by Ann McMan
So far, things were working out just fine.
Celine had been ecstatic when Maddie made a late afternoon visit to her bungalow and told her what she was planning.
“It’s about damn time,” her mother said.
“You know—I could say, ‘Et tu, Brute?’”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. It’s not like you aren’t still a candidate for this.” Maddie made a playful smirk. “We could make it a double-truck, and save big on the cheese straws.”
“Cheese straws?”
“Yeah. You know.” Maddie made little curlicue gestures with her index finger. “Those great little baked cheese cracker things that are ubiquitous at these events? They’re usually on a silver platter next to the bowl of mints.”
Celine gave her a withering look. “I know what cheese straws are. Although I constantly marvel at how you fell heir to such an eerily unsophisticated palate when your father was a near-gourmet cook.”
“Who knows?” Maddie shrugged. “I think my aptitude for appreciating the culinary arts was stunted by the boiling of one too many cream sauces.”
“You don’t boil cream sauces.”
“I rest my case.”
Celine rolled her eyes.
“So, Mom?” Maddie got down to the point of her visit. “I was wondering about something. And it’s perfectly okay for you to say no.”
“You want to give Syd Oma’s ring?”
Maddie blinked. “How did you know I was going to ask about that?”
“You mean apart from the fact that you’ve been fiddling with your ring finger ever since you got here?”
Maddie looked down at her left hand. “Shit.”
Celine reached across the table and patted the top of her daughter’s hand. “It’s okay, honey. Mothers know things.”
“You sound like Syd talking about Henry. It’s like she has this x-ray vision that allows her to see into his psyche.”
“That’s a pretty accurate description of how it works. Although I’d venture to guess that Henry is far less transparent.”
“Less transparent?” Maddie squinted her eyes. “Are you suggesting that I’m more transparent than a child?”
“Let me think about it . . . yes.”
“Jeez, Mom. Take all the time you need.”
Celine laughed at her.
Maddie sulked.
“Don’t sulk, Maddie. It’s bad for your posture and it leads to premature sagging.”
“Sagging?”
“Oh, yes.” Celine nodded. “Fortunately, there is now a whole range of over-the-counter enhancements that can remediate the gravitational effects of aging.”
“And you know about this because?”
“Bert and Sonny tend to listen to a lot of talk radio. At first, it annoyed me. But after a while I became fascinated by the sociocultural insights the amusement offered.” She took a sip of her tea. “One should never shy away from a learning experience.”
“As I am discovering this very moment . . .”
“But to answer your unasked question—yes, I’d be thrilled for you to offer Syd Oma’s ring.”
“Really?”
Celine smiled at her. “Yes. Really.”
Maddie struggled to conceal her excitement before realizing that she didn’t need to conceal it at all.
“I’m happy,” she said. It was a simple statement, but it perfectly summarized her feelings.
“I know you are. And I couldn’t love Syd more if she were my own daughter. And seeing you this happy makes me happy.”
“That matters to me, you know. I want you to be happy, Mom. In every way.”
“Well. I’m a work in progress.” She waved a hand at their surroundings. “Just like this old house.”
Maddie looked around the newly up-fitted kitchen, where they were seated. “I’d say you’re both holding up pretty nicely.”
In typical fashion, Celine ignored the compliment. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you about,” she said. “Why now? Not that any time wouldn’t be right because you two are so perfect together—but why now—so long after the Supreme Court ruling removed all legal barriers?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like we haven’t talked about it—of course we have. I guess neither of us thought it would change anything about how we defined ourselves as a couple—as a unit, so to speak. I mean, previously, Syd was necessarily a bit gun-shy from being so recently divorced—even though she understood that the circumstances for that were entirely different. Still. It’s a big thing for any two people—regardless of the social or political implications.”
“All of that is still true,” Celine agreed. “What changed your mind?”
Maddie laughed. “You wanna know the truth? I think it was Gerald Watson.”
“The mayor?”
“Yeah. How about it?” Maddie shook her head. “Something inside me clicked that day in the parking lot at Aunt Bea’s. For the first time in my life here, I had to confront how dearly bought everything I’d always taken for granted was. Our sweet, sleepy town has changed—just like our world has changed. None of the rules we used to play by are being followed anymore. And people like Watson? They’re popping up in positions of power all over the place. It’s like living in a monster-sized game of whack-a-mole. You knock one down—and ten more spring up. Each of them more frightening than the last. So why not cleave together with the ones you love and make what may well be your last, best stand against the gathering storm?” She absently stroked her bare ring finger. “I love Syd—more than I ever thought possible. And not only do I want to show it—I feel an obligation to honor the depth of my commitment to her in every way possible. Now. Publicly. While I still have the means and the right to do so.”
“That’s quite an answer.”
Maddie smiled at her. “I’ve had some time to think about it.”
“I’m happy about this, Maddie. For both of you.”
“Aren’t you making a wild assumption that she’ll say yes?”
Celine narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I feel certain that I am. When do you plan to do this?”
“If Syd’s in agreement, I was thinking of having the ceremony before the end of the summer—maybe even invite everyone in town—make it a kind of public event? See if we can’t help goose business at the inn a bit. Watson has really eaten into their profits this year with all his efforts to short-circuit the gay wedding industry. And, by the way,” she winked at her mother. “You’re welcome to bring a plus one.”
“Nice try.”
Maddie laughed. “Think I can ask Henry to be my best man?”
“Of course. But what about David? Won’t his feelings be hurt if you don’t ask him to stand up with you?”
“I was thinking about asking him to be my maid of honor.”
“Ah. Good plan.” Celine smiled. “Henry will look adorable in a tuxedo.”
“Oh, no,” Maddie held up a hand. “No tuxes. No gowns or leisure suits. No powder-blue ensembles or wrist corsages for the mothers-of-the-brides. Strictly casual.”
“You’re making a lot of suppositions, here. What if Syd wants something different?”
“She won’t.”
“You sound awfully sure about that.”
“Mom,” Maddie smiled at her. “I’ll be lucky if she lets me wear pants—much less anything else.”
“Well, you do have great legs.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. I was trying to ignore the picture in my mind’s eye.”
“Of course you were.” Maddie got to her feet. “So. I have to head back to the clinic. Wanna give me the ring?”
“I will as soon as I find it.”
Maddie looked crestfallen. “You don’t know where it is?”
“I know generally where it is—but it’ll take me a while to unpack it.”
“But, I w
anted to ask her this weekend.”
“Don’t pout, dear.” Celine stood up, too. “I’ll be sure to find it and bring it to you on taco night.”
“Oh.” Maddie brightened up. “That’ll work. Give me a heads-up when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you at the car. I can hide it in my workbench in the barn.”
“Good plan.” Celine hugged her.
Her mother was right. It was a good plan. And when you had a good plan, you didn’t need to strategize.
Now, she just needed two things: She needed Syd to say yes—and she needed the three capricious Fates who seemed to make a career out of thwarting her best-laid plans, to take an extended holiday and cut her some richly deserved slack.
She was fairly certain about the first part.
It was that second part that always came with a floating decimal point.
◊ ◊ ◊
Syd agreed to meet her brother in a public place because she knew meeting him in private would make it impossible for her to resist the temptation to kill him.
They agreed to connect at Freemantle’s Market for an early lunch. They weren’t alone in that idea, either. The place was jammed. Curtis and Edna had their hands full running the register and handling all the deli orders—although she did notice the dearth of boiled ham. Curtis gave her an energetic wave with his bandaged hand when she entered, and pointed toward the back of the market where an uneven line of small tables snaked around stacked towers of Cheerwine and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Tom was already there, watching the entrance and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Syd was surprised to see Byron Martin and Charlie Davis seated back there, too—huddled over their table in deep conversation about something.
Two minutes after Tom and Syd returned to their table with their hot dogs and drinks, it became clear that Tom wasn’t much in the mood for eating—or for polite conversation.
“She dumped me,” he said without preamble.
Syd barely managed to bite back her immediate response—which was to smile and say “good.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t feel sorry for her brother. She did—kind of. In the same way you’d feel sorry for someone who stupidly lost their car because they kept leaving it parked with the keys in the ignition.
Feeling genuine empathy for Tom was difficult because he had acted like such an unrepentant jerk—and it was hard to keep from reminding him that he had only himself to blame for his present distress. Whenever she did feel tempted to take it easier on him, she simply channeled their mother. Where selfishness was concerned, Janet Murphy took no prisoners. If she’d known anything about her son’s recent behavior, the heat and force of her indignation would’ve singed the hair off his head—and he’d probably still be walking with a limp.
The long and the short of Tom’s dilemma was that Lizzy had cut him loose with little ceremony and less discussion—presumably because of his “epiphany” after her miscarriage. Tom explained that he had gone to see her and shared that he’d undergone a revolution in his thinking about their future. Suddenly, he was ready to make a lasting commitment to her—starting, of course, with an immediate offer to rekindle their physical relationship.
Profoundly. Bad. Timing.
It was no surprise to Syd that his professions of attachment were met with more outrage than skepticism. Tom said that Lizzy had actually slammed her front door in his face and told him to keep his hands—and all of his other parts—the hell away from her property.
“Why would she say something like that to me?” he fumed. “I’m not some low-life intruder.”
Syd understood Lizzy’s double entendre right away, and took pains to clarify it for her brother.
“Sex, Tom. She’s talking about sex. The kind you won’t be having with her.”
He looked baffled.
“Work with me, okay? Her ‘property’ in this context, means her ‘body.’ In simple terms—she’s saying you ain’t gonna be hittin’ it anymore.”
He blinked. “I don’t get it. Why not?”
“Really? Do you seriously not understand that?”
He threw up his hands. “I guess not.”
Syd sighed and looked around the market for inspiration.
Byron and Charlie were still in earnest conversation about something. Byron caught her eye and gave her a wink.
Natalie and Rita Chriscoe were there, too. They were seated at the table just beyond Charlie and Byron—beside the giant vending machine that dispensed scratch-off lottery cards. As usual, Natalie was sporting a flashy-looking nail job—but this one looked elaborate, even for her. Her fingertips were alive with an explosion of starbursts and brightly colored stripes. Syd recalled Jocelyn telling her that Buddy had shown the manicurists at Hairport ’75 a technique for making intricate designs using car tape. This had to be some of their handiwork.
It was pretty impressive.
Cheetos were on sale. Fifty one-ounce bags for $16.99.
Maddie probably had already laid in stores for the winter . . .
Edna was restocking cigarettes. She wondered if David was still sneaking out to buy stealth packs of Camels.
“Hello?” Tom snapped his fingers. “Anybody home?”
Syd looked back at him. “I’m sorry. Was I ignoring you?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Tom? The only advice I can give you right now is to step back and give Lizzy some space. She’s just been through a very traumatic experience—emotionally as well as physically. You need to respect that—and you need to respect her.”
“I do respect her.”
“I’m sure you think you do—but showing up at her door and offering to hop back into the sack is not the best way to demonstrate the depth of your attachment.”
Tom’s face colored. “It wasn’t like that. I said lots of other stuff, too.”
“Yeah? Well maybe the other ‘stuff’ needs to be expressed without any caveats.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Tom flopped back against his plastic chair. “You might as well be speaking a foreign language.”
Syd ran a hand through her hair. This was getting them no place. It was time for a different approach.
“Tom? Let me ask you something. Can you imagine a future with Lizzy in your life?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Of course, I can.”
“Okay. Now answer another question. Can you imagine a future without her?”
This time, he didn’t have a ready response. He dropped his eyes and stared at their uneaten lunch.
“Give her some space, Tom. And give yourself some time to think about the things that really do matter—things that have nothing to do with your next booty call. Maybe then, she’ll know that you’re approaching her for the right reasons, not simply biological ones.”
He still didn’t reply. He sat there plucking at the cardboard boat that held his hot dog.
“Tom?”
He looked up at her. Syd could tell he was trying not to cry.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
He nodded.
“For right now, that’s enough. Just sit with that for a while. You don’t need to do anything else.”
“Could you—” he began, before Syd cut him off.
“Absolutely not. I made the mistake of interfering once before. It was unconscionable on my part. A complete violation of professional ethics and of Maddie’s trust in me. I won’t do it again. Ever.”
He sighed. “Okay. I guess I understand that.”
She reached across the table and squeezed the top of his hand. “The one thing we haven’t discussed is how you feel about Lizzy’s miscarriage.”
They both jumped at the loud noise made by a stack of boxes toppling to the floor.
Byron Martin leapt to his feet to avoid being clobbered by a cascade of Red Velvet Oreos—also on sale this week. But that wasn’t the only threat. The cookie display had been knocked over because Gerald Watson had exploded into the market, and surged over to Byron’s ta
ble like an angry tide. His narrow face looked pinched—and, even from a distance, Syd could see thick, purplish veins sticking out on his forehead.
It was clear to everyone in the place that he was mad as hell—and he wasn’t trying to conceal it.
“Don’t think for one minute I don’t know what you and your little minion here have been up to at Whitetop,” he bellowed at Byron, while shaking a bony finger at Charlie.
Byron held up a restraining hand. “Mr. Mayor, I suggest you calm down. If you need to speak with me about something, we can step outside.”
“I don’t think so, Sheriff. The citizens of this town deserve to know what you’ve been doing to thwart justice and interfere with due process.”
Byron folded his arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Watson.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Watson whirled to face a stunned-looking Charlie Davis. “How about we ask Barney Fife, here? Maybe she can fill us in on how her little girlfriend knew we were planning an INS raid at the tree farm this morning? And when we got there, they were mysteriously short-staffed. A well-timed outbreak of the Spanish Flu.”
Charlie’s eyes grew wide. She looked at Byron and quickly shook her head.
“What’s the matter, Barney?” Watson spat out the words. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it’s just tired from all the extracurricular workouts it’s been getting during your romantic trysts on the county bookmobile?” He shot a contemptuous look at Syd. “Not that we could expect our local librarian to care. After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
Syd was stunned. Watson was plainly unhinged. Everyone in the market was riveted to his tirade—including Roma Jean’s parents.
“Okay.” Byron dropped his arms. “That’s enough. Either you zip it—or we can continue this conversation downtown.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me, Sheriff. I don’t need any lectures in proper behavior from someone who spends his nights tomcatting around with an over-the-hill pornographer.”
Byron’s eyes blazed. Charlie quickly stepped between the two of them. Syd saw her grab hold of Byron’s arm—probably to prevent him from clocking the mayor, who still sported a hint of bruising along his jawline from Raymond’s right cross.