Hissy Fit (29 page)

“The car? That red Malibu of hers?”

“It was a birthday present from Daddy,” I said.

“She loved that car,” Sonya said. “First new one she’d ever owned. That was her baby.

“And you, of course,” she added quickly, squeezing my hand again. “I just have a really hard time believing she walked away from her little girl, and never came back.”

“Well, she did,” I said flatly. “So maybe you’ll understand why I’m having some trouble with forgiveness right now.”

Sonya lit another cigarette, and the queasiness in my stomach intensified.

“Honey,” she said, looking away, “I have told you all I know. My advice to you is to look to the Lord for guidance on this thing.”

I nudged Austin, and he slid out of the booth. I did the same. I put some money on the table.

“Anybody else you can think of, besides the Lord?” I asked, just a little on the flippant side.

She inhaled and exhaled and looked out the window again. “How ’bout old Lorna Plummer? She still hanging around in Madison?”

Now Austin was nudging me. “She just moved,” I said. “What would Lorna know about any of this?”

“Ask her,” Sonya said. “She was Drew Jernigan’s honey, at the time. Maybe she knows something.”

Will had decided
that the first big official event at Mulberry Hill would be a company picnic for Loving Cup Intimates.

“The house isn’t done,” I protested.

“We’ll have it outside,” he declared. “We’ll rent some tents and tables and chairs. We can set up in the meadow. It’ll be a barbecue. A caterer will bring in the chopped pork and buns and drinks, and all that. And the employees will all be asked to bring a side dish. You know, make it a real old-fashioned supper on the grounds kind of thing. We’ll have pony rides for the kids, and sack races, set up a volleyball net, all that kind of thing.”

“When were you planning this event?” I asked, feeling a caution alarm ringing in the back of my head. “Next spring?”

“Labor Day,” he said.

“That’s next weekend. It can’t be done.”

“It’s already set up,” Will said. “Miss Nancy took care of everything, once she quit bitching and complaining about all the extra work it was causing her.”

The door to the reception area opened, and Miss Nancy herself stood there, leaning on her cane.

“He tell you what he’s cooking up for Labor Day?” Miss Nancy asked me.

“Just now,” I said.

She glared at her boss. “I tried my best to talk him out of it, but you know how he is once he gets an idea in his head. How do you think that’s gonna make all those folks feel? Here they are, fixing to lose their jobs for good and probably end up on welfare, and he’s rubbing it in their noses that he’s got the biggest, fanciest house in the county.”

“Not yet, he doesn’t,” I said, looking down at the folder of invoices
from my buying trip. Construction was moving along well, and we were on schedule, but there was still a lot to be done before the house was livable.

“I wish you’d tell him this picnic deal is a terrible idea,” she said. “He don’t listen to a goddamn thing I tell him.”

“Will,” I said, turning back around to face my client. “She’s right. I know your heart is in the right place, but really, this picnic thing is not a good idea. If you want to do something nice for your employees, give them a little cash bonus or something.”

“We’re having a picnic,” Will said. “It’ll be grand. And you’ll be there too.” He gave Nancy a curt nod. “And don’t you have some work to do out there?”

She let the door slam.

“Why should I be at your company picnic?” I asked. “I work for you, not Loving Cup.”

He smiled sweetly. “Because I asked you. Because I need you to make sure the house is looking good, so people can take tours through it, see how it’s coming along. And because, dammit, you make things look nice. I want this picnic to be nice.”

“Nice?”

“You know. Flowers, tablecloths, that kind of thing. You can do that, can’t you? Get your friend Austin to make up some bouquets. And flowers for the house. Even the rooms that aren’t done. Steph says flowers make even a pigsty look nice.”

“And will Steph be there too?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said, surprised that I would doubt it. “It’s a big day for me. And the company. She wants to be there.”

“At a barbecue? Does she realize pork is involved?”

“Don’t be such a bitch,” Will said. “There will be lots of different kinds of food. Not just pork. So. You’ll do it, right? You’ll be on the clock, of course. Bring your Aunt Gloria too. Hell, bring a date if you like.” He gave me a searching look. “You have started dating again, right?”

“A little,” I lied.

“Who is he?”

“Nobody you know.”

“But he’s not an ash-hole, is he?”

I got up to leave. “What time is this clambake?”

“Two o’clock, on Labor Day,” Will said. “And hey, Keeley. Steph loves the new furniture. But she wants to talk to you about something. Get with her, will you? Nancy will give you her phone number.”

I made a very determined effort not to grind my teeth. And then I went back to the office to start making plans for a “nice” company picnic.

I was upstairs
in my apartment, finishing up the covered dish I was taking to Will’s company picnic when I heard the doorbell ring downstairs in the studio.

“Crap.” I was running late as it was, and the grits for my grits and greens casserole were too runny. I threw another handful of grits in the pot and stirred furiously.

“Hello?” a voice called. “Anybody here?”

I froze. Put down the wooden spoon. Turned off the burner and sat down on the sofa, hoping my unwelcome visitor would give up and leave. I sat, immobile while he moved around downstairs.

“Keeley?” Now he was at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, Keeley,” he called again. “I know you’re up there. I saw your car outside. You can’t hide from me forever. It’s too small a town.”

He had that right. And dammit, why should I have to hide from A. J. Jernigan? This was my home, and I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I checked on the grits and gave them a final stir. The collard greens had been simmering all morning, with a smoked ham hock, some chopped-up onion, and some red pepper flakes. I poured the greens into the colander in the sink and let them drain.

A.J. was halfway up the stairs looking up, sniffing like a bird dog on point.

“Are you cooking collard greens?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “What do you want?”

He started up toward me, giving me that grin of his. “A mess of those greens would be nice,” he said. “I didn’t know you ever cooked stuff like that.”

“It’s an old family recipe,” I said stiffly. Which was a lie. I’d clipped it out of
Southern Living
magazine a few years ago, and doctored
it up to suit myself. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Can I come up and talk to you?” he asked. He was at the top of the landing.

“No. I’m going to a picnic and I’m already late,” I said.

“Just for a minute,” A.J. wheedled. “Please. It’s about Mama.”

“What now?”

He took that as a yes and followed me into my galley kitchen. “Got a beer?” he asked. “It’s already scorching out there. I’ll be glad to see this summer end.” Before I could stop him, he had the refrigerator door open and his head stuck inside it.

I shoved him aside and shut the fridge door, but he’d already helped himself to a Michelob Light.

“What’s the deal with GiGi?” I asked, busying myself with the casserole. There wasn’t that much left to do. I’d already cooked the grits with chicken broth and half and half, and they’d finally thickened up. I took a paper towel and squeezed the rest of the moisture out of the collards, then dumped them into the pot of grits. To this, I added a big handful of parmesan cheese and a healthy dollop of pepper vinegar. I stirred while A.J. talked, glad to have something to do.

“I heard about her stopping you outside the post office the other day,” he said. “Hell, I guess the whole town heard.”

“Oh that,” I said cautiously, stirring while it was no longer necessary. “That was weeks ago. I’d forgotten all about it.” Another lie.

“Well, I haven’t.” He shoved one hand in the front pocket of his jeans and sipped his beer. He looked good. Thinner maybe, and he needed a shave, but he was deeply tanned, and his blue-green eyes glowed with whatever drama he was into. He’d probably been spending a lot of time out at the lake, I told myself, just to be cruel.

“Look,” A.J. said. “I had a long talk with Mama. And I admitted to her exactly what happened that night at the country club. She didn’t wanna hear it, and she sure didn’t want to believe it, but I set
her down and told it to her straight. And I told her you had every right to react like you did.”

“How noble of you,” I said. I picked up the pot of grits and tipped it carefully into the greased Pyrex casserole waiting on the kitchen counter. I smoothed the top with the back of my wooden spoon, then dusted more parmesan on top. Over all of that I sprinkled bacon bits.

Before I could slide the casserole into the heated oven, A.J. picked up the spoon I’d just used and dipped it into the grits and greens. He smacked his lips. “Day-yum, woman. That is awesome. Whose picnic are you going to? Anybody I know?”

I put the casserole in the oven. “It’s a client. Will Mahoney.”

“Oh. Him. Mr. Loving Cup. How’s that house of his coming along? I heard you were doing it up big-time.”

“It’s right on schedule,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the counter. “What’s this visit really about, A.J.? You want me to pat you on the back for coming clean with your mama?”

He took another sip of beer and set it on the counter. I wished this conversation wasn’t happening. I really wished it wasn’t taking place in my tiny, steamy kitchen, where we were standing only a couple feet apart.

“I want you to know that I am not my daddy. I am not like him. Not that way. That night with Paige, it was a one-time deal. I’d do anything if I could take it back. Because that’s not who I am, Keeley. It’s not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I had an idea, but I wanted to hear him say it.

He blushed. “Yeah, I know about Daddy’s other women. I’ve known for a long time. Since I was like, fourteen.”

“He told you he cheated on your mama?”

“No. It was Kyle. It was during my first year at boarding school. He called me one night, bawling like a baby. He’d skipped school
and gone out to the shack with some buddies. Caught Daddy red-handed with some little tramp. I don’t guess it was the first time or the last time he had his girlfriends out there. I think that’s why Mama got so she wouldn’t step foot in the place. I don’t know how she knows, but she does.”

“I’m sorry, A. J,” I said. And I meant it. He’d always had a love-hate relationship with his father, but I’d always thought it was because they all worked together at the bank. I’d never realized before how twisted the dynamics of his family were.

He took another sip of beer. “I’m not asking you to take me back right now. I know it’ll take time for you to ever trust me again. But here’s the thing, Keeley. We both have screwed-up families. I never judged you by what your mama did. All I’m asking is, don’t judge me by my daddy and what he’s done. I screwed up, but that’s not me. That’s not who I want to be.”

I reached out and helped myself to a sip of his beer. “Who do you want to be, A.J.?”

He took the beer from me and held my hand. He turned it over and kissed the palm. “I want to be the man who deserves you. Deserves your love. And your trust. That’s all.”

The oven timer buzzed and I jumped. I glanced at the kitchen clock. “God,” I said. “It’s close to one. I’ve still got to get out to Mulberry Hill and make sure all the tables and chairs are set up, and Austin’s flowers have been delivered. And I’ve got to put the plastic runners down in the house. We just had the floors refinished, and I don’t want them getting scratched up.”

A.J. frowned. “Will you think about what I just said?”

“I can’t talk about this now,” I said helplessly. “I’m late.”

“Let me go with you,” A.J. pleaded. He reached in the drawer, got out some potholders, and took the casserole out of the oven and switched it off.

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m working.”

“I can help you,” he said. “Come on, Keeley. It won’t be a date.
Just a friend helping a friend. It’s Labor Day, I’ve got nothing to do. I haven’t had anything to do all summer,” he said bitterly.

“What about Paige?”

He busied himself putting foil over the casserole. “Nothing about Paige. She’s moved, you know. Lost her job.”

“So I heard. I also heard it was GiGi who ran her out of town.”

“That’s news to me,” he said. “I haven’t seen Paige. I don’t intend to see her.” He looked up. “Please?”

“I’ve got to go,” I said, snatching up my tote bag.

He picked up the casserole. “I’ll drive. Okay?”

“Go away,” I said faintly. “I do not want this to happen.”

But it already was happening.

Somebody had pinned red, white, and blue bunting to the entry gates at Mulberry Hill. A large banner read
WELCOME LOVING CUP ASSOCIATES
. Red, white, and blue balloons bobbed in the light breeze.

“Not too shabby,” A.J. said as he drove through the wrought-iron gates. “You design all this?”

“Not the gates,” I said. “That was Will’s design.”

A.J. looked impressed. He made all the appropriate noises as we approached the meadow, whistling when he got the first glimpse of the now gleaming façade of the old Greek Revival mansion.

“Day-yum. The guy must have dropped a bundle on all of this, huh?”

“He likes things done right,” I said. I noticed with gratitude that the rented funeral home tents had been erected in the meadow, and one of the construction workers was busy unfolding the tables and chairs. A makeshift plywood bandstand had been erected, and a group of musicians with fiddles and banjos were setting up instruments. A haze of smoke floated over the meadow, and the sweet smell of roasting pig wafted through the boxwood hedge. The Fleur van was parked at the edge of the meadow, and Austin himself was ferrying cardboard boxes of centerpieces over to the dining tent.

“Oh good,” I murmured. “We’ve got food and flowers. And a bluegrass band, I guess.”

A pickup truck towing a horse trailer came bouncing up the road right behind us. “And ponies. So I guess we’re set.”

I directed A.J. around to the back of the house, where more than a dozen cars and trucks, including the yellow Caddy, were already parked.

Miss Nancy stood in the open back door of the kitchen, leaning on her cane, watching me unpack the sacks containing the linen tablecloths and other last-minute party supplies. A tiny brown dog came zipping out the door, yapping and barking and hurling itself against my ankles. “Hey Erwin,” I said, trying not to trip. “Hey, Miss Nancy,” I called to her.

She glared back at me. “Somebody better get that goddamn dog outta here. And its owner too.”