Return to Little Hills

by Janice Macdonald

  Edie stifled a yawn. Except for the Beth Herman element, they’d been over essentially the same ground on the ride home from the airport. She hadn’t been particularly interested then and, despite the new principal’s considerable appeal, time hadn’t increased her thirst to know more. What she wanted to do was collect Maude, drive back to her mother’s house and then sink into oblivion. Selfish, selfish, Maude’s voice scolded deep in her brain. You’ve always been selfish, Edith. She drank some wine and tried not to grimace at the flowery sweet taste.

  “What exactly do you mean by pie-in-the sky?” she asked in a tone that made her think she should have a pen in one hand and a notebook on her knee.

  “Oh…” Viv reached for the wine again. “You know what? The hell with this rabbit food, I need salt and fat.” She jumped up again and returned a moment later. “Actually, it’s some sort of artificial fat,” she said as she dumped a bag of chips into a yellow bowl. “Don’t ask me how, but they say your body doesn’t recognize it, so it passes right through you. God, that sounds gross, huh? Come on—don’t make me feel like a pig. Try one. Have some more wine.” She reached to refill Edie’s glass, and then the front door slammed.

  “Shh.” Viv flashed Edie a warning look and drained the last of her wine. “Here’s Ray. Don’t mention Peter Darling’s name or the whole evening will be ruined.”

  “Hey, Edith,” Ray said with a glance at the wine bottle. “Been leading my wife astray? Nothing changes, huh?”

  “Now, Ray, be nice.” Vivian gathered up the wine and glasses. “Poor Edie’s been with Mom all day, she needed a little drinky. She was just telling me about her job. God, you’d better be glad you’ve got me. Listen, babe, you stay and talk to Edie while I go into the living room and make Mom pretty. Her hair needs a trim,” she said to Edie, “And, naturally, she won’t let anyone but me work on it.” She winked at Edie. “Now, be good, you two. I’ll be back in a jiff to finish dinner.”

  “Let me give you a hand.” Edie extracted herself from the billowing contours of the couch. “What can I do?”

  Ray hooted. “You mean you’ve learned to cook, Edith? What you going to feed us, stewed yak or something?”

  “Ray.” Viv who had disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared in the doorway, grinning widely as she shook her head at her husband. “I told you to be nice. Ignore him, sweetie,” she told Edie. “He’s just showing off. Could you maybe make a salad?”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Edie said, biting back a sarcastic response. In the kitchen, she eyed the wineglasses Viv had set in the sink. Her own was still full. Perhaps she’d just hold her breath and gulp it down; anesthesia against the rest of the evening. And then Ray was behind her, his arms around her waist. She removed his hands and turned to look at him. “Lettuce,” she said, increasing the distance between them. “You wouldn’t know if Viv has any tomatoes, I guess.” She pulled open the refrigerator’s stainless-steel door. Cold air hit her face. “Lettuce, lettuce, lettuce,” she said. “Bottom drawer. Crisper. God, I’ve never seen a refrigerator this big. You could chill a…yak. Okay, lettuce.”

  “So how long has it been since I saw you last?” Ray asked. “Five years?”

  “Six.” She pulled out the lettuce and closed the door. Ray leaned against the sink, arms folded across his chest. She’d taken his measure, too; he had lines around his eyes now, the thick blond hair had faded and thinned, and the smile that had made her knees weak in high school struck her as goofy now. Her face colored, anyway. “When I came back for the high-school reunion, you and Viv were on vacation. Before that it was Mom’s heart attack. That was the last time.”

  He nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t be at the airport to meet you. School board meeting. New principal’s big on everyone attending. What do you think of him? Kind of out of place with Luther kids, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She took the lettuce to the sink and began separating leaves. “He seemed fine to me. What do you see as the problem?”

  “Aagh.” Ray shrugged. “Don’t even get me started. He won’t last long, that’s all I know. I could have had the job if I’d wanted it. School board practically begged me, but I wasn’t interested—too much work. I’ve got a family. The boys. More important things in life than chaining yourself to a desk.” He laughed. “’Course, I’m probably telling that to the wrong person, right, Eed?”

  Edie felt the knot in her shoulders ratchet up another notch. Salad. Could she possibly do a Caesar? She’d once spent half a day putting together a Caesar salad for Ben. Finding the necessary ingredients in a shattered Belgrade marketplace had been a challenge, but he’d confessed to a nostalgic yearning for the kind of Caesar salad he’d enjoyed at a certain Los Angeles restaurant. He’d been unimpressed, less by the salad than by what the effort said about her priorities. “Don’t go getting domestic on me, Edie,” he’d warned. “It’s not what I need or want.”

  She took a couple of eggs from the fridge and set them in a pan of water to simmer. Back at the fridge, she dug around for anything resembling Parmesan. She could feel Ray’s eyes on her back.

  “So what time will the boys be here?” She thought again about the nephews she’d watched grow, mostly through pictures sent by Vivian, from cute, wide-eyed babies to strapping, athletic teenagers and felt a stab of remorse. “I will get to see them, right?”

  “Oh sure,” Ray said vaguely. “Hey, Eed, remember that day after school when we were goofing around in your mom’s kitchen and I squeezed Thousand Island dressing into your mouth?”

  Edie watched his face for a moment. “Not a day goes by that I don’t relive that experience, Ray. It haunts my dreams.”

  Ray’s forehead creased. “You being sarcastic?”

  “Bingo.”

  “You ever try not being sarcastic for more than five minutes?”

  “Once. I was bored.”

  Ray shook his head. Clearly, there was no hope for her. He took a beer from the fridge, popped the top, and stood with his back against the granite countertop watching her move around the kitchen.

  “You were pretty hot back then,” he said.

  “Thank you, Ray. So were you. Back then.”

  “You ever think about the way things might have turned out if we’d stayed together?”

  “No, Ray.” She looked directly at him. “I don’t. I’m happy with my life. And it looks like you’re doing well too. This house, by the way,” she said with a sweeping gesture at the kitchen, “is amazing.”

  “You like it? Viv give you the grand tour?”

  “She did.” Behind the jars of mayonnaise and bottles of ketchup and mustard, Edie found a green tub of grated Romano cheese. “It’s huge. You guys must get lost going from one room to another.” She set the cheese down on the center island. Out in the living room, she could see the top of Maude’s white head. Her mother had all but disappeared amidst the massive pillowy cushions of the couch. The coffee table on which Maude’s feet rested was several feet of mirrored glass atop a low chrome cylinder. “Very elegant,” Edie said. “Impressive.”

  Ray gave her a look that seemed to calculate her sincerity. “But it isn’t what you’d buy, right?”

  “What does that matter? It’s your house.”

  Ray smiled. “But you’d buy something down in the Historic District, wouldn’t you?” he persisted. “If you ever settled down and came back home, I mean. Every time Viv and I go down Roosevelt, we see this old Victorian place that’s been for sale forever and she always says, ‘That’s what Edie would go for.’”

  Edie shrugged, thinking of the astronomically priced bungalow off Sunset Boulevard she’d once been tempted to buy, mostly because it reminded her of some of the older homes in Little Hills. For what it cost, she could have bought two of them and had change to spare.

  “It’s a moot point, Ray, because I’m not about to settle down and come back home. Married to my work,” she said. “Kind of like your new principal.”

  “Goddamn butterfly co
llector.” His expression darkened. “Thanks for mentioning him again, Edie. Now you’ve ruined my mood altogether. Head stuck up in the clouds. Hasn’t figured out that we’re dealing with a bunch of loser kids. They’re not going to be Rhodes scholars, for God’s sake. Get ’em in, get ’em out, that’s the best you can do with them.”

  “So what?” She asked and then, too late, remembered Vivian’s admonition. She pushed on, anyway. “He thinks some of them might have potential or something?”

  Ray narrowed his eyes at her. “You haven’t changed a whole lot, have you?”

  “I guess not,” she said. “Neither have you.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. With you, everything has to turn into some goddamn battle. You really don’t give a damn whether I’m right or wrong about this guy. You just want an argument. Well, I’ll tell you. Give Peter Darling six months around some of those kids at Luther and I bet you a six-pack he won’t be collecting butterflies for long.”

  “God, Edie,” Vivian said from the doorway. “I told you not to get Ray fired up. Now you’ve ruined the whole evening.”

  “THE LAST THING I want to do is interfere in your life,” Peter’s sister, Sophia, said as they sat on a park bench watching the children play. “But it’s nearly two years now and, quite honestly, as much as I adore the girls, I do have a life back in England. This popping back and forth for extended visits is getting a bit much.”

  “Has George complained?” George was Sophia’s longtime companion, but Peter gathered that the relationship was problematic. So much so that when Sophia first volunteered to come and look after the girls, she’d intimated that it would be a relief to put some distance between herself and George. In the last few weeks though, George had been calling quite frequently.

  “He’s grumbling a bit, but it’s not that, really. I don’t quite trust anyone to handle the nursery as well as I can. It’s silly of me—I’m sure Trudy does a perfectly competent job—but I envision the assistants selling half-dead flowers and not offering the kind of variety people have come to expect.”

  “I don’t expect you to stay forever, Sophia. The girls know that, too.”

  He stretched his legs out. His oldest daughter, Natalie, was pushing the twins on side-by-side swings. Natalie was eight; Abbie and Kate were four. Delphina, the seven year-old, sat off to one side, her expression wistful. A quiet and solitary child, she seemed always in the shadows of her sisters’ play. He worried about Delphina. He worried about them all. Natalie was saddled with too much responsibility for a child of her age; the twins still sucked their thumbs. Last night, Abbie had wet the bed—the third time in a week.

  “Peter—” Sophia knocked on his temple “—are you in there somewhere?”

  “Thinking,” he said.

  “Not about a sudden sighting of the swallow-tailed thingamajig, I hope.”

  “Painted swallowtail.” He grinned. “Actually it was rather unusual to spot one so far north this late in the year…but no, I was thinking about what you were saying. You’ve been an incredible help with the girls, but I do understand that you need to go home.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Look around for a live-in nanny, I suppose. I’d planned to do that after Deborah died…”

  Sophia rubbed his arm.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Still miss her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Life goes on, though.”

  “Please spare me the homilies, Sophia. I’ll work things out in my own way.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Deborah was always very pragmatic and unsentimental,” he said. “As soon as we knew how ill she was we discussed what would happen with the girls. She was convinced I’d be married within the year. Quite adamant really that I should be married, that it would be better for us all.”

  “I always did admire Deborah’s intelligence,” Sophia said. “Pity that her husband is less gifted in that regard.”

  Peter shot her a sideways glance.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, Peter. Look at that Amelia woman you were so besotted with. The girls didn’t have the foggiest idea what to make of her. And she was obviously quite bewildered by them. Honestly, sometimes I want to grab your shoulders and shake you very, very hard. How could you not have seen that this woman was all wrong for you? It was apparent to me the moment you introduced her.”

  “Perhaps you should have warned me.”

  “I did.”

  “Oh.” He grinned. “Perhaps I should have listened.”

  “Why won’t you find a nice woman?”

  “Amelia was nice.”

  “Amelia was an actress.”

  “Actresses can’t be nice?”

  “I wouldn’t know firsthand, Peter, my life being considerably less exotic than yours, but Amelia struck me as…a tart.”

  “Sophia,” Peter said, “Amelia wasn’t a tart. Perhaps not a candidate for marriage, but not a tart.”

  “Well, that’s as may be,” Sophia said darkly. “But why are you drawn only to unsuitable women?”

  “Because,” Peter said honestly, “as much as I’d like to meet a woman who could love the girls and create the sort of home Deborah and I had, I want more than a mother replacement. I want to be in love.”

  “Of course you do,” Sophia said. “And?”

  “And I’ve discovered that I’m not particularly attracted to nice women who want to settle down and have children.”

  “Rubbish.” Sophia dismissed the comment with a flap of her hand. “You simply have to put your mind to it. What we need,” she said briskly, “is a plan. Now, wipe that stupid grin off your face and think very carefully. Not about the kind of woman to whom you’ve typically been attracted… We’re looking for wife material. Start naming names. We’re thinking sweet, potentially maternal and absolutely not flighty. Come on, there must be someone at school. Think hard.”

  “Betty Jean Battaglio,” he said after five minutes of not very hard thinking.

  “Good.” Sophia smiled. “Tell me about her.”

  “She’s my secretary,” he said.

  Sophia looked dubious. “Hmm. Not always advisable to dip the pen into the company inkwell, as it were, but if you’re discreet… What does she look like?”

  “Dark hair, blue eyes. Pictures of cats all over her desk.”

  “Loves animals.” Sophia nodded. “Sounds promising. What else?”

  “Won a gold medal at the Little Hills fair for her cherry cobbler.”

  “Enjoys cooking. Perfect,” Sophia said. “And she’s single?”

  “Widowed.”

  “Widowed?” Sophia arched an eyebrow. “How old is she?”

  “Sixty-five,” Peter said. “We’re in the process of planning her retirement party.”

  Sophia gave a snort of disgust. “You’re just not taking this seriously.”

  “Yes, I am,” Peter said and, just to prove it, the following morning he called Edie Robinson to invite her to the theater.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “THE THEATER?” When the phone rang, Edie had braced herself for another sisterly self-improvement lecture. Now she sat on the floor in the hallway of her mother’s house talking to Peter Darling. “Let me guess. Madame Butterfly.”

  Peter laughed. “No, unfortunately. I don’t think it’s playing anywhere. But will you join me, anyway?” he asked. “Saturday night.”

  She shifted the phone to her other ear. Peter’s voice was almost inaudible. “You know what, Peter? I can hardly hear you. Are you whispering or something?”

  “Just speaking softly. I’m over at the teen mother center and—”

  “Is that where Beth works? Is she there?”

  “She’s talking to a student.”

  “Can she hear what you’re saying?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Why of course not?”

  “Because I don’t as a rule broadcast details of my private life. What does my asking you t
o the theater have to do with Beth, anyway?”

  She’s in love with you, Edie thought. Besotted, infatuated, head over heels—at least according to my sister, who also thinks you’re gorgeous and could, of course, be doing a little projecting. God, it was so much easier to fly in and out of trouble spots. Perhaps she should drop a hint to Peter about Beth’s feelings for him. Maybe Beth wouldn’t appreciate it, though. She herself would definitely not appreciate someone intervening on her behalf, especially with a co-worker. Better to say nothing.

  “Edie?” Peter said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, sorry, I was thinking.”

  “And what’s the verdict?”

  “No, I’m sorry, Peter. Thank you for asking, but I really can’t.”

  “A jealous boyfriend in a safari suit?”

  “Safari suit?” She laughed. “You’ve seen too many movies.”

  “But a jealous boyfriend nevertheless?”

  “Essentially.”

  “Perhaps we could take your mother as a chaperon,” he said. “I’ll buy another ticket.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “but no. Here’s an idea, though. Beth absolutely loves the theater.”

  “Does she?” Peter asked with no discernible enthusiasm. “Hmm.”

  Don’t tell me I’ve never done anything to make a difference in someone’s life, Edie thought as she replaced the receiver. And give me some credit for generous self-sacrifice. A night at the theater with Peter Darling has a whole lot of appeal. A whole lot of appeal.

  PETER HAD JUST HUNG UP and was nursing his rejection, when Beth Herman dropped by his office with a picture of a butterfly. Beth wanted him to identify the butterfly before she hung the picture in her classroom.

  “Hmm.” He lowered his head to peer closely. “It looks rather like Heliconius charithonius. Note the long narrow black-and-yellow stripes on the wing. Although, of course,” he added solemnly, “the charithonius is not exactly indigenous to the state of Missouri.”