Cold Tea on a Hot Day (22 page)

Marilee spoke in a hushed voice, but Aunt Vella’s eyes popped open. “I’m not asleep. I was just restin’ my eyes.”

“You were snor-ring,” Willie Lee said.

“Oh, you’re a little wild boy.”

Willie Lee gazed at his great-aunt, judging the truth of what she said, not grinning until she poked him in the side with her finger. “I am,” he said, giggling.

“Has Parker called?” Marilee asked.

“You had some phone calls, but I didn’t answer them. Two came while I was hanging clothes on the line, and I wasn’t about to run in here from the yard. It’s a lot easier to let the answerin’ machine get them. That way I won’t mess up and forget to give you the message.”

Marilee saw the light blinking on her machine. Three blinks. She punched the button.

“Marilee, this is Charlene. I wanted to let you know we’ll be bringing my cousin Leanne to Parker’s barbecue on Saturday. I don’t know if you know, but she’s livin’ with us for a while. That’s why her horses are here. Oh, Jojo will be coming, but Danny J. won’t, so really we’ll be the same number as expected. Leanne’s makin’ her salsa recipe and bringin’ it. It’s really good. Bye.”

The machine beeped, and a deep male voice said, “This is Rick returnin’ your call, Marilee. I got the steaks for Saturday. All set.”

One more beep. “If you are thinking of siding your house, call Martin’s Home Siding. We’re runnin’ a special. 555-2323.”

That was the end of the messages. Nothing from Parker.

In the kitchen, Aunt Vella was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the children. Marilee poured glasses of apple juice and asked Aunt Vella if she would be available to watch the children that evening.

Aunt Vella said she would love to do so, and Willie Lee, grinning, said, “You will watch me, a wild boy.”

Aunt Vella poked him and got him giggling, then she asked Marilee, “Where are you going, dear?”

“I think I may have a date with Parker, if I can get ahold of him.”

A couple of hours ought to be enough time to find out if Parker still wanted to get married, and to tell him that she would. She would like to be back home in time to put the children to bed.

Marilee, sitting at her desk and writing club reports on the new whiz-bang computer, cocked her head to listen to the voices float from the kitchen.

“Hello, missy.”

“Hello, Mr. Tate.”

Marilee’s heartbeat fluttered.
Which is it—engaged or not engaged?
She recalled his blue eyes, so intense when he had asked.

He was her boss, the man who paid her salary, the man who irritated her and who she found too attractive by far.

“How are you today?” His voice could charm birds from trees.

“Fii-ine.”

Marilee found herself leaning forward, as if to see around the door. Ridiculous. She got up and went to the kitchen, where her boss stood in the middle of the room. Corrine was beside him, looking at Marilee with deep, dark eyes.

“Peace.” Her boss and neighbor held up offerings—a fresh pitcher of tea with one hand, and a small square bakery box with the other. “Cake…a double-chocolate
from Miss Bonita’s. She puts pure chocolate chips in them, she assured me.”

She gazed at him, trying to get perspective on this thing. He wore his enticing, although at the moment reserved, grin.

Turning, she went to the counter and picked up the clean pitcher waiting there. “Here’s your other pitcher. You sure have a lot of them.”

“Muriel left her dishes. When she left her old life, she really left it.”

He set his offerings on the table. “I apologize for my behavior this mornin’, Miss Marilee. You are right—your relationship with Lindsey is not my business. I behaved rudely, and I’m sorry.” He looked her in the eye.

It took her several seconds to find a response.

“Apology accepted.” She took a deep breath and then went for it. “I believe I owe you an apology, as well. I perhaps have not been clear about where I stand. Parker and I have a long-standing relationship that is precious to me. It’s not that I don’t find you an attractive and charming man. It’s that I am committed to the relationship I have with Parker.” The statement, once given voice, gave her a clear focus.

“I respect your choice.” His summer-sky-blue eyes met hers without wavering.

“Thank you.”

Then his grin came soft and sweet, and he opened the bakery box, saying, “If you would go ahead and cut this cake, I could help y’all polish it off.”

Tate Holloway not only could make an apology, he could sweep everyone along with him.

At that moment Vella and Willie Lee came to the door and spied the cake. Corrine was already leaning across the table, putting her finger in the icing.

“I have vanilla ice cream for those who want it,” Marilee said.

They all sat round the kitchen table, where Tate regaled them with stories of being a boy in East Texas and eating homemade ice cream laced with overripe peaches salvaged after the pickers had finished with an orchard.

“We cut off the bad places. Mmm-mm…nothin’ sweeter than overripe peaches. They’re one secret to life.” He bestowed his wonderful grin upon the children, casting a side glance to Marilee.

Marilee took a bite of rich chocolate and thought that she would not have any appetite for supper with Parker.

The television flickered black and white—the old movie channel which was showing the musical
42nd Street
—although Marilee was too busy obsessing about how Parker had not called her to be following the movie’s story line. There really wasn’t a story line, anyway, just excuses for dancing that was nice to watch.

When the telephone at her elbow rang, she jumped six inches, then snatched it up before it could ring again. The hands of the mantle clock read 10:55.

“Hello,” she said, clicking off the television at the same time. Aunt Vella’s snores continued with rhythm from the front bedroom.

“Hi, Marilee.” It was Parker—at last.

“Hi.” After all the waiting, she was now uncertain of what to say.

“I got your message, but I just got in. I’ve been out on calls all day.”

“Oh. You must be pooped.”

“I am.”

A pause.

She plowed on into it. “I called because I was going to suggest we go to dinner. Aunt Vella was going to watch the children for a couple of hours.” Explanation seemed in order. “We need to talk, Parker. We’ve kept getting interrupted, I know.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier.”

“Oh, I understand. I know you’re busy.”

She wished she did not feel so annoyed at hearing him say yeah. Yeah had no sense of positiveness about it. She really needed some positiveness from Parker.

He said, “Yeah. It’s been one of those weeks, I guess.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

When she had not said anything for a full minute, he put forth, “Do you think you could get Vella to watch the children tomorrow night? We could go to Rodeo Rio’s.”

Whew. He had spoken slowly, but at least he had taken part.

“Vella has her Rose Club meeting. But I’ll see if I can get Jenny. And let’s go up to Michelina’s. It’s quieter there.”

There she went, taking charge again. That was a major problem between them. But Parker simply did not think of things like atmosphere in a restaurant.

Main Street in Valentine shut up by nine o’clock on weeknights. Now, at eleven, a few flags that shop owners
did not take in remained, seeming to have lost color in the lights from the old-fashioned pole lamps. Fred Grace, who had been balancing his accounts, wearily closed the door of his florist shop and got into his car and drove away, leaving a totally empty street.

Belinda, gazing out the open window of her apartment over the drugstore, watched Fred’s car turn left at the Church Street stoplight. Behind her, from the bathroom, Lyle called “Ba-lin-da,” in a tone that struck her as being very much like her father’s. He wanted to know had she bought him any new shaving cream. She always insisted he shave before they went to bed. The one good thing she felt she had was her complexion.

Over at the newspaper, Tate turned off the light in his office. A security light in the rear of the big room cast a dim glow, illuminating his way to the front door. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and made certain the door had caught, then stood there for some seconds giving
The Valentine Voice
sign a look, before shoving his hands into his pockets and heading home.

A big red one-ton truck coming down Church rumbled to a stop at the red light at the intersection of Main. He saw the barrel-racing logo on the door and then recognized the blond woman jogger behind the wheel. He had learned her name was Leanne Overton. She turned right, heading out of town, and he crossed the street.

At the police station, light flowed out through the glass doors, and officer Dorothy Jean Riddle could be seen inside, standing at the reception desk.

Tate briefly considered stopping in and chatting. Coming back to his office and working had not been able
to banish his blues. Maybe what he needed was some good conversation.

Deciding that the last thing he wanted was idle chitchat, he headed on up Church Street in long strides.

I am mad, God.

He had done the right thing in going over and apologizing to Marilee. It had sure been hard. He had thought that by now he would find apologizing a little easier, having been obligated to do it so many times in his life.

I let her go, God. I let go of this woman, but I don’t seem to be able to let go of the desire for her.

He kicked at some pebbles as he crossed the alleyway running behind the row of Main Street buildings. He kept on walking and found his hands were fists in his pockets. He pulled them free and began to jog lightly.

Whatever is meant to be or not be with Marilee James is in Your hands. I give it all over to You, right along with all the other parts of my life.

There. He had done it, yes-sir. But there was no way he would like it.

Charlotte was shocked by Tate’s editorial. After she had proofed it, she had to question him about the wisdom of printing it. He thought it was fine, of course, just like he thought everything he wrote should be spotlighted with a beam from God.

“We’re gonna get a lot of calls.” She had to say it.

To which he replied, “Of course we are—and we’re gonna sell more papers, too.” He winked. That man was a caution, for sure.

“You have one hour to think about it. I’ll pull it if you come to your senses.” Adjusting her glasses and focusing on the computer screen, she set the piece in place in the layout, knowing he wasn’t likely to change his mind.