Be Sweet Page 12

  “Don’t tell her.”

  “Tell me what?”

  They’re going back and forth again. I’m tired, and they’re getting on my last nerve. I lift the pitchfork in attack position, feeling every inch the bad cowboy caught up in an episode of Bonanza. “Tell me, doggone you.”

  Blake looks worried—as well he should be.

  “You have to promise not to tell Mom.”

  “Excuse me, is there something in the way I’m holding this pitch-fork that gives you the idea you have bargaining power?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs with a loud gulp. “Then we’re not telling you,” Blake says, giving Stephanie a warning glance. The firm set of his jaw shows me he means it. I’ve never seen Blake like this. I have half a mind to prick his boot.

  “He was going to let me stay here tonight,” Stephanie says.

  “Oh, man, Steph, why’d you go and tell her?”

  My jaw slackens, and I stare at her. “Stay here? In the barn? All night?”

  “She needs a place,” Blake jumps in.

  “Why? Did it not work out with your new friend?” Referring to the place where she was staying with another girl she’d met only a few weeks ago.

  “No. Her boyfriend moved in last night. Things got a little crazy.”

  My heart squeezes. I turn to my nephew. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing out here.”

  “She needed some blankets and stuff.” He stares at his boot.

  “What’s the big deal? You know your mom would want to help you. Why didn’t you just ask her, Blake?”

  “I know. But she’s going through something right now. She’s acting, I don’t know, kind of weird. I didn’t think she could handle it. She’s all stressed out or something.”

  “Your mom is a little tired, but that wouldn’t stop her from helping Stephanie for a night or two.”

  “Blake, are you out there?” Janni’s voice calls from the porch.

  “She must have spotted my car. Be right back.” He pokes his head through the door. “Yeah, I’ll be right there, Mom.” He walks over to Stephanie and gives her hand a quick squeeze. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  When Blake leaves the barn, I look back to Stephanie. “I’m sure Janni would have no problem with you staying inside. You can’t stay out here all night or you’ll freeze.”

  “I’ve stayed in worse than this.”

  Something in the way she says that makes me believe her.

  “I’m not sure where to begin, but I need to talk to you,” Steph says, as she gears up to tell me something. What’s to begin? Is she planning to take up residence or something? An overnight stay does not merit a “serious discussion.” Hopefully, she and Blake aren’t getting serious already. They’ve only known each other a few days, after all.

  Before Stephanie can say anything further, a police siren screams in the distance, growing in volume. Tires squeal, gravel crunches, and all finally come to a stop just short of ramming into the barn—or so it sounds.

  “What is going on, Officer?” I ask Toby Millington as we rush out of the barn. There he stands, by the squad car, red and blue lights swirling around us.

  “Ask her,” he says, pointing to Mom as she steps sheepishly out of her car.

  “Viney Haverford, I don’t know what you think you were doing, trying to outrun the law like that. If your husband hadn’t been my pastor all my life, I’d lock you up.”

  Toby is plenty steamed, but Mom was his Sunday-school teacher years ago. I know good and well she put the fear of God in him. He won’t mess with her. Though I’m thinking a night in jail could do her a world of good.

  “Mom! What happened?” Janni asks, stepping out the front door. “You all right?” She climbs down the steps to stand by Mom.

  “She’s all right. You might want to check with Officer Millington here on how he’s doing, though.” I chuckle.

  “This is serious business, Char. Someone could have been killed,” he says.

  “That’s what I always tell her,” Mom joins in. “She thinks everything is a joke. I taught her better than that.”

  “Wait. This is not about me.” Maybe I’ll go back in the barn and get that pitchfork.

  “All I know is some man was stalking me.” There’s that gnarly finger again looking like it’s going to poke out an eyeball. She strikes fear in my heart every time she does that. That’s the very same finger she used to wag under my nose when I did something wrong as a kid. “I think your father put him up to it.”

  “Oh, Mom, you can’t be serious,” Janni says.

  “I am too,” Mom snaps.

  “She ran a red light—”

  Janni and I gasp simultaneously.

  “—almost hit another car and then when I came after her, she hit the gas and didn’t stop till we got here.”

  Janni turns to Mom. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed.”

  Mom makes a face and stares at her shoe as she scuffs it into the dirt.

  “I hate to do it, but I gotta give you a ticket, Viney.”

  Mom’s head shoots up. “You’ll do no such thing, young man. I’ll march you right over to your parents.”

  “Mom.” Janni grabs Mom’s arm. “Toby is no longer in your Sunday-school class. He represents the law in this town, and you can’t talk to him that way.”

  “I can and I will.”

  This adds fuel to the flames. Toby’s eyes turn a livid blaze of brown. He gets out his ticket holder and starts scribbling like there’s no tomorrow.

  I edge over beside Mom. When she sees him writing furiously on the ticket, she gets that look on her face that spells trouble and opens her mouth to speak, but Janni and I both clamp our hands over her mouth in the nick of time. She kicks up gravel with her feet, but we won’t let her make nary a peep.

  “I’m sorry to give you this, Viney, but I have to do my job.” Since we have her arms held down, he extends the ticket to Janni. Mom con-torts and twists her body and her feet paw at the ground while she tries to break free from our grasp. Picture a snorting bull in front of a waving red cape. If Toby knows what’s good for him, he’ll skip the lecture and get out of Dodge.

  “See you later, ladies. Give my best to Pastor Haverford.” He tips his hat, climbs back into his car, and leaves.

  Smart man.

  Once he’s out of earshot, we drop our hands. I rub my aching arms and shoulders, noting that I haven’t exercised this much in months.

  “Why did you cover my mouth?” Mom’s eyes are shooting fire. Her arms are waving. “I aimed to give that young man a piece of my mind.”

  “Come on, Grandma,” Blake says, putting his arm around her, “let’s go in the house and get some ice cream.”

  Janni rolls her eyes, and we all turn to go inside.

  Before following the others, I take a quick glance behind me and get a glimpse of the back of Mom’s car. The license plate stops me in my tracks. Instead of the usual numbers found on the plate, black letters tiptoe across it, spelling out the words BE SWEET.

  It could be me, but I’m thinking that’s just wrong.

  twelve

  “Hey, Aunt Char, you’d better hurry up and get in here before Blake eats all the ice cream,” Ethan calls out when Stephanie and I enter the house. Ethan and Candy share a laugh, and he gives her a hug. I remember being young and in love once . . .

  Spoons clack against bowls, spirits are high. Emotions tangle inside me.

  “You’d better leave me some,” I say, giving Blake a playful punch in the arm.

  “I saved you some. In fact,” he says, reaching into the cupboard for a bowl, “I will make you a special creation of my own.”

  Janni turns and stares at him. “You’re serving her?” She walks over and puts her palm on his forehead. “When is the last time you’ve had a checkup?”

  “Hey, I have my moments of charity,” he says. “Especially where Aunt Char is concerned. She’s my favorite aunt.”

 
; “I’m your only aunt, but I’m okay with that.”

  Blake shrugs, and the others laugh. Once he finishes his creation, he hands the bowl to me, and then we join the others at the table.

  “Would you look at that,” Mom says in wonder when she sees my bowl piled high with ice cream, banana slices, maple syrup, and whipped cream.

  “This boy has missed his calling,” I say, patting Blake on the back.

  “For this we spend big bucks to send him to a university?” Daniel works the scissors around an ice cream coupon in the paper. “Can’t you learn that at the community college?”

  Blake drops his spoon and stares at his dad. “Their creative depart-ment is lacking, Dad.”

  “What made you think someone was following you, Grandma?” Ethan asks abruptly.

  We are now entering a war zone.

  “Because he was,” she snaps, while using her spoon to chase the last slurp of ice cream around her bowl.

  “How do you know he was following you and not just going in the same direction?” Blake asks with a grin and a wink.

  Oh sure, stir up a hornets’ nest, then go back to school.

  “All I know is when I turned right, he turned right. When I went left, he did too. That’s just beyond coincidence in my book,” she says with attitude.

  “Mom, this is a small town. There aren’t a whole lot of different ways to get somewhere,” I say dryly.

  She stares at me so long, I’m afraid if the light catches in her glasses just right, she’ll burn a hole in my face.

  “He was following me.” Mom says this in such a way as to stop all further conversation right here and right now.

  Janni and I exchange a glance. We have to get Mom help. The ques-tion is: how do we get Mom to do anything she doesn’t want to do?

  “I hope it warms up soon. Those taps aren’t flowing as good as last year.” Daniel stomps his boots against the floor of the doorframe.

  “It will work out. It always does,” Janni says. She slugs over to the coffeepot and pours him a cup.

  He eyes Janni a moment. “You doin’ okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine.” Her body language says otherwise. She sits in a chair at the table and takes a drink from her coffee cup. That could be the problem right there.

  Daniel turns to me. “How are you today, Char?”

  “Can’t complain.” If I did complain, it would be about the coffee, but in one of my rare moments of restraint, I keep my mouth shut.

  “Since you get a reprieve from the sap, you ought to take time for a fun girls’ day,” he says to Janni, surprising me.

  “Hey, that’s a great idea,” I say, turning to Janni. “You up for it?”

  “What’s there to do around here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought because you live in a historic town with quaint shops and cozy cafés that are mere miles from beautiful scenes of Lake Michigan that we might be able to come up with something.”

  “It’s too cold to enjoy the lake.”

  “Oh come on, Janni. There’s plenty to do around here. We could even go for a massage, if you want.”

  “The boys are home. I don’t want to leave them.”

  “You don’t need to worry about us,” Blake says as he shuffles into the kitchen, bed-head and all. “We can find plenty to do.” He flashes an ornery grin and wiggles his eyebrows.

  My thoughts flit to Stephanie, and I’m wondering if she stayed warm enough last night.

  “I know, but I want to spend time with you while you’re here.”

  “We thought we might go bowling later,” Ethan says, sauntering into the kitchen with Candy right behind him. He grabs a box of cereal. “You can go with us.”

  Janni doesn’t look interested. “I’m not in the mood to bowl.”

  “Well, you can think about it,” Ethan says, sitting down at the table with his cereal in tow.

  “Okay,” she says, as in, “whatever.”

  “We’ll take care of the animals this morning, Mom,” Ethan says. “Candy wants to see how we feed them.”

  Blake gives me a glance and a nod as if to say they know about Stephanie being in the barn.

  “Thanks,” Janni says.

  We talk to the kids while they eat their cereal, then Janni fills her cup with another round of coffee and suggests we go into the living room. I’m wishing I had some of Ariel’s cinnamon rolls here. Maybe I’ll call her later and order some goodies to get me through this visit. Needing caffeine, I grab my cup of motor oil—er, uh, coffee—and follow Janni into the living room.

  “You know, we had better call Stephanie and let her know she doesn’t need to come to work today.” Janni settles into the sofa that kid-naps people. Still, when I glance at her disappearing thighs, I’m thinking the sofa could become my friend.

  My brain scrambles for a response. “Uh, yeah.” Am I not great with words?

  Janni reaches for the phone.

  “You know, maybe we should have Blake call her so you can enjoy your coffee while it’s still hot.”

  She smiles. “He does seem drawn to her, doesn’t he?”

  “Blake,” I yell before she can change her mind.

  He pokes his head into the living room. “What’s up?”

  “Your mom thought someone should call Stephanie and let her know not to come to work today since we’re not sugaring.” Blake throws me a knowing glance.

  “Oh, okay, I’ll get ahold of her,” he says.

  “Can you believe we’re edging fifty, Char? We’ll be senior citizens in the blink of an eye.” Janni stares glumly into her coffee cup.

  I laugh. “What in the world brought that on?”

  She looks up at me. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe going through the old pictures of Mom and Dad and seeing how fast the time has gone. Only yesterday, Mom was fifty.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. Now you’re starting to sound like Dad.” Her depression is sucking me in like a vacuum, but I’m resisting every step of the way.

  “See what I mean? We’re old.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m middle-aged, thank you very much.”

  “Only if you plan to live until you’re ninety-four.”

  I blink. “Huh?”

  “Forty-seven times two equals ninety-four. That would make forty-seven middle age for you. Frankly, I doubt if you’ll live that long with the way you eat cookies.”

  Reality hits me between the eyeballs. “I’m past middle age?” The words strangle me. A moment of desperation zips through me, but I roll up my sleeves and bulldoze it away. “I am not past middle age,” I hiss.

  “You’re in denial.”

  Right now I’m ready to hurt her. “Before you go any further, I feel it’s only safe to warn you that your Christmas present is on the line.”

  “Fair enough. But it’s still true.”

  “Janni, what has gotten into you? Up until now, you’ve been one of the most upbeat people I have ever known. Is this your dark side?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what you could call it.” She swirls her spoon around her coffee.

  “Well, snap out of it,” I say with no compassion whatsoever. “Reminds me of Mom. You need some fun in your life.”

  “That’s just it. As I told you, I’m tired of all this.” Her hand sweeps the air.

  “Is there something else you’d rather be doing with your life?” I take a sip from my mug and try to pretend it’s a macchiato. It’s not working for me.

  “I don’t know.” More peering into her coffee. Maybe she’s noticing that car oil thing. “Bungee jumping?”

  That little comment almost makes me spurt coffee from my nose.

  She glares. “What? You don’t think I’m adventurous enough?”

  “I’m thinking a wild night of scrapbooking is more your cup of tea.” Maybe I should buy her a Hula Hoop. Excitement and exercise all in one package, saying nothing of the safety factor compared to bungee jumping. “It’s hard for me to understand this, Janni. You have a perfec
t life. A Walton kind of life, you know? A family that loves you, lots of friends, security, all that.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Miss I-own-a-cottage-on-the-beach-and-a-BMW-with-plump-leather-seats.”

  Somebody is bitter.

  “Material things, Janni. They can’t love you when you’re lonely or help you when you’re sick. But you—you have family.” Even as the words come out of my mouth, they startle me. The reality of the comment sinks in. That’s me. I’m alone. Emotions lurk behind my eyeballs, and I’m thinking Janni’s mood is affecting me big-time.

  “It’s not enough anymore,” she says in a whisper.

  “Where are you in that whole perimenopause thing?” I ask.

  Her head darts up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve got a long ways to go before I get into all that.”

  “You are forty-five, Janni. Some women start as early as forty.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Her bark has a Doberman Pinscher quality to it.

  “It’s not a bad thing. It’s a fact of life. Happens to all of us. Though I have to say, it’s never bothered me much.”

  “I’m too young.”

  “Okay, whatever. One of the side effects is depression.”

  “Who’s depressed?”

  “And attitude. Definitely attitude.”

  “Who has an attitude?” she snaps.

  “Come on, Janni, if I extended my hand to you, you’d bite it off.”

  “I would not. Well, not the whole hand anyway.” She cracks a weak smile.

  “Have you had any hot flashes?”

  “What’s that?”

  “They say your body can shoot into flames out of nowhere. A total meltdown threatens you and anything within a fifty-mile radius.”

  She stares at me, mouth gaping. “And you’ve experienced this?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve just heard stories. The good news is, if you’re lost in the woods, you can rub your hands together real fast and start a fire.” I laugh. She doesn’t. But I’m on a roll, so I continue. “I have one friend who says her age spots are really singed skin brought on by hot flashes.”

  “Why would I be in perimenopause if you’re not? You’re older than I am.”