The Secret's in the Sauce (14 page)

“What?” she finally asked. “Do I have a second head?”

I chuckled. “Dear, I’d never tell you if you did. But won’t you come sit by me? We haven’t had a talk in ages.”

Reluctantly she sat down beside me.

“So, what’s going on with you and Wade these days?”

She hung her head. “I think we broke up.”

I grabbed her hand. “Donna, no. What happened?”

When she looked up, her eyes were glistening. “Not only do I have the little problem of his mother, but I think I’m pushing him away.”

“You’re having a problem with Fay Gage?” I sniffed a laugh. “Who doesn’t? That woman is the reason he became an alcoholic.”

Donna’s lips parted. “Vonnie! I’m surprised you said that out loud. But from the way Fay tells it, I’m the one responsible for everything that happened to Wade. She never wants me near her son again.”

“So, how are you and Wade handling this?”

Donna shrugged. “We’re not; we’re not even speaking.”

I reached for her then and pulled her to my soft shoulder. “Oh Donna, I’m so sorry.”

But before I could say more, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up to see David watching from the hallway. How much had he heard? He answered that question by quietly disappearing the way he’d come. But I’d seen the answer in his eyes.

Everything.

I patted Donna’s shoulder, and she pulled away and brushed at her eyes with her fingertips. Had she seen David?

No, I could tell she hadn’t. Suddenly David reappeared and sat across from us.

“How is Mother?” I asked him.

“She’s all smiles for the doctor, but he won’t know anything more until the films are developed. He may run a couple of blood tests too.”

“For what?” Donna asked.

The nurse in me kicked in, and I answered, “To see if there could be another organic reason for her troubles.”

Donna looked concerned. “Organic? You mean like osteoporosis, cancer, or some horrible disease?”

I leaned back and spent a moment contemplating the worst of the possibilities, and it was as if Mother had slapped me herself. I admit it, I was mad at her. But right now, whatever was happening to her was happening to me. I fell silent, and the three of us sat together for what seemed an eternity. I would occasionally swat at the dirt stains on my light blue sweatshirt and jeans, then break the silence with a light sniffle.

Donna gave me a hug. “Aw, Vonnie, it’ll be okay.”

I wasn’t so sure as I searched in my purse for a tissue. David handed me one from the box on the nearby coffee table. He said, “I know I’m new to the family and I don’t know much about God. But maybe this would be a good time to pray?”

I dabbed at my eyes and nodded.

“Let me.” He reached for my hand, then for Donna’s as he bowed his head. The three of us formed a tight circle. “Lord, help my grandmother and my mother. Be with us. And show me what it means to believe in you the way I should. Teach me how to pray
for Gram. Amen.”

My head bobbed up. “Oh David . . .”

Before I could say more, Nurse Penny was standing at the hallway door, pushing Mother’s wheelchair. Mother was sporting a new and larger cast. “I haven’t died, you know.”

I jumped up and ran to her. “What did the doctor say?”

“That’s my business. All you need to know is I’ve got another six weeks before Doctor Galloway takes this thing off. So, let’s go home. I missed lunch and I’m starving. Vonnie, didn’t you say you
made cream of potato soup?”

David walked over so he could push Mother’s wheelchair to the car. Donna and I followed.

“There’s enough for everyone.” I turned to Donna. “Care to join us?”

Donna crossed her arms. “Okay, but only to help you.”

David said, “Count me in.”

Mother looked up at the three of us. “Then, let’s hit it.”

“Cream of potato soup, coming right up,” I said.

Lizzie

13

Pressure Cooker

I awoke on Saturday morning with a nagging headache, something I was doing more frequently of late. It began in the nape of my neck and wrapped itself like a giant hand with splayed fingers across my skull. I opened first one eye and then another to the haze of sunlight entering through my bedroom draperies, swearing to either stop the nonsense of my secret obsession or to drive over to one of the outlets in Silverthorne and purchase some blackout curtains. I closed my eyes again, begging God for more sleep as phrases from our catering club business meeting played ping-pong within the recesses of my brain.

I heard the tape of events rewinding, screeching like nails down a blackboard along the way.

Where did that come from? Where did that come from? Where did that—

The phone by my bedside rang with a shrill. I bolted upright, grabbing my head and holding it onto my shoulders.

“Are you going to answer that?” Samuel asked from his side of the bed.

I reached for the phone, glancing at the clock as I did so. It was 8:30 in the morning.

“Hullo.”

“Lizzie? Lisa Leann. Glad you’re awake already.”

“Mmm.” My tongue felt as though it were sticking to the roof of my mouth. “Lisa Leann? What’s wrong?”

“I suppose you’ve heard from Beverly Jackson?”

Lisa Leann sounded even more animated than usual.

“Beverly.” I closed my eyes and kept them shut.

“Lizzie, this is awful. It’s just awful. I can’t tell you how awful it is. I mean, what is poor Donna going to think? And Evangeline too, no less?”

“What are you talking about, Lisa Leann?” I said. Or at least what I tried to say. To my ears it sounded more like, “Wha-a-you-tal-but-Lee-Leeaaaa . . .”

She paused, but only for the most minute of moments. “Lizzie? What’s ailing you, girl? You sound like you just woke up.”

“I did,” I whispered back to her.

“Oh. Oh,” she said, then continued. “Well, here’s the deal, and I won’t get into the whole thing now. You probably won’t remember this anyway, but I’m calling an emergency meeting at my shop at one o’clock this afternoon. I’ll call you back in about an hour or so to make sure you heard me.”

“I hear you, Lisa Leann. I don’t need another call. Meeting at one o’clock.”

“That’s right. One. On the button. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up the phone.

“Who was that?”

“Lisa Leann.” I looked over at my groggy husband, then ever so gently laid my head back against the pillow.

“What in the world did she want at this hour?”

“For the life of me, I have no idea.”

“Mmm.” He shifted a bit in the bed, turning it into something akin to a boat in the middle of a stormy sea. “What time did you get home last night?”

“I’m not sure.”
Yes, you are. You know. It was 2:00 in the morning.

“How’s your mother?”

I felt my face grow warm. I’d told Samuel I was going to spend my Friday evening with Mom. Anything, I’d said, to get out of this zoo of a house. It was a lie, of course. But, I hadn’t gone to Apple’s. No longer willing to take a chance on being seen by someone who knew me, I’d gone to an intimate tavern located in the back of a Swiss inn in Silverthorne; a place where I’d blend in with the locals and the tourists. A place where I could sip red wine and read a book by dim lighting, or close my eyes and relax in the hum of soft music that played from overhead.

It was quite simple, wasn’t it? And I had hardly become a lush. So why did my head hurt so badly?

“She’s fine,” I lied.

“Lucid?”

“Pretty much.”
O Lord . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . “

What did you two do with yourselves for the whole night?”

I turned my head to look at him. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

He looked at me square in the eye. “No, I was just wondering what you did. Because I know you weren’t in her apartment just hanging out. I thought maybe you’d gone down to see a movie, or game night, or—”

“What do you mean you know we weren’t in her room?”

Samuel propped up on his elbows. “I tried to call you once. You didn’t answer your cell phone either.”

“You called my cell?”

“Went right to voice mail. I didn’t bother to leave a message. I
figured you had it off.”

I sighed. “I must have forgotten to turn it on.” No, you didn’t. You didn’t want to be found out . . . in case it rang . . . and you had to explain background noise.

“A lot of good it’ll do you like that.”

“Sorry.”

Samuel raised himself up a bit more. “What’s wrong with you, Lizzie?”

I reached for his pillow and placed it over my face. “I’m just tired. I was really looking forward to sleeping in this morning, and now . . .”

Samuel pulled the pillow away from me, and I automatically closed my eyes. “I know you better than that, woman. What’s going on with you?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Is it the kids being here? Is that it?”

I pondered his question before answering. Opening my eyes ever so slowly, I nodded. “This is driving me crazy. I love my children. My precious grandchildren. You know I do.

Samuel leaned over then and pecked my lips with his. “Ah, Lizzie Prattle is human after all.” He placed his head back on his pillow and then turned it so as to keep his gaze on my face.

I frowned. “What do you mean by that crack?”

He smiled at me in that way he has that still melts my heart. “Nothing ever seems to faze you, Liz. Your mother moves here in a less-than-healthy state and you bend your life around it. When the kids mess up, you take it in stride. When your husband gets sick and hangs out entirely too much in front of the television, you take that in stride too. No matter what goes on at work, you survive it. Your daughter’s wedding plans, with all that they involve, don’t seem to faze you any more than one of her childhood birthday parties did. So, we’ll blow up a few colorful balloons and serve cake. That’s always been your way.” I watched a shadow fall over his face. “But not so much lately.” He took in a deep breath then let it out so slowly I was nearly unaware of it. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you. Even if just a little bit.”

I stared at him for a moment before answering. This conversation was starting to get too close for comfort, and I needed a road out. “Lisa Leann has called a meeting for one o’clock. Apparently something has happened concerning Michelle’s bridal shower.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Not really. You’re talking about all the things going on in my life, and I’m telling you about another thing going on in my life.”

“Lizzie, Lizzie.”

“Samuel, Samuel.”

“We’ve got to get some of this chaos out of our lives.”

“Hold that thought,” I said, then ever-so-carefully swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the chill of the room as it slapped them awake.

Since Tim and Samantha and their kids had moved in with us, I had moved a small coffeepot with all the fixings and two large mugs to one of the occasional tables in our bedroom, thereby allowing us a private place for coffee and quiet on mornings such as this when no one had anyplace special to be by any certain time. I always prepared the coffee the afternoon before so all I had to do was push the “on” switch, which I now did, then climbed back into the warmth of our bed.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the air, sending with it waves of anticipation on my part. “Moving that little coffeepot up here has to be one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll say,” Samuel seconded the thought.

“Now, back to what you were saying.” I pushed my back against the headboard and pulled the covers around me.

“What was I saying?” Samuel moved to sit like me.

“Chaos. Getting it out of our lives.”

“Oh yeah. The way I see it is this: Michelle and Adam. That’s not going to change until the end of June. We’re giving our daughter her Cinderella wedding, come what may. She deserves it, if nothing else.”

“Agreed.”

“Your son, on the other hand . . .”

“My son?” I shifted a bit to look at him more fully. “I do believe he is our son.”

Samuel grinned at me. “Well, that’s what you keep telling me.”

“Samuel Prattle.” I pretended to be offended. I crossed my arms over my middle.

“I think we should give him a deadline.”

“A deadline? What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is—and I love my son very much—”

“Oh, now he’s your son,” I toyed.

“Don’t split hairs.” The coffee sputtered its “come and get it.”

I slipped back out of the bed to prepare our coffee. “I wish I had some of Mom’s apple rolls right now. They’d be perfect with our coffee on a morning like this.”