Magnolia Drive

by Rochelle Alers

  She waved to Miss Bernice through the driver’s side window. Every morning she came out of her house to sweep the front porch whether it had debris or not. It was just an excuse for her to keep watch on her neighbors. The Tanners may have held the distinction of owning the largest private residence in the Cove but it still did not have enough acreage to provide complete privacy from their nearest neighbor. The former owners had sold off acre after acre of what had been more than twenty until less than a half acre remained. One by one other houses had been erected on half-acre lots along with countless magnolia trees that, when flowering, permeated the air with perfume from their blooms. Pulling into the driveway behind Miss Corrine’s Camry, Francine parked the fire-engine-red Corvette. Kara stood in the doorway, holding her son to her chest. His tiny round head moved as he made grunting noises.

  “Please come in,” Kara said, smiling. “It’s time for his feeding and if I’m one minute late he starts crying as if I hadn’t fed him four hours ago.”

  Francine followed her into the sunroom with the framed artwork of renowned Southern painter Jonathan Green mounted on one wall. She peered closer at one painting. “Are these originals?”

  “Yes. Gram is quite proud of her art collection.” Kara sat on a rocker, unbuttoned her blouse, and within seconds her son had attacked her breast with such a vengeance that she made a hissing sound. “Slow it down, Austin, or you’re going to choke.” She gestured to a love seat covered with a sunny-yellow fabric with bright green leaves. “Sit down, Francine.”

  She complied, staring at the scene of a mother feeding her child that had been repeated since the beginning of time. Morgan was right. The newborn was his father’s clone. “Your son is going to grow up to be quite the heartbreaker.”

  Attractive lines fanned out around Kara’s large hazel eyes when she smiled. “Jeff keeps threatening to teach him how to be a player, but I told him my son will not grow up to mess over women as long as I have anything to do with his upbringing.”

  “How is Jeff adjusting to fatherhood?”

  “It’s like he was born to take care of a baby. He does everything but breast-feed. He and Gram fight constantly about who’s going to hold him. I keep reminding them that they’re spoiling him, but it’s like talking to a wall.”

  “Babies are meant to be spoiled.”

  Kara rolled her eyes. “You say that because you don’t have any. When Austin refuses to go sleep by himself because he wants to be held, I’ll bring him right over to Magnolia Drive and hand him to you.”

  Throwing back her head, Francine laughed. “I’ll take him. And don’t expect to get him back.”

  Corrine and Jeff walked into the sunroom at the same time. Corrine handed Francine a cup of tea. “I heard your car when you drove up. I know you prefer tea to coffee.”

  Jeff was in uniform, which meant he was on duty or scheduled to go on duty. He’d resigned his commission as a captain with the U.S. Marine Corps to return to the island to care for his grandmother. He’d been recruited to fill in as sheriff when his predecessor resigned and no one, unless they’d taken leave of their senses, dared to challenge the former military policeman.

  Francine nodded. “I do.” She normally drank one cup of coffee a day, and that was decaf at night. Jeff came over and kissed Francine’s cheek. “I just stopped by to check on my girls.”

  Corrine sat down next to Francine. “Your girls and your son, Jeffrey.”

  He gave his grandmother a sheepish look. “Why do you have to blow me up like that, Gram?”

  She waved at him. “Go on and protect the good people of Cavanaugh Island from the rascals, scalawags, and perpetrators.”

  Jeff patted Corrine’s silver hair. “They’re not perps until they commit a crime.”

  “And it’s your job to stop them from becoming perps, Jeffrey.”

  Kara, who’d finished feeding her son, handed Francine a diaper. “You can burp him. It doesn’t hurt to get in a little practice for when you have your little one.”

  Francine jumped up. “I doubt if that’s ever going to happen.” And if it did it wouldn’t be for a while, she mused. She hadn’t planned on getting married again, but she was leaving her options open when it came to adoption. “Let me wash my hands first.” She returned after washing her hands in the half bath off the kitchen, holding out her arms for the newborn. He opened his eyes and seemingly smiled at her. Morgan was right. He had inherited the Pattons’ gray eyes. Placing the diaper over her shoulder, she supported his head in one hand, and gently rubbed his back. He had the new baby smell she loved. Austin let out a loud burp. “That was a good one.” Francine cradled Austin in the crook of her arm, her features softening noticeably. “He’s so adorable.”

  She couldn’t help the direction her thoughts took as she stood holding the newborn. What would it feel like to watch her belly grow with a child she’d created with Keaton? To have their son or daughter feed at her breasts? To watch him cradle their baby in his large hands? In that instant she wanted what Kara and Jeff, and Morgan and Nate, had. Francine finally admitted to wanting a second chance to fall in love and marry, and this time get it right.

  “He’s a good baby,” Corrine said proudly. “The only time he cries is when he wants to eat.” She pushed to her feet. “Speaking of eating, can we offer you anything, Francine?”

  “No thank you, Miss Corrine. I ate something before church.”

  Kara smoothed back the hair that had escaped the elastic band holding her ponytail in place. “Give me another three weeks and I’m going to redeem a part of your gift certificate with a haircut and hydrating facial. I’m going to save the full body massage for after I have my six-week checkup.”

  “Call me whenever you’re ready and I’ll be happy to schedule you. Remember, we’re closed on Sunday and Monday.”

  Francine gave Austin to his mother, who placed him in the cradle Nate had made for him. She stayed another forty-five minutes with the Hamiltons, asking Corrine if she would be willing to talk to Keaton about the island’s history for a movie script. Corrine said he could come by at any time. She seemed genuinely pleased that someone wanted to make a movie about the Lowcountry.

  Her thoughts quickly turned to her pending chores once she reached her home. She had to put away several loads of laundry and planned to watch her favorite TV programs, her usual Sunday night routine. Monday mornings were relegated to cleaning her apartment, leaving her the rest of day to relax and do things for herself.

  When she walked into the main house, she headed straight for the kitchen, stopping short when she saw her mother sitting on a stool, hair covered with a colorful bandanna, at the cooking island rolling out piecrusts. “What are you doing here, Mama?” She expected her mother to be readying herself for the later service at church, not cooking.

  Mavis’s head came around and she smiled at Francine. “I live here.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Francine teased. She closed the distance between them, kissed Mavis’s cheek, and then sat opposite her mother. Francine noticed tightness around Mavis’s mouth when she pressed her lips together.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He went over to that driving range in Goose Creek. He claims he’s off his golf game and wants to get in some practice before he enters that fund-raising tournament next month.”

  “You’re in pain, Mama.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re grimacing. It’s your back again, isn’t it?”

  “It is a little tight.”

  “Why don’t you go and lie down?”

  “I can’t. I promised Grandma Dinah I would make dessert for dinner.”

  Rising to her feet, Francine came around and eased Mavis up to a standing position. “I’m going to put you into bed where you’re going to rest your back.”

  “Who’s going to make dessert?” Mavis asked.

  “I’ll go out and buy something if Grandma decides she doesn’t want to do it.”


  The Muffin Corner was closed on Sundays, which meant Francine would have to drive into Charleston. Curving an arm around Mavis’s waist, she led her gently out of the kitchen and down the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

  “Why don’t you try to finish what I started,” Mavis suggested. “All you have to do is roll out another crust.”

  “Please, Mama. You know I can’t make a pie.”

  Mavis groaned under her breath. “We can’t have dinner without dessert. There are melons, grapes, and berries in the fridge. You can make a fruit salad.”

  “Okay. I can cut up the fruit.”

  Francine managed to get her mother into bed without putting too much stress on her back. She’d tried to convince her mother to limit the number of hours she stood on her feet at the salon, but to no avail. “I’m going to bring you a couple of aspirins and a heating pad.”

  Mavis’s high cheekbones were pronounced when she smiled. “Thank you.”

  Leaning over, Francine pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t run away,” she teased. She went into the bathroom to get the aspirin, a glass of water, and the heating pad. “Does Daddy know about your back?” she asked when she returned to the bedroom to hand her the glass and the aspirin. She adjusted several pillows at the small of Mavis’s back, then plugged in the heating pad.

  Mavis peered at Francine over the rim of the glass. “No. It didn’t start hurting until after he’d left this morning.”

  Sitting on the side of the mattress, Francine lightly touched the salt-and-pepper twists falling over the pillow. The familiar scent of coconut wafted to her nose. Mavis washed and conditioned her hair every week, painstakingly twisting her hair until it was smooth and smelling of coconut from the hairdressing she used to keep it from unwinding.

  Francine crawled into bed and lay beside her mother as she’d done when she was a child whenever her father went away on business. “I went to see Kara’s baby after church.”

  Mavis closed her eyes. “How is he?”

  “Delicious, Mama. He’s a miniature Jeff right down to the slight cleft in his chin.”

  “Oh.” She sighed. “This heat feels so good on my back.”

  “What you need to do is take a week off and go down to the Caribbean with Daddy and lie in the sun. Your pain may come from stress but it can also stem from you standing on your feet for hours without taking a break. It’s time you think about cutting back your hours.”

  “And do what, boss?”

  Francine laughed. “Relax.”

  Mavis opened her eyes, shifting slightly so she could look directly at Francine. “I’ll relax when I can stay home and take care of my grandchild.”

  “Please don’t go there again,” Francine said under her breath.

  “I will go there, Francine, because right now there’s nothing to stay home for. Corrine raised Jeff when his mother died, and now I’m certain she’ll look after her great-grandson if or when Kara decides she wants to go back to social work even if it’s on a part-time basis.”

  “You don’t have to babysit to stay home,” she argued softly. “You can join the book discussion group Deborah hosts at her bookstore, or you can become more involved in the chamber activities. You can go with Grandma when she goes to the Creek for her quilting bee. Right now they’re making personalized quilts for cancer patients in the children’s hospital.”

  “That’s all good, but some of those women gossip way too much. It’s all right to talk sometimes, but that’s all they do. Instead of talking about what’s happening in the world it’s about whose husband is sleeping with whom. Then it’s about how much someone spends on shoes or a handbag. Who gives a flying fig if I decide to spend fifty dollars or five hundred dollars on a handbag? It’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it. But you never hear them talk about how their badass kids get into trouble with drugs or if their boy was caught breaking into a store or even slapping his wife and kids around. That’s when their jaws get so tight you wouldn’t be able to pry them open with a crowbar.”

  “What else is there to talk about?” Francine asked.

  “There are a lot of things. What do you and Keaton talk about?”

  She hesitated, wondering where the question had stemmed from. Her mother must have heard something about them. “We usually talk about ourselves and of course movies. He’s new here so he wouldn’t know too much about anyone.”

  “That’s true, but there has been a lot of talk about him. A few of the folks staying at the boardinghouse claim he keeps to himself, and that he’s quiet and very polite.”

  “I guess the word hasn’t got out yet about his building the movie studio.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Mavis said. “Someone said Hannah let the cat out the bag when she mentioned it to Mayor White. This upcoming mayoral race is as nasty as the last presidential campaign, with people taking sides and hurling slurs at one another. Sanctuary Cove has only approximately eight hundred people, of which only half vote, yet you’d think it was the race for the White House.”

  “Remember, Mama, this is the first time Spencer has faced a serious challenger. Alice is the Cove’s first female mayoral candidate and she’s married to a man with deep pockets when it comes to campaign financing. She’s young, attractive, a mother, and a nonpracticing attorney. Her husband has made certain Cavanaugh Island gets its fair share of federal government monies for the taxes we pay. Spencer is solely relying on his good looks and his bachelor status with the women voters.”

  “They’re scheduled to have one debate a week before the March election and that’s something I plan to witness in person even if we have to close the shop early. Now, back to you and Keaton,” Mavis said without pausing to take a breath.

  “What about us?”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Of course I like him,” Francine said quickly. “If I didn’t then I wouldn’t go out with him.”

  “Your grandma told me she likes him too.”

  “That’s because she knows he’s going to give me cooking lessons. Did she tell you she allowed him to fix something in her kitchen?”

  “No… no she didn’t.” She paused. “Your visions are bothering you, aren’t they?”

  Francine noticed her mother was slurring. Aspirin always made her sleepy. “Why would you say that, Mama?”

  “Because you’re in bed with me. Tell me about them.”

  Francine knew she couldn’t get anything past her mother. As a child, whenever she had a disturbing vision she would crawl into bed with Mavis and they would discuss what she’d seen. She told her about the recurring one about the gaping mouths and shouting and that she knew the uproar had taken place in Sanctuary Cove because she recognized the town square.

  “It’s probably the election. Folks have become very vocal about who they want to see as their next mayor.”

  “That’s what I keep thinking. I’m going to program the heating pad to go off in twenty minutes.” Slipping out of bed, she folded the blankets under Mavis’s shoulders. “I’ll come and check on you as soon as I put up a load of laundry.”

  A tired smile parted Mavis’s full lips. “Thanks for taking care of your mama.”

  “You’re welcome.” Francine wanted to tell Mavis she’d taken care of her for years and now it was her turn.

  She took the elevator rather than the stairs to the second floor. The door to her grandmother’s apartment was open, but she didn’t go in.

  Francine changed out of her slacks and blouse and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She stripped her bed, gathered towels, and emptied the hamper, sorting everything by color. The washing machine, dryer, and collapsible ironing board were in an alcove off the kitchen. She put up a load of whites, then returned to the bedroom to make up her bed. As promised, she went downstairs to check on her mother and found her fast asleep. Rest and staying off her feet for a few hours usually lessened Mavis’s back discomfort.

  Francine’s thoughts quickly returned to Kara and
Austin. She knew her mother wanted a grandchild, but it wasn’t as if she were a magician and could pull one out of a hat. A shiver swept over her like a cold wind when she thought about having Keaton’s baby. Francine closed her eyes. What she couldn’t wrap her head around was why he was the one who had her thinking about motherhood. Even when she was married the thought of becoming pregnant hadn’t been a remote possibility. Maybe it was her intuition unknowingly coming into play.

  Eight years had changed her. She had a new career and knew unequivocally that she didn’t need anyone to convince her that she was worthy of being loved. She smiled inwardly. She had Keaton to thank for that.

  Keaton was still transcribing the notes from his interview with the librarian when his cell phone vibrated. A slight frown appeared between his eyes when he saw the name of the caller. It was eleven on the East Coast and that made it eight o’clock in L.A. He couldn’t imagine why his real estate broker would call him on a Sunday morning. Unless… he’d been out all night partying and had forgotten what day it was.

  “What’s up, Aaron?”

  “I’ve got good news, my friend. I have a buyer for your house.”

  Keaton grinned like the Cheshire cat. He’d thought with the slow upswing in the housing market it would take months if not a year to sell his house. “That is good news.”

  His real estate agent’s distinctive, horsey laugh came through the speaker. “I have even better news, my friend. I’m sitting here staring at a copy of an electronic transfer payable to you for twice the amount of the original asking price.”

  A knot formed in Keaton’s chest, making it difficult for him to draw a normal breath. Aaron Cosgrove had earned a reputation for being a pimp and street hustler before straightening out his life to dabble in real estate. Men were usually won over by his smooth, persuasive demeanor, while most women were taken in by his incredible resemblance to the heartthrob actor Rob Lowe. “I hope you didn’t sell my house to a drug dealer.”

  “Come on, my friend. I don’t know people like that anymore.”