Livvie's Song (33 page)

***

At a quarter past twelve, Livvie looked up from the table she was setting and saw Marva Dulane strut through the door, dressed like a flapper in a loose-fitting, sleeveless yellow dress with a low waistline and a plunging neckline. A strand of beads was wrapped three times around her neck, yet still hung down to her hips, and rayon stockings with beige high heels accentuated her shapely legs. Blonde curls cascaded out from under the edges of her bell-shaped felt hat, the same creamy yellow as her dress.

“Whew! Would you look what the cat dragged in,” Cora Mae muttered with a shudder, then went back to clearing the table next to Livvie’s.

To say that heads turned when she walked in would be quite the understatement, based on the rubbernecking that occurred. The only people who seemed to have missed her grand entrance were Will and Gus, who stood at their posts in the kitchen. But the whispers that circulated the room would bring them up-to-date in no time, she supposed.

Evidently, Cora Mae was not impressed. “Who does she think she is, waltzin’ in here like that?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “This isn’t a nightclub, for goodness’ sake.”

“Hush before someone hears you,” Livvie said. The sight of Marva sashaying through her door had annoyed her plenty, but her whispered prayer for staying power kept her from expressing it. The Lord had done some serious housecleaning in her heart lately. Yes, it was awfully audacious of Marva to make such a show in her establishment, but she had to trust that God was in control and would grant her whatever it took to deal with this woman’s presence. She quickly prayed the same for Will.

“You don’t have to put up with her paradin’, do you? Look how everyone’s watchin’ her.”

Livvie stepped back from the table. “Yes, Cora, I see that.”

“Well, are you going to do anything about it?”

“Yes, I’m going to ask her if she’d like some lunch.”

“What?”

“Cora Mae, close your mouth, would you?”

Seated at a nearby table, Coot had kept his mouth shut through their entire exchange. Now, he grinned and rubbed his whiskery chin. “It appears Olivia is showin’ some goodwill, Cora Mae. Might be, you could learn from her.”

Cora Mae stepped closer to his table and tapped his bony shoulder. “Oh, hush up, old man.”

At that, he gave a loud hoot.

On Livvie’s approach, Marva put on a glossy smile. “Well, Livvie Beckman, don’t you look pretty today,” she cooed.

Livvie glanced down at her well-worn, practical shirtwaist of blue gingham, knowing full well that Marva’s compliment was artificial. But she wouldn’t let that deter her from killing the woman with kindness. “I was about to say the same of you, Marva. Do you want me to show you to a table? We have some delicious vegetable soup simmering on the stove. Or, what about a cold sandwich? Sliced turkey, chicken, roast beef—”

“I’ll have to think about it.” She looked past Livvie to the kitchen, where Will steadily worked. A mixture of steam and smoke rose around him as steaks and hamburgers sizzled on the griddle, and his unbroken focus indicated that he was still unaware of Marva’s presence.

The clatter of forks and knives signified that folks had gone back to their lunches, but the atmosphere remained charged with curiosity. There was Nancy Alberts, leaning across the table to speak to her husband while casting a suspicious eye in Marva’s direction, and Harriet Mitchell whispered something in Frieda Carter’s ear in between bites of potato salad. All around the room, the patrons pretended to focus intently on their meals, but Livvie knew better. Marva Dulane fascinated the lot of them.

Outside, Reggie gave an unusually sharp bark, then pressed his nose to the screen and peered inside. Livvie glared at him and pointed a finger, which was all it took for him to move away from the door and lie down again.

“You know,” said Marva, bending toward Livvie, for she was four or five inches taller in her spikes, “I have a mad crush on your cook.”

“Is that right?”
Lord, give me patience and self-restraint.

Marva nodded. “He is by far the best-looking man in town. Oops! You’re probably blind to that, being a widow and all. Surely, you pine for Frank on a daily basis. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now: I was looking through a box of old photographs a month or so ago, and I came across a wonderful picture of the two of you. It was taken at a Fourth of July picnic, or some such event. There you were, sitting all close and cozy, smiling for the camera.”

Livvie’s mind reeled. She couldn’t remember attending any community picnic with Frank, much less one where Marva had snapped their picture. They’d always been so busy in the restaurant. Could it have been a church potluck? Maybe, but—

“I think I’ll take one of those bar stools,” Marva said, pointing a red-painted fingernail straight ahead.

When she set off across the room, Livvie hastened along behind her. “This picture you say you have…I don’t understand.”

“I’ll bring it to you.”

“You will?”

“Of course. I have no need for it.”

She had too few photos of Frank. The thought of obtaining another, especially if it had them together, excited her.

Marva slid onto a bar stool next to Quinn Baxter, and the fellow turned a wary eye on her. “Hiya, Marva.”

“Hello, Quinn. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Will spun around, spatula in hand. Hot grease still dripped off of the utensil, making splotches on the linoleum. If looks could shoot daggers, Livvie was certain that Marva would be lying flat on the floor.

***

When would that infuriating woman get it through her head that he had no interest in her? This obsession she had with him wore mightily on his nerves, and he’d about reached the point of making a proclamation to everyone within hearing range about her irrational behavior. Somehow, though, he knew that wouldn’t solve a thing. She had the advantage in that she knew his history, and humiliating her in a public forum would only impel her to reveal it. Of course, he had a little inside information on her, as well, which he planned to convey to her at his first opportunity. In the meantime, she kept up a steady flow of conversation pertaining to her own interests with anyone who’d listen, no doubt believing they all hung on her every word.

Some certainly seemed to, especially Charley Arnold and Roy Scott, who’d plopped themselves down on either side of her once Quinn Baxter had paid his bill and left. Ever since Will had laid down the law with them about not smoking inside the four walls of Livvie’s Kitchen, they’d dutifully complied, and he’d even struck up an unlikely friendship with them. But now, he wished they’d head back to their daytime jobs.

When they finally did, and there was a lull in food orders, Will took a damp cloth and wiped the counter under Marva’s nose. She’d finished her lunch long ago and was now sipping the last of her Coca-Cola.

“What are you doing here, Marva?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Her long eyelashes batted three times. “I came to see you, of course. Since you never visit me, you leave me no choice but to take the initiative. I told you I love a challenge.” She touched his sleeve, but he jerked his arm away.

He felt the veins in his neck bulge as he held his breath and mentally counted to ten before speaking again. “Marva, you should know I’ve learned a thing or two about you.”

She took a swig of her soda, then set the glass down and smiled. “Is that so? I’m a pretty open book, Will. Not much folks in this town don’t know about me.”

“That may be so, but I bet the authorities don’t know about your involvement with Orville Dotson and his still.” Her smile vanished like a breeze. “And, by ‘authorities,’ I’m not referring to Buford Morris,” he added.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm-hmm. Then, you won’t mind if I pay a visit to the BIR?”

“What’s that?”

“The Bureau of Internal Revenue. They employ Prohibition agents who come down mighty hard on folks participating in underground activities.”

She shook her blonde head and gave the brim of her stylish hat a nervous little tug. “Will, Will. Has it really come down to this? Threatening me?” She slid off the stool and gave him a cold, hard-eyed smile. “I don’t like the direction our friendship is going.”

His lips curled. “You started it.” He watched a flash of apprehension move across her face and envisioned raw nerves gnawing at her confidence. Good. Maybe that would get her off his back for the time being. He could only pray it would.

After Marva stalked out, Livvie wandered over to the bar. “Did you tell her you knew about her work with Dotson?”

“Sure did, and she wasn’t too happy about it.”

“I hope the whole thing doesn’t blow up in your face. How do we know that she won’t walk straight over to the
Daily Plain Dealer
office and give them an earful?”

He shrugged. “If she does, I’ll deal with it.” Then, grinning, he reached across the counter to push several loose strands of hair out of her eyes. He didn’t care who saw him do it. “Did Marva have anything to say to you?”

“Um, not much,” she said, then gave her wristwatch a hurried glance. “I’d better go tend to my customers. I’m taking the boys down to the river after closing time today. I told them they could wade in the shallow part.”

“Am I invited?”

She gave a light laugh. “Only if you promise to bring your harmonica.”

He patted his hip pocket. “I never go anywhere without it.”

***

The river seemed to hum along with Will as he made delightful music with his ten-hole mouth harp. He moved with ease from one tune to the next, and the sound, combined with the gentle breezes coming off the Wabash River, was a regular balm for the soul.

Livvie had spread out a large quilt in the shade of a tree, and she lounged there with Will, who reclined on his side, propped up on his elbow. Alex and Nate played on the riverbank, collecting stones and almost anything else that would fit in their pockets. They’d already waded a bit, with Will close by, and she’d instructed them not to go back in the water again without supervision.

Every so often, Will took a break from playing music to talk to her. They covered a wealth of topics, from the boom in business at the restaurant to Reverend White’s message last Sunday. One subject they purposely stayed clear of was Marva Dulane, and Livvie was glad. She didn’t think he’d appreciate knowing that Marva had told her about the photo of Frank and her, or how excited she’d been at the thought of seeing it. That would only confirm his belief that she still clung too much to the past to have a relationship with him.

“I love your hair, you know that?” He reached up and gave her ponytail a playful tug.

The compliment caught her off guard. “I’ve never liked it. I think it’s a dreadful color.”

“You’re plain goofy, lady. The color is what makes it so pretty.” He cocked his head and made a little frown. “You don’t have a clue how adorable you are, do you?”

“Oh, my word.” She couldn’t help the blush that blazed across her cheeks.

“There’re these dimples”—he touched a finger to one cheek, then the other—“and this cute tooth overlapping its neighbor”—he tapped her closed upper lip—“and this sweet little chin”—he grazed a thumb over it—“and this—”

“Oh, stop it, Will.” She turned her head away with a nervous giggle and checked on her boys, who now kept themselves occupied digging in the dirt with long sticks.

He surprised her by taking her hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. When she looked at him, his eyes had sobered into shadowy pools. He tossed his harmonica to the side, sat up, and gently cupped her chin in one hand, slowly taking in her facial features. She went as silent as a doornail when she felt his breath on her face, blending with the warm, gentle wind. If she were smart, she would duck away from him. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t.

“I’m strongly considering kissing you,” he whispered. “So, if you’d rather I didn’t, I suggest you let me know in the next few seconds.”

“I…I guess I wouldn’t mind…if you did,” she said in a shaky voice.

His crooked grin made her heart lurch with excitement. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“I’m not.”

He chortled low in his throat. “How about you just relax?”

“Okay.” She breathed deeply. Merciful heavens, it wasn’t as if he intended to sweep her off to some exotic bower in a foreign land. It was just a simple kiss.

When their lips met, however, it was anything but simple, and she truly felt transported to another place, far from here. His mouth melded to hers, as if the two were one, making her quiver at the delightful tenderness of it all. He drew back briefly, repositioned himself, and descended again, this time with soul-stirring mastery. If Frank had ever kissed her in this manner—Lord, help her—she couldn’t recall it. The next thing she knew, her fingers interlocked behind his back, and his did the same, gathering her snugly to him as the kiss continued with sweet abandon.

“Eww! Nate, Mommy ’n’ Will’re kissin’!”

Alex’s squeaky-voiced announcement jolted Livvie’s senses back into their proper place, and she sat up and cleared her dry, raspy throat. “Alex!” But that was all she could think to say to her son, who stood there with his brother, both of them open-mouthed, their blue eyes wide with shock.

Will drew one leg up and rested his arm on his knee. “Does it bother you boys that we were?”

Nate turned his gaze to his older brother, the designated spokesperson in such instances. Alex merely shrugged. “Naw. We don’t care.”

Nate shook his head from side to side. “Nope, we don’t.”

“Are you gonna be our new dad?” Alex asked.

Will looked pensive. “Well, I—”

“Oh, my heavens!” Livvie exclaimed. Red-hot prickles danced across her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to her skirt and started pressing down the wrinkles.

“I guess that’s the sort of thing I can’t answer right off,” Will said, as calmly as if someone had just asked him the day of the week. “But I will tell you this: I think the world of you boys, and, if I ever had sons, I’d want them to be exactly like you.”

Alex flung his arms out in a sign of exasperation. “Then, you might as well be our dad!”