Running on Empty

by Sandra Balzo

  'But wasn't there still blood flowing out?' AnnaLise asked as gently as possible. As she spoke, the dark stranger glanced over, a startled expression on his face. Inadvertently catching AnnaLise's eye, he immediately pretended to once more be engrossed in the local news.

  Daisy looked down at her plate again. 'I suppose so. I mean, there must have been. But Henrietta had left Ema's paperwork on the counter before she went to use the powder room, and so I walked to the back of the trailer to get it.

  'The appointment list was sitting on the counter, too, and I remember seeing little Nicole Goldstein's name and musing about the first time I ever donated, way back when. The next thing I knew, Henrietta was screaming, blood was flooding the floor, and Ema was unconscious.'

  AnnaLise patted her mother's hand. 'It's OK, Daisy. Just an accident.'

  But then the teenage girl's car skidding and killing that boy back in Wisconsin had been an 'accident', too, yet that hadn't stopped DA Ben Rosewood from...

  'Here's your milk.' Mama dropped a paper-covered straw next to it. 'Now you be sure to drain every drop.'

  Daisy shook her head. '"Accident" is a poor excuse, AnnaLise, and you know it. That woman was donating blood for people in need. I had a responsibility to do right by her.'

  As though on cue, the door chimed and Ema Bradenham in the flesh — if not quite all the blood — entered. Mrs. Bradenham's son, Bobby, who was Sutherton's current mayor, followed. 'Are you sure you don't just want to go home? After all that's happened...'

  Although AnnaLise had it on good authority (Bobby's) that Ema Bradenham was six years older than AnnaLise's own mother, Mrs. B could still be taken for nearly a decade younger. Of course, standing close to six-feet tall — with legs to her chin, plenty of money and a French plastic surgeon on retainer who would enthusiastically lift said chin and anything else that dared to droop — probably helped.

  Designer clothes and the vintage K Mikimoto pink pearl necklace she perpetually wore — and AnnaLise habitually coveted — didn't hurt, either.

  Mrs. Bradenham interrupted her son. '"After all that's happened"? Bobby, if I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, when something unfortunate occurs, put it behind you and move on. The blood drive was Thursday and here it is Saturday. Enjoy the holiday weekend. Goodness,' she said, without missing a beat, 'is it warm in here?' She flapped her pearls like they could conjure up a cooling sea breeze.

  'You're just going through the change, Eee-mah.' Mama, now at the cash register, butchered Mrs. B's name, as she did most others. 'Want a fan?' Phyllis gestured to the display case, repository of the Moo-Cow creamers as well as a handful of orange and yellow paper fans, now brown-edged with age.

  The accordion-pleated fans and twenty-three miniature hand-painted tea cups were, mercifully, all that remained of Mama's ill-fated decision to have a couple of glasses of wine before bidding at her very first restaurant equipment auction.

  Mrs. Bradenham shuddered, though whether at the mention of menopause or the suggested ratty fans wasn't apparent. Then Mrs. B — a nearly universal nickname for her among the locals — caught sight of AnnaLise. Turning abruptly, she almost swept the stack of cookbooks off Mama's table with her Hermes handbag. Gorgeous, but if the thing were any bigger, AnnaLise could climb in and latch it closed over her head.

  Assuming it wasn't already occupied by a complementing foofy dog.

  As AnnaLise looked around for some place other than the handbag to hide, Mrs. Bradenham made a beeline for her.

  It wasn't that AnnaLise despised Bobby's mother, it was just that the woman made her feel... well, small. As in miniature. Which AnnaLise knew she was. She just didn't like to be treated like someone's pet.

  'Oh, AnnaLise, look how adorable. What a sweet little outfit.' Then to Daisy: 'And you, my dear. I do not want to hear a word of apology about the... incident on Thursday. I am just fine. In fact, I am told a bit of bloodletting is actually good for the complexion.'

  'She's right.' Phyllis left the cash register. 'Demi Moore uses leeches, I saw it on the Internet. Imports them from France.'

  'Why France?' Daisy asked. 'Don't we have leeches here?'

  'We do, for sure,' Mama said. 'Plus, I bet our leeches are every bit as good as those French ones. And probably not as rude.'

  AnnaLise, who hadn't even unwrapped her straw, now surveyed the glass of whole milk with dismay. It looked like a vat of cream in comparison to the non-fat she was used to drinking. And the talk of leeches wasn't helping with her queasiness.

  'Contrary to popular belief,' Mrs. B said, 'I have found the French very accommodating on my many visits.'

  Phyllis snorted. Daisy just rolled her eyes and readdressed her cake. The rudeness — or honesty, depending on your point of view — was pretty much de rigueur for Mama. Not Daisy, though. She tried to avoid hurting people's feelings. And to patch up those her best friend had already wounded.

  Especially given the recent blood-drive mistake, AnnaLise would have expected her mother to be a little more gracious to Bobby's . The two women, though not close in AnnaLise's experience, had known each other for years.

  Now Mrs. B gave Daisy a puzzled stare and turned back to AnnaLise. 'As I was saying, Dr. Stanton tells me the spill looked far worse than it was. I lost well under two pints.'

  Two pints. Better than the three to four Mama had mentioned, but it still didn't seem like only a small matter to AnnaLise.

  She opened her mouth to say so, but anticipating another apology, Mrs. Bradenham just waved her down. 'Not a word now, Little One. Not even a syllable. We shall not speak of it again.'

  Mrs. B shrugged her handbag onto her shoulder, unintentionally dislodging a lock of carefully coiffed, ash-blonde hair to show a two-inch scar high on her forehead.

  Before AnnaLise could pretend not to notice, Mrs. Bradenham quickly covered it. 'Ahh, I see an open booth in the back. Bobby?'

  But as Mrs. B made her way back to a table, Bobby took his mother's place by AnnaLise. 'Hey, Annie — good to see you.'

  Bobby and AnnaLise had met on her first day of kindergarten at Sutherton Elementary. A year older, Bobby and his mother lived in a big expensive house on the west side of the lake. The Griggs family lived in the same building as their grocery store on Main Street. It wasn't surprising the children's paths hadn't crossed until that fateful day in early September, when Bobby stepped in to prevent a third-grader from snatching AnnaLise's snack. Bobby had emerged from the confrontation with a bloody lip; the third-grader with Mama's 'Marshmallow Crispy Treat'; and AnnaLise, with the conviction she could have handled the bully better herself. Nonetheless, the friendship of 'Annie' and 'Bobby' had been cemented.

  AnnaLise slipped out of her side of the booth to give him an enthusiastic hug. Then she beckoned the now-mayor away from the table where Mama stood consulting with Daisy over the relative merits of elevating creamed spinach over green bean casserole on the night's menu.

  'Shame on you, Bobby,' said AnnaLise, punching him in the arm. 'Where's my protector of old? You just hung back safely and let me deal with all three of them.' Bobby was tall and well-built, with thick, chestnut-colored hair and a 24/7 smile. In other words, the perfect politician.

  'Sweetheart, it was a war of words and I never did have any idea what your mother and Phyllis were talking about. And as for Ma?' He gazed skyward.

  AnnaLise laughed. Mrs. Bradenham hated being called 'Ma' by her sole heir. Which was why he did it, of course.

  'Besides,' Bobby continued. 'I didn't see you do much more than try your darndest to get a word in edgewise. In vain, I might add.'

  'Speaking of which — the one spelled v-e-i-n — I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. The bloodletting, I mean.'

  'I saw that I had a missed call from you.' Bobby shook his head. 'Only like Ma said, water under the bridge. No harm, no foul. What's past is past.'

  'No chorus of "Que Sera, Sera"?' AnnaLise and Bobby shared a love of old movies. 'But there was harm. I
understand your mother lost consciousness. It would have taken a whole lot of French leeches to do that.'

  'Running on empty or not, think what Ma saved on shipping and handling. Those things don't just slink over here on their own, you know.'

  AnnaLise opened her mouth to apologize again, but Bobby waved her down in a gesture reminiscent of Mrs. B. 'Let's face it, Annie. Our mothers are getting older. Maybe mine oughtn't to be giving blood anymore and yours — ' he touched AnnaLise on the tip of her nose — 'oughtn't to be taking it?'

  'They're not exactly ancient, Bobby. My mom's barely fifty. And Ema?' AnnaLise glanced down the aisle to the back booth, where Mrs. Bradenham had her smartphone out and appeared to be texting. 'Well, I know she's older, but she looks amazing.'

  'It's The Picture of Dorian Gray. Film originally released in 1945.'

  'Not to mention, a book by Oscar Wilde. His only novel, in fact.' As a reporter, AnnaLise felt it her responsibility to give another writer his due.

  'You know how Dorian kept that portrait of himself locked away? Well, I'm the portrait for Ma.'

  AnnaLise just stared at him.

  A shrug. 'She gets older, but the only evidence of it is yours truly.'

  With the popularity of cosmetic surgery and Botox, Bobby probably wasn't alone in that. 'Carbon-dating our baby-boomer parents might be the only way to prove their ages these days.'

  'Either that, or cut Ma in half and count her rings.'

  'Whose rings?' Phyllis flopped down on the booth bench next to Daisy, sending the smaller, lighter woman into the air like she was on a red vinyl teeter-totter. Before either AnnaLise or Bobby could explain, if that was even possible or prudent, the door chimed again.

  Bobby beckoned the newcomer over, while saying, 'AnnaLise, here's somebody I want you to meet.'

  An Asian-looking man in his thirties approached them. Despite his relatively young age, he walked aided by a cane.

  'This is Ichiro Katou. Ichiro, say hello to my oldest friend, AnnaLise Griggs. And you already know Mama and AnnaLise's mother, Daisy.'

  Both women finger-wiggled hello to Katou before returning to their own conversation.

  AnnaLise extended her hand. 'Good to meet you, Ichiro. Just visiting?'

  Katou shifted the brass-topped cane from his right hand to his left to take hers with a courtly bow.

  'Originally, yes. I arrive in Sutherton two months ago as tourist among so many others.' Katou's English had what to AnnaLise's ear was a Japanese veneer. 'But now I find I will stay for some time.'

  'How nice.'

  'Bobby and I plan a sushi restaurant on the White Tail.'

  Sushi in Sutherton. Would wonders never cease? AnnaLise's face must have showed her surprise.

  'I know what you're thinking,' said Bobby, holding up his hands. 'It's like the leeches.'

  'Leeches?' Katou said, a shocked expression on his finely featured face. 'Those are not, how you say, good eating, no?'

  'No. That is, you're right,' Bobby said. 'We were talking about imported leeches earlier, versus the homegrown variety. '

  'For medical purposes, 'AnnaLise contributed, though it wasn't quite true. No need to subject a newcomer to their admittedly warped slug humor.

  Katou nodded once. 'Sutherton people already say, "Raw fish? We have lake just chock-full of them."'

  He seemed to be developing both the Carolina High Country accent and sensibility — or lack of the latter.

  Bobby laughed. 'Ichiro and I have talked about the possible... challenges, as you can see. But I think you'll be surprised, Annie, by how much Sutherton is changing. Besides, our typical customers may not be local. The tourists, bless them, should be enough to sustain us.'

  Spoken like a true... well, mayor.

  A clearing of the throat from the rear of the restaurant and Bobby glanced toward its source before lowering his voice. 'Ma disapproves.'

  'Why?'

  'She hasn't said. But, you know my mother. She simply ignores anything she doesn't like. Figures that, without her fueling the issue, it'll go away.'

  'I will not go away,' Katou said, with a wry smile. 'She cannot repulse me forever.'

  'I wouldn't bet on it,' Bobby said grimly, glancing again toward Mrs. B's booth.

  AnnaLise was confused, and not by Katou's use of 'repulse'. 'Earlier, you mentioned White Tail. Is someone reopening the lodge?'

  Owned by Dickens Hart, White Tail Lodge had been built in the seventies and patterned after the Playboy Club concept. Rather than Bunnies, though, it featured White Tail Fawns — comely females dressed as deer, complete with doe-eyed make-up and, you guessed it, fluffy white tails.

  A different era, the end of each high season was marked by the so-called White Tail Games. Fawns — in full, if skimpy, regalia — competed in contests of 'skill' ranging from relay races and target shooting to water-balloon tosses and limbo contests. Surprisingly, jello wrestling hadn't made the list of events.

  'Annie, the lodge was torn down a couple of years ago,' Bobby said. 'If you came home more often than every century, you'd know that.'

  An exaggeration, but what could AnnaLise say? It was true that while Daisy and Mama had visited her, the last time she'd been in Sutherton was for her mother's forty-fifth birthday. The ill-advised surprise party had culminated in Phyllis declaring, 'Don't you dare go thinking about a fiftieth, AnnieLeez, or Daisy'll have me drawn, quartered and boiled in oil.'

  Then, apparently inspired, Phyllis had added 'One quarter of a fried chicken' to the restaurant's entrees.

  'I do have to visit more often,' AnnaLise acknowledged. 'But you were saying?'

  'I was saying,' Bobby resumed, 'that the island is being developed as a residential and retail area called — surprise, surprise — Hart's Landing. High-priced condos intermingled with restaurants, boutiques and entertainment venues.'

  'Dickens Hart is developing it himself?'

  'Along with a business partner named David Sabatino. He's here with his family from New York.'

  Maybe Mr. High-Power, saddled with the family for breakfast. Or maybe not. 'So your new restaurant...?'

  'Katou's,' Ichiro supplied. 'Bobby believes this is right name for grand sushi place, but I think it sounds too very full of me.'

  'It's perfect,' AnnaLise assured him.

  In fact, the journalist wouldn't change a thing — not Katou's delightfully thoughtful way of speaking, nor the jet-black hair over eyes that hinted at hazel.

  Those eyes lingered on hers until AnnaLise, embarrassed, glanced toward Bobby. But the mayor himself was looking past both of them. AnnaLise and Katou pivoted to see Ema Bradenham waving from her back booth.

  'Your mother desires your attention,' Katou said to Bobby. 'Would you like me to...'

  'Act as a sacrificial lamb?' Bobby finished. 'Please. And with my thanks. Tell Ma I'll be right there.'

  With another grin, Katou bowed to AnnaLise and took himself off.

  'What a charmer,' AnnaLise commented.

  'Says you and the entire female population of Sutherton. Except for my own dear mother, of course.'

  Mrs. B, spine ramrod-straight against the back of her seat, seemed intent on establishing as much distance as physically possible between her and Katou, who'd propped his cane next to the booth and slid in across from her.

  'You'd best go,' AnnaLise said. 'She looks about ready to explode all over that nice man.'

  A mischievous smile. 'You wouldn't want to miss it, would you?'

  'Go.' AnnaLise said sternly, hooking a finger toward the booth. 'Before there's bloodshed. Uhh, more... blood shed,' she amended. 'I'll be in town through the holiday weekend. We'll get together later.'

  Bobby was not one to be put off. 'Let's say Sal's then, tonight at seven. We can have a drink and catch up before Sinatra takes the stage.'

  'Tonight is Frat Pack Night?' AnnaLise couldn't believe her luck. If Daisy was going to bleed somebody out, might as well be just before Frat Pack weekend. 'I'll be there!'

  '
Ah, yes,' Bobby said, with a theatrical sigh. 'If only I inspired that kind of passion.'

  AnnaLise kissed him on the cheek. 'You do. Now go see your mother.'

  As Bobby followed orders, AnnaLise returned to join her tablemates, excited beyond her better judgment. No matter how schmaltzy an evening of Franks — as in Sinatra music and dollar hot dogs — might sound, the event never disappointed.

  Mama and Daisy were whispering and giggling like a couple of fourteen-year-olds as AnnaLise slid onto the bench across from them.

  Phyllis smiled knowingly at her. 'Never too late, is it, AnnieLeez?'

  'Now, Mama, don't—'

  '"Now Mama" nothing,' she said. 'Why you and Bobby never went out is beyond me. Such a nice boy, and I hear he's just a little... dickens, to boot.'

  'Phyllis!' Daisy snapped. 'You hush!'

  AnnaLise was confused. 'A "little dickens"?'

  'As in Dickens Hart's seed,' Mama said. 'How else could Eee-mah Bradenham live in that big house? Her baby-papa bought it for her, is how.'

  AnnaLise thought, 'Baby-papa?' Had hip hop come to the mountains, or did the mountains come to hip hop? Either way, Mama must have been clipped in the crosswalk.

  'Baby-daddy―' AnnaLise started to correct, but she was interrupted by Daisy.

  'Phyllis, you do not — and could not — know that.' Daisy managed to simultaneously chin-gesture toward the Bradenhams' booth while hurling warning daggers in AnnaLise's direction.

  Mama said, 'They can't hear me, and your daughter is plenty old for knowing the truth.'

  'The truth, you say? You're spouting nothing but idle gossip.'

  'Eee-mah worked at the White Tail Lodge.'

  'So did I. So did you. Dickens Hart was the town's biggest employer. Almost everybody worked at the lodge one time or the other.'

  'But hers was the right time. You remember her winning the White Tail Games that year? The boys from school — Rance Smoaks, when he wasn't even fifteen, and that pimple-faced kid whose folks owned the inn back then. Why, Daisy, even your Tim sniffed around that girl like she was a bitch in heat.'