3 Dime If I Know (2 page)

Men.

My insides bubbled as violently as the soup kettle on the stove before me. Rafe and I had dated exclusively for months. I thought I knew him, but did I really? He refused to talk about his family and now this. He’d blown off dinner and more from me tonight with no explanation.

On a Saturday night.

Date night.

Ugly suspicions colored my thoughts.

Who’d called him? What had they wanted? Why hadn’t he told me what was going on? He owed me more than a “Sorry, I can’t make it,” didn’t he?

Wait.

Was I thinking like a girlfriend or a wife? Damn. I was overreaching. I had no right to vent wifely outrage or expect too much from our relationship. How depressing. Being a girlfriend had more gray areas than being a wife.

I grabbed a long-tined meat fork and poked a red-skinned potato. When that slid in easily, I checked the meat. The tines of the fork went right into the meat, too. Perfect. At least cooking was one thing I did well. I turned off the burner and moved dinner to an unheated area on my stovetop.

To silence my jealous leanings, I filled my lungs with the hearty smell of the meat and vegetable dish. Nothing signaled the changing of the seasons to me like a pot roast. Something about the stick-to-your-ribs aroma put me in mind of jumping into piles of leaves and nesting on the sofa with a thick throw and a good book.

One of these days, I’d read a book from cover to cover again. As it was, I was lucky to read a chapter at night before I fell asleep. But I couldn’t complain too much. I loved being an accountant and spending time with my two kids. With the Saint Bernard puppies and Madonna, their mom, living in my house, I had my hands full.

I turned my attention to the double batch of corn muffins. They’d crowned up nicely, so I popped them in the oven to bake. Glancing out the front window, I saw my daughters, Charla and Lexy, playing with the puppies.

Now that Moses, Arnold, and Ariel were five weeks old, I hoped housebreaking was next on their list of doggie accomplishments. Seemed like we were always cleaning up a puddle or worse in the house.

With a chocolate cake on the sideboard and a tossed salad in the fridge, I joined the girls on the lawn. Arnold barrelled over to greet me, all paws and nose on my pant leg. His tail wagged his entire body.

Lexy shook her finger at me, her green eyes flashing fire. “Don’t reward him for that. Only reward him for things he does right.”

My youngest was thirteen going on thirty. I smiled at her knowing tone. Never mind that I’d raised two great kids, she believed I knew nothing about parenting puppies.

“It’s okay. I want to play with him.” I patted my thigh. “Come on, Arnold, come say hello.”

Laughing, I let him scramble over me, enjoying the many licks on my face. Hearing the laughter, Ariel bounded over. Soon the girls and Moses joined me in a big pile of puppies and children. What a perfect family moment.

“They’re so adorable. Can we keep them?” Charla asked, her red curls as saucy as her personality. At fifteen, she cared less about logic and more about wish fulfillment.

Lexy nodded eagerly. “I could train them for shows.”

Moses bottomed out on my leg. I gave him an assist. “Jonette has her pick of the litter, and the other two will go to good homes. That’s been our plan from the start.”

“Yeah, but if one goes to Jonette, it’s still sorta ours,” Charla continued. “Madonna’s really your dog. If we kept the other puppies, one could be Lexy’s and one could be mine.”

We’d inherited the mama dog this past summer. I’d learned the hard way that having two dogs this size in our house was not a good idea. Even so, I hated to be the heavy here. I’d much rather be the fun mom that always said yes.

Except the accountant part of my brain wouldn’t shut down the computations of triple food bills, triple vet bills, triple pet care responsibilities. Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Walking Madonna was akin to steering a supertanker. I couldn’t imagine walking multiple supertankers.

“They’re cute, but puppies grow up and so do teenaged girls,” I said. “Once Jonette makes her choice, we’ll find homes for the remaining puppies.”

“I have to interview the prospective owners,” Lexy said. “These puppies deserve the very best.”

As I nodded in agreement, Mama’s Olds shimmied into the driveway. Instinctively, we each grabbed a puppy. Mama popped out of the car like a mini-tornado and hurried over to us. I hadn’t seen that much pep in her step in months. Maybe years.

“News,” Mama said, waving her arms. Her shock of short white curls bounced with every step of her classic navy pumps. “I have news.”

Her bright red face alarmed me. Was her heart medicine in her purse? I scrambled to my feet. “Let’s go inside and get you seated first. Then you can tell us your news.”

Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Ain’t nothing wrong with me, but I’m partial to a little coddling now and then. Lead on, McCleo.”

Moments later, we sat around the kitchen table and gazed at Mama expectantly. Delilah Sampson might have been sixty-two, but she knew how to hook an audience. “Well?” I asked, puppy in my lap.

“Well, nothing. It’s swell, that’s what it is. Absolutely, magnificently swell.”

“What’s going on, Grammy?” Charla asked.

“I never thought I’d be saying these words out loud again, but here goes.” Mama stopped for a breath deep enough to jostle the triple-stranded pearls at her neck. “I’m getting married.”

I jumped and nearly upended little Moses. “What?”

“Who?” Lexy asked.

“Where?” Charla asked.

“You heard me,” Mama said. “I’m getting hitched. To Bud. He asked me, and I said yes.”

I felt the weight of Charla and Lexy’s gazes. “Tell us the details,” I added, torn between needing to know and remaining blissfully ignorant of the particulars.

“I’ve reserved Trinity Episcopal on Saturday, three weeks from now. Father Tim agreed to marry us.”

“Three weeks. That’s soon,” I managed, thoughts spinning.

“It won’t be a huge occasion. I thought family and a few close friends would attend. A quickie wedding is all we need; it isn’t like I’m a blushing bride. The bloom has long fallen off that azalea.”

“Mama,” my tone sharpened, “there are impressionable young girls in this room.”

“They know more about sex than you think,” Mama quipped.

“When I was their age, I knew what was what.”

Charla looked like she had something to say. I caught her eye and shook my head. “Be that as it may, I’d like to keep this conversation smut-free.”

“You would,” Mama said. “Pity.”

“What about wedding clothes?” Charla fluffed her red hair. “Where will you get your gown? How will we get everything done in three weeks? Jocelyn Brown’s sister took a whole year to plan her wedding.”

“I’m sure there’s a dress in my closet that would work just fine,” Mama said. “I’m too old to make a big fuss about this.”

“I’ll take the wedding pictures,” Lexy offered. “I’ve learned a lot from taking yearbook photographs.”

“Lovely idea,” Mama said. “Tag, you’re it.”

The myriad details of planning a wedding worried at my peace of mind. I couldn’t wrap my brain around everything that needed to be arranged. “What about food for the reception? Flowers? A cake? These people are booked a year in advance around here.”

“The church ladies will handle the food. Francine and Muriel are going to make one of their red velvet cakes. And flowers make Bud sneeze. I’ll buy fake ones from the craft store.”

She’d told her best friends before she told her own flesh and blood? I summoned what passed for a smile. “Sounds like you have it all worked out, Mama. That’s good.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but Bud and I want simple. No attendants, no groomsmen. That way it won’t cost anyone an arm and a leg to come to my wedding.”

“That wouldn’t keep us from coming, Mama. You have your wedding any way you want it to be. This is your day.”

“What about a ring?” Lexy asked. “Did Mr. Flook give you a ring?”

Mama beamed and pulled a glittering rock out of her oversized purse. The solitaire diamond and white gold setting looked high end. “He did. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Charla grabbed for the ring and slid it on her finger. It was too large for her, but her expression of feminine delight hit me hard. How long before Charla sported a wedding ring? She was fifteen now. I’d been married and a mom by twenty. She had only a few more years before college and then she’d be off living by herself. She’d be hearing wedding bells of her own soon.

“The ring is lovely,” I murmured as both Lexy and I tried it on. Mama plunked the ring on her finger. It sparkled as her hands fluttered through the air as she described Bud’s traditional proposal.

Gazing at Mama’s radiant face, I dismissed my reservations. “You and Bud deserve the best. I’m happy for you.”

And I was.

But a part of me acknowledged the naked truth. Her gain contrasted with my loss. I’d settled for less than I wanted with my golf pro. Hot affairs were exciting, but there was always that element of doubt in the back of my mind.

Where was Rafe, and what was he doing?

My fingers gripped the steering wheel when Rafe’s voicemail clicked on again. “This is Cleo.” I grimaced at the razor-sharp edge to my voice. With Rafe sneaking off last night to do God knew what, I wondered how many women left him messages. I didn’t want to be mistaken for another woman.

I cleared my throat, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. “I called to invite you to dinner tonight. I have news to share, news I need to tell you in person. Call me.”

With that I hung up. I’d phoned him at bedtime last night, before early church this morning, and now, at midday. All the calls had gone to voicemail. Where was he? Normally he worked at the golf course on Sunday. I’d checked the club, and his Jaguar wasn’t there.

Lord.

Had I crossed a line? Was I turning into a psycho girlfriend who had to know where my boyfriend was every minute of the day?
Now, now,
I told myself. This was genuine concern. It wasn’t like Rafe to be out of touch for so long.

I had to face facts. He was an adult. He hadn’t been missing twenty-four hours. I should put his whereabouts out of my mind and start on my other projects for today.

Like helping Jonette with her mayoral campaign.

I exited my sedan and entered the Tavern, the Hogan’s Glen watering hole where Jonette worked. Her boyfriend, Dean, owned the seventies-style bar. Both greeted me warmly. Jackson Browne crooned a song about pretending, and I took my cue from the singer. I could pretend everything was all right.

“Are we plotting world domination today?” I slid into the booth across from Jonette, who looked young and hip in a bright-pink blouse and black slacks.

She thumbed through a sheaf of papers. “I wish.”

Dean brought me a glass of water and pulled up a chair. Today his long hair was clubbed back in a ponytail. In his black T-shirt, jeans, and boots he resembled an aging rock star.

I smiled my thanks at him and nodded at Jonette’s stack. “What’s all that?”

“Crapola from the Internet. Whose bright idea was it to fish for issues? I’ve got more issues here than I care to know about. Each voter wants their pet project guaranteed, and then they’ll vote for me. No way I can please everybody.”

“Right,” I said. “Trying to please everyone is a recipe for disaster.” I stopped to clear my throat. “And, fishing for issues was your idea. You wanted to know what ‘the people’ thought.”

Dean’s head came up, and relief shone in his eyes.

“The people are crazy,” Jonette said. “Here’s one asking the city to buy Crandall House and turn it into a museum and interpretive center. Where would I get the money to do that from the city budget? Maybe if I stopped trash pickup for ten years or so I could swing it, but everyone would be unhappy about rotten garbage in the street.”

Crandall House had been built two centuries ago by our town’s founding father. Now the family descendants lived elsewhere, and they wanted a small fortune for the house.

“Yeah. Big-ticket items like that need to go on the back burner,” I agreed. “You need to take on a few lesser causes that mean something to you. Read me the topics from the other emails.”

“A guy wants me to drill more wells because we’ll run out of water if any of the White Rock houses ever get bought. Here’s a guy wanting me to legalize medical marijuana.”

“That one gets my vote,” Dean said.

“Here’s one from that grumpy lady over on Third Street,” Jonette continued. “She wants speed bumps installed on her street because folks drive too fast past her place. And here’s someone asking if we can’t get three weekdays of trash service for the price of two.” Jonette thumbed through a few more pages, and her face lit up. “Yes! Found it! This is the issue for me. We need to establish a dog park in the city. I need a place for my puppy to play.”

“A dog park would be nice,” I agreed. “Pet owners should have a place where pets can romp off the leash.”

“I can’t imagine anyone getting upset over a new dog park,” Dean said.

“Looks like I’ve got my first agenda item,” Jonette concluded.

“We’re coming along. Tell me about the event next week. You’re holding it here at the bar?”

“Yep. Figure most folks know we’re dating, and they know where the bar is; might as well take advantage of that to get them here.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Select a menu of food we need to serve. Something classy but cheap.”

“I can do that.” My face heated. “Oh. I almost forgot. I’ve got news. Big news.”

“Rafe proposed?”

“Nope.” I waited, drawing the suspense out. I wasn’t Delilah’s daughter for nothing.

“Charlie proposed?”

Charlie was my ex. He’d recently moved next door so that he could spend more time with our girls. So he
said.
“That doesn’t count. He proposes every time he sees me. That’s not news, and you know it.”

“Oh!” Jonette’s eyes danced. “It’s your mother, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yep. Bud proposed. She accepted. They’re getting married in three weeks. I’m getting a lawyer in my family.”