain. Mae didn’t flinch. “There’s no swelling,” he said. “You say you turned it?”

  “Yesterday. I don’t know how I could be so clumsy. It isn’t like me.”

  Culley rotated her ankle in one direction, then the other. She winced.

  “Sore there?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He released her foot, skeptical, but giving her the benefit of the doubt. “You can take ibuprofen every four hours. Normal dosage. If it’s not better in a couple of days, give me a call.”

  Mae sat up, the V-neck of her peach-colored silk blouse slipping far enough to one side to reveal a glimpse of ivory lace. “Nothing fractured then?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, good, I’m so relieved. I had visions of having to wear one of those awful brown lace-up shoes.”

  Culley stepped back and entered a few things in the computer on the edge of the counter. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

  Mae straightened her blouse and then gave him a direct look. “Would you like to go out to dinner?”

  She shot straight; he’d give her that. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Doctor-patient.”

  “It’s not a problem for me.”

  He managed a half laugh. “I’m flattered, Mae, but I’m not looking for that right now.”

  She slid to the edge of the table, dropped to the floor, walked right up to him and stopped with an inch of space between them. “Look, Culley, we’re grown-ups. This isn’t high school. I don’t need roses and promises. But I would like to have a man in my bed. I’d like for that man to be you. Simple as that.”

  Maybe he should have been interested. Flattered, at the least. He’d been single for three years. To date, only one woman had made him start to think he might be missing out. “Wrong man, wrong time.”

  She touched a finger to his shirt, trailed the row of buttons, stopping at his belt buckle. “Offer stands,” she said. “All you have to do is call.”

  She picked up her purse then and left the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ADDY DROVE INTO town that afternoon to pick up a few things at Simpson’s Rexall.

  She parallel parked out front and stepped through the door on a rush of fond remembrance for the place. The ice-cream counter still ran the length of the righthand side of the store. One wall was dedicated to paperback novels and comic books. Another held a vast display of old-fashioned candy, peppermint sticks, Mallo Cups, fire-balls.

  As soon as they were old enough to ride their bikes into town, she and Culley had been daily customers. They collected Coke bottles from the side of the road on the way to finance the banana split they would divide between the two of them, eating it outside on the sidewalk, ice cream dripping in big circles onto the concrete.

  Doris Simpson was sweeping behind the register. “Hello, Mrs. Simpson,” Addy said.

  The woman looked up, recognition lighting her face. “Addy. My goodness, how nice to see you.”

  “How are you?”

  “Same as ever,” she answered with a genuine smile. “I’d heard you were up at your mama’s house. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Addy smiled. “My mirror says differently.”

  Doris Simpson laughed. “Then you need a new mirror, honey. Go on and look around. If I can help you with anything, let me know.”

  “Thank you.” Addy reached for a basket and started down an aisle, picking up a bottle of shampoo, nail-polish remover, astringent. She was looking for toothpaste when voices from the next aisle drifted over.

  “Culley Rutherford doesn’t strike me as your type anyway, Mae.”

  “Oh, really? What type is that?”

  “The player type. Does he even date?”

  “If he doesn’t, he’d have good reason, with an ex in prison.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for her.”

  “Maybe so. But he’s got some time to kill. And she who persists—”

  “Irritates,” the other woman answered.

  “Gets what she wants,” the Mae woman disagreed. “He’s interested. It’s just taking a little more persuasion than I would have guessed.”

  Culley’s ex-wife was in prison? Addy stood for a moment, stunned. Prison?

  She grabbed a box of toothpaste from the shelf, dropped it. She scooped it up from the floor and headed for the register, too rattled to remember anything else she’d come in for.

  * * *

  CLAIRE WAS GONE all afternoon, forcing Addy to wait until she returned to ask the questions hammering inside her. She was on her way to the barn that evening to give the deer its bottle when Claire pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.

  “How was your meeting?” Addy asked.

  “Too many queen bees and not enough worker bees,” she said. “The church would get a lot more out of us if people would just pick a job and not have to talk about it so long.”

  Addy smiled. “I was just going to the barn. Walk down with me?”

  “Sure,” Claire said.

  Inside the stall, Addy knelt down and held out the bottle. By now, the deer reached for it eagerly. “I overheard a conversation in town today about Culley’s
ex-wife.”

  “Ah. I hadn’t said anything because I thought it was his place. And I still think that.”

  “Some woman named Mae was talking about him.”

  “Mae Carter. She’s a piece of work, that one. I imagine she’d like to get her hooks in him.”

  “So I gathered.”

  A car pulled up outside, the motor shutting off.

  “I’ll see who it is,” Claire said, letting herself out of the stall.

  Addy rubbed the deer’s soft neck. Voices mingled outside the barn, but one immediately stood out. Culley. Her stomach took a nosedive. All afternoon, she’d thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the drugstore, told herself it was none of her business. He was a single man in a small town. Of course, there were women interested in him. Women had always been interested in him. But why hadn’t he told her about Liz?

  The outside door to the barn swung open. Footsteps, and then Culley stood outside the stall, a small, dark-haired girl clutching his hand.

  “Hi,” Addy said.

  “Hi. Your mom sent us in. She went back to the house to put something in the oven. Addy, this is my daughter Madeline.”

  Addy stood, brushed her hands on her jeans. “Hi, Madeline. I’m Addy.”

  “Hi,” the little girl said, her voice soft and shy. She looked at the deer and said, “She’s so small.”

  “I was just getting ready to give her a bottle. Would you like to do it?”

  Madeline’s brown eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Sure.” Addy picked up the bottle, then knelt beside the girl, showing her how to hold it.

  After a few moments, Addy stood and let Madeline do it herself.

  “So she’s on the mend,” Culley said.

  Addy nodded. “I’m still changing her bandage twice a day, but the burn is healing nicely. I think she’s going to be all right.”

  “That’s great.”

  Awkwardness settled over them, and they stood silent for a while, watching Madeline feed the fawn.

  Culley touched a hand to Addy’s elbow. “Could we talk outside for a minute?”

  She looked over at him, surprised. “Sure.”

  “Be right outside, honey,” Culley said to Madeline.

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  The air had cooled, the sun sinking fast. A pair of meadowlarks chirped from the top rail of the board fence by the barn. At the house, Peabody sat on the porch step staring at them with squinty-eyed suspicion.

  Culley leaned against the Explorer and folded his arms across his chest. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What?”

  “Us. This stiffness. Like we don’t know what to say to each other.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Okay. How about we just start over? Forget what happened in New York. We can’t change it, but we can get past it.”

  “Can we?”

  “If we want to.”

  “I’d like for us to be friends again. Like it used to be.”

  “Like it used to be.”

  She nodded.

  “That means no sex,” he said, deadpan.

  Her smile was instant, surprised. “We never had sex back then.”

  “What were we thinking?”

  His eyes warmed with the words, and she blinked back a sudden hit of remembered intimacies that were getting increasingly difficult to keep tucked inside their designated don’t-go-there box.

  “Okay,” he said. “Friends.”

  “Friends.”

  The front porch screen door squeaked open. “Addy?” Claire’s voice rang out. “I’ll have dinner ready in a jiffy. Just some beans and corn bread I made earlier. Culley, you and Madeline join us. I insist.”

  Culley glanced at Addy. “That okay?”

  “You ate dinner here nearly as much as I did until—”

  “You and Mark started dating.”

  “Yeah.” The name was like a douse of cold water. Addy bit her lip.

  Madeline came out of the barn. “She’s asleep.”

  “Then you must have done a good job of feeding her,” Addy said.

  Madeline’s smile was shy but pleased.

  “We’ve been invited to stay for supper. That sound good?”

  Madeline nodded.

  They walked back to the house with Madeline in the middle. Claire sent them all to wash their hands, then directed them to the round table in the center of the kitchen. A steaming pot of beans sat on a hot plate next to warm, buttered corn bread. She poured frosty glasses of iced tea for the adults, milk for Madeline.

  Claire said the blessing, and everyone started eating.

  The cat pranced into the kitchen, sat down next to Claire’s chair and began cleaning his right paw with the kind of care that spoke of a high sense of self-worth.

  “What’s his name?” Madeline asked.

  “Peabody,” Claire said.

  “Have you had him a long time?”

  “Long enough for him to decide who’s the rightful head of the household.”

  “Daddy said I could have a dog if I want,” Madeline said.

  “Or a cat,” Culley said. “So far you haven’t taken me up on either one.”

  “I had a dog when I was a little girl,” Addy said.

  “Oatey,” Culley said. “He followed you everywhere.”

  “Why Oatey?” Madeline asked quietly.

  “He was the color of oatmeal,” Addy said. “With curly hair and the sweetest face. Your dad and I found him on the side of the road one day when we were out riding our bikes.”

  “He was just sitting there waiting as if he’d known all along we were coming,” Culley said.

  Madeline’s smile was wistful.

  “I loved having a dog when I was growing up,” Addy said.

  “I’ve always been surprised that you haven’t had one since,” Claire said.

  Addy tipped her head, looked down at her plate. “Mark was never a dog person.”

  The conversation changed direction then, the food disappearing quickly. When they were done, Culley said, “You’re a fine cook, Claire.”

  Claire’s smile was appreciative. “Thank you. How about some coffee?”

  “If you’re making it.”

  “Already did.” She filled two cups, handed one to Culley, one to Addy. “I’ve been chosen to make candied apples for the church bake sale. All right if I enlist Madeline’s help?”

  Madeline sent Culley a hopeful look.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Then you two take your coffee out on the porch and catch up.”

  Addy and Culley went outside. Darkness had settled, the air pleasantly cool. They stood in stilted silence.

  “She’s embarrassingly transparent,” Addy said.

  “She and my mom must have a master plan. She slips your name into the conversation just often enough to be obvious.”

  Addy smiled.

  They sat in the old porch swing, he on one side, she on the other.

  “The squeaks are the same,” Culley said, pushing off.

  She turned her head. He was looking at her, something distinctly nonplatonic in his eyes.

  She dropped her gaze first.

  “Chicken,” he said.

  “You agreed. Friends.”

  His sigh indicated heavy regret.

  Which was altogether too appealing. She rubbed a thumb around the rim of her white mug and said, “So you’re a hot ticket with the ladies in town.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m big with the Tuesday seniors club. I have a standing invite to their Hardee’s Biscuit and Bingo.”

  A laugh bubbled up out of Addy.

  He smiled.

  Addy sobered. “You’re big with one Mae Carter, too.”

  He dropped his head back against the swing, made a groaning noise. “Her insurance company actually called my office the other day to question the number of visits she’s made in the past three mo
nths.”

  Addy laughed again. “She may have to start financing her co-pay out of pocket then?”

  “Looks that way.” His voice was low and exasperated.

  She darted a glance at him, liking the fact that they could still tease each other. They’d been fourteen or so when the girls had first started flocking to him like bees to clover. At his request, she’d run interference for him countless times.

  “Poor Culley,” she said now. “Still beating them off with a stick.”

  He turned, angled a knee in the center of the swing, so that it brushed the bare skin of her leg beneath her jean shorts.

  “There’s a Merchant’s dinner tomorrow night in town. How about going with me?”

  “Let me guess. Mae’s going to be there.”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Do I need to wear my shoulder pads?”

  “One good tackle should do the trick.”

  “You just need to wear a bag over your head. That would fix the problem.”

  His laugh was low and rumbling. “No danger in a man getting overconfident with you.”

  “I just acknowledged that you’re good-looking.”

  “Is that what that was?” he asked, teasing.

  “If I get any more direct than that, we won’t be able to find a bag big enough for your head.”

  He rubbed a thumb across her shoulder.

  Her response was immediate. She blinked once. “Not fair.”

  “What?”

  “You’re off the friends thing again.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “That.”

  He pulled his hand away, stuck it under his thigh, as if he didn’t trust it. “So, tomorrow night?”

  She should have said no. Clearly. Common sense and every shred of self-protective armor she could muster insisted as much. “Not a date, right?”

  He held up a hand. Scout’s honor. “Nope. Just friends.”

  “Okay,” she said. “One defensive end hired.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE HAD INSISTED on taking her own car.

  Culley had offered to pick her up, but she made a half-credible excuse of errands to run in town before meeting him. He had accepted her explanation with a notable degree of amusement in his voice. As if he were on to her. Which it seemed that he was.

  She wasn’t fooling him.