The Secret's in the Sauce (7 page)

“Not my daughter.” I was going to remain firm on that, so the conversation might as well end right there.

And so I got on the plane alone. Seat 16A, right next to the window, which is good for sleeping but just awful when you have to get up and go to the lavatory. Practically announcing to the whole world that you have to go to the bathroom is bad enough; stepping over two strangers to get there just adds insult to injury. No chance of my not having to make the trip; a woman my age nearly always has to go at some point during cross-country flights.

The plane taxied down the runway, and I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together, my fingers clutching the book I’d brought with me, though God only knows why. I wasn’t sure that I could concentrate on anything other than Daddy and his heart attack.
Please, Lord, don’t let my daddy die. Especially don’t let him die—if he is going to die—until I can get there.

I felt the nose of the plane lift, pointing its way skyward. My back pressed against the seat until we leveled out and once again I was sitting upright. When I opened my eyes I saw that the man who sat in 16B—short, balding, and with large round glasses—was staring at me. “Never flown before?” His voice was somewhat nasal.

“What?” I swallowed. The air pressure that had built up in my ears during takeoff popped.

“I used to be just like you. Scared to death to fly. But I fly all the time now. It’s part of my job, you know.” He reached into his shirt pocket, whipped out a business card, and handed it to me. “Reginald McPhearson.” He pointed to his name. “That’s me, right there.” He laughed lightly. “And right here.” He pointed to himself.

“I, uh—”

“I work for a software company.” He grinned as he spoke. “But then again, who doesn’t these days, huh?”

“Huh?”

“What about you? What do you do?”

“Do?”

“For a job? A living? I assume you aren’t one of those women who stays at home and raises babies. Well, for one thing, you look a bit too old to be having babies—not meaning to insult you.”

“No, I’m not—”

“And for another, you have that look about you. Sophisticated. A woman of the world, I’d say. So, let me guess. You are . . . not a teacher, no. You are . . . now give me a minute . . . a lawyer.”

“I work for an attorney, but I’m not a lawyer. I’m his secretary.”

His round face seemed to only grow rounder as he smiled a toothy grin and nodded. “Yep. One thing I’m good at is guessing what people do for a living. It’s a gift.”

“I see.”

“You know my name.” Again he pointed to the card. “Yours?”

“Goldie.”

“Goldie?”

“Yes.”

He stuck out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Goldie.” He pumped my hand until I thought my arm would come out of its socket. “And don’t you worry your pretty little head about flying. Anything you need to know, you ask me.”

I opened my mouth to speak but could get nothing to come out, so I just closed it and smiled, nodding back at him as I pulled my now-sore hand from his.

He leaned closer to me. “Tell me something, Goldie. You heading to Atlanta on some big classified case?”

I shook my head. “No. This is a personal trip.” In fact, I thought, I’d rather be working right now. Poor Chris. When I’d called him to tell him that Jack had managed to get me on a flight at noon that day and that I wouldn’t be in court to assist him, I could hear his anxiety level flying off the scale, even over the phone.

“Got family down South, do you?” Reginald asked.

I looked down at my book and nodded, willing myself not to begin tearing up again. I will not share my problems with this complete stranger. I will not. I no sooner had the thought than I could hear Lisa Leann saying, “Now, Goldie. You never know when you might meet an angel unaware.”

Just as quickly I heard Donna saying, “Angels, smangels. Never trust a man with a bald head and round glasses.”

I glanced up at my stranger—my angel unaware, perhaps—and smiled. “My father had a heart attack last night. I’m heading down to my home to be with him.”

“So sorry to hear that. Fathers are important.”

“Especially to their daughters. Do you have children, Reginald?”

“I’ve never married,” he said. “Just never had time to settle down. You know, buy a house, work the old nine-to-five, dinner with the in-laws on Sunday . . .”

I nodded. Yeah, I knew all about that.

“Tell you what, Goldie. Why don’t you tell me about your family, and I’m sure the time up here in the air will seem like only a minute.” He grinned at me again. “Help you to relax a little.”

I sighed, deciding not to burst the “angel’s” bubble of belief that I was actually afraid to fly. “Well, Daddy and Mama have been married since 1954.”

“Over fifty years. I imagine your family celebrated the big day?”

“We did.” I turned in my seat so as not to twist my neck. “They had five children, me being the middle child.”

Reginald twisted in his seat too, I suppose in an effort to also be more comfortable. “What is it they say about middle children?”

I shrugged. “I really don’t know. Whatever it is, I can assure you I had a wonderful childhood and never felt neglected or any of those things.” I paused for a moment before continuing, and, just as Reginald said, our time in the air—all two hours of it—went by as though it were a minute. Somewhere in our conversation we’d been served soft drinks and then, later, coffee by perky flight attendants. As the plane glided toward Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport, I settled back in my seat and sighed deeply. I was almost home. I had an hour or so layover and then a short flight to Savannah, where Tom’s wife Melody would pick me up.

Reginald and I had been silent for about five minutes when he leaned over and murmured in my ear, “Who is picking you up in Hot-lanta?”

I turned my neck toward him. “Oh no. I’m flying on to Savannah.”

He touched my arm ever so gently with his fingertips. “Got a long layover? I was thinking that maybe we might have a drink together.”

So much for Lisa Leann’s angel theory, I thought, frowning. Donna, you are my hero! I jerked my arm away from his touch. “I told you. I’m married.”

He pulled his glasses from his face. “But are you real married.”

I’m just sure my mouth fell open. “Of course I’m real married! What kind of question is that?”

Reginald began to shush me, and nearby passengers turned to stare, but I didn’t care. “Don’t you shush me, Jack Dippel!”

“Who? Who’s Jack Dippel?”

I blushed at my twist of words, if they were indeed that. “He’s my husband, that’s who!”

“Look, Goldie . . . I didn’t mean . . . I only thought that you . . . that you and I . . . that you were feeling the same thing I was feeling.”

“All I’m feeling right now is nausea!”

Reginald turned beet red, then shifted in his seat and mumbled, “Sorry.”

Well, I never!

“Well, I never,” I said to Lizzie on the phone as I waited at Gate B-2 in Atlanta’s massive and remarkably hectic airport. “I mean, what a slap in the face that was for me, Liz.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Jack and all his consorts.”

“Consorts? Goldie, have you been reading romance novels again?”

I crossed one leg over the other and took a long swig of my Starbucks café latte with a shot of caramel. My favorite, though I rarely get to splurge on it. “I have never nor do I now read romance novels. Not those kind, anyway.” I glanced down at the latest Beverly Lewis bit of Amish fiction I’d brought with me but had not yet read.

Lizzie paused before continuing. “I understand what you’re saying, Goldie. It’s easy to see how quickly women might fall for a smooth-talking man.”

“Like Jack.”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“I know.” I looked over at the gate, where the flight crew was heading into the Jetway. “Lizzie, keep your eyes on Jack, okay?”

“Goldie, you either trust Jack or you don’t.”

“I don’t. Not yet, anyway.”

“Well, my friend, I don’t know what to say about that.”

“I know. So, you will keep an eye on him?”

“Now, how do you expect me to do that, Goldie?”

“He works at the high school . . . you work at the high school . . .”

Lizzie gave a deep sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask.” Then I paused before adding, “You sound upset this morning.”

“I have a throbbing headache.”

“Did you take anything for it?”

“Mmm . . . yes. It just hasn’t kicked in yet. What’s the news on your father?”

“I called Tom’s cell phone before I called you, but he didn’t answer. His wife is supposed to pick me up at the Savannah airport.”

“Is your whole family there? At the hospital, I mean.”

“Yeah. Daddy’s been moved to one of the hospitals in Savannah— St. Joseph’s—and so pretty much everyone is there. When I spoke to Tom in Denver he said that Preston was driving down from Atlanta.” Preston is our older brother. Hoy Jr. was the oldest in the family, but he died years ago.

“It’s a shame Preston couldn’t just wait for you to get there. You could have ridden together.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll let you go, Lizzie. I’ll be boarding shortly.”

The flight between Atlanta and Savannah was short. We barely lifted off the ground but what we were making our “initial descent,” as the pilot informed us. The seat beside me was, blessedly, empty.

As soon as we landed and it was safe to use our cell phones, I turned mine on and waited for it to boot up. Before I could dial Melody’s number my phone indicated that I had three messages waiting.

The first was from Olivia. “Hi, Mom. You’re obviously in the air still. Call me when you get to the hospital and let me know how Pa-Pa’s doing. I love you. Don’t worry about anything on the home front, okay?”

Hmm. My daughter knew enough about me to know where my concerns were.

The second call was from Jack. “Hey, babe. I’m taking a break at work and wanted to call you. I don’t know if you tried to get me earlier or not, but it’s been a crazy morning around here. Senioritis is already striking, if you know what I mean. Well, anyway . . . let me know what’s going on and know that I love you. My prayers are with you and your father.”

I played the message back again, this time listening for any background voices. Specifically, background voices of the female persuasion. But there were none, and I mentally kicked myself in the rear for having made such an effort.

The third message was from my baby brother, Tom, who worked the farm with Daddy. I couldn’t imagine the stress Daddy’s heart attack might be on him from the business point of view. “Goldie. Call me when you land. I’m at the airport—not Melody—and I’ve got my cell phone with me.”

I hung up and started to dial Tom’s number, then stopped and put my phone in my purse. Our small aircraft had reached the gate and we were about to deplane. When I was inside Savannah’s airport, I stepped into the women’s restroom for personal matters, then walked over to a row of chairs and sat down to call my brother.

“Hey, Goldie.” He sounded so tired.

“I’m here, Tom. I’m just outside my gate. What happened to Melody picking me up?” Melody and Tom live, as Mama puts it, “a good hollerin’ distance” from the family home with their six children, so either one of them could easily have made the trip. But, between dealing with Mama and Daddy at the hospital and the kids everywhere else, Melody’s plate was, no doubt, full.

“I’m here. I’ll meet you at baggage claim. I’m at carousel three. That’s where your luggage will be.”

I stood, hoisted my purse over my shoulder, and began to walk toward baggage claim. “How’s Daddy?”

Tom didn’t answer right away.

“Tom? Did I lose you?” I glanced over at a small shop that boasted Georgia pecans and peanuts, Georgia T-shirts, and books about Georgia, including recipe books from every ladies group in the state, each one complete with a recipe for Southern pecan pie. I decided that on my way back through I’d pick up a few for our catering company. Lisa Leann would be nearly beside herself with glee knowing she could throw a Southern-style party of the Georgia kind. “Tom?”

“I’m here, Goldie. I’m waiting for you at baggage claim.”

Another turn and I’d be seeing him face to face, so I decided to just let him tell me about Daddy’s condition once I saw him. “I’m almost there. See you in a minute.” I hung up my phone, rounded a corner or two, and then spotted my brother standing along the line of luggage carousels. He looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen him, which was nearly a year ago. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, and his hair—still dark but thinning—looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days.

I waved and he waved back, taking the steps necessary to meet me in the middle.

As he wrapped me in a tender hug I hooked my chin over his shoulder. “Oh, Tom.” I squeezed him. “How’s Daddy?” I attempted to pull away from him.

But Tom held me all the tighter. “Daddy died,” he said, the words choked back in a whisper.

My knees buckled and I felt myself sliding, held up only by the strength of his arms.

Vonnie

8

Dinner Guests

When David called and said he was bringing a friend to dinner, it was as if a chill had seeped in from my closed kitchen window and frosted the room.

Oh boy.

I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I took the whistling teakettle off the burner. “That’s fine, David, as long as your friend likes Italian.”

“Of course. Are you making your famous apple pie?”

“I’ve already sliced the apples.”

Mother began to ring her bedside bell. “Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Mother, I’m on the phone, I’ll be there in a minute.”

The impatience in my mother’s voice outdid my own. “Vonnie, I need you now.”

“Okay, Mother, okay.”

“Sorry, David, I gotta run. I’ll see you and your friend at seven?”

“We’ll be there.”

I hung up and ran toward the guest bedroom as the bell continued to clatter. “Vonnieeeeee!”

Mother was sitting in her rocker, rubbing her leg. “I’ve gotta get to the bathroom.”