Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners

by Gretchen Anthony

  She opted to stay light. “Hey, I was the one in tears when we got here. I owed you a good venting.”

  Kyle laughed. “Yeah, well, one more thing,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Your mother sort of interrogated me about sperm.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” She loved Kyle’s knack for easing a moment.

  “No, I’m not kidding. Sperm banks, in particular. Wanted to know how the process worked.”

  Cerise stopped. What in the world was her mother up to now? Same old busybody she always was? Cerise shouldn’t have expected anything different. Her mother was stuck, and Cerise finally understood where. It was this: it takes a man and a woman to make a baby. That’s the math. And she was never going to settle until she had the full equation.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That there’s a popular sperm bank near the university campus where all the med students go.”

  Cerise smiled. “Nice.” She paused for a second. “Is that actually true?”

  “Of course.” Kyle was smiling now, too. “But I’m not going to tell you how I know.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Her instincts told her to pull out her phone, to get ready for an uncomfortable conversation. Though, with who? If she told Barb, they’d argue again. But confronting her mother would be an exercise in frustration.

  And anyway, what was her mother going to find?

  “Meh,” said Cerise, waving off the issue. “Let her poke around. It’ll keep her busy. My dad will probably thank me for it.”

  28

  Violet

  THE ENDRESES’ AGING Buick pulled into the driveway and Violet hurried to climb in.

  Not that she was terribly excited to put her life in Eldris’s hands. Her attention as a driver was questionable at best, constantly drawn from the road to everything alongside it—the Semiannual Sale! sign in the front window of Gilbertsen’s Good Home Goods or Marty Hendrickson’s frost-stricken gladiolas. Look at that. They’re an absolute heartbreak!

  But, Violet reminded herself, Eldris was a wonderful friend. She was loyal. Never boastful. And wasn’t that a priceless blessing?

  Plus, they’d shooed Ed off again today, hoping to set him on a collision course with Richard. Eldris called with news that she was sending Richard to Wuollet’s bakery to pick up the cake she’d special ordered for Solveig Thompson’s funeral luncheon. She’d told him it had to be picked up precisely at noon.

  Violet, in turn, had sent Ed to Wuollet’s to pick up a coffee cake for their neighbor Jeanne whose husband had broken his collarbone falling from a ladder while trying to loosen the ice dam above their entryway.

  “I thought you hated store-bought cakes,” he’d said.

  “Are you saying you’d like me to dig out all of my pans and begin the three-hour process of baking one, then?”

  He left the house shortly before noon.

  That left Eldris as the only person available to drive Violet to her appointment at the painter’s studio. If she didn’t get there today, the nursery wouldn’t be ready in time for baby.

  Violet closed the door with a thunk and smiled at her friend. “My goodness, Eldris, don’t you look pretty today.” A peach turtleneck poked up from beneath her faded wool coat and she wore a pair of slim gold hoops in her ears.

  “Oh, I just pulled out the first thing I could find. You know me. I don’t like to fuss.”

  Violet hmm’d vaguely and busied herself digging through her handbag.

  “Anyway, I was in such a state this morning that I just pulled out the first thing I laid eyes on.”

  She paused and Violet knew she was waiting for her to chime in with a complicit note, a Do tell. Only, Violet couldn’t focus on anything besides the stop sign Eldris was about to blow through at thirty miles an hour.

  “Stop!”

  Eldris slammed on the brakes and the Buick screeched to a halt midway through the intersection.

  “Uff. I always forget about that one.”

  Violet closed her eyes. She took a breath and said a prayer of thanks that they hadn’t seen another car for several blocks.

  “Anyway,” said Eldris, stepping on the gas, “Kyle was over at the house checking his inventory again and he discovered a large chunk of his donations have gone missing. I told him I didn’t know a thing about it. He was terribly upset.”

  Violet lowered her purse to her feet for fear that it would fly from her lap with the next episode. She smoothed the pleat in her slacks and took hold of the passenger grab handle with both hands.

  “Someone stole money from EyeShine?”

  “No, bifocals. Whole boxes of them.”

  Violet waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure he just misplaced them. Or maybe he gave them away on his last trip. I can’t imagine anyone is out to steal used eyeglasses.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder whether the bifocals she’d donated were among the missing.

  Eldris shook her head and the accelerator responded in-kind. Violet’s stomach lurched.

  “That’s just it. Kyle keeps meticulous records. You know—you’ve seen him, yourself.”

  Technically, yes. Violet recalled the afternoon she’d seen Kyle poring over rows of what looked like inventory data. But was it accurate? He’d also given her the name for a sperm bank that led them on nothing but a ridiculous goose chase.

  Eldris went on, “Stolen from under our very noses. I’m absolutely convinced of it.”

  Violet closed her eyes, thinking it better to focus on the list of to-dos in her head than the rows of houses careening past her.

  She needed to ask the artist about the paint she used. Baby was not to sleep in a room tainted with carcinogenic air. But what had the Sherwin-Williams man called the safest alternative? Low VOD paint? Low COD? She’d need to refer to her notes when they arrived.

  Eldris continued, “I know it seems like a trivial matter, but it’s not. EyeShine has to document the value of its donations with the IRS every year. That’s why Kyle is so careful. If he misrepresents the organization’s charitable income by even a trivial amount he can be investigated for fraud. Fraud. I’m just sick about it.”

  Violet opened her eyes in time to see Eldris speeding through a yellow stoplight. She squeezed them shut immediately and held on, waiting for the impact of a crash.

  Then, nothing. Praise God. She opened a cautious eye and confirmed the all clear. She blew out a slow and steady breath—one...two...three...four...five.

  Better.

  Now, then.

  She’d actually spoken to Amanda Hesse on the phone last night, the first time they’d connected in person. So far, their correspondence had been limited to lengthy and detailed exchanges through the US mail, but there was one very important detail she wanted to ensure was captured exactly right before her meeting at the artist’s studio.

  “Yes,” Amanda had confirmed. “Francis Ingersoll, my great-great-grandmother’s cousin thrice-removed, was a member of the Mayflower Colony.”

  The Mayflower. Violet swooned. Now that was a wonderful story for baby.

  “Lore has it, of course,” continued Amanda, “he had a hard time keeping his prick to himself and was nearly thrown to sea with his pants around his ankles halfway across the Atlantic.”

  Violet choked. Had she just heard what she thought she’d heard? Couldn’t be.

  “Now,” Amanda had said. “Remember that he was not on the first voyage. He arrived on a later ship, but we do have documentation of his name on a passenger list from 1621 and documentation of his Plymouth land purchase.”

  Violet felt tears welling. Her grandbaby was of founding stock.

  As soon as Eldris stopped talking, she’d be able to share the news.

  “Kyle is supposed to leave for Africa soon. Just what is he supposed to do with a quarter of his donations missi
ng?”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. It’s an absolute nightmare.”

  Violet had to concur, but not because of Kyle’s dilemma. Her cell phone was ringing and she didn’t dare loosen her hands from their death grip on the handle to reach for it.

  “And Richard—well, you’d think this sort of thing happened every day at our house. The most he has to say about it is that maybe Kyle ought to delay his trip. Can you imagine?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “So you agree? Thank you. I mean, it’s an absolutely absurd suggestion.”

  Violet’s phone was ringing again. Was this a second time? Who could concentrate with all this commotion?

  “He called the airline, of course, but the change fee on his flight to New York, alone, is four hundred dollars. I mean, for heaven’s sake, what business are these airlines in? Highway robbery?”

  Her phone seemed to be playing her Für Elise ringtone in an endless loop.

  “Eldris, I think this may be an emergency.”

  “Well, that’s what I told Kyle to tell the airline. But did they care? Absolutely not! Apparently they aren’t in the business of caring for poor African children or anyone else. They’re just out for a buck. It’s an outrage.”

  Violet’s head was beginning to spin and the trees lining the road seemed to be flying past her at insane speed, blurring into an unbroken streak of green.

  “No, I’m telling you, Eldris. I think there may be an emergency. Pull over. I need to get to my phone.”

  Now there was a second screeching—an obnoxious electronic version of Beethoven’s Fifth coming from the depths of Eldris’s purse on the bench between them.

  “I mean it—pull over, Eldris. Someone needs to get ahold of me.”

  “Oh, for gracious’ sake.”

  Eldris thrust a hand into her purse and began scrambling for her phone.

  “That’s not a phone call, Violet. It’s a text. Which means it’s probably Kyle. He’s the only one who texts me.”

  She continued scrambling about blindly in her purse, the steering wheel matching every sweep of her hand, and soon the Buick was weaving back and forth across the centerline.

  “Eldris—pull over!”

  Violet let go of her death grip on the door handle and began grabbing at Eldris’s purse.

  “Let me find it!”

  She gave the purse a hearty tug, but Eldris was tangled in the handles and Violet ended up pulling her—and the steering with it—wildly to the right. The car zigzagged. Eldris yelped. Violet whooped. Then there was a swerve and a bump, and the Buick came to a stop halfway onto the lawn of Everette Bob’s Real Tasty Bar-B-Que.

  “Sakes alive, Eldris! You nearly killed us.”

  “You were hitting me, Violet!”

  Both women dived for the phones in their respective handbags. Both gasped in unison.

  “Cerise is in the hospital. She’s gone into preterm labor.”

  “It’s from Richard. Kyle’s been taken in for questioning by the police.”

  29

  Richard

  RICHARD PULLED A tattered business card from his desk drawer and dialed its number. The line picked up immediately.

  “Browning, here.” The voice resonated with the tenor of a man deaf to doctors’ warnings about fat cigars and fattier steaks.

  Thank god some people still answer their own phones. “Al, it’s Richard Endres.”

  Al roared with all the sonnuva guns and how the hell are yas Richard had expected. He waited until Browning exhausted himself, then got to the point.

  “I need the best lawyer you know.”

  The agents had shown up at the door at one o’clock sharp, two of them, in crisp dark suits and well-shined shoes. Richard hadn’t seen gloss on a pair of loafers like that since the ’80s. Had they been anywhere but his front door, the sight would’ve made him goddamn nostalgic.

  They were looking for Kyle who, fortunately or not, was down in the basement resorting his donations inventory in search of the missing bifocals.

  “It’s the government, goddamn it.” Browning was always good for a righteous fuming. “Did they search your property? Did you see a warrant?”

  That was just it. They hadn’t wanted to search. They only wanted Kyle. And he’d gone willingly before Richard could talk him out of it.

  “Bottom line, Al—I need the best name you’ve got. And then I need you to help me figure out how to pay for it all.”

  Browning, as it happened, was Richard’s on-again, off-again accountant. Not this year. Richard didn’t want anyone to see the financial cost of his involuntary retirement, as he’d taken to calling it. But the years when he was feeling flush—got a bonus or a raise or scored in the stock market—Browning made sure his funds were tied with a neat bow and tucked away where Eldris wouldn’t be tempted to spend them.

  They’d also been racquetball partners since long before the days their orthopedists began tethering their failing joints with pig tendon and wire. Richard knew the influence wielded by the high-rolling ass-kisser crowd Browning kept on speed dial. Hell, thanks to Browning, he’d wrapped his naked ass in a steam room towel alongside Vikings coaches, mayors and Fortune 100 CEOs all in the same week.

  “Only one guy you want,” said Browning. “O’Neill. Government connections that’d make James Comey blush. He’s your best defense when the feds fill your dance card.”

  “I figured he’d be your recommendation.” Richard reached for the bottle of Tums he’d opened last night while balancing the checking account. It’d been new; it was now half-empty. “Now tell me how I’m going to pay for this.”

  Browning roared with laughter. “Hell, Endres. That’s the easiest question I’ve had all day. Like I’ve told you before, you don’t need an accountant—you need a good shrink.”

  He was still laughing when Richard hung up.

  He took a minute to consider his next move. Then he opened his phone and found the number he needed. This time, though, he wouldn’t call. He knew if he found himself on the other end of the line from a live voice, he wouldn’t be able to control what came next.

  Richard here.

  Thought you might find it interesting that the feds just showed up at my door.

  Lots of questions about EyeShine donations suddenly popping up on federal property.

  And it got me thinking.

  About a certain few boxes you picked up.

  And I can’t help but wonder about the coincidence.

  ¿Qué? ¿Quien es este?

  30

  Violet

  ELDRIS HAD HARDLY rolled to a stop before Violet was out of the car and up the hospital sidewalk. The automated doors whooshed open to the lobby, a glass cathedral radiating with natural light, its every detail engineered, she knew, to induce a calm in its passersby.

  She would have none of it. Her daughter was in danger.

  She made a direct path to the center of the room, to the woman who’d smartly chosen to wear a crisp, dark suit for her day’s duties at the Information desk. Violet stated her business and the woman tapped her keyboard with the rapid-fire intensity of a telegraph operator. Violet took the first easy breath she could remember since leaving the house.

  “Room 422. That’s in our birthing center. Take the elevators on your left to the fourth floor.”

  “And where do I gown up—isn’t that what you call it?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Gowns and gloves and those dreadful shoe covers? My daughter may be having the baby as I stand here.”

  The woman’s face betrayed nothing. “Check in at the nurses’ station when you arrive on-floor.”

  That was one option.

  Instead, she went directly to Cerise’s room.

  She opened the door to a c
acophony of crises. Monitors screeched. Women in candy-colored scrubs rushed about as the lone man in the room stood at the end of the bed shouting directions. She spotted her daughter’s manicured toes peeking out from the paper draped across her body.

  Violet’s brain seized and her vision narrowed to a tunnel. She looked desperately for a chair.

  Then, above the din, she heard Cerise, her voice no more than a tiny whimper.

  “Cerise! I’m here.”

  Violet could do nothing. But she was there.

  When Cerise was three years old, the two of them spent a lovely spring afternoon making mud pies from the freshly turned flower beds in their front yard. The sun leaped across the sky like a happy dog chasing sticks and their hands grew pink and raw digging in the chilly dirt. Violet was rarely prone to encourage such messy play, but that day all judgment fell aside like ribbons from the gift of life.

  Every moment felt ripe for the picking.

  She watched as Cerise scooped handfuls of dirt into a pink Tupperware bowl and dribbled it with water. She ran her palm across the top, smoothing its surface, and then poked dainty points all along its edge with her fingers. Her nails were caked with mess, her hands streaked with black. It would take a week of baths to soak it all out. And yet, was there anything more beautiful than a child’s perfect skin? Dirt held no power over its radiance.

  “Mama?” Cerise handed her the small, pink pie. “Would you like to take a bite?”

  “Oh, yes please.” She brought the bowl to her lips and pretended to chew, moaning as if she’d never tasted anything like it in her whole life. “Where did you learn to make such delicious pie, sweet girl?”

  Cerise giggled and returned to her flower bed kitchen. “Just wait until you try the next one. It’s my es-specialty.”

  And so the play continued, Cerise offering treats to Violet, who acted as if each were more amazing than the last.