Queen of Broken Hearts (36 page)

“Don't worry, Zoe. It's just Cooter running his mouth,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Everybody knows how he is.”

But Zoe is having none of it. Jerking away, she whirls around and stomps off, heading toward her house. “That lying son of a bitch!” she shouts over her shoulder. “I told him I wasn't studying getting married, but did he listen? No! Betcha he'll listen to my twelve-gauge, though. He just thinks Genghis injured him. Ha! Little old peck from a peacock won't be anything compared to an ass full of buckshot!”

Dory stands next to me, laughing, as she shades her eyes with her hand to watch Zoe disappear through the woods. “Remember the day Genghis pecked Cooter in the butt, Clare?”

Lex glances from Dory to me in alarm. “You guys don't think she'll shoot him, do you?”

“Maybe they'll have a shotgun wedding,” I say with a smile.

Dory links one arm through mine and the other through Lex's. “Come on, y'all. Let's go calm her down, or Cooter's wrinkled old behiney might pay the price. Here's a Zoe story I bet you don't know, Lex. Ever hear about the robbers?”

“I don't believe I've told him that one,” I say as we leave the tree for Zoe's house, arm in arm. “It made her even more notorious in these parts.”

“Tell it, sister,” Lex says.

“After Zoe's crazy old daddy died,” Dory relates, “Mack and Clare were worried about Zoe staying out here all by herself. Remember, Clare? Since people knew the Gaillards once had money, they might think she was rich. Which was ridiculous; her daddy had lost both his mind and every penny he ever had a long time ago.”

“It was before Zoe took up with Cooter,” I add, “and she was completely alone out here.”

“Sure enough,” Dory continues, “one night a couple of thugs come up Folly Creek by boat and sneak into Zoe's cabin. Zoe's asleep in her bed when they come bursting in and tell her they've come for her money. ‘You can have it all,' Zoe says real pitifully. ‘It's in a money box under my bed. Just please don't hurt a helpless old woman.' Shaking and playing like she's scared to death, she reaches under the bed and pulls out a twelve-gauge shotgun with one hand and a twenty-two rifle with the other. Before they know what's hit them, Zoe starts blasting away with the shotgun.”

“She
killed
them?” Lex gasps.

“No, but they probably wished they were dead, she filled them so full of buckshot.”

“It's what she did next that's even better,” I say with a laugh. “There was no 911 then, but while the thugs were jumping around and yelling from the buckshot, Zoe dialed the sheriff and told him to get out to the Landing right away, that she'd just killed two guys who broke in her house. She then aimed the rifle at them.”

Eyes dancing, Dory grins. “They hauled ass so fast, Zoe said all she saw of them were heels and elbows. How they managed to get back in the boat and get themselves away, as full of buckshot as they were, no one knows. It made all the papers, and nobody's bothered Zoe since.”

“It was soon afterward that Cooter came courting. Remember, Dory? As a neighbor of Zoe's, he was interviewed by the paper for the story. He swept Zoe off her feet by saying in print how he'd like to know her better.”

“That's not the half of it,” Dory says. “He also said he never knew that Zoe was such a spitfire—but after all, looks can be conceiving.”

Lex throws back his head and laughs. “After that story, I wouldn't want to be in Cooter's shoes when Zoe finds him. Only good thing is, he'll probably withdraw his proposal.”

Dory leans over my chair, snaps her fingers in my face, and I jump, startled out of my reverie. “Hey,” she says softly, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, honey?”

I reach up to pat her hand, smiling. “Yeah. Just thinking, is all.”

“Uh-oh. That can be dangerous.” Dory plops down on the chair next to mine and sits with her elbows on her knees, regarding me with a frown.

“Thanks for coming tonight and working your usual magic,” I say to her, picking up my pen and sticking it behind my ear.

“I hope we'll have enough refreshments,” she remarks. “Bigger group than I expected tonight.”

“It's too big, but I have trouble turning anyone down, as you know.”

“That's not what you're worried about, is it?”

I lay my head on the back of the chair, looking past her. “No. I wish that's all it was. It's Haley and Austin.”

Dory furrows her brow. “I figured it. What's going on?”

“Oh, things have really been tense with Austin's new job, and they've been fighting a lot. I talked them into seeing a marriage counselor in Mobile. I even insisted they see a man, so Austin wouldn't think all the women in his life were ganging up on him.”

“Do you think he's helping them?” When I shrug, palms up, she tells me, “Son and I went to the steak house Saturday night, and Haley and Austin were there.”

“Really? They didn't tell me they saw y'all. I was doing my part by keeping the kids. Their counselor advised them to go out alone once a week or so, if possible. It should relieve some of their tension.”

“If that's the plan, maybe they can get a refund.” She shakes her head sadly. “Oh, honey, I wasn't going to tell you, but … it was pretty bad. They argued the whole time. Haley went to the bathroom crying, and I followed her. She begged me not to tell you, but she said Austin has really changed since he got his promotion. And some friends of his? Something about this couple he works with being a bad influence on him, which didn't sound good.”

She and I stare at each other. “It never ends, does it? It's like the poster you gave me, the one I put in the john.”

She found a great poster a few years ago that she gave to me for my birthday, and I hung it next to the mirror in the bathroom at Casa Loco. My clients love it and are always asking where they can get one like it. Under a picture of tall, scary waves pounding a rocky shore, the caption reads,
LIFE JUST KEEPS COMING AT YOU
.

Anxious to show everyone how hard she's working to make things better on the home front, Haley insists on hosting our traditional family dinner on Thanksgiving. I try to discourage her; failing that, I make a pitch for having it at my house, with a kitchen twice the size of hers. “You and Zoe and I can prepare it together,” I say enthusiastically, “wouldn't that be
fun?
” Haley won't hear of it. If it kills her, she declares, she's cooking turkey and dressing, giblet gravy and cranberry sauce, candied yams, green beans, and pumpkin pie. Zoe Catherine can bring her toasted pecans and killer sweet tea; Rye his fine wines; and I can buy rolls from the bakery. But by God, she's doing everything else by herself.

Thanksgiving morning, I listen to a panicky message from Haley. She'd gotten up early to start cooking, the kids excited about helping her. Beaming with pride, she'd shown me the timetable she'd drawn up for the dinner preparations, and I'd congratulated her. She was smart, I'd told her, to do a lot of the prep work the day before. At the time I just didn't know how smart.

“Mom, call me as soon as you get in,
please
! It's an emergency. I've been cooking the damn turkey for four hours, and it still has ice in the middle. Then I burned the corn bread for the dressing, and Zach put Play-Doh in the green beans. Abbie wanted to help, but she dropped the cranberries all over the floor, and she's running around chasing them. Oh—and how long are you supposed to cook a stupid pumpkin pie before it sets? I've had this one in the oven for two hours—oh, shit, here comes Austin!” In a whisper, she added, “Call me on my cell, and we'll talk in code, okay?”

My cooking skills are decent, but this is way out of my expertise. Although I hate to bother her in the midst of her own preparations, it's Dory I need. I play Haley's message for her but can't jot down Dory's suggestions until she stops laughing. Then I put my head on the kitchen table for several long minutes before getting up the courage to make the call to Haley.

I know Austin is within earshot when Haley answers her cell with false cheeriness. “Mom! Hi. No, I'm still cooking. Been cooking all morning.” She pauses, but before I can say anything, she sings out, “Oh, it's going great! No, really, everything is turning out beautifully.”

“I called nine-one-one-Dory,” I tell her, not sure why I'm whispering. “She thought your oven was faulty until I told her you burned the corn bread. You forgot to thaw the turkey, she said, and you put too much milk in the pumpkin pie. Cover the edges with foil and keep baking it until it doesn't jiggle when you shake it. Make a little tent for the turkey with foil, and bake that sucker two more hours, then take off the tent till it browns. Last, she says to wash the Play-Doh off the beans and the dirt off the cranberries, and bribe the kids not to tell.”

She hears me, but you'd never know it by her reply. “But Mom, I didn't want you to bring anything!” Haley pretends to listen, then says, “Well, if you insist. I'm cooking a pumpkin pie, but yours will be eaten, too.”

“Ah … I have a Mrs. Smith apple pie in the freezer,” I whisper.

“One of your apple pies! The kids will love that. Gramma Zoe called to say she's bringing her corn-bread dressing and giblet gravy, no arguments. She always fixes a washtub full, so I've decided not to even bother. And Rye's housekeeper made a ton of candied yams, so he's bringing those, along with some of her cranberry sauce.”

“What are
you
cooking?” I can't resist asking.

“I came up with the idea of putting the turkey in the oven for a few hours to thaw, and it worked like a charm. Let me run now, Mom, and check on it. It's nice and brown, but I don't want to overcook it. See you this afternoon!”

In spite of such a rocky start, the Thanksgiving feast turns out beautifully. The kids decorated the table using miniature pumpkins as candleholders, surrounded by fall leaves. The centerpiece looks especially spectacular sitting atop the infamous tablecloth that Austin's grandmother hand-embroidered and Haley recently “found” in the attic. I dare not meet Haley's eyes when Austin proudly shows the intricate pattern to Zoe Catherine, who exclaims over it enthusiastically. Since Rye's waterfront home is one of the most elegant in Fairhope and he knows quite a bit about fine linens, he struggles to keep a straight face as Austin reminisces about his boyhood when he sat by his granny's rocker and watched her embroider the pink and yellow flowers around the border. Rye raises an eyebrow at me quizzically, and I remark that you can't find handiwork like that anymore, especially with so many places like Target selling cheap imitations.

After the feast is over, the kitchen cleaned, and Zoe and I have wrapped up enough leftovers for Haley to feed the family for a month, Rye and Zoe Catherine take their leave. Zoe doesn't like to drive after dark, and Rye has promised friends he'll stop by for coffee and dessert. He missed an annual Thanksgiving dinner with some of his closest friends to attend Haley's gathering, and I attempt to express my gratitude when I walk him to his car.

“Come with me, Clare,” he says, and I shake my head, telling him I'm all partied out. The truth is, the kids have gone to bed, worn out with the festivities, and I'm anxious to spend some time alone with Haley and Austin. Haley has sworn to me that things are better, but I'm skeptical. On and off today, I picked up on the tension, even though I tried not to notice every little thing they said to each other, overanalyzing, looking for trouble. When I first arrived, Abbie showed her father the surprise I'd brought her and Zach, a copy of the book
The Giving Tree.

“That's me,” Austin said.

Abbie laughed. “No, Daddy, silly—it's a tree!”

Glancing sideways at Haley, Austin said, “Daddy's like that Giving Tree, Abbie. Give, give, give, that's all he ever does.” I smiled politely, and Haley stood behind him and made a gagging noise while pantomiming poking a finger down her throat.

When I return to the house after waving Zoe and Rye off, Austin meets me at the door carrying the dishes Haley borrowed from me, a basket in each hand. “Got you all packed up and ready to go,” he says briskly. “Turns out Zach wasn't asleep after all, so Haley's checking on him.”

I open my mouth to protest but think better of it. Instead, I smile and say I can manage the baskets by myself. I can tell it's a tempting offer, but Austin's manners get the best of him, and he carries out the heavy baskets awkwardly. “Whew!” he says after he places them in the trunk and straightens up, rubbing his back. “Those are heavier than they look.” Winking at me, he adds, “Maybe you can get one of your boyfriends to carry them in for you.”

“Maybe so,” I say breezily. His mocking tone irritates me, so I quickly open the door of my car before I say something I might regret.

Again the ingrained manners come through, and Austin holds the door for me. Before I get in, however, he clears his throat and says, “Ah, Clare? Haley told me you'd worked out a deal with the marriage counselor we're seeing, Dr. Wade. As much as I appreciate it, I don't feel comfortable with your doing that. So I told him we wouldn't be back after the Thanksgiving holidays. I hope you understand.”