by Kay Shostak
Great, couldn’t she just stay in MoonShots? Like we don’t have enough Queen Bee juice flying around town with Missus and Gertie in full attack mode. I wad up the wet paper towels in my hand and straighten up to greet Diego’s mother. I know what she looks like from the news stories after the tornado and the media’s discovery of Jordan.
“Hello,” I say. “You must be Mrs. Moon.”
“Sentora. Mr. Moon is my deceased husband. Francie, Carly, come with Cici.” She doesn’t reach out a hand to them, but simply turns around and walks toward the door. Both children follow her. Behind them, we all share questioning looks. Okay, some are not questioning, just down right judgy.
“Ma’am?” I say, as I walk along behind the girls. She doesn’t turn around until she’s at the door. Her granddaughters stop and stand beside her. I hold out my hand. “Hello, I’m Carolina Jessup. I was watching Carly and Francie for your daughter-in-law.”
She looks past me to the counter. “Are you also the one that allowed them to eat here?”
“Well, yeah. They had a muffin and some milk.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she says, “Of course they did. Francie, did you ask as I’ve taught you?”
Francie bows her head. “No, Cici.”
I reach down to touch the bent blonde head. “She was a perfect little lady.” The girl and I exchange smiles.
Cici’s voice is ice cold. “A perfect little lady who probably just drank whole milk. Possibly straight from some cow tied out back. And I’m sure the term ‘gluten free’ means absolutely nothing here.”
Uh oh.
“Now you just wait a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Ruby says from behind the counter.
I reach behind Cici and pull open the door. “Let’s go,” I say. And I push them out the door. By time the door shuts behind me, Cici has started down the sidewalk. Francie has taken Carly’s hand, and they are following their grandmother. I catch up and take Carly’s other hand. I’m rewarded with a big grin, and it hits me like it did Anna this morning. We’re getting one of these!
We march past the bookstore/florist, and I only see Shannon inside. I don’t know where Patty and Anna are. At Moonshots, we follow the first Mrs. Moon inside.
Jordan has regained her previous polish. Her hair is slick and hanging on either side of her face. Her makeup is perfect; even her lips are lined, like you see in a magazine. She has on black pants which end in beautiful black pumps with a red sole—which means designer something, right?
Jordan stands beside the end of the counter where the new pastry case sits. She has perfect posture, and her aqua blue blouse wraps around her slim body. The color matches her eyes, which a quick look confirms to be as cold as ice chips.
Carly pulls away from our hands and runs, clapping, to her mother. Jordan smiles at her and softens her gaze. She pats her younger daughter’s brown curls. The baby is itching to be held, but no one picks her up. However, she doesn’t make a fuss. Just reaches out to lay her little dimpled hand on her mother’s pant leg. Francie and I join the two of them, but the older girl doesn’t say anything. She just stands beside me, watching. Watching everything.
Jordan, still patting Carly’s head, says, “So I see you met Carolina. She’s the owner of the local bed and breakfast.”
Mrs. Sentora turns to look at me again, this time up and down. Jeans, bushy hair, a polo shirt, and slide-on tennis shoes apparently don’t impress her. “So that’s who you are. My son enjoyed his stay at your establishment, but I believe he may have oversold its attributes.” She turns back to Jordan. “Where is the closest good hotel?” And I am not making up her emphasis on the word “good.”
Savannah, who’s been wiping tables around us, steps up to the older woman. I see attitude in the whip of her hair, the drop of her shoulders, and the lift of her chin. “Why don’t you stay here, in Jordan’s beautiful apartment upstairs, and Jordan and the girls can stay at my family’s establishment?” Good girl! I didn’t raise a self-appointed princess for nothing.
Once again, Mrs. Sentora does the up and down, but apparently finds Savannah more appealing because she actually smiles a bit. “Excellent idea. I know every cent my son put into the apartment, so it must be livable.”
So, is she saying our B&B isn’t livable? I’m now with Ruby on waiting a cotton-pickin’ minute, but before I can say anything, Diego’s mother has walked behind the counter and left the room. Again, not one word to these beautiful girls standing here, left waiting for instructions.
Jordan looks at her daughters. “Francie, you and Carly go with Mrs. Jessup, and I’ll be there later.”
Excuse me, what?! “Jordan, are you serious? I have…” Then I see the girls’ reflections in the shiny counter. No grins, no laughter, just waiting. Waiting for someone to send them on their way. “What a great idea!” I say as I look down and pull their hands to face me. “We’ll have such fun!”
They both light up and dash toward the front door.
I follow, and my heart is breaking. They don’t say goodbye to their mother, they don’t even look her direction.
They are learning the lessons taught to them well.
Chapter 31
“I’ve been put on nanny duty,” Savannah says at my frown when she comes in the front door not long after Carly, Francie, and I got to Crossings. She usually doesn’t get home for a couple more hours from work.
“By Jordan?”
She falls down on the couch. “Yep. Sent to help you out even though I don’t really like little kids. Susie Mae wanted the job, but for some reason Mrs. Sentora, the grandmother, likes me.”
Not surprised. Don’t they say royal blood outs, like the princess feeling the pea under the stack of mattresses? Or birds folding their laundry if the princess happens to be poor and has to do it herself? Peasants are to be used for things like stacking mattresses and filling bird feeders.
“Where are they?” Savannah asks as she looks around for her charges.
“Taking a nap in the Orange Blossom Special room. I laid down with them and read them a story. They went out like a light. So, you really don’t like kids?”
“Not really.” She leans up and kicks off her tennis shoes. “What are you supposed to do with them? I mean, I don’t hate them or anything, but they seem kind of pointless to me.”
She stands up and walks barefooted into the kitchen. She’s been home maybe all of three minutes, and she’s left her shoes, pocketbook, jacket, book bag and probably a bunch of hair (teenage girls shed worse than dogs) in her wake. Maybe she has a point about kids.
“Jordan say when she’ll be getting back here?”
“Oh, yeah.” She comes back into the living room as she opens a Little Debbie oatmeal pie. “They’re going to eat supper up here.”
“Who? The girls?” I think I hear something from the B&B area, so I stand up.
Savannah nods, but adds just as I’m stepping out of the room. “And Jordan and Cici.”
“What?” I lean back into the living room. “But I don’t want them all eating here. What would I cook? Who invited them?”
She shrugs and takes another bite. “Nobody, I guess. I get the feeling Cici doesn’t wait to be invited.” She reaches for the remote control and turns the TV on.
Turning back towards the B&B hall, I remember. “Wait, you go check on the girls. You’re getting paid. Besides, I have to think about supper now.”
In the kitchen, my brain is as frozen as all the food I’m staring at. I have to cook for me and Savannah and Bryan, so I can just add to that. No need for anything fancy. But corndogs? Sandwiches? Grilled cheese? Fish sticks? None of that will work. Oh, I know. Breakfast for dinner.
There’s two pounds of ground sausage in the freezer, plenty of milk for gravy, and an extra-large bag of frozen biscuits. Everybody likes breakfast, right? As I sit the sausage out on the counter to begin thawing, I try to think of who all will be here. If I invite Gertie, she’ll make the gravy. She makes amazing gravy, as we found out back
at Christmas. And Will or Anna need to stop by the store and bring home another dozen eggs.
As I move around the kitchen, I realize I’m smiling. I’m kind of happy. Not sure why, but not going to fight it. Then Savannah shrieks, “Mom!” from the B&B hall.
She meets me in the dining room. “The little one pooped. It’s on the sheets.” She shudders and gags. “It’s so gross.” She turns and heads straight for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “You get them,” she says as the bathroom door closes.
I turn right and the girls are sitting in the bed, looking up at me. Big eyes and solemn faces. They look scared to death. I roll my eyes and grin. “That Savannah, she’s just a big baby, isn’t she? Scared of poop.”
Carly grins and shouts, “Poop!”
Francie shakes her head and frowns at her little sister. “We don’t say words like that.”
I walk to the side of the bed Carly is sitting on and put my face next to hers, so we are both looking at her sister. I whisper, “Poop, poop, poop.” Carly giggles and whispers the same thing.
Francie thinks for a minute, then half-laughs. “Carly is a poop monster.”
Carly frowns, but I tickle her under her chin and ask, “Are you a poop monster?” We all laugh, and then Francie sees Savannah standing at the door. Sounding more like her grandmother than ever, she demands, “Are you scared of poop?”
Even Savannah has to laugh at that. I take Carly into the bathroom as I give instructions for Savannah to strip the bed, which really didn’t have anything but a tiny stain, and for Francie to bring me Carly’s bag from the living room.
Clean and fresh, the tiny girl is a perfect bundle of snuggles as I carry her into the kitchen. I think examine the B&B calendar in my head as we pass through the B&B hallway. The Southern Crescent room is open, but only for one night. Tomorrow we have a couple coming who are staying in that room through the weekend, so hopefully Cici will be headed back north because the Orange Blossom Special room is also booked out.
Responding to my texts earlier, Gertie has arrived and is changing clothes in the Chessie room, which she now shares with Patty. Now, that Patty’s apartment above the bookstore is Andy’s bachelor pad. Gertie has her hold on the Chessie room until after the double wedding, which is why I have no problem asking her to come make gravy.
I set Carly in one of the kitchen chairs, and she immediately scrambles up to her knees so she can see into the bowl of eggs Francie is stirring on the corner of the table. It’s a big bowl, with only three eggs in the bottom of it. Someone here knows how to keep a little one occupied without too much risk.
Patty is slicing sausage patties and laying them in a frying pan on the stove. Moving to look out the French doors to the deck, I watch Anna peeling apples and entertaining several bees. She looks as if she doesn’t realize the bees are there, she’s thinking so hard. Somehow, I don’t think she’s focusing that hard on peeling apples. Poor thing.
Will makes a racket as he comes in the front door with a grocery sack in his hand. He lifts it toward me. “You texted me to pick up eggs?”
I meet him at the couch, take the bag, and say, “I need to talk to you. On the porch.” I put the bag with two cartons of eggs beside Patty on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
A wave of heat hits me as I open the front door. “Wow, it feels even warmer than it did earlier.”
My oldest pulls at his dress shirt. “I’m not sure how I’m going to handle the sweat on the car lot this summer. I was soaked through by time I left at five. It was church night, so the dealership closed early. What do you need?” he asks as he sits in the farthest rocking chair, the one from which you can see the train bridge and the river.
I sit down next to him. “Anna was distraught this afternoon. Did you talk to her?’
He squints. “Yeah, some. Guess her grandmother was really getting to her. But she’s fine now.”
“Really? She’s fine?”
He shrugs, dismissing the question. “Yeah. So, it looks like there’s a crowd for dinner. Who all’s coming?”
“Jordan, and her mother-in-law is in town with Jordan and Diego’s little girls. And Gertie and Patty. Gertie’s making gravy.” I shake my head and get back on topic. “You know, Anna seemed to be upset seeing Jordan’s littlest one, Carly. She’s a toddler. Honey, Anna’s had to deal with a lot all of a sudden, facing becoming a mother.”
“Mom, quit worrying. She’s fine. She’s tough. Believe me, this is what she’s always wanted.” He stands up. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes, and I’m starving.” The open door lets out the smell of sausage cooking before he finishes talking, and he’s gone before I can say anything else.
“Everything’s fine, and I’m starving.” Sounds like the title for a bestselling Husband Manual. I think of the sub-title grimly, as I stand from my rocking chair: “How to never have sex again.”
Anyone surprised to learn Cici thinks biscuits and gravy is disgusting? Or that she’d never seen gravy that color? Gertie was just as unimpressed with my frozen biscuits. Anna didn’t get the apples cooked enough and put in too much cinnamon and no sugar, so they weren’t really edible. She went crying upstairs. Jordan declared the entire meal unsuitable for her girls to eat as she pointed around the table: starch, starch, fat. Starch, starch, fat. Her own version of duck, duck, goose, I believe. She gave the girls scrambled eggs only and that was okay until Francie remembered that eggs are baby chickens. She then also cried. Carly then cried because, well, she’s two, and the only one with a valid excuse, in my opinion. Will, Savannah, Bryan, and I ate well until Jordan barked at Savannah that she wasn’t being paid to sit around stuffing her face when the girls needed to be bathed and put to bed.
Cici then demanded that that was Jordan’s job, that since she obviously couldn’t run a coffee shop, her contribution to the Moon family was only the children. Yes, she used the word “only” when referring to her granddaughters, as though they were an afterthought. Luckily, they were crying, so they didn’t notice.
Jordan left with the girls in tow. Savannah shrugged and got up to follow them saying, “I’ll give her a hand.”
Still at the table, Will pushes another piece of sausage into the middle of another biscuit and nudges his little brother. “Let’s go finish our video game.” He juggles his dishes in his other hand and dumps them in the sink, somehow without breaking them. Bryan chugs the rest of his glass of milk, carries his dishes to the sink, then follows Will downstairs where they’ve rigged up a TV and game system in the basement.
Gertie gets up from the table. “I did most of the cooking. Lets me out of cleaning.” She also takes her plate and sets it in the sink to join Will and Bryan’s before heading to the living room. She groans as she settles on the couch. The dulcet tones of the TV soon follow.
Cici looks around the table and kitchen. “If I may ask, are there any apples that were not destroyed in the making of that mess?” She points with her nose, which luckily is quite pointed, at the full bowl of dark brown apples. “An apple would hold me over until I get back to town to get something to eat.”
Patty shakes her head. “Mrs. Moon, there ain’t nothing to eat in town. Unless you’re talking about that frozen pastry stuff in MoonShots. I don’t even think Jordan has any food in her place. She’s not real good at shopping.”
The older woman closes her eyes. “I should take my granddaughters right this minute and leave this place. It’s really not fit for… never mind. I’ll go, I’ll go to say good night to the girls and then someone can give me a ride back downtown.” She does not take her plate to the sink or even push her chair in.
So, it’s Patty and me for clean-up duty.
Hopefully, no one is surprised.
Chapter 32
“They left yesterday. Ordered some big black car from Atlanta, which pulled up in front of MoonShots. Cici instructed Carly and Francie to climb in, then she joined them, and the car drove away. That’s what Savannah told me last night,” I say i
nto the phone to Laney. “Did you even get to see them? Where have you been?”
“Duh, in Collinswood at my real job. Everything over there is really coming together.”
“Really?” I ask, because I can’t believe Susan hasn’t told her we went over there, so it’s hard to say anything more.
“Yes, really. It’s beautiful, and I’m loving it.”
“How are you feeling?”
Then she bites my head off. “Fine. I feel fine. Why? Do you think I don’t look fine?”
I sigh. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Guests are coming out of their room. And I think you look fine, it was just a simple question,” I say and then hang up before she can accuse me of anything else.
Our new guests are coming out of their room, but I do have a couple seconds to think that I don’t really know if Laney looks fine, because I’m trying to remember the last time I actually saw her. Also, it wasn’t a simple question. I mean, her employer had to take her to the hospital, for crying out loud. Of course, I’m not supposed to know that.
“Good morning,” I greet our guests. “Did you sleep well?”
The couple are both young, mid- to late twenties. The husband, Brad, points to the coffee pot. “Can we help ourselves?”
“Sure,” I say, “but let me pour you the first cups. And there are muffins from Ruby’s, a local bakery. Cream and sugar are there on the table, too.”
His wife, Deena, takes a saucer from the stack and pulls it in front of her. “They look delicious. You said yesterday Ruby’s is downtown? But she’s only open in the mornings?”
I nod. “Unless she wants to open some other time, but that’s purely on her schedule. We also have a MoonShots, and there’s a Chinese restaurant out by the grocery store. We usually suggest going into Dalton for dinner. And feel free to use our refrigerator if you want to buy any snacks or drinks. We’re pretty casual here.”