A Peach of a Pair (11 page)

“Well, whatever Nettie decides, I’m sure she’ll need to see someone soon. She hasn’t mentioned her condition to me, maybe she’s trying to hide it, but she can’t hide it forever. And I want her to be healthy, and the baby, of course. That’s why I ordered Emily to be nice, to go easier on her. She really is a dear.”

“Funny, she said the same thing about you.” Remmy smiled.

“Will you talk to her about seeing a doctor?” Miss Lurleen reopened her Bible.

“Of course.” Tonight. When he was sure they’d be alone, he would. Even if it meant it would send her running again.

I
’d begged off earlier when Katie called asking if I wanted to meet her at one of the restaurants on Broad Street for supper. She made me promise I’d come to dinner next Sunday at her house and said she wouldn’t take no for an answer. As much as I liked her and would have welcomed having someone closer my own age to talk to, I was too tired to do anything other than work all day and flop in the bed. Well, except for visiting with Remmy. I was surprised at just how much I anticipated his next visit, which was probably very un-Justine-like, but I’d given up on being a vixen.

I liked it when he came to see me, not Miss Lurleen, who really was sweet, and certainly not Miss Emily, who had drawn in her
claws after her conversation with her sister earlier. And yes, with the bathroom door open and hunched over the toilet, I’d heard a little of their conversation, but the moment Miss Lurleen called her sister a bitch, I stopped eavesdropping and closed the door. When Miss Emily emerged from the bedroom, she pushed the door open and gave me a look. I sure she was going to fire me on the spot. But she’d gone straight to her chair for soap opera time, and that was more than fine by me.

By dinnertime, she was much less combative, and even complimented the Apple Betty I’d made when I took it out of the oven. But the best part of Miss Emily laying down her cross was that Miss Lurleen rewarded her by coming out of her room for dinner. Of course she was completely out of breath and nearly collapsed at the kitchen table, but there the three of us were, enjoying a fine meal of chicken-fried steak and gravy and an array of lovely vegetables Miss Emily canned over last summer.

“Nettie,” Miss Lurleen began. “You’re a wonderful cook. Everything you’ve made has been delicious.”

Her inflection implied there was a
but
coming. I was no stranger to criticism; every time I played for my instructors, I anxiously awaited their thoughts on how to make the piece better and, of course, how wonderful I was, which sounds conceited but is not. Every artist, or at least the ones I knew, thrived on accolades, but it was the ones who continued to better their craft beyond the accolades who were the true musicians.

However, my cooking was an entirely different story. I wasn’t always gifted in the kitchen like I was at the keyboard. Even if I became the personal chef for the president of the United States,
there were many past trials and even more errors that had given way to family jokes back home that would never die. So, I was a little sensitive about my cooking.

“Yes ma’am?” I set my fork down.

“Oh, honey, don’t look so dejected.” Miss Lurleen put her hand on mine. “I wasn’t trying to say the food is bad.”

“She’s saying it’s going to kill her,” Miss Emily snapped, and after a stern look from her sister, she added, “
dear
. It’s the salt.”

“Yes, well, my sweet sister
could have
told you, but, apparently, she was trying to kill me too. Otherwise, she would have, but Remmy says I have to lay off the salt. And, as much as I’ve loved having it the past few days, surprisingly even more so than sugar, you should probably cook without it, and you and Emily can add it to your plates as you see fit.”

“Oh, Miss Lurleen.” I put my napkin on the table, unable to eat another bite knowing I’d almost killed that sweet lady. “I’m so sorry. I’ll throw the box out to make sure I don’t add it out of habit.”

“No you won’t. Lurleen has to watch her consumption. There’s no need for the rest of us to fall on her sword,” Miss Emily said, punctuating her words with the saltshaker. “And
you
finish your dinner. You’ll need your strength.”

“Because we’re giving you the day off tomorrow,” Miss Lurleen said. Miss Emily jerked her head around at her sister, eyes bugging out. “Emily and I both feel like you deserve it. Don’t we, Emily?”

“I suppose,” she said tightly.

I’d seen the list of chores Miss Emily had made. It was four and a half pages long, and some things were repeated as many as three times at various places on the list, like she’d forgotten she’d already
added them. There were only two pages left, and you can only steam iron unmentionables so many times.

Oddly enough, the piano was not on the list, but then it already gleamed. It called to me, begging me to sit at the keyboard and play. I gave in once and touched the upper keys, but nothing happened. Just the dull thud of the hammer missing the brass strings altogether. Why would someone, presumably Miss Emily, take such good care of the outside but never the inside? This morning, before Miss Lurleen enforced the peace, Miss Emily caught me running my hand across the keys, but not pressing them. Right away, her stern look told me the piano was off-limits.

“Why don’t I finish up any chores you have for me, Miss Emily, and then take Sunday afternoon off?”

“You’re such a gem, Nettie.” Miss Lurleen squeezed my hand.

“Yes, isn’t she,” Miss Emily said dryly. “Now eat.”

•   •   •

I
should have cared that Remmy Wilkes was coming calling, about how I looked or what I wore. I did, however, bathe out of common courtesy because I smelled to high heaven after attempting to turn over Miss Lurleen’s garden by hand. When the head of the hoe finally broke off in the harsh clay, I almost got down on my knees and kissed the ground. Knowing full well that chore would be added to tomorrow’s list, I didn’t.

After a long soak in the sparkling-clean bathtub, I slipped on an old pair of blue jeans with a white cotton T-shirt and combed out my wet hair before taking my place on the porch swing. Perhaps I didn’t care about my appearance because I felt comfortable with Remmy or because the porch was unlit. But there was no
compulsion to impress him; he was just a friend who came calling, albeit after dark.

I saw him coming down the sidewalk, walking briskly, fading in and out of the light from the full moon that filtered through the clouds and ancient oak trees. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, he looked younger than he did in the crisp white shirt and black tie he normally wore. He waved at the dark porch, though I wasn’t sure he could see me.

“Hey, Nettie,” he drawled, bounding up the steps. I stood and for a moment it felt like he was going to kiss my cheek, but he didn’t.

“Hey, Remmy,” I breathed. We sat down in the swing, a switch from him sitting in the rocker across from me. “How was your day?”

“After I left here? Busy. Katie had me on a bunch of house calls. I finished up with my last patient at the office about an hour ago. Went home, took a shower, and came right over.” He moved the swing back and forth slowly.

“You didn’t eat? I bet Katie wasn’t happy about that,” I said, letting him control the rhythm.

“My sister is not my keeper, though she sure as hell thinks she is. It’s good to shake her up every now and then to remind her of that.”

“By missing a meal?” I asked. “There’s probably a better way, like flat out telling her.”

“I tell her all the time, but like most women, she hears what she wants when she wants.”

“I should be insulted, but it seems wrong to punish you for being right. I made a lovely Apple Betty; would you like some?”

“Sounds good,” he said.

I opened the screen door, taking care it didn’t bounce in the jamb as neither of the sisters seemed to have a hearing problem.
Although with Miss Emily upstairs and Miss Lurleen in the back bedroom downstairs, it was doubtful they’d hear anything anyway. While I was doing nothing wrong with Remmy Wilkes, moving stealthily through the house, it felt that way. I eased the refrigerator door open, pulled out the pan, and scraped a generous serving into a bowl. I didn’t bother with the horrible store-bought ice cream like Miss Emily and Miss Lurleen had with their desserts at suppertime. However I did pour him a glass of milk to wash it down.

Remmy was standing by the door when I returned, opened it for me, and took the bowl and cup, returning to the swing. I sat down beside him, knees pulled up to my chest, smiling as he devoured the dessert. In less than two minutes, he set the empty bowl on the table beside the swing and started on the milk. “You were hungry,” I said.

“Didn’t think I was, but it was really good.”

“Thanks.”

He raked his hands across the tops of his thighs. “So, how are you feeling?”

My laugh was soft and unintentionally flirty. “Why do you keep asking how I feel?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m a doctor and that’s what I do?” The scant light revealed the faint outline of his face and a smile that made me wish the light from the hallway wasn’t so stingy, because I really wanted to see Remmy Wilkes, smiling, relaxed, looking at me.

“Yes,” I said, “aside from that.”

“I don’t know, Nettie; you’re smart and funny.”

As much as I didn’t want or need any kind of romantic involvement, I liked Remmy Wilkes. “Really? I could say the same thing about you.”

“I like you,” he said simply.

The words wound tight around me, terrifying and exciting me in equal measure. “Oh.”

He laughed, easing the tension until he took my hand, making my pulse skyrocket. “Relax, Nettie. Liking you is not a bad thing.”

It wasn’t bad; it was just foreign. Having another man hold my hand, move me with just a few words. Part of my brain said to say good night right then and there and send Remmy Wilkes on his way. The other part of my brain echoed back: Remmy Wilkes was beautiful and good. “No. It’s not a bad thing,” I said, unwinding my legs so that my bare feet were on the floor.

I have no idea where the notion came from. I suspect it was there since the day I met Remmy, but I thought I would die if I had to live another second without knowing what it felt like to kiss him. And in the most forward moment of my life, I leaned in and touched my lips to his. He let go of my hand and threaded his hands in my hair and took control of the kiss, our tongues tangling, our breath in perfect rapid time. I was shocked to the bone at how very much I liked kissing a man who was not Brooks Carver, or more precisely a man who was Remmy Wilkes.

I moved closer for more. He pulled me onto his lap and slid his hand to my bottom to hold me in place. I was breathless when we pulled apart and he pressed his forehead to mine. “Nettie,” he whispered. “We have to talk.”

Even though I’d had little to no experience with men, I was reasonably sure no good conversation ever began with those words. I scooted back to my side of the swing and drew my knees up to my chest again.

“And that’s not a bad thing either,” he said, taking my hand. “We’ve already established that I like you. It should be obvious that I’m attracted to you, and if it’s not, let me just say that you’re gorgeous, and I am very much attracted to you.”

His conciliatory tone made my stomach dip. “But you’re holding my situation against me. Aren’t you?”

“Up until a few seconds ago, I was holding
you
against me, so no. But your situation does matter to me.”

I jerked my hand away. “My
situation
is none of your business, Remmy.”

“Maybe. But it matters to me. You matter to me. What I’m trying to say is, with the baby coming—”

Good God, was there no way to escape my sister and her infamous child? “
The baby
isn’t your concern, Remmy.”

“But I am worried about you, and I feel guilty that I’m partly responsible for putting you in a place where you’re being worked to death. In your condition, you should—”

“
In my condition?
” What? Deserted? Scorned? Wait?
My condition?
“I’m not expecting, Remmy, if that’s what you’re implying,” I bit out. “But my sister is, with my fiancé’s baby, or my ex-fiancé.”

There was a throbbing in my ears, my own heartbeat racing like a freight train. And if I could have pulled up the floorboards, I would have slid underneath the porch with the spiders and God only knew what else to escape Remmy Wilkes and the pity I felt radiating off of him.

“Nettie, I’m so sorry.” He reached for my hand again, but I jerked away. “From what your roommate and some of the other girls at the college said, I just assumed—”

“
Incorrectly.
”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in the swing and blew out a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, I’m an idiot, but I have to be honest, I’m more than relieved.”

“That I’m not knocked up?” I bit out.

“The world isn’t kind to unmarried girls who are expecting.” Ah, but Sissy had managed to remake the world so that it revolved around her and her baby. “I’ve seen it, and I didn’t want that for you.”

“So, what was your plan, Remmy Wilkes? Were you going to save me from the horrible world? Marry me?”

“There’s no reason to be angry at me, Nettie. As for your question, I hadn’t gotten that far yet. But I was going to make damn sure you were taken care of and that you were taking care of yourself. Do whatever I could for you.”

“And that included kissing me and hauling me onto your lap?”

“Hey, you started the kissing, and make no mistake, I’m glad you did. I wanted to kiss you that first night I walked you to the guest bedroom at my house, but I was afraid that you’d think I was being presumptuous.” My entire body pulsed with anger and embarrassment. “And if I’m being honest, Nettie, I’m glad you’re not carrying another man’s child. If there was anything that bothered me about your situation, or what I assumed your situation was, it was—”

“That I was damaged goods?”

“No. I didn’t like the idea of another man touching you.”

I stood for him to leave, but he didn’t budge. “You should go, Remmy.”