Magnolia Bay Memories

by Babette de Jongh

  “Nope,” Josh said around a mouthful of salmon. “Only on Wednesdays.”

  Heather grimaced. “Are you saying that I starve y’all the rest of the week?”

  Josh giggled. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  Adrian looked across the table at Caroline, who was quietly and politely eating while staring down at her plate. “What else does your mom cook for y’all, Caroline?” he asked in an effort to draw her out of her shy little shell.

  She looked up, briefly, then back down again. “Mexican on Mondays.” Her voice was barely audible. He had to lean close to hear.

  “What else?”

  Caroline shrugged. “I don’t—”

  Josh interrupted by yelling, “On Tuesday—”

  “Josh.” Heather quelled his outburst with a sharp glance. “Give your sister a chance to think.”

  Erin walked into the room. “Vegetarian on Tuesday, seafood on Wednesday—”

  “We already know what’s on Wednesday, duh,” Josh said. “Because today is Wednesday.”

  “Okay, smarty-pants.” Erin stuck her tongue out at her brother, a teasing gesture with no malice behind it. Then she started filling her plate and redirected her attention to Caroline. “Thursday is…?”

  Caroline smiled at Erin, who sat in the empty chair next to her sister. “Chicken on Thursday.”

  “What’s on Friday?” Erin prompted Caroline.

  Caroline looked up at Adrian. “Spaghetti on Friday, soup on Saturday.”

  “Y’all make it sound like our culinary life is very boring,” Heather complained. “But there are a million different ways to prepare chicken or fish or even soup.”

  Of course she was right, but it did sound kind of boring. “What’s on Sunday?”

  “Lost on a desert island!” the twins said at once.

  He raised an eyebrow at Heather. “Did y’all mean lost on a dessert island? That sounds a like a lot more fun.”

  “Lost on a desert island,” Heather said in a prim tone, “means that we eat whatever we have on hand in the fridge and the cupboards before I shop for next week’s groceries.”

  He put up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

  She sniffed. “It’s a sin to waste food.”

  “Absolutely.” He wondered how they’d gone from his complimenting her cooking to her thinking he was judging her. Quick change of subject required. “So, Erin,” he said, “did you get your homework done?”

  She scowled. “All but math. I hate math.”

  “I’m pretty good at math. I could take a look at it after dinner.” The offer burst from his mouth before his head had a chance to think it over.

  “Thanks, but…” Erin shook her head and let him off the hook. “It’s not due till Friday. I’ll do it over Skype with a friend tomorrow.” Then she started telling Heather something about her need to shop for more school supplies, and the conversation began to flow about family stuff, giving Adrian the chance to observe rather than participate.

  All these family traditions that revolved around food, around days of the week, around daily events, reminded him of the comforting routines of his own childhood. His mom hadn’t cooked certain meals on certain days, but dinner had always been served at six on the dot, and anyone who wasn’t sitting at the table on time had to pitch in for kitchen duty afterward, whether it was their turn to clean the kitchen or not.

  Maybe these comforting routines were necessary for staying sane when so many different people—along with their unique personality types, emotional needs, and age levels—lived under one roof.

  Adrian had almost forgotten those dynamics from his childhood. He hadn’t considered back then all the practical and logistical considerations his mom must have contended with, getting four kids from point A to point B (and also points C, D, and E) and back again every day.

  He hadn’t thought much, he realized, about his mother’s struggle to raise four kids. But he did remember, vividly, one evening when his father came home from his work at the cement plant, covered in cement dust as usual so he looked thirty years older than he really was. Gordon had looked so tired and used up that Adrian had gasped. “Dad,” he’d said, “are you okay?”

  His father had dropped into a chair by the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. “Son,” he’d said, taking a long draw and blowing smoke at the ceiling, “you might ought to consider making this lifetime be all about you.”

  And in that moment, Adrian had decided that he wasn’t going to live an all-work-no-reward life like his father did. Because even though his parents were always loving and affectionate toward each other, he couldn’t help but see what the relationship took out of each of them. Who knows what they might have been able to accomplish if they hadn’t been shackled with each other and the passel of kids they ended up having?

  Adrian wasn’t going to let a family and kids drain him dry and make him old before his time. He made all his choices—his education, his career, even his hobbies—around that paradigm.

  It was nice, though, spending an evening surrounded by this family’s sense of comfort and connection. It would be even nicer to get back home tonight to relax in the solitude of his quiet loft in NOLA, where the traffic sounds faded into background noise occasionally punctuated by the distant wails of ambulance and police sirens. He enjoyed living on his own in the big little city of New Orleans, where the restaurants were many and varied, the people unique and interesting, the nightlife so wild and unrestrained that the streets had to be swept and hosed down at dawn each morning.

  This was nice. But when Adrian thought of all the effort and angst it took for Heather to keep this peaceful illusion of family togetherness afloat, it only proved that family life was the exact opposite of what Adrian wanted for himself. He didn’t have what it took to help this family knit itself back together.

  Adrian knew how to leave.

  He had never learned how to stay.

  Chapter 9

  Friday afternoon, Heather walked into the shelter’s conference room carrying a pitcher of lemonade. Sliced lemon wedges and sweet mint leaves from Reva’s garden floated on top.

  “Oh, Lord,” Abby fretted, wringing her hands. “I hope everything is going okay out there.” Abby’s honey-brown hair straggled down her back in a mass of semi-wild waves, but her white pedal pushers and tucked-in cotton shirt were sedate enough to make up for the unruly hair that seemed to defy her efforts to tame it.

  Heather could tell that Abby had done her best to look businesslike today. They all had. Heather had even left Jasper at home this morning, poor dog. She set the pitcher on the ecru linen table runner in the center of the antique mahogany table. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Heather promised, though she could promise no such thing. “All we can do is wait and see.”

  Either the shelter would pass the inspection or it wouldn’t. The county building inspector and the mayor were both outside walking the shelter grounds with Quinn right now. Adrian was supposed to be here soon, but he hadn’t yet arrived.

  Heather arranged alternating swirls of turtleback cookies and snickerdoodles on the platter, then nestled a sprig of fresh sweet mint from Reva’s garden in the center. Lucky for Abby, one lone turtleback cookie remained, and fitting it in would have ruined the artistic appeal. “Here.” Heather held the cookie out to her boss. “Have a cookie.”

  Abby broke the cookie in half instead of taking the whole thing. “Only if you eat half.”

  Heather took her half and tapped it to Abby’s in a cookie toast. “I’ll make the sacrifice.”

  Abby took a bite and groaned. “So good,” she said with her mouth full. “Makes me want to slap my mama.”

  Heather laughed. “Is that different than usual?” She took a bite of her half of the cookie, her teeth cracking the fine layer of hardened icing on the top as her taste buds exploded. She ate the rest of it, so sweet and tasty it flo
oded her mouth with joy and filled her mind with a false sense of well-being.

  Maybe everything would be okay after all.

  Abby finished her cookie and rubbed her palms together to brush off the crumbs. “I think we both needed a bit of sugary self-medication today.”

  “Yep, I agree.” They had worked hard to get everything ready for the inspection. After all the work they’d done to get ready for this day, Heather didn’t feel one bit bad about indulging. And they still had a planning committee meeting to get through. Hopefully, Quinn would have good news to relate about the inspection.

  Reva walked in with an antique blue-glass mason jar of daisies and zinnias from her garden nestled in lacy sprays of fiddlehead ferns and green cockleburs from the nearby swamp. She looked pretty in a tie-dyed peasant dress and red Birkenstock sandals with rhinestone buckles. A fresh daisy was tucked into her silver-gray hair. “Hey, Heather. Hey, Abby.”

  She moved the cookie platter over and set the arrangement in the middle of the table. Any gathering in the Deep South—even a business meeting—was worthy of attention to detail. But this one was especially important. Reva put her hands on her hips. “Is Adrian here yet?”

  “I haven’t seen him.” Heather felt a blush coming on, so she turned to fold a stack of paper napkins into neat triangles. It was annoying and embarrassing that her fair skin had an opinion of its own about Adrian Crawford.

  A widowed mother of three had no business dreaming about a dreamboat business consultant who had no room in his life for romance, kids, or even pets. She knew better than to respond to his shameless flirting. She’d spent too much time with him lately; that was the problem.

  She needed to remember that Adrian was part of this team only because his college buddy Quinn had invited him. The second the shelter was open and running smoothly, he would go back to doing whatever he’d been doing before.

  Abby looked out the window. “Adrian’s car is here.” She snorted a laugh. “Wearing its pajamas.”

  “Don’t make fun,” Reva said. “He just got all those scratches fixed. I don’t blame him for being extra careful.”

  Heather stood beside Abby to look out the window at Adrian’s fancy sports car that he’d covered with its tailor-made fabric tarp to protect it from falling leaves, jumping cats, and drifting dirt. “He does love that shiny hunk of metal,” Heather commented, “doesn’t he?” She didn’t blame him though. If she could afford a car like that, she’d take extra-good care of it too.

  Abby snorted. “His life will be complete if he ever finds a woman to love as much as he loves that car.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” Adrian’s deep, masculine voice said from the arched entrance of the room. “But don’t worry about me. I’m happy enough as I am.”

  Abby choked on a hastily stifled laugh and squeezed Heather’s arm. Heather felt her skin go up in flames. But she had no choice except to turn from the window and face Adrian’s self-satisfied smirk. In fact, he did look extremely happy with himself and life in general. From the aviator sunglasses perched on top of his perfect hair to the treaded soles of his fancy expensive hiking boots, he looked perfectly…well, perfect.

  ***

  Adrian noticed Heather’s flaming cheeks; it was impossible not to. Her fine porcelain skin mirrored her every emotion. He’d seen it all—from the delicate pink tint of attraction to the ferocious blush she had going on now to the mottled dull-red flush of anger. He’d seen it all because those had all been her reactions to him.

  And those wide green just-got-caught-gossiping-about-him eyes, also impossible not to notice. But what his eyes really wanted was to devour the rest of her. His gaze stayed stuck on her face, though, because he was disciplined enough to avoid looking farther down than her obstinate little chin.

  He didn’t have to look down to know that her voluptuous body curved in all the right places, even though she often seemed to dress to minimize her sex appeal. From her minimal makeup to her blond ponytail to her plain pink tee and modest denim skirt, everything about her screamed don’t look at me.

  So he didn’t look—unless of course she couldn’t see him looking. Then he looked plenty. He knew that she had a little crush on him because her skin told on her, every single time.

  What she didn’t know was that he had a pretty hefty crush on her too. He was lucky that his tanned skin didn’t tell on him and luckier still that he knew better than to act on his impulses. Because no matter how compelling Heather was all by herself, she came with a bunch of baggage that he was incapable of lifting.

  “Hey, Adrian,” Heather said, her voice Marilyn Monroe breathless. That was another thing about her that just about did him in: her voice. It made him feel like they were the only two people in the room. Hell, when he was near her, it often felt like they were the only two people on the planet.

  “Hey, Heather,” he replied, doing a pretty good imitation of her tone.

  And just like that, the fading pink of her blush turned that mottled red color, setting the tone for their last big meeting about the shelter’s upcoming grand opening and fund-raiser. She didn’t say a word, but her lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Aw, don’t be that way,” he said. “I was just teasing.” He didn’t even know why he’d done it, unless maybe some part of him was trying to put the brakes on feelings he wasn’t quite ready to handle. Heather’s anger was better for his peace of mind than any other emotion she might feel toward him.

  “I’m not being any sort of way,” she announced. Then she brushed past him with her chin in the air.

  ***

  Heather scooted her chair just so to put Reva’s beautiful flower arrangement exactly between herself and Adrian. She’d prefer to look at daisies and zinnias instead of his disturbingly attractive features. She wasn’t mad at him for pointing out the obvious. She couldn’t help sounding breathless around him; he had that effect on her.

  She wasn’t mad at all. She was used to his teasing manner that seemed to veer between mocking and flirtatious.

  In fact, she ought to be thankful that he sent her that little reminder of some of the less-attractive aspects of his character. After last week’s riding session with Charlie, and the week before when he’d literally helped save Charlie’s life, she had allowed herself to become a little too chummy with the idea of letting Adrian get close to her and her kids.

  He could get close to Charlie. That was fine and necessary. But Heather needed to keep herself and her kids out of the equation. She needed to remember that once the shelter opened on Labor Day—which was, yikes, just a little over a week away—Adrian wouldn’t be coming around so much, and eventually, once the shelter was running smoothly, he wouldn’t be coming around at all.

  What that would mean for Charlie, Heather hadn’t yet considered, except to promise herself that by then, she would be making enough money to pay someone else to ride Charlie twice a week.

  “Okay, y’all, let’s get started.” Abby stood. “We’ve got a lot to cover before Quinn is done showing the inspector around.” She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled, a look of pride and relief on her face. “First of all, I want to thank y’all for your hard work in turning a crumbling old estate into an animal shelter we can be proud of.

  “Heather, thanks for all the donations you got from local businesses. The donation of fencing and work crews from the fence company made all the difference. Adrian, thanks for expediting all the paperwork and forms. Reva, thanks for helping Quinn supervise the work crews and make sure everything got done right the first time. Y’all are miraculous.”

  “Yay, us,” Reva hooted.

  Everybody clapped.

  Abby picked up her notebook and started reading from it. “On the agenda today, the biggest octopus we have to wrangle into a jar is the Labor Day picnic and shelter fund-raiser at Bayside Barn. As y’all know, we were hoping to do
the shelter’s grand opening at the same time, but whether we can do that hinges on today’s inspection.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Reva said. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Lord, I hope so.” Abby held up crossed fingers. “At the end of today’s meeting, Quinn is going to give a tour to some of the folks who helped us get the shelter approved by city hall. I’d like y’all to follow along to answer any questions but also to get a fresh look at what’s been done recently and what we still have to do before we can open our doors to the public. And…Adrian’s going to give us an update on the grants we’ve applied for.”

  She sat back down. “Adrian, you’re up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Adrian stood and passed a stack of papers to Abby. “We’ve been approved to receive a grant that will reimburse us for the replacement of the leaking pool steps with a beach-style ramp. That will make it easier for the shelter dogs to safely enter and exit the pool. It’s been done already thanks to the donations Heather managed to get from the local merchants…” He nodded at Heather without meeting her eyes. “But once we receive that payment, we can allocate that money for other projects.”

  A quiet ripple of whoops, cheers, and claps erupted. Adrian made a mock bow, then straightened and pinned them all with a serious gaze. “Don’t get too excited. What this grant means, aside from the money, is that y’all will have to chronicle the rehabilitative benefits of swimming for a minimum of ten canine amputees, each of whom will be fostered here for twelve months. So that means over the next two years, the shelter will have to actively acquire dogs who have recently undergone amputations, keep them here for a year each, follow a specific pool-exercise protocol, survey their recovery rates, and document everything. Mack has agreed to provide veterinary care and fill in the reports for these dogs free of charge.”

  “That’s awesome, Adrian,” Abby said. “Thanks for taking the initiative on getting that funding.”

  “Happy to do it,” he said. “We have a few more outstanding grant proposals I haven’t heard back on, but I’ll keep y’all posted.”