Bittersweet Surrender

by Diann Hunt

  “Jake?” Well, of course it’s Jake. Who else called her Squirt?

  “That’s me. Surprised?”

  Was the fact her jaw had dropped to the floor any indication? “Yes.”

  “Just as I was about to e-mail you, I thought, why don’t I call her? I haven’t heard her voice in years. It’s nice, by the way.”

  Carly felt herself blush all the way to her toes. “Thanks. You too.” Communication was obviously not her strong suit. But the truth was his voice did sound nice. Deep, confident, protective, and strong.

  “Things are going pretty well here, so I think we’ll get there in a couple of weeks.” Pause. “Squirt?”

  A couple of weeks? To lose twenty-three pounds? With her mental calculations she figured she could do without all food and drink and still muster up no more than a ten-pound weight loss.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m here.”

  “You don’t sound quite as happy as I’d hoped you would.”

  “Oh, I’m happy. Just thinking through my schedule, wanting to make sure I’m there to help you if you need it.”

  “Don’t worry about that. C. J.’s getting some guys together to come over and help. All I want you to do is rest up so we can go out soon afterwards.”

  Her stomach fluttered, reminding her of her childhood when her dad used to race the car over hilly dips in the road to give her and C. J. “tickle bellies.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, white knuckling the phone against her as though it was the last bag at a Vera Bradley sale. Deep breaths, Carly.

  They talked a little about his move, packing, and all that.

  “Listen, Squirt—”

  “Would you mind calling me Carly?” she said, surprising herself.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Didn’t know it bothered you.”

  Great. She’d probably turned him off for all time. He would never call her again. Their first date had just gone out the window. All because she didn’t want to be called Squirt.

  “No, it doesn’t bother me, it’s just—well, I’m not exactly a squirt anymore. You know, I’m older and all that.” She wasn’t about to tell him her body could never qualify for the name.

  “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is I still haven’t told C. J. about us,” he said.

  “Oh, right.”

  “It’s going to be hard to keep it from him once we get there, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What’s the big deal about it?”

  “No big deal. I just didn’t want him to pressure us. But we can tell him when you get here. You’ll be here so I won’t have to take the teasing alone.”

  “Not to worry, little lady. I can handle your brother,” he said in a sad imitation of John Wayne. Carly could picture him thumbing his nose, cocking his head to one side, and giving a manly sniff.

  When she was nervous, she had the bad habit of pacing. It was a good thing, though. It cranked up the numbers on her pedometer. So while talking with Jake, she walked into the kitchen and paced back and forth, the numbers edging higher toward her ten-thousand-a-day step goal. He finally convinced her he could handle things, and they said good-bye.

  After she clicked off, she grabbed a washcloth and wiped spilled soup off the counter. As she rinsed the cloth under warm water, she glanced out the window.

  What in the world?

  The heat from the water burned her hands and she jumped. Turning the faucet to cold, she rinsed the cloth once more, wrung it out, and then draped it across the sink. Then she dared another glance out the window to see if things had changed.

  They hadn’t. The mound of dirt and limestone was still there, piled in a heap of chaos in her backyard. Carly couldn’t imagine who had been back there and why the dirt was tilled up that way. One thing for sure, someone was going to jail. Most likely her. For committing murder against whoever had done this to her yard.

  She marched into the living room to find Magnolia still there.

  “Oh, good. You’re off the phone. Let me warm up your soup for you,” Magnolia said, rising.

  “What happened to my backyard?”

  “What happ—Oh, you mean the landscaping?” Her stepmother lifted a proud smile.

  Carly nodded.

  “I started to tell you more about the herb garden before the phone rang. I called the landscapers and had them come out today to cultivate the soil, lift it, and border it with limestone. Won’t it be lovely? I figured since I cook with herbs, it will save us money in the long run. Splitting the costs doesn’t put the burden all on one person.”

  “How much, Magnolia?” Carly stepped dangerously close to Magnolia and she, no doubt sensing imminent danger, stepped back. Her fingers reached behind her on the stand and she lifted an invoice between them. “Here.”

  Carly groaned. “I could buy a lot of spices with that money.”

  “Like I said, we’ll split the costs. Besides, you’ll thank me when it’s up and running. You’ll see.” Magnolia smiled, turned on her heels, stumbled once, then headed for her room.

  Carly’s head started to throb. Magnolia had taken over the kitchen and now she was taking over the backyard. What was next?

  Clenching her teeth, Carly went into the bathroom and pulled out her foot spa, along with her new products. A spa treatment was the best thing to keep her from evicting that woman.

  Filling the tub with warm water and sea salts, she placed it in front of her chair and plugged it in. She walked over to her chair, dipped her feet in the bath, and flipped on the TV. With the liquid warmth, the soothing feel of sea salts, and the subtle gurgling of the water, she started to calm down. Just as she was getting lost in the television program, Magnolia returned.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked, face slicked up with olive oil, hankie peeking out the top of her pajamas, nose scrunched and snuffling the air.

  “How can you smell anything with that on?” Carly asked, her timid self sparking to boldness on the personality meter.

  “I’m afraid it’s my nose. Nothing can escape it.” She leaned her head toward Carly’s foot bath and sniffed like a bunny. “It’s that, all right.” She pointed with sharp accusation at Carly’s shriveled toes, which shrank back and hid beneath the bubbles.

  “My feet can’t get any cleaner than this,” she said in defense.

  “It’s not your feet. It’s that perfumey stuff you put in there. I’m sorry. I know I sound so picky, but I just can’t help these allergies.” Magnolia sneezed for effect.

  Carly fought the desire to clamp a clothespin on the end of her stepmother’s nose—but decided that would probably throw her off balance.

  “All right, Magnolia, I’ll empty it.”

  “Thank you, dear,” she said, sweet smile back in place. “If I can find a good herb for these allergies, I won’t have to pester you about the smells. I’m sorry.”

  “No problem,” Carly fibbed, releasing a frustrated sigh. She hauled the foot bath into the bathroom and dumped the water in the tub. Looking longingly at the lotion that was to cap off her spa experience, she placed it on the nightstand next to her bed. Funny that Magnolia could wear all the stuff she wore to bed but couldn’t tolerate Carly’s perfumes and lotions. Something was wrong somewhere.

  When she headed back out to the living room, Carly noticed Magnolia had replaced her romantic comedy with an episode of Jeopardy.

  I’ll take “Ways to murder your stepmom” for five hundred, Alex.

  Scott stared at Carly. She slapped papers around on her desk and ignored him. Applying what she’d learned in her Christian yoga class, she took a deep breath and tried to get a grip on her mood. Her mind scrambled to visualize a cool mountain stream, but all she came up with was a stagnant pond.

  Grabbing the mirror from her drawer for one more glance caused her depression to thicken. The circles under her eyes could rival any raccoon’s in the county.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Scott asked.

  “Nothing.”

 
; Such a stupid thing to say, because they both knew it wasn’t true. Not only that, but it started that whole back-and-forth thing of, “Come on, you know there’s something wrong.” She just wasn’t up for it.

  “Come on, you know there’s something wrong.”

  Sigh. “Okay, you’re right. I want to murder my stepmother without going to jail. Any ideas?”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “You got it.” Carly explained what had happened last night with her backyard, the foot spa, and the romantic comedy.

  “I see your point. Should we go with poison or would you prefer to take her out with an M60?”

  “Shut up. This is serious. What am I going to do? I love her, but she is driving me crazy.”

  “Make her move out.”

  “I can’t do that, Scott, and you know it. She’s family.”

  “It’s not your fault your dad married her.”

  “This is your former mother-in-law you’re talking—Oh, I see what you’re doing.”

  “What?”

  “Using psychology on me. Trying to get me to see her good points while you point out her bad.”

  “That’s not what I was doing. Magnolia is a fine lady. A sweet lady. A clumsy lady. And a bad cook.”

  Carly groaned. “What am I going to do?” She leaned her jaw on her palm. “Know any eligible men around her age?”

  He shook his head. “Everyone I know likes to eat.”

  “Ha, ha. Besides, everyone knows by that age they can’t taste anything.”

  “Ow, that was harsh.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. I’m just a little stressed. But at the very least they should be able to afford going out to eat.”

  He shrugged.

  “Thanks for trying.” She obviously wasn’t going to get any good ideas from him.

  “No problem.”

  The intensity on his face as he stared at his computer screen made her ask, “How’s the spa doing?”

  He turned a distracted expression her way. “Huh? Oh, it’s doing fine. Fine. I’m trying to get the numbers to jive.”

  “You know, I was thinking about investing more in dark chocolates—”

  “Um-hum,” he said, clearly paying no attention to her whatsoever.

  “They have that added health benefit and all,” she continued, hoping to catch a little enthusiasm from him.

  More clicking of the keys. Scott was totally engrossed in his computer. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t even know she was around. Ivy was right. He was good at shutting people out.

  After a few minutes of silence, Scott looked up. “Huh? Did you say something?”

  She shook her head, feeling guilty she had left him with such a mess to sort out. “I guess it might have helped if I had kept the books balanced over the last year.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m sorry, Scott. Figures are not my strong suit.” In more ways than one.

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “We’re not in trouble, are we?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Carly relaxed. “Well, don’t scare me. I’m looking forward to a hefty disbursement check soon.”

  “Oh? Big plans for your money?”

  She wondered what he would say if she told him it was for breast reconstructive surgery. Okay, she wouldn’t tell him that, but it would serve him right for being so nosy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She wiggled her eyebrows, then took a sip of coffee.

  “Big trip?”

  The way he studied her made her uncomfortable. Why would he want to know what she was doing with the money?

  “Wedding?” he pressed.

  That word caused her to spurt coffee on her desk. “Thanks a lot.” She cleaned it off. “I’m not planning to get married anytime soon.”

  “But just in case?”

  “Speaking of Jake—”

  “Is that what we were doing?”

  She blinked. “Well, since I’m not dating anyone else, I would assume that’s who you were referring to.”

  He grinned.

  “Cut it out. Anyway, as I was saying”—she glared at him—“Jake called last night, and it looks as though he might come home sooner than expected.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are you going to do?’

  “Starve.”

  He shook his head. “Won’t work. Throws off your metabolism. You need to up your exercise, cut your calories.”

  “I didn’t eat breakfast, and I walked around the house to check out Magnolia’s herb garden.”

  “You need a little more than that.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah.”

  Leaning her cheek onto her fist, she sighed.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, that’s reassuring.”

  “Good morning, y’all.” Melissa Winters’s curvaceous self stood in the doorway of the office.

  Scott’s face brightened. If he were a dog, she’d have to call him Odie. The tongue wasn’t exactly hanging out, but it was close. He immediately jumped from his seat and walked over to the woman.

  “How you feeling?”

  All this over a measly little ol’ allergy? Puh-lease.

  Scott called to Carly over his shoulder, “I’ll be back.” He and Melissa strutted off side by side.

  Carly slapped some more papers around on her desk. If she were wearing a mood ring, it would eat through her finger.

  Magnolia appeared in the doorway. She was pinching the bridge of her nose, no doubt due to the spa smells perfuming the air.

  “I’m headed to the store.” Her voice sounded like Lily Tomlin’s Edith Ann impersonation. “You want anything?”

  “Oh no thanks. If I get hungry, I’ll just graze in the backyard.”

  “What, dear?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I thought I’d make pumpkin pie with tofu tonight.”

  “Oh, I can’t eat any sweets right now,” Carly said, truly thankful for her diet at the moment.

  “This won’t hurt you, dear. And it’s delicious. You’ll see.”

  Just then Amber appeared in the doorway. “Carly, sorry to bother you, but we have an eyebrow wax gone haywire in treatment room two.”

  Though it was beyond belief, Carly was pretty sure Amber was holding back a giggle.

  In the hallway, before she could get to treatment room two, the guest came out. It seemed the technician had tried to overcompensate with an eyebrow pencil to make the eyebrow mishap work. It hadn’t.

  Those babies could fly.

  Standing behind their guest, the technician’s face was splotched red. She raised the used strips that now held the woman’s eyebrows. Carly shook her head for her to hide them, burn them, whatever it took.

  The tech got her drift.

  Looked as though they’d be giving out more complimentary certificates . . .

  eight

  By the time dinner was over, Carly had calmed down and was actually feeling a teensy bit amiable toward her stepmother, despite the tofu pumpkin pie. They settled into the living room with peppermint tea and books in hand. Magnolia’s was a cookbook. Carly was seeing more tofu in her future.

  At least Magnolia finally decided to rent a storage unit and unload some of her furniture. Carly could actually open her recliner now.

  Pinkie trotted over to Carly, and she lifted the pooch onto her chair. It seemed Carly’s inner thermometer was always running cold, so most days she sat with a blanket over her lap. Pinkie pawed the blanket a couple of times, then burrowed in between Carly and the arm of the chair.

  After Pinkie settled in, Carly pulled open her mystery and took out the bookmark.

  “I’m curious,” Magnolia piped up. “What made you go into the spa business?”

  Closing her book, Carly looked up. “Grandma Emma.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Grandma went to a famous spot in southern Indiana, the
West Baden Springs Spa. She had stomach ulcers, and she claimed the mineral waters from one of the spas cured her.”

  Carly kind of hated to tell Magnolia the story. It would only fuel her passion for health and fitness—and mineral waters.

  Just as suspected, Magnolia nodded her head with an I-told-you-so attitude.

  Carly took a drink of her peppermint tea. It was a little bitter so she added another packet of sugar substitute.

  “Better go easy on that stuff. It’s not good for you,” she said.

  Carly couldn’t win.

  “So go on with your story.”

  “Grandma’s parents had heard of the claims of healing water in this area, so they sent Grandma by train from their home in Chicago to West Baden in hopes to get her well. While there, she not only found healing, but she found love.”

  Carly smiled when she saw that she had Magnolia’s total attention.

  “Grandpa George worked there as a groundskeeper, I think it was.”

  “Did her parents mind that? I would assume they had money if they were able to send her to the spa by train and stay for any length of time. And her love interest was a groundskeeper?” Magnolia asked.

  “Didn’t matter if they did mind. Mom said Grandma had a strong will.”

  “Like grandma like granddaughter, huh?”

  Carly blinked. “You think I’m strong willed?” She knew she was a tad stubborn, but strong willed?

  “To go through what you’ve been through and still have a smile on your face? I would say so.”

  A sense of pride came over her at the thought of sharing Grandma’s determination. She would throw her chest out—if she had one. Sometimes she forgot to be thankful she’d made it through the cancer.

  “Now,” Magnolia said, as though she didn’t want to miss a single beat of the story, “how did your family end up in Vermont?” If she scooted any farther to the edge of her seat, she’d fall off.

  “Let’s see, Grandma came here around 1922, on vacation. Grandpa was between jobs when Aunt Ruth fell and broke her hip so Grandma wanted to come out to help. Her aunt never regained her strength after that fall. She was a spinster and had no family of her own, so she bequeathed this home to my grandparents for taking such good care of her. Grandma says Aunt Ruth was a hopeless romantic. I guess Aunt Ruth’s only love was killed working in a coal mine.”