The Battered Body

by J. B. Stanley

  Upon entering the quirky restaurant, Milla quickly took care of the seating arrangements and, after introducing James to her family, placed him between Willow and Chloe.

  Paulette’s daughter was the absolute opposite of her mother. Where Paulette had been all thinness and sharp edges, Chloe was soft everywhere. With a round body, wide eyes, and unfashionably long hair, which she wore in a thick ponytail straight down her back, Chloe wore a loose T-shirt, a flowing denim skirt, and Birkenstock sandals. She greeted James with the open kindness and warmth that James had come to associate with Milla, and he found himself immediately hoping that the young woman had nothing to do with her mother’s sudden death.

  Her younger brother, Chase, gripped James’s hand with unnecessary firmness and then, ending the contact with abruptness, fussed over the crimson silk handkerchief poking from the front pocket of his Brooks Brothers suit. He was clearly Paulette’s son, having the same angular jaw, dark eyes, and trim figure. Like his mother, it seemed physically impossible for Chase’s mouth to turn upwards in a smile and, after seating himself with regal grace, the New York lawyer gazed upon the present company with a mixture of boredom and disdain.

  Aunt Wheezie was a sweet old lady. She embraced James, calling him a handsome boy, and then hung on to Milla’s arm, her expression affectionate. For someone in her late seventies, Wheezie was startlingly childlike and innocent. She glanced around Mamma Mia’s with the wide-eyed wonder of a young girl being offered her first carousel ride. When the waiter appeared, she giggled and ordered a Shirley Temple as though she were requesting a double shot of tequila.

  “I’ll handle the wine,” Chase announced. “I’m sure to have the most qualified palate.”

  He’s a male version of his mother, James thought and then smiled as Gillian breezed through the restaurant’s front door wearing a purple poncho over a tangerine colored sheath and enormous drop earrings that fell like silver waterfalls to her shoulders. Lindy was right on her heels, looking attractively chic and exotic in a red wool coat, slimming black pantsuit, and chunky necklace made of asymmetrical, multicolored beads. Bennett wore a blue button-down and a mustard-colored tie, but had replaced his sports coat in favor of his favorite bomber jacket. Lucy was nowhere in sight.

  “James! And Milla too!” Lindy trilled upon pretending to notice their large party. “What a surprise!”

  She quickly walked over to Milla and gave her a warm kiss on the cheek. Shortly afterward, she was kissing everyone in welcome. Even Chase seemed to warm to her effusive charm.

  “You must join us,” Milla insisted before James had the opportunity.

  Gillian waved off the invitation. “Oh, we could never intrude on an intimate family gathering.”

  Aunt Wheezie stroked her purple poncho with delight. “Are we having a party? You can sit next to me, sweetie. I like your pretty red hair.”

  Gillian beamed. “You have such a youthful aura about you. I believe I might be rejuvenated just by being in your presence.”

  Milla looked to James for help. “Would you ask the waiter to slide another table over here? It’s almost Christmas and your friends have become like family to me. I’d so love to have them eat with us.”

  James bowed, feeling a prick of guilt for enacting such a deception upon a woman who had always been the epitome of sincerity and kindness. “Anything for you, milady,” he told her.

  Once everyone was settled, the waiter bustled off toward the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine. As he poured the burgundy-colored liquid into her glass, Lindy pointed at the bottle and said, “I think we’re gonna need at least two more of those.” She turned to Chloe and clinked glasses with her. “Y’all need some cheerin’ up, right?”

  While Lindy regaled Chloe with details of her relationship troubles, Gillian asked Wheezie and Milla about their childhoods in Natchez. Chase, who guzzled down his first glass of wine as though it were Gatorade, seemed grudgingly impressed to learn that Bennett was to be a Jeopardy! contestant in a few weeks and proceeded to toss out question after question of legal trivia. Bennett refilled Chase’s glass and pretended to ponder each question as though he had never been so challenged by another person’s wisdom before.

  Each of the supper club members had previously chosen a member of the party to get to know, and James had volunteered to focus his attention on Willow. He had a difficult time concentrating on small talk, however, once the waiter appeared with their appetizers. They were served on enormous porcelain platters meant to be passed around the table so that everyone could sample each dish. There were stuffed mushrooms bathed in a four-cheese sauce, fried zucchini sticks with marinara dip, lamb ravioli in a creamy pesto sauce, and spicy bruschetta covered by a thin layer of parmesan, sun-dried tomatoes, and fresh basil.

  “Do you remember when I came to the library? You said that you might have an idea about a job for me?” Willow gently reminded James as he accepted a mushroom from the platter she held out to him.

  “Indeed I do. Excuse me, Milla.” James interrupted a conversation between Gillian and his future stepmother. “Would you mind telling Willow about Quincy’s Whimsies?”

  For the first time since receiving the news that her sister was dead, Milla’s face lit up and her eyes sparkled with animation. “I’m planning on opening a gourmet gift store in the spring. I’m going to carry handmade gifts, made by craftsmen right in our own Shenandoah Valley, and eatable gifts as well. Nothing that would compete with the Sweet Tooth or the Custard Cottage, of course. I was thinking of offering some pre-made dinners and a line of jams, sauces, purees—that sort of thing.”

  “How about handmade chocolates and candies?” Willow asked eagerly.

  Milla nodded with a smile. “Those would be an excellent addition to our inventory, my dear. I was also thinking of carrying specialized kitchen tools and cookbooks. Pretty tea towels and potholders and aprons. Oh! I can see it all already!”

  “You could make culinary gift baskets too,” Willow suggested, caught up in Milla’s vision. “Instead of sending people a bouquet of flowers for Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day or whatever, a customer could create a personalized gift basket stuffed with the recipient’s favorite candy, jam flavor, scented candle—that kind of thing.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Milla declared. “And we could make baskets of local products to sell to the tourists. I love it!” She clapped her hands. “How would you like to be the manager of Quincy’s Whimsies, my girl?”

  “Me? Really?” Willow blushed and put her hand to her chest, clearly stunned. “But you barely know me.”

  James refilled both of their wine glasses, reveling in the glow on Milla’s cheeks and the spark of hope in Willow’s pale blue eyes.

  “I know enough,” Milla declared forcefully. “You’re a hard worker, a creative thinker, and you can cook. James brought me home a fat slice of that lemon-strawberry layer cake, and I was licking my fingers for hours afterward.” She studied Willow over the rim of her wine glass. “I assume you could bake every one of Paulette’s cakes, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ve even helped her improve her recipes.” Willow looked both proud and embarrassed of her skills. “I could take over her show if I had any personality, but I don’t, and I’d hate to be on TV anyway. I really love to make things from scratch though. Fresh foods are so fulfilling, and I love the look on people’s faces when they taste something really delicious that I’ve made.”

  “I enjoy that too.” Milla smiled at Willow fondly. “That’s why I started my cooking school, so that my students could learn to put that look on those gathered around their tables. But now I’d like to surround myself with a shop stuffed to the brim with pretty things, gossiping with my customers while I sit on a stool, drinking a cup of tea, listening to the cash register ring and ring.”

  Willow sighed euphorically. “That sounds so lovely. I’d be thrilled to be a part of your enterprise. I’ll need to wrap up my life in New York and find an apartment to rent down here
first.” She looked at James from beneath her lashes. “Does Francis live in an apartment? Maybe he knows of a vacancy in his building.”

  “No. He and Scott live in an apartment in a converted garage, but there’s a brand new complex not too far from town you could check out. For the price of your Manhattan studio you could probably get a three-bedroom palace in Quincy’s Gap.”

  Willow and Milla continued to brainstorm about their future endeavor while two waiters arrived bearing their entrées. James watched with delight as the heavy platters were placed on the table.

  “Beautiful!” Aunt Wheezie shouted with glee and James felt like doing the same. Before him was an Italian feast featuring slices of veal saltimbocca slathered in brown sauce and melted mozzarella, thin pieces of chicken piccata embellished with paper-thin slivers of lemon, mounds of fettuccini Alfredo mixed with prosciutto and peas, salmon filets flavored with lemon and herbs, and lobster tortellini in a creamy tomato basil sauce.

  Having already consumed a large serving of spinach salad, James was determined to make good choices during this part of the meal, so he helped himself to a salmon filet and half a chicken cutlet. Every bite of the rich fare was delicious, and it took an iron will to steer clear of the enticing but undoubtedly fattening noodle dishes. No one else was skimping on samples, however, and James couldn’t believe how much food the party was able to consume.

  With two glasses of wine and excellent food in his belly, James was having a hard time viewing his tablemates with a suspicious eye. Even Chase, who had warmed up conspicuously due to the entire bottle of wine he drank, was joking around with Bennett as though they were old friends.

  Everyone was laughing and rosy-cheeked, and it wasn’t until James left to use the restroom that he became aware of a familiar figure sitting at the bar. Lucy was wearing a baggy gray wool coat over jeans and a black turtleneck. Her head was slightly bent and her hair partially obscured her face. A half-filled cup of coffee sat between her hands and James realized she had been watching them in the mirror behind the bar.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked without looking directly at her.

  “Since your appetizer course.”

  James felt a pang of pity for Lucy. She was utterly outside the circle of camaraderie and, instead, sat at the bar like a brooding P.I. from a vintage detective story. “Did you have anything to eat?”

  Lucy nodded. Through clenched teeth, she whispered. “Go away, James. I’ve heard a lot sitting here, and I can’t listen if you’re talking to me. Besides, someone might notice.”

  Thus dismissed, James remained in the bathroom until his countenance, flushed with injured pride, returned to a relatively normal hue. By the time he resumed his seat, the dinner party was busy sampling squares of tiramisu, miniature chocolate-covered cannoli, and slices of triple-berry cheesecake. James noticed that in his absence, fatigue and stuffed bellies had forced the assemblage to grow more taciturn, and he was relieved when the waiter finally presented the check to Chase.

  “Just tell us what we owe you, my dear.” Milla fished her wallet out of her purse. “I’m helpless with dividing up checks after only one glass of wine.”

  “There’s no need,” Chase replied magnanimously. “I’ll take care of it.” He slid a gold card on top of the check and handed the server book to the waiter.

  As the rest of the party thanked Chase effusively, aware that their meal had cost hundreds of dollars, Chloe began to sulk unattractively.

  “He can afford to be generous,” she whined as Chase’s attention was diverted when his Waterman pen rolled under the next table.

  Willow gazed at Chloe in sympathy. “I know. It’s a messed-up world when lawyers make more than teachers or firemen or animal rescuers, right?”

  Chloe nodded but was determined to be petulant. “It’s not just the huge salary he collects by ruining the lives of those wronged by drug companies. Mother’s left him all her money too. I’m totally broke, but I won’t get a dime because I didn’t follow the recipe she laid out for my life. Chase did everything she wanted, and that’s why he gets the big payoff.”

  “I guess that’s going to be a fair amount of money,” James mused aloud.

  “Royalties from her cookbooks and product endorsements alone will allow him to buy that house in the Hamptons. Now he can set up his latest mistress in style. I wonder how his wife would feel about that!” Chloe seethed, and James was taken aback by what now appeared to be a rather mercurial personality.

  Chase had overheard that last bit and colored angrily. “You and your sea cows. If you hadn’t pissed mother off at every turn and then married a loser who got so drunk that he fell off his own boat and drowned, then you’d be sitting pretty too.” He signed his credit card receipt with a violent scrawl. “Let’s go, Wheezie. We’d better take you back to the roach motel before you fall face-first into the tiramisu. Willow? I’m assuming you need a ride,” he added ungraciously, all traces of his alcohol-induced gaiety gone.

  “We’ll take her back to the Widow’s Peak,” James answered on Willow’s behalf, and Milla gave him a grateful smile.

  Straightening his tie, Chase pushed back his chair, threw his napkin on the seat, and strode from the room without waiting to see whether his aunt and sister were ready to leave.

  “Party’s over!” Wheezie declared with less energy than before, and she seemed to shrink into herself. Chloe mutely helped her aunt into her coat and then left, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

  Willow and the supper club members stood up and gathered their coats and purses. James turned around to examine the bar area and saw that Lucy was already gone.

  “Yes, the party’s over,” he said to Lindy as he helped her with her coat. “But now we’ve got a lot to talk about at the memorial service.”

  James woke on December twenty-fourth to the sound of Milla’s hand blender. He only had a half-day of work ahead of him, but with Paulette’s funeral services scheduled for that evening, he’d been hoping to eat a peaceful breakfast while finishing the last chapter of The Thirteenth Tale. From then, he planned to move sedately through a quiet day. After showering and dressing for work, he arrived in the kitchen to find Milla baking, Jackson repairing the garbage disposal under the sink, and the coffee pot empty.

  “I like your Santa tie,” Milla shouted over the whir of the mixer.

  So much for quiet, he thought.

  Smoothing a small crinkle in his holiday tie, which featured Santa and several reindeer reading a book in front of a fireplace, James held out his clean coffee cup in accusation. “You’ve been up a while.”

  “Dear oh dear,” Milla clucked. “We’ve gone and left you high and dry. Let me just get these in the oven, and I’ll brew you a fresh pot. Can I fix you breakfast?”

  James eyed the array of dirty bowls, wooden spoons, cake pans, and deflated bags of flour and sugar. “No thanks. I’m just going to toast a Kashi waffle and have some fruit. I think you’ve got enough going on here already. Are you planning to feed cake to the entire town today?”

  “Just those who show up to my sister’s memorial service,” Milla answered as she slipped two filled cake pans into the oven. “I want everyone who is kind enough to express their sympathy to have a slice of Paulette’s favorite cake.”

  “Which one would that be?” James asked as he sniffed one of the batter bowls.

  Gloomily, Milla cradled an egg in her palm. “She was my own sister and I didn’t even know. Willow had to tell me, but it’s the eggnog cake she made for the TV show last week. That woman and her eggnog.”

  Stepping forward to wipe away the lone tear cascading down the curve of her cheek, James said, “I bet the time Paulette spent with you last week made a real difference to her, Milla. Look at things this way: She flew down to Quincy’s Gap to celebrate your wedding, she was over here in the morning chatting and having breakfast, and she cooked us dinner and laughed it up with Pop. I think it’s safe to say that her last days were some of her better
ones.”

  Milla stood on her tiptoes and kissed James on the cheek. “You are a darling boy, James Henry. I’m going to come over and cook three times a week when you move down the road.”

  “I’m counting on it!” James declared, gave his soft paunch a pat, and carried his breakfast into the den. He finished the last page of Diane Setterfield’s excellent novel to the sound of Jackson releasing a torrent of expletives. Even from the safety of the den, James was able to discern that Milla dumped a bowl of refuse down the garbage disposal, having forgotten that there was no longer a canister attached to the sink. The entire contents, including raw egg spittle and clumps of cake dough, had ended up on Jackson’s face.

  “I am not a trash can!” he heard his father splutter indignantly.

  “You sure you don’t want a crepe, James?” Milla called from the kitchen. “I could scrape enough dough off your daddy’s forehead to make you one!” She chuckled. “Jackson, honey. You just got a free sugar facial.”

  James made a hasty escape while his father was in the bathroom cleaning the muck off his face, knowing that Jackson would grow even more inflamed if there were another witness to his humiliation.

  “Don’t expect to see him until it’s time to go to church,” Milla whispered and handed James his lunch sack and a thermos of coffee. “He’s determined to finish that painting of my sister’s hands before the service. I’ll be cooking him steak every night as punishment for making him fix this dumb disposal when all he wanted to do was sneak out to his shed.”