Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series)

by Trent, Teresa

  I felt guilty for even considering any other florists. It’s one thing to compare businesses and what they offer but quite another to consider the human element. Martha Stokes really needed my wedding to pay her bills.

  She continued. “Things have been a little difficult for us. My husband can be … disagreeable at times. And then there’s this issue with bees, you know.”

  “What about the bees?”

  “They’re dying. We have fewer bees than ever before. We keep a beehive on the property to pollinate the flowers and to sell wildflower honey. Lately our bee population has become smaller and smaller. Mr. Stokes had to order more bees to replenish our little workers. We wish we could understand what’s happening to them, but again, it hurts what little we make at the farm.”

  So basically she was telling me that without our wedding, they would be in the food line down at the shelter.

  “I really do love seeing your beautiful wildflowers every spring, and they were why I wanted to have flowers native to Texas,” I said.

  “Oh dear, I know what you mean!” she agreed. “The bluebonnets, the butterfly weed and the little white puffs of prairie larkspur popping up in the bouquets of color are all some of the best parts of springtime in Texas. They pop up in the ugly fields of winter, renewing our souls each year.”

  “Listen,” I said, “maybe we can all come out to your place next week. I think that once Mr. Andre sees the beautiful flowers you and your husband produce, he will want you for more and more weddings.”

  Martha Stokes brought her hands together at her bosom, issuing a quiet clap, her bag swinging on her arm. “Oh, do you think so? That would really help us out if we had a steady source of business.”

  “Well, I can’t make any promises. Mr. Andre can be a bit of a tyrant.”

  She grasped my arm. “You can do it dear, I have faith in you.”

  Other shoppers were guiding their baskets around us trying to access the produce we were standing in front of when Zach pulled at my sleeve.

  “Mom, can we go to the cereal section now?” He was positioned on the side of the basket, his feet inserted into the tray on the bottom, ready for a supermarket wind-sailing experience.

  “Sure,” I told him and turned back to Mrs. Stokes. “I’ll be in touch, soon … Martha.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A few days after my meeting with Martha, I stopped by the Pecan Bayou Gazette to check on the engagement announcement and to pick up my paycheck.

  “Have to say, there Betsy, that’s a beauty of a picture,” Rocky said as we looked at the announcement in the online version of the newspaper. Leo and I were in the classic engaged embrace under the “Happenings” column of the Pecan Bayou Gazette. Our picture, however, was dwarfed by the much larger photo above it of Prissy Olin and Theodore Obermeyer. My eyes met Rocky’s.

  “Okay, okay. Prissy’s engagement picture is bigger,” he said, “but for goodness’ sake, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “How much did they pay you for that?” I asked.

  “As a reporter you should know I can never reveal my sources,” Rocky said.

  “That has to do with information sources, not money,” I replied.

  “You don’t say.”

  Rocky was an old mid-Texas newsman and had been a part of the Gazette for the last forty years. The Gazette had entered the twenty-first century with a website that had been well received by the community.

  “Well, even if they did slip me a little cash, you’re still the more beautiful bride,” Rocky said, now tapping the screen with his pencil. “That’s gotta just kill ol’ Prissy, and with the advent of the Internet, now people can see your much more attractive face from coast to coast.”

  True to form, Rocky had turned one of his bad deeds into something that was acceptable by his standards. Rocky had at times been a friend and at others a little too motivated to sell papers. Last year, he hadn’t worried at all about splashing my father’s picture on the front page when he was accused of planting evidence at a crime. His explanation? News was news, even if it involved old friends. It burned me up, but my father was much more gracious than I could ever have been.

  “We’ve been building our email list, and I’m proud to say we have over two thousand subscribers around the country,” said Rocky.

  “I didn’t even know two thousand people had been in Pecan Bayou long enough to want to subscribe to the newspaper.”

  “Some have passed through, some want to move here some day, some are just weird,” Rocky assured me. I thought of my mother. Could she be on this list? Was she reading the stories of football games, parades, chili cook offs? Did she even miss Pecan Bayou while living in beautiful California?

  “Could I ask you a favor?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Could I check for a name on your mailing list?”

  “Looking for an old boyfriend? I can tell you already your ex-husband isn’t getting it.”

  “In more ways than one,” I replied.

  Rocky pulled the wireless keyboard toward him and typed until he brought up a mailing list. “There you go.”

  Leaning over his gray plaid shoulder I could smell Aqua Velva. I didn’t even know they still sold that stuff. “Rocky, these are all email addresses.”

  “Sure, that’s generally what email lists are made of, Betsy.”

  “Do you have any names with these?”

  “Some, but sometimes people just give a first name or no name at all,” he said. “Who were you lookin’ for, anyway?”

  I debated telling him about inviting my mother. After all, I hadn’t told anyone else. If my father knew, he would probably hit the roof.

  Biting my lower lip, I confessed. “Do you know if my mother is on your email list?”

  Rocky’s eyebrows arched. “Your mother – as in Charlotte?”

  “That’s the only one I’ve got, or should I say, had.”

  Rocky turned back to the computer. “Let me see if I can do a name search.”

  He typed in her name and within seconds announced, “Bingo. I have a Charlotte with the email handle Char07. Do you think that could be her?”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “Let me see … Rogers? Was that her name?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  The door to the street behind us opened. “Well, if it isn’t my daughter and my favorite repeating reporter.” My dad, Judd Kelsey, walked in wearing his navy blue patrolman’s uniform. He took off his Stetson and pulled up one of Rocky’s rolling desk chairs. “What are you two up to today? Working out the kinks of the latest column on stain removal?”

  The email listing was still up. Could my dad see it from where he was sitting? Rocky had no idea I would want to keep this from my dad.

  “Listen, copper, I’ve got the First Amendment behind me,” Rocky said as he minimized the computer screen and winked at me.

  Dad smiled at his old fishing buddy. These two men had seen each other through two divorces, and even if they were politically and professionally at odds most of the time, their friendship remained.

  “So Betsy, how’s the monster wedding preparation going? Is Mr. Andre earning his lavender-scented paycheck?” my dad asked.

  “Yes, he’s really a task master,” I said, “but I think I’m keeping up with all of his lists.”

  “I received your beautiful invitation in the mail yesterday.”

  I wondered if he noticed Charlotte’s name wasn’t next to his. According to etiquette I should have included it, but I just couldn’t.

  “Glad you spelled Judd right,” he continued. “Just hate it when people try to put in an ‘e’.”

  “You old coot. It’s not about you, it’s about our beautiful bride here,” said Rocky. Just for a minute I wondered if there was a tear in the jaded newsman’s eye. Probably allergies.

  “So how many did you end up inviting after all?” Judd said.

  “Um, we started out thinking about fifty invitati
ons, but somehow the number ballooned up to right around one hundred.”

  “That’s what weddings do, darlin’. They grow and grow and grow, and the next thing you know, you wished you’d eloped.”

  “Ah, yes. My second marriage. What was her name?” Rocky said, leaning back in his chair remembering.

  “Well, if all one hundred households show up, we could be in trouble,” I said. “Leo invited people from Dallas and Galveston, too, so if they come, they’ll need a place to stay.”

  “Better let Edith know over at the Nutty Pines Motel and Wilhelm’s B&B,” my dad advised.

  “I’ve talked to Edith, and she said she booked up in four hours after the invitations went out,” said. “I forgot about Wilhelm’s. I’ll have to call them.”

  “Then your guests might have to stay at the chain motel on the highway.”

  Pecan Bayou was such a small town that attracting any large hotel was nearly impossible. Hopefully people could find lodging in some of the other small towns around us, but I would probably have at least one relative sleeping on the floor.

  “Are we getting many from out of state?” Judd asked.

  I paused for moment – did he know I had invited my mother? Was he testing the waters to see if I would tell him?

  “A few,” I said. “Not too many, I hope. Most of our people are right here in Texas and Leo’s mom from Galveston.”

  Dad nodded. “Good, just as long as you don’t tell me you invited your mother. Now that would be a mistake.”

  I didn’t answer, but instead noticed my cuticles needed pushing back.

  “Betsy? Did you invite your mother?”

  I raised my eyebrows and smiled my most innocent smile. “Of course not, Dad.”

  He reached over and patted me on the back. “Glad to hear it, darlin’. It’s hard enough to give away my baby girl, but having that woman around would have really been bad.”

  Panic rushed through me. If she decided to renew our mother/daughter relationship after so many years, it just might wreck my father/daughter relationship. The invitations had gone out days ago, so there was no way to stop what might happen. All I could do was hope that she’d stack it up with all of the other invitations she never responded to. What kind of mother doesn’t at least acknowledge her daughter’s life events? My mother, obviously.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning I hit the alarm clock nearly off the nightstand. The night before, I couldn’t get all of the little wedding details from dancing around in circles above my head. I didn’t think I could deal with one more thing. I stumbled out of bed and knocked on Zach’s door.

  “Time to get up, Zach.”

  I also spent half the night wondering if Leo and I would ever be able to make a fair decision about where to live. We both had something invested in the place we were already living. Zach thought Dallas was a great idea – Tyler was already living there, and Leo’s job was there. It all sounded great, but I had always imagined having all the people I loved residing in the same town with me, not four hours away.

  I went into Zach’s room to see that he had not moved from beneath the covers. “Zach? Come on baby, out of bed.”

  Zach pulled the covers over his head.

  “Zach,” I repeated.

  “Okay, okay,” he moaned from under the comforter.

  I went back to the kitchen and put on the coffee and pulled out a box of artificially colored and flavored sugarcoated cereal for Zach. I knew he should have been eating something healthier, like wholesome oatmeal, and normally I would have pushed for that. Today, though, we were both tired, and rather than risk an argument I went straight for the junk.

  As the coffee percolated I looked out at the sun rising through my white cotton curtains. Streaks of pink light backlit the bare tree branches and then warmed the Texas winter sky. It was beautiful, but the same sun was shining through Leo’s window in Dallas. I could be looking through these curtains in a different kitchen in a few months. Would I be happy there?

  Would Zach still want to live there once the novelty of the situation wore off? I knew how much he would miss Danny, Dad and Maggie, even if he didn’t. How long would it be until he and Tyler switched from being friends to siblings and to all of the fights that went with that? After all, Leo and I met while tearing the two boys apart. Tyler was bigger and stronger than Zach. Since we first met, he had slimmed down a bit, but still his shoulders had already started to broaden out. Tyler struggled with school, and Zach excelled in math. There were plenty of things between the boys that could turn into problems. I didn’t relish becoming the parent of two teenagers hitting puberty at about the same time. Thank goodness Leo would be there too. For the next few days Leo would be at a meteorological conference, which would give me time to think about everything.

  I poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, waiting for Zach to come out of the bathroom. Even though the subject was still spinning around in my brain, I knew he wasn’t the one to talk to about it. I took a sip of the delicious brown liquid and felt my world coming into focus. When the whole wedding thing was over, the decisions were made and we settled down into real life, everything would be better.

  A car crunched down the gravel in my driveway. It was probably my dad stopping by for a cup of coffee. I looked toward the back door but didn’t hear his footsteps coming up the back porch. A car door closed, and then there was no sound at all. Suddenly the doorbell rang and I got up to reach for a robe in my room. Who could be at my door at 6:30 in the morning?

  I heard the toilet flush in the bathroom, and Zach came out before washing his hands. “Who’s that, Mom?”

  “I don’t know. Go wash your hands.”

  “But you might need me to defend you,” he said.

  I glanced through the curtains in the front room. “I think I’ll be okay. It’s a woman.”

  “You never know, some of them are pretty tricky, too,” he said.

  “I’ve heard. Now go wash.” Zach groaned and re-entered the bathroom. I turned the deadbolt on the door and spoke through the screen.

  “Can I help you?” I said, running my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair.

  “Betsy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that really you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s me, your mother.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. I know that sounded rude, but what else do you say to a mother you couldn’t even recognize.

  My hands shook as I poured a second cup of coffee. Charlotte Kelsey, now Charlotte Kelsey Rogers, was sitting at my kitchen table. Charlotte Kelsey, my mother who hadn’t seen fit to be a part of my life for almost twenty-five years, sat across from me. She had the same dark brown hair, still cut at shoulder length, but now streaks of gray ran through it and it was not as smooth as I remembered. Her brown eyes were surrounded by bursts of lines, and her slim figure was bordering on too thin. She lifted her delicate hands and sipped from a cup.

  “I thought I was invited,” she said.

  “You’ve never responded to any of my other invitations, so you can understand my shock.”

  She carefully set the cup back on the table as she calculated what she would say next to me. She glanced up at the clock. “Guess I showed up kind of early.”

  “I usually don’t entertain before 7 a.m. as a rule.”

  “I know. I drove in from California. I didn’t even know I was coming.”

  Her lips formed into a trembling smile. “I got your invitation and just kept looking at it. I couldn’t believe you sent it. I haven’t exactly been Mother of the Year.”

  If she was waiting for me to try to make her feel better, that wasn’t happening.

  “So I just kept looking at it, first thing in the morning, like now, and last thing at night. I don’t know what happened, but I got in my car to go to the grocery store and next thing I knew, I had missed the turnoff. After that, I found myself on the highway heading tow
ard Texas. No matter how many times I tried to shake myself out of it, I couldn’t seem to stop.”

  “You mean, you just got in the car and drove straight here?” I said.

  “Yes. I know it sounds crazy.” She placed her hands in her lap.

  “A little.”

  “Mom?” Zach was now standing on the edge of the kitchen. I could tell he was unsure whether to enter.

  “Zach,” I paused. How do I introduce this woman? Grandma? Mrs. Kelsey? Mrs. Rogers? “Zach, this is … Miss Charlotte.”

  Zach walked up and stood close to my chair.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Zach.” To her, my son was a stranger. I wondered if she even knew I had a son.

  “Hi,” Zach said shyly.

  “Zach, eat your breakfast. The bus will be here soon.”

  Zach scooted out the chair in front of his bowl and climbed up. He picked up the spoon and started shoveling sugary goodness into his mouth.

  “My, my you certainly have an appetite,” Charlotte said.

  “I love this stuff,” Zach said.

  “He looks like Judd.” Her face broke into a soft smile as she reached out with an unsure hand to push back a stray hair on his forehead.

  “Yes, he does. He also has some of his father in him.”

  “To be expected,” she said. “A good life is full of change.”

  She spoke of change as if it were a good thing. Some days I guess it was, but on days when your husband walks out, or even your own mother, it was not so good.

  Zach slurped more crunchy goodness into his mouth, one eye looking up at this woman he didn’t know was his grandmother.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, milk dribbling down his chin.

  “I wanted to meet you,” she answered softly. That produced a smile bulging with cereal. The phone rang on the counter behind us. I answered quickly.

  “Mrs. Livingston, this is Martha Stokes. I have to speak in a hurry while Lenny’s out in the field,” she said in a hushed tone. “We sure wish you would come by and look at the flowers we have growing in the greenhouse. There ought to be a beautiful crop by the time your wedding rolls around.”