by Shirley Jump
She'd done that, with Ray Sr. following behind, and twenty minutes later, found the right turn to take her out of the green stalks.
When no other answers magically appeared by Wednesday, Meredith had called Caleb, hoping to figure out where she'd gone wrong, what turn she'd made that she could undo and start on the road toward fixing this mess ... and getting Larry Herman and the entire staff at Belly-Licious to stay out of her life.
It was nine in the morning and she and Caleb were sitting at the small glass table in the front portion of the gift shop. Maria and Candace were busy out back processing new orders, leaving them alone. Caleb had on a cream-colored shirt and dark blue suit today, a definite sign he was beginning to come out of his Shakespearean depression.
"Is it really over?" he asked, lacing his fingers together.
"I told you back in Heavendale that it was."
"I thought you were kidding. I mean, Mr. Galloway was in the back and the roses can be pretty overwhelming. I thought maybe you weren't thinking straight."
"Caleb, we're not going to work out, you know that. I'm sorry." She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away, tucking both of them under the table. "Tell me something."
"What?"
Meredith traced a circle on the glass, then looked up at him. "Have you ever wanted to pin me up against the wall, jerk up my skirt and just... do it?"
His eyes widened with horror. "No!"
"See? That's why we shouldn't be together."
"Are you saying that because I don't want to have kinky Kama Sutra sex with you, you won't marry me?"
"Caleb, we never had any sex, never mind tried anything from the Kama Sutra. And why do you think that is?"
"Because we were waiting for our wedding night."
"We weren't waiting for anything. Except maybe a bolt of lighting to come along and make us ... different."
He shook his head. "Why do you want to be different? Everything was perfect the way it was."
"Everything was boring. Dull. Predictable as the size of Mary Lou Kendall's spring calves. I don't want that for my life."
"What if I do?" Caleb laid his hands flat on the table. His nails, as always were trim and perfect. He had always been a man who cared about tiny details. It was part of what made him a success with funerals... and what drove Meredith nuts.
"You need to find someone who loves the kind of life you do," she said. "Me, I want more. I want to feel that electric need for someone, I want to wake up in the morning and know that I did something today that I didn't do yesterday. And I want to look back in thirty years and feel like I lived my life when I was younger."
"I don't get it. You wake up every day in Heavendale. You live your life. I mean, if you hate your job at Petey's, go work at Louie's Grille."
She nearly slammed her hands on the table. "I don't want Petey's or Louie's! Or kissing in the back of the hearse while a dead body looks on."
"Uh, Meredith, dead people don't look on."
She bit back a scream of frustration at his correction. "I want more, Caleb. I want a life. And I found that here."
"With him?"
It wasn't even a question. She heard the sound of hurt in Caleb's voice and wondered if she was doing the right thing. He'd driven all this way to see her, to talk some sense into her. Because he loved her? Or because he thought he loved her?
"We've known each other all our lives," she said. Once, she'd thought that was reason enough to marry him.
He nodded. "I remember sitting next to you in Miss Henneman's class, listening to Brown Bear, Brown Bear. You wore that pink dress with those white shoes. You were ... an angel."
"And maybe that's the problem," she said.
"How is that a problem?"
"You see me as an angel. Not a sex object or a wife or a partner. An angel. Too perfect to spoil."
"So, you think I should date a woman that I only want to have mad, passionate sex with and forget about keeping her on a pedestal and treating her like gold?"
"Well, yeah." She smiled and reached again for his hand. This time, he let her take it, but she could feel the reservation in his touch. "Treating her right is always a good idea, but you should find that someone you want to put up against the wall. Trust me, you'll be a lot happier for it."
"I am happy."
Caleb's face was as dour as ever, a look he'd perfected in the years he'd been in the funeral business, all of it shadowed by the dark suit and perfectly brushed wave of his black hair. "Live a little, Caleb. Stop being as dead as the people in your back room."
He bristled and jerked back from the table and began to stand up. After a moment, the flush of anger faded from his face and he lowered himself back into the seat. "What... What does that kind of sex feel like?"
"The against the wall kind?"
"Yeah." A small, embarrassed grin crossed his lips. She knew it was a question he'd never asked anyone. If they hadn't known each other since the days they'd been wearing knee socks, she doubted he could have asked even her.
"I wouldn't know, I haven't done it yet." She shrugged, a mirror image to Caleb's smile on her own lips. "But I've thought about it a lot."
'You haven't had sex with him yet?" His brows arched in surprise.
"No. He thinks we should wait until we're in love."
Caleb's grin widened into the first genuine smile she'd seen on him in a long time. "Smart man to trap you with your own plan."
Then he said goodbye, wished her well and walked out of the shop, heading for his hearse. He still wore the dark pants and black dress shoes, but she'd swear there was a lighter step in his walk.
On his Wednesday drive to work, Travis nearly caused a five-car pileup when he spied a twelve-foot high image of Meredith in her Miss Holstein costume holding a glass of No-Moo, appearing to enjoy the synthetic beverage, for every car on 93 South to see.
Clearly, Larry had ramped up the stakes in the last twenty-four hours. The man was a menace. Travis was going to make sure he went down.
Him and his hair pieces.
Larry pounced on Travis as soon as he walked into the building. "Did you see our giant ad this morning? What'd you think of the moving arm? Wasn't that brilliant?" Larry chuckled. "Sometimes I scare myself with my ideas. Imagine if I were president of the You-nited States."
Travis didn't let his brain travel down that Armageddon path. "The whole damned thing is illegal, Larry. You can't use Meredith's image without her permission."
"I know. That makes it perfect. She'll sue us, we'll get tons of media coverage for the lawsuit, which will just get people talking more about No-Moo."
Larry's logic would confuse Einstein. "Does your cousin know you're risking a multimillion dollar lawsuit to promote a crappy drink no one is ever going to buy?"
"Oh, they're going to buy it. As long as Miss Holstein is telling them it's the drink to have. And I've got a whole lot more pictures where those came from that can be used to give this campaign some bam!"
Travis's hand crushed around the Styrofoam cup, ready to pulverize the little bit of coffee he held—instead of Larry's face. He opened his mouth to say he quit when he saw Brad passing by the door. Brad made the outline of a house with his hands, then a thumbs-up, indicating the mortgage had been approved.
Travis drew in a breath that stopped him from committing a felony, then chucked the rest of his coffee into the trash. "There are other ways to sell a product."
"Sounds like you don't support my little idea." Larry shrugged. "Fine with me. I don't need you. Or Kenny. Or Brad. All you three do is drag me down anyway."
He thought of Brad's thumbs-up, the sheer joy on his baby brother's face whenever he talked about getting married. Travis wouldn't be up for Best Man of the Year if he got Brad fired a few weeks before his wedding.
There had to be a way to dump this crazy ad campaign and save Brad's job. But what? Travis's mind raced through possibilities, and came up empty.
Aw, hell. Why did he have to go and grow pr
inciples at this late stage in his life? All they did was screw up what had been a very cushy existence.
Travis looked at Larry's grinning face as his boss opened up a folder and started blabbing about a layout for a print campaign featuring another doctored photo of Meredith.
The image of her raised a challenge inside him. She had taken a leap of faith, throwing away everything she knew to come to Boston and try for something different. She'd paid a hell of a price so far, one she hadn't asked for.
He'd be damned if he was going to let her pay it on her own.
It was time to call in Vernon and Ray Jr.
Rebecca's The-Right-Answers-Are-Right-There Seafood Newburg
3 tablespoons butter
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup scallions
3 tablespoons flour
2 cups milk
1/4 cup sherry
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon paprika
8 ounces haddock, cut into one-inch pieces
6 ounces crabmeat
6 ounces scallops
Sometimes, when you're looking for the answer to what to do, it's best to just do something simple. Clear your mind and the solution will come to you. Start by melting the butter, then cooking the mushrooms and scallions. Add the flour and cook for one minute, then gradually stir in the milk.
Add the sherry, lemon juice and spices. If needed, season with salt and pepper. Simmer for five minutes ... long enough to start looking inside yourself for a few of the answers to the questions you keep asking everyone else. Add the seafood, then cook another few minutes, until all is done.
Serve on toast points and eat enough to fill your belly and help you find your way from the kitchen to the solution.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning, Meredith sat at Rebecca's kitchen table, watching Emily have fun with her oatmeal instead of eating it. The four-year-old clearly found a lot more enjoyment in tossing clumps at the beagle begging by her feet than in getting peaches-and-cream flavor into her mouth.
Rebecca sighed, watching the mess from her place in the opposite chair, a wet rag in her hand. "Em, are you sure you don't want any help?"
"Nope. Do it by myself," Emily said, beaming around the crust of Quaker on her face. "I'm a big girl."
Rebecca chuckled. "That you are. And determined, too."
Meredith laughed, getting to her feet and placing her empty coffee cup in the sink. "Wonder where she gets that from, huh?"
"Are you saying determination is a family trait?" Rebecca's eyes twinkled.
"No, making a mess is." Meredith started the dishes, rinsing the breakfast bowls and cups, then loading them into the dishwasher. "Did you hear about the billboard that Belly-Licious put up? They even showed it on Channel Seven last night. Me in my cow costume grinning over a glass of that chemical milk."
She was glad Caleb had gone back to Indiana last night. It had made for fewer people sobbing over Aunt Gloria's blueberry crumble dessert yesterday evening.
Rebecca turned in the chair, draping an arm over the back. "You know you can sue over this, don't you? No one can use your image without your permission."
"Suing would bring more attention to the whole thing. I want it to go away."
Rebecca put her feet up in the empty chair across from her. "I wonder..."
"Wonder what?" Meredith asked, shutting the dishwasher and turning around.
"If Belly-Licious did this on purpose."
"Of course they did. They set me up from the beginning. Had a photographer tucked away somewhere and everything."
"Yeah, but they had to know using your image is against the law. Maybe ... they want you to sue."
"Want me to sue? That's insane."
"No. That's called free publicity."
It took a minute for the meaning to sink in. Then Meredith realized that had likely been the company's plan from the start. Tick her off, get her into court and make the case drag on and on in the papers, giving No-Moo Milk a continual public relations boost. Though, that was a stupid plan in Meredith's opinion. One that could easily backfire—assuming it was even big enough news to hit the papers again— and make the company and the beverage look bad.
She grabbed a sponge and began wiping off the counters. "Well, that's one thing I've done right. I didn't sue and make them famous."
"So, if you aren't going to take them to court, what are you going to do?"
Meredith tossed the sponge into the dishwasher and took the last empty seat at the round table. "I don't know. I guess I've been too busy wallowing in my pity party."
"You don't have a plan for revenge? Is this the same girl who tied Andrew McConnell's shoelaces to his desk because he snapped your training bra strap?"
Meredith laughed. "That was a lot of years ago. And it was just a bra strap."
"Yeah, but now it's just your family and all of Heavendale, not to mention your life, too."
Rebecca was right. Meredith had been letting all these days go by, playing woe-is-me and not doing a damned thing about the situation. That wasn't the kind of person she wanted to be—or even used to be, for heaven's sake. Where had the old Meredith gone?
She didn't roll over and play dead. She got right up and chased the bad dogs out of her yard.
She'd tried to go back to the beginning, to become that old Meredith. It wasn't possible. And besides, it wasn't what she wanted. It wouldn't change the damage that had been done by Belly-Licious, it wouldn't make her happy and it wouldn't mend the tear in her relationship with her family.
She'd been stupid. She didn't need to go back. She needed to move forward. In a big way—with a Humvee and thirty-three-inch tires, not some tiny Honda that couldn't get out of the big boys' way.
Meredith rose, feeling invigorated for the first time in days. "You know, you're right. All I've done is worry about what can't be undone, rather than focusing on what I can do."
"To get revenge." Rebecca grinned.
"Exactly."
"And Travis, what about him?"
That thought brought Meredith back down into the chair. Travis.
He'd left messages, sometimes several a day, and sent flowers, but she'd ignored them all, resisting the urge to call him back. He, like everyone else in her life, wanted something from her that she couldn't give right now.
And yet, she missed him, more than she wanted to admit. Ever since he'd come by, offering a lobster and an apology, she'd been tempted to see him.
If she did, that would just throw another monkey wrench into her new life. She didn't want a relationship. She just wanted sex and a kiss good-bye at the end.
But that plan hadn't worked any better than the others. She missed him, damnit, as much as she didn't want to. And trying to go back to the beginning, to when she didn't care, was about as easy as giving a cat a bath in a fishbowl.
"I don't know," Meredith said. "I can't quite believe he didn't have anything to do with this."
That, Meredith knew, was more of an excuse than anything else. Deep down inside, she was sure Travis was the man she'd met in the bar, the man who'd help someone because he was a nice person, not for any personal gain. And yet...
Travis had been the one to invite her to Belly-Licious to try No-Moo Milk. He must have known about the photographer and the ad campaign. He had to be in on this with Larry.
Still, a part of Meredith—probably the part she'd so desperately wanted to leave back on the farm— wanted to believe differently, like Virginia with Santa Claus.
"Impossible," Meredith muttered. "I'm good at creating an impossible situation."
Rebecca reached forward to cover Meredith's hand with her own but before she could speak, Emily dumped the rest of her oatmeal on the floor for the family beagle. "Done!" the little girl said.
"Oh, Em," Rebecca sighed. "Keep your oatmeal to yourself, hon."
Meredith took the rag from Rebecca's hands, waving off her cousin's pro
test that bed rest didn't prevent her from cleaning off her four-year-old's face. "You should be in bed, too, you know, not sitting up. You keep breaking the rules and I'll have to call in Momma."
Rebecca gave a look of mock horror. "You wouldn't."
"I would. Now, I'll walk Em to preschool before I go to work. Aunt Gloria should be by later to check up on you, see if you need anything."
"What I need is for you to do something interesting and reckless." Rebecca wagged a finger at her. "I'm sick of living vicariously through Oprah reruns."
Meredith took a final swipe around Emily's face and paused. Rebecca was right. A surge of energy rushed through her veins. She felt like herself again— like the old Meredith, only with an added degree of strength.
She could do something about this besides moan over it. Something a lot bigger, and would get a lot more attention, than tying the class bully's shoelaces to a desk. "You're right. It's time I took the bull by the horns and wrestled him—and his hairpiece— right down to the ground."
Ray Jr.'s lt's-Only-Fun-if-You're-Getting-Into-Trouble Crab Dip
8 ounces crab meat
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup pepper jack cheese
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
1 tablespoon onion, minced
3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
Dash of Tabasco
Salt and pepper
There's no sense living if you can't live by your own rules. Don't be shy now, get in the game and give 'em hell. Use good glue products when you do it, too. The results will be long-lasting. Know what I mean?
Before you head out to the hardware store with your list for fun in hand, try this little dip on for size. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Mix everything in a casserole dish (hey, I like my food simple and hot), then pop it in the oven for 40 minutes.
Dip whatever the hell you want in it. Most people get all fancy and do crackers. Me, I figure that's what God made fingers for.