The Man She Married

by Ann DeFee

Liza pulled out her cell phone. “Let me see.”

  “Please don’t. I’ll be okay.” Not really, but at her age did she want a baby-sitter?

  “Zack, honey,” Liza said into her phone, “I’m going to spend the night with Maizie.”

  There was a lengthy silence on Liza’s end of the line. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I love you.”

  After she disconnected she went to the refrigerator. “Where’s the wine? We’re going to have a slumber party. Then we’ll come up with a solution for this fiasco.”

  The twins worked their way through two bottles of wine, a bowl of popcorn, a plate of nachos and a pan of brownies before Liza had an epiphany.

  “You’re going to court him! He’s jealous. That’s good. It means he loves you. So make him feel like the most special man in the world. Take him out to dinner, then to the movies and end up at the old necking spot. Approach this as if you were seventeen again.”

  “How am I going to do that when I don’t even know where he is?” This time Maizie’s hiccup was courtesy of too much wine.

  “You leave that to me. I have connections with the local cops.” Liza giggled. “Did you know I have an intimate relationship with the sheriff?”

  “Yep, I got that.” Maizie yawned. “I think I’d better hit the sheets. I’m already going to have the mother of all headaches in the morning.”

  IT WAS AFTER TEN BEFORE Maizie finally managed to open her eyes. Her head was pounding and her mouth was as dry as the Mojave Desert. If there was a God in the heavens, Liza wouldn’t be faring any better.

  Maizie slowly put one foot in front of the other until she finally stumbled into the kitchen in search of a Coke and some saltines. She was rubbing the icy can on her throbbing forehead when Liza wandered in. Little Miss Sunshine was talking on her cell.

  “Who told you?” Liza pointed at the can and then the refrigerator.

  Maizie knew exactly what she wanted—salvation in the form of sugar and caffeine.

  “Do you know how long he plans to be there?” Liza popped the top on the Coke and slugged back a huge drink.

  “I’ll be home shortly. Okay, see you soon.” She disconnected and immediately grabbed a cracker.

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Maizie was expecting to hear that her husband was camped out at the extended stay motel on the highway.

  “Clay’s moved into Mama and Daddy’s garage apartment.”

  “He’s done what?” That was the last place she would’ve expected him to go.

  “He saw Daddy as he was leaving the country club last night and our father invited him to move in.” Liza was apparently having a hard time believing it, too.

  “So where do I go from here? My husband has left me and my father is in collusion with the jerk.”

  “I still think we have a solid plan.”

  “Why don’t you give me the details again?” Maizie was a wee bit fuzzy about last night.

  “You’re going to court him, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Maizie wasn’t quite sure she had agreed, but she had a vague memory of the discussion.

  TWO DAYS LATER MAIZIE still hadn’t heard from her errant sweetie. She could call him, of course, but he was the one who had moved out. Shouldn’t he make the first move?

  Damn it! Maizie was sipping her third cup of coffee and working up a big mad. If Clay thought she would be sitting here when he was ready, he was sadly mistaken. As for the rest of his stuff, well, she knew what to do with that! There was a perfectly good curb just waiting for it.

  Intellectually, Maizie realized she was making a huge mistake. She simply couldn’t help herself. It was a caffeine-induced psychosis, that’s what it was.

  Out went the baseball trophies—including the national Little League championship—the sports equipment, the treadmill—that one took some muscle—and the remainder of his clothes.

  Maizie looked at the pile of her husband’s belongings and slapped her hands together. The feeling of satisfaction lasted until she broke into tears and ran back to the house as if Cujo was nipping at her heels.

  Several cars slowed and a couple even stopped. They were obviously trolling for free stuff. Free stuff—where did they get that idea? Was there a sign out there saying Take Me? Of course not. Mama would have a fit.

  Maizie grabbed her cell and ran out to shoo away the vultures. A guy in a baggy pair of pants and a faded wife beater had a pair of Clay’s jeans in his hand. Not that his fat rear would ever fit into those Wranglers.

  “Get away from my husband’s clothes.”

  “Lady, someone put this stuff out for the garbage.” He gave her a dirty look before hocking a loogie at her feet.

  Gag.

  “That’s not trash. My husband’s coming to pick it up.” Maizie held up her phone hoping to scare him off. “I’m calling the cops.”

  What do you know—it worked. She wouldn’t be surprised if the guy was wanted by the police. When the redneck jumped into his Camaro and hit the gas, gravel sprayed everywhere.

  Maizie was congratulating herself when she spied something lying by the curb. It was metal, it was mangled and it was Clay’s Little League trophy.

  Oh, dear Lord. He’d never forgive her.

  She bent over to pick up the pieces. “Thanks, buddy,” she muttered.

  Maizie punched in Clay’s office number. Please, please, please answer the phone.

  “Clay Walker.”

  She was at a loss for words. How was she going to explain this? “Uh, Clay. I put your stuff out on the curb and some people have already tried to take things.”

  She didn’t want him to lose all that sporting equipment. “I stopped them but you need to get over here right away. I have to go to work.”

  There was such a long pause Maizie was afraid they’d been disconnected.

  “You did what?” He said it so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

  “Your things are on the lawn and some people have already stopped to rummage through them.”

  “I thought that’s what you said.” He hung up without another word.

  Well, crumb! Maizie stared at the phone, expecting it to ring. Ten minutes later Clay roared up in his pickup. Without even glancing at the house, he tossed his belongings in the vehicle, muttering the entire time. Maizie couldn’t hear what he was saying but certain words were easy to lip-read.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mama was driving Maizie nuts. The woman had called at least a thousand times over the weekend, but thanks to Caller ID Maizie had been able to dodge a barrage of maternal advice. Now that it was Monday all bets were off. Sure as shootin’ her mom would show up at the Boudoir.

  “Mother alert. She’s coming down the sidewalk.” Maizie had clued PJ in on the mess she called her private life. “Do you want to hide? I’ll make an excuse for you.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’ll have to face her sooner or later.” It was hard not to think of her mom as a traitor. How dare her parents take Clay’s side!

  “Hi, Mama. What brings you to town?” Maizie asked when her mother walked in. She was determined to be polite, even if it killed her.

  “Good morning, PJ. How’s your family?” Mama ignored Maizie’s question.

  So that’s how the game was going to be played.

  “The girls are growing like weeds. Thanks for asking, ma’am,” PJ said. “Hey, Maze. I’m going to the back to steam some of that new inventory. Give a yell if you need me.”

  Thanks a ton, friend. “I’ll do that.” Maizie braced herself for a serious discussion with her mother.

  “What is my son-in-law doing camped out in my garage apartment? I love him dearly, but he needs to be at home in his own bed.” She gave Maizie her best “Mother’s not pleased” combo of folded arms and steely-eyed glare. Mama had a frown that could scare a Navy SEAL into submission.

  “I don’t know,” Maizie answered. She wasn’t about to discuss her marital problems—or her lack o
f a sex life—with her mother.

  Her resolve lasted until Eleanor Westerfield intensified her glower. Lordy, the woman could give the CIA lessons. Then when Eleanor picked up Maizie’s hand and started drawing little circles on her palm, she broke.

  “We had a fight and it went from bad to worse. The reason he’s at your house is that I told him I didn’t want to live with him anymore. And—” God, she hated to say this “—this morning I tossed his stuff out on the curb.”

  Mama rubbed her forehead. That was never a good sign. “Mary Stuart, how could you do that? Clay loves you like crazy and let me tell you, he’s miserable.”

  “Mama, he didn’t tell me his company is in financial trouble. He kept something that important from me.” She sniffed, trying to unsuccessfully hold back a deluge of tears. “We’re supposed to share everything. He left me out!” she wailed.

  Although Eleanor was a good five inches shorter than her daughter, she managed to pull Maizie into her arms.

  “Honey, men do that. He didn’t want to worry you. It’s a throwback to the old-fashioned idea that women need to be protected, and he’s a Southerner. That’s what Southern men do.”

  Maizie’s head was telling her that Mama was right. Her heart was saying something entirely different.

  “So what are we going to do about this?” Mama asked.

  It wasn’t good when Mama used “we,” especially when she was discussing a plan.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Missy. He can’t live over my garage forever.” Eleanor threw up her hands. “I love cooking for him, but he’s eating us out of house and home.”

  “You’re feeding him?”

  “Breakfast and dinner.”

  “No wonder he hasn’t come back. You’re the best cook in town.”

  In Eleanor Westerfield’s world that was the ultimate compliment. Unfortunately, it didn’t deter her from her goal.

  “So what are we going to do?” she repeated.

  “Liza thinks I should court him. Wine, dine and date.”

  Mama cocked her head, obviously considering the situation. “That’s brilliant! It’s certainly not something he going to expect. So when do you get started?”

  “I don’t know.” Maizie didn’t bother to tell her they had come up with that idea over two bottles of wine and enough chocolate to give a monk the giggles.

  “The sooner the better, I say. But first you have to forgive him. And that has to come from the heart, where it matters.”

  “I think I need forgiveness as much as he does. I’m still mad at him for keeping secrets, but I have to admit I’m at least partially responsible for this fiasco.” Maizie gave a sheepish shrug. “He accused me of acting like a spoiled brat, and as embarrassing as it is, I have to say he’s right.”

  “There is that,” Mama agreed.

  “I’ll call Liza and Kenni to set up at time to meet.” She looked as if she wanted to clap her hands in glee. “We’ll come up with a plan.”

  Her mother was getting into the spirit of things, and as dearly as Maizie loved her mom, she could be a steamroller.

  “A gift would be a nice way to start.” Without batting an eyelash, Eleanor went into her party-planner mode. “I think you should go for something masculine, with a message. That would be perfect.”

  So where was Maizie supposed to find this masculine gift with a magic message?

  Where was that “never fail to please” personal shopper when she needed her?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trina Carruthers had been Maizie’s archenemy since the eighth grade. Just the thought of walking in her store gave Maizie heartburn, but considering that Trina’s Emporium was the only place in town that made gift baskets, she didn’t have a choice.

  “C’n I help you?” The clerk popped her gum in time to the song playing on the radio.

  “I’d like a basket done up in the University of Georgia colors with some cans of beer, a couple of boxes of popcorn, maybe a pom-pom or two. You know, that kind of thing. It’s for my husband.”

  The clerk snapped her gum a few more times. “Is it for a special occasion?”

  “No. I thought I’d surprise him.”

  “Okey-doke, just a minute.” The clerk gave her gum another chomp before heading back to find her boss.

  Maizie heard giggling and whispering before Trina deigned to show her ugly mug.

  “Hey, Maize. I hear you want a basket with pom-poms and beer cans.” Trina tried to hold back her laughter, but ended up snorting instead.

  What was so funny?

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s not on our normal price list so let me figure it out.” She took a pencil from behind her ear. “So, how’s everything goin’?”

  Had Trina heard about Clay leaving her?

  “I’m doing okay.” Maizie just wanted to get out of there.

  “We can modify our normal UGA basket and make it the adult version. That’ll be fifty bucks plus tax. Does that work for you?”

  Was she kidding? “Yeah, that’s great.”

  “Do you want it delivered?”

  Her old nemesis was dying to know what was happening, but there was no way Maizie was giving her that ammunition.

  “No. I’ll pick it up.” Information concerning her reconciliation project was strictly on a need-to-know basis. And Trina definitely didn’t need to know.

  “When will it be ready?”

  “Day after tomorrow should do it.”

  “Great.” Maizie handed over her credit card, glad to have taken the first step. She wasn’t certain Liza’s idea would work, but it was better than doing nothing. The fact that Clay hadn’t called or e-mailed or anything was about to send her into a panic.

  A fight like this was a once in a lifetime—please God! At least the make-up sex would be stupendous. If they ever got that far.

  TWO DAYS LATER, MARY Stuart Walker found herself standing on the miniscule porch of her mother’s garage apartment holding the most ridiculous basket she’d ever laid eyes on. The pom-poms were the size of basketballs, and there was enough beer to slake the thirst of a chain gang. A dozen beer cans were glued to dowels and nestled next to the pom-poms. It was redneck taste at its finest.

  Did Trina still blame her for the quarterback and the prom debacle? Terrible as that was it wasn’t completely her fault. That infamous escapade had occurred when she and Clay had decided to date other people.

  Maizie knocked again, alternating between hoping Clay was home and praying he wasn’t. Mostly the latter.

  “Mary Stuart, what are you doing up there?”

  Deep down she’d hoped to drop off the basket and avoid Mama, but Lady Luck was obviously missing in action.

  Before she could answer, Mama was halfway up the stairs.

  “What is that thing?” Mama eyed the basket. And why not? It was a nightmare.

  “A gift. I brought it for Clay. Remember we discussed giving him a present.”

  Mama glanced back and forth between Maizie and the basket, and then broke into a belly laugh.

  Eleanor Westerfield and a belly laugh? Would wonders never cease?

  “I thought you were trying to make up with him, not encourage him to drink himself senseless. Leave that thing on the stoop and come for coffee.” Mama started back down the stairs. “He went out with Zack and Win, so I don’t suspect he’ll be home anytime soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” No matter how old you were, a parental demand required immediate attention.

  Maizie put down the basket and followed her mother to the kitchen. The Westerfields’ kitchen hadn’t changed since the sixties—same appliances, same color scheme and the same pine table that had been the epicenter of the family for years.

  “Please tell me you didn’t pay money for that…abomination.” She handed Maizie a steaming mug of coffee and put a plate of homemade chocolate-chip cookies on the table.

  “I did,” Maizie admitted. “Quite a bit in fact.”

  Mama refilled her own
mug and joined her daughter. “Is it supposed to be a joke?”

  “No, actually it isn’t. I paid Trina Carruthers fifty bucks to put it together.”

  Eleanor gave an eloquent snort. “That girl’s taste is all in her mouth. The only reason she’s still in business is because folks don’t have a choice.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty gross, isn’t it? She really doesn’t like me, so I suppose that didn’t help.”

  “You never told me what she has against you.” Mama cocked her head. “It started in high school, didn’t it? What did you do?”

  Maizie assumed an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Me? Why would you think I did something?”

  Mama didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

  Maizie held her hands up. “Okay, I give. I sort of hijacked her boyfriend at the prom. It wasn’t all my fault, really it wasn’t. Ask Liza, she was there.” She’d gone to the prom without a date and no one would ask her to dance because of Clay. So she took matters into her own hands and asked Arlon Higgenbotham—Trina’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

  “Lordy, girl.” Mama shook her head. “Oh, well, that’s water under the bridge. So back to the problem at hand, do you have any plans for winning your husband back, other than showering him with ugly gifts?”

  “Not really. I’ve left him a couple of messages.” More like hundreds, but who was counting? “And he hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

  Mama got up to freshen her coffee. “He’s not too happy with you, but I suspect he’s more hurt than mad.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Maizie bit into another cookie.

  “I have an idea, but let’s get your sister over here and see what she thinks. In the meantime you can help me with these pies for the bake sale.”

  Maizie had been so immersed in her own problems she hadn’t noticed the desserts in various stages of completion. “What’s the charity and how many did you promise them?”

  “Just ten and they’re for the Humane Society.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Maizie rummaged through the drawer looking for an apron. Baking wasn’t her forte but she was a good helper.