by Price, Cate
“Yes?”
“Well, you always do whatever you want to do anyway, Daisy. See you later.”
And he hung up.
I sucked in a breath as I stared at the phone, the dial tone humming. I’d thought Joe was always so easygoing, proud of my independence, and content to let me have my moments in the sun. It never occurred to me he might resent it.
*
“Claire was sitting coloring at the farmhouse table in the dining room when I arrived. The townhouse had a great open plan kitchen, dining and living room with vaulted ceilings, and a fireplace. The spacious kitchen had pickled oak cabinets and a tile backsplash dotted with pictures of herbs. Some of Claire’s framed artwork hung on the khaki-painted walls, and the refrigerator was covered in magnets and notes. A tabby cat lounged near the sliding doors leading out to the wooded backyard. Patsy had picked Sarah up and they were doing their makeup together in the powder room. I’d said I’d give her a ride home with me later, so she could enjoy herself and not worry about drinking and driving.
“Look at this!” I said to Claire. “A real kitchen with cabinets and a countertop and everything!”
She giggled. “Daisy, you’re funny.”
Patsy had wanted her to call me Mrs. Buchanan when we first met, but I preferred plain old Daisy. I set a paper bag on the table. I’d bought cheese curls, Swedish Fish candy, and lemonade at the convenience store attached to the post office.
“Ooh, what’s in there?” Claire grinned at me, dark eyes flashing. She knew what was in the bag. I got her same favorites every time.
I sat in one of the white Windsor dining chairs as she pushed a coloring book toward me. “Pick a page for you to color.”
Obediently, I selected an ocean scene and a variety of blue crayons.
The brick townhouse had a finished basement that ran the whole length of the house, where Patsy and Claire spent most of their time. It was carpeted with a big-screen TV, a huge sectional sofa, and a desk for Claire to do her homework. There were two beds at one end behind a screen, a second bathroom, and built-in closets under the stairs. It was close to a thousand square feet, and quite a nice space, but still, I knew what Patsy meant about wanting her own place someday.
Patsy came out of the powder room and sat next to her daughter. She never talked about Claire’s father. It was as if he’d never existed. All I knew was that when Patsy’s mother died in a car crash, she went a little wild and crazy, got pregnant, and had to drop out of school. Her older sister had taken her in and basically raised her.
Patsy didn’t have a high opinion of men, to say the least, and I wondered how that would influence Claire. I still wanted her to be a kid, to dream and be innocent for as long as possible, but unsentimental Patsy with her hard-core common sense was determined to teach her about the ugly side of human nature. I myself was an innocent compared to Patsy. When I was teaching in the early days, a kid brought in a bag of weed that he’d found in his dad’s sock drawer. I thought it was parsley.
After Patsy and Sarah left, Claire and I went downstairs with our snacks. She lay on her stomach on the floor, watching a fashion designer reality show on television. The tabby cat sat at her side, on guard for any dropped cheese curl crumbs.
My cell rang. It was Martha, in full commander-in-chief mode. “I’ve planned an organizational meeting for the country fair,” she announced. “Tomorrow at my house. It’s a working lunch.” She said it like we would be at a Fortune 500 company boardroom meeting.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“Oh, and Betty’s volunteered to be on the committee, too.”
There was a slight pause.
I smiled to myself. “You want me to give her a ride to your house, right?”
I could almost feel Martha smile back at the other end of the phone. She loved it when a plan came together.
“No problem,” I said. “Betty’s being nice enough to let us use the auction grounds. It’s the least I can do.”
Claire was shuffling around now in a pair of Patsy’s shoes, hands out at her sides, acting like a model sashaying down the runway.
“It’s okay, Daisy,” Claire whispered as she caught me watching her. “Mommy’s giving this stuff to the Salvation Army anyway.” Her little feet slipped around in the high-heeled pumps.
Jeez. Patsy must have really big feet. Just like Angus.
A tiny bell dinged in the back of my mind, but with the angst on television and Martha’s monologue, I couldn’t concentrate.
“Don’t trip on the carpet,” I whispered back, seeing the slight indentations she made in the smooth pile as she paraded around.
After I hung up with Martha, I called Betty to offer her a ride. I also made a few calls to some other store owners I knew in Millbury and Sheepville to ask for their help with the country fair.
After the show ended, we played games for a while until Claire yawned and rubbed her eyes, so I told her to put on her pajamas and brush her teeth. I lay down on the twin bed with its purple butterfly comforter next to her and read our favorite stories until I almost fell asleep myself. I glanced over at the other twin bed, Patsy’s, and again thought how much she would appreciate having her own bedroom someday. I hoped the Backsteads could find a way to keep her on at the auction house, even when Angus came home.
As Claire’s breathing evened, I crept upstairs and took a mystery novel out of my tote bag and settled down to read.
Around 11:30 p.m., Patsy and Sarah returned, pink-cheeked and laughing.
“So I gather you guys had a good time?” I asked them.
“Hell, yeah!” They both said it at the same time and collapsed in laughter again. It was a good thing Claire was sound asleep in the basement.
On the way home in the car, Sarah chatted to me nonstop. “Wow. I haven’t danced that much in a long time. It was a great band, Mom. I couldn’t believe it.”
I smiled. She sounded like a teenager again, full of bubbling enthusiasm.
“But, man, that other diner waitress that Patsy works with—Carla? She’s going to get herself in trouble one day with the way she carries on. Patsy’s no angel either, but I mean, this girl’s really crazy.”
I gripped the wheel. Pregnant and drinking? I’d need to have a little chat with Carla.
“Her jealous ex-boyfriend showed up while she was literally dancing on the bar. He was freaking out. It was like free entertainment in addition to the band.”
My cell rang.
“Hi, babe.” It was Joe. He hadn’t called me that in a while.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, let’s see, there’s a nice young man here who showed up looking for Sarah. Says you gave him the address?”
Oh, boy.
Here we go again. One step forward, two steps back in my relationship with my daughter.
“Okay,” I said as casually as I could, “thanks for letting me know.”
“What’s the matter, Mom?”
“Nothing,” I said as we pulled up in front of the house. She jumped out and I trailed after her toward the front door. Toward my doom.
At the end of the wide entry hallway, behind the plastic sheet hanging over the kitchen archway, came the unmistakable murmur of male voices.
“Do you know anything about cabinet installation, young man?”
“Not really, sir.”
“Well, get ready for a lesson.”
“What the—” Sarah ran toward the sound and whipped back the plastic to reveal Joe standing next to an extremely good-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes.
“Hi, Sarah,” he said.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” I managed to choke out. I hadn’t taken a full breath since I’d walked into the house and my chest was on fire. “I just thought he needed our address to send flowers.”
She turned and stared at me. I turned and glared at Peter, who spread his hands wide.
“I apologize, Mrs. Buchanan, but I had to see her. I c
ouldn’t take it anymore.”
There was a moment of silence where we held our collective breath.
Suddenly Sarah burst out laughing. “This is so surreal.”
I exhaled slowly.
Joe stepped forward. “How about you take this nice young fella down to the basement and pick out a bottle of wine, daughter? Think we could all use a drink.”
“Okay, Daddy.” She led a willing Peter downstairs.
Joe grinned at me. “Come here, Judas.” He put an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into the embrace, grateful for his calm strength.
“There’s also an open bottle of a rather nice Shiraz on the counter,” I said, and felt Joe’s chuckle rumble through his body.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that, wife.”
Sarah and Peter reappeared after a few minutes, and I hunted around for wineglasses and rinsed them out. Joe motioned for us to sit down at the butcher block table. Jasper picked a spot on the floor next to me and I stroked his head.
“He looks a lot calmer,” Peter commented. “I mean, I heard he ate the linoleum and all, but still . . .”
“He’s a good dog,” I said.
“Looks like you have quite the project going on here, sir,” Peter said, clearing his throat.
Joe’s dark eyes were full of his familiar good humor. “Call me Joe, please. And yes, it’s one of those mushroom endeavors.”
“Mushroom?”
“It starts off with, while I’m at it, I might as well . . .” He gestured to the bare walls. “And before you know it, this is where you end up.”
We all laughed.
“You didn’t want to restore the old floor?” Peter asked.
“I would have, but it was in such bad shape. And you know, it wasn’t original to the house anyway. In the days when these houses were built, the kitchens weren’t attached to the house for safety reasons. If the kitchen caught on fire, as they often did, it meant that the whole place didn’t go up. Where we’re sitting now used to be the walkway to the summer kitchen, which is long gone.”
I glanced down at the floor. It was lined with new plywood and dust-free. Joe had done a lot of work in a short period of time. Maybe there was a hint of light at the end of the tunnel that wasn’t an oncoming train.
And the fact that Peter was concerned about the historical preservation of the house made me like him all the more.
Joe leaned back in his chair, sipping appreciatively at his wine. “The cabinets were from the fifties. They weren’t worth refinishing either, although I saved what I could to use in the toolshed.”
I’d never liked the cabinets. I stroked Jasper’s head again. We even had room for an island in here, come to think of it, and perhaps some new lighting.
As Peter asked about the history of the house and Joe started on the long list of renovations we’d accomplished over the years, I watched Sarah as she listened to the conversation, never taking her eyes off Peter. He was almost a younger version of Joe, although I had to admit, even better looking. And I’d never seen her content not to be the star of the show with any guy she was dating. It couldn’t have been easy for him, coming here and facing all of us, but he was handling himself well and I gave him points for courage.
I murmured to her, “Should I ask Peter if he’d like to stay here tonight?” It was an offer I’d have naturally made to a guest, but I wasn’t about to put another foot wrong without checking first.
“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered back, “but he’s staying at the Four Foxes.”
I raised my eyebrows a fraction. The Four Foxes was not cheap, by any means. This young director must be doing all right for himself.
Peter whistled softly. “Sounds like you’ve done a lot of work here. But I warn you, sir—I mean, Joe—I’m no handyman.”
“Just an extra pair of hands is all I’m asking for.” Joe nodded at Sarah. “You can help, too, young lady.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Sarah smiled.
We chatted about the techniques of installing hardwood floors for a couple of minutes more before Joe finished the last of his wine and stood up. “Come on, Daisy. Time we left these young folks to talk.”
Joe and I went up to bed, hand in hand. We didn’t make love that night, but we slept together, and that was a start in the right direction.
*
“Peter evidently wasn’t getting his money’s worth out of his suite at the Four Foxes, because he was already back at our house again early the next morning. When I came downstairs, he was sitting with Sarah in the library, and they were deep in conversation.
I said “hello” quickly before I hurried out on my way to pick up Betty.
As I walked down the hallway, I overhead Peter say, “Your mom works on a Saturday?”
“She works all the time,” Sarah replied.
“I thought they were retired.”
“That’s what Daddy thought, too.”
I shut the front door quietly behind me. Sometimes a Great Notion wasn’t open to customers on Saturdays, only by appointment, but I often went in to catch up on prep work. I hadn’t told Sarah about going to Martha’s today, but the end result was the same. I was leaving the house.
The store was mine to do with as I wished—without the constraints of a school system dictating lesson plans or schedules. Joe let me have free rein, of course, as he had done for all of our married life.
Like teaching, each day was full of surprises. The store usually energized me and I never minded the hours I put in. But did Joe? Had I mistaken calm acceptance for underlying dissatisfaction?
I stopped at the diner for coffee. The early breakfast rush was over and the trolley car was almost empty. Carla waited on me, and as I paid her, I wrestled with myself as to whether I should say something or not. I tried not to judge people anymore. I always figured you needed to walk a few miles in their shoes first. But I couldn’t help myself.
“Carla, I heard you were out partying last night. You shouldn’t be carrying on like that in your condition.”
“I know, Mrs. B.”
I shivered. It was a nickname from the past, and it spurred me into grabbing her shoulders. “I’m not kidding.” I resisted the urge to shake her. “You need to get it together now, today, Carla. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the baby is born, but now, do you hear me?”
Carla stared at me, her kohled eyes wide. At least I had her attention. Some of my desperation must have gotten through to her.
“Okay, okay.” She glanced around the diner. Only one old man sat at the end of the counter, engrossed in his newspaper.
“Sorry,” I murmured, aware that I’d blurted out the fact that she was pregnant. I let go of her and stepped back.
“Actually I was drinking tonic water all night,” she said in a low voice. “I told the bartender when I got there that whenever I said ‘vodka tonic’ to skip the vodka part.” Carla glanced over at the lone customer again and leaned closer, talking under her breath.
“You’re the only person who knows right now. I’m not ready to tell everyone until I’ve figured things out. Me not drinking would have definitely tipped them off.”
I nodded, understanding. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Please?”
“I will.”
Deep in thought, I headed over to Sheepville to pick up Betty. At The Paddocks, several young girls were trotting around the ring, learning how to ride.
Here we were planning a charity event for the Kratz children, but what if Carla was carrying another one of Jimmy’s offspring?
I shook my head. We’d better raise a lot of money with this country fair.
Betty was walking much easier now and seemed excited at the prospect of an outing. She got into the Subaru without my help and chatted all the way to Millbury. When we pulled up outside Martha’s house, there were already a couple of cars in the driveway, in addition to the Lincoln. In my rearview mirror I saw Eleanor pull up behind me on her red Vespa.
Martha opened the wide fro
nt door and came out onto the porch to greet us. She brought us through to the dining room, where Liz Gallagher and Dottie Brown were already assembled.
Detailed leaded glass doors led into the room with its coffered ceiling and three arched stained glass windows. Bradbury and Bradbury wallpaper in a classic Victorian design decorated the walls between the cherry-paneled wainscoting and crown molding. A rosewood and walnut burl Edwardian sideboard stood along one wall.
The dining table was fourteen feet long and made of solid mahogany with carved, turned legs. A six-arm chandelier with etched swirl glass shades hung overhead. The table was laden now with thermal carafes of coffee, pitchers of iced water and juice, and towering plates of cranberry orange scones and date nut bread.
An easel was set up in one corner, with a rough sketch of the auction grounds.
As soon as the rest of the ladies arrived, and everyone was fed and watered, Martha called the meeting to order.
“Right. We have a lot to do today. Let’s get started.” She thrust a pad of paper and a pen at Betty. “You take the minutes.” Martha pointed a black marker at Liz Gallagher. “Liz, how are you making out?”
“Well, my neighbor is going to help run the lemonade stand with her kids and mine. Hubby offered to bring his prize antique tractors and put them on display. And I’ll set up the petting zoo with some of our farm animals. We have a couple of baby goats right now. Arthur the donkey will enjoy it, and the pigs won’t care what junk the kids feed them.”
“Sounds good.” Martha was busy at the easel, sketching out the location of everything Liz had mentioned.
“I asked the school nurse to run the first aid booth. I thought we’d have a Lost and Found there, too, including for lost children!”
“Good idea,” I said.
“Oh, and Henry Moyer said he could run the tractor pulls.” Liz frowned. “I still have to organize the flea market, though. I’ve asked the PTA moms to give me stuff, but I need more.”
“I can help you with that,” I said. “I have lots of stuff to get rid of in my basement. Sarah can help me clean it out.”
Half of it was hers anyway. Too bad Sarah’s shoes were too big for me. Most of them were barely worn.