A Cherry Cola Christmas (10 page)

“I'm sure it'll be delicious just like everything else your mother fixed. I can vouch for the fact she knew her way around the kitchen and then some—it takes a good chef to know one.”

Soon enough, he picked up where they had left off in the dining room. “I know I'm probably being too hard on myself about Mama and the TV up so loud, but I can't seem to get it outta my head. Why did I ever allow myself to think anything like that? You got any advice for me?”

“I believe I do. You wishin' away all that noise was just one of those careless thoughts we all have from time to time,” Periwinkle began. “I can't tell you how many times I wished my Harlan John Lattimore would stay outta my life this past year or so with his foolish stalkin' and all. And now he's gone to Texas where I hope he'll finally find him some true happiness. But that was all on him, not me. So, it was just time for your mother to leave, and you know in your heart that nothin' you coudda thought or said or done woudda stopped it. They say the acceptance part a' sayin' good-bye to someone is the hardest. You just remember that I'm here to help you through it, Parker. I know that woudda made your mother happy, too.”

Mr. Place sighed while staring out at the bare fig trees of late autumn. “Yeah, I know you're right—and you're helping by just being you. I'm just wondering . . .” He couldn't seem to get the rest of it out, however.

“What, Parker? What are you wondering?”

“Well, it's not just the TV and the sofa that bother me. Being in the house bothers me now. It's so empty without her. The silence seems like my enemy. I'm just wondering if I can live here any longer, even though it's mine, free and clear.”

“You wanna sell it?”

“Thinking about it. All the memories—well, they're turning on me now, if you know what I mean.”

“Where would you live?”

The intensity of his stare told her exactly what he was going to say. “Well . . . could we live together in your house? We've slept together there, and everything worked out just fine. Or we could buy a new place anywhere you'd like if you don't like the sound of that.”

Her tone managed to be both tentative and expectant. “We could worry about that later. Meanwhile, is that a proposal?”

For the first time since they had sat down to dinner, he smiled. “I guess it is. To tell you the truth, I hadn't intended to go there—at least not this afternoon. But I know it's been in my heart all along.”

Periwinkle's face was suddenly transformed by his words. She wondered if she looked as pretty as she felt. Inside, she was full of youthful excitement the way she had enjoyed when Harlan Lattimore had first proposed marriage to her over two decades ago. Somehow—despite years of his philandering and a divorce that had dragged on longer than it should have—she had managed to hang on to just enough of that innocent little country girl to bring her out of hiding once again.

“I think we should prob'ly do this engagement up right with rings and all at a later date, but I really do think the next step for us is to get married.” Then she reminded him of Maura Beth's upcoming inspirational book club meeting. “She wants us both to come, and I sorta promised her we would. Charlie'll take over the restaurant for us that night, of course.” Then she drew back slightly and giggled. “Oh, and I suppose I should make it sound more official. So, yes, I'll marry you, Mr. Parker Place.”

“And I'll marry you, Miz Periwinkle Violet Kohlmeyer Lattimore.”

They embraced again, this time adding a lingering kiss—another in a long line they had enjoyed in recent months.

“Maybe moving to a new place will help us put what's happened so far in perspective. It wouldn't be a matter of your place or mine. It would just be ours,” he added.

“We'll work something out,” she told him, looking very pleased. “I do have to ask you, though. Will you worry very much about what people will think of us? Have things changed enough so that no one will bat an eyelash?”

He didn't answer her for a while as he thought everything over carefully. “Mama saw it all in her lifetime, you know. A lot of hatred that was out in the open, some that was cleverly hidden and much more difficult to deal with. The opportunities she didn't have. How hard she had to work for her money but still managed to save and make the mortgage payments on this little house. But she was mostly happy with her lot and didn't ask anybody to do her any special favors. I'll take my cue from her and go on with my life not expecting bad things to happen. I guess I've rambled on a bit, but does that answer your question?”

Periwinkle nudged him gently. “It sure does. When do you think we should announce this to everybody?”

“Let's think about that carefully, okay? Maybe we should just let one or two people know in the beginning and see how it goes. Maybe Maura Beth and Jeremy? Can we trust them to keep it a secret for a while?”

Periwinkle sounded emphatic. “Maura Beth and I have been best girlfriends for years, as you know. I'd trust her with my life. I'll phone her up tomorrow and tell her to keep it under her hat. It'll be just fine.”

“Sounds good to me. Meanwhile, I'm glad we had this talk,” he continued. “I don't feel nearly as depressed as I did before.”

“That's what I'm here for.” They kissed again; then she pulled away slightly. “And don't you forget to give me that jar of your mother's fig conserve. At the very least I'll do my best to guess all of the ingredients she used and then try to duplicate it for The Twinkle. That is, unless you just happen to have the recipe lying around here somewhere.”

“Afraid not. Mama cooked with a pinch a' that and a dash a' that, and she tasted every fifteen seconds, it seemed like. Nothin' was gonna sneak up on her. It was pretty unscientific, and it's also pretty much a lost art these days.” Mr. Place teared up briefly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he looked out over the backyard with a wistful grin. “Guess there won't be anyone to pick the figs next summer.”

10

Dinner Guests

C
onnie and Douglas McShay were relaxing on the deck of their lodge with sweaters around their shoulders and glasses of Chardonnay in their hands while a plate of pepper jack cheese slices sat out on the small wooden table between their chairs. A Cherico mid-afternoon in early December often required a bit of flexibility when it came to “dressing for the occasion,” and today was no exception. In truth, Douglas would have roughed it in just a long-sleeve flannel shirt had Connie not kept at him about the nip in the air, and both of them wondered in amazement that there was actually someone out on the lake in a bass boat at this time of the year. At the moment, however, the weather was the last thing on their minds.

“I'm still a little bit nervous about all this,” Connie was saying as she glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. “They'll be here soon, and I just don't know how Maura Beth will react when she finds out what we've done. Some people really don't like surprises, you know.”

Douglas shrugged. “You worry way too much about everything. It all worked out last time. Didn't Maura Beth tell you that she and her mother were getting along just fine now?”

“Yes, but that's been entirely over the phone since she and Jeremy came back from Key West. You have to admit there were some tense moments during the wedding weekend. And then the image of Cara Lynn Mayhew storming out of that Cherry Cola Book Club meeting the other time sticks with me, too. I know for certain that Maura Beth would be very upset if her mother did anything close to that during the meeting at the library tomorrow.”

Douglas put his glass down on the table and gave her a stern look. “It's just not gonna happen. We're all going tomorrow to share inspirational stories and get into the Christmas spirit and all the feel-good stuff that comes with the end of the year. No way would Cara Lynn and William Mayhew call us up and ask to stay here again if they intended to come up here and cause trouble. They would have just stayed down there in New Orleans.”

“I know you're right, of course,” Connie admitted. “I just wish Cara Lynn hadn't made us promise to keep it a surprise. I'd feel better about it if we could've told Maura Beth up front that they were coming. It just feels wrong getting into the middle of it this way.”

Douglas snickered and then returned to his wine, taking a big swig. “We're not getting into the middle of anything. We're just giving the Mayhews a place to sleep.” He paused to pick up a slice of cheese and make short work of it. “I know what you're really worried about. You should just come right out and say it instead of beating around the bush.”

“Okay, okay. I'll say it, then. Everything would've been fine if Cara Lynn hadn't opened her big mouth in front of that Cudd'n M'Dear person and let her know about their surprise trip. The Mayhews by themselves would've been perfectly okay, but I'm leery of that cousin of theirs coming up with them. What kind of story do you think she plans to tell tomorrow? And remember, we didn't have to host her for the wedding—but now we're stuck with her for the weekend.”

“What's the big deal? This is a huge house. We've got enough bedrooms. Everyone can come and go as they please. Unless the woman sleepwalks, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“It's not that. It's just that she is so unpredictable. Maura Beth happened to tell me a little while back that Cudd'n M'Dear has been on the warpath down there in New Orleans for months because—get this—the television stations won't let her organize a telethon to eliminate static cling and static electricity. It's hard for me to fathom the brain of someone with priorities like that.”

Douglas remained unperturbed. “Maybe she isn't really serious. Doesn't she have more money than she knows what to do with?”

“I believe Maura Beth said something to that effect. The woman has pretty much guaranteed that The Cherico Library will never want for anything as long as it's up and running. But what's your point?”

“My point is that sometimes an independently wealthy person has time on their hands and doesn't know what to do with themselves. Maybe this telethon thing is just a case of her throwing nonsense against the wall and seeing if it'll stick. If by some bizarre quirk of fate, it actually does, she'll run with it because she can. But I'll bet she's just after a little attention to relieve her boredom.”

“I never looked at it that way,” Connie said with a thoughtful frown. “So there's a method behind the madness, after all.”

“Probably. But everything's going to be fine, honey,” Douglas added. “In a perfect world, maybe the Mayhews wouldn't have wanted Cudd'n Whozit's to tag along, but that's the way it turned out. So let's just get out the welcome mat and trust that everyone'll get into the spirit of the season. That's the whole point of this ‘tell stories' to-do tomorrow, isn't it?”

She turned and gave him a peculiar stare. “You know, I believe retirement is finally agreeing with you in the right way. All that guilt you like to whine about because of your illustrious career as a trial lawyer is finally beginning to fade. It's not just all the fishing you do out on the lake, either.”

He nodded slowly with a smile that involved every handsome feature of his face. “No, but all that time fishing and drifting and thinking was how I got the idea of donating some of our land so Maura Beth could build her new library next door. Maybe I wasn't all that generous when I was practicing—hey, I know damned well I wasn't—but I truly see the virtue of it now. And I've put my money—well, our money—where my mouth is.”

“That could be your story tomorrow,” Connie added, enjoying the buzz from her wine. “Or do you just plan to listen to the others?”

“I think I'll just sit back and take it all in. I've spent enough time running my mouth over the years. What're you gonna do?”

She didn't have to think twice about her answer. “Right this minute, I'm leaning toward being quiet, too—unless the spirit moves me between now and then, and I have some sort of epiphany.”

 

At the moment, Maura Beth was handling everything with her usual public service demeanor leading the way. Every now and then, she would catch Jeremy's eye across Connie's dining room table and wag her brows as if they were sharing some wicked secret; but the shock of walking into the lodge a half hour earlier and finding her parents and Cudd'n M'Dear waiting for her with open arms had worn off sufficiently. She was now enjoying her portion of Connie's baked chicken, sugar snap peas, and twice-baked potatoes topped with cheddar cheese and effortlessly contributing to the conversation as well.

“So, is that Councilman Sparks of yours going to be there tomorrow night?” Cudd'n M'Dear was asking her with a mischievous grin. “I truly enjoyed tweaking that smug face of his last time. He looked like I'd pulled his pants down or something worse, he was so embarrassed.”

“He knows about the meeting well enough. There are posters all over town,” Maura Beth answered, remembering Cudd'n M'Dear's performance fondly. “But I never exactly picked up the phone and invited him. Not this time around. My gut feeling is that he'll stay away, but if he figures there's some political gain in coming, he may show up with the usual ulterior motives.”

Cudd'n M'Dear's homely face brightened. “Oh, I do look forward to bedeviling him if he does. It was such fun—practically the highlight of my year so far. I thought that little wife of his was going to have a stroke when I started squeezing his lips together the way I did.”

“Yes, you were definitely his puppet master, and I could picture him turning on his heels and hightailing it out of the library lickety-split if he spots you when he walks in,” Maura Beth added with a smirk. “So I halfway hope he does decide to put in an appearance.”

Cara Lynn Mayhew put down her fork, chuckling under her breath. “Did I mention that William and I got in early enough to take a brief little tour of the construction site next door? We're very impressed with the progress. The library is really starting to take shape, and we're so happy and proud for you. It was just a concrete slab last time we were up here.”

William Mayhew beamed at his daughter. “And your mother says you're aiming for a Fourth of July grand opening next summer. We'll have to circle our calendars and come up for that for sure.”

“Well, the truth is, we're running behind thanks to some bad weather and also some foolishness on the part of Councilman Sparks. He's trying to turn the library construction into a documentary on his political accomplishments. I never would've dreamed he'd come up with something like that.”

Cudd'n M'Dear quickly swallowed a bite of her potato and drew herself up with every inch of importance she could muster. “Do you need me to go to City Hall and mess with his head? You know I can do it.”

The entire table erupted in laughter, and Maura Beth said, “It's nice to know I'll have that as a backup plan.”

Cudd'n M'Dear snapped her fingers smartly. “You must let me know if you need me front and center.”

“I promise.”

Then Connie spoke up. “Does everyone have their stories ready? Douglas and I have decided we'll just listen.”

“I do have something I've been preparing,” Cara Lynn said, giving Maura Beth an affectionate glance. “I hope it won't be overly sentimental, but William can tell you how long I've been working on it. When Maura Beth told me about her special idea, I just knew I had to come up and be a part of it. I like to think of it as a sort of early Christmas present.”

With a tilt of his head William gave his daughter a wink. “Your mother has been talking about nothing else for over a month now, and then she came up with the idea of surprising you.”

“Oh, I was definitely surprised, wasn't I, Jeremy?”

“Maurie's right. We both were. And now I halfway keep expecting Mom and Dad to pop in from Brentwood any minute. We McShays have a way of doing things a bit differently,” he said, giving his aunt and uncle an admiring nod. “I assume this is it for the guest list tonight, Aunt Connie.”

“It is, sweetie. Just the five of us. Actually, I did invite the Brachles on the spur of the moment, but Becca wasn't having one of her better pregnancy days when I called—so they regretfully declined. She said she definitely wanted to rest up so they didn't miss the library event tomorrow evening.”

“Could I trouble everyone around the table to come up with some fresh ideas for a telethon?” Cudd'n M'Dear asked, abruptly changing the subject in that inimitable manner of hers.

“Oh, dear,” Connie muttered out of the side of her mouth, exchanging glances with Douglas.

Cara Lynn eyed Cudd'n M'Dear sharply. “Now, you promised me driving up in the car you weren't going to bring that up while we were here, cousin dear. We're here for Maura Beth and the library, remember?”

“There are so many good causes that are going begging. Surely among all of us here we can come up with something timely and appropriate,” Cudd'n M'Dear answered, completely ignoring Cara Lynn's rebuff.

“I'll bet all the inspirational stories we'll hear tomorrow will suggest a few ideas,” Maura Beth added, thinking on her feet. “Why don't we wait until then and see what comes to mind?”

“Brilliant!” Connie exclaimed, bringing her hands together dramatically and then running as quickly as she could with the opening. “Why burden ourselves now while we're enjoying our dinner? We haven't even had our dessert yet. By the way, does everyone have everything they need? More water, perhaps?”

A couple of hands shot up, giving Connie the chance to make the rounds with a pitcher of ice water and momentarily diffuse the situation. “You know, this is not bottled water I'm pouring for y'all. We get it from our well right here on our property, don't we, Douglas?”

“Yep, we opted not to connect with the county water system. There's nothing like deep well water in my book. I grew up with it in Middle Tennessee, and it had this almost sweet, mineral taste that was so refreshing—especially when it was ice-cold on a hot summer day. I think it has something to do with all the rocks deep down in the ground, I'll bet.”

Cudd'n M'Dear suddenly sat up in her chair as if someone had just pricked her with a needle several times in a row. “Well, what do y'all think about water quality, then? I believe that would make an excellent telethon. Everyone's concerned about it these days with all the pollution around.”

Connie sounded like all the air had gone out of her very being as she returned to her seat. “Yes . . . I . . . suppose . . . it would.”

For her part, Maura Beth began to wonder seriously if Cudd'n M'Dear was going to be a problem at the library the following evening. Would she interrupt people with non sequiturs and try to dominate the proceedings with her trademark foolishness? Who knew what her idea of inspirational or spiritual was? Maura Beth couldn't really blame her mother for bringing the woman along, though. No one in the known universe had ever been able to tell her “No!” or “You can't come within a five-hundred mile radius of us!” or anything close to that.

Then Maura Beth realized that her experience conducting meetings of The Cherry Cola Book Club certainly counted for something. She had faced a myriad of disruptions and challenges every time out since its founding, and somehow the group had stayed together, getting to know each other better and better, their bond growing even stronger with each crisis that had confronted them all.

Tomorrow evening, she concluded, would be their finest hour!