Chancey Jobs (Chancey Books Book 4)

by Kay Shostak

  Patty holds up her coffee cup and says, “I tried to tell her, but she said I was crazy.”

  “Give it here,” I say, grabbing the cool blonde’s wine glass. I take it to the coffeepot in the back of the florist shop and dump the wine in a Bank of North Georgia mug. I also grab an empty coffee mug and walk back to the bookshop area. “You can’t just sit out here drinking. You want folks boycotting the store?” I hand the dark blue mug to Jordan and look around. “Where’s the bottle, though? I’ll join you. It is Friday, after all. And it’s been a really long week. Hard to believe graduation was a week ago tomorrow, and since then we’ve had a tornado!”

  Jordan takes a small drink. “I can taste coffee. But I agree on it being a really long week.”

  Patty points to behind the sales counter, and so I drop my purse on the couch and walk around the counter. Bending down, I pull out the cork and fill my mug, whose logo has mostly washed off, so I don’t know who provided it. “Well, maybe you’ll come up with something new to sell in your store. Coffee-laced wine.”

  “I don’t understand. We’re adults. It is legal to have alcohol here, right?” Jordan asks as she takes another sip.

  “Legal, yes. Smart for business, no. You just never know when somebody is mad at their mother-in-law, or their husband, and since she can’t take it out on them, she starts a boycott of whoever lands in their sights.”

  Jordan is wearing black pants and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. It fits her perfectly, and even I can tell it didn’t come from Target. She stands up, and she doesn’t have to struggle out of the chair. She just unfolds, holding her mug in one hand and swishing back her hair with the other. “Thanks for the glass, or should I say, mug of wine, Patty. But I really prefer a wine glass, so I’m going up to my place.”

  Laney sticks her head in the door. “Carolina, you ready to go?” Then, when she spots Jordan, she comes all the way inside. “Hey, Jordan.” She only misses a moment before adding, “Hey, Patty,” in the same singsong voice. “Did I interrupt Friday happy hour?”

  Jordan looks down in her mug and shrugs. “So, if even in mugs everyone knows we’re drinking… never mind. I was just leaving.” She picks up her wine glass from behind the counter heading toward the back door.

  “How does a margarita sound?”

  Jordan stops, then shakes her head before turning around to face Laney. “Sounds pretty good. But I can’t go out anywhere. Press is still lurking around, I’m sure. Especially can’t be seen out having a good time. Thanks, but no thanks. ”

  Patty and I just watch. Laney is used to getting what she wants, and what she’s wanted all week is Jordan. Laney is fascinated with this celebrity dropped into our midst, and this is the first time since the news story, Tuesday evening, that Jordan has appeared anywhere else than behind the counter at MoonShots. Speaking of lurking, Laney has done her share.

  “Oh, no. Restaurant margaritas can’t compare to my homemade ones. I have all the makings at my house. We’re having a girls’ night. Right, Carolina? And it’s a perfect night to sit out on the porch and watch the sunset over the mountains. I’m even driving. That’s my car parked right there at the curb.” While she directs Jordan’s sight out the window, she walks to her, takes her mug and wine glass, and sets them behind the counter. “I also have some delicious fish tacos all ready for assembly. My daughter Angie is quite the cook.” As she adds, “Do you like grilled mahi mahi?” Laney slips her arm around Jordan’s arm and starts walking to the door.

  Jordan pulls back, but then takes a step forward with Laney. “I love grilled mahi mahi. I’m so tired of frozen meals. Are you sure it’s all right? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  Laney moves a little faster. “Oh, no. I was just coming to pick up Carolina. And, oh yeah, Patty, too.” Behind Jordan’s back Laney motions for Patty to get up and come on.

  Before I leave my coffee cup behind with Patty’s and Jordan’s, I finish my wine. Then I find my phone I’d left earlier and was stopping in to pick up. Laney had told me since we missed Cinco de Mayo last week due to graduation, we’d be celebrating it tonight. I left Jackson and Missus in charge of our new guests, ready for a girl’s night out.

  Maybe I should call TMZ.

  “Shaw is restricted to his den. He has the Braves on, and Angie made him beef tacos. Doesn’t it smell divine in here? Angie, honey, we’re home.” Laney leads us into the house, across shiny wood floors with wine red rugs. The walls and most of the wood work is white. The woodwork that isn’t painted is stained dark-brown. There isn’t a curtain anywhere. Big windows with the original glass are open to the crickets and sunset-bruised light. Set on old family property, there are no neighbors to look in the bare windows.

  “Hey, y’all,” purrs Beau Bennett as we turn the corner into the kitchen. “I’m just watching Angie do her magic. And I took the liberty to have a shot of tequila. Hope there’s still enough for the margaritas.”

  “Of course there is. Beau, you’ve met Patty, right? Do you know Jordan?”

  Beau tips her head and her bangs, ringlets of red, fall across to lie in a line along the side of her face. Like her niece, Brittani with an I, the red hair marks her as a Bennett. However, unlike Bryan’s friend, Beau’s hair is short in back and cut perfectly to lie smooth to the nape of her neck. A good haircut is the best advertising when you own the only beauty shop in town. “Ah, no, we’ve not met. I don’t drink coffee, so I haven’t been into your shop. Welcome to Chancey.”

  I sit on the stool beside Beau. I like her and refuse to let her family connections to my son’s heartbreak matter. Much. I say, “Beau owns Beulah Land, the local beauty shop.”

  Jordan smiles and stretches out her arm to shake Beau’s hand. However, her smile is tight and does nothing to take the suspicion in her eyes down a notch. Patty is watching everything from her spot beside the door. Laney acts like there’s plenty of tequila, but I’m not sure there’s enough in the whole state of Georgia to make these two beautiful, tall divas chill out.

  “Here we go.” Laney’s next words are drowned out by the sound of the blender. On a lower speed, we can hear her explaining she’d mixed the margaritas earlier and stuck the pitcher in the freezer. “Just needs a little blending. Carolina, can you rim the glasses with salt?”

  “No salt for me,” Jordan says.

  “Then you get yours poured first,” Laney says as she fills the heavy glass, rimmed in cobalt blue. Beau plops limes in after Laney fills each glass.

  “A toast, and then we can go outside. Angie, honey, call me when you’re ready for us to eat.”

  Angie hasn’t said a word, but she nods at her mom and sneaks a peek at Jordan.

  I ask, “Angie, do you need any help in here?” She shakes her head and again takes a quick peek up. “Have you met, Jordan? I know Jenna and Savannah have met her since they’re working at MoonShots.”

  Another shake of her head, and so I introduce the two. Angie finally looks up and Jordan meets her eye. “Oh, you work at the grocery store. Right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am not old enough to be called ma’am.” Jordan’s voice is sharp. “Please!” erupts from her, not as a request, but a statement of disbelief.

  Angie blinks and then looks at her mother.

  Laney laughs. “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s a term of respect. Not of age.”

  Jordan doesn’t give an inch. “Well, it’s rude.”

  The words Laney wants to say shuffle about on her lips, but she stretches her lips into a wide smile and lifts her glass. “Now, what shall we toast?”

  I sneak a sip and then say, “I thought we were celebrating Cinco de Mayo?”

  “That we are. To Cinco de Mayo! Wonder what that actually is about?” Laney asks.

  Patty has yet to pick up her drink, but she has moved closer to the rest of us. She mumbles, “It means the fifth of May. Some historical date for something that happened in Mexico.”

  Laney nods and licks a bit of salt from h
er glass rim. “Sounds about right.”

  We lift our glasses and then have to wait for Patty to pick hers up. She is so uncertain, so hesitant, but finally she lifts it up and pushes it towards ours. We take a sip, and the party moves out to the porch.

  “If all of you are okay with drinking, I don’t understand why it’s not okay to have a drink after hours in your own shop,” Jordan says as she pulls out a chair.

  “Here, Jordan, you don’t want to have your back to the sunset.” Laney says as she pulls out a chair at the back of the table, facing out. “You are our guest, sit here.”

  Jordan shrugs. “I don’t care. Nature isn’t really my thing.” And she sits in her original chair, back to the sun and mountains.

  Beau, from her perch against the railing, smiles big, and a smirk plays around her lips. Laney looks a bit hurt, and Patty, well, she looks like she always does.

  I settle into my chair, facing away from the sunset, and then, since no one else is saying anything, I jump in to make it all okay. “It’s just that there’s a lot of folks around here who don’t drink and don’t think anyone else should either.”

  “But the view here is really pretty. I hate for you to miss it,” Laney pushes. She’s still standing over the offered seat. Being a gracious hostess is hard to suppress in a Southern girl. Especially when you’re intent on becoming someone’s very best friend and confidant.

  Jordan sighs and settles farther back in her chair. “Really? I’ve seen the sunset on the beach in Bali, the docks of Santa Monica, and from the peaks of the Italian Alps. I don’t believe I’m missing a thing.”

  Okay, now nobody’s smiling. Laney sits down, and Jordan takes a long drink. Just like that, she reduced our world to next to nothing.

  Beau shakes her head full of red curls back and rolls her shoulders as if to loosen them. She has on a white tailored shirt and skinny jeans. She’s tall and lean even after having four children. She laughs often and big and is usually surrounded with her four little ones, so it’s easy to forget she used to model. But with that shoulder roll, she put on her modeling persona. Her eyebrows arch, along with her back, and she seems even taller.

  “Bless your heart,” she says and her accent is still Southern, but echoes Missus’ matriarch mode. “Too bad they didn’t give lessons on manners along with the plane tickets to those big ol’ exotic places.”

  Jordan looks up from her drink and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Okay, I’ll move my chair around. Don’t want to be rude.” She sighs again and stands up. Patty jumps up to help her and they get the chair turned part of the way.

  We drink and watch the solid gray clouds take over the sunset, which never gets a chance to display any color. (Of course this would happen, seeing how Laney made a fuss about it, and Jordan was so put out about it.) Laney is strangely quiet and Beau is still in ice mode. Usually those two can be counted on to carry a conversation. Guess I’ll have to instead. Sheesh, now my Southern hostess genes are kicking in.

  “So, Beau, how old are your kids? All in elementary right?”

  Beau clears her throat and thaws a bit. “Gabriel is in fifth, and Michael is in third grade. Angel is my only girl—she’s in Kindergarten. Only Raphael isn’t in school yet. My mama keeps him, and he’s only three.”

  Patty’s mouth is hanging open, and her brow scrunched up. “Wait, she says. “Those are all angel names, right? Well, and Angel, of course.”

  “Yes, they are. I figured I’d keep with the family tradition of picking religious or heavenly names.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember.” I nod and point at her. “You told me about your aunt’s names and why the shop is called Beulah Land, and you turning Beulah into Beau for yourself.”

  She smiles and takes a sip. “Yes, all that and then Victoria’s Secret came out with the angel campaign and I thought that would be appropriate. They always were my favorite employer.” She takes a sip and says nothing else.

  This time, Jordan is the one to break the awkward silence. “Victoria’s Secret? Guess the kids should be glad they didn’t end up named bustier or thong. So, did you work in or manage one of their stores?”

  Beau laughs at Jordan’s joke, but her eyes don’t appear to find it quite as funny. “Oh, no. I modeled for them. It was before the Angels. I did make the covers for three of their catalogs.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Angie says through the open window near our table.

  Jordan stands up. “Really? A Victoria’s Secret model? That’s, um, cool.” As Beau walks around the table toward the door, Jordan looks her up and down. “Kudos on keeping your figure. Guess you got married and moved back home? That’s nice.” (Though it doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s nice.)

  Beau pulls the screen door open and looks back at the four of us. “Oh, I’ve never been married. I don’t really care for men.” She looks Jordan up and down and then lets the door fall behind her with a bang.

  Patty pushes her chair in. “Then how did she have all those kids?”

  Chapter 15

  “If I have to hear one more time how much better everything is in Chicago, I will kill him and then burn down this house to hide the evidence,” Missus says between clinched teeth as she places yellow cloth napkins on the tables covering our deck on Sunday morning, Mother’s Day.

  Following her, I’m placing silverware on each napkin. It’s a beautiful spring day for the first ever Mother’s Day brunch at Crossings, and the sky is so blue, it looks artificial. A light breeze makes the weeping willow beside the river sway back and forth. “Well, he and his wife are leaving this afternoon. You know, running a B&B means being nice to people just because they pay you. They don’t have to be nice back.”

  “I must say, I never fully appreciated what you do here. Of course, you’re so comfortable in the background you probably have no problem listening to people spout idiocy day in and day out.”

  “Maybe I don’t think it’s idiocy,” I say under my breath, but apparently not enough under.

  “Of course it’s idiocy! He’s never stopped from the moment they arrived. ‘Everyone down here talks so slow and moves so slow.’ ‘And since when did ‘Hey!’ become an appropriate greeting for everyone at any time?’” She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “Of course, I would agree with him on that, except who made him judge, jury, and executioner?”

  “Hey. Y’all ready?” Savannah asks as she comes out onto the deck.

  Missus looks at her and shakes her head. “What have I told you about that?”

  Savannah looks down, missing which particular thing Missus is now donning judge’s robes for. “What? This skirt? I’ll keep my legs together. For crying out loud, the preacher isn’t just waiting for me to not sit all proper, so he can look up my skirt. Besides, there’s like a pew in front of me.”

  Missus tightens her lips, and ignores my daughter, as she struts past her, head high, and goes inside to vent about whatever she feels needs it next.

  “I think you look pretty. Don’t you think we’ll look good sitting together since its Mother’s Day? Our colors kind of match,” I say as I point down to my navy and white print dress, then to her navy skirt, topped with a green and white shirt.

  “It’s not the same shade of navy,” she dismisses me, then turns to glare at the French doors. “Missus is so aggravating. She’s been a real pain this weekend. She came into my room without knocking. Didn’t knock at all. She’s moving down to the B&B rooms today, right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Savannah looks around at the tables covered with white cloths, yellow napkins, and waves a hand. “So how long do I have to stay at this thing?”

  “Why?”

  “Nothing. Will and Anna are coming, so it won’t be horrible,” she says with a sigh as she folds her arms and goes back inside.

  Happy Mother’s Day to you, too.

  Church on Mother’s Day has changed since I was growing up. There are a couple of red boutonnieres signifying the wearer’s mother is still
alive and a bigger smattering of white carnations or roses pinned to lapels and dresses which signify the death of a mother. “Red to honor, White to remember” is what I grew up hearing. You can see it’s a tradition left primarily to the older people in church today. I’d honestly forgotten about it until I saw the flower wearers on our walk from the parking lot.

  But lack of flowers is not the only change. All women are being honored today, and I like that change. Years ago, a friend announced she and her husband were going to start a family. Back then we all assumed all you had to do was decide, then do it. It was awful to see the sadness in her eyes each time I shared our news of a baby on the way. So, yes, it’s a good change.

  At the end of the pew sits the newest mother to be, and she’s ours. Anna just turned eighteen, and I can’t look at her without feeling my stomach swirl. She has no idea how hard this all is. When I look at her I feel sadness in the pit of my stomach, and I try to not look at my son who knew better. I can barely keep from strangling him. If I think long about it, I can’t help but believe he took advantage of her. Sure, he loves her. I guess. But she’s a kid with no family, no solid footing. I’ve seen too much to think this can’t turn out fine. But I’ve also seen too much to honestly believe it will turn out fine.

  Our preacher has a nice soothing, Mother’s Day tone, so my mind keeps wandering. Next year this time, there will be a baby in their arms. A baby. A real-life, let see, how old will it be? Five months. A five month old. “Oh, Lord,” I breathe out and drop my head. It didn’t begin as a prayer, but while I’m here…

  “Child, as tiny as you are, you’ll be showing in no time. Ain’t that right, Shermy?” Gertie Samson booms across the deck.

  And even Gertie Samson can’t dim the smile on Missus’ face. She has Peter and FM on one side, and Anna and Will on the other. Will, my son. Mine. Shouldn’t he be at my table on Mother’s Day? But the tables aren’t large enough for us all to be at one. So I get two of my kids, neither of which is happy about being here. Savannah wants to be at work, and MoonShots being open on Sunday is something I have to discuss with her. Bryan is mad because he was invited to Mother’s Day lunch at Brittani’s house, and I said no. Who invites another mother’s child to their home on Mother’s Day? Jackson is preoccupied with work; some derailment is messing up his plans on the job site.