Wild Raspberries
Page 19
Lizbeth’s bluster rolled over Callie. When Jack’s sons arrived to hear his decision to move, she hadn’t known that their parents did not present a united front. But she should have suspected. Dan and Gary turned their backs on Jack. For weeks, she did her best to keep his hopes up, always feeling unequal to the task. Over on Brahms Way, Arnett skated through unscathed. Until now.
. . .
Beebe had to admit that her unbridled nosiness set off the catastrophe that chased Lizbeth into Baron. As Beebe drove the caucus, she was now behind the wheel of Lizbeth’s Tahoe. She snatched Lizbeth’s keys from her hand after she flew around the cabin, full of fury and flinging the F word.
The connection Lizbeth sheared off for Arnett without a second’s thought was evidently a separation Lizbeth could not endure herself. Its effects crawled over her like a flesh-eating disease: Mother was driven to speak with son; Chad was the cure.
The job ahead of Beebe was to ease Lizbeth to an emotionally stable environment where she automatically reached inside herself for the strength she needed. Even an innocent four-year old would soon begin to feel the pressure his mother transferred to his small shoulders if she continually turned to him to soothe her rattled nerves.
Lizbeth was not ready to hear any of the counselor’s rationalizations. At this juncture, forgiveness and acceptance were too much to ask of the woman who sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, mumbling to herself.
Beebe had not, in her wildest dreams, suspected a prior allegiance between Callie and Arnett. But, why the hell not? That secret was out, and quite frankly, its ragged truth snapped airtight into the rough chasm, gaping open, in this incredible story. It fit so perfectly that Beebe would walk over the passage without fear of tremor or collapse.
She pulled into the library’s parking lot. Not that Lizbeth would go inside for a social media link, but simply because the library had become Lizbeth’s standard place for communication home. Both women got out. Lizbeth’s phone immediately chirped its shortcut tones. Beebe left her alone and strolled east on Armament through a residential area of older two-story homes surrounding an elementary school on a large lot, one side loaded with gnarly, brittle trees.
Along the way, she considered how Lizbeth was a casualty of her own peace summit. From there, the theme played out through a quote she read once: In war, patience is a weapon.
Beebe definitely had the war, but not the luxury of patience. That weapon lay outside her reach. She had the deadline of her own family situation bearing down. She hoped she wasn’t too battle-weary when she arrived home in Michigan.
With forty-five minutes driving time in each direction, Beebe and Lizbeth walked back through the cabin door nearly two hours after they left. Arnett sat in the living room, Redbook in hand. Lizbeth stiffened and stared Arnett down. Callie would have gotten the same treatment, but her door was closed, and Beebe assumed she was behind it. Lizbeth announced her plans to take a sleeping pill. The haughty comment, directed at Arnett, let her know that the assurance of sleep would sever Lizbeth’s connection to her mother-in-law if only for a little while.
Beebe heard Callie in the night. Sleepless again. She made chili and cornbread. Beebe was up at seven. The kitchen was clean, and the salt shaker anchored a note to the table. Her hackles went up when she read that Callie took off to play golf on “a course that Jack built.” Callie encouraged sightseeing for her cabin mates, pointing to Sarah Prosser for suggestions and directions. With nothing to do but accept Callie’s unauthorized absence, Beebe sighed, then went for a walk, searching for comfort in the mountaintop cemetery.
For the last two weeks, she hoped her father would open his house to her upon her return. She remembered trundling after him into a sea-level cemetery. Her earliest memory was being five years old and holding her father’s hand. Stars twinkled above his head as she looked up to his long, lean face. His voice carried a melodious quality. There was nothing to fear in the cemetery. Instead of her father releasing her hand in order to close the cemetery’s back gate, it was Beebe’s hand that pushed open the front gate to her West Virginia refuge. There, Beebe was infused with the same satisfying peace that filled her every Monday morning when she stepped into the empty sanctuary of whatever church had been in her charge.
She moved forward slowly, awed by the visual image before her. Except for the green grass on which dewdrops frolicked in the shafts of sunlight straining through bordering pines, it appeared as if someone photo-shopped the scene to black and white. Beebe made two passes through the small graveyard. By the time she let herself out, she thought a day of sightseeing would distract her from the waiting. She spoke with Vincent the day before, outside the grocery store while Callie shopped. The anticipated fax should arrive any day.
On her downhill plod from the cemetery, it occurred to her that there was more at stake than a day of sightseeing. There was another gash to close between mother—and daughter-in-law before either would ride in the same car, nails retracted. Beebe considered different approaches. Nothing close to standard appealed as workable. But outlandish and startling—she’d give them a try. Going that route, she’d only get one attempt. She had to play it perfectly.
Beebe stood in the kitchen. She patted her pocket. Callie’s note was inside. She picked up the two pans taken from the cupboard and banged their bottoms together until the racket brought Lizbeth and Arnett out of their rooms with looks of complaint on their faces. Both still wore nightclothes.
“Callie’s AWOL,” Beebe announced. “She left a note. She gave herself the day off and didn’t consult me. Look, her SUV is not out there.” She jerked her head toward the side window, adding fact to claim.
“What?” Lizbeth frowned, taking steps to peer through the window to the drive.
Yawning, Arnett came up alongside, stretching her neck, and concluding, “She is gone.”
“We’re going to find her.” Beebe set the pans down. “Lizbeth, let me have your keys. While you and Arnett dress, I’ll go to Sarah’s and get some ideas about where she might go.” Beebe wanted to go alone to Sarah’s for the sightseeing directions Callie suggested come from her. Inside, she winced. She couldn’t imagine extending this lie to Sarah.
“She’s gone golfing,” Arnett spouted.
Of course, Beebe thought, leave it to Arnett to be spot on the truth in seconds. Beebe moved with it. “Excellent. I’ll get directions to the nearest course.”
“Dad built courses around here. She’d go there.”
“Right,” Beebe agreed. Jeez, she thought. Her lies were steering both of them right back to the truth. She and Arnett trailed Lizbeth into her room. Her keys lay on the dresser next to her purse. “Callie talked to you, Lizbeth,” Beebe went on, flattering the other woman with a feeling of importance. “Did you hear her mention something, anywhere else she might go?”
Lizbeth shook her head. “But why go drag her back? What purpose will that serve?”
“We had a process in place. She’s no better than the rest of us,” Beebe said.
“That’s for sure,” Arnett said. “Hey! She might be with Lucius. Remember, she ran off to pout that first night things didn’t go her way.”
“I’ll ask Sarah where Lucius lives, but don’t you think Lucius and golfing might be too obvious?” Beebe evaluated her words as merely a half-lie. She knew golfing was more than obvious.
“No,” Arnett argued. “It’s one or the other.”
“But does Lucius golf?” Lizbeth asked.
“Don’t know,” Beebe answered gladly. Finally, a truthful statement.
“Let’s not add Lucius into the equation. We’re not even sure they’re together.”
Beebe groaned inwardly. Lizbeth was taking competitive potshots at Arnett’s theory.
Arnett drew her brows together and her mouth to a point. Before she spoke, Beebe said, “Callie thinks she’s having a good time. And you’re right, we can’t literally drag her back, but we can dampen her fun. Why wait until she gets back to express ourselves? She got what she wanted by then. We’ll say our piece and stomp off.” She gave her head a firm downbeat to emphasize her determination on that point. “You’ll want to be there for that.”
“Yeah,” Lizbeth said, “I do want to be there for that.”
Lizbeth’s animosity for Callie surfaced. She was still put out with Callie for sharing a secret with Arnett. Good, Beebe thought. She would pull this sightseeing lie together.
Arnett took it from there. “Hurry, Beebe, and get back.” She was already moving toward the bathroom cut-through to her room.
“You guys, hurry. She’s got a head start.” Beebe pushed her speed to a fast walk as she crossed the cabin floor, buzzing away from the place where she constructed lie upon lie. Sorry, Callie, she said to herself, but sacrificing you was warranted. I promise to confess when the time is right. But you did skip out, and these two need a joint cause, some reason to try teamwork. She inhaled a fortifying breath. Dear God, let them find it today.
She latched the Tahoe’s seatbelt and was adjusting the rearview mirror when the two women appeared at the SUV’s front bumper. The morning sun glowed through their thin, cotton nightgowns. They bore contemptuous looks, then traipsed around to the driver’s door. Beebe opened it.
Lizbeth spoke. “We don’t believe a damn word you said.”
Beebe’s confession came earlier than anticipated. She got out, fished in her pants pocket, and produced Callie’s note.
Lizbeth read it, then passed it to Arnett. “So, she really did go golfing. You knew that, and you knew where. Why the performance?” Lizbeth hooked a thumb toward the cabin. “Banging pans together. Why?”
Beebe took the few seconds necessary to close the Tahoe’s door before she responded. “Because a day of sightseeing sounds great. Because I need a break. You need a break, but you two can’t see it for your love of bickering and would never agree, so I lied. You drove me to it. You two can’t listen to each other, or listen to me, or for that matter, listen to Callie. We can explain the past, rat each other out, and sail all the Sebring dirty laundry down the Cheat River. The past isn’t going to change. It’s the future you can change. From this point forward.” She gave one of Arnett’s deep-throated groans and actually felt better. Calmer, she said, “We’ve only got the one car. Let’s flip a coin. One of you goes with me; one of you stays.”
“Well, it’s my car. I should really get to go.”
“What about me?”
“Go next door to the O’Malleys—”
Beebe raised both hands. “Please, don’t argue. Please. Don’t. Argue. Please, get dressed, and let’s go sightseeing. Can you do that? Can we act like grownups for just one day?”
Thirty minutes later, the three women consulted Sarah and chose an aggressive itinerary: Seneca Rocks, Spruce Knob, and Monongahela National Forest. They made the rounds in that order. The festivities resulted in ferocious appetites, three new Australian friends, and the recommendation to check out Cheat River Steak and Spirits.
Which they did. The restaurant’s dining room consisted of dark paneling and low illumination. The carpeted floor was scattered with tables and a row of booths along an expanse of windows that overlooked the spotlighted river.
In a fifth or sixth repeated performance since their arrival nearly two hours earlier, an accented hail of “Aussie that!” went up. Other assembled guests raised their fists to paw the air and returned a chorus of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” The gregarious Australian men coached the receptive diners with this response. Apparently, it was a standard cheer used at Australian sporting events. And so the party atmosphere continued. Beebe sat at the bar now with her back to the room. Had she not known better, she would have thought a squadron of Alaskan sea lions gathered to bark the chant.
The noise level fell, and Lizbeth slid onto a barstool beside Beebe. Tom, the bartender and proprietor, came over. He introduced himself to Lizbeth. Beebe made his acquaintance when he served her a Sam Adams. She found him irresistibly handsome because his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
“I just gotta have the story,” he said. “What’s the deal with you ladies and those Australians?”
To Lizbeth, Beebe said, “I’m guessing he can tell we just hooked up with those guys, what?” She looked at her watch. “Four hours and forty-seven minutes ago.”
The Maryland women met the three older men at the stone entrance to the national forest. The women stopped to take pictures. So had the men. They were supposedly hikers on holiday. The six of them trooped around together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. It was Arnett who issued the invitation to dine as a group. The food had been delicious, but the day and company were wearing thin. Beebe exited the booth under the guise of a ladies’ room visit. A few minutes later, Lizbeth followed suit.
“My deduction is, you gals are on a retreat away from the husbands?”
“Boy, did you read that wrong,” Beebe said.
Tom’s face registered surprise. “You’re available?”
And since he crinkled his eyes just-so, Beebe overlooked the way he poked his nose into her business and exchanged a glance with Lizbeth. “I guess so,” she said.
Tom pointed across to the booth Arnett shared with the three Australians. “Her too?”
Upon meeting the men, Arnett became flirtatious, fun-loving, and the center of the Aussies’ attention.
“Widow,” Lizbeth informed Tom, defining Arnett’s availability status.
His finger slid Lizbeth’s way, and she dittoed her answer. “Widow.”
He aimed at Beebe. She claimed, “Virgin.”
Laughing, Lizbeth slung an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Beebe, we could probably rectify that tonight if you’re interested.”
“Only if Tom’s the rectifier,” Beebe said, eyeing him deliciously.
Tom pointed to himself. “Married.”
“As they say, the good ones always are.” Then Beebe slapped the bar’s surface with her next decision. “Tom, bring my friend a nightcap.”
“Vodka and orange juice,” Lizbeth said. “Heavy on the O-J.”
“You got it.”
A few minutes later, Tom left his station with drinks on a tray for another group. He rounded the end of the bar, and Beebe heard him call Callie’s name. Beebe and Lizbeth turned. He pressed Callie into a one-armed squeeze and planted a kiss on her temple. She made eye contact with her two buddies on barstools.
“I heard you were here.” In a softer tone, he said, “I’m so sorry about Jack.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Can I find you a table?”
“No, not tonight. I came in looking for my houseguests. You know you’re a bad hostess when you have to go round them up.”
Tom followed Callie’s gaze to Beebe and Lizbeth. “These ladies are with you?”
“For the week,” she chirped.
He walked her toward the bar while she placed her order. “Bring me a Perrier, would you, please?”
“Sure.” He smooched her again. “Good to see you.”
She smiled at him, then at Beebe and Lizbeth.
“You just getting back?” Lizbeth asked.
“Uh-huh. I saw the Tahoe.” Callie’s words trailed off. Beebe watched her sl
owly scan the restaurant. Small brass light fixtures with frosted globes hung at regular intervals around the room’s two windowless walls. After one reminiscent trip, she ticked back to the present. “You guys have a good day?”
Beebe answered. “We did, although I really should skin you alive for your unexcused absence.” When Callie’s mortification lacked a full measure of sincerity, Beebe looked her in the eye. “That’s the one you get,” Beebe told her, meaning there better hadn’t be a second time.
“So, how was the golf?” Lizbeth lightened the conversation.
“I got in twenty-seven. Played with the pro. It was tougher than I remembered. Where’s Arnett?”
Callie still stood, so Beebe grabbed her left elbow and angled her toward the windows. “There, in that booth with the three men. She’s wearing a baseball cap.” On closer observation, she could’ve read the stitching on the hat. Bold, slanted letters formed aussie that.
“That’s Arnett? I can’t believe it. The hat looks cute on her. She’s laughing. She’s a different person. I can’t believe it,” Callie repeated. “Who’re the guys?”
“Australians from Sydney,” Beebe supplied. “We met them at Monongahela State Park.”
“National Forest.” Lizbeth tweaked the name.
“I think both are correct,” Callie said.
“They’ve taken a shine to Arnett,” Lizbeth said. “We can’t explain it.”
“She’s charmed them. We had a talk about Jack. She said she could always charm him back into her clutches.”