Spring Fever

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “You’re killin’ me here,” Mason muttered. “You know, Sophie, when you came here to live with me, I decided I would be your daddy and your mama for a while. Then I asked Letha if she would come and help take care of you while I’m working. And your aunt Pokey helped out, too, and also Annajane. So you’re a lucky girl, because you have lots of people to love and help take care of you, instead of just one mama.”

  Sophie looked up at him thoughtfully. “The runaway bunny only needed one mama. The kids in school all have one mama. Except Lucy. She has two mamas. And Clayton and Denning and Petey all have one mama—Aunt Pokey. That’s all I need, too.”

  Annajane and Mason exchanged worried looks, but Sophie, who knew the book by heart, was already onto her next illustration, drawing a fish, swimming in a stream. “Read some more, please,” she told Annajane.

  So Annajane read, “‘If you become a fish in a trout stream,’ said his mother, ‘I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.’”

  Sophie gave the fish a green body and a yellow tail and a red dorsal fin. She drew wavy blue lines to represent the blue trout stream, and beside the stream she drew a stick figure with long brown hair, wearing a dress and red high heels, holding a fishing pole.

  “Who is that?” Mason asked, tapping the figure in the picture.

  “That’s the mama,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes at her father’s ignorance. “Duh.”

  “But she doesn’t look like a bunny fisherman,” Mason said.

  “This mama is a real lady. Like Annajane,” Sophie said. “See, she has brown hair like Annajane.”

  “And red shoes,” Annajane added. “I have a pair of red shoes that look like that.”

  Mason wrapped his arms around Sophie. “We were thinking, Annajane and me, that when we get married, Annajane will be my wife. And she’ll be your mama. Your only mama. What do you think of that idea, Soph?”

  “We’re not gonna marry Celia, right?” Sophie asked, adding a pink bow to her fisherwoman’s hair.

  “Nope. Celia and I decided that wouldn’t be a good idea, because I love Annajane best,” Mason said.

  “Letha said Celia is gone for good this time,” Sophie said.

  “That’s probably true,” Mason conceded.

  “We should marry Annajane,” Sophie said, without hesitation.

  Mason left one arm around Sophie, and put the other around Annajane’s shoulder. “I think so, too. Definitely.”

  “See?” Sophie said, as if that settled it. She put the fish drawing aside and started on another one. “Keep reading, please.”

  Annajane read the next few pages, and Sophie’s crayon flew over her paper. At one point, she looked up at Annajane. “What’s a crocus? And why do they have a hidden garden?”

  “I guess they have a hidden garden because the little bunny and the mother bunny are playing hide-and-go-seek,” Annajane said, leafing ahead in the book. “And a crocus is a little flower that comes up from the ground in very early spring,” Annajane said. “We can look online and find a picture of one, if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Sophie said, reaching for another sheet of paper and drawing a daisy. “Keep going.”

  So Annajane read on, about the baby bunny morphing into a rock, then a bird, and a sailboat, and even a trapeze artist.

  Mason hovered over his stove, adjusting the heat under the skillet and putting a pot of peeled potatoes on to boil. He poured a glass of wine for himself and one for Annajane, who nodded her thanks and kept reading aloud.

  Near the end of the book, Sophie put her crayon down and sighed dramatically. “I hate this part,” she announced.

  “Why?” Annajane asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Did Sophie resent the fact that she didn’t have a real mother like the bunny in the book? Or had she been dwelling on the fact that her own mother had, in a way, run away from her? Maybe they should think about having Sophie see a child psychologist. Especially since at some point, before Sophie got too much older, they would need to explain the complicated story behind her real father as well as her real mother.

  “Yeah, Soph,” Mason said, placing his hands protectively on the little girl’s shoulders. “Do you hate this part of the story because you’re sad about the runaway bunny and his mama?”

  “No,” Sophie said, frowning down at her picture. “I hate this part because I can’t draw a tightrope walker, like the one in the book.” She looked up at Mason. “You draw it.”

  “Hmm.” Mason picked up a crayon and sketched a brown rope, and then added an extremely detailed sketch of a little girl with eyeglasses and blond curls, wearing a pink tutu with a pink pocketbook slung over her arm and one dainty foot placed on the rope, the other poised above it. “How’s that?”

  “It’s me!” Sophie breathed. “You drew me!”

  “Not bad,” Annajane said, regarding Mason with new respect. “I didn’t know you could draw that well.”

  “I am a man of many talents,” Mason said, bowing first to Sophie and then to Annnajane.

  “Draw the next one,” Sophie ordered. “The one with the bunny turning into a little boy and running inside the house.”

  Mason glanced over at the stove. “Can’t,” he said. “My dinner is just about ready. I’ve got to get my potatoes mashed. Are you two almost finished reading your book?”

  “Almost,” Sophie said, glancing over at the book. “Read the end, Annajane. That’s my favorite part.”

  Annajane liked the ending, too. “‘If you become a little boy and run into a house … I will become a mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.’”

  She stood and folded Sophie into her arms. Sophie wriggled contentedly and picked up her cue like a seasoned pro, reading in an uncannily baby-bunny-sounding voice.

  “‘Shucks,’ said the bunny. ‘I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.’”

  “Come on, you two,” Mason called, dumping his mashed potatoes into a serving bowl. “My dinner is getting cold. Annajane, you need to finish making that salad.”

  “In a minute,” Annajane said. She knew the last two lines of the book by heart. As did Sophie.

  “‘And so he did,’” Sophie said.

  Annajane reached into the salad bowl and snagged one of the vegetables she’d been cutting up.

  “‘“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.’”

  Sophie took the proffered carrot and munched happily. “The end,” she announced.

  * * *

  Annajane’s cell phone rang just as she was wiping the skillet clean with a paper towel. Sophie had gone to bed, and they’d been discussing whether or not to watch a movie. She looked down at the caller ID. “It’s your mother,” she told Mason. “I didn’t even know she knew I had a cell phone.”

  “This can’t be good,” he said. “Don’t answer.”

  “I can’t not answer when Sallie calls me,” Annajane said. She punched the Connect button.

  “Hi, Sallie,” she said brightly. “This is a surprise.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Sallie drawled. “Annajane dear, I was wondering if you could come over to Cherry Hill tomorrow morning for a little chat.”

  Annajane put her hand over the phone and lip-synched to Mason, “She wants to see me.”

  Mason shook his head vigorously. “Tell her no. Tell her hell no.”

  “Well, um, let me think what my morning is like,” Annajane said, stalling for time, fishing for an excuse.

  “I won’t take up much of your time,” Sallie said. “Just a quick little visit.”

  Put like that, she couldn’t very well decline, Annajane thought.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Ten would be perfect,” Sallie said.

  “Perfect,” Annajane said gloomily.

  53

  They discussed the visit to Cherry Hill until midnight, right up until the moment Annajane reluctantly got in her car to drive “home” to the Pinecone Lodge.

  �
��You do not have to go over there tomorrow,” Mason said, his lips lingering at her collarbone. “She can’t just call you up and issue a command performance.”

  “I’m going,” Annajane murmured, her arms wrapped around his waist.

  “She’s still mightily pissed about me breaking up with Celia,” Mason said. “Even after I told her about the fake pregnancy.”

  “And she’s just as mightily pissed at me for marrying you years ago—and agreeing to marry you again,” Annajane said.

  “Which is why you should politely decline,” Mason said.

  “Nope,” Annajane kissed him one last time. “I’m not running away from your mother anymore. I’m here to stay, and she can just like it or lump it.”

  * * *

  In the bright light of Saturday morning, Annajane began to doubt the wisdom of a visit to the lioness in her own den. But it was too late to back out now. She played various scenarios over and over again in her head, planning a strong, assertive, take-no-crap offensive against Sallie Bayless.

  She dressed carefully for the occasion, but not in the clothes she might formerly have worn for an audience with her mother-in-law. This time, she wore what she’d wear any other Saturday morning around town: a pair of red cotton capris, a red and white striped oxford-cloth shirt, an off-white cable-knit sweater, and a pair of navy-blue skimmers.

  After she rang the doorbell at Cherry Hill, she repeated her mantra under her breath, as she’d done countless times on the drive over. “She is not the boss of me.”

  Annajane heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the heavy carved door. It swung open, and Sallie offered her a chilly smile. “Right on time. How nice.”

  Sallie was dressed in what passed for casual wear for her: black slacks, a peach silk blouse, and a black cashmere sweater that was looped across her shoulders. “It’s such a beautiful morning; I thought we’d sit out in the sunroom.”

  Annajane followed her down the wide, marble-tiled central hall and out through a set of tall french doors onto the sunporch. She hadn’t been out here since the divorce, but she doubted that anything had changed in five years. The room stretched the length of the back of the old house, with large, arched windows that gave a stunning view of the back garden and pool area. The floors were made of muted pink and gray brick pavers that had come out of the old smokehouse on the property, and the ceiling was high, with thick cypress beams. Fringy potted palms and ferns filled the corners of the room, which was furnished with comfortably battered white-painted wicker with flowered cushions. A ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead.

  Sallie seated herself on a high-backed wicker armchair and gestured for Annajane to sit on a matching armchair opposite hers. A silver tray on the wicker coffee table held a pitcher of iced tea.

  “Tea?” Sallie asked, pouring a glass. “Or I could open a bottle of Quixie. Glenn always thought it was so cute how much you enjoyed the stuff.”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Annajane said. “I do still love the taste of Quixie, but I try to limit myself to one a day, and I had one for breakfast already.”

  “Oh,” Sallie said, looking faintly nauseated at the idea. “How sweet.”

  Annajane looked uneasily at her surroundings, wondering how long it would take for Sallie to get down to brass tacks.

  “The garden looks beautiful,” she said, looking out at the sweep of emerald lawn and the blooming flowerbeds. The turquoise of the swimming pool dazzled in the sunshine. It was a storybook setting, Annajane thought, as she had so many other times in the past.

  Sallie waved away the compliment. “This is not our best spring. My tulips were anemic-looking, and, I swear, Nate’s gotten so old and blind I believe he mistook most of my perennials for weeds and dug them up back in the fall. But that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you today.”

  Annajane steeled herself. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “Family,” Sallie said, without hesitation. “I want to talk about my family. You know I love my children, unconditionally.”

  “Of course,” Annajane murmured. Although she might have argued about the unconditional part. She’d seen how stingy Sallie could be with her affection if one of her children—especially Pokey—didn’t measure up to her impossible standards.

  “I never thought you were the right kind of girl for Mason,” Sallie said flatly.

  Wow, Annajane thought. Way to get the niceties out of the way.

  “You’ve made that pretty clear over the years,” Annajane said.

  “Glenn felt differently about you,” Sallie said. “He admired your ‘spunk,’ whatever that is.”

  “Glenn was lovely to me,” Annajane said.

  “And I … wasn’t.” Sallie reached under the cushion of her chair and brought out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “Someday, if you ever have children of your own, Annajane, you’ll understand what it’s like, as a mother, to stand by and watch your child make a decision that you’re positive they will regret. And maybe you’ll understand why I treated you as I did.”

  Annajane felt her face go hot. “When I have children, and they grow up, I hope I’ll trust their decision-making skills. Mason wasn’t a child when we fell in love and got married, Sallie. He was an adult, and he was fully capable of deciding the qualities he wanted in a wife.”

  “Maybe,” Sallie said, conceding nothing. She inhaled and then exhaled a long plume of smoke through her nostrils, waving ineffectively at it. She got up and opened the glass door that led to the patio and pool area. A cool wind swept the room, sending the pale green fern fronds swaying. “Better,” she said to herself.

  She gave Annajane an assessing look. “You know, you’re much more attractive than your mother ever was. Your features are softer; you wear your hair in a much more flattering style; and of course Ruth, bless her heart, never did know how to dress.”

  For real? Annajane thought. She expects me to sit here and listen to her insult my mother?

  “I disagree,” Annajane said. “Mama was much prettier than me at her age. She had a way better figure, and if she didn’t have the nicest clothes, well, that’s because her parents never had a lot of money.” She smiled. “It’s funny you should mention my mother. Do you know, just this week I came across an old Quixie recipe booklet that had a photo of her at a cookout. In the photo, they had her posed with a bottle of Quixie, and Glenn was standing there, too, with his arm around her. They looked like a real couple. Funny, I’d never seen that photo before.”

  Sallie exhaled another stream of smoke, and her eyes narrowed. “Your mother never told you she dated Glenn?”

  “No. She didn’t even want to admit it when I called her that night to ask about it.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Sallie said. “It’s nothing to be proud of, stealing a friend’s man.”

  That made Annajane laugh out loud. “Mama had a different perspective. She told me she went out with Glenn only a few times that summer, after he’d already broken up with you, but before my father got back from the army.”

  “That is not how it happened,” Sallie said sharply. “Glenn and I were engaged to be engaged, and everybody knew it. But your mother had a huge crush on him. And why not? He was the best-looking boy in school, from the best family. He and I had some silly fight that spring, and I broke up with him. To get back at me, to make me jealous, he asked your mother to the prom. The biggest dance of the year, and I’d already bought my dress. Of course, Ruth knew all that, but she went with him anyway.”

  “And you never forgave her, or me, by extension,” Annajane said. “She never forgave you, either, although she refuses to talk about her reasons.”

  “I wouldn’t know either,” Sallie said airily. “Ruth was always full of spite. Your mother is not a happy person, Annajane.”

  “Mama was in her early twenties when my father died. Driving a Quixie truck,” Annajane said, her tone mild, pleasant even. “She was widowed with a young toddler. She had to go back to night school to get a n
ursing degree so she could support us, and she worked days to pay for the tuition. She hasn’t exactly had an easy life.”

  “Oh, yes,” Sallie said, rolling her eyes. “Here we go again, poor, poor Ruth Hudgens. The twice-widowed martyr with a chip on her shoulder the size of a two-by-four.”

  “Knock it off, Sallie,” Annajane warned. “I’m used to your criticism, but I don’t have to sit here and listen to you ridiculing my mother.”

  Sallie shrugged, unrepentant. “The point is, I knew what kind of girl your mother was, and I figured you’d be the same sort. I didn’t want that for Mason. And besides, you two came from two very different worlds.”

  Annajane stood up. “Is there a point to all of this? Because if not, I can think of a more pleasant way to spend a Saturday morning.”

  “I’m almost finished,” Sallie said. “Sit down, please.”

  Annajane glanced at her wristwatch. “Five minutes. That’s how much more of my time you’ve got.”

  Mason was right again. She shouldn’t have come. Despite all her best intentions, Sallie was getting to her yet again, needling, criticizing, and, yes, pushing her around. Annajane felt all the years of long-simmering resentment coming to a boil.

  Sallie took a deep drag on her cigarette and flicked the ashes into the nearest potted palm. “All I wanted to do … all I wanted to say, is this: if you’re going to become a part of this family … again, I want you to stop trying to tear us apart. That’s it. In a nutshell.”

  “I’m tearing your family apart?”

  “You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” Sallie asked. “Pokey is furious with me over this mess with Celia, which she somehow thinks is my fault. Mason won’t return my phone calls. He actually has Voncile running interference for him. And just last night, Davis came over here and announced that he was selling his share of the business to Pokey and possibly moving away.” Sallie blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. Her voice cracked. “This is all your doing.”