Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter (31 page)

“I was wondering what happened to yous.”

“Peter kept me company. We talked some, laughed some, drank
a lot
, and then we raided the walk-in. That’s the last thing I remember—raiding the walk-in. Then I woke up this morning and my shoes were neatly placed in my closet.”

“You wouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s my point! You’ve got to find out for me.”

“I’ll give it a whirl but I don’t know how much I can uncover.”

“Just
try
, Roberta, please. Gladys Kravitz would be proud.”

A nod of her head told me she was pleased with her assignment.

“But don’t be obvious. And for goodness’ sake, DON’T TELL GEORGE CLARK!” I gently nudged her out the door, and added, “One more favor. Please bring me lots of Coke.”

A little while later Roberta came back into my apartment carrying a restaurant tray with a big glass of ice and three Cokes.

“Well?” I said, as I popped the top, poured my hangover tonic into the glass, and watched the fizz race to the top. “What’d ya find out?”

“Nothing. He just said you guys had a good time. That’s all.”

“How’d you put it to him?”

“I didn’t have to bring it up. When I was fixing your tray,
he
asked how you were feeling. I told him you were a little under the weather and he just smiled. That’s all. I’m sure it’s fine, Leelee. I wouldn’t worry if I was you,” she said, tugging on those panties yet again.

“Roberta, can I ask you something?”

“Why, sure.”

“I know this is none of my business and if you don’t want to answer me you don’t have to, I swear. I never would want to hurt your feelings but—you’re always tugging on your panties, are you buying the right size?”

“Aw, sure. Moe’s always wanted me to wear those sexy string underpants so I bought ’em at Penney’s in Rutland. Not too fond of ’em, to tell you the truth. But Moe likes ’em and I do it for him.”

“Maybe you should try a thong.”

“A who?”

“A thong. You know, panties with no butt at all.”

“Too cold up here for that. I need to keep my cheeks warm,” she said, and patted her wide little backside.

Once Sarah and Issie were awake I fed them breakfast and put them in the tub. Thank goodness it was Saturday. I honestly don’t know what I would have done had I been hungover on a school day.

I stayed away from the kitchen for the next couple of hours but when I remembered my clothes in the dryer, I crept in, hoping no one would notice. Jeb spotted me though, and started whistling “Rocky Top.” He had taken to doing that right after meeting my friends. He whistled it every time any of us came around. Anyway, when Peter heard my anthem, he immediately looked up and saw me slithering in behind the bar to get my laundry.

“Hi, boss,” he yelled from behind the line. “How ya feeling this morning?”

“Oh, pretty good,” I sheepishly answered back. Meanwhile, I dumped my dried but much-wrinkled clothes into the basket, trying to get out of there as fast as I could.

“Need another Coke?” Peter called out.

“No, thank you, I’m just getting my laundry. Looks like I’ve waited too long to fold; they’re mighty wrinkled.” Just as I was slamming the dryer door shut, ready to make a run for it, I stood up straight and there he was, right next to me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh, hi.”

“What’s your hurry? Where you going?”

“Back to my apartment to fold.” I pushed past him and hurried out the door.

That didn’t discourage Peter at all; he followed right behind me into the waiting area outside my apartment door. “Here, I’ll help you.” He took the basket out of my hands and placed it on the top of an easy chair, picked up a towel, and starting folding.

“You don’t have to do that.” I picked my basket back up and started for the door.

“Oh yes I do.” He blocked me with his body and wouldn’t let me pass.

I couldn’t look him in the eye, but the more I avoided him the more he purposefully stared into my face.

“
All right
. I can’t take it anymore. Go on and tell me. What did I do? What did I say?”

Peter let out this cute little laugh. “Nothing. You were great. I thoroughly enjoyed your company. And your ballerina moves.”

“Ohhh,” I said in horror. “I forgot about
dancing
. That is
so
embarrassing.”

“You forgot about that?”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “You don’t understand, Peter. I never get that drunk. Go ahead and tell me what else I did.”

“You were fine. We just had a fun conversation. I have to say I learned a lot about you though.”

“How so?”

“Just stuff you told me.”

“Like what?” There was no way to avoid the grimace on my face. I was about to die.

“Well, for starters you told me that you were a really good kisser and that Baker would never find anyone that could kiss as good as you.”

“
Nooooo
. I
said
that? Tell me I didn’t.” I sat down in the easy chair, drew my legs up under me, and buried my face in the seat back.

“You said it. Then you went on to say, ‘I guarantee you, Barb Thurmond can’t kiss like me.’ ”

“I can’t hear it. Stop. Don’t tell me another thing.” Covering my ears with my hands, I kicked my feet back and forth.

“Okay, I won’t tell you anything else.” He reached over and pulled my hands off my ears.

I thought about it for a second and knew I had to, at least, find out how I got into my bed.

“Did I
do
anything . . . unusual?” I couldn’t bear to hear the answer.

“
Do
anything? What do you mean?”

“I woke up in my bed this morning. I don’t remember getting into it and I was just wondering if you knew how I got there.”

“I might have an idea.”

This was excruciating. “Please tell me, Peter. I’m dying here.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. I promise you that. So you say you can’t remember anything?”

“No, the last thing I remember is watching you and your twin eat shrimp cocktail. I haven’t done anything like this since my ten-year class reunion.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, in that case, I’m going to throw a class reunion for you here at the Peach Blossom Inn every week. In all seriousness, you were fine,
really fine
.”

“Peter, stop it! Don’t tease me anymore. I’ve got to know the truth.” At this point I stood up again and looked him straight in the eye.

“The truth about what?”

“What I did, after we ate the shrimp cocktail. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Okay, I’ll put you out of your misery. You started talking about Baker after I told you about my brother and his wife. That’s when you told me about being a good kisser and all. Pretty much right after that you started closing your eyes while you were eating shrimp so I knew you wouldn’t last much longer.”

“Then what?”

“I helped you to your bed and you climbed in and fell right to sleep. I took off your shoes and pulled the covers up over you. Turned out the light and left. I got to tell you though, your bedroom is small. I don’t know how you got that bed in there.”

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Anyway, I slept upstairs on your couch. I knew I shouldn’t drive home
and plus I thought if one of your girls woke up you’d never hear them. I did hear a lot of commotion in your bathroom in the middle of the night though.”

“Gross. I’m sorry you had to hear that. You’ve got to believe me, I never ever do this.”

“Seems to me it was long overdue.”

“Maybe so; you’re probably right. But thanks for taking care of me . . . and for watching out for the girls. I don’t know what to say.”

“It was no big deal. I was happy to do it,” he said, and winked.

I swear that wink was confusing to me on so many levels. It was almost like he was holding back and not telling me something. Then there was the wink itself. It was so . . . so . . . tantalizing and mysterious. I could make myself crazy wondering about it if I wasn’t careful. But, whatever it meant, didn’t really
mean
anything. What meant something to me now was getting rid of this monster headache.

Chapter Eighteen

November in Vermont is downright dismal. No getting around it. It’s as bad as April. We were closed down for Stick Season and I loved that, but there wasn’t much to do. It’s not like I could go home—the girls were in school. Pierre went back to France, Roberta hung around town, Jeb worked at JCW, and Peter went to New Jersey to help paint the house of one of his friends. The girls and I spent time together drawing, baking, and getting ready for Christmas.

Christmas number two in Vermont was not something I had ever planned on. But now that it was happening I made sure that this year was different. We had a family tree in our apartment. There was one for looks in the parlor of the inn but our main tree was in with us. The girls begged to go into the forest and cut down another tree. And since we had had so much fun last year I promised we could do it again.

Jeb said he would take us in his truck. I knew he was gonna charge me though, and when I asked him how much he thought about it for a second and then said, “Thirty bucks . . . plus gas.”

Pierre would have taken me for free if he’d been in town.

The morning we were supposed to go with Jeb, Peter called to let me
know he was back from New Jersey. As soon as I heard his voice I had an idea.

“I’ve got a huge favor to ask you,” I said.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Is there any way you might take the girls and me to cut down a Christmas tree this afternoon? Or tomorrow or whenever it works for you.”

“Of course I’ll take you guys. That’d be fun. Just bring your chain saw.”

“I don’t have one,” I said, disappointed.

“I’m just kidding you, Leelee. I’ve got a chain saw. What time do you guys want to go?”

“Anytime.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up around one thirty. That ought to give us enough time before it gets dark.”

Peter arrived right on time and the girls and I were already bundled up (toe heaters and all) when he got there. He let himself in through the kitchen and hollered out our names. “Leelee, Sarah, Issie, are you guys ready?”

“Mr. Peter!” The girls ran right up to him and gave him a big hug. I hugged him, too. It was good to see him.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to the forest and once we arrived Peter hopped out and grabbed his chain saw out of the back. I have to admit, this is a cool thing about Vermont. You just park your car anywhere on the road, and wander into the forest to cut down any tree you like.

Every time I’d hear a noise though, I’d jump.

“What are you so nervous about?” Peter wanted to know, once we had ventured about ten minutes into the woods.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You don’t act fine. You’re peeking around the trees like you expect to see the boogeyman. What’s up?”

“Actually, I was hoping we’d see a moose. But on the other hand, I’m kinda scared since I’ve heard they can be aggressive if you get too close. I know they live in the woods and every time I hear something, it just makes me jittery, that’s all.”

“I’m scared, Mommy,” Issie said, holding up her arms for me to pick her up. Now I’d really done it; I was going to have to carry Isabella through the forest. I picked her up and plopped her on my hip. “Don’t be scared, baby, I’m only kidding. There are no moose in this forest. Right, Peter?” I said, and winked.

“I don’t know so much about that, but I do know there are reindeer in this forest.”

“Where!” both girls squealed at once.

“It’s hard to see them, because they’re magic. But Santa gets lots of his reindeer from Vermont.”

“How about Rudolph?” Issie asked. “Is he from Vermont?”

“No, Isabella,” Sarah told her, “Rudolph was born in the North Pole, don’t you remember from the movie?”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Issie said.

Peter squatted down and motioned for Sarah to crawl up on his back. Somehow he was careful enough to carry her without getting her legs anywhere near the chain saw. Of course this made Issie want to be carried the same way so the four of us traipsed piggyback through the woods. It was only a few minutes longer before Sarah spotted the tree she wanted.

“That’s it, that’s the one.” Sarah pointed to a beautiful fir tree, probably nine or ten feet tall, full-figured, and waxy green. “Can we have that one?”

“Looks great to me, okay with you, Issie?” Peter said.

Isabella nodded her head.

Peter had us all stand to one side while he crawled up under our perfect tree and made a small wedge-shaped cut into the trunk. He poked his head out through the bottom branches. “We may have to take some off the bottom. You don’t mind, do you?”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Wait, Peter, can we yell timber? I know it sounds corny but I’ve always wanted to yell timber.”

“Whatever you want. On the count of three. Are you ready, ladies?”

We backed up as Peter cut a little more into the trunk. He hastily rolled away from the tree and counted backward. “Three, two,
one
!”

“TIMBER,” the girls and I shouted. Our Christmas tree gave way,
slowly at first, then cracked and fell to the ground. The sawdust underneath clouded around it.

Peter effortlessly picked up the tree and all four of us found our way back to his truck.

“Thank you,” I said, when he started the engine.

“For what?”

“What do you mean
for what
? For looking out for me. For . . . today.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

“I’m glad you want to.”

He never said anything else. He just shot me a perfect smile and a wink.
There goes that wink again. Dangit.

This year’s Christmas turned out much better, at least as far as the inn was concerned. I closed the restaurant for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and accepted no reservations for rooms. Everyone on the staff got a mini-vacation.