Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners

by Gretchen Anthony

  “Why on earth would we not go? Kyle is the child’s godfather,” she said. “The Baumgartners are our dearest friends. Of course we’re invited to the prebaptism dinner.”

  Of course. Every answer to every question he ever asked about Violet Baumgartner got answered with the same two words. Of course they did.

  “Not to mention that Violet is an absolute mess. Trying to make sure everything is perfect for the Hesses. They come from very old money, you know. Shipping money, I believe. Did you know they came across on the Mayflower? Violet just can’t believe it. She’s absolutely convinced herself everything has to be perfect. I mean, if this doesn’t put her back in the hospital, I don’t know what will.”

  “Well, they could’ve come across on the Love Boat, for all I care.” He adjusted the knot in his tie. A Full Windsor. Symmetrical and strong. “It still doesn’t justify my having to spend the evening jammed into a suit when I just have to turn around and put it on again in the morning for church. Once oughta be enough. One kid, one baptism, one to-do.”

  “You’re wearing your sport coat tonight. You don’t even need a tie.”

  For cripes’ sakes. She could have at least told him before he went to all that work.

  “I’m only going, you know, so I can talk to Kyle.” He pulled the loosened tie from around his neck. “Lawyer won’t answer my calls and I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  It had been weeks of the same. No charges. Nothing. Just a single directive on repeat from the attorney: “Wait until we know more.”

  “Richard, please don’t say anything at dinner. I’m certain the investigation is the last thing Kyle wants to talk about tonight.” She took the tie from his hands and walked into the closet to return it to its hook. She reemerged with a gray twill sport coat.

  He turned and extended an arm, letting her slip it on.

  “For cripes’ sakes, Eldris, I know better than to air our family business in front of Gilligan and his three-hour crew.” Like he would ever expose his kid’s vulnerabilities in exchange for a glass of Scotch and a decent dinner.

  “And don’t get all wrapped up in Violet’s business tonight,” he said, sliding a loafer onto his foot. “Kyle so much as whispers he’s leaving and we’re outta there, too.”

  Eldris grabbed her purse. “I can’t imagine we’ll be home later than nine o’clock. You may even be back in time to catch the end of the baseball game.”

  37

  Violet

  “I’D USE THE blue toile, but I don’t want to look like we’re trying to impress.” Violet stood in front of her china hutch, a plate in each hand. “Ed, do you think the Wedgwood will be too plain?”

  “Whatever you think is best.” He was hollering from the other room again. Plus, she could hear him working the knob on the toaster.

  “You’re not eating, are you, dear? I’m serving appetizers in less than an hour.” She’d already let out the waist on his black suit last week; there wasn’t time for another intervention before morning.

  There wasn’t time for much of anything, in fact. Eldris, and presumably Richard with her, would be arriving in thirty minutes to help with preparations. Between now and then, Violet had to choose her dinnerware, set the table, pull the flower arrangements out of the refrigerator and put on her face.

  “I hope you won’t forget to open the wine, Ed. Remember you need to do it at ten minutes before the hour. The man at the shop said it’s best—”

  “If we give it just an hour to breathe. Yes, Violet, I know.” He was in the dining room with her now, taking each stack of dishes from her hands as she pulled them from the hutch.

  “You have crumbs down your front,” she told him. “You’ll have to go change.”

  “I assure you I wasn’t planning to wear a Hawaiian shirt when meeting our Adam’s second-favorite grandparents.” He winked.

  Violet harrumphed. “Now, Ed. These are sophisticated people we’re hosting tonight. The won’t be accustomed to your—” She paused, implying he ought to know what she was referring to without being forced to say it.

  “Yes, I know, Violet. Mind my mouth!”

  * * *

  ELDRIS AND RICHARD were not the first to arrive. In fact, they were inexcusably late and Violet had barely managed to zip her skirt—they were both losing their waistlines, though at least her filling figure was the result of medically mandated rest—when the doorbell rang.

  She heard Ed’s newly resoled loafers tap the length of the foyer. Then a man’s voice—though for the life of her she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  Did no one teach their children proper diction anymore?

  “Violet!”

  Ed with the hollering. She was at the mirror, already exasperated by her hair, which insisted on bulging out above her right ear. In her mother’s day she would have had the option of a wig, but those sensibilities had long flown the way of the dodo.

  She didn’t need his hollering on top of everything else.

  “Violet, dear. Our guests are beginning to arrive.”

  She ran her comb under the faucet one more time and tried in vain to de-poof the right side of her head. In desperation, she reached for a bottle of hair spray, unscrewed the cap and dipped the comb in. She would glue her hair down if she must.

  Yes, there. That was working. She dipped the comb again.

  “Violet!”

  Ed again. This time not calling from downstairs but from the doorway of their bedroom. It startled her so that she jumped, the comb tipping the bottle of hair spray all down her front.

  “Edward Baumgartner! You’ve soiled my skirt!”

  It didn’t strike her until the words left her mouth that whomever just arrived could also hear her screeching.

  “I’m sorry, Violet. But a man named Donny has just arrived.”

  She didn’t know anyone named Donny. “He’s probably selling something. For heaven’s sake, don’t leave him to prowl the house unsupervised.”

  She grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with water and blotted furiously at the puddle.

  “He says he’s a friend of Cerise.”

  “Not any friend that I’m aware—” she stopped. “Donny or Donald?”

  “He said Donny, dear.”

  She brushed past him and stuck her head out the bedroom door.

  “Donald? I’m just settling a wee issue. I’ll be down to greet you in a moment.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Baumgartner,” came the man’s reply.

  She turned and swatted at Ed’s arm.

  “Don’t just leave him down there, Ed. Go and sit. Make him a cocktail.”

  “I don’t know any cocktails, Violet. I picked up beer yesterday.”

  Violet was twisting herself in knots—turning this way and that—trying to get a look at the stain infecting her lap like a contagion.

  For goodness’ sake.

  “Not beer, Ed. We’ll look like the traveling circus.” She spun her back to him and flapped her hand at the zipper of her skirt. “Unzip me, dear. Unzip me.”

  She sucked in deeply, easing the tug of the zipper, then stripped down to her slip.

  “Now, shoo!” She pushed Ed into the hallway, then cracked the bedroom door just enough to speak through the crack.

  “Make him an Old Fashioned. The one with the orange slice. All the young men are drinking them.”

  He opened his mouth to protest but she shut the door and began a second assault on her closet.

  By the time she descended the stairs in a fresh skirt, Eldris had arrived and was flitting about the kitchen, reading aloud from the to-do list Violet had left out for her.

  “Not that chip and dip, Eldris,” said Violet. “The Mariposa.” What grown woman considered it appropriate to serve artisanal artichoke-Gruyère dip on a plate shaped like a cactus? Ed had won it in an Optimi
st’s Club raffle years ago and loved it, but that was no excuse.

  “Don’t you look nice, Violet. You’ve always looked good in black.”

  Violet demurred and excused herself to the living room to greet her guests.

  Four men plus Ed sat in awkward silence, each staring at the various corners of the room—and each with a beer in hand.

  For heaven’s sake.

  She reached for the reassurance of the locket at her throat, then scanned the side tables for coasters.

  “Richard,” she said, “wonderful of you to join us this evening. Kyle, you’re looking well.” He was wearing a navy sport coat and slacks. Perfectly acceptable for an evening such as this, but she hoped he owned a suit. He’d need it for the baptism tomorrow. And possibly for court.

  Both men nodded and helloed back.

  Cerise, it turned out, had chosen Kyle as sweet Adam’s godfather, an unusual B+ decision that continued to puzzle Violet. But so far, Cerise was providing no justification. So here he sat, unspectacular as ever and beer in hand, awaiting the arrival of one of America’s oldest families.

  “No Rhonda?” Violet asked. She hadn’t seen the woman who’d effectively tried to kill her since the retirement party and she lighted briefly—even she hated to admit—at the prospect of not facing her tonight. Of all nights.

  “Her flight doesn’t arrive for another hour or so,” said Kyle. “She got a last-minute scoop on a story she’s been developing that she couldn’t pass up. But she’s promised to catch the first cab out of the airport after touching down.” He smiled proudly, as if having managed a miracle. Violet, on the other hand, knew that if Ed had inflicted the humiliation of an airport taxi on her as a young fiancée, she would have dropped his engagement ring directly into the mailbox and not looked back.

  “Well, we’re just so pleased she can join us at some point.” The sentiment, she supposed, was not entirely untrue. She’d recently watched Rhonda’s exclusive report on the rapidly disappearing blue poison dart frog from the Amazon rain forest and had nearly been convinced to mail a check off to the Nature Conservancy that very evening. The woman looked like she could convince a dying man to sing.

  She turned her attention to the other two men in the room. They were a sad reality, now that she was able to lay eyes on them. As different from the creatures she’d imagined as could be.

  One was tall and lanky with thinning hair, looking like the sweat pooling on his pale skin might cause him to slip right out of his discount suit. The other one, much stockier, wore jeans and a luau shirt on which the words Cheeseburger in Paradise: Maui blazed across his left breast.

  The disappointment filled her lungs like water.

  “Mrs. Baumgartner.” The cheeseburger advert stood and extended a hand. “Donny Davies.” He pumped her arm as if he intended to rip it from its socket. “Thanks again for inviting me. Exciting time for Cerise.”

  “Yes, Donald.” She withdrew and gently flexed her fingers, encouraging the blood flow back to her joints. “Thank you for joining us.”

  Smile.

  “I was surprised to hear from you. Cerise and I lost touch after high school. But I just moved back to town a few months ago. Good to reconnect.”

  Violet mentally made a large X across his forehead. So—not Donald Davies.

  She moved on.

  “Erik? Nice to see you again. How is your grandmother?”

  Goodness, had this boy’s sweat glands always raged with such ghastly determination? The droplets of perspiration on his upper lip were quickly coalescing and a single, fat drip quivered on the small patch of whiskers he’d missed while shaving.

  “Well, I think she’s doing better now. My mom says she doesn’t have to go to the bathroom so much ever since they switched her antibiotics.”

  “Yes.”

  Smile, Violet. If she weren’t able to cross this boy off her list by the end of the evening she might just throw herself off the I-494 overpass.

  “Urine or fecal?”

  Violet turned violently in Ed’s direction, but was too late.

  “Sir?”

  “Urine or fecal? Lots of senior citizens are affected by the medications they’re given. Most often it’s fecal. Throws off the intestinal biome. Quite dangerous, actually. Diarrhea and dehydration and the like.”

  “Um.” Violet saw the droplet of sweat break free and cascade down the boy’s lip. “I’m not actually sure.”

  “Been the downfall of entire armies, diarrhea. Quite serious.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Violet practically leaped at Ed.

  “Isn’t that someone at the door, dear?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  The doorbell rang. Thank heavens for small miracles.

  Cerise and Barb stood on the front stoop with sweet Adam asleep in his infant carrier at their feet. Beside them stood two people she could only assume were Barb’s parents.

  “Welcome!”

  Amanda Hesse was exactly the woman Violet pictured her to be. Crisp, ivory linen suit, tasteful red manicure, beige ballet flats. Cole Haan from the looks of the delicate leather. Or Prada. Violet reached instinctively for her hair. Bulging again.

  “Violet.” Amanda Hesse didn’t simply speak. She cooed. “Your home is just lovely. Lovely.”

  But she hasn’t even seen it yet.

  Violet smiled and offered her hand, pushing away her willingness to second-guess herself. “We’ve been so looking forward to your visit.”

  Amanda cooed her thanks.

  Elliott Hesse, on the other hand, was not entirely the man Violet had pictured—though not as far from expectation as those two disappointments in her living room. He left every bit of the instant impression as his wife, but in his own way—more swagger, more intimidation, the sort of man who’d say ka-pow! in casual conversation.

  Not to mention, he was wearing jeans.

  “Violet.” As if he’d spent his life as a carnival barker. “Amanda here nearly refused to come if I insisted on wearing jeans but I told her, I said, ‘If I know Minnesotans, I know Ed and Violet. And I know they’ll welcome yours truly no matter what I’m wearing.’ Come as you are, am I right?”

  He winked. Then without warning, he reached out and pinched Violet on the waist.

  Of all things.

  She stifled a squeal and looked at Ed to see if he was going to do anything about the man taking liberties with her body.

  Then, as if he’d read her mind, Elliott said, “Don’t mind me.” He held his hands in front of his chest in surrender. “No harm, no foul. I’m just a bit of a hugger.”

  Violet realized then that Ed hadn’t seen any of it. His head was in the infant seat, pulling Adam free.

  Amanda, however, had seen it all and whispered conspiratorially in Violet’s ear, “My husband tends to be hands-y,” she said. “Beware.”

  Lord, give her strength.

  38

  Cerise

  APPARENTLY, BARB HADN’T been exaggerating.

  In the twenty minutes her parents had spent at the Baumgartner house—they’d never met their grandson nor seen where their daughter had lived for the past decade—Elliott had pinched Barb in the hip-almost-butt-region at least once, and had wandered from the kitchen, where they all stood, midconversation, to the living room, where he proceeded to let loose a wildly expressive fart. Without apology.

  “It’s our agreement,” explained Amanda. “He goes into the other room to do it, or I get to increase the limit on my credit card.” She grabbed Cerise’s wrist and pulled her in close. “I highly recommend it, sweetie. I’m up to nearly twenty thousand.”

  Cerise couldn’t remember a time she was so relieved to see her parents.

  If only they’d been the sanctuary she’d hoped for.

  “Mother.” They were in Violet
’s kitchen pulling cellophane from tiny appetizer dishes. “What on earth are Donny Davies and Erik Clarkson doing here?” She picked up a dish of something she didn’t recognize and sniffed it.

  “Caviar,” explained Violet. “They say it was Fitzgerald’s favorite.”

  Cerise scowled and set it aside. “Don’t avoid the question.”

  Violet huffed. “You were so distracted with Adam that I decided to take the burden of a guest list off your shoulders.” Her voice had a lilt to it that made everything—even the most ridiculous statements—sound logical. It had always amazed Cerise. Tonight it infuriated her.

  She opened her mouth to argue, but her mother was gone, off to the living room holding a platter overloaded with crackers and dip.

  Damn it.

  She spotted Barb at the far end of the room, in a corner talking to Erik and Donny. She was smiling and nodding but Cerise knew that look. It was the look of a woman who’d prefer to stick each of her ten fingers into a pencil sharpener, one after the other, rather than to stand there for even one more second.

  Double damn.

  “Erik. Donny. Great to see you both.” It hadn’t taken her more than five seconds to cross the room but Barb had watched her the entire way, pleading with her eyes for Cerise to hurry, hurry, hurry.

  “Long time, no see, girlie-girl.” Donny gave her the one-armed side hug she remembered from her past life. “Last I knew you were off to solve the world’s scientific mysteries. Next thing I know, you’re a momma and—” He stopped, turning to look at Barb, then back at Cerise. “And everything.”

  “Yep.” Cerise nodded. “And everything.”

  She was now solidly convinced this evening was never going to end.

  “Good to see you, Cerise.” Erik pulled at the collar on his shirt and Cerise could see that he’d sweated enough to leave a ring. “I—uh.” He shuffled and scanned the room with his eyes. “I was sort of shocked when your mom invited me,” he said, lowering his voice. “But my mom was worried she’d be offended if I didn’t come.”

  “Yep, she’s just as scary as ever these days,” said Cerise. She played it light for Erik’s benefit—the poor guy looked ready to faint—but her mother was just as scary as she’d ever been.