Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series) (6 page)

BOOK: Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series)
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A car crunched
down the gravel in my driveway. It was probably my dad stopping by for a cup of
coffee. I looked toward the back door but didn’t hear his footsteps coming up
the back porch. A car door closed, and then there was no sound at all. Suddenly
the doorbell rang and I got up to reach for a robe in my room. Who could be at
my door at 6:30 in the morning?

I heard the
toilet flush in the bathroom, and Zach came out before washing his hands.
“Who’s that, Mom?”

“I don’t know.
Go wash your hands.”

“But you might
need me to defend you,” he said.

I glanced
through the curtains in the front room. “I think I’ll be okay. It’s a woman.”

“You never know,
some of them are pretty tricky, too,” he said.

“I’ve heard. Now
go wash.” Zach groaned and re-entered the bathroom. I turned the deadbolt on
the door and spoke through the screen.

“Can I help
you?” I said, running my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair.

“Betsy?”

“Yes.”

“Is that really
you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s me, your
mother.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

“What are you
doing here?” I asked. I know that sounded rude, but what else do you say to a
mother you couldn’t even recognize.

My hands shook
as I poured a second cup of coffee. Charlotte Kelsey, now Charlotte Kelsey
Rogers, was sitting at my kitchen table. Charlotte Kelsey, my mother who hadn’t
seen fit to be a part of my life for almost twenty-five years, sat across from
me. She had the same dark brown hair, still cut at shoulder length, but now
streaks of gray ran through it and it was not as smooth as I remembered. Her
brown eyes were surrounded by bursts of lines, and her slim figure was
bordering on too thin. She lifted her delicate hands and sipped from a cup.

“I thought I was
invited,” she said.

“You’ve never
responded to any of my other invitations, so you can understand my shock.”

She carefully
set the cup back on the table as she calculated what she would say next to me.
She glanced up at the clock. “Guess I showed up kind of early.”

“I usually don’t
entertain before 7 a.m. as a rule.”

“I know. I drove
in from California. I didn’t even know I was coming.”

Her lips formed
into a trembling smile. “I got your invitation and just kept looking at it. I
couldn’t believe you sent it. I haven’t exactly been Mother of the Year.”

If she was
waiting for me to try to make her feel better, that wasn’t happening.

“So I just kept
looking at it, first thing in the morning, like now, and last thing at night. I
don’t know what happened, but I got in my car to go to the grocery store and
next thing I knew, I had missed the turnoff. After that, I found myself on the
highway heading toward Texas. No matter how many times I tried to shake myself
out of it, I couldn’t seem to stop.”

“You mean, you
just got in the car and drove straight here?” I said.

“Yes. I know it
sounds crazy.” She placed her hands in her lap.

“A little.”

“Mom?” Zach was
now standing on the edge of the kitchen. I could tell he was unsure whether to
enter.

“Zach,” I
paused. How do I introduce this woman? Grandma? Mrs. Kelsey? Mrs. Rogers?
“Zach, this is … Miss Charlotte.”

Zach walked up
and stood close to my chair.

“Nice to finally
meet you, Zach.” To her, my son was a stranger. I wondered if she even knew I
had a son.

“Hi,” Zach said
shyly.

“Zach, eat your
breakfast. The bus will be here soon.”

Zach scooted out
the chair in front of his bowl and climbed up. He picked up the spoon and
started shoveling sugary goodness into his mouth.

“My, my you
certainly have an appetite,” Charlotte said.

“I love this
stuff,” Zach said.

“He looks like
Judd.” Her face broke into a soft smile as she reached out with an unsure hand
to push back a stray hair on his forehead.

“Yes, he does.
He also has some of his father in him.”

“To be
expected,” she said. “A good life is full of change.”

She spoke of
change as if it were a good thing. Some days I guess it was, but on days when
your husband walks out, or even your own mother, it was not so good.

Zach slurped
more crunchy goodness into his mouth, one eye looking up at this woman he
didn’t know was his grandmother.

“Why are you
here?” he asked, milk dribbling down his chin.

“I wanted to
meet you,” she answered softly. That produced a smile bulging with cereal. The
phone rang on the counter behind us. I answered quickly.

“Mrs.
Livingston, this is Martha Stokes. I have to speak in a hurry while Lenny’s out
in the field,” she said in a hushed tone. “We sure wish you would come by and
look at the flowers we have growing in the greenhouse. There ought to be a
beautiful crop by the time your wedding rolls around.”

The sound of a
squeaky screen door could be heard on the other end.

“Yes, that’s
right,” Martha said, her voice now unnaturally loud. “We’re not interested in
any surveys so early in the morning, even if we will be home all day today.”

I think she was
trying to tell me to come visit and didn’t want whoever it was behind her to
know. “Okay, thanks,” I said, hanging up.

Charlotte looked
over at me, then took a sip of her coffee. “Certainly early for a caller. Was
that your Leo?”

“Um, no, not
Leo,” I said. “That was a lady we were going to be getting flowers from for the
wedding. I forgot I was supposed to get our wedding planner out there. I’m
hoping he likes her enough to use her flowers in future weddings. They’re
having a hard time financially. To be honest though, I’m not sure if Mr. Andre
will approve of her.”

“What was wrong
with the lady’s flowers?”

“Her husband,
Lenny, has had problems with half the people in town. Nobody seems to like him.
Regardless of whether Mr. Andre uses them for future weddings, I’ve already put
the deposit down for the flowers. We are using them for ours no matter what.”

“Ooh,” she said,
putting her hands together under her chin, “I just love planning a wedding. I
know I just got here, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I wouldn’t
mind.”

I had agonized
over inviting her to our wedding. I had never considered having her be a part
of the preparation. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about it.

The back door
squeaked behind us.

“Betsy? Whose
car is that with California plates parked in your driveway?” In walked my
father, who abruptly stopped in the arch of the doorway.

“Uh,” I turned
to Zach. “Hey buddy, you’d better go get dressed for school.”

“Really?
Grandpa’s here. I want to say good morning to him.”

“Then say it.” I
hurried him out of his chair.

“Good morning,
Grandpa,” Zach said, sloshing his bowl into the sink and then running down the
hall.

“Good morning,
Grandson.” As he stepped closer, he stared at Charlotte, who sat up straighter
and adjusted her collar. “Charlotte?” was all my father could get out.

She leaned her
head against her hand, rubbing her temple. Running into my father was probably
a little more than she bargained for in her first hour in Pecan Bayou. She had
driven all night and she looked tired. My dad, though, couldn’t have known
that.

“I sure as hell
didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

I walked over to
my dad and took him by the elbow.

“Come on, Dad,
why don’t you sit down?” Dad smiled and put his hand over mine.

“No need to
bring out the smellin’ salts, darlin’, but I do have to admit it sure is a kick
in the head.”

“You haven’t
changed much,” Charlotte said.

“I had no idea I
had all this gray hair and these wrinkles when you left me. No wonder.”

“And your sense
of humor is still the same, too,” Charlotte countered.

“Oh, I don’t
know. I got me some better jokes these days.”

Charlotte
bristled and let out an exhausted sigh. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I could ask the
same of you,” said my father. “I’m here because this is my daughter’s house and
I often visit her on my way into the station.”

Charlotte took a
sip of her coffee, seeming to be quietly content with his answer. After a
pause, my dad continued. “And you?”

“I’m here
because my daughter invited me.” She fished into her tan crocheted bag and came
out with a tattered invitation.

“You invited
her? I didn’t think she was even on the guest list.”

“Uh, Dad. I was
going to talk to you about that.”

“Just when
exactly?” He turned to Charlotte. “Did you bring along your husband? Nothing
like a good fight at a wedding. Oh and by the way, aren’t you a little more
than a month too early?”

Charlotte
started to say something, but then stopped herself. I could see she was working
on controlling what came out of her mouth next. “My husband died five years
ago. I am a widow and my coming here was … a little impulsive.”

“She drove here
straight from California,” I said. “She started thinking she was going to the
store and just kept driving.”

“I’ll be
damned,” Judd said. “Hope you remembered to put the cat out.”

“Charlotte,” I
said. “You have to admit, you haven’t been a part of my life for most of my
life. I didn’t even think you would respond to my invitation.”

“I suppose you
didn’t, and for that I can’t blame you,” she said. I haven’t exactly been
available.”

My dad sneered
at me. “So everyone down at the sperm bank should be on all kinds of invitation
lists by your thinkin’, Betsy.”

“It was a little
more than a sperm donation, if I remember right,” said Charlotte.

“It’s good you
have your memories, because that’s all it will ever be.” Judd turned toward me,
his face hardened. “Enjoy your time with your mother. I’ll be keepin’ my
distance ‘til she hits the town line.”

“Dad,” I pleaded
as he walked back out the door. In all of our years together, he had never
turned his back on me.

“Oh, Judd. Nice
seeing you, too,” my mother said to the door my father closed on us. Charlotte
rose from the table, searched my cabinet, brought down a container of creamer
and grabbed a spoon out of the drawer. “After a little nap, I’ll be ready to go
with you and look at the flowers.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

“I thought you
were an artist,” I said to my mother a couple of hours later as we drove out to
the Stokes Flower Farm and Floral Shop.

“Oh, yes. I was
for a while, but then, I don’t know. My stuff wasn’t selling, and other things
started interesting me.”

“Like what?”

She bit her
bottom lip as she seemed to call up a list in her memory. “Um, I did makeup for
a movie.”

“That’s
exciting. Did you do the makeup of anybody I know?”

“Not unless you
have a passing acquaintance with the zombie legion.”

I laughed. My
mom was funny.

“So how long
were you a makeup artist?”

“Oh, I just did
that for that one movie. After that, I did several different things. I was a
bartender, and I arranged flowers, and I was a banquet coordinator at an L.A.
hotel … just a lot of stuff. I guess you could say I like variety in my life.”

“Was your
husband okay with that?” I said.

“Yes and no. He
always liked it when I brought home a paycheck, but he wished I would stick to
one thing,” she said. “I found out he was more like your father than I had
guessed. He plodded through day after day. No excitement.”

I found it
curious that she had stayed with him and not my father.

“Did you have
any more children? Do I have a sibling out there somewhere?”

“No. After
leaving you, I never felt like I was cut out to be a mother. Some people just
aren’t meant to have children, I guess.”

She guessed? She
was so detached it almost felt like we were talking about somebody else.

“So, you never
wanted to come back here?” I continued.

“Oh, sometimes.
The only family I had left here was an aunt, and she died over a year ago.
There just wasn’t much for me to come back to.”

I felt my
shoulders slump at her admission.

“Oh, Betsy. Of
course there was you, but I just felt like I had made such a mess of things.
You understand that, don’t you?”

I was trying,
but it was a lot to ask of the person you wronged to take your side.

We drove up the
dirt road that led to the Stokes place. A mangy-looking dog ran through a broken
fence rail.

“Oh my, maybe
your Mr. Andre was right,” Charlotte said as she peered out the window. “This
place does look pretty bad.”

“I know it looks
terrible,” I said, “but they have a greenhouse where they grow some beautiful
flowers. Martha has made some beautiful arrangements that I’ve seen at some of
the ladies clubs I’ve spoken at. She has a real gift for creating things that
showcase what we have in the area.”

“If you say so,”
she said.

I desperately
needed to call Leo and tell him about my mother showing up. He was another
person I had hid my invitation blunder from. I did get a quick text out to
Maggie to meet us out here. I felt a full-on panic attack hitting me when I
started guessing how she would react.

Once we’d
ascended the ancient steps, we knocked on a screen door. Lenny Stokes himself
came to the other side. He peered out, scratching his scrawny body clad only in
a thin white T-shirt and saggy blue jeans.

“Yes?” was his
form of a cordial greeting to his prospective customers.

“Mr. Stokes, I’m
Betsy Livingston. We wanted to come out and see the flowers for our wedding.
Remember we spoke earlier on the phone, and I mailed you our deposit?”

BOOK: Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series)
4.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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