A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (5 page)

“Yes, Mrs.
Blacksworth. How long will you be away?”

Gloria slid her gaze to Charles’s empty seat. “Four days. I think that will be sufficient.”

Christine removed four plates from the cupboard and set them on the table next to the silverware. Miriam had invited her and Nate for chicken and dumplings, one of Nate’s favorites. At least that’s what he’d told her, but maybe he simply wanted a respite from the treadmill of nightly cooking. She was getting better in the kitchen, but he had a twenty-year head start on her. It would take time and lots of practice. Unfortunately for her husband, he was the resident guinea pig. When she cooked, which wasn’t more than once every two weeks, he ate everything on his plate, chewing and swallowing with such deliberation that talk was confined to one-word comments and nods. She’d offered to cook tonight, a chicken and broccoli dish Miriam said he loved, but when she suggested it, he paled and declined, muttering in a rush about an invitation from his mother. Well, she couldn’t be good at everything, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up. Nate was getting that chicken and broccoli dish next week and it was going to taste like his mother’s, even if Miriam had to provide onsite supervision.

“There’s something you should know about Pop,” Miriam said.

“Oh?” Christine wanted to learn everything about the man who would be the catalyst to get her town support. Plus, a person who dressed like a billboard for major athletic companies required further conversation.

“Last Christmas, he visited his son in California. Pop hates traveling five minutes
, let alone hopping a plane and heading two thousand-plus miles. But he did it for Lucy, his granddaughter.” Miriam poured a glass of ice tea and took a sip. “He had a stroke while he was there, right after Christmas. His son, Anthony, brought in specialists and Pop fussed at all of them, refusing to listen until Doc Needstrom, who lives here, called and told Pop to settle down and follow instructions or he’d end up meeting his wife before next Christmas.” She shook her head and smiled. “That got him in line, but then he fell and broke his hip. He almost gave up. Anthony made big plans for Pop to sell his house, move into a condo or an assisted living home in San Diego. That idea did not sit well with Pop. He got all feisty and pushed himself through rehab so he could get back here.”

“He does seem very driven.” That was an understatement.

Miriam’s brow furrowed. “Anthony isn’t going to give up. He’ll keep pressing to get Pop out of here, and you can probably tell, Pop isn’t one to be pressed.” Her voice softened. “Getting old is difficult, on the person and the family. There’s such a fine line between maintaining independence and knowing when you aren’t independent anymore.”

“I think it would be hard for both sides, but Pop sounds pretty spry, with a wicked sense of humor and some keen insight.”

“Oh, he’s got insight, sometimes too much. He and Lily have been good for each other. She keeps him young and he sends her home quoting Mark Twain.”

Christine traced the apple pattern on the plastic tablecloth. “Speaking of insight, he wasn’t big on my father, was he?”

Miriam sighed and looked away. “No, and he’s told me for years, in English and Italian.”

“He seems tough, but I think he’s the kind of person who will do anything for you once you win him over.”

“Hmm.”

Christine had heard that small sound enough times in the past several months to know it meant Miriam was plotting and planning. “Okay, what are you thinking about?”

“Pop has always been a softy for a person in need. He and Lucy were always diving into one cause or another.” She paused, threw Christine a pointed look. “And if it wasn’t a cause, they could convince you it should be.”

“So now I’m a cause?” No one had ever considered her a “cause” except maybe her mother as she tried to secure a marriage to Connor Pendleton. Gloria had also taken up a personal crusade to convince Christine that much happiness and self-worth could be found in clothing, jewelry, and personal pampering
, even though her mother had failed on all fronts.

Miriam shook her head.
“A cause? Of course not. But you’re a woman in need and Pop does love to save his damsels. Just don’t let him drive you crazy with those pizzelles. He’s got Lily hooked on them and you know how she can be when she sets her mind to wanting something.”

“You mean she gets stubborn, like her brother?”

“Exactly. She was after me to take her to Pop’s since 7:00
a.m
., but I told her Pop had a routine that included reading the morning paper, eating his oatmeal with raisins, and twenty minutes in the bathroom.” Her lips twitched. “Not necessarily in that order.”

Christine laughed. What would
Pop do if he knew they were discussing his morning rituals, including his bathroom habits? From the little she’d learned about him, he’d probably put the rituals in order for her. “So Lily’s there now?”

“Oh, she is, and I told her
she’d better not come home with a belly stuffed full of pizzelles and no appetite for dinner.” Miriam glanced at her watch. “Nate said he’d pick her up after work. They should be here soon.”

“Good, because I’m hungry.”
And she missed her husband. When he walked in the door, her world shifted, her heart swelled. What would it be like in five years, ten? After a child or two? Their love would only grow deeper, their bond stronger. A few minutes later, Nate’s truck rumbled up the drive. Doors clanged shut, footsteps raced up the path and onto the back porch.

“Christine!” Lily flung open the door and rushed inside waving a paper bag and wearing a huge grin. “Look what I won!”

“Let me guess. Is it something I can eat?”

“Uh-huh.” Lily gave her a quick hug and shook the bag. “You can eat it.”

“Is it yellow, flat, and crispy?”

Lily giggled.
“Yup.” She began to slowly open the bag, paused. “Keep guessing.”

Christine tapped a finger to her chin and frowned. “Is it…could it possibly be….” Another giggle from Lily, followed by more
bag shaking. “A pizzelle?”

“Yes!” Lily dove into the bag and pulled out three
pizzelles. “How did you know?” She glanced at Nate who stood in the doorway, watching them. “Did you call and tell her my surprise? If you did, that is not fair. You’re not supposed to tell secrets.”

Nate moved toward his sister, knelt down, and looked her in the eye. “I did not tell Christine, silly. Did you ever think maybe that buddy of yours told her all about how you two bet on these things when you play checkers?”

Lily peeked in the bag, nodded, her lips pulling into a wide grin. “I bet it was him. He thought he was going to win, but I got him. Took all his kings.”

Nate flipped one of her braids over her shoulder. “I’ll bet you did.” He stood and leaned toward Christine. “Close your eyes, Lily.”

She giggled. “You’re going to kiss her.”

“I am.” He cupped Christine’s chin and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. “We have an audience,” he murmured. “We’ll finish this later.”

Later was good. Later, with Nate, was perfect.

“Lily,” Miriam interrupted the moment with sternness in her voice
. “How many of those things did you eat and how many are in that bag?”

Lily turned and held out the bag for her mother to inspect. “There’s only three. See?” She dumped the contents of the paper bag onto the kitchen table. “There were four, but Nate ate one on the way home.”

Miriam slid a glance in her son’s direction and sighed. “And how many did you eat at Pop’s?”

“Only one.”

“But I sent you with two dozen. Where are the rest?”

Lily looked at her mother and said matter-of-factly, “He’s keeping them for me. Said they would be safe and I didn’t have to worry about Nate sneaking any.”

“He said that?” This from Nate.

Lily nodded.
“Yup. Said Christine might want them. too, so we should keep them at his house.”

“The proverbial fox in the hen house,” Nate muttered.

Miriam’s lips pinched. “If that man thinks he’s going to live on those darn things, I swear, I’ll march right over there and tell him exactly what’s on my mind. He needs to get his fruits and vegetables.” She shook her head and snatched Lily’s winnings from the table. “That man’s going to turn into a pizzelle.”

“No
, he’s not,” Lily said. “He can’t.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miriam.” Christine trailed a hand along her husband’s arm and stood. “Pop and I are meeting tomorrow to go over strategies. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

***

Four days later, Christine and Pop entered the Magdalena Towne Hall, a spacious old house built of white brick, covered in ivy, surrounded by azaleas, rosebushes, and boxwoods. Pop told her the house had belonged to Mimi Pendergrass’s family. Mimi was the mayor of Magdalena and a founding member of The Bleeding Hearts Society.

“Mimi’s a real dynamo,” he said as they climbed the creaky stairs to the second-floor meeting room. “Lost a husband to a heart attack, a son to an auto accident, and a nephew in the service.” He paused on the step, leaned close, and whispered in a voice that was not a whisper, “There’s a daughter, too. Hasn’t heard from her in seven years. Something about a man.”

Wasn’t it always about a man? Maybe Mimi was like Gloria; maybe she’d tried to manipulate her daughter’s life and her choice in men. And maybe it hadn’t turned out well for her.

“And there’s Will Carrick. He’s a widower, owns a piece of land outside of town. Got a niece that’s been giving him trouble, but he might not say anything about it with you there.” They reached the top of the steps and Pop hitched up his sweatpants and lifted his arms over his head in a stretch. “Staying limber’s the key to getting old. And sleep, lots of it, not just the dozing in the afternoon. Eat right, too.”

“Does that include
pizzelles with every meal?”

Pop eyed her from behind his large, silver frames. “If need be.” He grinned. “Lucy used to give me the most horrible time about it.
‘You’re gonna end up with the diabetes,’ she’d say and ‘How are you gonna work in the garden when you can’t fit between the rows?’ She worried me to death. But in the end, God took the good one and left me behind. Sometimes it makes no sense, no sense at all.”

The second floor was high-ceilinged, with dangling globed lights, dark wooden floors, and burgundy walls covered with photographs. The photographs did not contain people, other than a random hand or finger, or perhaps a foot on a shovel. They did, however, share their own particular form of beauty: a dissemination of the flower, from petal to stem to root. Dark, rich soil stuffed in a clay pot.
A bulb, thick and meaty, ready for planting. Seeds: thin, flat, hard, tiny, thumbnail size.

“Pretty good, aren’t they? That’s Mimi’s work; she spends hours lining up a seed and a pod. This leaf, that stem.
Calls it therapy.” He lowered his voice, muttered, “I call it just short of crazy, but it gives her a few minutes of peace and sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

“They’re very interesting.”
Such intricate detail. So precise. She was anxious to meet Mimi Pendergrass, not just because she was the mayor and an important person in the community, but because the woman obviously had a passion for her work and excelled at it. Christine followed Pop toward a hand-painted sign that read “The Bleeding Hearts Society”. For a man in his seventies who had recently suffered a broken hip, Pop could move. “Let me do the talking. I know how to work this crew. And don’t pay no never-mind to Ramona Casherdon. Grief has turned her plain mean. You just smile and follow my lead.” He threw her a wide grin and removed his baseball cap. “Let’s go.”

It was obvious in the span of two minutes that Pop had neglected to tell anyone she’d be in attendance. He didn’t seem to notice the pointed stares or if he did, it had no effect on him as he took her arm and led her straight to a woman dressed in jeans, clogs, and a T-shirt that read “Plant Power”.

“Mimi, this here’s Christine Desantro,” he paused, added, “Charlie Blacksworth’s daughter.”

Mimi Pendergrass was small-built, with cropped salt
-and-pepper hair, and a firm handshake. Red glass earrings in the shape of a triangle dangled from tiny lobes. “Welcome,” she said in a voice that held a hint of a drawl. “I heard about you and Nate. Good luck to you.” She said the last part in such a way that Christine didn’t know if she meant good luck because you’ll need it, or simply, good luck.

“Thank you.”

“I believe I’ve seen you about town a time or two. Maybe at Sal’s Market.” She rubbed her jaw, apparently considering where she might have seen Christine. “Or St. Gertrude’s. Hmm. You and Lily sure do have the same eyes.” And then, “I’m real sorry about your father.” She shook her head. “Damn shame. He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” For a small town, there were still a lot of people she hadn’t met. Miriam knew the whole town but hadn’t seemed particularly eager to thrust Christine into Magdalena society
, and Nate certainly hadn’t jumped to provide a bounty of introductions, not when he still got looks from women he’d dated—or whatever he’d done with them. He’d told her he’d lived here all of his life, and most of the people annoyed the hell out of him because they couldn’t mind their own business. They poked, prodded, asked too many damn questions that were none of their business. Yes, he did have a point, but a sentiment like that just wasn’t human. Christine glanced at Pop Benito who stood next to her, smiling. Miriam and Nate could keep to themselves because she had her own Magdalena Welcome Wagon right beside her.