by Cindy Davis
Late. She’d overslept. Mamie would be there in less than an hour. It was Claire’s day off; Mamie closed the gallery at noon. They traditionally breakfasted together. Then later on, cooked a big lunch, did some gardening or puttered around one of their houses. They sometimes went for a drive and ate lunch leftovers while watching that damned television. Mamie would work on her latest painting project and Claire would get out her crocheting. Same old same old.
Were they friends or just two lonely souls with nothing better to do? She shrugged. She guessed it didn’t matter in the long run.
Claire raced through her toilette. She still had to dispose of the rest of the cake. And hide Sean’s slice. She donned the gardening gloves and took Sean’s slice of cake out to her car to lock in the trunk. If they went out later, she’d insist they take Mamie’s car. What excuse she’d use Claire didn’t know yet, but she couldn’t chance Mamie wanting to put something in there.
As she put her sneaker on the bottom step, Mamie’s Escort pulled into the driveway. No! For one horrible second, she couldn’t recall if she’d left the cake on the counter in plain sight or had put it safely into a cabinet. That’s where she’d thought about putting it. She flew inside.
As Claire raced through the back porch, the scent of chocolate wafted into her senses. Her imagination was working overtime. It had to be. It better be. Mamie was absolutely addicted to chocolate. If she found the cake, she wouldn’t stop till she’d eaten two, maybe three slices. Claire stumbled on the doorstep. In a slow-motion chain reaction, Claire’s feet went out from under her. She pitched into the table. The table skidded into the opposite chair. The chair slammed into the cabinet. The monkshood plant and handmade doily slid across the tabletop. Mid-fall, Claire groped for it. Missed.
“No!”
Somehow things worked in Claire’s favor. The plant and doily stopped halfway off the far edge. One movement might jar it from its perch, one tiny breath. Claire reached for the plant. Pushed the pot back onto the table.
The cake!
Not on the counter. The counter shone bright and spotless in the dim morning light. So did the sink and faucets. Claire’s memory returned. The cake was safely in the cabinet above the sink. The doors were shut tight.
Mamie waddled inside. Claire let out the breath she’d been holding and turned, rubbed her shoulder and slipped on a welcoming smile.
“What happened here?” Mamie asked.
“I tripped,” Claire said, pushing the table and chair back in place.
“You shouldn’t have been running.”
“I thought I’d left the burner on.”
Mamie peered at the stovetop. “It isn’t even red.”
“I said I thought I’d left it on. What do you want me to pick up at the grocery store later?” Did her voice sound normal?
“I was thinking soup would taste good today.”
“It’s supposed to be beautiful and warm, I won’t feel like eating soup. And you won’t either. What if I put together a picnic and we eat down at the battlefield?”
“That’s right, today is dress rehearsal, isn’t it?”
Claire had forgotten about that. Dress rehearsal was Edward’s term for the practice meet the day before the yacht club race. “Yes. What about finger foods: carrots, cucumbers and fried chicken?”
“Sounds good. Will you make some of that horseradish dip for the chicken?”
“I can. And I’ll make extra chicken so we can have it for supper. What about potato salad?”
“Good. Should I pick you up at lunchtime, or will you drive?”
“I’ll walk.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of walking lately. Do you think it’s good for your ankle? Besides, you’ll be carrying that heavy basket of food.”
“My ankle is fine. I’ll be fine.” Claire slid the plant to the exact center of the table and made sure the doily lay flat underneath.
“What a pretty plant.” Mamie put out a finger to touch one of the shiny leaves.
“Don’t!”
Mamie yanked her hand back as if the plant were a hive of angry hornets. “What?”
“It’s…I just…” Claire stammered. What to tell her? The truth? Sure, Payton was telling everyone anyway. “It’s poisonous. Well, I don’t think it is if you touch it, but Payton said it’s got poisonous sap. And I just didn’t…”
“Why on earth would you want a poisonous plant?”
“Well, it’s only poisonous if you’re messing with it. A lot of houseplants are that way, poinsettias, lily of the valley, cyclamen, amaryllis. Payton said they’re only dangerous if you have children or pets who might be putting leaves in their mouths.”
“So why did you jump down my throat?”
“I’m sorry. It was a knee-jerk reaction.” Claire handed Mamie a small notepad. “Here, help me make a shopping list.”
Mamie peered at her suspiciously. Claire had never needed help with a list before. She began dictating; chicken, cucumbers…
“I bought some nice plants at Payton’s shop.” Mamie was still eyeing the monkshood. “Didn’t see this one there. Maybe you could give me a cutting.”
“I don’t think it propagates that way. After a while it’ll be too big to keep as a houseplant. Eventually I’ll have to put it outdoors. How did you like Payton’s house? Do you think it’ll work as a gallery?”
“That reminds me. I called Miles this morning and told him we were having the exhibit there. He was excited I’d found something so quickly.”
Finally Mamie left to open the gallery. Claire did the grocery shopping, but her mind wasn’t on fried chicken, potato salad or carrot sticks, it was on the Deathday cake delivery. Sean would suffer. The fastest working poisons generally had the most horrific symptoms. It had to work fast. She couldn’t take the chance some magical antidote would be available. This had to be done right the first time. There wouldn’t be a second chance.
Driving from the supermarket, all she could smell was chocolate. Could that single slice in the trunk emit that much aroma? Suddenly Claire felt ill. The chocolate smell was so powerful her stomach rumbled. Acid churned. She sped home.
ELEVEN
With her stomach in turmoil, Claire decided to drive to the marina instead of walk. The sky was still overcast, but now there were breaks in the clouds with blue sky visible between. She left the picnic hamper in the car and joined the others already gathered for the dress rehearsal under the big white canopy in the parking lot. Tomorrow long tables would be set along two sides to hold the potluck lunch they served before each race. Chaumont, the team they’d race against, would be invited, too.
She spotted Sean talking to Brighton and Aden. Brighton pointed at something down the dock and Sean nodded. He said something to which Aden disagreed, tweaking his mustache between thumb and forefinger.
Payton’s words popped into Claire’s head. “Helen’s been trying to fix me up with him ever since I moved here.” For once Claire had to agree with Helen. They would make a handsome couple. Both tall and slim, both educated and well off, both calm and collected. Yes, definitely a nice match.
A flicker of jealousy whacked the back of her head. Payton had been in town for just a few months and already had men fawning over her. Claire had been there almost thirty years and hadn’t had one. Nobody tried to fix her up. The envy was replaced by a wave of loneliness. Since Sean’s father, there hadn’t been a real relationship with a man. Not a sexual one anyway. Not that the relationship with Sean’s father was anything to write home about. A two-night stand. Claire’s loins twitched in response.
Helen, Amanda and Payton stood to one side of the canopy, chatting. Claire stepped around a puddle and joined them. “Who’s watching the store?” she asked Payton.
“I put a note on the door inviting people down to watch.”
“Good idea. Will you be hiring anyone to help during times like this?”
“I’ve thought about it. My housework is suffering.”
“Your
house is pristine,” Claire said.
At that moment Sylvie arrived somewhat out of breath. “I’ve had the worst day so far. First I overslept. Then the percolator overflowed all over the counter. And then I dropped the ironing board down the cellar stairs.” Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Payton.
“Morning, Sylvie.”
Sylvie gave a snobbish turn to her head.
Claire puffed in irritation. “Sylvie, you’re being childish. Payton wouldn’t sell plants that would emit poison right through the pot. They’re not dangerous if you—”
“Who’re you to tell me what someone else would do, Claire Bastian?” Sylvie slammed her purse strap onto her shoulder and stalked away.
“What was that all about?” Amanda asked.
Claire told of Sylvie’s escapade with the monkshood. “I can just picture her barreling back to her office and taking a bath in disinfectant!” Amanda said.
“Anyone heard who Sean’s teaming with during the race?” Helen asked.
“I heard it’s someone named Frank Simpson. He’s from Watertown but can’t be here today. He’s got some family get together.”
Edward’s shout of, “All right everyone! Gather round,” halted further discussion.
Claire followed the racers into the circle where Edward would give a pep talk and prayer for safety. Everyone stood in rapt attention except Amanda. Her head partly turned toward Sean, her expression one of careful indifference, but Claire knew the anxiety she felt. The same thing Claire experienced every time she saw Sean, every time his name was mentioned. Except Claire had the added burden of guilt of his birth in her soul.
The racers did high fives, signaling the end of Edward’s benediction. They clomped down the dock toward the sailboats. Claire used her sleeve to polish the face of the stopwatch. She punched the buttons a few times to make sure everything worked smoothly.
One by one the yachts moved under motor power from the marina to the starting point in the harbor. Aden and Brighton on their bright new Diplomat followed Helen and Carter’s Paves the Way, Amanda and Edward lined up third on SHARE, Sylvie and her partner from Henderson were next, and last was Sean on MaryAnn. Claire wondered if he planned to change the name once his divorce was final. Claire had heard it was bad luck to change a boat’s name. Wouldn’t matter, she guessed. Sean was soon to be overflowing with bad luck.
Felicia joined Claire and they walked the path along the top of the stone barrier wall on the south side of the bay. On the left were the now-famous one hundred maple trees planted in 1912 to commemorate the War Centennial. This was where, in the year 1812, soldiers had fired at ships attempting to make their way into the United States via the St. Lawrence Seaway. A north wind, that strongly favored sailing, pushed small whitecaps on the harbor to the right.
Felicia and Claire stood on the point where the land curved southward. Claire inhaled, savoring the aroma of freshly mown grass. This point was the best spot from which to watch, and time, the race. The sun poked its happy yellow face through the clouds as the starting buzzer sounded. It was just over seventy degrees. Overhead, the clouds sped past as though shoved by the same tailwind the boats received.
As far as she could tell, the practice was going smoothly. She and Felicia, silent for the most part, sat with their legs dangling over the stone wall. The sailboats were nearly out of sight as they proceeded to the first and second pins. From the second pin to home they would be back in view.
As usual, Brighton and Aden were way out in front. Their first boat always had the wings of an angel and this new one seemed to be the same. She clicked the stopwatch as they passed the finish line. Second to them were Edward and Amanda on SHARE. Following a close third was a Chaumont boat Bank Account. Fourth was Paves the Way, Carter hauling firmly on the jib line, his feet planted beneath him braced against the choppy water. Helen wound the stern line with a vengeance, changing the height of the jib sail as the wind switched direction. Claire couldn’t see Payton at all because the mainsail was in the way. Far back was Sean on MaryAnn. Although slower than the others, it sailed straight and smooth into the bay.
Once all the boats were battened down and the participants gathered in the tent area, Amanda broke out the champagne that Edward poured into long stemmed plastic glasses. They all toasted the successful run.
“Whew, that felt good!” Amanda ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. Edward watched her, the love obvious on his face. Claire felt her second twinge of jealousy.
“It sure did,” Helen agreed. “Makes you realize what a long winter it was.”
“No longer than any other,” Sylvie groused.
“Children, children,” Amanda called. “Let’s not spoil this wonderful afternoon.” She held up her glass. “To tailwinds and angels, full sails and untangled lines.”
“Here here,” Aden called, holding his glass high.
“Congratulations on your record fast time,” Claire announced, holding up the stopwatch for everyone to see. “Let’s hope you can do it again tomorrow when it’ll be official.”
Aden checked the timer and whistled. Helen and Carter groaned in unison.
“Sorry, folks,” Aden said.
Claire put her empty glass on the table. “Well, it’s time for me to shove off.”
“Me also,” Payton said. “Got to get back to work.” They walked up the long marina driveway together.
“See you later,” Helen called.
“What did she mean by that?” Claire asked.
“I have no idea,” Payton replied.
“I’ve been so absentminded all week. I’m sure there’s something I’m forgetting. Mamie and I are having a picnic lunch at the battlefield in a while. I’m getting her at the gallery.”
Payton brushed windblown auburn hair from her face. “Have fun.”
Claire thought how pretty it looked. When her own hair got all windblown, even though it was short, she thought it made her look like a mad woman.
They separated, saying they’d see each other later. Payton crossed Main Street. Claire continued on to the art gallery, but Mamie wasn’t at her easel. Voices from the back room echoed. She found Mamie and a handsome looking Italian, whom she assumed was Miles Arenheim, standing on the back stoop. He had a cigarette in his hand, which explained why they were outdoors. As hesitant as Mamie usually was around people, she would never allow anyone, even someone as suave and famous as this man, to sully the gallery air with cigarette smoke.
“Claire, hello.” Mamie turned to Miles. “This is my friend Claire Bastian.”
Miles blew smoke out his mouth, self-confident, well educated and obviously rich. Other than the round eyeglasses that lent a mousy expression, he could give Aden Green a run for his money in the looks department. “Nice to meet you,” Claire said.
“Same here. Mamie speaks often of you.” The moment he spoke, Claire felt a surge of dislike for the man. The soft-spoken sentiment never reached his eyes. She always believed her grandmother’s tenet, that eyes were the “mirror to the soul.” People could disguise their emotions with words, Grandma said, but couldn’t keep the truth from their eyes. This man didn’t mean a word he said.
“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to have lunch with you today,” Mamie said. “Miles and I are going to Payton’s to make a list of things we need to ready it for the exhibit.”
“Don’t worry about it. Have fun. I’ll see you at my place for dinner.”
Outside, the sky had turned a sodden gray. Funny how fast the weather could change. Drizzle blew off the harbor and slammed her in the face. She hadn’t gone twenty feet down Main Street when the sky erupted. Claire dodged a pickup and raced across the street. She was sopping wet by the time she flew inside Payton’s Place. Payton looked up, startled, from the front counter. Claire realized the vision she must have presented to the always impeccable Payton, and before Payton could laugh at her, she said the most inane thing she could think of, “It’s raining.”
“Would you like a bar of s
oap?”
TWELVE
Wouldn’t Mamie ever finish eating? Bone after bone got piled on the woman’s plate. A second and third helping of potato salad. Endless one-sided conversation about Miles Arenheim’s delight with Payton’s house. Finally, she pushed back from the table and patted her round tummy. “I could really go for a cup of herb tea.”
Claire leaped up. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you go watch television and I’ll bring it.”
Mamie patted her stomach again and waddled out of the room. The television came on.
Minutes later Claire placed the steaming cups of tea on the coffee table.
“There, finished.” Mamie turned the easel so Claire could see. “What do you think?”
Mamie was undoubtedly the worst painter in the world. Everything was one-dimensional, unimaginative. Which made being her friend very hard at times like this. Claire wanted to be honest, but Mamie loved to paint more than anything else. Once, Claire had lied and said how great the thing was, then received the damned thing as a Christmas present. She stole a glance at the painting on the far living room wall, a wild landscape of the arctic tundra with a polar bear chasing a frantic seal. It wasn’t as though it had been given to her by a far-away relative and could be relegated to a spot in the spare bedroom. Mamie came here often, and Claire was faced with looking at it day in and day out.
Claire went for a closer inspection of Mamie’s work in progress. “You’ve really captured the mother’s love for her pups. Do you have a buyer yet?”
Mamie sighed. “Claire, you know no one ever buys my paintings. I’m a terrible artist and everyone knows it.” She gave a wistful smile. “It’s just that I love it so.”
“That’s what’s important.”
Mamie stood and arched her back. “I’ve got the munchies. Got anything sweet to eat?”
Claire nearly lost her balance and toppled into the wet painting. “How can you be hungry after what you just ate?”