A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  “Isabel Baxter, is that you?” Carmella hooted across the street. “Get over here, girl!”

  Isabel pasted a smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Carmella Biggins?” she called back, and headed across the road.

  Sometimes, there was no way around it, and all a woman could do was face it head-on. Like a firing squad.

  * * *

  JAMES PULLED UP to the curb next to Family Cheese and turned off the engine. Jenny sat on a wooden bench, squinting in the morning sun. Her shoulders were hunched, her plump legs dangling, not quite reaching the ground. A slanted triangle of shade from the building behind her just missed her shoulders, and her blond hair shone like gold in the sunlight. Her eyes, small in her round face, followed the truck as he parked, but she didn’t move.

  Every time this happened, Jenny was crushed.

  Pushing open his door, James got out and headed over to where she sat. Another car drove past, tooting a horn in hello. James raised his hand in a distracted wave, not even bothering to check to see who it was. He stopped in front of his sister and looked down at her. She looked girlish from a distance, but up close she looked like the adult she was.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”

  “Nope.” She heaved a sigh. “No one wants me, Jimmy.” She had a slight lisp, and it still reminded him of when she was a little girl. His heart welled with love.

  “I do,” he said.

  “You don’t count.” She looked away.

  “Ouch,” he said, sinking down to the seat next to her. “I like to think I count a little bit.”

  “Sorry,” she retorted.

  “So what happened?” he asked. Jenny didn’t answer right away, tears misting her eyes, then she turned toward him, her lips quivering with anger.

  “He called me retarded.”

  James blinked. “Bob did?”

  “No, not Bob.” She shook her head, eyes flashing in exasperation. She put her fingers up to make air quotes. “The customer.” She still wasn’t clear about how to use air quotes, and she tended to use them when she was upset.

  “And Bob didn’t stand up for you?” Images of lawsuits danced through his head, but he sucked in a breath to try to calm his anger. “So tell me what happened. Exactly.”

  “This little boy was pointing at me and laughing,” Jenny said. “So the boy’s dad said, ‘Don’t do that. It’s not nice. It’s not her fault she’s retarded.’ So I threw cheese at him.”

  An image of his sister launching Gouda at a customer’s head struck him as funny, and James stifled a laugh. “You had to know that wasn’t a good idea,” he said.

  She shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic.

  James attempted to control the smile that tickled the corners of his lips, but he had a burning question. “How was your aim?”

  “I have great aim. I hit him in the face. With a nice, old, gooey brie.”

  James laughed out loud and shook his head. “Jenny, you’re a nut.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a nut with good aim!” she shot back, but a smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “It was expensive, too.”

  “I don’t think we have a leg to stand on to argue this one, Jenny,” he said apologetically. “You can’t throw cheese at people.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll find you a different job.” The words came easily enough because he wanted them to be true, but Jenny already had a reputation around this town. She stood up for herself, but she had her own method that didn’t always suit customer service. And what other jobs were there for her?

  “Really, Jimmy?” she asked hopefully.

  James paused. “I actually don’t know. But we’ll sort something out.”

  “I’m not retarded,” she said, her voice low. “I’m a person.”

  “I know, Jenny. And you’re a good person, too.”

  The problem was that people didn’t understand Jenny the way he did. He’d gotten her a job in his office stuffing envelopes and doing some photocopies, but the pace was too quick for her and he’d felt terrible when he saw how frustrated she was. It would have been perfect to have her close, but what could he do?

  His phone blipped and he glanced down at the text message. It was from Isabel. She wanted to meet up.

  “Who’s that?” Jenny asked.

  “A client,” he replied.

  “Do you have to go back to work now?”

  He sighed. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take you home first.”

  He paused to text Isabel back, his thumbs hopping over the keys: I can meet you around 2, if that works. Let me know where.

  Jenny scooted forward until her running shoes hit the ground and glanced up at James. “I wasn’t ladylike.”

  James shot her grin. “So? I’m not ladylike, either.”

  It was a long-standing joke between them. Jenny grinned and rose to her feet.

  “Do you want to stop for a milk shake on the way home?” James asked.

  Jenny cocked her head to one side coyly. “I wouldn’t object.”

  He chuckled and opened the truck door for her to get in. As he shut the door after her, he wondered what he could do to find a place for Jenny to belong. She’d always be his sister, and this would always be her town, but she needed more than that—she needed the equivalent of what his legal practice was to him. It seemed so simple, but it wasn’t. She needed more than a job. She needed someone who would understand her, and that was one tall order.

  His phone blipped again, and he glanced down at the text. It was from Isabel again.

  Ruby’s Diner. 2 pm is perfect. Thank you, James.

  There was something about the words that struck him as sweet, and he pushed any softening feelings firmly away. For the moment, he had an important appointment with his sister and the ice-cream parlor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HOW LONG HAS it been, Izzy?” Carmella asked, hitching her apple-green Coach bag higher up onto her shoulder. She looked away from Isabel’s face uncomfortably and shot a smile at a passing waiter instead. They stood inside the foyer of the little bistro with Britney, the tinkle of cutlery and the clink of glasses melting into the murmur of chatting customers.

  “Only a couple of years,” Isabel said with a chuckle. “Remember, I was here when you got married.”

  “Feels like longer, doesn’t it?” Carmella cast Isabel a tired smile, then lowered her voice. “Are you and Britney okay being in the same room together?”

  “Perfectly,” Isabel replied. It was mostly true. She could be polite. Carmella and Isabel had been friends in high school, and with Isabel gone, Britney and Carmella had gotten chummy. Girlfriend loyalty went only so far in a town this size, where there weren’t many people to choose from.

  Isabel glanced around the little restaurant. She remembered this place well. This was where her father used to take her to celebrate her birthday every year. It hadn’t changed since she’d been gone. The same watercolor art hung on the walls, and even the smell of the place was the same. A server approached them—a young man with a mane of dark hair and dark, smoldering eyes. His smolder didn’t seem to be very discerning, however, since he gave each of them the same sultry look, including a woman in her seventies behind them. He knew how to get tips, that much was obvious.

  “Hi, Carlo,” Carmella said. “Just us girls. Are you going to be serving us?”

  “Of course,” Carlo replied with a smile. “Women as lovely as yourselves need the best service.”

  Isabel winced. Carlo was probably barely out of high school, and if she’d been the babysitting type as a teenager, she probably would have babysat him. Britney pursed her lips into an oval mirror in her hand and dabbed at her lipstick, looking up only when Carlo led them into the dining room and over to a
table by a window.

  “I hate to intrude on your brunch,” Isabel said as they sat down.

  “You aren’t intruding, right, Brit?” Carmella rolled on without waiting for a response. “Carlo, let’s start with some mimosas. What do you say, girls?”

  “Make mine virgin,” Britney sighed. “You want one, too, Izzy?”

  “Sure.”

  Carlo winked, mostly for Carmella’s benefit, it seemed, and disappeared once more, leaving them in quiet.

  “Britney said you were back in town,” Carmella said, “but you didn’t call.”

  “I’m sorry,” Isabel replied. “I meant to. I’ve been busy getting things set up.”

  “Set up for what?” Carmella’s brows rose.

  “I’m moving back. For good.”

  This didn’t seem to be news to Carmella, and she and Britney exchanged a look. Then Carmella leaned closer. “I see there’s no ring on your finger, but is there a guy in your life at all...?” She let the question hang there.

  They didn’t have much else to talk about. That was the problem with leaving town for several years—you were no longer part of the same rumor mill. Carmella was trying to make conversation, but the question still grated.

  “No. Not at the moment,” Isabel replied.

  “Well, Britney and I could take care of that,” Carmella suggested. Her gaze went to Isabel’s scars once more and she cleared her throat. It was a friendly offer that Carmella couldn’t make good on. Not anymore, at least. Besides, the implication that the kind thing was to “get her a man,” chafed.

  “Let’s just get this out into the open,” Isabel said. “I’m badly scarred. Things are different now. And I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

  Just as the words came out of her mouth, Carlo returned with three champagne glasses filled with mimosas—just orange juice for Britney—and set them in front of each woman at the table. They all smiled weakly up at him, and when he’d left, stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.

  “What about plastic surgery?” Carmella asked at last.

  “I’m not doing any more of that. I had one reconstructive surgery done after the accident and I had a bad reaction to the anesthetic. I just about died. So this is me. I’ll just have to get used to it.”

  The table went silent, and Isabel glanced at the tables around them. Most people were engrossed in their own conversation, but an older woman across the dining room was looking at Isabel, an expression of pity on her face. She dropped her gaze when she was spotted.

  “Maybe some good makeup?” Britney asked weakly.

  Isabel wasn’t pleasantly disposed toward Britney on a good day, and she held back her desire to snap in response.

  “It would take a pound of foundation to cover this up,” she replied with a wry smile. “And the men that we’re talking about wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” Carmella protested, but her tone said even she didn’t believe it.

  “Sure it is,” Isabel replied. “These guys can get any woman they want, and they want a beautiful wife. That boat has sailed.”

  Britney’s cheeks blushed pink, but Carmella shrugged coolly.

  “They aren’t all that shallow,” Carmella replied. “Besides, you’re still a Baxter. Don’t lower your standards now. If you want a comfortable life, you’d better marry a man who knows how to provide it.”

  Isabel understood Carmella’s sentiments perfectly. She’d been the same up until the accident, expecting to “marry well” so that her lifestyle wouldn’t change. That meant marrying money that could match her own. She used to look down on plain girls, pitying them because she knew that she had something they could only dream of. Well, now she’d joined their ranks, and she was intimidated.

  “You both still have your looks, and you’re married to wealthy men,” Isabel replied evenly. “I’m playing in a different game now.”

  “I didn’t marry for money.” Britney’s voice was low, and she was clearly offended.

  Isabel regarded her young stepmother evenly.

  “I didn’t!”

  “My dad is old enough to be your father,” Isabel retorted. “There was a teeny, tiny incentive there.”

  “I love him.”

  “Would you have married him if he had no money at all?” Isabel asked.

  The atmosphere around the table got uncomfortably silent again. This had been a bad idea. If she couldn’t make nice, she shouldn’t be sitting around drinking mimosas.

  “What about Greg Cranken?” Carmella asked. “He comes from a good family.”

  Greg Cranken was short, balding and narrow-shouldered. He was the pariah of dinner parties since none of the women wanted to be stuck sitting next to him. His father was in the beef business, but even all that family money hadn’t been enough to entice a woman to marry him. Isabel shook her head.

  “I’m not looking.”

  “So what are you doing,” Carmella asked, lifting her drink to her lips, “if you aren’t looking?”

  “Starting a business.”

  Carmella choked on her mimosa and coughed delicately into her napkin. “You’re what?”

  Carmella had been privy to a couple of her past business schemes, and Isabel felt a wave of mild embarrassment rising. Friends from her youth weren’t going to see her any differently now than they’d seen her then. But then again, she hadn’t exactly done anything to change their view, either.

  “Starting my own business,” Isabel repeated. “A chocolate shop.”

  “And having someone else run it, of course...”

  “No, running it myself.” Isabel chuckled. “Is it so shocking?”

  “That’s just wrong.” Carmella leaned back and shook her head. “I mean, if you really like running a business, do it. But don’t let it take over your life. That’s what men do, and they drop dead from the stress. Look at it this way—” Carmella put her glass down onto the tablecloth and leaned forward again. “You could work your fingers to the bone, or you could marry a nice but boring guy like Greg Cranken, and live a comfortable life. I mean, starting a business might be fun at first, but before you know it, it turns into actual work. Do you remember those scarves? Actual work. Trust me. I tried making purses and selling them online. I don’t like to speak of it. You’d think I’d have learned from your scarf debacle.” She shuddered. “I made, like, three purses before I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “I’m not husband hunting,” Isabel replied with a shrug.

  Britney cleared her throat. “She knows what she wants to do, Carmella. Let her be.”

  “Thanks, Britney.” It wasn’t often that they were on the same side.

  “Fine, fine.” Carmella heaved a sigh.

  “So how are you and Brad?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

  “We’re good. He’s in New York for a couple of weeks on business, and when he gets back, I’m going to London for a bit of shopping. You should totally come.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be busy,” Isabel replied.

  “With the business. See?” Carmella shot her an annoyed glance. “Your sudden interest in making money instead of spending it is already getting in the way of a perfectly good shopping trip.”

  Isabel laughed. “I love how you just say what you’re thinking.”

  “Someone has to,” Carmella muttered.

  Carlo came by their table once more, a pad of paper in hand and a smile on his lips. “What can I get you ladies today?”

  Carmella sucked in a deep breath and half closed her eyes in thought. “I’ll take a green salad with goat cheese and olives, quiche and a side of quinoa.”

  “And for you?” He turned to Isabel. His smile flickered, his adoring attention slightly more difficult to maintain when it came to her. This was the
way it would be from now on. While she’d been used to the fawning attention of every man within a mile’s radius, she was now no more than a plain woman with pretty friends.

  “Actually, I’ve got to get going, girls,” she said, hoping she sounded more apologetic than she felt. “I have another appointment.”

  It wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t meeting James for another two hours, but she felt stifled, and she desperately needed to get out into the fresh air. Britney pulled out a mirror and checked her eyeliner, batting her lashes as she inspected herself yet again.

  “What appointment?” Carmella demanded. “Don’t tell me this has to do with business, because I’ll scream.”

  Isabel laughed. “You’ll survive. I’ll call you, okay?”

  “You’d better.”

  “I will,” Isabel insisted. “And I’ll see you later, I’m sure, Britney.”

  Britney fluttered her fingers in farewell, snapping her compact mirror shut. Isabel slid from her spot and dodged around the waiter. She beelined out of the bistro and into the welcoming air. Then she directed her steps toward her SUV across the street.

  She wasn’t the same woman she used to be—her beauty queen crown had been hung up for good. Beneath her irritation with her scarred appearance and her annoyance that she was no longer the prettiest one at the table was a certainty that she wanted more than the life she’d taken for granted.

  Much more.

  She wanted the people who knew her to look at her with respect. Not jealousy. Not attraction. Not even admiration. She wanted someone to respect her for her mind.

  * * *

  JAMES GLANCED AT his watch, then took a sip of coffee. Ruby’s Diner was a low-key place, located just outside town along the highway. It was an old-fashioned diner with a striped awning over the front door and red, plastic-covered stools along the counter. It catered to travelers and truckers, but the Haggerston locals also took advantage of the down-home cooking. Ruby had died several years ago from a stroke, but her niece took the place over and kept the name. Ruby was still part of this place, in name and in spirit.