The House on Persimmon Road (9 page)

“I’m not upset. Do I look upset?” She walked in silence to the tailgate of the station wagon, knowing full well if she said one word, she wouldn’t be able to hold back a flood of thousands… all irate. In spite of her mother’s good intentions, Justine felt tricked.
Had been tricked.
It wasn’t a good feeling.

Pocketing a screwdriver, Tucker joined the others on the porch. He had an air about him that seemed pleasantly self-assured and competent. “Those drapery rods will stay in place now,” he said to Pauline. His gaze on Justine, he suddenly turned reticent, cautious.

Justine’s posture became stiffly erect.

Awkwardness filled the space between them.

Pauline eyed one, then the other. “There are a few finishing touches we’ve yet to do,” she said quickly and herded Agnes and Judy Ann back into the house.

Tucker left the porch, sauntered to the auto, and leaned an elbow on the roof. He watched Justine’s face, thinking how achingly lovely it was. It didn’t take a bolt of lightning to tell him why she was standing there so rigid or to explain her frown, though even that puckered brow could not mar her beauty for him. He knew the mere fact of his presence was causing her hackles to rise. The last thing he wanted was to be a continuing source of distress to her.

“I hope you know it wasn’t my idea,” he said. “Pauline snared me. I couldn’t say no.”

The movement of his well-formed mouth flexed the strong jawline. Whatever the reason he wore a mustache, Justine thought, it wasn’t to hide any defects. It fit his face, complemented the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.”

“I’m not blaming you, Mr. Highsmith. I know my mother and how devious she can be, though she hides it under what she calls ‘good form.’ I’m just…embarrassed. You’ve given us so much of your time, more than being a good neighbor calls for.”

“The truth is, I wanted to make a good impression on you. On second thought, that’s not exactly right. I had hoped to change the first impression you had of me, which I have the inkling was not—”

“You’ve done that.”

“Give me a hint.” A trace of a smile was beginning to appear. “Is it better or worse?”

Justine avoided his eyes. “Better, I guess.”

Tucker shifted his weight, bent slightly into her space. “Good. Do you think you could give over on the ‘mister’ and call me Tucker?”

A small sigh rippled through her. “All right—Tucker.”

“That’s better.”

Justin considered now was the opportunity to make amends. She had planned it out, word for word, on the long drive home from the market, yet the apology lodged in her throat. She wanted to make it, but too much of her wifehood had been spent saying “I’m sorry,” to Philip’s accusations, regardless of how unjust.
You’ve just lost your nerve,
a small voice at the back of her mind insisted.
Too right,
Justine told it. She didn’t want the man to think she was some silly, willy-nilly divorcee with her head on backward.

She looked at her sandals, adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder, let her gaze slide off to the side. “Listen, I wanted to say—”

“I have something I want to say, too.”

Reprieve!
Her head came up. “You do? What?”

“The way I came up on you when you arrived. Hiding in the bushes like an adolescent, I had you at a disadvantage. I knew you were expected. You had no notion of me. I should’ve left a note on the door or—”

“It wasn’t your fault. I just didn’t like… I felt like a clown. Foolish.”

“No ma’am. Far from foolish. Truth is, I thought you had—have the best looking ankles… Not just ankles—”

Her extraordinary eyes were clouding up, closing him out. “Uh-oh, I can taste shoe leather.”

Justine smiled suddenly. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Look so virile and masculine one minute and the next come off like a chastised little boy.”

“Does it work?”

Her smile went a bit rueful. “I’m afraid it does.”

Don’t just stand here gaping like an idiot, he told himself. Do something! He thrust out his hand. “Friends?”

“Sure, friends.”

As her hand slid into his, a nice prickly sensation ran down the length of Tucker’s spine.

“Hey! Let me help with those groceries. Looks like you bought for an army.”

“No. You’ve already helped more than you bargained for.” Her voice dropped an octave. “It’s really nice of you to take an interest in Pip, your dad, too.”

“He seems a good kid. I like his enthusiasm.”

The way he was staring at her was daunting. Justine turned away, grabbed up the nearest bag of groceries.

Her actions told Tucker she had taken the conversation as far as she would allow herself. Disengage, he told himself. Get out of her space. He gestured toward the bags. “You’re certain you can manage these on your own?” She nodded without looking at him. “Mother and the kids will help. Truly, you’ve done enough.”

He turned to leave, but couldn’t just give it up. “I promised my dad and Pip a fish fry. You’ll join us? The rest of your family, too? They landed quite a few.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. We couldn’t impose on you further.”

“Pip will be disappointed. It’s a red-letter day when a boy catches his first fish.”

There was no debate on that score in Justine’s mind. Pip had literally hummed with excitement and accomplishment. “He won’t be in your way?”

Damn!
“Not at all. And my dad would be disappointed, too. He’s got a hundred fish stories yet. Pip’s an avid audience, hangs on his every word. Dad eats it up.”

Justine felt slightly light-headed from being in such close proximity to Tucker and knowing that, though there was an innocent conversation on one level, they were also speaking with their bodies. She had picked up on the chemistry between them. He had, too. She could see it in his stance.

In any language he was attractive. Tall, dark-eyed, rugged good looks. His sensitivity toward Pip surprised her, softened her. Made it too easy to imagine herself in his arms, imagine herself as the object of that sensitivity. As those images filled her mind, she realized that he was probably having the same thoughts. But it was too soon. Friends as well as lovers could inflict pain with their rejections and betrayals. She shifted to put a bag of groceries between them.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll let Pip join you for the fish fry.”

Tucker felt if he pressed her he would lose some important advantage that he could not identify.

“Good deal. But you know you’re all welcome if you change your mind about joining us,” he said, and left it at that.

The great room had been transformed into a living room that had much warmth and livability. So much so that one hardly noticed the faded wallpaper, the paint peeling from the ceiling, the scuffed wide-planked floors.

Two sofas, end tables, lamps, and a coffee table had been arranged upon one of Pauline’s Kazak carpets of a deep striking blue. The area formed a cozy conversation nook in front of the fireplace. Agnes’s rolltop desk and padded chair were against the wall that shared space with the French doors. The doors were open. Through them Justine could see Judy Ann. The child was intent upon her dolls, having arranged them at the card table where she had laid out her tea set.

At the opposite end of the room, near the front wall, a television viewing nook had been created with Justine’s sofa, La-Z-Boy chair, and low side tables. A stack of oversized pillows leaned against the wall—floor loungers for the children.

“I thought we’d make use of the credenza as a liquor cabinet,” said Pauline. She was sitting on one end of the sofa, threading hooks into a pair of pale gray drapes. Justine suspected the activity was purposeful, so that Pauline did not have to meet her daughter’s eyes. “And we don’t need any window coverings at all on the French doors, we’ll be using them so often. What do you think?”

“You’ve created silk out of sow’s ear, for sure,” Justine said.

Done more than that,
Lottie said huffily, perching on an arm of the sofa.
You see my chair’s gone, don’t you? Agnes got to put her chair in here. I don’t see why mine couldn’t stay. I’m putting it back, like it or not.

Lottie eyed Pauline with gravity. With the exceptions of watching Elmer ride off to war on the big roan and finding herself in her present condition, Lottie had never endured such misery as she had felt watching her chair and footstool being dragged out of the room and discarded in the backyard.

To her way of thinking the chair was her measure stick. As long as the chair lasted, year in, year out, she lasted. Now it kept company with the crates and cardboard boxes that she was certain were meant for the trash heap or burn barrel.

It was true the parlor looked more beautiful than it ever had, but that didn’t excuse Pauline’s preemptive behavior about her chair.
Just you wait!
she threatened.

“I knew you’d be pleased. I told Tucker so.”

“Look at me, Mother.”

Reluctantly Pauline dragged her gaze up from the gray fabric to meet Justine’s.

“You went behind my back in having Tucker up here to help you.”

Pauline bristled as much as her sense of propriety allowed.

“Would you have agreed to his help otherwise? Agnes is practically crippled. And none of us have the strength to shove this heavy stuff about.”

“That’s true. I would not have agreed.”

“Well then. The end justifies the means, doesn’t it?”

“Mother, it doesn’t. You tricked me, and I have an idea you tricked Tucker in some way, too. You
used
him. And, you made me a part of that.”

“He didn’t mind.”

“I mind!”

“You’re such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes, Justine. You remind me of your father.”

“Dad was honest and principled.”

Pauline sniffed. “Had I been his kind of honest, we wouldn’t be sitting on these sofas right now. Had I told those horrid lawyers that these were in storage, they’d have refused to let me have them. They would’ve had them on the auction block, too. And your father’s sculpture, and—”

Justine sighed. “Mother, does it ever occur to you that you change principles to suit your needs? Dad indulged you too much. You’ll never change.”

“Then, I’m forgiven?”

“Yes, provided you don’t do anything sneaky in the future. Discuss things with me first. I promise to keep an open mind.”

Pauline bent her head, her attention on the drapes once again. “I notice we’re using Tucker’s name openly now. I think that’s nice. You did apologize to him for your behavior, didn’t you?”

“We exchanged apologies.”

“What? Why? That young man never said or did a single thing out of the way.”

“You don’t know everything.”

Pauline raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, and said after a lag of five seconds, “Mothers seldom do, as you are on the brink of discovering.”

“Oh my, what is that I’m hearing? Sarcasm? Or hope?”

Pauline lifted her chin. “Public schools. That’s what made you so sassy. I warned your father, but no, the two of you had to have your way.”

“You know, it’s odd—you never think any part of me, any of my mannerisms, came from you.”

“The good ones did,” Pauline said swiftly.

Justine grinned. “How nice of you to notice, Mother.”

“Sass and more sass,” Pauline muttered.

“Sometimes I think you forget that I’m thirty-six years old.”

“Whatever your age, it doesn’t erase the fact that I’m the mother and you’re the daughter.”

“—With a mind of my own.”

“Of course. Isn’t that what this entire conversation has been about—your mind?”

Justine shook her head. “I give up.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going to cook dinner.”

Pauline brightened. “Did you get everything on the list I gave you?”

“Everything except the caviar, the Boursault cheese, the truffles, the Godiva chocolates, and the prime rib.”

Pauline looked stricken. “But, that’s all there was on my list!”

“I know. How does meat loaf and cottage cheese sound?”

Pauline slumped back on the sofa. “I shall starve to death.”

Lottie snorted at Pauline’s ineffectual drama.
There are lots easier ways to pass over than starvation,
she snapped, wishing with all her heart she could be heard.

A snatch of a childish tune came Lottie’s way. She looked out at Judy Ann. The girl was feeding pretend food to a rag doll that had long since seen its better days.

That’s so sweet, thought Lottie. She and Elmer had longed for a child. But alas! She had remained barren.

It was in her mind that she had tried to get through to all of the adults and failed.

But children were innocent, more open, more receptive. Perhaps if she played with Judy Ann, made friends with her…

Lottie drifted onto the porch and sat gently next to the rag doll. For some minutes she observed how Judy Ann played the game. The rag doll’s name was Mrs. Pratt. When it came the doll’s turn again, Lottie lifted a tiny teacup to its mouth.
Do have some tea, Mrs. Pratt,
she said.
It’s all the way from China.

Judy Ann gaped.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Judy Ann shrieked in panic.

Justine awoke early as usual, her dreams fading the moment she opened her eyes. The air was still, which made for an eerie silence about the house and the fields beyond. Murky morning light filtered into the bedroom.

She turned on her side and observed Judy Ann. The child had had a troublesome night, tossing and turning, whimpering during dreams, which probably accounted for Justine’s own edginess. Whatever the reason, she knew she could not lay abed.

She moved off the mattress, then rearranged the blue eyelet coverlet over Judy Ann. At the moment, her daughter’s face was serene. But the searing imprint of its panic-riddled expression of yesterday stayed with her. The child had been almost incoherent, babbling that one of her dolls had lifted a teacup on her own.

Perhaps the deeper trauma of the effects of the divorce were only now emerging. It was a terrible truth to realize that your father no longer cared for you, or even if he did, selfishly went his own way.