At the Corner of Love and Heartache

by Curtiss Ann Matlock

  Just then he recognized the woman at a table across the room.

  Vella?

  Naw. That wasn’t Perry across from her. It was some guy with dark, steely-colored hair. Wore a turtleneck with his sport coat. Fashion plate.

  He looked again at the woman. Sure looked like Vella. That was Vella’s exact new haircut.

  Certainty hit him hard. It was Vella.

  Just then, he watched the man reach over and take Vella’s hand.

  And, possibly because he was staring at her, Vella’s head came around, and she saw him. She looked surprised. He wished he had looked away earlier, but since he had not, he gave her a nod.

  It might not be at all what it looked like, he told himself, taking a sip from his water glass to give himself something to do. And even if it was, it wasn’t any of his business. But Vella had to be a durn fool if she thought just because she was up here in Lawton, someone from Valentine wouldn’t see her. He sure wished it hadn’t been him.

  He had drunk half his glass of water before he realized.

  Franny returned. “Tate must be at Marilee’s…. I left a message. No need to disturb them. Those two don’t hardly get a minute to themselves. Would you mind if we took time for coffee? I hardly ever drink it, but I do like this mocha.”

  He said fine. He was trying not to look in Vella’s direction.

  But then here she came, making a bead on their table. She came head-on in that long stride of hers, with her escort coming right behind her.

  Winston stared at her when she stopped and said, “Hello, Winston…Franny.” Then she proceeded to introduce the man as a Lawrence Somebody—Winston didn’t clearly catch the last name. “Lawrence is landscaping my backyard. I’m havin’ raised beds, a flagstone patio with a pergola, and a pond.”

  “That sounds right grand, Vella,” Winston said, while observing that the Lawrence fella had his hand on Vella’s elbow, like she was his. He wasn’t a day over fifty-five, either.

  That Vella and Franny were apparently quite good friends surprised Winston, who understood that Franny had only been in town since Tuesday night. She and Vella chatted a bit about the new washer and dryer that Marilee had received from her ex-husband. The ex-husband being around was news to Winston, who began to feel he was missing a whole lot. That was what happened when a man got old. He either missed things, or people overlooked telling him.

  When Vella and her man friend left, Winston said, “Vella’s married.”

  “I gathered that,” Franny said, and smiled blandly. “One would think you are jealous, Winston.”

  Startled, he found himself gazing into her twinkling green eyes. “No, ma’am. I’m enjoyin’ the company of a beautiful woman right this minute, and I’m smart enough to know when I’m in tall cotton.”

  She laughed gaily and asked if he would like to go home by way of the lake, which she had heard about. “Perhaps you could direct me, darlin’?”

  Good heavens, she was flirting with him.

  Eighty-eight years old, but he wasn’t dead yet. And if he got excited so much by Franny that he had a heart attack, he would die happy.

  The headlights of Lawrence’s Cadillac spotlighted Vella’s Land Rover, which was parked in the black-topped lot outside his shop.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Lawrence,” she said, even as she opened the door to slide out of the seat. She had to hold herself back from running to her vehicle, jumping in and racing off. She was acting like a fool.

  But Lawrence got out quickly and walked her to the Land Rover, took the keys from her hand and opened the door. He was such a gentleman.

  “I thank you for your company tonight, Vella.”

  Before she knew what he was about, he bent and brushed her lips with his.

  “Oh.” She started to duck into her vehicle, then paused and turned back to him. There were moments in the life of a woman her age that weren’t likely to come around again.

  She lifted her lips, and his met hers. It was a full, deep kiss, and when they parted, her eyes opened reluctantly and she swayed just ever so slightly.

  Placing a steadying hand on his chest, she leaned over and whispered her age into his ear.

  His acceptance of the knowledge with such equanimity—a mere soft smile and murmur that she was a very attractive woman—caused Vella to wonder if he was actually that unconcerned, or if she looked every inch her age, so he had not been fooled from the beginning.

  Trembling, she quickly averted her face and slipped behind the wheel of her vehicle.

  “I’ll be down in the afternoon. Two o’clock,” Lawrence said, before shutting the door firmly.

  Allowing herself only the barest glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she drove the Land Rover out of his parking lot and back to Valentine, driving with both hands on the steering wheel, praying with fervor, although her prayer came out something like: ohmygod, ohmygod.

  Thinking that she had to speak to someone, she drove to Marilee’s house. It wasn’t very late, barely eight-thirty. She could always talk to her niece. Marilee had been there for her last year, when she had gotten all messed up and left Perry flat. She did not want anyone to solve the confusion for her, but she just wanted to talk to Marilee. Probably Marilee would be shocked. Maybe she shouldn’t tell Marilee about a possible lover. Leaving Perry was mild compared to the thought of getting into an affair. Marilee could really be strict about such things.

  No, she could not tell her, Vella decided, as she pulled to a stop in front of Marilee’s cottage, where warm light glowed from the front windows.

  She gazed at the house for some moments, debating about going in at all. Loneliness fell over her like the darkness outside, and she thought of how simply touching Marilee always brought comfort. It always had, she reflected, hooking the strap of her patent leather purse over her arm and striding up the walk-way. Perhaps that was why so many people seemed to come to Marilee and lean on her. And now here she, Vella, the elder and usually strong one, was coming to do the same thing.

  Jerking her shoulders up straight, she told herself sternly that she would simply have tea and discuss the wedding arrangements some more. That would give her time to get her emotions straight before she had to go home and sleep beside Perry.

  Then, just as her hand went to the knob, some-thing—some sound, some change in light—arrested the action. She looked left and saw the light from the window had dropped. Faint strains of music…sultry…George Strait singing a love song…reached her.

  She stepped to the window and peered through the glass to see Tate and Marilee at the far end of the room, silhouettes lit from behind by light falling through the kitchen doorway. They danced, moving slowly, intimately.

  They kissed.

  Vella stared for a long moment, her throat growing thick and her chest filling with longing. Once upon a time, so many years ago, she had done the same with Perry.

  And dear God, she longed for such a time with a man again, she thought as she turned from the window.

  Would this longing never end? She had tried to have a relationship with Perry, but he had locked most of himself away for forty-five years and could not open up to her. She understood this and did not blame him, yet she so wanted a man with whom to share her heart…her being.

  She would not intrude on Tate and Marilee’s precious time. This was the sort of times a couple needed to have and to build on in order to open themselves to each other. If she had understood that reality forty years ago—even thirty years ago—and acted upon it, maybe she would have something with Perry now.

  Or maybe not. Perry was such a lump, she thought, without rancor, as she went quietly down the porch steps.

  Just then, here came a black Cadillac pulling into the driveway, swinging in wildly, stopping short behind Marilee’s Cherokee. Norma Cooper, her small head sticking up behind the steering wheel.

  Vella knew instantly that some crisis had befallen Marilee’s mother; Norma never came down, and most definitely not at
night, unless she needed something from Marilee.

  Stepping out with determination, Vella headed for the Cadillac and met Norma struggling to get out of the seat.

  “Marilee is busy right now, Norma. She and Tate are finally havin’ some time alone.” Vella was tall enough to look down at the top of her ex-sister-in-law’s head.

  “I need to talk to my daughter.” Norma slammed the car door.

  Vella, who noted with a bit of surprise that Norma appeared very stylishly dressed, blocked the woman’s path. “Your daughter is busy with her husband-to-be. Don’t go in there and interrupt them with whatever you have on your plate this time. Is it Carl?” No wild guess; Norma’s problems always revolved around Carl.

  The petite woman stretched herself as tall as possible, looking up at Vella. “It is none of your business. This is something I need to discuss with Marilee.”

  She moved to step around Vella, who sidestepped and blocked her way.

  “Norma, if you go in there and bother them, I will tell Marilee about all the men you slept with after her daddy killed himself. I will tell her of the clarinet player you ran off to Dallas with.”

  She saw this was not fully getting the effect she wished. In fact, Norma said, “What have you been drinkin’ Vella? You are nuts. Get out of my way.”

  The woman shot out a hand to push Vella aside. Vella held her ground as hard as any lineman. “I’ll tell Carl about your private account in the Citizens Community Bank. I believe it’s up to fifteen thousand dollars now. At least it was last month. Where did you get all that?”

  Norma stopped, her mouth flying open. “How do you know about that?”

  “Oh, Norma, nothin’ in Valentine is secret.”

  Norma reached a hand out to the Cadillac fender. “I’ve got to talk to Marilee. Carl got arrested for public drunkeness. I don’t know how to get him out. Marilee always helps me with this.” Her voice broke.

  Vella, experiencing only the slightest twinge of pity at the woman’s distress, nevertheless closed her mouth against the initial comment that as many times as Carl had been bailed out of jail for drunkenness, Norma ought to have the procedure down pat. Instead she looked at the facts—Norma never had been able to do a darn thing for herself; it was too much to expect miracles now.

  “I’ll help you, Norma. All we have to do is call a bail bondsman. Come on. I’ll follow you up to your house, and we can make the call from there.”

  She made certain Norma was in her car and headed in the right direction before getting into the Land Rover and following. Once more on the road, both hands on the wheel, it occurred to Vella that she had taken a rather distorted tack about being so protective of Marilee.

  It had been about herself, she realized. In that moment of looking in the window at Marilee, she had looked back at herself and seen clearly all her mistakes and regrets at things left undone. It did not seem the wrong things done that caused such regret, but more the opportunities and desires that had gone undone.

  She had no right to criticize Norma for her silliness, she decided, keeping her eyes focused on the red taillights of the black Cadillac. First get the beam out of her own eye.

  Vella, always confident about handling details, took care of securing Carl Cooper’s release all by telephone from his own kitchen. “He’ll be out and headed home in half an hour,” she told Norma when she replaced the receiver.

  “Will it be in the newspaper report?”

  “Carl is not some state senator or somethin’. There’s no way to stop him being listed along with all the others.”

  “Oh.”

  Wearily Vella took up her patent leather purse once more, wondering at how, only a few short hours earlier, she had been dining with a most handsome and charming gentleman who was not her husband. A woman of her age. She felt every inch her years right at that moment.

  “Well…” Norma rubbed her arms, trying to bring herself to say thank you to this woman, her dead husband’s sister, who had always been a royal pain in her side. Amenities were required. And when it came to the choice of humbling herself to either her daughter or Vella, she found it easier with Vella, who had, after all, blackmailed her into this, so Vella owed her the effort to get Carl released.

  Norma opened the back door and said the required, “I appreciate your efforts, Vella.” She wanted Vella gone now. She just wanted everything to be over.

  Unfortunately, in that instant, Vella took note of Norma’s tone of voice, which was not at all thankful. She looked at Norma and had a vague recollection that she could not name, but that prompted her to say, “Norma, you have treated Marilee as if she were responsible for you from the day she was born, as if you were the child instead of the mother. Stop it. Let her have her life now, with Tate.”

  “Well, I never…”

  “I know you haven’t, and it is time you did. Grow up.”

  Leaving the woman looking as if she wanted to hit her, Vella walked out into the night, to her invincible Land Rover, which always gave her a sense of power to drive. In fact, for an instant, when she turned on the headlights and saw Norma’s Cadillac in front of her, she had to resist the strong urge to drive right over the black car.

  What had happened to her, Lord? Why had she turned so mean? She tried to feel remorse and ask forgiveness, but did not succeed. She might regret speaking frankly to Norma in the morning, but she thought not.

  She sighed deeply, having the inner knowing that this confrontation with Norma had not come on suddenly. She had wanted to say what she had to the woman for at least thirty years, ever since she saw Marilee living an uncertain childhood.

  Then a deeper knowing came on her. Norma had reminded her of her own mother. Vella had been mother to her own mother, to her brothers and sisters, onward to two daughters, one who had not left home until the age of thirty, when Vella had pushed her out, and even then, Belinda had gone only as far as the apartment over the drugstore.

  And, somehow, to her own husband, Perry, God love him, she had also become mother, rather than wife. After forty-five years, this was ingrained and unchangeable, leaving her feeling a hole in her being, where a full woman should be.

  Maybe some things needed to be said, she decided. Maybe hard things had to be said by tough people. She could not change things for herself, but maybe what she said would help Marilee…and Norma, too.

  At home, Vella found Perry asleep in his recliner in front of the television. She regarded him and felt a sense of tenderness, for which she was very glad.

  She touched his shoulder gently. “Perry…come on up to bed. You’ll get a backache if you sleep here. Here, sugar, let me help you up…there you go.”

  There was nothing like realizing one was not perfect to bring on the peace of true humbleness. Vella spent a long time that night, propped against her rose-print covered pillows, watching the moonlight make a pattern on the walls, listening to Perry snore beside her and apologizing for her sins.

  She was not, however, one bit sorry for what she had said to Norma Cooper.

  Sixteen

  State of grace…

  Marilee awoke with traces of a lingering dream that she could not fully remember, but that reignited her desire to surprise Tate by appearing in his kitchen, in the Victoria’s Secret nightgown, first thing in the morning.

  She had regretted ever since the previous week her botched intentions in this endeavor and kept feeling the urge to give it another try. It was an inner struggle, one voice urging her to open wide and risk, the other voice advising her to keep to the narrow way of caution.

  This moment the voice of daring dominated, however, and she flung back the covers with a sense of purpose. She needed to follow romantic desires, she thought, in order to practice being a romantic woman. She really felt she would forever regret it if she did not follow through.

  Quite quickly, she splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, creamed up, added a dash of lipstick and pinned up her hair in an alluring disarrayed manner.


  As she was getting into the nightgown, the roar of her neighbor’s truck blasted through the early-morning silence.

  If the roar awoke her children, then that would be an indication from God that her endeavor was foolhardy, she thought, as she tiptoed past the children’s door—although what good was it to tiptoe, after that roaring blast that was still fading down the street?

  Munro and the new kitten were curled on Willie Lee’s bed. Neither moved, nor did the lumps beneath the covers of the two beds, for the long seconds that Marilee watched.

  Fully encouraged, she went back to her bedroom, slipped quickly into her trench coat and tall cowboy boots, and, as an afterthought, hung long silver earrings at her lobes. Long dangling earrings always made her feel sexy. A cautionary voice hissed in her mind, and she shoved it in a closet and glided through the house and out the back door, then across the yard to the gate that seemed to open magically with her first touch. In fact, it swung open with such ease and quietness that she had to wonder about it and looked around her for evidence of angel beings.

  Perhaps the gate had been affected by her confidence, her new thrill and delight at allowing a self deeply denied and buried to come out and shine forth.

  If Franny were in the kitchen, she thought, she would simply say, “Excuse me, I’ve come to make Tate’s coffee and entice him a little bit.” Or something equally as bold.

  Tate’s kitchen was empty. She was relieved.

  She listened. No sounds. She went to the cabinet, located the tin of coffee, and prepared the coffee-maker. As it gurgled, she again listened closely to hear if someone might be stirring upstairs. All was silent.

  This was perturbing. Her gaze located the clock on the wall; it was old and yellowed, displaying the time as ten after six.

  She couldn’t stay here long, waiting for Tate to appear. Her motherly instincts were beginning to tug, haranguing her for having left the children unattended and coming up with all sorts of dire predictions of what could happen should she not be her normal vigilant self.