One More Time (22 page)

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me...”

“You could never have known and there are too many Coxwells around here for you to have guessed.” Beverly straightened and looked him in the eye. “He committed suicide and I never anticipated it. I still can’t really believe it.”

“I can imagine as much. I’m very sorry.”

Because he was sincere – a nice man despite being a vet, as the girls might have said – and because it had been a long time since Robert Coxwell had had much of a claim on her heart, Beverly confessed a little more. “We’ve been estranged for a while, which was probably what Marissa meant. In fact, we were in the middle of a divorce.”

“Been there, done that,” he said with a smile. “But my ex-wife just ran away to Seattle with her new girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “I was the proverbial last person to know. Not quite so dramatic as your story.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a story that would still have people talking.”

“But it wouldn’t make the papers.”

Beverly had to concede that, so she didn’t know what to say.

Dr. Matheson patted the dogs, as if he was also at a loss for words, then gave them each another biscuit.

“They’re going to get fat, having so many snacks at once.”

He was unchastened. “It would be good to do their heartworm tests around the beginning of May, though you’re welcome to come back sooner if you have any questions.”

He seemed more somber than he had and Beverly felt responsible for the change in his mood. She had the urge to prompt his smile again. “Or if the girls need their ears cleaned.”

“Or that. Of course.” He nodded, still serious.

“Or presumably if I have a burning desire to go for dinner.”

He smiled then, a smile of surprise, and their gazes met. “No, you can just phone for that. No appointment necessary.”

Beverly cleared her throat. “You must know that I’m a lot older than you.”

He shrugged. “You can’t mean to argue that women aren’t attractive once they pass thirty, because if you do, you’ll get a good fight from me.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Their gazes locked and held for a long moment, one that left Beverly’s mouth dry.

She really shouldn’t have drunk that sherry this afternoon. It was clearly affecting her thinking and her judgment.

She made hasty excuses to leave, and the girls were right there with her. Dr. Matheson accompanied her to the door, locking it behind her when the girls made a beeline for the car. When Beverly glanced back, he was still standing there. He smiled and waved, and before he turned away, Beverly smiled back.

“A nice man, for a vet,” she told the girls, but they just leaped into the back seat of the car and looked anywhere but back toward the office.

T
he front door was unlocked and no one answered her knock, so Beverly walked directly into Matt and Leslie’s house. She shouted a greeting to no reply, though there was music coming from the kitchen.

Loud music. Beverly grimaced, guessing that Leslie was out and she’d have to face that child herself. She stepped into the kitchen to find her worst nightmare: Annette making herself a sandwich, probably a pre-dinner snack, that could have been a reasonable meal for three.

Despite the music, Annette must have heard her. She glanced over her shoulder, giving Beverly a dark glare.

Beverly crossed the kitchen and turned off the radio. She could have sworn that Annette hissed: she certainly hunkered down and glowered.

Beverly refused to consider the origin of the child’s manners. She wasn’t precisely a snob, but neither had she been pleased by Matt’s choice of a wife.

The product of their marriage was no better mannered than a feral cat
, Beverly thought.

Witch
, thought Annette.

Then they smiled simultaneously, false bright social smiles that faded as quickly as they had appeared. Beverly leaned against the counter, wondering whether the child had learned something from her, after all.

Beverly glanced over the makings of Annette’s sandwich, then let her lips tighten. “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, Annette, but mayonnaise is not a beverage.”

Annette left the ample dollop of mayonnaise on her sandwich and the knife in the jar, undoubtedly on purpose. She closed the sandwich with care and took a large deliberate bite. Beverly didn’t doubt that this bit of theatrics was for her benefit.

Annette then looked her grandmother up and down while she chewed with some exaggeration. “I hate to be the one to disillusion you, Grandmother, but no one really thinks you’re toting tea in that thermos.”

So, the cat had teeth. Little sharp ones. Beverly straightened, because this exchange had just gotten interesting.

At least the child was bright.

* * *

Annette saw immediately that she had drawn her grandmother’s fire. “You are an audacious child...” the witch began to lecture, though there was an appreciative gleam in her eyes that Annette couldn’t explain.

“I’m just trying to get into the spirit of this relationship,” Annette said with an audacity she hadn’t known she possessed. “You hand lots of truth to me, so I thought I’d hand some back to you. How’m I doing?”

Call 1-800-SMACK-ME
, Annette thought as she watched emotion flit across the witch’s usually impassive features. That was what she called her grandmother in her own thoughts—the witch—since Beverly was unnaturally young, thin, beautiful and had an evil heart.

Maybe she ate children, instead of just being nasty to them.

Oh, what the hell.
“Can’t you get wrinkles from looking like that?”

Beverly laughed unexpectedly. “No, you’re supposed to tell me that the wind will blow and my face will stick in that expression for the rest of my life. That’s what my mother used to threaten.”

“My other grandma used to say that.”

“Grandma? You’ve never called me grandma.”

“Big surprise.”

Beverly braced a hand on the counter, the other on her hip. “You shouldn’t take that tone with me.”

“You shouldn’t be mean to me,” Annette retorted. “You’re supposed to be my grandmother. You’re supposed to spoil me and buy me things and be
nice
to me.”

Beverly considered Annette so shrewdly that Annette was acutely aware of every flaw in her appearance. The hems of her jeans were frayed, her T-shirt didn’t quite pull over her skin to meet the waistband of the jeans. To her astonishment, though Beverly clearly noted these items of inappropriate deportment, she didn’t comment on them. “Is that what your other grandma used to do?”

Annette nodded, her sandwich not looking that tasty anymore. “Yeah, she did. She bought me stuff that Mom wouldn’t. She always made me promise that it would be our secret, so that Mom wouldn’t say I was getting spoiled and give her heck for it.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Annette shrugged. “Videos, then DVD’s.”

“Of what?”

“An entire season of
Babylon Five
, or vintage stuff like
Battlestar Galactica
or
Space 2000
.” Her grandmother looked predictably blank. “Or whatever other science fiction and fantasy stuff I wanted. We used to play Dungeons & Dragons together when I was little.” Annette doubted that the witch even knew what that was, though she was surprised that she admitted it.

“Is that a game?”

“Yeah. A role-playing game.”

“I don’t ever remember playing a game with you.”

Annette snorted. “Because it never happened. It’s not like you forgot.”

Beverly considered her perfect nails for a long moment—what would Annette do to have nails like that? Was that what the witch would offer to her in exchange for her heart?—then looked up so suddenly that Annette jumped. “I haven’t been very good at this grandmother stuff, have I?”

It seemed silly to lie at this point. “No.” Annette took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed it with vigor. It did seem to have a little too much mayonnaise, though she’d never admit that now.

“No need to mince words. That’s fair enough,” her grandmother said with a certain decisiveness. “I’ll bet you miss your other grandma.” This time there was a slight emphasis on the last word.

“So what if I do? That isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

“Not that she’s passed away, no.” This grandmother spoke to Annette as if she was an adult, which was appealing in a way. “Be warned that I’ll never play games with you or anyone else, that’s for certain. It’s not my style. Life is full of games and I’ve already had my fill.” She looked tired all of a sudden, but Annette wasn’t about to be sympathetic.

It was probably just a trick.

“That doesn’t sound very promising, in a grandmotherly kind of way.”

Beverly laughed a little. “No, it doesn’t, does it? Well, I think we’ve pretty much agreed that I’ve been lousy at being a grandmother, so there’s nowhere to go from here but up.”

Annette didn’t know what to say to that, but fortunately, her mother came home before things got really awkward.

In fact, her mother marched into the kitchen just as Annette was taking another bite out of her sandwich. “Annette! I’m just going to make dinner! Why are you having a snack?”

Annette pushed the mouthful of food into her cheek, feeling an urge to provoke her mother since the witch wasn’t biting. “I didn’t know how long you’d be at the grocery.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed, predictably, that Annette talked with something in her mouth. “You know better than to talk with food in your mouth. What will Beverly think of your manners?”

“I was hungry.”

“I’ve already seen her manners,” Beverly said wearily. “You should give her to me for a month. I’d straighten her out.”

Annette swallowed and straightened. “Mom?”

But her mom wasn’t paying attention. “Well, it took longer than I’d hoped at the grocery. I couldn’t find what I wanted for the longest time.” Her mom put a bag of groceries on the counter, and shook her head. “Of course, I don’t know when I was last at that grocery store. Annette, would you help me with the bags, please? There are more in the car.”

“Can I move the car into the garage if I do?”

Her mom gave her a look, but instead of declining immediately, she seemed to think about it. “Does your father usually let you do that?”

Annette shrugged, finding it harder to lie to her mother than it had been just a week before.

“I’ve got an idea,” Beverly said. Had she deliberately saved Annette from further interrogation? It sure seemed like it, as odd as that was. Probably she was going to offer a more fearsome alternative.
Let’s toss Annette into the snake pit instead.
“Why don’t you move my car into the driveway?”

Annette looked up in astonishment, just in time to catch the keys that were flying across the kitchen. “Your car?”

“Yes, my car.”

Maybe there was some dark diabolical reason for the witch being nice all of a sudden.

Maybe Annette’s virgin heart looked particularly tasty.

“Beverly! Are you sure? I mean, the Jaguar is an expensive car.”

“True.” Beverly nodded to a shocked Annette. “So, don’t wreck it, all right?”

Annette’s mom cleared her throat. “Beverly, I don’t think Annette knows how to drive a car with a manual clutch...”

“Well, then I’ll have to show her,” Beverly said, as if she did this kind of thing all the time. “Come on, Annette. And don’t mind the girls. You can help me bring in their accessories when we come back. My goodness, but they have a lot of stuff.”

It was hard to believe that anyone had more stuff than her grandmother, whoever the girls might be.

Curious despite herself, suspecting that she was being tempted into some lair, Annette wiped mayonnaise from her lip. She cautiously followed her grandmother to the foyer, clutching the keys as if they might suddenly turn to vapor and prove that this wasn’t going to happen after all.

“What about the groceries?” Annette’s mom shouted after them.

* * *

So, they brought in the groceries, and under her mother’s tutelage, Annette parked the Subaru in the garage. Knowing that her chance to drive the Jag was contingent upon doing this well, she focused.

And she prayed a little. She even put on her seatbelt first and adjusted the seat and mirrors, as if she was used to doing this all the time. As if Dad had taught her, when in fact, she was just a good mimic. She parked the car carefully, very slowly. She was sure her mother would hear her heartbeat, it was pounding so loud, but instead she just murmured directions.

“A little more to the right.” Her mom reached over and pushed the wheel slightly so they pulled into the garage straighter. “And a little further in. Maybe a foot more. Now, stop.
Stop!
” After the car stopped—because Annette nearly put the brake pedal through the floor—her mom pointed to the front of garage and car. “You see how that shelf lines up with the front of the car?”

“I can’t see the hose anymore.”

“Right. That’s how you know you’re in far enough. Just don’t hit the shelf or your father will hit the roof. It was the first thing he built in this house and he’s very proud of it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I hit it the week after he finished it.” Her mom shrugged. “I told him it was too deep of a shelf, but he measured it to be an exact fit.”

Then her mom shut up and went a bit pale, as if she’d suddenly thought of something.

Right. Dad wasn’t coming home.

Maybe.

Better not to think about that.

Annette was shaking as she put the car into Park and turned off the ignition. Then, she turned to her mom, certain of her triumph.

“You’ve never done that before, have you?” her mom asked, destroying any illusion that it was a habit.

“No, but I’ve wanted to for a long time.” Annette was sure that this would be the end of it, that her mother would take away the bonus round that the witch had offered.

“You should have said something sooner.” Her mom took a deep breath, obviously bracing herself for letting Annette down.

Figures
, Annette thought.
No one ever lets me have what I want now that Grandma’s gone.
And she wanted to tear into the bag of chocolate chip cookies that she’d glimpsed in the grocery bags.