Kimberly Stuart (7 page)

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I don't believe that for one minute. You don't become famous by sitting around.” She glanced at me, her face apologetic. “Not that I would know anything about being famous, I just meant—”

I held up my hand. “No need for qualifiers. And I'm only famous among people who listen to classical music, a number that appears to need some boosting these days.”

Jayne was quiet for a moment, running a dishtowel around an already-dry pot. “Is that why you had to come to Maplewood?”

We heard the front door slam shut and two men laughing.

Jayne slid the clean pot into a drawer by the stove. “The men are back.”

The men? Plural?

Jayne called, “Coffee's hot in the kitchen.” The baby was suddenly in motion and within seconds had crawled the length of the kitchen and crossed into the dining room.

“Hey, baby girl.” I heard Cal's voice just before he entered the kitchen. Right behind him, carrying the giggling Emmalie in his arms, was a tall man with cocoa-colored hair and dark blue eyes that matched those of the baby he hugged.

“Hi,” Cal said, leaning over to kiss Jayne.

“We need some introductions,” Jayne said. She reached behind Cal to retrieve two more coffee cups.

Cal turned to me. “Morning,” he said with a slight nod. “Sadie Maddox, this is my brother, Macalester Hartley.”

The tall man moved forward, Emmalie clinging to his neck. He smiled warmly and offered his hand. “Call me Mac.”

“Hello, Mac. I'm Sadie.” I stayed seated, a fresh horror spreading over me at my lack of makeup, de-greased hair, and supportive brassiere. My smile was tight-lipped. No need to add foul breath leakage to the equation.

“I hear you're quite the singer,” Mac said, taking the seat across from me at the kitchen table. “Thank you, Jaynie,” he said when she set down a cup of coffee and a little pitcher of milk.

I watched him splash a bit of white into his cup. “I suppose it depends on your preference,” I said, wishing I could slap my cheeks for instant color. Honestly, what made me think I could eat my breakfast in solitude as was my normal habit? At the very least I could have used a bronzer …

“
My
musical preference?” Mac said.

Cal snickered from his post by the open fridge.

“Jaynie, why don't you tell this lovely lady about the musical preferences of the Hartley family?”

Jayne took the baby from Mac's lap, as Emmalie was dangerously curious about his steaming cup of coffee. “Well,” she said slowly, “you should know, Sadie. Our Mac is a bit of a local celebrity himself.”

“Is that right? Do you sing, Mac?”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “I wouldn't wish that on any number of people.” He took a long swig of coffee and set down his half-drained cup. “Jaynie is exaggerating about my celebrity status, but I am a big fan of line dancing, the two-step … anything to country music.” He watched my face, one side of his mouth pulled up into a smile. Beautiful, white, even teeth, I had to admit.

“That's wonderful,” I said, an achingly false note in my voice. “There's room enough for many types of music in the world. What's important is that you remain open to new kinds of music, no matter what prejudices you may have.” I might as well have taken out a lighter and swayed with my eyes shut.

Mac raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. “I see. That's very diplomatic of you, Ms. Maddox.” He cupped two large hands around his mug and leaned forward in his chair. “Have you been line dancing, then?”

I choked on my last sip. After a deliberate swallow, I said, “No, um, no. I've heard of it, but I wouldn't know where to start.” I shook my head. “Besides, I'm not sure there are venues for that sort of thing in New York.”

Mac leaned back in his chair, looking smug. “Crying shame. Well, you'll have to give it a try before you leave us.”

I slumped down farther into my chair, wishing I had help with the sag factor. Velour was no respecter of cup size. “I don't think so, but thank you.”

“Wait a minute now,” Mac said. “Didn't you just preach to me about being open to new kinds of music?”

“Mac,” Jayne said. She pushed him playfully but scolded, “Don't be a pest.”

I lifted my chin, concealer-free though it was. “I wouldn't consider that preaching. And I was intending that to mean perhaps
you
should look beyond your heartbreakin', knee-slappin', hard-drinkin' repertoire to consider something more high-minded.”

Jayne stopped clearing the table and stared. Cal stopped tickling the baby and stood still.

Mac slowly nodded his head, eyeing me with his dark blues. “Well,” he said, and stood. “I surely didn't mean to offend. It was a pleasure to meet you, Sadie Maddox. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, though apparently not on the dance floor.” He winked but no smile made it past those teeth. “Cal, Jaynie, we'll see you.” He kissed the baby on the top of her head. “Bye now, sweet girl.” One more nod to me and he was out the door.

I sat in the kitchen for a few silent moments before thanking Jayne for the breakfast and heading upstairs.

What a pain in the rear
, I thought, mulling over the conversation with Mac. Typical insecure male—can dish it out freely but can't take it when a woman stands up to all his hyperbole. I sneaked by the boys' room unnoticed, grateful not to engage in a discussion on the finer points of railroad transportation. Back in my attic, I went straight to the bathroom and started the shower. I docked my iPod on its new little speaker, a consolation gift from Avi before I left. I scrolled through the playlists. “Pre-Mozart Orchestral … Bach … German Art Song … Italian Art Song … Favorite Mezzo Arias …”
All right,
I thought,
so there is somewhat of an overrepresentation of one kind of music.
But it's my job. What I listen to is like market research.

I stepped into the shower and sang along to Kiri Te Kenawa's “O Mio Babbino Caro” full voice.

We Gather Together

The Hartleys attended Calvary Baptist Church on the west side of town. The building was long and flat, white with a corrugated green metal roof that Cal said made snow removal a breeze. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant but tried to act like I did.

Per the boys' request and in a moment of goodwill toward their long-suffering mother, who'd already settled six disputes between the front door and the car, I'd sandwiched myself between Drew and Joel in the back seat. Just as we pulled up to the church in the minivan, my phone rang within my purse, which I'd left near the front of the car.

“Would you mind answering that, Jayne?” I asked, not wanting to risk bodily harm by dislodging myself too abruptly.

“Hello, this is Sadie Maddox's phone,” Jayne said, giving me a wide smile and a thumbs-up from the front seat.

“Jayne Hartley,” she said shyly and then laughed. And blushed.

Must be Richard
.

Cal pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. The baby started crying and Jayne bolted out of the car, one hand covering her exposed ear to hear better.

I rolled my eyes. A thousand miles away and over a wireless network—and Richard was still charming.

“Come on, boys,” Cal said as both side doors rolled open. “Drew, wait for Miss Sadie and then help unbuckle your brother.”

I pulled myself up and walked folded over like an accordion toward the side door. One endures a great lack of dignity when living with small children.

Jayne was giggling into the phone. “That sounds nice,” she said. “I will. Okay. Good-bye.” She clicked my phone shut and stood smiling to herself until she saw me standing next to her. “Oh, sorry. Here.” She handed me my phone. “That was Richard,” she said as if they'd just returned from an extended vacation to the south of France. “He says he'll call later.” She took Joel's hand and we started toward the front doors of the church.

I turned my ringer off and let the phone drop into my purse. New pointy-toed stiletto boots gave me an incentive to walk more slowly than normal. Jayne forced Joel to slow his pace to match mine.

She lowered her voice a notch. “So, is he your boyfriend?”

“Richard?” I asked. “Goodness, no. We tried that years ago with disastrous results.” A man standing at the front door offered me a church bulletin. “In another life,” I said to Jayne as we entered the foyer, “Richard and I were married.”

Jayne's eyebrows shot up into her bangs but she didn't have a chance to respond.

“Jaynie!” A plump woman glided toward us. She wore a zebra print turtleneck sweater and a long black skirt. “Helloooo,” she said in a lilting, breathy voice. “You must be Sadie Maddox.” She scrunched up her nose and covered one of my hands in both of her own. “I'm just deeee-lighted to meet you. I'm Norma Michaels, church pianist.” Another nose scrunch.

“Hello, Norma,” I said, gently withdrawing my hand from its moist cocoon. “Are you playing in today's service?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, glancing at the wall clock in the foyer. “In fact, I'd better skedaddle. I'm sure we'll see a
lot
of each other, Ms. Maddox. We music types tend to flock together.” She let out a fluttering laugh that made Joel jump, and then she disappeared through the sanctuary doors.

“Go on in,” Jayne said. Joel was tugging her toward the Sunday school classrooms. “Cal and I will find you.”

Only a few open chairs remained in the sanctuary. No pews in the church, just chairs upholstered in the same green as the roof. I found a spattering of open seating near the back and kept an eye out for my hosts. In the meantime, Norma sat at a crotchety-sounding baby grand off to one side of the stage. Whatever she lacked in musicality, Norma made up for in body movement. She lifted, she swirled, she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. A captivating rendition of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee” rang through the sanctuary but probably not in the way the composer intended.

Just as the pastor ascended the steps to the pulpit, Jayne scooted in next to me. Cal slid in and put his arm around her while Mac took the seat on the aisle. We glanced at each other. I quickly returned my gaze to the pulpit.

The pastor, a man with a kind face and horrible shoes, welcomed us to Calvary Baptist and soon gave it over to Norma, who led us in a chorus from the piano. I wasn't familiar with the song so I didn't sing, but Norma was woman enough for us both.

After a lengthy sermon accompanied by an onslaught of PowerPoint slides, we sang a final hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” and were dismissed. Cal and Jayne beelined to pick up their children and I was left with Mac.

“How are you, Mac?” I asked, my countenance reflecting the serene and open-minded person I was.

“Very fine, thank you, Ms. Maddox.”

“You should call me Sadie.”

“All right. How are you, Sadie?” He waved at some people across the lobby and had not yet looked me in the eye.

“Fine,” I said, bored already with this man. “Enjoying a warm welcome from the people of Maplewood.”

Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him wince. He chewed vigorously on his gum for a moment and looked ready to respond when I saw a flash of zebra coming for us.

“Mac,” Norma said, her breathy voice dropping an octave. She pulled herself up to her full height. “It's good to see you.”

Mac cleared his throat. “Good to see you, too, Norma. I'd like you to meet a friend of mine.”

A friend now? I shot him a quizzical look, which he ignored.

“Oh, we've met,” Norma said, laying a hand on Mac's arm. He shifted slightly and her hand fell to her side. “Ms. Maddox,” Norma turned to me, “I hope you enjoyed the music.” Norma shrugged her shoulders like we were sorority sisters about to dish.

“I certainly did,” I said. No reason to ruin this woman's life. “You play beautifully.”

Mac coughed and then became enthralled with something on the ground by his cowboy boot.

“Perhaps you'll be willing to bless us with a song or two while you're here?” Norma's eyes grew wide. She had mastered the art of eye shadow layering. At close proximity, I could count four different shades of purple.

“I'd be happy to,” I said. “Let me get settled in and we'll talk.”

She clapped her hands. The zebras trembled. “Wonderful! Isn't that wonderful, Mac?” She looked up at him with doe eyes but he was looking at me.

“I'll look forward to it,” he said. Then he nodded. “Ladies, have a good Sabbath.” Off he strolled, shaking the hands of people all along his path to the exit.

Norma watched him and sighed.

I broke into her reverie of well-tailored jeans. “Lovely meeting you, Norma,” I said. I thought about offering to put in a good word to her line-dancing crush but was sure I'd be of no help. Better for a lady to fight that battle on her own, animal print and eye shadow at the ready.

Monday morning I was downstairs early. Ms. Ellsworth had promised to be at the Hartleys at 7:30, but I was waiting at the window by 7:15. I tried busying myself with a score Avi had sent that weekend—I was planning to fly back during Moravia's spring break to perform a chamber concert at St. Bart's. I'd performed all the pieces before, but I opened the Handel score anyway to pass the minutes before the Camry pulled up.

At 7:31, a black pickup truck rumbled slowly down the gravel drive. I squinted my eyes through the darkness, trying to focus on the driver who sat shrouded in the glare of headlights. The truck came to a stop and Mac stepped out. He walked briskly to the front door and opened it without knocking. I watched him shake the cold off his shoulders. He looked around and realized I was by the front bay window.

“Ready?” he asked.

I shook my head, confused. “For what?”

“I'm your ride.”

“Thanks, but Ms. Ellsworth will be here any minute.” I turned back to my score.

Mac crossed his arms over a fleece-lined jean jacket. He said, “Miranda called me last night. I'm taking over as chauffeur for the famous lady.” He walked over to me and took my score, tossed it into my bag and offered his hand.

I stood on my own. “You're a bit pushy, aren't you?” I tugged hard at my scarf, cinching it too tightly around my neck.

He smiled, already chewing fluorescent green gum like cud at this fragile hour. He opened the front door and held it for me to pass through.

I kept my face burrowed into my scarf. The sun peeked over the horizon with a disheartening lack of confidence. Mac strode ahead of me to the passenger side and opened the door.

“What is it with Iowan men and pickups?” I muttered. “Ghastly things, probably an effort to overcompensate …” I took his hand and heaved myself up into the cab. I settled into the seat and let Mac close the door. He shook his head as he rounded in front of the headlights.

Mac revved the engine once and U-turned back toward the driveway. I could see Jayne waving from the kitchen door, not appearing one bit surprised that Mac was behind the wheel instead of Ms. Ellsworth.
No matter
, I thought, pulling my iPod out of my coat pocket. Pickup or Camry made no difference to me, as I planned on keeping to myself during the commute into Maplewood.

I tucked in one earphone and turned to Mac. “I don't wish to offend you, but I'll be using drive time as work time.”

Mac nodded once. “Fine. I like to prepare for my day as well.”

“What is it you do?”

His face reflected the glow of dashboard lights. “Well, Miss Sadie, I'm willing to guess you've never met someone who has my job.”

I scrolled on my iPod to the piece Avi had sent. “I'm sure you're right, Mr. Hartley. I'd never met a pig farmer before coming to Maplewood and now I'm sharing Cheerios with one.”

Mac chuckled. “I'm a large animal veterinarian.”

I snapped to attention. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“I take care of farm animals. Cattle, horses, sheep, pigs. Immunizations, bone setting, putting animals down when needed. We're coming up on spring, which will be busy with all the castrating.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Lovely,” I said. “You know how to castrate large animals.”

“Not a lot of guys like me running around New York City, I imagine.” He winked at me.

I sighed. “You are correct. Castration is not a hot topic in Manhattan, at least not in the literal sense.” I popped in the other earphone and pushed play for the Handel. I closed my eyes and listened until the truck rolled to a stop in front of Kjellman. I reached for the door handle, but Mac was already out of the cab. He opened my door and helped me down.

“Thank you,” I said, noting flecks of green in his blue eyes.

“You're welcome.” He looked down at me, face as serious as the grave but his eyes dancing with laughter. “I don't wish to offend, but we pickup types prefer a lady to sit tight until we can open her door. Hope that's not too prehistoric for you.”

I raised my chin slightly. “Of course not,” I said and adjusted my bag strap on my shoulder. “It's an admirable gesture, though certainly not necessary.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and grinned. “You don't like depending on people, do you?”

A formidable wind sucked the air right out of my lungs. “You,” I sputtered, “don't know me well enough to make that comment. See you this evening.” I snapped my gaze away from his grin and strode up to the double doors. I didn't know what was worse: living in Iowa in the winter or having to share a small, enclosed space with a psychoanalyzing castration expert. I shivered as I walked down the tiled hallway, shaking off the cold for my first day of school.