2 Maid in the Shade

by Bridget Allison

  “So this wasn’t a personal visit between pals?”

  “No,” I said, “I was just going to drop something by your house. It’s not a problem. I’m going to take it by the department now. Right this minute, get it checked off my list as soon as I get dressed. I will ask them to keep it in your fridge there.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said “as soon as I get dressed.”

  “I’m just not dressed to drop off anything at the sheriff’s office. I’m not in the nude.”

  “So what are you wearing?”

  “Want the truth?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I’m wearing a kimono and a Viking helmet.”

  He laughed. “Well that probably would cause some consternation in town so come on out here.”

  “I’m not interrupting your evening just to deliver something. You can pick it up at work tomorrow.”

  “Sooo, I was just on your ‘to do’ list.”

  “I was going to bring you dinner since I still owed you, according to you, for the shooting.”

  “And you were going to say it with supper,” he said flatly. “No point negotiating something a little more personal I expect.”

  “You have a DATE.” I said hotly. “You must need Excel spreadsheets to keep all your women straight.”

  “She’ll understand. Come on by.”

  Aggghh. Now I really didn’t want to go, but protesting did no good and besides I had already revealed that I had my schedule free this evening.

  I was looking for a distraction. Why I wanted that distraction in the form of Jared didn’t bear examination. It was unwise to go rambling out there just to take Jared an awesome chicken pie. I wanted to spar with him then flee like some sort of ninja seductress. I wanted to catch an appreciative gleam in his eye as salve to my bruised ego. It was absurd and unfair to Jared, but I realized suddenly that when I contemplated even the remote possibility of happily ever after, it had always been with Ben. A Ben who no longer fit the image I had of him. He certainly hadn’t wasted a moment sowing more wild oats before he returned; if he returned to me at all. “Sis,” I muttered. He had to know what a blow it would be to say that to me. And what was all that about using up his money on diamonds and furs? Those were two things I had no plans to acquire as a matter of principle.

  “Sis.” Suddenly I had been quite drastically demoted. If Irinia was a deeply serious relationship there would be no better way to convey my change in status. He had hit the trifecta of pain. “Sis, diamonds, and furs” as well as his implication I could play it fast and loose with his money and use “our” picnic basket for dates. Perhaps I had been blind to Ben because I had formed my impressions of him at such a young age. Apparently he wasn’t that different from Jared, without the fishbowl effect of a small town.

  I had Ben on a pedestal for so long I had never entertained the possibility that I only saw the best of him and sporadically. Just as I had made a caricature of Jared, I had cast Ben as some sort of lesser god.

  What I did know is that I had to do something, and quickly, before I turned catatonic. I’m very good at compartmentalizing and that is what I would do now. It is what I do best. It is what forces me to survive, and if it’s unhealthy screw the experts. I’m still standing.

  Right now, I needed to walk out to my car and do something unexpected. It might be a terrible decision but if so I would rather focus on kicking myself for that rather than replay the sound of Ben’s indifferent and condescending message.

  I turned my mind back to what I would wear. Abs or legs I wondered? As I slipped on a thong and bra I rummaged through my closet. I should look casual, I thought. Maybe I should look a little better than usual but explain it was not for his benefit. I could tell him I was going to a movie in Charlotte, or the local watering hole to meet someone for drinks. I called Lucy.

  “You have plans later tonight?”

  “No, not really, why? Jackson’s home I thought I might stop by and see how college is going, but I’m free later.”

  “Want a maybe date with me?”

  “What for, a little B&E, tasering the locals, bullying the elderly, tree climbing? Speaking of the elderly I don’t feel so bad about you picking on Herb anymore, who would have thought he would kill Mae? I cannot wait to find out why, but everyone seems to be assuming it was over the divorce. So what’s the maybe date?”

  “I’m taking supper to Jared, if I need an escape plan for a quick getaway I thought we could meet at Bunburry’s and have a drink.”

  “You don’t drink.”

  “No, but you do, besides I always order tonic water with a twist. I have no problem being in bars. I never did my drinking in bars.”

  “Are you going to tell me why if we get there?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Are you going to tell me why if we don’t?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Okay but you owe me. I get to pick my own ring tone.”

  “Seriously, you are obsessed with ring tones.”

  “I wonder what Jared’s is for you?” Lucy mused.

  “Jared doesn’t strike me as the type to use individual ring tones. If he put one on there for every woman he has had a passing interest in he’d have to sell his house to pay for them.”

  “The man loves his music, plays the guitar, gets a lot of social calls, and has waaay more than a passing interest in you. I bet you have a ring tone.”

  “I don’t think I want to know if that’s true.”

  I hung up and looked for the outfit that is the bain of every woman’s existence, the “I look great, but it’s completely unintentional and not for your benefit” ensemble.

  I finally settled on a J Brand denim skirt, a tie up sleeveless top by Equipment and I tied it just below my rib cage. A lilac and lace balconet bra with just a little push to it made me button an extra button at the top. The shirt had just a hint of sheerness allowing a little fine detail of the bra to show.

  I debated over Haviana flip flops with a slight wedge which said (I hoped), “Flip flops! Not being provocative here.” The slight heel emphasized my legs which are probably my best feature so that was a yes.

  I gave myself the once over in my limited mirror after I carefully put on mascara and curled my eyelashes, then combed through them so that it looked pretty natural. I painted my toenails red and finished up with a little nude lip gloss. Legs nicely tanned and defined, arms and abs decent, due to my sit ups, the occasional oak tree chin ups, and regular swims in Lucy’s pool, I was looking a little better than on an average day. Besides, I have a definite attention deficit disorder when it comes to getting ready. After a few minutes I want to scream, which is why I’ve always worn my hair very short or long enough for a ponytail.

  Tonight I was wearing it long and loose; unusual, but not unprecedented. My fingernails were short with a clear glaze as they always were. I can barely tolerate a haircut, although I love to be shampooed, the mani-pedi was not ever on my calendar. I did them myself, regularly and faster than it takes to drive to a salon and wait.

  I had my father’s cast off vintage watch. My mother had given it to him long ago and he had buckled it on my wrist after her funeral explaining that it made him too sad to look at every day. It was large against my slim wrist but it actually had the opposite effect on me. Every time I looked at it the silver face spoke to me more about love than the passage of time. I slipped my keys in my skirt pocket, grabbed the pie and I was ready to hit the trail. As an afterthought I climbed up on the counter and brought the basket down and rested the pie inside. It was a patently “screw Ben” kind of move , but I was done questioning my motives and being cautious with men’s hearts. Clearly no one was looking out for mine,

  Fifteen minutes later I was traveling down Jared’s winding drive with the basket sitting securely in the passenger floorboard. As I rounded the pond, I saw Jared on the porch seated comfortably in a dark wicker arm chair with a
guitar. His head was down as he played and he only looked up when I swung quickly out of Bessless and on over to the passenger side where I bent over quickly to retrieve the pie from the basket.

  He watched my approach, only remembering his manners as I started up the white wooden steps. Then he jumped up, put the guitar down carefully, relieved me of the pie and held his front door open. I hadn’t meant to go in, had I? I had intended to do my sparring briefly and outside. Nevertheless I was in and he was leading me to the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to eat it now,” I explained. “It's fresh. You could still make your date. Just throw it in the freezer when you have company or something.”

  “I seem to have company or something now” he said. Turning to smile as he popped the Diva Mama Pie into the freezer he walked over to the stove top and stirred something then opened the oven.

  “I made dinner,” he explained, “why don’t you stay?”

  I made a pretense of checking my watch. “I’m supposed to meet someone later at Bunburry’s,” I said, purposely naming the locally famous, homey and faintly respectable pub.

  “I wondered what was up. You don’t usually dress so feminine. I thought it might be for me, and then I remembered we’re just friends.”

  He regarded me thoughtfully then crossed over to the opposite corner where I was leaning and picked me up and sat me on the counter.

  “I did make dinner,” he said firmly, “you can at least eat something before you rush off.”

  I thought about it for a second then nodded.

  “Great, I didn’t cook for you,” he said hastily.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to, and glad to hear it. That would kind of erase the apology pie. Can I help?”

  “Nope, got it under control. It’s one of my old standbys.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I don’t cook every night,” he explained. “I make something every other night which takes care of the next day or two.”

  “I would have figured you for a diner or fast food window type or, with all your dating, that would keep you out of the kitchen most evenings.”

  “Nope. That stuff is tiresome. Too much and I would look like—I don’t know, those doughnut munching parodies of law enforcement. Not that what I’m making tonight is healthy,” he hastily added. “But at least I know everything that’s in it.”

  “Never figured you for a health nut. I seem to recall you downing four hotdogs at the Oasis once.”

  “I’m just being responsible. Health is a gift, so you get some exercise, eat reasonably well, and make sure your kids aren’t saddled with your issues you could have controlled.”

  “I never figured you for the family man type either.”

  “Don’t you think that’s because you’re more comfortable with me as some simple sex starved good ol’ boy?”

  “Maybe there is more to you than that, but you’re just as guilty.”

  “How so?” He asked as he grabbed a mitt and brought the first dish out of the oven.

  “I think you believe I’m far more complex than I really am.”

  “Nope, every time I turn around and look at something you’re up to, there’s another facet that I didn’t catch before. That’s probably because you’re not mine to sit and study.” He said it easily, reaching up to grab the plates high up in the top shelf of the cabinets.

  “I don’t usually bring this out,” he explained placing the plates carefully on the counter and filling up two glasses with tea. “But I have my doubts I’ll be cooking for you again and it seems fitting all of a sudden.”

  He brought one of the plates over and handed it to me. “My grandmother had this from when she was a bride, she gave it to me because I cared most about their things and their history” he explained as I examined the intricate hand painted pattern of leaves and tiny birds.

  “My God,” I said startled. “Every time an old college friend gets married and I go through her registry I end up looking at china. I just thought someday I would buy some for myself. This is perfect. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Maybe there’s a reason for that. Check out the pattern name.”

  I turned it over carefully. “Gretchen” by Waterford.

  “Almost impossible to find now,” he said, “I broke a teacup once and I felt like I had run over my cat.”

  I looked warily around. I’m allergic to cats. Highly allergic. In fact so allergic I should be scrambling for my Benadryl and wheezing about now.

  “Not a house cat.” Jared said. “Alfred has never been in the house.”

  “Do you know how many songbirds are killed every year by domestic cats?”

  “As a matter of fact I do. My grandmother would come after me with the broom if I ever kept a cat outdoors. She was a large animal vet and still is a crazed environmentalist.”

  “So, this is a neighbor’s cat you feed?”

  “Nope, but Alfred should be around, if he comes around at all, at about time for dessert. You’ll disapprove as much as she does, but stay and meet him anyway. You want to eat in here or on the porch?”

  “Porch,” I said quickly. The large kitchen with a stone fireplace, glowing warm pine cabinets and floors and a hominess you could just sink into and never want to leave was making me feel overwhelmed.

  Elegant rustic was something so many people attempt and never achieve. But it was all here in a great open plan that simply came from a well-built old home filled with family treasures.

  “I’m assuming this is yours, or your family place, a home place”

  He smiled, “THE home place, I’m very lucky it was deeded over to me. Of course I had to have it appraised and pay off family for the adjoining land, but that was easy enough to do. No one but me thought it was worth much and I think it’s just about priceless. No matter where I go it will be here and be kept up.”

  “That’s right, you inherited from that uncle.”

  A shadow of disgust passed over his face. “I had money settled on me when I turned twenty-one. Nothing about that man had a thing to do with this place being mine.”

  We carried the tea and plates out to the porch, Jared pulled a chair out for me and went back inside for napkins and flatware.

  I surveyed the land and pond in front of me, the stable off to the side looked almost as old as the house. I heard the sound of horses settling in for the night.

  I quickly unbuttoned the third button on my blouse that I had deemed a little too “come hither” when I was getting ready earlier. I heard the screen door slam shut as I was looking out over the land again. He laid the napkins out properly with some heavy old silver and I saw his eye travel immediately over to that third button as he was doing so.

  “Damn him,” I thought, “we both just got lucky and unlucky in the space of a minute.”

  “Thanks,” I said lightly. “This looks wonderful.” And it did. We had our plates filled with chicken and dumplings, string beans and sweet potatoes.

  I took a sip of tea and carefully laid my napkin on my lap. “Who made the table?” I asked as I caressed the wood. It was arched on one end and attached to the house on the other. He had just flipped it down with his elbow when we had brought out the plates and I heard it snap into place.

  Jared smiled, “Dig in and I’ll tell you anything you want.”

  “You in a big hurry?” I asked, smiling as I took my first bite.

  He looked at my third button again before his eyes traveled up to meet mine.

  “I never hurry anything.”

  “Oh,” I gulped and for a second was afraid I might choke. The chicken and dumplings melted in my mouth which was probably the only thing that saved me from a Heimlich maneuver.

  I took a quick sip of tea and took the glass and rubbed it against my neck, he was looking at me, seemingly spellbound.

  I felt like I had the upper hand again, if just barely, and set the glass down carefully. When I looked up his eyes fixed on a trickl
e of moisture I could feel making its way down my neck.

  “If it’s too hot we can go inside,” he said huskily.

  “No, of course not, I’m cooling off,” I said brightly, feeling just a little triumphant. “So you were about to tell me who made the table?”

  “I did, or at least thought of it. When my Grandpa was working on the spring house one day he made a little new door, I was probably about in second grade, yeah, it was second grade, and when he threw it on the burn pile I cried for it. So they took it and stored it in the attic and every time they wanted to throw something out from then on it was “Don’t forget to check with Jared.” Or “Don’t forget about Jared’s door.” Anyway, this table is the old spring house door. I hated change back then. I could tell if there was a book missing. I even got them to save the claw foot tub when they updated their house in town. I got that here too. I’ll show it to you later.”

  “Oh I won’t be here that long will I? After all, we both have plans.”

  “Yes,” he smiled and said with emphasis, “equally legitimate plans.”

  “So how did you get the idea to make the table?”

  “Oh beds, I am fascinated by beds.”

  “I would assume so since you have undoubtedly been in so many,” I murmured taking another quick bite.

  He grinned, “No it actually started out with tree houses, I love them, used to draw up plans for them with a Murphy style bed and damned if my Grandpa and I didn’t end up building three tree houses; one at each place. But I was always trying to figure out a way that I could live in one permanently when I grew up, thought about how to fit everything you’d need in one. So as much as possible I’ve built things where they don’t take up floor space.”

  “Three!” I shook my head, “I would really love to see one sometime if they’re still there. I love trees,” I added fervently like some wallflower the prom king had just tripped over on his way to the bathroom.