Beyond Midnight (41 page)

"
I mean it. If it weren
'
t for the fact that I have a three
-
year-old
...
.
"
He took a sip of his brandy, then said,
"
Did Katie go off to sleep all right?
"

"
Pretty well. Every day she seems a little more relaxed.
"
Every day away from that wild fainting stunt,
she implied. And yet the truth was that Peaches admired Helen Evert for it; it was a damn good way to end up in Nat Byrne
'
s arms.

Nat began to smile at some recollection.
"
She wants me to hire another three analysts so that I have more time for Katie,
"
he said.

No need to explain who
"
she
"
was.

"
Mrs. Evett is a single parent with a career and two teenagers,
"
Peaches said, slicing into the oozing cheese. She spread some on a cracker and handed it to him.
"
I expect her children are too much for her to handle. She feels overwhelmed, so she assumes everyone else is, too.
"

Nat took the offering and said,
"
Funny you should say that. Helen had the same lament. She
'
s wrong, of course; I could see that she has a terrific relationship with her daughter. The boy
'
s a pistol,
"
he added.
"
But what the hell. He
'
s fourteen.
"

"
I know fourteen-year-olds who
'
re model citizens,
"
Peaches sniffed. But that was pushing it too far, so she added,
"
But fourteen
is
a devilish age.
"

"
You got that right,
"
he said, laughing at some other recollection.
"
The snot just got caught—well, never mind,
"
he added, smiling to himself.

He thought about it some more and laughed.
"
I can just see her now with the two of them.
"
He shook his head, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
"
I
'
m sorry, Peach. I know I
'
m being rude. I
'
d love to tell you this story, but I don
'
t think she
'
d appreciate it. Let
'
s talk about something else.
"

"
Yes. Why don
'
t we?
"
she said with a smile that was perfectly entitled to look annoyed.

It was time to up the ante.

Fo
r the fifth straight year, the weather for the Ice Cream Social was perfect. Blue skies, puffy clouds, enough warmth to make the ice cream worth eating—it couldn
'
t get any better than that.

At twelve-thirty Helen Evett and Candy Greene were in the basement kitchen
of The Open Door, wrapping full
length aprons around their sundresses to protect them from the drips and stains of flower arranging. The work was fun, the fragrance, divine. But that
'
s not why Helen volunteered for the job. Her ulterior motive—her only motive—was to pump Candy about her late friend Linda Byrne.

With the easy intimacy that gardening promotes, they chatted for a bit, and then Helen began a roundabout approach to her goal.
"
We
'
ll miss Astra at The Open Door,
"
she said.
"
She was such a delight.
"

Expertly stripping a rose stem of its thorns, Candy said,
"
She loved every minute she spent here. Today I had to practically bribe her to stay at home with Henry until two o
'
clock. I hope she
'
s as happy in kindergarten. Will you ever offer that level, do you think?
"

Helen sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
"
I
'
ve thought about it, but the school keeps me flat
out—and away from my family—as it is. The fall term is completely booked, and the waiting list keeps getting longer.
"

"
Marvelous. And you don
'
t even advertise,
"
Candy said as she tucked magenta roses among
blue-black delphiniums in a pari
an vase.
"
Word of mouth—it
'
s so effective.
"

"
Speaking of which,
"
Helen said, seizing her chance,
"
I wanted to thank you for referring Katie Byrne here; she
'
s a real sweetie.
"

"
Oh—Katie. Yes.
She
'
s
an angel.
"

Implying that somebody else wasn
'
t? Helen didn
'
t know what to
make of the remark. She was mull
ing a response when her assistant Janet Harken, coordinator of the affair, marched in.

Janet
took one look at the stainless-
steel counters covered with iris and lupines and lilies and said,
"
What? You
'
re not done with the flowers yet? For goodness
'
sake. I need those counters. I need the sink. I need the kitchen, and I need it
all
now.
"

She brushed aside the women
'
s protests that you couldn
'
t rush art.
"
If you wanted to make a Broadway production out of this, ladies, you should
'
ve come earlier,
"
she said, sweeping some of the stems and scraps into a waste can.

"
Janet, you
'
re a bloody tyrant when you want to be,
"
Helen said, scowling. The timing was infuriating.

Janet wasn
'
t intimidated in the least by her employer. Fitting a hair net over her curly gray hair, she said,
"
It
'
s an ice cream party, not a
New Orleans
cotillion. Mrs. Greene, you can just go ahead and finish what you
'
re doing over there,
"
she said, pointing to a small freestanding table out of the flow of traffic.

Then she turned to Helen and said,
"
As for
you,
you
'
d better hand in your apron. You have parents to greet—you do realize that some eager-beavers are already out there, don
'
t you?
"

"
What! It
'
s only one-
fifteen!" Helen made an exasper
ate
d
remark about early birds and what she
'
d like to do with the worms, then dumped the apron into Janet
'
s outstretched hand and rushed outside to welcome the newcomers.

On her way, she intercepted Russ and Scotty, who
'
d finished setting up t
he tables and chairs on the pea
stone
sur
face of the playground and the adjacent grass. They were sitting on the low-slung toddler swings, looking more gangly than ever as they talked in bored tones while they waited for their next assignment.

Helen felt a stab of pain. It seemed only weeks ago that Hank was pushing his son on a swing like that, and Russ was shrieking,
"
Higher, higher!
"

"
Thanks, guys,
"
she said.
"
It looks good. Now go see if Janet needs you for anything.
"
She waved to the early arrivals, who still had forty-five minutes of embarrassment to go.

"
We
'
re not settin
'
the tables or nothin
'
,
"
her son warned.

"
Or anything,
"
she corrected automatically.
"
All right. Maybe you should go over and show people where to park. Not by the rhododendrons, make sure. Otherwise they
'
ll block the way.
"

"
Yeah, okay, we can do that,
"
said Russ, acting as shop steward. He nudged Scotty hard in the ribs and they sprinted away.

Forget med school,
Helen thought.
Forget law school.
Her son
'
s apparent career of choice was to be a parking valet. He
'
d been fascinated by cars since his Tonka-toy days. She knew he
'
d probably sell his soul to sit in Nat
'
s Porsche; it
'
s a wonder he hadn
'
t tried to steal the thing.

She went over to reassure the self-conscious parents that they were hardly early at all, and to tell them that the lemonade would be out shortly. The Baers had opted to make a generous donation to The Open Door
'
s
"
Scholarship
Fund
"
instead of bringing ice cream or toppings, and Helen took the opportunity to thank them again for it.

Every year Helen accepted two local kids into the prescho
ol without charge. When the Sch
olarship Fund fell short, as it invariably did, The Open Door made up the difference. It was Helen
'
s own little Head Start program, and a wonderfully rewarding one; she was explaining how she still kept in touch with most of the recipients
'
parents, when another car pulled into the parking area.

She watched as Russ and Scotty, with much wild waving, made sure the car parked efficiently.
"
Ah. It
'
s Alexander and his mother,
"
Helen said, surprised that Mrs. Lagor had bothered to come after withdrawing from the summer and fall terms.

Introductions were made as fat, shy Alexander, clutching his Thomas the Tank Engine, clung to his mother with his free hand. Little Molly Baer, a whole year younger and twice as bold, began coaxing him over to the jungle gym.

The ever-watchful Mrs. Lagor handed an Igloo Cooler over to Helen.
"
I brought mint chocolate chip. I
'
ve packed it in dry ice, so we won
'
t have to worry about salmonella from melting ice cream,
"
she said.
"
Alexander! Not so high!
"

Without bothering to explain the obvious—that ice cream would melt before it would spoil—Helen thanked her and took the cooler back to the kitchen, where Candy was finishing a magical arrangement of yellow achillea and fragrant white lilies entwined with sweet peas.

"
What a pretty combination,
"
Helen said.
"
I
'
d never have thought of it.
"

"
Helen, I am in the business, after all,
"
said Candy.

Helen was well aware of it. Candy
'
s floral-design business was a favorite with upper-class
Salem
. As a result, she
'
d been in the home of everyone who was anyone—and was privy to the choicest gossip. Candy would know, if anyone would, about Linda Byrne
'
s affair.

They were alone, so Helen jumped in with both feet.
"
We were talking before about Linda Byrne,
"
she reminded Candy.

"
Oh, yes,
"
said the designer, hardly listening; she was intent on her arrangement.