Mr. Right Goes Wrong

by Pamela Morsi

  “I know you’re going behind Mazy’s back to talk to him. And I know that you’re lying to him, that you’re trying to prey on his youth and his trust. It’s an amazingly crap thing to do to your own child, but it’s your standard operating procedure, isn’t it? First you fill them full of praise and affection. Then, when they’re puffed up like that, you shade the truth. Not a lot, just a little. Hook them into believing something they know they shouldn’t. Then you praise again, not quite as much as before. The lie that comes after, though, is bigger. Fondness and lying, admiration and deceit, jerking back and forth until they don’t know if they’re coming or going. It’s a good game, Driscoll, but not one I intend to let you play with Tru.”

  Driscoll waved away his words. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, stepping past Eli as if he were not there.

  “Well, you’d better take time,” Eli said.

  Driscoll turned and stared at him in jaw-dropped disbelief. “Or else what? You gonna teach me a lesson, Mr. Nice Guy?” He laughed. “Now that’s rich. You probably think that she’ll take you back if you try and grow a pair. But it ain’t happening, bro. Mazy’s already said okay.”

  “What?”

  “She told me less than an hour ago. I can contact Tru anytime I want. See him whenever he’s available.”

  “She would never do that.”

  “The woman does what I tell her. Always has, always will.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Eli said.

  “That’s because you don’t know what I have on her,” Driscoll answered. “I could ruin this town for her today, just like I did fifteen years ago.”

  Eli shook his head. “If you think I’m going to buy the sob story of you as the victim in her planned pregnancy...” Eli rolled his eyes. “I’ve got no sympathy for a guy who seduces vulnerable innocents. All of that crap went down a hundred years ago. Mazy is a different person. She’s an honest, honorable person. The people in this town know that now.”

  “Honest? Honorable?” Driscoll said. “You’d better rethink that. Not all the crap she’s involved in happened a hundred years ago. In fact, do you know why she left Wilmington? You don’t, do you?”

  “She lost her job.”

  “She lost her job, all right. That kind of thing happens when you’re not only screwing your married boss, but helping him embezzle from the company.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s public record, Latham. Look it up. She pleaded guilty to fraud and conspiracy. She’s on probation right now—not exactly ancient history. How do you think the folks in Brandt Mountain will go for that? There’s not a judge or a jury anywhere in this town who won’t side with me when they hear the truth.”

  Eli’s first thought was that it couldn’t be true. Driscoll hated Mazy and he was a known liar. This was another example. But even as he tried to rationalize it away, Eli suspected that it might fit with the facts. She never talked about what had happened in Wilmington. She never mentioned friends there or said anything about the place where she had lived so long. And then there was Tru’s support group. Why would he be in a support group with teens whose parents were in jail or facing criminal charges if Tru weren’t dealing with exactly the same issues?

  “The yokels in this town, they don’t go for cheats,” Driscoll said. “If you’re going to break the rules, you’ve got to cover it up a lot better than Mazy was ever able to.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “Those ignorant hicks are going to be on my side. I’ll be the hero for stepping in to sweep up my son and keep him from going down the drain with his trashy jailbird mother.”

  The image caused a snap of realization in Eli’s mind. Nowhere in the scenario that Driscoll pictured was the very smart, very sensitive, very astute son that Mazy had raised. Tru would never stand idly by in some kind of war of words perpetrated against his mother. Tru already knew what she had done. And he had obviously forgiven her.

  “You ought to thank me, Latham. I’m saving your biscuits here,” Driscoll continued. “You’re wasting your time chasing after her. Now you know the truth, so you can move on. Mazy Gulliver is a pathetic loser. She was born a loser and she will die a loser. Nothing about her is ever going to change.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Eli said. “Change is hard. But it’s not impossible. By the way, I consider this my last official act as a complete jerk. It’s called a sucker punch.”

  “What?”

  The word had barely left Driscoll’s mouth when Eli’s balled fist connected with the side of his face. He staggered, nearly dropping to his knees. Eli would have left it at that. Driscoll, however, screeched in fury and came charging back. He threw two wild rights. The first caught Eli’s collarbone. The second missed completely.

  Eli buried the next blow in the middle of the banker’s soft solar plexus. A woof of air escaped his lips and he doubled over. A swift upper cut caught Driscoll squarely in the nose and laid him out on the dead grass in his front yard.

  Calmly, confidently, Eli walked back to his truck. His knuckles hurt but his spirits were high. He slid behind the steering wheel and glanced back toward the house in time to see Driscoll, on his hands and knees, crawling up the steps to his house.

  Eli laughed out loud. Not being the nice guy had its moments. He would miss it.

  47

  Snow began falling on the morning of Thanksgiving, although there was little chance that it would pile up enough to hide the rugged edges of winter in the mountains.

  Beth Ann had been up since dawn, bustling around the kitchen with enthusiasm and energy and joy.

  Yes, Mazy decided, her mother was joyful. As if the opportunity to prepare a giant holiday dinner was something that she’d been longing to do.

  Mazy had been drafted as her mother’s assistant. She’d chopped and stirred and kneaded as directed. The kitchen was hot and steamy. The aroma of roast turkey blended with the scent of orange zest collards and yeast bread. The pies were cooling, the gravy bubbling.

  “Okay, I think the rolls are all we have left,” Beth Ann announced. “Tru!” she called out toward the hallway. “We’re ready for you to start carrying the food.”

  The teenager was already dressed in hat, coat and gloves. Beth Ann quickly sent him bounding out the door with a huge casserole dish of corn-bread dressing, and he seemed as happy as his grandmother.

  Perhaps her mother’s cheerfulness was contagious, Mazy thought. She was, herself, feeling very much that all was right with the world. And there was absolutely no explanation for that.

  She was still a single parent on criminal probation, living with her mother, barely able to eke out a living while paying off court-ordered restitution. She might not even be able to do that if she lost her job, which was a genuine possibility. Tad hadn’t spoken one word to her since that night in his office. But on Wednesday he’d held an impromptu office meeting where he had unexpectedly handed out one-hundred-dollar gift cards as “Thanksgiving bonuses.” Mazy had been the only employee not to receive one. She’d almost laughed aloud. If that was the best he could do in retaliation, she’d scored even better than she’d thought.

  Of course, there were still her personal demons to contend with, the threat of a custody challenge and facing the holiday season with another broken romance. Worse yet, she would be celebrating this particular holiday with her recent ex and his entire family. That should have given any reasonable woman a serious case of indigestion. But of course, Mazy thought to herself, she had never been a very reasonable woman.

  She opened the oven and slid in the first tray of light bread.

  Eli was a great guy. Everybody said so and she believed them. That said, he was a bad-news boyfriend and she was done with that. If they could get back to being casual friends, that would be wonderful. If they couldn’t...then so be it. When she had come from Wilmington, that first day in her mother�
��s house, she remembered thinking that she wanted Tru to have the experience of living in a happy home. He deserved that kind of life. She realized that she wanted that for herself, as well. And more than that—she deserved it.

  Dr. Reese had once told her that grief can get a lot of people off track. And that children and teens dealing with loss are especially vulnerable to drugs and cutting and other self-destructive behaviors. She’d explained that longing for the lost loved one can lead youth into the camaraderie of gangs or the insatiable search for closeness that is promiscuity. Looking back on her life, Mazy was not as critical of herself as she once had been. She had made mistakes. And the worst of them long after she should have known better. But it was never too late for a new beginning. And she was thankful today that she still had that opportunity.

  The back door opened. Tru stomped in, followed by Clark and Eli.

  “Come in, come in,” Beth Ann said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  The two men replied with greetings of their own.

  Mazy’s heart caught in her throat as she caught sight of Eli. It had been seventeen days. Not that she was counting. She’d almost convinced herself that he couldn’t be half as gorgeous as she remembered. But he still looked very good to her.

  Deliberately, she kept her demeanor calm and her nod polite. If there was ever to be any chance of friendship between them, she simply could not go weak in the knees just because he looked in her direction.

  The next few minutes were a flurry of activity while turkey, cranberries, corn, collard greens, gravy and pies were transferred from Beth Ann’s house to the one next door.

  Finally Beth Ann herself pulled on her coat and headed out carrying a big bowl of turnips au gratin.

  “That’s it,” Mazy said. “I’ll be there as soon as these last rolls come out of the oven.”

  Alone with the silence remaining in the kitchen, Mazy bucked up her courage. Yes, Eli was gorgeous and sexy and she was still in love with him. That made her vulnerable. But being vulnerable was not the same as being defenseless. She was learning to be strong, she was learning not to settle for less than the kind of love she knew was out there, somewhere.

  She was up on her toes attempting to retrieve the breadbasket from the top cabinet. Behind her the door opened with burst of cold air.

  “Can I help?”

  She turned to look at him, but didn’t actually have to answer. Eli stepped up next to her and reached to grab the basket.

  “Thanks.”

  They stood looking at each other for a long moment.

  “How are you?” he asked finally.

  “I’m good,” she answered. “I’m very good.”

  Another uncomfortable moment lingered between them. If there was any chance that they might be friends again, Mazy knew this was probably it.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For advising Tru to talk to me about seeing Tad.”

  Eli let out a breath. “Oh, so he did talk to you. I’m glad.”

  “I appreciate that you encouraged him not to keep the secret,” Mazy said. “He trusts you a lot. If you’d agreed with Tad that it was best to keep me in the dark, he would have gone with that. I’m grateful that you didn’t. And I know that right now I’m probably not one of your favorite people...so―”

  “You are,” Eli interrupted. “You are always one of my favorite people.”

  They stood staring at each other. Mazy wasn’t sure what to do with his words.

  “Oh, the bread!” She rushed to the oven.

  The private moment was completely absorbed by getting the rolls snug in their basket and safely next door to Thanksgiving dinner, where the atmosphere was all festive and family.

  Sheila had outdone herself with setup and decoration. Mazy remembered the Latham china from when she was a girl. The dining room seemed completely transformed with the table sporting two extra leaves, making ample space for food and drink and ten people.

  Jonah was seated at the head looking so much as he had in his days of vigor. Ida at the other end, clearly delighted to be sharing the feast. Clark and Shelia were in good spirits, and their girls were both bright-eyed and well behaved. Mazy saw her mother beaming with pride at the beautiful meal she’d created. And there was her son, Tru, at last in the bosom of a family, a real family, who loved him.

  Mazy blinked back the sentimentality.

  As the eldest son, Clark took it upon himself to say grace and his prayer was simple. Gratitude for all those seated together around the table. That was miracle enough.

  It was easier to pass the plates than the serving dishes. So Mazy ended up being the one to spoon up green beans. When her own plate finally returned, it was heaped up with more food than she even thought possible to consume. But somehow, one bite at a time, she and everyone else ate their share. Eli and Clark took turns feeding their father. The old man seemed more interested in the people surrounding him than the food on the spoon. The conversation was lively and full of optimism.

  If Mazy’s gaze tended to return to where Eli was sitting, it was force of habit. If their eyes met again and again, it was lingering effects of a lost love affair. And if the sight of his smile still filled her with butterflies, it was an understandable reaction based on that desperately needy facet of her personality and lifetime of happily-ever-after hopes.

  She was working on it. Baby steps. Day by day.

  She still wanted to be loved. But she deserved a relationship based on honesty, respect and consideration. Mazy was no longer willing to accept any romance that was not a pairing of equals.

  Ida had been past her prime when the right man with the right heart had finally arrived. Beth Ann had suffered having her other half ripped out of her life at a young age.

  But both were luckier than Mazy to have known the real love of a true life partner. And now Mazy was determined never to settle for anything less.

  Dessert was put off due to full bellies and lack of interest around the table. Since the major cleanup was still in Beth Ann’s kitchen, getting the dishes scraped and in the dishwasher went pretty quickly. The dining room table was defrocked from its formal attire and turned into a giant setup for dominoes. Multiple boxes of the rectangular blocks were retrieved from the bottom drawer of the sideboard and spread out so any number could have a turn.

  Tru was unfamiliar with the game, so he was given the honor of teaming up with Jonah. Mazy watched as the old man would signal which tile to play. His body might be weak, but his mind was quick enough to keep up the scoring pace.

  Mazy felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up and her heart went thump.

  “I’ve finished that piece I was working on,” Eli said. “The music cabinet. I’d like to show it to you.”

  She glanced around the table. Everyone seemed intent upon the game. She wasn’t sure if it was cowardice or self-preservation that urged her to refuse. Mazy pushed back against both. They were going to be neighbors. She wanted them to be friends.

  “Sure,” she said, turning her dominoes facedown and scooting them into the “boneyard.”

  The outside air was crisp and cold and the snow was still swirling. It caught on Eli’s hair, giving Mazy a presumed glimpse of an older, wiser man decades in the future. Somehow that soothed the nerves that being alone with him seemed to encourage.

  The wood shop was welcomingly warm. Mazy shrugged out of her jacket, which Eli hung on one of the hooks by the door. The windows to the outside were fogged up, giving a strange sense of privacy and isolation.

  Only a few steps inside, Mazy saw the piece near the back of the building and gasped with appreciation. As she got closer, she felt almost a reverence for the work.

  With obvious pride, Eli showed the details to her. On one level it was all practicality, with wide doors and drawers. It was sturdy, well made, useful. But the
visual impact of it was pure art. The wood veneer was put together in a way that wood did not exist in nature, the grain scattering across the front in lines that were both seemingly random and beautifully part of a complete pattern.

  Mazy ran her hand along the slick surface.

  “It’s amazing,” she told Eli. “Wonderfully, wonderfully amazing.”

  He nodded, but his expression was almost melancholy. “I’m never doing anything like this again.”

  “I’m sure it was a lot of work, it must have taken a lot of time.”

  “It’s not the time or the work,” he said. “It’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “I told you, I don’t do veneers. I make things out of plain wood. I make beautiful things out of plain wood.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m a plain-wood kind of guy.”

  Eli was looking at her as if he expected her to say something, do something, understand something. Mazy was at a loss.

  “Underneath this veneer,” Eli said, “there is a piece of furniture that is solid poplar.”

  “Okay.”

  “Poplar is a very good wood. It’s strong and sturdy. It’s durable and easy to fashion into whatever you need. It’s easily available. It grows in a wide area, making it very sustainable. But it’s not a flashy wood. It doesn’t catch the eye the way this fancy veneer will.”

  He continued to look at her intently.

  “This is what I’ve been doing,” he said. “I’ve been veneering.”

  It was as if he was waiting for a response from her.

  “It’s a beautiful job,” Mazy told him, running her hand across the front of the music cabinet again. “Very beautiful.”

  “I’m not talking about the furniture,” he said. “I’m talking about myself.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Mazy, I’m a really ordinary, dependable, responsible, boring guy,” Eli said. “Twice you ran out on me for some...some flashy something that caught your eye. I wanted... I guess I wanted you to notice me, to care for me, to fall for me. So I acquired some showy veneer.”