Return to Little Hills

by Janice Macdonald

  Vivian sat up. “See.” She blew her nose. “That’s what this little tramp Melissa wants. A cute little toy… Fine, but she’s not going to trap my son.”

  “But Viv, what if it is Brad’s baby?”

  Vivian shook her head. “I know my sons, Edie. You don’t have kids, so you wouldn’t understand. Neither of my boys would be that irresponsible. Brad is on the debate team. He’s got a scholarship. He comes from a good home.” She blew her nose again. “I mean, Ray’s always talking about the kids at Luther. This Melissa, she’s just a little tramp. She’s seen this house, how nice it is—”

  “Viv.” Edie pulled another tissue from the box. “You’re starting to make me angry again. You can’t afford this nice house. You took a second mortgage on Mom’s house to pay for this nice house. You persuaded Mom to give you power of attorney and you were about to force her into a home—”

  “No.” Vivian caught Edie’s arm, looked blurry-eyed into her face. “No. Everything else is true. We shouldn’t have overextended ourselves. I should have talked to you first. But I swear to God, Edie, Mom wanted to go to Maple Grove. She wouldn’t stop talking about it all the way home.”

  “Maybe she thought it’s what you wanted, Viv. Maybe she thought she was too much trouble for you.”

  With a weary sigh, Vivian lay back down. “Edie…” She lifted a palm to her forehead. “Please don’t tell me what Mom thinks,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “While you’re leading your glamorous life—”

  “Vivian,” Edie said in the soft, patient voice her sister had used. “If you say one more thing about my glamorous life, you will no longer need sleeping pills because I will reach over and throttle you.”

  “You hate me, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t hate you,” Edie said. “I’m trying to understand what you did, but—”

  “But how could you understand?” Vivian sat up again. “When Mom finally dies…” She shook her head. “I don’t mean that. I want her to live to a hundred, but when she does…go and that house is sold, any money you get will just be a drop in the bucket—”

  “Because you’ve already mortgaged it to the hilt,” Edie said. “Is that what you mean?” It wasn’t, she knew that, but couldn’t resist.

  “No, Edie.” Vivian covered her face with her hands and breathed another weary sigh. “I meant that you didn’t need the money and we did. If you’d come home after Mom moved into Maple Grove and we’d sold the house then, I honestly don’t think you’d have known the difference.”

  “So I’m just curious. You’ve blown most of the money on this house. How were you planning to pay for Mom going to Maple Grove?”

  “We didn’t blow it, Edie. We have a beautiful home… Besides, we didn’t use all the money and Ray’s been looking into a loan.” She reached for another tissue. “And we did think that you would help. After all, she’s your mother, too.”

  Edie looked at her sister. She had no idea how many hours had passed since she’d confronted Vivian with the whole thing; three or four at least. But they could sit there talking for the rest of their lives and Vivian would remain unshaken in her conviction that, despite everything, she had earned the right to do what she’d done. Vivian had been the dutiful daughter, caring for Maude while Edie led her glamorous life. Vivian was endlessly patient with Maude, while Edie snapped. Vivian knew Maude, while Edie didn’t.

  And Edie could see now that Maude had been right. Vivian was eaten up with envy. Her own glamorous life might exist largely in Vivian’s imagination, but it was enough to justify mortgaging Maude’s house. And now Vivian’s heart was breaking because one of her golden sons had probably impregnated his little tramp of a girlfriend.

  While Edie was dreamily contemplating a romantic weekend with Peter Darling. She scooped up the pile of sodden tissues, carried them into the bathroom and tossed them in the trash. “Listen, Viv. I’m talked out. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I guess.” Vivian swung her legs over the bed. “Ray will be home soon and we’re going to sit down and talk to Brad.” She wrapped her arms around Edie and hugged her close. “I’m sorry, Eed. Please don’t hate me, okay?”

  Edie pulled away to look at her sister. “Stop it. You’re my sister. Of course I don’t hate you. And no more talk about sleeping pills, okay? We’ll all pull through this, I promise.”

  “I know. I guess I was being a little melodramatic. I don’t even have any sleeping pills.” She swiped at her nose. “You’re stronger than me, Eed. You know that? You’ve always been. But then you didn’t have asthma.”

  “True,” Edie agreed as they walked down the stairs.

  “I mean, maybe if Mom hadn’t—I don’t know, fussed over me the way she did—I’d be like you. Anyway…” They were at the front door now. “Edie, could I just say one little thing? I feel kind of weird about bringing it up—”

  “Go ahead.” Edie glanced at her watch. Lace underwear was on her list of things to pick up before tomorrow…and maybe some exotic perfume. Usually, she never indulged in either, but she’d earned it. Vivian was looking at her as though she had something to say but wasn’t sure how to say it. “What?”

  “Oh, forget it.” Vivian shrugged. “I guess it’s not important.”

  “Vivian. Tell me, for God’s sake.”

  “Well, it’s about last night. I kind of feel like you let me down a little. I mean, I wouldn’t say this, but—”

  “But you did, so go ahead and finish. How exactly did I let you down?”

  “Well, the way you took off and left me in the middle of everything. I had crab quesadillas in the oven and I had to leave them and go pass out hors d’oeuvres because I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  God give me patience. Edie took a breath. “Viv, I thought you’d finished with the food. Remember? I took the quiches out and told you to come out and have fun. People already had more than enough to eat.”

  “Well, Eed…” Viv glanced at her feet. “Maybe in your opinion, but my friends aren’t quite as…bohemian as yours—”

  Edie laughed “Bohemian?”

  “Well, you know what I mean. My friends are settled… Established people. They have certain expectations.”

  “And I’m sure you exceeded them. Good food, lots of it. I think everyone had a great time.” She thought about Peter. “I know I did.”

  “Mom told me you went outside with Peter,” Viv said, her voice casual. “Since I needed help in the kitchen, I went out to look for you.” She straightened the rug with the toe of her shoe. “You were so wrapped up together, I couldn’t tell where he left off and you started.”

  “And?” Arms folded across her chest now, she held her sister’s eyes. “What’s your problem?”

  “Well, for God’s sake, Edie. It’s kind of embarrassing. Ray’s the assistant principal and here’s his sister-in-law kissing the principal.”

  “So what? Peter’s single, I’m single. I can’t see that it’s anyone’s business but ours. Listen, if that’s it, I need to go.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, Eed.” Viv smiled sadly. “We’re sisters, but I don’t think I’ll ever really understand you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PETER WORE an unbuttoned shirt and a bath towel wrapped around his waist. In one hand, he held a brown paper bag of Thai food that had just been delivered to their room from a nearby restaurant. Edie sat on the bed, propped up by pillows and wearing nothing but a pearl necklace. He’d insisted, last night, as he divested her of her linen pants, silk shirt and newly purchased lace underwear, that the pearls remain. Since arriving at the inn, they had spent the entire time either in bed or in the claw-footed bathtub that was too short for either of them, but especially Peter, whose feet hung over the edge. It didn’t matter much.

  They’d been in the bathtub, immersed in bubbles, when the food arrived.

  Edie watched as Peter set the food down on a dresser and pulled off his shirt. As he let the towel drop, he glanced over at h
er and smiled. She smiled back, already anticipating the feel of him. Last night, moonlight through the windows had softly shadowed his long, lean torso as he lay above her, hands on either side of her head, supporting his weight. She’d felt completely carried away, subsumed by passion; her body spasmed now, recalling it. This morning, in sunlight, she’d seen the red marks on his shoulder left by her teeth.

  He carried the food over to the bed and set it on the sheet between them.

  “I feel incredibly happy,” she said.

  “Thai food does that to me, too,” he said.

  Edie reached into the bag, withdrew a pair of chopsticks and poked him in the shoulder. “That was a compliment.”

  “I took it as one.” He brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips and ran his tongue between her fingers and along her palm, tracing her lifeline to her wrist. “I’m very happy, too.”

  “It’s possible I may never be able to walk again.” She reached into the bag again, lifted out a carton of pad Thai, the other pair of chopsticks and a couple of paper plates. “Not that I’m complaining.” The bag was still heavy with cartons of food and she peered inside, counting three, four, five more cartons. Peter had phoned for the food while she was still submerged in bubbles. “God, how much did you get?”

  “Wild and frenzied sex always makes me famished.”

  “Really? And do you frequently find yourself famished?”

  He smiled. “Serve the food, wench.”

  “Coming up.” As she started to open another carton, she remembered something. “Hold on.” Her purse was on the dresser and she climbed out of bed to walk across the room, feeling, and trying not to be, self-conscious about Peter’s eyes on her body. Lying-down nakedness, she’d discovered, was far less intimidating than walking-around nakedness.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. A minute or so later, she climbed back into bed beside him. “Keep them closed.”

  She watched his face as the music started, his forehead creased in concentration, his head nodding slightly as though to the tempo. Moments passed and then a smile of recognition broke across his face.

  “Ah… Mahler’s Eighth. Symphony of a Thousand.”

  “What movement?”

  “First. Just before the choral comes in.”

  “Key?”

  “E-flat.”

  Edie lay back against the pillow, fighting to keep a straight face. “What I find most intriguing about the first movement is that it uses an essentially archaic text and key form. I’m also quite impressed by the use of baroque devices such as melisma, double fugues and…ughmm.” Peter had reached over, grabbed her and stuck a piece of chicken in her mouth. As she tried to wrestle free, he pinned her down on the bed. She shrieked, shot out from under him and climbed onto his stomach, legs astride.

  “I will make a convert of you yet,” he said.

  “You already have.”

  “I’m talking about Mahler.”

  “What? You think I wasn’t’?”

  “Did I mention being hungry?” he asked.

  “Want me to get off?”

  “No.” He lifted his shoulder off the bed to kiss her. “I want you to stay there and feed me. And then, for equality’s sake, I’ll feed you.”

  She reached for one of the cartons, opened it and dug the chopsticks into what appeared to be sesame noodles. The thick spicy aroma filling her nose, and the impassioned chorus of Mahler’s Eighth—which privately she didn’t like any better than the Sixth and wouldn’t know one from the other if her life depended upon it—filling her ears, she fed sesame noodles into Peter’s mouth.

  “Did I mention before that I think you’re wonderful?” he asked between bites.

  “Three times.” She leaned closer to lick away a sesame seed from the corner of his mouth. Her drew her down and kissed her so tenderly it left her breathless. “I think I may have said something similar to you.”

  “What if I said I loved you?”

  “I’d say it’s probably too early for that,” she said, looking into his eyes as she said the words, “but I think I love you, too.”

  For a moment neither of them spoke. Edie kept watching Peter’s face. I love him. She said the words over and over in her head. This is the face of the man I love. It seemed so amazing, she couldn’t seem to process it somehow. All the years ahead of them, waking up beside him. Opening her eyes to see his face. Peter Darling. I love Peter Darling. She buried her face in his neck.

  “Feed me,” he said.

  “Typical male.” She sat up, dipped a fork into one of the other cartons. “Beef and broccoli.”

  “My favorite,” Peter said.

  “Mine, too.” She fed him, fed herself. “But if I get bits of broccoli stuck in my teeth, I want you to tell me.”

  “Edie,” he said after a moment. “You have what? Another week? Two?”

  “Ten days.”

  “Have you thought…”

  His voice had trailed off, but she nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. “I haven’t stopped thinking. It’s you, of course. But it’s a lot of other things, too.” She explained the whole thing with Viv and her concerns for Maude. She told him about Jessie and the baby. “I keep wondering if it would be better for her and Roger if I took them to the shelter…safer, I mean. But Jessie seems so happy at the house, and Maude loves having her and Roger for company. It’s like she suddenly has this purpose.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Peter said.

  Edie nodded, still thinking. “Viv always talks about me just zooming in and zooming out again and maybe she’s right, but things seem to be falling into place somehow…” Chopsticks poised, she looked at him. “Beef. Sesame noodles or pad Thai?”

  “Surprise me.” He waited until he’d finished the mouthful of noodles she fed him. “Are you saying that you’re thinking of staying in Missouri?”

  She nodded. “The thought’s been kicking around for some time. Not necessarily that I’d stay in Little Hills—although I will until I’m sure Mom’s not going to be forced out of her home—but just doing something…meaningful. That day I was at school and I heard you and Beth talking about affecting people’s lives, it really resonated. And then talking to the kids about journalism, I felt fantastic.”

  “You could teach,” Peter said.

  She smiled. “That occurred to me too, but…it’s such a huge stretch, Peter. My work has always felt like such an integral part of who I am. It would be like cutting off my arm or something.”

  “You’d grow a new one,” he said. “Work is only a part of who you are. The essential you will still be you, no matter what you do.”

  “Do you think the girls would accept me?” she asked, and he looked at her for such a long time that she thought he was going to tell her something awful, so she broke eye contact and dug into the noodles. “I mean, I know I’m not warm and cuddly…”

  “Edie.” He waved away the food she’d lifted to his mouth. “This belief you have that you’re an unlovable person…I suppose it doesn’t surprise me. I’m very fond of Maude, but at the party she told me this story of how your father died. I can still hear her saying, ‘If it hadn’t been for Edith, he’d be alive today.’ How often did you hear that while you were growing up?”

  “Constantly. The whole litany of my evil deeds. Hiding my sister’s asthma medicine, killing my rabbit. Mom only told me since I’ve been back that my rabbit actually died of old age.”

  “But don’t you see what’s happened?” Peter’s face was impassioned. “You’ve internalized it. You’ve actually bought into all the rubbish so that now, on some level, you believe it yourself.”

  She sighed. “Intellectually, I suppose I realize that, but it’s difficult to just…change what I’ve always believed.”

  He stroked her hair back from her face. “‘They say the owl was a baker’s daughter…’”

  She smiled, waiting.

  “Hold on. I’m trying to remember…baker’s daughter, baker’s da
ughter.” He frowned, then his face cleared. “‘They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord! We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’”

  “Okay. At the risk of revealing my ignorance, I give.”

  “Don’t remember. The line just popped into my head.”

  “Ah.”

  “I think it’s very apt. I wouldn’t even consider you for a wife candidate if I didn’t believe—”

  “Wife candidate?”

  “Long story. When you meet my sister, Sophia, she’ll tell you all about it. And, by the way, you have broccoli in your teeth. But it goes very well with pearls.”

  WATCHING EDIE FROM across the table at his home the following evening, Peter thought of her in her pearls and nothing else and wished very much he didn’t have to return her to Maude’s when dinner was over. He searched the faces of his daughters and his sister for clues to their feelings about this woman who had so completely captured his heart. Sophia was talking to Edie now, asking her, rather too pointedly, whether most foreign correspondents were unmarried.

  “…because I imagine it would be rather difficult on one’s—” Sophia hesitated “—one’s spouse and children.”

  “It is.” Edie looked squarely at Sophia. “But I have many, many married colleagues, some married to fellow journalists—which probably makes it a whole lot easier. Those with stateside husbands or wives say it’s kind of like marrying someone in the military. You just get used to the lifestyle.” She sipped some water and turned to Delphina. “My mother has one of your poems on the fridge that you signed just for her,” she said solemnly. “And I have to tell you, I’m just a tiny bit jealous.”

  Peter watched Delphina’s face turn pink. Around the table, everyone else was also watching Delphina; Natalie with a touch of envy, perhaps, because Edie had singled out Delphina and not her. He caught Sophia’s glance and knew she was exercising great restraint by waiting for Delphina to respond and not urging, as she normally would, that Delphina offer to write a poem for Edie.