by Lois Richer
“Your board is going to have a little more to worry about, Papa,” he said with anger. “Especially when I launch a campaign that challenges the trust your customers place in your product.” He grinned at the older man sardonically.
“It’s pretty bad when you can’t depend on a company as big as Papa John’s to deliver on its word,” he continued. “I wonder what the public will think when they learn that you’re not exactly who you say you are.”
Melanie wondered why she had ever thought Mitch’s eyes were warm. They had hardened to chips of glacial ice.
“Your lawyers will hear from us,” he announced with a diamond-hard look. She felt his strong hand under her elbow. “Come on, Melanie. We’re leaving.”
“But…but—”
“No sense suing, son. Even if you did win, the money would all get spent on lawyers and court costs. Or else defending a libel suit. No, sirree.” He shook his white head sadly. “Only thing left for you two to do is to get married.”
As Melanie stumbled through the door to the hall, she heard Papa John’s last words dimly.
“You let me know the date, kids. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll just bet you would.” Mitch’s voice raged softly in her ear. “Can’t you walk any faster?”
“Oh, suddenly you’re a speed walker?” she asked furiously. He ignored the comment and whisked her out of the building and into the car before she could say anything else. It was only when she was straightening her skirt over her knees that Melanie realized they were sitting in his car.
“My car’s over there,” she told him, pointing across the lot. He glared at her.
“Don’t you understand what’s going on here? You could lose everything because of some narrow-minded old cronies.” He smiled at her grimly. “The old coot’s done his homework. We haven’t got a chance of winning anything out of this fiasco.”
“But I thought you said…” Melanie frowned at him.
“It was just a bluff. We haven’t got the kind of cash it would take to start a smear campaign even if we could get away with it.” His hand smacked the steering wheel. “Don’t you get it? It’s gone, all of it. You’re not going to see a dime of that money.”
It took a few minutes to absorb it, but when she did, Melanie felt the dam burst. She covered him with her fiery words.
“Yes, I’m quite well aware of that, thank you very much.” Frustration clouded her judgment, and Melanie spewed out words she immediately wished unsaid.
“And I’ll lose it all because of you. Come into my parlor, you said. I’ll help you get the money, just move in. You—you spider!” Her green eyes snapped at him as the frustration of the past weeks poured out. “You’re the one who insisted I give false information about my address. It’s all your fault!”
The enormity of losing twenty-five thousand dollars hit her, then and Melanie did the only thing she could to relieve her frustration.
“Ow, ow, ow! Ooh, that hurts!” She sucked on the knuckles of her hand where it had made contact with the rock-hard dash. It had been a puerile thing to do, and she didn’t feel one whit better. Her turbulent sea-foam eyes glared at Mitch.
“You’re blaming this on me?” he bellowed incredulously. “This is my fault?” He looked astounded. “The only reason I ever got involved in your little Save Our Seniors campaign was because you wanted that money so badly.” He shook his head in pretended amusement, but his lips were pursed tightly.
“I don’t believe this. You try to help someone and all you do is get knocked down. So much for brotherly love.” He thrust his hands in the air. “That’s it. I give up. I quit. Do whatever you want, just don’t involve me in any more of your harebrained schemes.”
“Brotherly love? Ha!” Melanie yanked the door open and stumbled out. “There’s nothing like that involved! Stick your head in the sand and give up, then. See if I care!”
She slammed the door of his car as hard as she could and stomped across the parking lot in red patent shoes that pinched her toes with every click the four-inch heels made against the pavement.
And all the way, Mitch could hear her castigating the male of the species. One in particular. They were nasty words that didn’t explain his motives at all. And they were totally untrue!
With an angry flick of his wrist, he shifted into gear and floored the gas pedal, screeching out of the parking lot as his new tires laid their expensive tread on the asphalt. He ground his way into second, ignoring the car’s protesting sounds. And to think God actually thought men needed women!
Seconds later, Melanie followed, honking angrily at an elderly white-haired gentleman who almost backed into her as she took the corner on two wheels.
The old fellow smiled fondly. Kids these days. So excitable. Wait till he told Nettie about this latest development.
“Mitch, I know you said you didn’t want to see anyone, but I think you’d better see this fellow. He says it’s urgent.”
Mitch groaned, thrusting away the salad he’d picked up at the store. Salad, for Pete’s sake, when he really wanted a burger and fries! Or a doughnut.
Clarence Palmer’s opinion was the same as he loped through the door.
“You sick?” he asked curiously, eyeing the three kinds of lettuce, chopped celery and radishes that filled the black plastic bowl. “Got a heart condition or something?”
Ha! Now that was appropriate. Melanie Stewart definitely affected his digestion, but his heart?
“Might be,” he told Clarence sullenly. “Just might be.” He dumped the last of the ranch dressing into the bowl and took another mouthful. “What’s so all-fired important?”
“Thought you’d want to know right away.” Clarence beamed. “I don’t think this Papa John fellow is the lady’s old beau, after all.”
“What!” Mitch jerked straight up in his chair. “But I thought you were so sure. What’s changed?”
“For one thing, I got hold of some medical records. From what I know, your Papa fellow has his bones intact. Our Jean had broken his left ankle once and the right arm just below the elbow. The surgeon I talked to says he thinks he’d be able to see evidence of that on the X ray.”
“After this long?” Mitch was skeptical.
“There is no sign of a break on this John guy’s arm, according to his personal physician. A few other minor things seem to indicate that this LeClerc fellow is not the same as your Papa John. I’ve put it all in my report so, unless you have some new information, I’m closing this file.”
Mitch scratched his chin in disbelief. “You’re sure about this?” he demanded.
“As sure as I can be, which isn’t much given the few facts in the case.” Clarence eyed him appreciatively. “This one something important to you?”
“I was hoping for something that would give me a hold on the guy, yes. He’s trying to do a friend of mine out of fifty thousand dollars, so I guess that does give me some interest in good old Papa John.”
“So she’s not getting a dime?” Faith looked aghast at the news. “But how could he do that to them?”
“He apparently wants them to get married so his shareholders don’t feel that they are condoning some illicit relationship.” Hope stared at her hands. “And truth to tell,” she murmured, “I don’t thing it’s such a bad idea. Nettie seems very encouraged in their interest in each other. She says Mitch has been to the home a number of times to help out with some function or another.”
“They did seem rather interested in each other after the Sunday school picnic,” Charity mused. “He deliberately didn’t tag her when she got that base hit, remember? That was nice.”
“He also pitched it straight to her so she could hit the thing,” Hope sputtered in sheer disgust. “That run cost our side the game. Love makes people so silly.” The words were enunciated with disgust.
“Oh, Hope, dear, I think it’s affected even you.” Faith chuckled. “You were out walking in the rain last night, you and Harry. Arthur saw you,” she added when it
seemed Hope would deny it. “Didn’t it bother you to get your hair all wet?”
Charity watched as Hope’s clear, pale skin flushed a dark red. She decided to get the conversation back on track.
“The thing is, girls,” she said firmly, “Melanie really likes him, I’m sure she does. And it’s all so new. She’s just a bit afraid of admitting it.” She glanced at her friends’ bemused faces. “Now what are we going to do about it?”
“I think we need to give them some time alone,” Faith murmured. “I mean, Hope chaperoned them nicely in the apartment, but young folks need time together.”
“So do older people,” Hope sniped. “And they don’t need Peeping Toms watching out the window when they go for a walk!”
“I wasn’t peeping,” Faith grumbled. “Arthur saw you on his way home from work. If you’re ashamed to be seen in public—”
“I am not ashamed!” Hope’s quiet voice was rising steadily.
“Girls!” Charity was firm. “How are we going to get Mitch and Melanie together again?”
“I’ve had them both over for dinner twice this week,” Faith mused, staring into space. “I can’t very well ask them again or they’ll know something’s up.”
“And I’ve pulled all the little problems with the wedding that I can think of,” Hope said mournfully. “They’re both so efficient that they run right over all my complications and dilemmas without being deterred and without asking each other’s help.”
“If I ask him over here too much more,” Charity said, “Melanie’s going to know I’m up to something.”
The three ladies sat stewing over their plans, trying desperately to come up with something new. The phone rang as Melanie walked through the front door.
“I’ll get it,” she called.
Unashamedly, the threesome sat listening to the one-sided conversation, their faces broadening with satisfied grins as they did.
“Oh, hi, Mitch. You are? Well, I don’t think I took it, but I can look if you like. No, thanks. I don’t really need any help, Mitchel.”
Faith nodded at Hope, who raised a thumbs-up sign at Charity.
“Actually, I just got in the door. No, I haven’t eaten but I imagine Mom’s—”
“I’m going out, dear,” Charity interrupted. “Special meeting of the ladies’ group.” She shook her head at Faith’s wide-eyed dismay. “Why don’t you eat out at that new Mexican restaurant tonight?”
“Sorry, Mitch. Mom was just telling me something. Oh, you heard. Yes, I suppose that would be okay. Around seven-thirty? All right. Bye.”
Before Melanie could hang the receiver up, there was a flurry of action in the living room. Hope grasped her purse and her scarf and flung her sweater over her shoulders before helping Faith find her pocketbook and the list of baking she was doing for the reception. Charity struggled to slip her tired feet into the orthopedic shoes. She finished tying the laces at the same moment her daughter breezed into the room.
“I didn’t know there was a ladies’ meeting tonight, Mom. That’s three times this week. What’s going on?”
“Planning a wedding shower,” her mother whispered, eyes rolling in Hope’s direction.
“Oh, well, if she’s going to be alone, maybe Hope would like to have dinner with me?”
“Isn’t Mitch coming over?” Charity’s question drew her attention from the pair by the door, so Melanie missed seeing Faith’s elbow imbed itself in Hope’s side.
“Well, yes, but—”
“Thank you anyway, dear,” Hope murmured, her eyes watering. “But Harry and I are going to go over some renovation plans tonight. And I’ve just time to change my clothes.” She glanced at her watch before grasping Faith’s arm firmly. “Come along, Faith. I want to make sure you get home safely,” she said sweetly.
As they moved through the door, Faith’s light voice carried back.
“Hope, your fingernails are too long. They’re digging into my arm.”
“I have to rush off, too,” her mother told her. “I’ve got so many things to do before this wedding.” She was almost out the door before Melanie’s voice stopped her.
“When and where is the shower, Mother? I’d like to go, if I can.”
“Uh, we’re just going to decide that tonight,” Charity murmured, scurrying out the door. “See you later.”
Melanie stared at the empty living room.
“You certainly know how to clear a room,” she muttered fatalistically. Then her thoughts turned to Mitch and his offer.
She hadn’t wanted to let the fearsome threesome know, but she was glad he’d invited her to go for a swim. She desperately needed to work off some of this stress, and besides, it would keep her from thinking about his ridiculous marriage proposal. After changing into a bright yellow T-shirt and dark blue shorts, Melanie sat down to view a stack of videos.
“It just wouldn’t do to lose the punching bout of the century,” she reminded herself. She got caught up in a rerun of the “Little House on the Prairies” series, and her eyes were full of tears when the doorbell rang. Brushing her hand across her cheeks, she hurried to answer it.
“Hi,” she said brusquely, sniffing. “Come on in.”
“Gee.” He stared at her grimly. “I don’t think I ever had this effect on one of my dates before. And we haven’t even left yet.” He followed her into the living room and rolled his eyes when he saw what she’d been watching.
“You’ve seen this thing ten times,” he muttered, hitting the rewind button. “And you still bawl. Why do you watch it if it makes you so sad?”
“It doesn’t make me sad,” she retorted in watery tones. “It’s makes me feel wonderful to be alive.” She blew her nose loudly.
It was obvious that Mitch didn’t share her pleasure in watching a family make it by pulling together through the tough times. And how could she tell him that the show symbolized everything she wanted in her life? He would call her a maudlin sentimentalist.
“Yeah.” He grimaced, swiping at one of the tears on her cheeks. “I can tell you’re feeling really great right now.” Mitch sifted through the tapes scattered across the floor, his fingers plucking one from the mess. “Ah, here it is. I think.” He thrust the cartridge into the VCR and waited.
“What in the world!” His eyes were huge blue puddles of disbelief as the start of a boxing match was quickly overridden by a diminutive woman with silver curls and a red-lip-sticked mouth who stood on a platform.
“Men are not like women,” the woman doctor was explaining. “They do not think of love in the same terms as we do. The males of our species take things literally, so if you want something from them, you have to come right out and ask for it. Don’t assume anything, because men tend to think with their—”
Mitch hit the stop button as fast as he could, his face beet red.
“What happened to my boxing?” he demanded, looming over her. “Is the whole tape ruined by that—that ridiculous woman?”
“She’s not ridiculous. She’s a well-respected therapist. Thousands of people pay huge amounts of money to get her advice.”
“Thousands of people paid huge amounts of money to see that fight,” he said. “And I paid a fair bit to obtain a taped copy of it.”
“Sorry! I must have grabbed that one by mistake and taped right over your show. I didn’t mean to!” Melanie glared at him, preparing herself for the battle that was sure to follow.
But Mitch didn’t look angry. He looked, well, resigned. He closed his eyes and mouthed the numbers from one to ten. When he opened those big baby blues, his grin tipped wryly to one side. He squatted in front of her and took her hands.
“Never mind. I’ll get another one made,” he told her quietly.
“I really am sorry, Mitch. I taped it for one of my residents. You remember Jonathan Northrup. That doctor is his sister.” Her voice dropped. “He died before I got it to him.”
“Oh, yes. I understand completely. Anything for the home and the people there.” His bl
ue eyes moved over her like a warm, snug blanket covering her with care, his voice was smooth.
“He’s the fellow who told you to try moving into today’s world, isn’t he? And he’s right, Melanie. You can’t hide out at Sunset forever.”
“Move into what? Murders, bombings, people full of hate and bitterness? That’s not the type of world I want to live in, Mitch.” Her voice was sour as she remembered the things she’d had to do today.
“What’s wrong, Mel?” he asked, sitting beside her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I mean really wrong.”
“I’m cranky,” she admitted at last, luxuriating in the feel of his big hand on her hair, soothing and gentle. “I had to order bed restraints on two residents today.”
“Hmm,” he sympathized, tugging her head onto his shoulder companionably. “I know how much you hate that.”
“Yeah, I do. But there was one good thing. I at last managed to locate a motorized cart for Mr. Harcourt.” She grimaced. “There’s no way the administrator will okay an expenditure of four thousand dollars for one patient, though.”
She felt his chin rest on her head as his chest wobbled under her cheek.
“What is it your mother always says?” he asked, chuckling.
“The Lord will provide.” Melanie answered dully. “But I want it right now!”
“You remind me of Sara’s Ben. Come on.” Mitch chuckled, tugging her to her feet. “You need to get out of here and get some fresh air. I have just the thing.”
“I thought we were going for a swim and then dinner.” She frowned.
“We are. Now come on.”
So Melanie went, noticing the soft luxury of his bucket seats and the feel of the fresh breeze playing with her hair.
“Where are we going?” she asked finally, only beginning to notice that they were on their way out of town.
“We’re going for a swim. In the river. That friend of yours, Jeff? He told me about this place. Said it was quiet.” Mitch parked beside a grassy spot that edged the river.
“Would madame care to sample the speciality of the day, compliments of Enjoy Gardens?”