Sugar And Spice (4 page)

Amy jerked awake when Cornelia stirred in her lap. At the same moment, the front door slammed shut.

Her mother was home.

Groggy from the short nap, Amy combed her hair with her fingers, tightened the velvet bow at the back of her head, then knuckled her eyes as she steeled herself for what she knew would probably be an unpleasant encounter with her mother. She waited at the top of the steps to see if her mother would call her name, acknowledge her presence in some way. Such a silly thought. Evidently Cornelia was of the same opinion as she hissed and snarled, circling Amy’s ankles. She bent down to pick up the unhappy cat and descended the steps. She called her mother’s name twice before she entered the kitchen.

Tillie Baran waved airily as she babbled into the cell phone clutched between her ear and her cheek. She was opening a container of yogurt and sprinkling something that looked like gravel over the top. A bottle of mineral water was clutched under one arm as she juggled everything and still managed to sound animated to whomever was on the other end of the phone. Amy thought it was an awesome performance.

She eyed her stick-thin mother. She was, as usual, dressed impeccably. There wasn’t a hair out of place.

There never was.

Finally, the call ended. Amy reached for the cell phone and, in the blink of an eye, danced away and turned it off. “I need to talk to you, Mom. Without this stupid thing ringing off the hook.”

“Oh, honey, don’t do that. It’s my lifeline to the world. I have to charge the battery for at least thirty minutes.”

Amy wagged her finger. “No, no. Either we talk or I’m outta here. What’s it going to be, Mom? I sure hope you aren’t going to tell me this is one of your projects that you gave up on.”

“Good Lord, why would you say such a thing, Amy? Everything is ready to go for the Seniors. All you have to do is set things up and make it work. I’m depending on you to pull this off. I’m working on the New Year’s Gala the Rotary is sponsoring. I have so much to do and not enough hours in the day.” All this was said as Tillie shoveled the yogurt and gravel into her mouth. After every bite she swigged from her water bottle.

“What exactly is ready to go, Mom? By the way, did you see that study someone did about people who talk on cell phones all day the way you do?”

“I don’t believe I saw that, Amy?”

“You can get a brain tumor. Go to the library and look it up.”

For the first time in her life Tillie Baran was at a loss for words. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious. Now, what’s there to set up?”

“The Christmas trees, of course. I ordered them. They will arrive on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I told you I rented the Coleman property.”

“Mom, you rented a piece of land. A corner property on a major highway. Did you give any thought to a structure of some sort? It gets bitter cold around here in November. Who did you hire to work, to make the wreathes, the grave blankets and all the stuff you have to do to get something like this under way?

You’re going to need a guard at night so people don’t steal the trees. Where are you going to sell all the extras you told me about?”

Tillie looked puzzled for a moment. “That’s your job, dear.”

“No, Mom, that’s not my job. It was your job. You said you had it ready to go and all I had to do was the PR stuff to get it off the ground. Are the Seniors going to help? Do you know how heavy a Christmas tree is? Who is going to work the chain saw to trim off the bottoms? Who’s going to drill the holes in the trunks? Mom, did you think this through?”

“Good heavens, Amy, of course I did. We had seven different meetings about the trees. You’re overreacting, aren’t you?”

Amy watched as her mother tugged at the jacket of her Chanel suit. She noticed a worried look in her mother’s eyes. “No, Mom, I’m not. Who is going to unload the trees from the trucks when they’re delivered, and don’t tell me the Seniors, because they won’t be able to lift them. I hope you don’t expect me to do it. How about you? Are you going to be helping?”

The worried look was becoming more intense. “I have this gala…there are so many details…hire people,”

she said vaguely. “The university…”

“Mom, the kids are studying for finals. They go home for the holidays. No one is going to want to stand out in the cold to sell trees and make six bucks an hour. It doesn’t work that way these days. Kids spend all their time with their iPods.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, dear. I really have to go now. Can I please have my phone back?”

“NO!” Amy bellowed at the top of her lungs. “This is where the rubber meets the road, Mother. Either you sit down and hash this out with me or I’m leaving. I’ll leave it up to you to explain how you failed. I won’t be here to scrape the egg off your face either.”

“You’re just like a bulldog. Your father was that way,” Tillie complained, but she did sit down and fold her hands.

“Don’t go there, Mom. Right now I’m pretty damn angry, so tread lightly. Did you pay a deposit to the Colemans?”

“Of course not. We have to pay them $2,000 the day after Christmas.”

“What? Why didn’t you get them to donate the land? This is for the Seniors. Couldn’t you have gotten a better rate?”

“They said they wouldn’t take a penny less. I had no other choice.”

“Did you look for a better place? You didn’t, did you? You took the easy way out. Okay, we’re now $2,000 in debt. What kind of deal did you make for the trees?”

Tillie started to wring her hands. “Well…it’s $40 a tree. We have to sell them for $100 each. Some of the bigger trees will cost more. I ordered twenty thousand and put down a deposit of $5,000.”

“Oh my God! If you don’t sell all of them, you, Mrs. Baran, are on the hook for the balance. You do know that, don’t you? I assume you signed an order for them. Did you sign it as Tillie Baran?”

“I did do that. And the lease with the Colemans.”

“That’s just great Mom. Why didn’t you talk to me first? Right now you, personally, are $797,000 in debt, and we haven’t even started. If there’s something else, you better tell me now.”

“Well…I did hear something today when I was having lunch with the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce. It seems…appears…it just might be gossip…but the rumor is Sam Moss is gearing up to reopen his farm to sell his trees this year. They’re saying his fields need to be thinned out and he’s going to sell each tree for…$40. Of course I never listen to rumors. I even made a trip out to his farm and the old geezer ran me off. I offered to buy his trees for $40 each. Which just goes to show you can’t trust a man. Never ever!”

Amy jerked upright. She’d think about that last comment later. “Old geezer. Mr. Moss is as old as you are, Mom. That means he’s sixty-four. He probably called you an old biddy. This is a disaster. Are you listening to me, Mom?”

“Of course I’m listening. Are you listening to me? I told you, it’s just a rumor. Sam Moss is an angry, bitter old man. If he is indeed going forward, it’s out of spite. He always hated how Sara got so involved with the Seniors.”

“What about you, Mom? If Mr. Moss is bitter, what are you? You’re a robot, a machine that goes twenty-four/seven. I never see you laugh or cry. You’re always on automatic, you never stop. Well, you better stop now and think about this little project you just dumped on me. Either we partner on it or I’m bailing out on you. That means you failed. You, not me, Mom. Now, how important is all that to you?”

Tillie cleared her throat, then licked at her dry lips. “The Seniors are counting on me. I promised we would raise enough to refurbish the Seniors’ Building before the town condemns it. I gave my word.

It…it is important. I’ve never failed at any of my events. What…what should I do, Amy?”

Amy threw her arms in the air. “I don’t know. I’m not a magician. I have a few ideas but I don’t know if they’ll work. We need to sit here and map out a plan of action, so don’t get any ideas about leaving me holding the bag with the mess you created. See this,” Amy said, holding up her mother’s cell phone. She walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and let it cascade over the phone. “Don’t even think about getting another one. Mine will be enough for both of us. Now, let’s sit here and talk. First I’m going to make some coffee and order some food. I’m up for Chinese. From here on in, Mom, you are going to keep this refrigerator filled with food. I do not exist on yogurt and water. I want you to think of this little project as me saving you from a life of humiliation. Starting right now, it is my way or the highway, with me driving down it.”

Tillie sniffed. She knew she was beaten. She kicked off her shoes and settled down with the paper and pencil Amy placed in front of her. She needed to have the last word. “You are just as mean and hard as your father.”

After ordering dinner from Ginger Beef Chinese Food over on Telegraph Road, Amy spooned coffee into the paper cone on the coffeemaker. “We aren’t going to go there, Mom, but rest assured before I leave here we will revisit the issue of your husband and my father, because it is long overdue.”

Tillie bit down on her lip as she played with the cup and spoon that her daughter set in front of her. If she had anything to say about it, that particular little talk was never going to happen.

Amy risked a glance at her mother, wishing she could feel something other than aggravation. Her mother was copping an attitude. Well, she would just have to deal with it. How strange that this was turning into a role reversal. She felt like the mother admonishing a wayward child. She hoped she could remain tough and stern and not let her mother stomp all over her.

“Let’s get our home base settled before we tackle anything else.” Amy didn’t wait for her mother to agree or disagree. She forged ahead. “We are going to have three meals a day. That means either your housekeeper makes it or you and I take turns. We will sit here at this very table and eat together and discuss what’s going on with what I am now calling Tillie’s Folly. There will be no more yogurt or that rabbit poop stuff you sprinkle on top of it. This refrigerator will be filled with meat, fish, and chicken. We will have cheese, fruit, and vegetables, along with bread and English muffins. And eggs. Good food. You, Mother, will be working alongside me, so I suggest you get yourself some warm boots, flannellined slacks, some heavy sweaters and a good warm hat. The first time I see a cell phone hanging off your ear, our deal is off and you can sink or swim. Do we have a deal, Mom?”

Tillie squirmed in her chair. “Yes, we have a deal. When did you get like this?”

“Do you really care, Mother?”

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

It was Amy’s turn to squirm. There was a lot to be said for honesty.

“All right, let’s get to it. We have an hour before our dinner arrives. Now, this is what I’ve been thinking.

Give me your input and don’t be shy about it. I don’t care how bizarre something sounds. We might be able to make it work.”

Tillie licked her lips. “Were you trying to scare me before when you said I was liable for all…for all those bills?”

Amy leaned across the table. “Read my lips, Mom. You signed the work orders. That means you are liable.”

“That…that would wipe out my nest egg. I would have to get a job.”

“That’s what it means, Mom. Look at it this way, ’tis the season of miracles—or almost, anyway.”

Sam Moss sat on the top of the newly repaired steps that to the front porch. There was a time when the porch held pumpkins with lit candles, cornstalks, and a few scarecrows. So long ago. Now the porch was empty, just the way he was empty.

It was full dark now, an hour past supper. The only thing he’d eaten today was a frozen TV dinner at lunchtime that tasted like cardboard because the pot of stew he’d made wasn’t done cooking.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a line of headlights heading out of the fields. The drivers of the vehicles wouldn’t see him sitting on the steps because the big blue spruce at the corner of the house blocked the view of the porch. Gus’s workers, that’s how he thought of them, wouldn’t be gazing about anyway. They’d be in a hurry to get home to their families and a warm supper. Gus would be the last one to come down the road.

His son had been home six full days, and what the boy—which was how he thought of his son, the boy—had accomplished stunned him. In all of his sixty-four years he had never seen such single-minded determination to get the farm up and running. A river of guilt rushed through him at what he was allowing to go on. What really bothered him was the boy hadn’t asked him for a penny. He knew from the talk in town that Gus was paying his workers more than a decent wage plus overtime. He’d never in his life paid overtime to an employee. Sara always said he was behind the times, a fuddy-duddy with tunnel vision. If she were here right now, sitting on the steps right next to him, she’d give him a poke on the arm and say, “See, Sam, I told you our son is the best of the best.” Like he didn’t know that.

How he wished he was more like Sara, who was so outgoing and loved by everyone. Was outgoing. Was loved by everyone. Especially by Gus. That hurt, but he’d accepted that the boy liked his mother more than him. Because of that, without really meaning to, he’d been extra hard on him. In his own defense, he’d said things like, hard work never hurt anyone, hard work builds character. He’d truly believed that because of him, Gus was the man he was today. Until yesterday afternoon, when it started to rain and Gus had come in for a slicker. They’d eyeballed each other until Gus finally said, “Yeah, I know, Pop, working in freezing rain won’t kill me, and it will build my character. Well guess what, if your next line is

‘I’m the man I am today because of you,’ think again. I’m the man I am because of Mom. Not you. Never you.” Then he’d stomped out in the cold rain to continue working the fields, to correct what his father had let go to wrack and ruin.

“So, I’m a horse’s patoot,” Sam Moss muttered as he got up to go into the house.

He’d cooked a pot of stew earlier in the day. It was the one thing he did well. It was simmering on the stove now, ready to be eaten. If he got into the kitchen in time, he could casually mention the stew and even set the table. Maybe they could talk. Maybe he could offer…