He must want something.
“That’s dinner.”
He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “Great, absolutely great.” He picked up his shirt and tie and walked to his room. Before he entered, he turned with a questioning look. “Why such a plain meal then?”
“Well, Hondo, that’s the meal plan for tonight. It’s easy, it’s basic, and I made up for it when I fixed the dessert.”
“And the dessert is?”
“Better Than Sex cake.”
He laughed. “Baby, there’s nothing better than sex.”
Well, I do have to agree with him, though it’s been awhile since I’ve indulged. I threw him a look and raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you think it’s time for your cold shower?”
“Oh lady, you do wound me.”
Pointing the scraper at him, I said, “I will wound you if you don’t leave me alone while I’m cooking.”
“As the old saying goes, let me get into something comfortable.”
Yeah, right. I could picture him in something comfortable, his birthday suit for one. I grabbed the last carrot, and the visual that came to mind made me hesitate, before I began to scrape the skin off that sucker in a hurry.
* * *
Grant was moaning over the buttered carrot in his mouth.
It was almost embarrassing to see a grown man appreciate food so much. The potatoes were mashed with just a few bits of lightly steamed cabbage that I chopped fine and added as I beat the mixture. The meat loaf with the boiled eggs in the middle. Even the radish roses in the salad intrigued him. He raved about every bite. Plus, he had thirds on the minted carrots.
Grant finally spoke up. “Two cents for what you’re thinking.”
I sighed, than began. “Was Maudie really a wild woman? I’m getting so many diverse stories, that it’s hard for me to get a grip on the woman she really was.”
“I can only tell you what I know to be true. But remember, Maudie kept secrets, you being the main secret of all.”
“No doubt.”
“But she was a good woman, she took me in, gave me a home and a strong guiding hand. She didn’t have to, but she did, and I loved her for that.”
“Do you have any pictures? Everyone I talked to said that she hated to have her picture taken, several promised to bring me one, but my curiosity is killing me.”
“Maudie has a huge photograph book around here somewhere. She used to look in it whenever she felt blue.”
“Do you know where she kept it?”
“It’s either in the bookcase or in her bedroom, I imagine.”
I glanced at the hundreds and hundreds of books in the bookcase. If it was in an album, it should be easy to find. At least, I hoped so. Pushing the chair back, I got up and started over at the far corner and began looking at book spines.
Grant also got up and started to look at the other end.
We both fell silent. Thinking our own thoughts.
“Here’s a good one.” A deep throaty chuckle announced, “Temples of Convenience and Chambers of Delight.”
I couldn’t help but smile, how like a man to go for toilet humor.
My finger raced across the book titles, each and every one of these were purchased, read and used by my birth mother. Yet, what was she really like? A student, a scholar, a know-it-all?
“Tell me Grant, did Maudie really read all these books?”
“Maudie always had a book in her hand, and she always knew what the most obscure object was, and what it was worth. She was thrilled to finally find a pair of chicken glasses.”
“You’re kidding. Chicken glasses?”
“Yes. She sold them for a good profit. Everyone called her a shrewd businesswoman. Oh, here’s another good title, ‘Hidden Assets: Stories behind the Throne.’”
I groaned, he must be in the personal sanitary section. “Think album, Grant.”
“I am, I am. There’s a lot of interesting material here, better reading than law books.”
I couldn’t believe the different books, tablecloths from the fifties, depression glass, farm implements, cookie cutters. There seemed to be a book on everything that might be an antique. But so far, no photo album.
Grant and I inched closer and closer together until our arms barely met. A shock coursed through my body with that gentle touch. Just standing next to him gave my libido a jump.
This six week stay would be difficult at best, perhaps I should sleep downstairs to keep myself under control. I wondered if Grant would want to peek through the windows?
“Here is it.” Grant was almost on the floor, reaching into the bottom stack of books and pulling out a dull black book that didn’t look like a photograph album at all. He handed it to me.
Clasping it to my chest, I wandered over to the sofa and sat, resting the book in my lap, my fingertips ran over the embossed title ‘Photos.’
Grant rose from the crouching position I left him in and walked over to the dining table. “I’ll do the dishes while you go through the book.” He hesitated than said. “If you want me to identify anyone in there, I’ll give it my best shot.”
I nodded. For some reason, I was scared to open the book. My hands were literally shaking. I took a deep breath and slowly opened the front cover.
A picture of a newborn baby was on the first page. Underneath were the words, “Sara - December 9.” It was a picture of me. I was sure of it. I slept in the photo, my hands drawn up just below my chin. Bald as a softball, a small bow sticking on as if by magic, with a round face to match.
Slowly I turned the pages and saw a visual account of me growing up. There was a gap between the ages of one and five, but there they were. Pictures that I didn’t know existed.
I remembered the backgrounds, my dresses, my different hairstyles through the years. Maudie, somehow, had taken pictures of me, consistently. Most of the pictures were taken as I was coming out of church, or the movie show that I generally went to on Sunday afternoons, an occasional glimpse of me in my front yard.
Is that what Maudie did every Sunday? Go to Baton Rouge and park herself outside our residence hoping to see a glimpse of me and capture a picture.
I felt tears slip down my face. I wiped them away hastily, not wanting Grant to see me crying again.
Maudie really did care about me.
But, why didn’t she contact me?
Or, my parents. They knew each other. Why had Maudie given me to them? To know where I was? If anything, the photograph book raised even more questions. No wonder the picture frame downstairs held a picture of me. Maudie took hundreds of pictures.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
I sniffled and hesitantly said. “No. All the pictures in here are of me. There’s not a single one of Maudie.”
Grant rubbed the dish in his hand dry, then exclaimed. “Hey, Maudie came to my graduation from law school. I know I have a picture of us somewhere.”
He put the dish in the cupboard, threw down the dishtowel and went into his room.
I could hear him rummaging around as I put the photo album back in its place. I glanced around to see if there were any other albums but couldn’t see any.
Grant came out of his room looking grim. “They must be at my Dad’s.”
“Wonderful. Do you think that we could go over there tonight and get them?”
Grant didn’t look happy at the prospect. “Sure. Let me give them a call and finish up with the dishes and we can go.”
“You call. I don’t mind finishing the cleanup.”
“Great.”
It didn’t sound great to me, if anything Grant sounded depressed at the prospect of going to his father’s home. I hoped that I wasn’t putting him out.
I was cleaning the sink when he came out of his bedroom. A glum expression on his face.
“Oh, they don’t want us to come tonight?” I asked.
“No. They’re thrilled at the prospect of meeting you. Do you mind slicing some cake to bring ove
r there?”
“Sure. No problem.” Hastily, I grabbed a plate and cut a healthy portion to bring to his parents.
I knew my happiness must have shown on my face, as Grant stopped me at the back door and said. “Sara. Don’t expect too much.”
“I won’t.”
I knew that I must have sounded lame. Exactly what did he mean? I honestly didn’t expect anything from his parents at all. But knowing that he had problems with them since his mother’s death and his dad’s sudden remarriage, I could imagine that he still harbored ill feelings toward his stepmother and father. Was I asking too much?
* * *
The house loomed up in front of me. It was massive. White. Magnificent. It was unbelievable.
“Antebellum?” I asked.
“Uh, no. I think it was built in 1901 or somewhere thereabouts. If you notice the front windows reach down to the porch.” Grant seemed unimpressed.
I was definitely impressed. It sat back on a two-acre lot, framed by ancient oak trees whose branches graced the ground. Four huge columns supported the upper porch area. The lights within cascaded out, inviting. Intriguing. A house old enough to have secrets. Perhaps it held a clue to my past. I hoped so.
Grant turned in the circular driveway and stopped in front of the dual doors.
“Well, this is it.”
“It’s so beautiful.”
His eyes rolled. “Wait until you see the inside. Margie hasn’t done a thing since she moved in.”
“What do you mean?” I followed him out of the car and up the wide brick steps, balancing the cake in my hands.
“You’ll see.” Grant hesitated at the door and rang the bell. You could hear the chimes playing a melody. A moment later, the door opened.
The woman who opened the door was charming. She met us with a wide smile and opened the door further, inviting us in with her hand. “Come in, come in.”
“Hey, Marge. Meet Sara, Maudie’s daughter.”
She glanced at my face, then at the wrapped cake in my hands, “Here let me take that.”
She seemed nervous under that gracious facade. Tastefully groomed, she personified the perfect Southern Belle.
“Come on in. I thought we could eat in the kitchen, it’s so much cozier there.”
She led the way and we followed. The inside of the house was tired, for the lack of a better word. Antique furniture would have been a better choice for the entryway, however, someone choose furniture that was several decades old. It needed to be redone and replacement seemed a better idea. What was going on here?
Margie turned left at the end of the hall. It was a pleasant surprise, it was perfect. A kitchen that was designed for someone who liked to cook and entertain. Golden oak cabinets surrounded three walls, with a granite countertop that complimented the walls and floor. An island in the middle. My fingers itched to cook in this kitchen.
There was an informal seating arrangement before the entry into the kitchen, with a love seat balancing it out on the other side.
A large man was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He reluctantly set it down and stood up. Grant walked over to him and shook his hand. It seemed so formal.
“Dad, I want you to meet Sara, Maudie’s daughter. Sara, my father, Leonard.”
He seemed delighted to see me. Instead of a handshake, he opened his arms and hugged me gently and then pulled back and looked at me.
“My. I can’t believe it, Maudie’s daughter. Who would have thought? And don’t call me Leonard, everyone calls me Lenny.”
Everyone except his son, apparently.
He took me by the elbow and guided me toward the table.
“Here, sit. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I’m making fresh coffee, decaf, of course.” Margie said.
Lenny laughed. “If I’d known coffee would keep me awake at night, I would have drunk it more when I was a teenager.”
Margie playfully slapped him on the arm. “You’re so bad.”
I could feel the love that surrounded this couple, I glanced at Grant to see what his reaction was, and found him frowning. How strange. Why wouldn’t he want to see them happy?
“Oh, your cake looks absolutely delicious. I can’t bake a cake to save my life, they always end up hard, like rocks.” Margie took down dessert plates from a cabinet, and began to cut into the cake. “What did you say the name of the cake was again?’
Grant spoke first. “Better Than Sex.”
Margie and Lenny stole a quick look at each other and burst out laughing.
I couldn’t help myself, I laughed with them.
Lenny wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Times sure have changed.”
“Can I help?” I was embarrassed.
Margie gave me a big grin. “Sure, the silverware is in that drawer to the right of the sink. Now, stop your laughing, men, you’re making her blush.”
Grant turned and looked at me. His chocolate eyes melting my resolve. He was definitely better than any cake I ever had. With that thought, I knew I turned even redder than ever.
“Now, that’s unusual.” Lenny said.
“What’s that?” Margie questioned.
“Maudie blushed just like that, creeping up the neck and then onto her cheeks. That is, if you could ever get her to blush.”
“I don’t think I ever saw Maudie blush.” Grant said.
“I remember one time,” Lenny stated, “the six-pack were sitting in the bleachers, watching the football players go through their drills. Some guy threw a pass and it landed in Maudie’s lap. It got a big laugh, especially when she tried to throw it back and it landed in the bleachers two rows in front of her. She blushed like the dickens.”
“Bitsy was telling me about the “six-pack,” I said.
Lenny looked sad. “Yeah. It’s hard to believe that there are only three left.”
Margie brought coffee cups to the table, then the pot, and began to fill them. I helped her serve everyone, then sat.
Lenny moaned a little after stuffing a large piece of cake in his mouth.
I smiled, like father, like son.
“This is really good.” Lenny said. “But sex is better.”
Margie nudged him with her hand. “Behave.”
He mouthed around another piece of cake. “I am, I am.”
There was deep affection between these two. An honest caring. They looked happy.
Grant wasn’t. He sat there, eating politely, but distant. It was as though he wished he were a million miles away. Perhaps in Tina’s arms.
The thought made my stomach clench.
Lenny quickly finished his cake, and Margie hustled up and cleared his place, then refilled his coffee cup.
Grant pushed his half-eaten piece away. “I’ve had enough.”
I could tell that he was anxious to leave. I picked up my own half-finished plate and his and brought them to the sink.
“Don’t worry about those. I’ll take care of them.” Margie said. She seemed tense.
I decided that it was time to start digging for photos.
“Grant, do you want me to help you look for those photos?”
He seemed relieved.
Lenny interjected. “Margie, go help the girl find those pictures, I need Grant’s help on my computer. I can’t get the printer to work.”
Margie perked up. “I’d love to.”
She motioned for me to follow her and we left the room. She led the way down the hall and turned up the staircase. The carpeting needed replacement, and the banister could be repainted. Everything shouted, update me.
She turned left at the head of the stairs and entered the first room on the right. She hesitated as she put her hand on the knob.
“It’s just like he left it when he was a kid.”
That surprised me.
Opening the door, she motioned me inside.
The room was huge, as most of the rooms in mansions generally are. There
were several sports pennants on the walls along with pictures. I looked at them first. Grant in a baseball uniform, holding a bat, looking so young. Then a photo of him with his father in a fishing boat. There were quite a few pictures, several dozen at least covering one wall.
“She’s not in any of those.” Margie said.
“Oh.”
“I put all his pictures in scrapbooks.” She opened the closet and went on tiptoe to reach something high. “Can you get down that green book on the top shelf?”
“Sure.” I reached up and grabbed the book in question, and handed it to Margie.
Margie brought it over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She began to search its contents.
A picture on the nightstand caught my attention. It must have been Grant’s mother. There were several pictures of her and him gracing the wall, but this one was different. It was the picture of a young woman, caught in profile, holding her baby. There was such a look of contentment on her face. It was as though she was in the perfect place of her life. I reached over and picked it up to examine it further.
“That’s Lorraine. Grant’s mother.” Margie said sadly.
“It’s a beautiful photograph.” I stated softly.
“She was a beautiful woman.”
The tone in Margie’s voice caused me to turn around and face her.
Margie had tears in her eyes. Margie hastily began to wipe them away. “I’m sorry.”
I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
Margie gave a dry laugh. “Oh, there’s plenty to be sorry about. I wish I could be Grant’s mother. He’s the only child I will ever have, yet...he hates me.”
The woman was in anguish. I sat next to her and put my arm around her to comfort her. “I don’t think he hates you. But, maybe you should talk to him.”
“Oh, I’d never do that.” Margie finished wiping her tears away. She began to turn pages in the album, her hands trembling. She stopped at one photo and pointed to it.
“He was so cute when he was a baby.” Grant was sitting on a red wooden rocking horse outside. The pleasure shown on his round little face, his small hands grasping the handles for all he was worth.
“These are all in order. I guess it would be smarter to start at the back.” Margie gave a weak smile, and turned to the back of the book. Grant must have been in his early teens, with braces. His arm around a young Tina, who looked hard even then.
The Devil Has Dimples Page 6