The Room with the Second-Best View (22 page)

“And what is this?” Miss Hinkle fixed a suspicious eye on the food.

“A breakfast casserole. It's one of my specialties.” An anxious frown hovered around his wife's lips. “I hope you like it.”

At a nod from Millie, Al cut a largish serving and set it in the center of Miss Hinkle's plate.

She inspected the portion. “It isn't very substantial, is it?”

Indignant, Al slapped his own food on his plate. Aware of Millie's anxious presence at the opposite end of the table, he forced a fairly calm reply. “This is a special treat. We usually have banana bran muffins on Sundays.”

“Have some fruit,” Millie said quickly, passing a bowl filled with a colorful array of fresh fruit.

“No toast?” Miss Hinkle's head moved as she scanned the table. “At these prices, one might at least expect a slice of toast.”

“Since there's a crust,” Millie said, “I usually forgo other carbs. But if you want toast…”

She half-rose, no doubt preparing to dash for the toaster.

Enough. They might be running a B&B, but Al refused to see his wife turned into a short-order cook. He pointed his fork in her direction, gestured for her to remain seated, and then turned to Miss Hinkle. Adopting the exact tone he used with their grandchildren, he said, “Try it. If you don't like it, we'll get you a bowl of Cheerios.”

His affront clear, she picked up her fork and sliced off a miniscule bite. As she chewed, a grudging acceptance crept over her features.

“Very nice.” She addressed the compliment toward Millie while cutting a larger chunk. “Though it could use a bit of seasoning. Please pass the salt.”

Not at all sure of his ability to maintain his composure, Al finished his breakfast in silence.

When the dishes had been washed and the kitchen cleaned, Al headed for the parlor for a moment's solitude while they waited for Justin and Susan to fetch Miss Hinkle for church. On the way through the entry hall, he felt the itch of a menacing stare. He turned to find the hideous clay head glaring at him from protruding eyeballs. The thing looked like some sort of tribal pagan mask, or perhaps a likeness of Ross Perot. The jack-o'-lantern-like teeth were the stuff of nightmares.

Millie came down the hallway, her hair freshly arranged and her purse swinging from her shoulder.

“Ghastly, isn't it?” she whispered.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Why haven't you stashed it in a closet somewhere?”

She glanced toward the top of the stairs. “I don't want to be rude.”

“Why on earth not?” Al didn't bother to lower his voice. “She doesn't hesitate to be rude.”

“Shhh. It was a gift, and even though it isn't our taste, she meant well.”

Al gazed at the grim head. “I doubt that. It's hideous, and she bought it to plague me.”

“It is horrible.” She shuddered and turned her back on it. “I honestly don't want it in the house, not even in a closet. But what can we do? It wouldn't be polite to get rid of it.”

An idea flashed into Al's head with startling clarity. If he spent time considering, he'd probably decide against following through with it, but after listening to the sounds of the Shopping Channel drift through the ceiling half the night, and one of the most uncomfortable breakfasts he'd ever eaten, he wasn't feeling particularly polite.

He grasped the head and turned toward the door.

“What are you doing?” Millie's whisper held a touch of urgency.

“Watch.”

He swung open the door as Susan's car rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway. Carrying the bust across the porch, he halted at the top of the concrete steps.

“Albert!” Millie ran after him. “Where are you taking it?”

The car doors opened, and Susan and Justin emerged.

A sort of frenzy took possession of Al. The stress of the past week combined and came to rest on the terrible statue that his beloved wife detested but was too nice to get rid of. Well, leave the niceness to Millie. She hated the thing even worse than he, and it was a husband's responsibility to ensure his wife's comfort.

He extended his arms and let the statue slip from his grip. It landed on the edge of the second step, cracked open, and tumbled down the other two. Lumpy ears, eyebrows, and teeth skittered across the walkway.

“Oops,” he said with a wide smile.

Millie gasped. Susan froze in her tracks, a wide-eyed stare fixed on the fragments. Justin, on the other hand, let loose with a laugh that rose into the sky. Entirely satisfied, Al dusted his hands together.

The sound of footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of the gift giver herself. Miss Hinkle appeared in the doorway, handbag slung over one arm.

“There you are, Justin dear. Right on time. I'm ready to—” Her gaze settled on the remnants of Chester littering the steps.

Before she had time to react, Al approached her. “I'm sorry.”

The wonder-working words apparently worked only on wives. Miss Hinkle's outraged expression did not fade.

Before she recovered enough to speak, he offered a glib explanation. “I brought it out to examine it more closely in the sunlight, and it slipped right out of my hands.” He sidestepped around her. “Excuse me while I get the broom.”

Al escaped, leaving Miss Hinkle to sputter on the porch.

Millie emerged from the car in the church parking lot with the shock of Albert's destruction of the horrible sculpture vibrating in her mind.

“I still can't believe it.” She eyed him over the rounded top of the pink Volkswagen Beetle. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I've had enough.” An easy and entirely unapologetic smile rested on his face. “She's rude and overbearing, and she finds fault with everything. I see no reason we should suffer the presence of one of her unwanted gifts in the entryway of our home.”

“She's not that bad, once you get to know her.” Whatever the reason behind Albert's actions, it seemed to have done him a world of good. The dark scowl he'd worn for the past week had disappeared, replaced by the pleasant expression she most enjoyed in her stern husband. Perhaps smashing Chester had been a stress-reliever for him.

Al's gaze slid past her and fixed on something behind her head.

“Uh, Millie?”

At the sound of Violet's voice, a little stab of sorrow knifed Millie in the chest. She turned to find her former friend standing a short distance away, wringing a tissue in her hands.

“Can we talk?”

In an unusual display of sensitivity, Al said, “I'll see you inside,” and slipped away.

“I think we should,” Millie answered.

“I've wanted to call you all week to say…” Her features scrunched, and bursting into tears, she buried her face in the tissue.

The pain in her heart dissolved, and Millie rushed forward to gather her best friend in an embrace. Tears filled her own eyes as she hugged with all her strength. “I've been so miserable without you.”

“Me too.” Her body shook with sobs. “I'm sorry, I really am.”

“I'm sorry too,” Millie managed between blubbers. “I know how Lulu gets on your nerves, and I tried to force the two of you together anyway.”

Violet shook her head. “It's my fault. I was just plain eaten up with jealousy. I somehow got in my head if you started liking her, you wouldn't like me anymore.”

“I
love
you, Violet. You're my best friend. Nothing can ever change that.”

They stood for a long moment, hugging and crying, while cars parked around them and curious people streamed past. Millie didn't care, not even when Sally Bright stared with such fixed attention she walked into a parked car.

When their tears slowed, Violet pulled back. “I'm sorry about the manager job too. I called Frieda yesterday and told her to take my name off, but she said the application had already been filed.”

“Whatever made you say you'd do it in the first place?”

Violet dabbed at her eyes with the shreds of her tissue. “Spite at first. But then I started reading up on the program and I realized what a good thing it will be for Goose Creek. The longer I thought about it, the more ideas I came up with for dressing up Main Street.” She gave a tiny laugh. “You know how much time I have on my hands.”

A touch of longing hovered in the watery eyes. Surprised, Millie shifted mental gears. She'd assumed Violet had volunteered as a slap at Lulu, or perhaps under pressure from Frieda. The idea that she might actually
want
the job had never entered Millie's mind.

But why not? Violet was a few years younger than Millie. She'd been able to retire from her government job early, in part because she'd gone to work directly after high school and so had reached her thirty-year anniversary in her late forties. Also because her husband's death had left her with a small income. She had no children, no close relatives, and years ahead of her. Millie's postretirement goal was not to kick back and settle into a dormant life, but to open a B&B. Why shouldn't Violet have a similar goal?

“Do you
want
the job?” she asked.

The answer was a hesitant shrug. “It would be fun.” Then she straightened. “But I won't take it. Since the application's already filed, I'll wait until it's approved by the state, and then I'll resign so Lulu can have it.”

Thoughts whirling, Millie pulled her into another hug. Two friends, one job. And her in the middle. While she could easily envision Lulu assisting Violet, it would take a lot of persuasion and diplomacy to convince Violet to assist Lulu. Either way, every time the two clashed, Millie would be dragged into the conflict.

If there was a solution to be found, it would take thought and patience. Right now she didn't have the energy for either.

With a final hug, she released Violet. “Come on. Let's go to the ladies' room and fix our makeup before church starts.”

An unsolved problem still hovered, but it was with a light heart that Millie entered the church arm in arm with her best friend.

“Glad to see you two made up,” Al said as he turned from the parking lot onto Walnut Street.