Magnolia Wednesdays (26 page)

Melanie seemed to realize how vague Shelby’s answer had been and circled back to the topic. “Who all was at the party, Shel? What did Mrs. Barrett serve?”

Vivien had to bite back the “You mean, other than the rum and Coke?” that sprang to her lips. But, of course, it was unlikely the mixed drinks had been an official part of the menu. Shelby had refused to tell her who had supplied the alcohol.

Before Shelby could come up with an answer to the first questions, Melanie asked, “Was Ty there?”

Shelby blushed, and Vivien thought, Bingo! remembering the boy from the Pemberton football game.

“Yes,” Shelby finally responded. “He, um, asked me to the prom.”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Melanie said, apparently unaware of the boy’s reputation. “When is it again?”

“The middle of March,” Shelby said.

“Perfect,” Melanie said, and Vivien wondered if she’d made a mistake in hiding Shelby’s transgression. If Melanie knew that Shelby had come home drunk, would she be as pleased about Shelby’s date? Would it have made her watch Shelby as carefully as someone apparently needed to? “That leaves lots of time to find a really great dress,” Melanie said.

“I thought maybe Clay could take me shopping,” Shelby said.

Vivien’s head snapped up. She’d been so busy second-guessing herself she’d only been half listening. “What did she say?”

Melanie laughed. “She wants Clay to help her find a dress.” Seeing Vivi and Ruth’s doubtful looks, she explained, “Clay has the best taste of anyone I’ve ever known, plus he’s dated two or three Miss Georgias and one super-model. He’s helped me choose pretty much every ball gown and all of the campaign wardrobes I’ve ever bought. He knows all the best boutiques.”

Clay smiled; was she just imagining that it was taunting? “You can come with us if you want, Vivi. We could make a few stops at some of the better maternity shops.”

“Thanks,” she said, the nature of his smile now confirmed. “I may take you up on that.” She assumed his fashion prowess was overstated, but spending more time with him might yield answers, assuming she ever figured out the right questions.

Clay clanged a knife against the champagne glass that held what remained of his mimosa. “Since the new year seems like the right time to share new things, I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone at the table fell silent. Clay’s gaze sought Melanie’s.

“J.J.’s state house seat is coming open,” he said. “And I’ve been asked to run for it.”

Clay continued to watch Melanie. “What do you think, Mel? Do you think I should do it?”

Melanie’s eye’s shone with unshed tears as they often did when J.J.’s name came up. But Vivien had no idea whether they were tears of sadness or of joy. Vivi, who’d been watching Clay usurp more and more of what had been J.J.’s, was pretty creeped out.

“I think J.J. would be pleased,” Melanie said finally. “He always said no one was more in synch with what drove him politically than you.” She smiled softly despite the sheen of tears. “There’s a certain symmetry in having his best friend carry on what he began.”

Vivien studied Clay Alexander, once again looking for some clue to what drove him. Professor Sturgess claimed Clay was most comfortable in the background, but now that J.J. was gone, he seemed prepared to move front and center. Had he been chomping at the bit while J.J. was alive, angling for an opportunity? Had J.J. been an obstacle to his own ambitions?

“You know, I’ve been trying to figure out why you left Asheville, where you were already running statewide campaigns, to run J.J.’s first campaign,” Vivien said.

He looked at her as if he didn’t understand what she was asking.

“I mean it was a step backward, wasn’t it?” Vivi asked. “In political terms?”

Clay dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and Vivien sensed him regrouping. “J.J. was an old friend,” he finally said. “And I knew he had what it took to get elected to a lot more than a county commission seat.” He looked over at Melanie, adding, “And, of course, there were other incentives. I’m sure Mel would confirm that J.J. was not an easy man to say no to.”

Vivien watched Clay carefully. He was so smooth that anything he said sounded plausible; yet there was always some sort of subtext underlying his words.

“Truthfully,” he said now. “I don’t see how that would be any bigger a step backward than leaving a network television job in New York to come back to Atlanta and have a baby.”

Melanie’s eyes flashed surprise, but Vivien actually appreciated the lack of subtlety. It was hard to land a good punch when you were fighting with gloves on.

She didn’t get a chance to strike back because Ira chose that moment to return to the table. “Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his gray hair. “There was a mechanical breakdown at the Alpharetta plant, and I had to track down the head of our maintenance department.”

“That’s because no one but Ira can handle anything at his company,” Ruth said. “After all, he
is
the Bagel Baron.”

“My wife seems to forget that it’s those kinds of efforts that feed and clothe all of us,” Ira said.

“And my husband seems to forget that we already have more than enough food and clothing. And that if he would even talk to the people who want to buy his company, we’d have enough food and clothing for the rest of our lives. Not to mention actual
lives
.”

The two glared across the table at each other; everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“More coffee?” Melanie reached for the carafe she’d set on the table and held it up, but nobody took her up on it.

“I just can’t get it through his thick head that there could be more to life than running that damned company.” Ruth grimaced in an apparent effort to hold back tears. “I’m so tired of trying to make him ‘get’ it. I don’t even see the point of being married anymore.” She grabbed her linen napkin and pressed it to one eye, held it there.

“Ruth, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Ira said. “And everyone else, too.”

Slowly Ruth lowered the napkin. The sheen of tears was unmistakable, but not a single one was allowed to fall.

“Well, I’d rather be embarrassing than . . .” Ruth paused, apparently looking for the right word and finally coming up with “Obtuse!”

It wasn’t a word one would expect to hear from Ruth Melnick, but Vivien thought it was pretty dead-on. She felt a grudging admiration for this woman who didn’t like her. At least she was speaking out and trying to get what she wanted.

Ira, who also seemed surprised by Ruth’s word choice, stared at his wife as if he didn’t recognize her, his face awash with confusion. Vivien leaned closer and said, “Obtuse means simpleminded, thickheaded, dull-witted . . .”

“Vivi!” Melanie shushed her even as she put an arm around Ruth.

“I know what obtuse means!” Ira snapped. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with her. She’s always kvetching and complaining these days; she won’t let this thing go.”

“Maybe you should try actually listening to what she’s telling you,” Vivien suggested. “Maybe she has a valid point.”

Clay, the consummate politician, excused himself and led Trip and Shelby down to the basement to watch the game.

Melanie helped Ruth stand and then directed a lot of head movement and eye action Vivi’s way; she was not any better at it than Evangeline. Vivi shrugged, palms up. “How many syllables? Is it a movie or a book title?”

Melanie gave up on the charades. “Vivi, please take Ruth to the bathroom so that she can freshen up. I’d like to have a word with Ira.”

“Oh!” Vivi stood and walked around the table. “Sure.” She took Ruth by the shoulders and realized just how distraught Ruth must be when the older woman aimed a grateful look her way. “Come on, Ruth,” she murmured as they walked down the hall. “Mellie will set him straight.”

When she and Ira were alone at the table and the guest bath door had clicked shut, Melanie pulled out the chair next to Ira and sank into it. He looked at her warily, but there was no fight left in him. As she watched, his normal buoyancy seeped out of him like air escaping a punctured tire. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You see what I’m dealing with here,” he said more quietly than she had ever heard him speak. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I can’t really tell you that, Ira,” Melanie said carefully. “But if you love her, you need to really listen to what she’s saying to you.”

“I know what she’s saying. She wants me to sell the business and retire. I understand. But she doesn’t. She knows me better than anybody, and she still doesn’t understand that if I’m not the Bagel Baron, I’m nobody.” He looked away and drew another breath. “I’m just some old altakaka who was somebody once. I’d rather die than be that.”

“Ira you’re going to die whether you’re the Bagel Baron or the incredibly smart businessman who created the Bagel Baron and is now living happily off the proceeds. But the bottom line is either way you’re going to die. And I have a little insight about that.”

She felt her own eyes well as she let herself think about J.J., something she’d been trying not to do all morning.

“You really never know how much time you have left with the people you love. They can be gone in an instant. Losing someone you love is . . . unbearable. But throwing them away? I can’t even imagine how horrible that must feel.”

She reached out her arms and hugged Ira Melnick and felt whatever air had remained rush out of him. Eyes closed they rocked gently for a moment. When they separated, she left her hand on his arm and looked directly into his eyes. “She’s an incredibly good woman. And she’s trying to do what she thinks is best for both of you. Don’t just blow her off, Ira. It’s not that easy to find someone we can really love and who loves us.”

Ira nodded and gave her shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “You’re a good girl, Melanie. Thank you for the brunch.” He stood slowly, straightening his shoulders. “Could you see if Ruth is ready to go?”

“Well, that was quite a kickoff to the new year,” Vivien observed as they stood on the front walk watching the Melnicks drive off.

“It certainly was,” Melanie agreed. “I hope they can work things out.”

The day was clear and cold, the sky a gentle blue. The pansies in the matching pots that bracketed the front door provided a welcome pop of color.

“Well, I learned a few things today,” Vivien said.

“Oh?”

“I learned that even someone as seemingly transparent as Ruth Melnick is not really what they seem.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” Vivi said with a smile. “To put it in candy terms, I used to think Ruth was just a jawbreaker. Now I know that she’s actually a Tootsie Roll Pop. All hard and crunchy on the outside, but with a soft chewy center.”

Melanie laughed as they stared out over the sleeping lawn and the naked limbs of the trees. The sun on their faces was weak but welcome. “Well, you’re a bit of a Tootsie Roll Pop yourself,” Melanie said. “You’ve got a lot more heart than you like to let on.”

“Oh?” Vivien asked as they went back inside, stopping in the dining room to begin to gather up coffee cups and dessert plates.

“Yeah,” Melanie said. “And I think you’re going to be a great mother, too.”

They carried what they could to the kitchen, where Melanie prepared to load the dishwasher while Vivi began to wrap and put away food. “God, I hope you’re not just saying that,” Vivien said. “Because I’ll be happy if I can be even half as good at it as you.”

26

I
N EARLY JANUARY not long after Wednesday-night belly-dancing classes resumed, two journalists, a reporter and his cameraman, were abducted from a small village to the north of Kabul. The initial report was sketchy and even the networks didn’t seem sure whose people were missing for a tense twenty-four hours.

Vivien left messages on Stone’s cell phone but couldn’t reach him, which only frightened her further. She didn’t eat or sleep until the call from Marty came before dawn the following morning. “It’s not Stone,” were his first words and so great was Vivi’s relief that she didn’t hear anything that came afterward.

“Wait. Go back and start over,” she said shakily. “I wasn’t . . . I couldn’t listen.”

With her eyes closed and her attention now split between Marty’s voice and the act of drawing and releasing air from her lungs, she tried to focus on the details, but the only thing really going through her brain was, “Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!” and “It’s not him! It’s not him! It’s not him!”

“Anyway,” Marty was saying when she was finally able to process words again, “He was right near the village, but his guide had heard something was up and got him and Jake the hell out of there.” As Vivien knew, this was not always the case with the guides the journalists depended upon so heavily. Even the best of them were somewhat conflicted. The journalists’ money was important, but sometimes not as important as the guide’s family connections or unspoken political affiliations.

“Obviously, he’ll be following the story. It was Deke Slater from CCN and his cameraman who were taken. Deke and Stone go way back. Stone asked me to tell you not to worry and that he’ll get messages out when he does his live shots, but he’s not going to be able to reach you until he’s back in Kabul.”

Vivi heard Marty stop talking but she was still several beats behind. Because now she was thinking about how she would have felt if she’d not only lost Stone but had allowed him to die without ever knowing he’d fathered their child. Her hand stole to her stomach as it often seemed to now of its own accord. At just over six months, her stomach was well on its way to the watermelon stage, already football shaped and surprisingly firm. The baby seemed to have a trampoline in there with it; right now, with all her juices stirred up, the acrobatics felt of the extreme variety.

“Are you there, Vivi?” She could tell by Marty’s tone that she hadn’t responded again when it was her turn to speak.

“Yes, sorry. I should be used to this by now, but I’ve been so worried.”

“I know. It’s some scary shit,” Marty agreed. “A darkened parking garage is about as far out on the line as I’m prepared to go.”

Vivien would have liked to acknowledge the joke, but her sense of humor had deserted her completely when those first confused reports had started to filter out of Afghanistan.

“Stone’s worried, too. But not about himself.”

This time Vivien’s lack of response was intentional.

“He wants me to come check on you. He’s convinced something’s wrong.”

This time Marty waited her out; she’d forgotten that he was almost as good at that as she was. “Well, he’s wrong. I’m fine. Couldn’t be better. You are not my mother, and you don’t need to check on me.”

“How is Caroline?” he asked now, and she offered up a little prayer of thanks that he hadn’t already spoken to her. “Maybe I should give her a call and make sure that’s true.”

Vivien gritted her teeth. That was all she needed, Caroline having an audience to pour out her disappointment in Vivien to. Not to mention her pregnancy. “I’m not speaking to my mother at the moment.” If she started trying to prevent Marty from making contact it would be the first thing he’d do; just as she would if their positions were reversed. “But feel free to give her a call. I’m sure she’d love to have someone to complain about me to.”

There was a pause. “Seriously, Vivi. You know you can call me anytime if you want to talk or need anything.” His voice sort of trailed off in embarrassment, but Vivi was touched by his sincerity.

“Thanks, Marty. I know and I appreciate that. I’m going to have to go, but before I do I’d like to hear one story about Regina Matthews looking bad.”

“Hmmmmm, I don’t know,” he teased. “She’s looking awfully good. Do you want me to make one up?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” she said and as they said good-bye she was surprised to realize she was nowhere near as upset about Regina Matthew’s competence as she should have been.

This time when she got through to Stone’s voice mail she couldn’t hide how worried she’d been. “I’m so sorry about Deke and Jonathan.” She hesitated, trying to get her emotions under control, but her voice broke midsentence and she couldn’t seem to stop the waver in it. “I know it’s selfish, but I’ve been thanking God it wasn’t you.” She paused, swallowed. “I’m counting on you to come back to me,” she said. “I won’t accept anything else.”

A few mornings later Vivien dallied over her morning tea in her robe and slippers waiting for Melanie to leave for the Magnolia Ballroom, where she was slated to begin teaching the new cardio/salsa exercise class she’d added to the weekday schedule.

“What are you doing today?” Melanie asked as she searched the counter first for her keys and then once she’d located them, for her cell phone.

“Nothing much. Maybe a few errands. Do you mind if I take the RAV?” She yawned as if it didn’t matter either way.

“Of course not.” Melanie finally found the phone in the pocket of her jacket. “Any special requests for dinner?”

“No. But I’ll take care of it.”

“You?” Melanie stopped in her tracks. “You’re going to cook?” She didn’t look as happy about that as someone who’d been carrying the load single-handedly at meal-time might.

“I can’t guarantee cooking,” Vivi said. “But I can guarantee food. And if you need me to handle kid pickup or anything, just call me on my cell.”

“Wow,” Melanie said. “You mean I just come home and walk in the door and food will be on the table?” The note of wonder in her voice made Vivien realize that she should have offered this long ago.

“That’s the plan,” she said.

“Wow,” Melanie said again as she walked out the kitchen door to the minivan. A large smile was spread across her face.

As the garage door closed behind her sister, Vivien banished her guilt over her deception. Torn between going through J.J.’s phone and credit card bills and getting dressed for her appointment with Grady Hollis, who’d been the president of Sigma Sigma Fraternity when Clay and J.J were at Georgia, she chose a shower and makeup.

Dressed in the most businesslike of her maternity clothes, she made her way downstairs and out to the car, telling herself that if her suspicions about Clay playing some sort of role in or hiding information about J.J.’s death proved true, there’d be nothing to apologize for. If she was wrong, Melanie need never know she’d asked the first question.

By the time she turned south on Highway 400 for the drive to Macon, the morning rush was over. An hour and forty-five minutes later, after only a few wrong turns, she found the law office of Hollis & Hollis in downtown Macon. A receptionist invited her to take a seat, and she’d barely sunk into the cracked leather-backed chair she was shown to when Grady Hollis came out to greet her. The attorney had the bulk of a former athlete who’d run up against the wall of middle age, a receding hairline, and an easy smile. “Good ole boy” could have been stamped in gilt letters on his gleaming forehead just as surely as Hollis & Hollis was stenciled on the front door.

His handshake was firm but not bone crushing and as she followed him back to his office he chatted amiably, though she could feel his curiosity simmering just beneath his jovial surface.

“So you’re Melanie’s sister? I sure can see the resemblance,” he said. “In fact, when I first saw that video on YouTube I thought . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized what he’d said.

“That’s all right,” Vivi said. “I don’t think there’s a man, woman, or child in this country who didn’t see me take that bullet. It wasn’t exactly my proudest moment.”

He laughed. “I get that,” he said, looking her up and down. “I didn’t realize from the video that you were pregnant. I guess it’s actually a lucky thing that bullet hit you where it did.”

Vivien realized with a start how right he was. Her first thought was always of the embarrassment that went along with the shooting. She hadn’t really stopped and thought what might have happened to the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying, if the bullet had entered from the front. “Good point. I’ll have to remember that next time I’m feeling like a moron for being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his beefy hands in his lap and asked, “So how are Melanie and the kids? I haven’t seen them since the funeral.”

“They’re doing as well as can be expected,” Vivi said. “It takes a while to bounce back from a loss like that. And, of course, it was so unexpected,” she said, making it both a statement and a question.

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it when I heard,” Grady said. “J.J. was practically born with a rifle in his hands. He grew up hunting with his uncles.” Grady shook his head. “Terrible thing all round.”

Vivien nodded her agreement, then allowed a bit of silence in hope that Grady would fill it, but the attorney just looked at her expectantly.

“As I mentioned on the phone, I’m doing a small documentary on up-and-coming politicians cut down in their prime,” she said, sticking to a cover story similar to the one she’d used on Professor Sturgess. “It’s going to be dedicated to J.J.” She noticed that her lies were getting more outrageous, but Grady nodded approval.

“I wondered if you could tell me about J.J. in college. You know, your perspective as the president of his fraternity.”

Grady nodded again and sat a little straighter in his chair. “Well,” he began, “J.J. was a real classy guy and really motivated. Hell, he knew he wanted a career in politics before the rest of us had the first idea what we wanted to be when we grew up. Well, I mean I knew I was expected to go into law like my daddy, but I can’t say I was particularly passionate about it, you know?”

“I spoke with one of J.J’s professors, who said the same thing.”

“Yeah, the rest of us would be sitting around the dining room talking trash to each other or going on about girls and who got lucky. J.J.’d be talking about the electoral college and the importance of being involved in the political process.” He shook his head. “It was like a religion to him. I mean he lived and breathed that stuff.”

“Clay Alexander was really into all that, too, wasn’t he?”

A tiny flicker of discomfort registered in Grady Hollis’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said.

Vivien waited for more, but that was it.

“He and Clay pledged Sigma Sigma at the same time, didn’t they?”

Grady nodded, but she could feel him treading carefully, like he’d shown up for a beach party and all of the sudden noticed that the sand was strewn with mine-fields.

“They were good friends, right?” Vivi tried again. “Clay ran J.J.’s winning campaign for student council president?”

His earlier expansiveness had all but disappeared at the mention of Clay Alexander. “Yes, they were real tight,” he finally said. “And Clay did run that campaign.” He paused for a moment and she had the sense of a rat looking for a way off a sinking ship. “It was a real feather in Sigma’s cap to have a brother as president.” He drew a breath and perked up a bit, apparently thinking he’d sniffed out an escape route. “Yep, J.J.’s win made us real visible. I remember one time . . .”

His relief at finding a way off the topic she’d introduced was palpable, but Vivien wasn’t having it. “They had some sort of falling-out, didn’t they?” Vivien prodded. “I understand Clay dropped out of Sigma Sigma over it.”

“Yes,” Grady admitted, not looking at all happy about it. “It was our senior year,” he said. “Not too long after J.J. took office their friendship was just . . . over.” He looked pointedly down at his watch, and she knew she was running out of time to get the answers she’d come for.

“That seems odd, doesn’t it?” Vivi asked as nonchalantly as she could. “I mean why would J.J. get rid of the person responsible for helping him get elected?”

“Well, I don’t know that it was actually a question of J.J. getting rid of Clay,” he said, and she could feel how carefully he was considering his words. As if she were a judge or jury that he had to tiptoe around.

“So you’re saying Clay left of his own free will?” Vivien pondered that for a minute, trying to understand. “That seems even odder. That Clay would have gone to all that effort to get J.J. elected and then just . . . bow out.” She looked up, making eye contact and holding his gaze. “Wouldn’t he have wanted to be involved in the administration? Or reaped some sort of benefit from what he’d helped make happen?”

For such a big man, Grady Hollis was looking mighty small. But Vivi didn’t care how tiny he got; she was not leaving without . . . something. “There must have been some reason why he would disassociate himself from the best friend whom he’d helped get elected.” She held his gaze, refusing to let go. “And I have a feeling you know what that reason was.”

For a moment she was afraid that he’d wiggle out of answering, that somehow he’d be able to get a signal to his secretary to buzz him or some such thing. But a bead of sweat popped out on his already shiny forehead. “You can make it off the record, if you’d like.” This was an easy promise, since there was no actual record to go on.