Mason's Daughter (11 page)

“But Sally, detachment isn’t–”

“It’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” says a voice behind us.

We both stand up quickly and turn toward the door. Leaning against the doorway, Colton munches a croissant, wearing his clothes from yesterday, not a care in the world. Angelique and I exchange frowns that mean uh-oh, but he gives no indication he overheard us.

I face him. “Please thank Angelique for her hospitality and let’s get ready to go visit Officer Avery. We need to be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Impossible.” He shoves the second half of the croissant into his mouth and saunters down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I clench my jaw and stare at Angelique for a few seconds. “I’m going to my car. Will you send Colton out as soon as you can?”

God help me, she’s right. I have already begun to disconnect from my son, and not even my mother can stop me.

Fifteen minutes dissolves into twenty, then twenty-five. After we leave Angelique’s, I refuse to speed, even though Mike can’t issue tickets from behind his desk at the station.

Once we arrive, Colton maintains his cool behavior. How have I spawned such an actor? He apologizes without prompting and shows no reaction when Mike imposes a probationary period.

Last night, I would have sworn Mike warmed up to my lapse of decorum, but now he seems distant, his words curt. He excuses himself to answer the phone. After he returns to the conference table, I inflict an indifferent smile on him, but he doesn’t look at me.

He pulls out a pocket calendar. “That was Nate. At my request, he’s agreed to return to Mason’s Crossing for an informal, er . . . chat. Are you available tomorrow afternoon? Two o’clock.”

My body freezes. “My father’s coming
here
?”

Mike huffs and rolls his eyes. “You want me to take another look at Jack’s suicide, don’t you?”

I glance at Colton and something in me rallies. Damned if I will let my father’s presence keep me from finding out the truth about my husband’s death. My son deserves to know, and so do I. “Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow at two o’clock.”

“We’re meeting at the hospital instead. Big Jack seems to be feeling well enough to answer a few questions.”

I clutch the edge of the table. “The hospital?”

Colton fidgets and hiccoughs, his cool demeanor stripped away. “You can’t make me go back there.”

I feel like a tennis ball in a madcap match. “You’ll stay with Angelique. She needs help moving boxes.” I point to the exit. “Please wait for me outside.”

After the door clicks shut behind Colton, I frown at Mike. “Have you lost your mind? Being in the same room with my father could give Big Jack a heart attack.”

“I talked to him already. For what it’s worth, Big Jack appears ready to clear the air.” He scratches his chin. “What will seeing your father after all these years do to
you
?”

I stand up, unable to tell if Mike’s expression conveys genuine concern. He isn’t the type to tease. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can handle it.”

“One more thing.” He clears his throat. “I also invited Brett Kennedy to attend our little gathering.”

“The more, the merrier. See you tomorrow.” I turn to leave before Mike figures out what a brave liar I’ve suddenly become.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I wake up tired. Sleep eluded me throughout the night, except I remember waking from strange dreams: basketball hoops, ocean liners, campfires, department stores. Freud would have a field day.

After a breakfast of coffee and half a piece of dry toast, I head out the back door to my greenhouse. The cool morning air sends shivers up my arms, and I hurry inside where it is warm.

My stomach won’t stop churning, no matter how many times I pinch the begonias or inspect the geraniums. Pacing back and forth doesn’t help.

The calm I always count on from working in my greenhouse won’t come. I can’t settle down.

In perfect detail, I recall the last day I saw my father, almost fifteen years ago. Bright sun, high clouds, light breeze for that January afternoon in 1961. We drove to church together, he in his tuxedo and I in my wedding gown. Not much conversation, as usual.

I could only guess why the custom originated, but in our family, the father of the bride always escorted her from home to the church. Maybe it was a preventive measure in case the bride bolted from the groom and his relatives. If we carried on such a heritage, there was probably more than one good reason for it.

Daddy’s new Lincoln crowded the space in Angelique’s driveway. In the sunlight, the elongated four-door sedan gleamed shiny black, just like the one President and Mrs. Kennedy rode in.

It was his fault we had to break with tradition. Angelique’s house had been my home base ever since I accepted Jack’s proposal. Except for the fact I’d rather have been planning my debutante ball, she and I had a terrific time over the last three months, choosing gowns, color schemes, invitations, menus, flowers, and musicians. She knew more about throwing a grand reception than anyone else in Mason’s Crossing.

As punishment, I spent as much money as I could, but Nate never raised an objection. He paid every invoice covering the ceremony and the party at the country club, without a word of criticism. The bride’s cake alone cost over five hundred dollars because Angelique insisted on a fourth tier, topped off by a pair of hand-carved sugarcoated doves. By the day before the wedding, the thought of lovebirds made me want to puke.

Angelique said he probably had no idea how much a wedding should cost, and I thought he felt relieved he had no part of the decisions. The chances we would have taken his suggestions were non-existent anyway. I hoped he felt really guilty.

Trying not to squirm, I sat carefully in the front seat, with my cosmetic bag in the space between us. The antique ivory Alençon lace on my dress, ordered from Maison d’Orleans in Paris, wouldn’t show any wrinkles, but I didn’t want the delicate seed pearls to snag on the upholstery. I slipped off my matching
peau de soie
pumps and wiggled my toes. I wasn’t used to wearing stockings and had bought a girdle to hold them up.

After starting the engine, he fiddled with the radio dial. “I think you should have waited.”

“For what?”

“Until you graduate. There’s no reason to get married now.”

I reached over and flicked off the radio. “The wedding cake was iced this morning, and my dress was altered several weeks ago. Don’t you think your suggestion comes a little late?”

“I mean, why didn’t you wait to see if you could find . . .?” He steered the car out of the driveway. “It’s only the middle of your second year in college. What’s your big hurry?”

How did he have the nerve to ask me that? “I need some place to go during Christmas and spring break, other than Europe or the beach. I’m too young to sign a lease for an apartment.”

“I would have rented you an apartment if you’d asked me.” He shrugged. “Or you could come out to the ranch.”

I all but snorted and wanted to ask why I should live under the same roof with him ever again. “What about next summer? Where should I go then?” I popped down the visor and opened the mirror. A fancy little light came on, and I checked my lipstick. “What would I do at the ranch the whole three months?”

“Laze around. Catch up on your rest. You’ve been studying too hard.”

How would he know? “Thanks, but you’ll have to come up with a better reason than that.” If my sarcasm pained him, I didn’t care. I didn’t tell him about my plans to attend summer school.

We arrived at the side entrance to Hillside Methodist Church, a classic red brick colonial in the center of town. Great-Grandfather Mason had donated the land and his son later paid for the heating and air conditioning systems, but it was Aunt Mary who saw to my baptism and kept the family in regular attendance. She made sure all our significant events were observed in the shadow of the church’s wings. The ones I remembered best were the funerals.

I opened the car door and lifted the edge of my skirt. “I’ll meet you in the narthex just before the ceremony begins.”

He nodded and drove the Lincoln around to the front of the church to park in the nearly empty street. I stare at the baby blue stretch limousine reserved for the bride and groom, hoping Jack and his mother didn’t follow up on their idea to rent him a tuxedo to match. Twice I told them black only, and even wrote it down for him.

I climbed the limestone steps to the second-floor bride’s dressing room, where my dozen bridesmaids had smuggled a cooler with six iced bottles of Taittinger. All Tri Delt sorority sisters, they cheered when I came through the door and handed me a glass of champagne.

Angelique helped the hairdresser attach my veil. “I’m glad you didn’t go with the one covering your face,” she said. “It’s not like Jack needs to be kept in suspense.”

“He should know by now what he’s getting for a wife.” I had already fussed at Jack for getting sunburned while playing golf at the groom’s party on Thursday. Didn’t he realize how unpredictable Texas weather could be?

“I have something for you.” Angelique dug a wad of tissue paper from her evening bag and unwrapped something sparkly.

“A sixpence for my shoe? It’s the only thing lacking.” While the lace was old, my dress was new, and the garter halfway up my right thigh was pale blue like the limo. I had borrowed an heirloom linen handkerchief from Charlie Cromwell’s mother, another family tradition.

“Something old,” she said with a smile. Her lip quivered. “It’s from your mother.” She handed me a heart-shaped diamond solitaire dangling from a gold chain.

“It’s gorgeous! How is it you had this?”

Her eyes shone like the unusual gem dangling in front of me. “Before she went into the hospital, Weesie asked me to keep it for you.” Angelique unlocked the clasp. “I’ve been hanging onto it all these years.” She stepped behind me, careful to avoid the train of my dress, and reached over my head. Once the necklace was in place, she faced me again. “You look beautiful, so much like her, especially now.”

We held each other by the forearms, like comrades before battle who pledge victory or death together. “You’ve been a wonderful . . .” I tightened my grasp. “I didn’t miss her when I was with you.”

“It’s been a joyful time for me, as well. You’ve given me something I never had before.”

“What’s that?”

“Since my own two weddings transpired without any planning, and I never had a daughter, I had no hope of helping to make anyone’s dreams come true. Now I have.”

“It sounds lame, but I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Angelique kissed my cheek. “The music must be starting by now. I’ll go find a seat in the sanctuary.”

“Remember, you’re the last one up the aisle before the processional. The head usher escorts you.” At the rehearsal last night she demurred, but Angelique deserved her place of honor in the front row.

After we picked up our nosegays one by one from the florist, I followed my bridesmaids into the hallway. The strains of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” reached my ears as we descended the stairs to the narthex. My sorority sisters swirled into a sea of deep raspberry red, dotted with pale pink rose bouquets. The music changed to Pachabel’s “Canon in D,” and they unrolled in waves of two abreast down the aisle toward the altar.

I touched the diamond pendant, thrilled to have something to remind me of my mother. When the last pair of bridesmaids passed through the center doors, the figure of my father came into view.

He stared at the necklace as he approached me. “Where did you get that?” I could swear he winced.

“Angelique brought it to me. It was Mother’s.”

“I know.” He extended his left elbow toward me. “She wore it at our wedding.”

It wasn’t like my father to remember details of past events. He could quote the Dow Jones averages from last week or last month, but he didn’t recall where we spent Easter last spring.

“Was it Grandmother Mason’s?”

“No.” He faced forward, as the trumpeter began Mendelsohn’s “Wedding March,” joined by the organist. “I gave it to Weesie the day we were married.”

The two ushers stood at attention as they held open the doors to the sanctuary, and Daddy waited for me to take his arm. With the final pair of bridesmaids in position, the minister gestured for the congregation to rise and look at us, expectation on his face. The trumpeter’s notes reached their introductory climax and the organist plunged into action. It was our cue, learned last night at the rehearsal.

Instead of starting down the aisle, I handed one of the ushers my bouquet, reached to the nape of my neck, and undid the clasp. Letting it dangle from my fingertips, I dropped the pendant and chain into Daddy’s hand. “You can keep it.” I should have known he would find some way to ruin my wedding day.

Once I retrieved my bouquet, I took his arm and we set off, a slow march away from my past and toward the man who would share my future. I couldn’t hesitate now, even though I was unsure of the wisdom of the trade I was about to make.

I remember refusing to be surprised that Daddy left town the day after my wedding, without saying goodbye. Whether he departed for his ranch or one of his offices in Dallas or New Orleans, I didn’t know. Or care.

Now the prospect of being in the same room and exchanging words with him sucks up the usual serenity I feel in my greenhouse. Anxiety takes over. How will I look and sound to him after all these years? Will I remind him of my mother? Since I have no answers, I hope Mike knows what he’s doing.

No point in letting an entire afternoon go to waste fretting over the inevitable. I return to the house and sit at my desk to call a few wholesale nurseries for inventory and prices. Almost an hour passes when the doorbell rings.

Judith, along with Max and Maddie, stands on the front porch. She grins. “I know Colton is grounded, but can he have company?”

I open the door and wave them inside.

In the entry hall, Judith drapes her arm over Max’s shoulder and pulls his head close to her lips. “No fireworks, understand?”

He cackles like a Saturday morning cartoon villain. “Wanna check my pockets for matches?”

She kisses his forehead. As Max darts up the stairs, Judith and her daughter follow me into the kitchen.

Maddie dangles a headless Barbie doll in one hand. “Mommy says she’s out of her head,” the child lisps through missing front teeth.

“Barbie is my alter-ego,” laughs Judith.

I hand Maddie the remains of an open package of graham crackers and tell her to play outside where we can see her through the window. “You can sit in the glider with Barbie.”

When the door closes behind her, Judith turns to me and purses her lips. “I want to speak to you about Colton.”

“You, too?”

“He’s been putting you to the test. Maybe grounding him isn’t the best choice right now. He needs more interaction with other people.”

Without returning her smile, I tilt my head toward her.

“He’s very well-behaved at our house and when he’s out with us in public. It’s only when he’s–”

“With me? What about the times he got into trouble away from home? Like the cabin at church camp he set on fire? Or with Max at the art gallery?”

“My point is, I think he responds well to being in a family situation. Having a father figure around.”

“You mean Charlie?” I all but choke. “You said yourself he’s an overgrown playmate to your three kids. Almost like you’ve got a fourth one.”