by V. M. Burns
I was expecting Horace to say he caved in to the cravings of the flesh and gave her the part in exchange for sexual favors. I’d seen how she used sex appeal during the rehearsal.
Nana Jo whistled. “What’d she have on you?”
Horace’s face turned deeper red. “Many years ago, I did something foolish.” He raised his head. “I paid the price for my folly, but she knew.”
Nana Jo and I exchanged looks. I wanted to delve deeper, but the pain in his eyes and the set of his chin told me he wasn’t ready to elaborate on what his “folly” entailed. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew a way to find out.
Nana Jo paused. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
A look of relief washed over his face and he bent low and kissed Nana Jo’s hand.
Horace stayed a few minutes and thanked Nana Jo profusely until she kicked him out, promising to show up at rehearsal later that evening.
I locked the door after he left and continued my routine. I reshelved books and cleaned in silence.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Nana Jo asked as we cleaned.
I shook my head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
“Baloney. I can tell by your face you’re not fine. Now, put that book down and tell me what’s wrong.”
I started talking, but then the waterworks started. In between blubbering and incoherent babbling, Nana Jo got the gist of the problem. She wrapped her arms around me and, for the second day in a row, I laid my head on someone’s shoulder and cried like a baby.
Nana Jo allowed me to cry myself out. She soothed and listened while I blathered on. When I’d cried myself out, I lifted my head and saw tears in her eyes, which started my tears again. We cried together for a while until the back door opened and Dawson came into the store.
He stood for a few seconds and stared at us, his eyes wide, and a look of fear and concern crossed his face. “What’s wrong?”
We looked at his face and burst into laughter.
Dawson looked even more concerned when we went from tears to laughter in less than sixty seconds.
Nana Jo recovered first. “I expect the emotions of the past few days have finally caught up with us.”
Dawson looked skeptical but was smart enough to nod and let it go. He went upstairs.
Nana Jo left for rehearsal and I went upstairs. I had a date. Dorothy’s granddaughter, Jillian, was dancing the lead role in a production of West Side Story at MISU. Frank and I were going to meet up with a bunch of people at the college to show our support and then have dinner. Dawson started spending a lot of time with Jillian after she and her friend, Emma, helped clear him from murder. Last I heard, my nephew Zaq was dating Emma. I stayed out of my nephews’ love lives. The relationships never lasted long enough for me to get attached. In fact, I stopped trying to remember their names. However, I couldn’t help hoping things worked out between him and Emma. She was a nice girl.
The musical was wonderful. Jillian’s portrayal of Maria was brilliant. I’d seen her dance before, but this was the first time I’d heard her sing. She had a strong, clear voice which was perfect for this role. The actress who played Anita, Maria’s friend, had a classically trained voice. While she was a very talented singer, her voice didn’t go with the mood of the musical. Jillian received a standing ovation.
We went backstage after the performance and congratulated all of the actors. Jillian was, of course, the center of attention. While she was gracious, she was also humble. I noticed Dawson hung back in the shadows, practically disappearing while Jillian was lauded with praise.
Dorothy was a proud grandmother and took tons of pictures. Zaq and Emma mingled with the other students and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even Frank ran into someone he knew and got into a long conversation about fishing. My mind wandered while they discussed rods and flies. I noticed Dawson in a corner, contemplating a large piece of contemporary art hung from the ceiling of the Hechtman-Ayers Performing Arts Center.
I strolled over to him. “What’s bothering you?”
He shrugged. “I’m just not good at this.”
“Not good at what?”
“Small talk. Mingling. Mixing with complete strangers.”
“Okay. However, there are tons of people here you do know like me, Dorothy, Frank, Emma, Zaq, and, let’s not forget, Jillian. Yet you aren’t talking to any of us.”
He shrugged again. “I guess I’m not feeling very talkative tonight.”
I glanced around and found a bench in a quiet corner and guided Dawson to the bench. “What’s really bothering you?”
He looked down and sat with his hands together. When I refused to break the silence, he leaned back. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just feeling out of place. I don’t belong here.”
“That’s because this isn’t your world. It’s Jillian’s. Singing, dancing, performing is what she loves to do, and she’s good at it.”
“I know. That’s what I’m afraid—”
“Ah . . . now I see said the blind man.”
“No. I mean, I . . . don’t belong here. I don’t fit in here. I’m just a dumb jock from the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know the first thing about ballets or musicals or any of the things she likes.” He waved his hands around. “This artsy stuff is . . . it’s not me.”
“And you’re afraid she’ll figure out you don’t know anything about her world and then she won’t like you anymore,” I said softly.
He nodded.
“Dawson, I have a revelation for you. I’m pretty sure Jillian knows you don’t know anything about ballet or musicals or art and she likes you anyway.”
“But for how long? She’s good. She’s really good. She’s not going to want to hang around here forever. She’s going to go to a big city and go on the stage and she’ll meet people. She’ll meet someone who knows about all this stuff and shares her same interests.”
“Have you talked to Jillian about this?”
He shook his head.
I prayed for the right words to help settle his mind. “It’s certainly possible Jillian will want to move away and pursue her dream. She may even meet someone else.”
“So, we should probably just end it now before things get too serious.”
“You could do that. Or, you could ride the wave and see where it leads.”
He stared at me with a puzzled expression. My metaphors were a bit mixed up, so I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I wanted to tell him. “You know that sign I have in my living room—‘If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always get what you’ve always got’?”
He nodded.
“Do you know what that means?”
He nodded slowly. “I guess so.”
“It means you have to take chances in life. If you want your life to be different, you can’t be afraid. You have to take chances and do something different. You didn’t want to be like your father. You wanted something different for yourself. That’s why you went to college, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, the same thing applies to life and love. There are no guarantees. Things may not work out between you and Jillian, but what if they do? You can’t just give up because you’re afraid one day she might decide she wants more than you’re able to give her. You can’t let fear hold you back.”
We sat quietly for several moments.
“There’s one thing I can tell you. When you really care about someone, you can show that by at least trying to spend time doing the things that are important to them. I’m guessing Jillian isn’t the world’s biggest football fan,” I said.
He smiled. “She doesn’t know the first thing about football.”
“Yet, she goes to your football games. She watches football with you.”
He grinned. “Yeah, she does.”
“She does that because she cares about you, not because she loves football. You can show her you care about her by attending her performances and at least trying to mingle with her friends and
support her.”
“You’re right.” He heaved a sigh and stood. “I’m going to mingle.” He grinned. “You coming?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to rest my feet a bit longer.”
He turned to walk away but hesitated. Then he bent down and gave me a hug and whispered, “Thank you.”
I hugged him back and tried not to get weepy.
Frank walked up as Dawson was leaving. “Is this a private party or can anyone join?”
I patted the bench.
He dropped down next to me. “You okay?”
“I’m great.”
“Sorry about that.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You know, the fly-fishing thing. I wasn’t trying to exclude you. I was—”
I held up a hand. “No problem. I didn’t leave because I felt excluded.” I leaned close and whispered, “I have a confession to make.”
He raised an eyebrow and waited.
“I can’t resist a good sale. My three favorite words are “take an additional . . .” In fact, I can spot a sign like that traveling seventy miles an hour on I-94. When it comes to shoes, my feet will actually shrink while I’m in the store to fit whatever sizes they have.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious.” I held up my leg to show I had removed my right shoe. “I swear these shoes fit perfectly in the store. They were half-priced and there was a purple sticker on the box which meant an additional 75 percent off. They practically paid me to take the shoes. I couldn’t leave them in the store and allow someone else to get the deal.”
He shook with laughter. “I can’t believe you bought shoes that were too small because they were on sale?”
“I’m telling you, they fit in the store. Unfortunately, my feet always return to their normal size once I get out of the store.” I reached down and massaged my foot. “They were so cute. Maybe they’ll stretch, but right now they are rubbing a blister on the ball of my foot and pinching my pinky toe.”
He laughed and reached down and took my foot and massaged the ball of my foot. We sat there for several moments. I might have moaned, I didn’t really know. My eyes were closed. I opened them when I heard laughter.
“Are you going to be able to walk to the car or do you need me to carry you?” he joked.
“I can walk, but I’m not going to be able to wear these shoes now that my foot is back to regular size.” I kicked off the other one and put them in my purse.
He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Now I know why you carry such a big purse.”
I patted my supersized purse. “Just like the boy scouts. I’m prepared for any emergency; although, if I’d been thinking, I’d have slipped a pair of flats in here too.”
I waited in the lobby while Frank went to get the car.
“Are you leaving already?” Jillian met me in the lobby.
“I am. I’m not as young as I used to be, and my feet are killing me, but you were wonderful tonight. I really enjoyed the musical.”
She smiled and then looked around. “Would it be okay if I came by your store tomorrow afternoon? I was hoping I could talk to you about something.” Her eyes darted around quickly.
“Of course. You’re always welcome.”
She gave me a quick hug and then hurried away.
Frank pulled up to the building and I hurried outside and into the car. We decided to forego dinner, since even the most casual dining establishments had standards that required patrons to wear shoes. Instead, we picked up Chinese takeout and went back to my place for fine dining while we curled up on the sofa in my living room and watched Murder, She Wrote reruns.
I’m not sure what time Frank left. I woke up around midnight with a drool-soaked pillow under my head and a warm blanket covering my body. Snickers was curled up in a ball in the crook of my knees and Oreo was keeping my feet warm. When I stretched, Oreo hopped up and walked up my body, pausing only long enough to make a couple of turns on Snicker’s neck, which generated growls from her. Then he walked up my body and stood on my chest. Both dogs tended to confuse my body with a runway and pranced up and down whenever they wanted. The only difference was Snickers liked to stand facing me so she could lick my face. Oreo liked to stand facing my feet and used his tail like a fan. He paused on my chest and fanned my face.
I disentangled myself from the blanket and the poodles. Frank had left a note. Apparently, he took the poodles out before he left. I looked around and saw he had also disposed of the leftovers. He wrote a few nice words that brought a silly grin to my face and warmth to my cheeks. I was wide-awake now. I needed something to focus on, something other than Frank Patterson, so I went to my laptop.
Randolph laughed so hard tears rolled down his face.
Jessica looked around the drawing room. No one made eye contact. Her facial expression changed from confusion to anger. She paced in front of the fireplace. She walked hard; so hard the two Paris vases filled with flowers vibrated with each step. Arms crossed, she scowled at Randolph. “I don’t see what’s so bloody funny.”
Randolph staggered over to her. “Of course you don’t. You’re a bit too common to realize the social gaffe you just made.” Randolph stroked her cheek.
She swatted his hand away. “Why don’t you tell me, if you’re so smart.”
Randolph picked up the large volume of Burke’s Peerage Lady Daphne had left on the table. “You probably should have read this, but then reading isn’t your thing is it?” He flopped down on the sofa, crossed his legs, and took a sip from his glass. “Let’s see, where to begin.” He paused to take another drink, then settled back. “It’s a matter of protocol when addressing the peerage. There are five grades of peers: duke, marquess, earl, viscount, and baron.” He waved his hand toward Lord William. “Lord William Marsh was the eldest son of the seventh duke of Hunsford.” Randolph tipped his head back and mused. “It will take far too much time to go into the British rules of entailment, so let’s just say upon his father’s death, Lord William inherited the entire lot. He inherited the title, the land, the money.” In a quietly sarcastic tone he continued, “If there is any, he got the lot. He became the eighth duke of Hunsford.” Randolph made a dramatic bow in Lord William’s direction, sloshing his drink on the sofa.
Lord William fidgeted in his seat as he filled his pipe. His face looked red and his gaze darted around the room.
“Lady Elizabeth was the daughter of a duke and she married a duke and is therefore a ‘lady,’ referred to as Lady Elizabeth or Her Grace.” He drained his glass, walked over to the bar, took a bottle of scotch, and refilled his glass. He then walked back to the sofa and sat down. “Now, where was I?” He took another sip. “Ah, yes. Now, that’s all great if you’re the eldest son. However, younger sons get royally gypped when it comes to titles and inheritance. They get nothing, not even the honor of being called by a lofty title.”
“Titles aren’t everything. It’s the man that’s important,” Lord William blustered.
Randolph applauded. “Said every man fortunate enough to have a title.”
Mrs. Churchill frowned. “Randolph, do be quiet.”
Randolph smiled. “But, Mother, I’m just getting to the crux of the matter.” He sipped his drink. “James FitzAndrew Browning, fifteenth duke of Kingsfordshire’s father, was not the eldest son. His brother, Albert, was the lucky duck who inherited. Unfortunately for Albert, he never married and had no children, so when he kicked the bucket, his nephew, James, inherited.”
Jessica stopped pacing and stared at Randolph.
Randolph smirked. “Since Helen Browning was married to a younger son and not the heir, she is referred to by her husband’s name, Lady Alistair. Therefore, my dear, Alistair was her husband’s name, not her name.
Jessica blushed. “Bugger.”
Randolph laughed.
Jessica glared at Randolph. “You bloody idiot. You could have told me before I made a fool of myself.”
Randolph smiled. “Sorry, dear. I haven�
��t known you long enough to prevent that. We would’ve had to have met in the nursery. How was I supposed to know you’d make a fool of yourself by throwing yourself at the first titled trousers you ran into?”
Jessica fumed. She snatched the glass from Randolph’s hand and flung the liquid in his face. She turned and stomped out of the room, dragging her boa behind her.
Randolph wiped his face with a handkerchief. He stood. “This concludes your evening entertainment. I hope you enjoyed the show.” He picked up the bottle of scotch. He bowed, swayed slightly, and walked out of the room.
Chapter 14
“Sam, are you asleep?” Nana Jo tapped lightly on my bedroom door.
If I had been asleep, I wasn’t now. “No. Come in.” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and pushed myself into a sitting position as I reached over and flipped on the lamp by my bedside.
Nana Jo came in wearing flannel pajama pants and a nightshirt with Maxine, the feisty Hallmark greeting card lady, that stated, “I’m a real morning person . . . after about 11:30.”
I smiled every time I read that shirt. There were a number of similarities between Maxine and my grandmother. Both were spirited, cynical, and outspoken.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I just got a frantic call from Irma. She’s on the verge of hysterics and begged me to come.”
“Did she say what was wrong?” I looked for my house shoes as I got out of bed.
“No. Would you mind driving me—”
“Of course not.” I pulled on a pair of blue jeans and tucked my nightshirt into my pants and pulled a sweatshirt over my head. “Just let me take the poodles outside.”
“Thank you, honey.” Nana Jo turned and hurried to her room to get dressed.
Neither Nana Jo’s entrance nor conversation and the lights had roused Snickers from her bed. She was close to fifteen now and few things roused her anymore, except opening the refrigerator door or unwrapping a slice of cheese. Oreo went on alert and sat up in his crate but hadn’t bothered to bark. When I opened his crate, he bounded out and pounced on my legs as he ran in circles. I had to pick Snickers up and carry her. A low growl indicated she wasn’t pleased.