by Gayle Trent
“Okay, how about if she paints the bottom borders? That way her paint won’t touch your paint on the top of the cake.”
“All right,” Lucas said.
“Is that okay with you, Leslie?”
“Yep!”
An hour later, we had two of the weirdest looking bitty cakes I’d ever seen. But they were precious. Dad’s cake had a turkey on it. I’d piped outlines for feathers, and Lucas had filled them in with different color spray frostings. I’d never seen a turkey with purple, green, blue and orange feathers; but, hey, anything’s possible. Especially when you’re eleven. The turkey cake had a top white shell border and a bottom shell border that had sections of yellow, pink and light green.
The cake Lucas and Leslie made for themselves was even wilder than Dad’s. They put so much icing on it, I was afraid the poor cake might collapse. Leslie wanted flowers. I’d previously taught her how to make a rose, and she put three white roses on the cake and generously told Lucas he could paint them. He painted the roses blue; but apparently, three icing roses would not provide enough of a sugar rush, so he piped a mountain off to the side. At first, he painted the mountain green. Then he decided a volcano would be even cooler and sprayed the top and down the front red . . . which more or less made the mountain appear to be a brownish glob.
“Eww,” Leslie said. “That looks like poo!”
“Cool.” Lucas laughed. “I get the poo piece!”
We all three dissolved into a fit of giggles.
When we stopped laughing and started cleaning up our mess, Leslie paused to listen.
“I hear something.”
“You’re just trying to get out of working,” I teased, putting Dad’s cake into a box.
“No,” Lucas said, “I hear it, too. It sounds like a kid crying.”
“The cat. I forgot to feed her this morning.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat, Aunt Daphne!” Leslie exclaimed, as she and Lucas followed me out onto the porch.
“I don’t exactly,” I said. “She showed up one day, and I supposed she kind of came with the house.”
“She’s pretty,” Leslie said.
Lucas squinted. “What’s wrong with her eye?”
“I don’t know. If I could catch her, I could take her to the vet. I might stop by his office on Monday anyway to see if I could give her some vitamins or something . . . you know, in her food.”
The cat’s hunger brought her a cautious step closer.
“Come on,” I told Leslie and Lucas. “Let’s sit over here on the step and be quiet. Maybe she’ll come and eat.”
When the cat was confident we weren’t close enough to catch her, she eased up to the bowl. She eyed us suspiciously one last time before crunching her food.
“What’s her name?” Leslie whispered.
“I haven’t given her one yet. I only found out she was here a few days ago.”
“How do you know it’s a ‘she’?” Lucas asked softly. “It could be a boy.”
“It could be,” I said, “but I think it’s a girl.”
“Me, too,” Leslie said. “She’s beautiful.”
“Except for the eye,” Lucas said.
Mentally, I had to admit they were both right. The cat, with her long gray and white hair and fluffy tail, was very pretty; but the one empty eye socket made you cringe . . . made you wonder what happened . . . made you worry what horrors she might have suffered . . . made you feel sad for her.
“If she had a little black eye patch,” Lucas said, “that would be cool.”
“Yeah,” Leslie agreed, “and a pirate hat.”
Lucas’ lowered voice took on the semblance of an English accent. “Aye, mate. Welcome to me crew.”
“Cap’n Jack at your service.” Leslie’s accent was every bit as bad. She broke into a grin and resumed her natural voice. “That’s it. We should call her Sparrow.”
“Yeah.” Lucas gave her a high five.
The cat looked up, poised to run if anyone made a move. We were still, and she resumed eating.
“Sparrow it is,” I whispered.
*
I have to admit, I was tired when I took the children home on Friday. But it was a good tired. A happy tired. A “just-got-back-from-vacation-and-need-a-rest” tired.
Lucas and Leslie made a full-on frontal assault on their house at approximately 11:15 a.m. Dad was immediately blasted with regard to his cake.
“We made you a bitty cake, Grandpa,” Leslie said. “It’s not called a ‘bitty cake’ because you’re like an old biddy or anything. It’s because the cake is little.”
Before Dad could respond, Lucas added, “It’s for you to take home. We know Grandma doesn’t make things like that for you.”
“Where is this cake?” Jason asked quickly. “I’d like to see it.”
“Aunt Daphne’s got it,” Lucas said.
“Yeah, but not because we argued over it or anything,” Leslie said. “We just all decided it would be best if she carried it.”
I showed the cake to Dad and Jason, and they loved it. Dad declared it to be the prettiest turkey he’d ever seen.
“Do you like the borders?” Leslie asked.
“They’re magnificent,” Dad said. “Who did those? Daphne?”
“No.” Leslie grinned. “It was me.”
“Are you joking? I didn’t know you could do that!”
“How about the turkey feathers?” Lucas asked. “I painted those like Chef Duff does on his show.”
“Wow. This is incredible. A masterpiece. Are you sure I should eat it?” Dad smiled at me over top of the children’s heads. “Gloria, come here. You have to see this.”
“What flavor is it?” Jason asked.
“Yellow,” Leslie said, “Grandpa’s favorite . . . because it’s his.”
Lucas lightly elbowed his dad. “Don’t worry, Dad. We’ve got one of our own.”
“And it’s truly a sight to behold,” I said.
The kids started giggling.
I laughed, too. “I’ll go back out to the car and get it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Violet said, as she and Mom emerged from the kitchen. “I want to tell you about all the bargains we found.”
“Come look at the cake we made,” Lucas said.
“I’ll see it in a minute, sweetheart. I need to talk with Aunt Daphne first.”
Though she was wearing jeans and a playful sweatshirt, Violet’s expression told me she was deadly serious. My mind went into automatic defense mode.
“What?” I asked sharply, as soon as we got outside.
“Mom is hurt about the way you treated her yesterday.”
“The way I treated her? She was the Frost Queen . . . ticked because I didn’t arrive at daybreak to peel the zucchini or whatever.” I glared at Violet. “And you’re the one who told me not to come early.”
“I know, but you barely spoke to her.”
“Do you blame me? Oh, wait, of course you do or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I huffed. “But, then, you aren’t the one she criticizes at every turn. You’re the golden child.”
“That’s not true.”
“She told you about her affair.”
Violet took my arm and steered me toward the driveway. “Keep your voice down.”
“How’d that come about, Vi? Were the two of you watching ‘Bridges of Madison County’ when she happened to blurt out ‘I did that’?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“No, tell me,” I said. “I really want to know.”
“Okay, fine. She was talking to me about your divorce from Todd. She said she might could understand it better if you were in love with another man but that she couldn’t believe that you’d rather be alone than with Todd.”
“The man tried to kill me.”
“I know that, Daph; but she doesn’t think so. She thinks Todd was only trying to scare you.”
I shook my head in disgust. “So, what? Mom says, ‘I could see her
leaving for someone else. I almost did that once myself?’”
“Yes. Basically, that is what she said. And then we talked about it.”
“But neither of you felt compelled to share that information with me.”
“You had enough on your mind.” Violet looked at the ground. “But I think it did Mom good to . . . to unload that burden.”
“That burden? Oh, poor Mom, she had to shoulder the responsibility of cheating on our father by herself for all those years.”
“It was a burden. She still feels guilty. Not just for what she did to Dad and to us but to Vern March as well.”
“You mean because Uncle Hal ran Vern out of town?”
“He beat the man up, Daph, and even threatened to kill him.”
“He was looking out for our family. Somebody had to.”
“It was thirty years ago. Mom made a mistake. Can you please look out for our family now and let this whole thing rest?”
I sighed. “Not yet. Not until I know the truth.”
Violet sighed, too. “What difference does it make?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead. “It could explain why Joanne Hayden is trying to ruin my business, though.”
“Joanne Hayden?”
I nodded. “She’s Vern’s granddaughter.”
“Granddaughter?” Violet gasped. “I didn’t even know Vern was married.”
“Neither did I. Wonder if Mom knows?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I went home, put some food out for Sparrow, turned the porch light on, and headed toward the Blue Ridge Parkway and Uncle Hal. My telling Violet about Vern’s marriage stopped our argument about Mom—at least, for the time being—but I was still desperate for answers. I’d always thought Mom was devoted to Dad. There were times when I questioned her loyalty to me; but until Tuesday night, I’d never doubted her allegiance to Dad. And I still didn’t doubt his allegiance to her. Her hypocrisy was infuriating.
At least, I was able to enjoy being with the children last night. At first, I worried about Annabelle’s intruder, but then I realized I was being overly dramatic—the very thing I’d accused Violet and the rest of the town of being. How could anyone, with the exception of Violet, possibly know I’d had the diary? And even if they did, why would anyone think I still had it now that Annabelle was home?
Mrs. Watson’s funeral was tomorrow. I planned to go. I wanted to be there for Annabelle. I have to admit, though, I had other less altruistic reasons for going. I was hoping Joanne Hayden would be there. I wondered what she looked like—whether or not she resembled Vern . . . or Mom. I wondered how she’d behave toward me when we finally met face to face.
I was also hoping Ben would be there. I wondered if he’d bring Sally. I wondered how he’d spent Thanksgiving. With his parents probably . . . maybe with hers. I had to find out who this Sally was—and what she meant to Ben—before I started liking Ben too much.
When I got to Uncle Hal’s and Aunt Nancy’s house, her car was gone but his pickup truck was in the driveway. I knew that, traditionally, Aunt Nancy spent the Friday after Thanksgiving shopping, and then she put their Christmas tree up on Saturday. Uncle Hal was a couch potato on Friday, resting up for tree-duty on Saturday. Hopefully, the couple remained true to form, and I hadn’t wasted a trip.
I parked on the street to avoid blocking the driveway should Aunt Nancy come home. Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell and heard Chester the Chihuahua come barking to the door. Uncle Hal ineffectively told Chester to be quiet as he opened the door.
“Hey, girl!” Uncle Hal said, his face breaking into a smile. “What brings you by?”
“Well, you didn’t drop in when you were down my way, so I had to come see you.”
“Come on in.” He scooped Chester into his beefy arms so the tiny white dog wouldn’t run outside.
“Hi, Chessie.” I patted the dog’s hed before taking off my coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
“Nancy’s out shopping.”
“I figured she would be. I’m here to see you.”
Uncle Hal sat down on the couch. “Sounds serious.”
“It is.” I sat on the overstuffed chair that held my coat. “It’s about Mom.”
He frowned. “She sick?”
“Not the way you mean.”
“Daphne,” he said, but his admonition lacked any serious wallop.
He looked so much like Dad. Same white hair, same blue eyes . . . just a heavier, stockier build. I looked away. “Tell me about Mom and Vern March.”
“Sounds like you already know.”
I looked back at him. “Did you hear about Yodel Watson dying?”
“I heard.”
No wonder Uncle Hal was such an excellent poker player. Who could read that face?
“She kept a journal,” I said. “Her daughter asked me to get it for her.”
Still no reaction from Uncle Hal.
“I . . . uh . . . read about Mom and Vern.”
“What’d the book say?”
I looked away again. I couldn’t stand to say the words while looking at a man so like Dad. “That they were having an affair. That Mom was planning to divorce Dad.” The tears started falling before I’d even realized they were there.
Uncle Hal crossed the room and pulled me into a hug. “I hoped you’d never find out.”
I sniffed. “It’s all true? All of it?”
He nodded.
“How could she?” I asked. “How could she do that to him? To us?”
“I don’t know, baby.”
When I pulled away from Uncle Hal, Chester was at our feet. I picked him up as Uncle Hal and I retook our seats.
“I just don’t get it.” I snuggled Chester. “For her to do that and then to lecture me when I divorced Todd . . . ”
“He got off easy for what he did to you,” Uncle Hal said. “If I had my way . . . ” He shook his head. “But, yeah, I thought then that Gloria had no right to pass judgment. Told her so, too.”
“Does Dad know?”
“I don’t believe so. I didn’t tell him; and if he’d heard it from anyone else, I’m sure he would’ve talked to me about it.” He squinted. “You ain’t planning to tell him. Are you?”
“No. It would only hurt him.” I sat Chester on the floor, and he trotted back to lie at Uncle Hal’s feet. “I wouldn’t hurt Dad for anything. I wish I hadn’t found out myself.”
“I wish you hadn’t either. Did you tell Violet?”
“She already knew. Believe it or not, Mom told her.”
“I take it the two of you are on opposite sides of the fence on this one.”
I nodded. “I want to confront Mom. Vi says I should let it go.”
“Your sister’s right on this one. Let it go. Let this mess stay buried in the past where it belongs.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“It’s what you need to do. Thirty years ago, I did everything in my power to protect my brother’s family. Dredging up the past now . . . .” He closed his eyes. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t drag that skeleton out of the closet and parade him around.”
“How . . . ” I swallowed. “How did you protect us, Uncle Hal?”
He opened his eyes but stared up at the ceiling. “I ran Vern March out of town.”
We both fell silent then. The only noise was Chester’s toenails clicking on the hardwood floor when he spotted a toy and went to retrieve it.
Finally, I broke the silence. “He must not have cared very much about her then.”
“I can be fairly persuasive . . . or I could be . . . back in the day.” Uncle Hal’s voice was softer now…tired. He gave me a wan half-smile. “And I always took care of my baby brother. Even though there’s not that much difference in our ages, I prided myself on being the big brother. The protector.”
“I know.” I grinned, although I felt an almost overwhelming urge to cry again. “To me, you
were always Batman to Dad’s Robin.” I had to lighten the conversation before Aunt Nancy came home to find me bawling. Okay, to be completely honest, I had to change the subject before I asked questions I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted answered.
“So,” I said, “is Aunt Nancy doing her part to help the economy today?”
Uncle Hal gave a chortle that held more than a hint of relief. “Depends on whose economy we’re talking about. I don’t doubt she’s boosting the retailers’ economy, but I might be eating peanut butter sandwiches for a month.”
“You know better,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “We could live on yesterday’s leftovers for two weeks.
We chatted about the family then: Vi, Jason, Lucas and Leslie, as well as Uncle Hal’s and Aunt Nancy’s children and in-laws. We shared funny stories for a half hour or so, and then I stood and put on my coat.
Uncle Hal walked me to the door. “That other matter . . . it’s over, right?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He kissed my cheek. “Be careful driving home.”
*
Before going home, I went by the Save-A-Buck to pick up my check and the glass cake plate I’d used for my display. Juanita was leaving as I went in. She took my arm and pulled me back outside the store.
“I’m so sorry for your troubles,” she said. “I know your cake did not poison that lady.”
“Thank you. Hopefully, everyone else will realize that, too.”
“I pray that they will. You are a good person.” She smiled. “I bought one of your white cakes, and my family enjoyed it very much.”
“I’m glad.”
“This will pass.” She nodded. “It will pass.”
A lump gathered in my throat. I barely knew this woman, and she was treating me like a lifelong friend. “Thank you.”
Juanita left, and I went on into the store. En route to the office, I was stopped by a diminutive old lady with two iron gray braids hanging to her waist. The pigtails made me wonder if Willie Nelson’s mother might still be living . . . in Southwest Virginia.
“I understand you found Yodel’s corpse.” For such a small woman, she certainly did have a booming voice. Every head within sight turned our way.