Scots on the Rocks

by Mary Daheim

  “The Joneses will definitely come with us?” Judith asked.

  “So it seems.” Joe removed the lid from the lager and eyed the deviled eggs Judith was sprinkling with paprika. “May I?”

  “Just one.” From overhead, Judith could hear some of the guests stirring. Four of the six rooms were occupied—not a bad number for a Tuesday in early March. “What about dates?”

  Washing down a bite of egg with the beer, Joe strolled over to the calendar on the bulletin board. “That’s tricky, since we don’t know our destination. The third week of March would work. But,” he added, “the bet’s still on, so nothing can be firmed up.”

  Judith shrugged. “We can’t force Mother to say what each of us wants to hear. Maybe,” Judith said, avoiding Joe’s gaze, “we should have made a different kind of bet.”

  Joe chuckled. “You’re waffling. You know I’m going to win.”

  “Well…given Mother’s history, the odds are in your favor.”

  “You bet they are,” said Joe.

  But, Judith thought smugly, Joe didn’t know the deck was stacked against him.

  The rain stopped during the night. Wednesday, the third of March, dawned with mostly blue skies and only a thirty percent chance of rain. Of course the local forecast changed approximately every half hour. As a native, Judith trusted her instincts, not the meteorologists.

  When her cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, arrived, Judith informed her that the plan for the day would be slightly altered.

  “I’ve asked Joe to help clean out some stuff from the garage,” Judith explained, “so I won’t have time to fold the laundry when you get done. Leave it in the pantry and I’ll get to it later.”

  “Later?” Phyliss’s beady eyes scrutinized Judith. “It’s later than you think. Saint Peter’s going tick-a-lock with those pearly gates for me even as we speak. I’m poorly. Very poorly.”

  Judith feigned sympathy. “Really? That’s a shame. Maybe you should take the day off to see a doctor.”

  Phyliss’s eyes practically bugged out. “Are you serious? You think I’m…terminal?”

  Judith shrugged. “You know your own body. You’ve had so many close calls that I’m hardly surprised if The End Is Near.”

  “Well.” Phyliss swallowed so hard Judith could see her Adam’s apple move on her scrawny neck. “I might be able to last the day if I take my tonic.”

  “Good idea.” Having dismissed her cleaning woman’s latest bout of hypochondria, Judith headed outside to find Joe in the backyard, swinging a golf club.

  “Where’d you find that?” Judith asked.

  “In the cupboard on the side of the garage,” Joe replied. He took another swing. “There’s almost a complete set. They aren’t mine.”

  “They belonged to my father,” Judith said. “He golfed. The clubs must be seventy years old.”

  “They’re not exactly the latest graphite type,” Joe noted, looking up at the gray clouds that were gathering overhead. “It’s going to rain. We should put off this job until afternoon. Or tomorrow.”

  “No.” Judith’s tone was unusually sharp. “I mean, it could rain until the end of June. We’ll be in the garage most of the time anyway.”

  Joe looked resigned. “So what should I do with these clubs?”

  “Get rid of them, I guess. Bill used to golf once in a while but he hasn’t done that in years.” She paused. “Let me show them to Mother. Did you find Mike’s Louisville Slugger yet?”

  “I saw it in there,” Joe replied. “Does he want it back?”

  “He might—for the boys,” Judith said. “Our grandsons are getting old enough to play ball.”

  “Okay.” Joe handed Judith what looked to her like a club that might be some kind of iron. He went back to the garage; she hurried to the toolshed.

  “Mother,” she said, “it’s time to strut your stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Gertrude retorted, looking glum. “My stuff lost its stuffing a long time ago. What’s with the golf club? Are you going to beat me with it if I don’t do whatever I’m supposed to do?”

  “It’s part of the set that belonged to my father,” Judith said, showing the club to her mother. “Remember?”

  With a tentative hand, the old lady reached out to touch the club’s shaft. “Oh yes. I remember,” she said softly. “He was no Bobby Jones, but he tried. And he never cheated like some golfers do.”

  “Ah…that’s true. My father was the soul of integrity.”

  Gertrude nodded. “More than you can say for some.” She shot her daughter a sharp glance. “Well? What do I say when Lunk—”

  “You say,” Judith interrupted quickly before Gertrude could finish the derogatory nickname, “‘Way to go, Joe.’”

  “Huh. Okay, help me to the door. I can do it from there, can’t I?”

  “Sure.”

  After getting Gertrude positioned in the doorway, Judith went back outside and retrieved the baseball she’d found in the garage and hidden under a fuchsia bush by the toolshed. Joe was coming from the garage with the baseball bat, an infielder’s mitt, and a pair of badminton rackets that needed to be restrung.

  “I assume,” Joe called to his wife, “you’ve given up smacking the birdie around.”

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “Toss those rackets. My hip has benched me. See if you can hit this.” She cocked her arm to throw the baseball.

  “Whoa!” Joe cried. “Let me put this other stuff down.” He noticed Gertrude watching from the toolshed door. She had been joined by Sweetums, whose big orange and white body was curled up at the old lady’s feet. “Hi there, pussycats,” he said.

  Gertrude didn’t say anything. Sweetums yawned.

  Judith lobbed the ball to Joe. He swung and missed. “Oh, come on,” she said with a smile, “you can do better. How do you expect to coach Joe-Joe and Mac when they start Little League?”

  “That was too low,” Joe complained, picking up the ball and tossing it to his wife. “It was so far out of the strike zone that it practically grazed my ankles.”

  Judith tried to put more oomph on the second throw. Joe connected. The ball sailed off to the left, narrowly missing the statue of Saint Francis of Assisi.

  Gertrude leaned forward, watching the ball land under a rhododendron bush. “Way to go!” she cried as Judith held her breath. “Way to go,” she repeated. “Good swing…Biscuit Pants!”

  Joe stared at Gertrude. “What did you just call me?”

  “Biscuit Pants,” Gertrude repeated. “Lou Gehrig’s nickname.” She looked at Judith. “What are you staring at? Lunkhead’s foul ball?” The old lady tottered precariously as she turned to go back to the toolshed.

  “Mother!” Judith shouted. “Wait!”

  Joe raised his hands, making a Churchillian victory sign. “I win!”

  Judith barely glanced at him as she hurried to steady Gertrude. “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed. “You ruined everything!”

  Gertrude took a couple of deep breaths and glared at her daughter. “I ruined you, that’s for sure!”

  “That’s what I…how do you mean?”

  With Judith’s help, Gertrude hobbled to her armchair. “By not raising you right,” Gertrude said in disgust. “For setting a bad example.”

  Puzzled, Judith eased her mother into the chair. “I don’t understand.”

  Gertrude let out a big sigh. “Didn’t I teach you never to cheat?”

  “Ah…yes.” Judith grimaced.

  Sadly, Gertrude shook her head. “But you cheated today. You pulled a shenanigan. No matter what I’ve done, I won’t have it.”

  Still not sure what her mother was talking about, Judith sat down on the arm of the small sofa. “You didn’t do anything. I mean, you called Joe by the wrong name and then referred to him as—”

  Gertrude waved a hand. “Hush! I…” She started to cry.

  “Mother!” Judith got up and put an arm around the old lady’s shoulders. “You what? You haven’t been yourself la
tely. What is it?”

  Tears slipped down Gertrude’s wrinkled cheeks. She took a handkerchief from her housecoat’s sleeve. “You better hear the worst.”

  Judith hugged her mother gently. “Tell me.”

  Clearing her throat, Gertrude made a swipe with the handkerchief. “Two weeks ago at SOTS bridge club.”

  Judith recalled helping Gertrude get into Angie Mazzoni’s car for the card game with Our Lady, Star of the Sea—or SOTS, as the parishioners were more familiarly known. Afterwards, Gertrude had seemed glum even though she’d won the quarters.

  “Go on,” Judith urged when her mother fell silent.

  “You know what a blowhard Mary Clare O’Malley can be,” Gertrude finally said. “Bossy, too. On the last hand, she bid a small slam. I was pretty sure I could set her—if I knew if she was finessing on the second trick. She was bragging, and I hate showing off. Anyway…” Gertrude made a wretched face. “I peeked at her hand. She was finessing, so I played my high card and she went set, doubled and redoubled.”

  “That’s it?” Judith said in obvious relief.

  Gertrude scowled. “Isn’t that enough? I’ve never cheated in my life! Granted, she was waving her cards around along with her big mouth, but even so, I had to lean a little to see them all. I don’t know why I did it. I’ve been sick inside ever since. I’m probably going to hell.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Judith said with a laugh and another hug, “don’t be so hard on yourself. Mary Clare is a pill.”

  “That’s no excuse for what I did,” Gertrude insisted. “I feel like I should give back the quarters. They came to three dollars.”

  Judith patted her mother and stood up. “You probably sensed she was finessing. I’ll bet you’d have played that high card regardless.”

  “Don’t mention ‘bet’ to me,” Gertrude snapped. “And then you do the same thing—cheat. I couldn’t believe it, even if it meant you’d lose to Knucklehead. I couldn’t go along. What was that all about anyway?”

  Judith sighed. “It was a silly wager about the names you call Joe.”

  Gertrude stuffed the handkerchief back into her sleeve. “So? He should be used to it.”

  “He is,” Judith said. “It’s not a big deal. The winner gets to pick where we go on vacation.”

  Gertrude looked worried. “You’re going away? Where?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Judith said. “Not too far. Joe wants to fish.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “We haven’t decided,” Judith replied. “A week or so.”

  Gertrude grew thoughtful. “The Rankerses are coming back from California in a couple of days, right?”

  Judith nodded. “I’m sure Carl and Arlene will take wonderful care of you. They always do.”

  “You bet,” said Gertrude, and bit her lip. “Forget I said that. No more bets. Arlene and Carl are fun. They treat me right.”

  “I know,” Judith said, grateful as ever for her next-door neighbors. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked as Sweetums seemed to appear from nowhere and jumped up onto the back of Gertrude’s chair.

  “Well…maybe.” She smiled faintly at Judith. “I guess it’s true. Confession’s good for the soul.”

  Judith had no intention of admitting to Joe that she’d attempted to sway the wagering odds in her favor. But her husband had seldom been fooled by liars and cheats during his career as a police detective.

  “Nice try,” he remarked as Judith entered the garage.

  “It was…sort of a…joke,” Judith said lamely. “Besides, Mother’s been down in the dumps lately. I thought it might cheer her up.”

  Joe chuckled. “You’re a wonderful liar, but I’m not buying it. I’m going to call Bill after I finish this corner of the garage. We need to firm up our plans ASAP.”

  “So where are we going?” Judith asked, wondering why they’d kept a rusty old lawn mower that must have belonged to Grandpa Grover.

  “It’s a secret,” Joe replied. “We want to surprise you and Renie.”

  “Can I have a hint?”

  Joe wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag. “No.”

  “Oh, come on!” Judith begged. “Renie and I have to know something about our destination or we can’t pack the right clothes.”

  Joe thought for a moment. “You get three questions.”

  “Is there a beach?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Good. Ocean view?”

  He nodded again.

  “Quaint shops and restaurants close by?”

  A third nod confirmed Judith’s hopes. “Great!” she exclaimed, and kissed her husband’s cheek. “How soon do we leave?”

  Joe frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. A week, maybe two.” He shook a finger at her. “No more questions.”

  “That’s fine,” Judith agreed. “I’m going inside to make sure all the guests have left and to check on Phyliss. I’ll be right back.”

  But the first thing Judith did was to call Renie. It was well after ten o’clock, and her antimorning cousin should be up and fairly alert.

  “It’s not a sinus infection,” Renie shouted into the phone. “It’s my damned pollen allergies. Stop fussing, Mom. I’m naked.”

  “I hope you’re inside the house,” Judith said calmly.

  “Of course…Coz? Oh,” Renie said with relief, “I thought you were Mom calling me for the third time already this morning to make sure I don’t have a terminal sinus infection. She woke me up the first time at nine. I wanted to sleep in longer than usual because I went to the opera with Madge Navarre last night. It was Verdi’s Don Carlo—the uncut version. It was great, but I was really tired by the final curtain call.”

  “Sorry I bothered you. Do you want to get dressed?”

  “I didn’t want to get undressed,” Renie responded. “I was cozy in bed in my nightgown, but when Mom called—and you know Bill, he never takes calls—I had to answer it because I’m always sure that one of our three children who live in far-flung places is hanging by his or her thumbs from a steep cliff over shark-infested waters.”

  “I’ll make this quick,” Judith said, hearing someone on the main stairs. “I lost the bet, but I’m almost certain I know where we’re going.”

  “Going? Oh—the supposed trip. Where?”

  “Dana Point! Just what I wanted! You will come, won’t you?”

  “Well—if Bill wants to. I assume he does if he and Joe have been hatching plans. But I’m not sure we can afford any big expenditures. If only Bill wouldn’t have such hard luck with his inventions. If he could ever sell one, we wouldn’t be semi-broke.”

  A month earlier Renie revealed that Bill had been spending part of his retirement not just counseling a few of his longtime mental patients, but also dreaming up inventions. He was embarrassed about the activity, especially since every time he tried to find a backer for ideas such as his circulating hospital mattress and lightweight collapsible Rollo-Bag for shoppers, he discovered they were already patented.

  “Excuse me. I just heard the postman.” Renie hung up.

  Judith smiled as she set the receiver on the dining room table. She hoped Renie would remember to put on some clothes before she went out to the mailbox.

  After bidding farewell to her departing guests, Judith found Phyliss in the living room about to turn on the vacuum. “Moses and I are ready to roar,” the cleaning woman said with an eager expression.

  “Wonderful,” Judith remarked, smiling slightly. Phyliss referred to the vacuum as Moses, and pretended she was parting the Red Sea or leading the Israelites out of captivity. “If you need me, I’m in the garage.”

  “All I need right now is Moses,” Phyliss declared, turning on the vacuum. “On to Mount Horeb! We want to see that burning bush!”

  Judith went back outside. As she helped Joe finish cleaning the garage and then attended to her other routine chores, she dreamed of California’s warm sun, sandy beaches, and fine cuisine.

  The dream kept her going
all through the busy day and into the evening. During the night she woke up once, thinking she could hear the soft surf caressing the pristine sands. The sound was only the rain pattering on the windows. She smiled, rolled over closer to Joe, and went back to sleep.

  2

  The rest of the week passed quickly, but that following Monday as the wind picked up and the rain slanted down, Judith’s mood turned sour. Joe had told her they’d be leaving in a couple of weeks, but he hadn’t mentioned a date or anything else about his plans. Judith had alerted Ingrid Heffelman about the need for a B&B sitter. Ingrid had been cantankerous, though she’d agreed to find someone reliable. Monday afternoon, Ingrid had called to confirm the dates. Judith was unable to tell her anything concrete. Ingrid had hung up in a huff. Judith didn’t blame her, but Joe wasn’t forthcoming. He merely went around the house humming and looking pleased with himself.

  “At least,” Judith said to Renie the next day as the cousins met for coffee at Moonbeam’s on top of Heraldsgate Hill, “the Rankers are back from California, so Mother is taken care of. Thank heavens she’s in a better mood since she unburdened herself about the bridge game.”

  Renie sipped her mocha and nodded. “I’ve rounded up the usual suspects to watch over Mom. She’s convinced we’re going to some ghastly place where we’ll need shots and mosquito netting and get kidnapped by white slavers.”

  Judith blew on her espresso. “Bill hasn’t let anything slip?”

  Renie shook her head. “You know how tight-lipped he can be. Bill’s the only person I know who could withstand any kind of torture before revealing a secret. Even threatening to make homemade soup for dinner won’t get him to open up. He’s very strong.”

  Judith recalled many years earlier when Renie had made soup—for the last time. One of their children had thrown a dirty gym sock in it, hoping to improve the flavor. Renie had taken the hint.

  “But,” Renie went on, “I’ve got the tax stuff in to our CPA, I’m winding up loose ends with my graphic design business, and I’m virtually packed. So is Bill, but I can’t tell what he’s taking because he locked his suitcase and probably swallowed the key.”