Polkacide (21 page)

But Peg seemed satisfied
that I had it under control. "All right then." She clapped me on
the back. "You do that, and I'll keep digging. Eddie Sr. sees a lot
of doctors. I wonder what kind of meds he has access to. The kind
that might simulate a heart attack, for instance."

"Let me know what you turn
up." Oh, how I wished for a cigarette. I still had the one Ellie
had given me at Bonnie's place the other night; it would be so easy
to retrieve it from my purse and light it up. Delicious, soothing
smoke could be filling my lungs in a matter of moments. Who cared
if I undid the work of six weeks of kicking the habit? If I'd known
my life was going to get so complicated, I never would've quit
smoking in the first place.

Peg walked up the steps and
opened the front door. "I guess we'd better get started. We've got
our work cut out for us."

I stayed at the bottom of
the steps and raised an index finger. "Actually, I'd rather get
some of this squared away in person, if that's all right. The
police and parking authority, at least."

Peg looked down at me from the
doorway. "Are you sure you have time for that? You could get it
done faster over the phone."

"Faster and possibly screwed
up." I rolled my eyes. "Face to face is the way to go with city
government and law enforcement."

"Okey-doke, sweetie." Peg waved. "Good
luck."

I pulled out my phone and held it up.
"Call if you need me." Then, I spun and headed for my
car.

For once, I was glad I had a bad habit
of leaving my purse in my car. There it was, on the front seat,
with my keys inside...the perfect opportunity for a car
thief.

Or someone else who needed to flee the
scene of a crime. In other words, me.

As soon as I got in and shut the door,
I felt relieved. It was exactly what I needed at that point in
time: a getaway.

What had started as a bluff
to get Father Speedy to back down, then became a white lie to cover
the fact that I'd probably ruined Polkapourri single-handedly, had
turned into an avalanche of consequences. The truth was, I'd run
out of time to fix the problem; I was going to have to come clean
soon and hope Peg could still save Polkapourri. There was no other
chance that this would work out right.

Unless Father Speedy gave
in, which was possible. He stood to lose a lot of money for the
Church if Polkapourri moved or died. But time was running out for
him, too. Polkapourri was set to kick off in less than three days.
Was he as stressed out about this as I was? All I knew for sure was
that I personally was ready to crack.

For a long time, I sat in
the car, paralyzed with indecision. Should I go to the police
department and the parking authority, officially withdrawing
Polkapourri from St. Casimir's festival grounds? Should I run to
Father Speedy, tell him the truth, and beg him to let us
stay?

I decided on a third option,
instead.

Sliding the key into the
ignition, I switched on the car and pulled away from Polka Central.
Instead of driving toward St. Casimir's or the police department or
parking authority, I headed for neutral turf...a place that
wouldn't force me to make a hard choice. I might be
nagged
to the point of
insanity, but I wouldn't immediately have to pick the rock or the
hard place.

Why face up to the consequences of my
poor choices when I could avoid them altogether at Baba
Tereska's?

Chapter 31

No one answered the door at
Baba Tereska's, so I walked around back. There she was, in her
vegetable garden, down on her hands and knees.

I stopped and watched for a
moment as a wave of déjà vu rippled through me. I remembered seeing
her like that so many times before; she'd been my babysitter often
when I was little, and she'd almost always spent the days working
in her vegetable garden and flower beds.

Speaking of the flowers, the
air was thick with their sweet fragrance. The beds along the back
of the house and the edge of the yard were bulging with pansies,
petunias, carnations, begonias, and wild roses. I closed my eyes
and breathed in their perfume, savoring the rich mixture of scents
and the rush of childhood memories they evoked.

"Well, hello there,
kochanie
." Baba Tereska's
voice broke my blissful trance. "Have you come to help with the
weeding?"

My eyes snapped open, and I
grinned. "Do I have to?"

"Of course not, honeybunny."
Baba tipped back her ratty straw hat and pointed her chin in the
direction of the garden shed under the big spruce tree. "You know
where the lawn mower is, don't you?"

I couldn't help but laugh.
As hard on me as she could be, she had a playful side that cracked
me up, too. "I think I'll hold off on mowing the lawn," I said. "At
least until I get the house painted."

"Don't forget about the
sidewalk," said Baba. "Those slabs aren't going to repair
themselves
."

"Don't I
know
it." I laughed again, glad that
I'd decided to visit Baba. A little time with her was just what I
needed. Sometimes, it
was
better to walk away from my problems...and
hopefully, come back later with a fresh perspective.

Baba sighed, and then she
coughed. It was that same old deep, wet cough, the one she'd had
for what seemed like forever. "I suppose you'll be wanting lunch,
now that you're here?"

"I hadn't thought about it,
really."

"Typical freeloader." She
shook her head, looking disgusted. "I guess you expect me to make
your favorite food, eh? Tuna casserole with potato chips on
top?"

My eyes lit up. "You're making tuna
casserole?"

"In your dreams." Baba
cackled and clapped her dirt-caked orange gardening gloves
together. "How about scrambled egg and fried baloney sandwiches
with ketchup instead?"

Healthy it wasn't, but a guilty
pleasure since childhood, it was. "Perfect! I mean, I guess I could
force one down."

"No no no." Baba wagged her
head. "You misunderstood. What I
meant
was, how about if
you
make a sandwich
for
me
?"

I laughed again. "You got it,
Baba."

Her hand was shaking a little when she
reached up for a lift out of the dirt. I took hold of her forearm
with both hands and pulled up steadily.

It was then, for the first time since
I'd come back to town, that I realized how heavily her age was
weighing upon her. Even with help, she rose slowly and with
difficulty.

Baba shoved a foot under
her, then grunted as she pushed up. Once she'd gotten both feet on
the ground, she paused halfway, bent over and breathing hard. She
unfolded from there with deliberate slowness; I could hear the
bones cracking as her spine straightened.

I held on to her arm as she
stood before me, beaming under her straw hat in the mid-morning
sun. Her tiny body swam in the pink sweatshirt and red sweatpants
she wore, a miniature version of the grandmother I'd known growing
up.

Not that the fire of her
personality was any less bright. "I
knew
it." She scowled up at me, her
icy blue eyes locking on to mine. "I
knew
you couldn't do it."

I frowned. "Do what?"

"I
knew
you couldn't last the week with
that woman." She smiled and nodded. "Did she
fire
you, or did you
quit
?"

"What makes you think either one
happened?"

"Why else would you be here
instead of at work?" She smirked like she'd gotten one up on me.
"The big polka party's in three days, isn't it?"

I sighed and shook my head.
"I didn't quit
or
get fired. Just took an early lunch."

"Okay, okay." Baba narrowed her eyes.
"If you say so."

I helped her walk out of the garden,
and then she shook off my grip. She headed for the back door of her
house on the way to make lunch, and I trailed after her. The same
scene had been repeated many times in the past; except for the
difference in our ages, it could have been twenty-five years
ago.

"So your new job is treating
you well, then?" Baba said it without looking back over her
shoulder. "You
like
working for Miss Peggy?"

I decided to gloss over the ugly parts
for the moment. "It's going fine, Baba. We're getting along
fine."

Baba chopped her hand
through the air and snorted in disgust. "Now I
know
you're full of crap."

I couldn't help smirking. It was good
to see, as old as she'd gotten, that she was still the same Baba
Tereska.

Baba peeled off her
gardening gloves as she walked. When she reached the back steps,
she turned and shook them at me. "Watch your
back
with that woman. Don't be like
that father of yours and get
taken
in
by her."

"I won't, Baba." I shook my head
earnestly. "I promise, I'm keeping an eye on her."

"She's a
menace
." Baba leaned toward me,
shaking the gloves fiercely. "A
disgrace
. I put
nothing
past her."

"Yes, Baba." I was thirty-five years
old. How was it she could still make me feel like I was
twelve?

Baba handed me the gloves, then turned
and worked her way up the cement steps, making the most of both
handrails. She pulled open the screen door at the top and moved
aside, holding it for me as if I needed the help more than she did.
"Beauty before age," she said.

I'd learned long ago not to argue with
her. "Thank you, Baba." I smiled and walked inside instead of
trying to insist she let me be the one to hold the door. It
would've been a waste of time, anyway.

She came through after me and pointed
at the gloves. "Just put those on the stool there." She jabbed her
finger at a waist-high wooden stool just inside the
doorway.

The stool had been there for as long
as I could remember. As I placed the gloves on top of it, a blur of
memories flickered through my mind--so many other moments when I'd
put things there or sat on that stool or just walked past
it.

Baba went to the sink and
washed her hands with hot water. Clouds of steam rose around her,
billowing in the sunlight streaming in from the window. "So if your
job is going fine, and you're getting along fine with Miss Peggy,
tell me what the problem is,
kochanie
."

I sighed loudly. "Why does
there have to be a
problem
, Baba? Maybe I just came for
a simple visit. I never get to see you when I'm out in L.A., do I?
I don't even call that much."

"Too busy shacking up with
that not-much-of-a-man of yours." She switched off the spigot, tore
a paper towel from the roll on the side of the cupboard, and dried
her hands. "How long have you two been living in sin
now?"

I winced. She was as good at nagging
as she was at making me feel at home. "Three and a half years. And
it's not a sin."

Baba hobbled to the refrigerator and
swung open the door. "When's he going to make you an honest woman,
huh?"

I hated feeling like I had
to justify my relationship. "We're not talking about marriage,
Baba. Things are fine the way they are."

"Fine, fine." Baba pulled
out a gray carton of eggs and placed it on the counter beside the
stove. "Everything's
fine
with you, isn't it? Why do I get the feeling I'm
not hearing the whole story?"

"He hasn't asked me to marry
him, okay?" I pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.
"And I haven't been trying to
get
him to ask."

Baba stopped in the middle
of reaching into the fridge and looked at me. She raised one
eyebrow and nodded. "So that's how it is."

I wished I could take back what I'd
said. I'd just given her the ammunition she needed for a really
good nagging.

It was one of her favorite subjects,
to boot. She and my mother been telling me for years that I'd never
get married and start a family if I didn't change my ways. With
each year that went by without a wedding, their commentary had
gained momentum...not that I cared or paid any attention. Now that
Baba smelled blood in the water, trouble in paradise, I expected
her to pounce.

Which is why what she said next
surprised me so much. There was no finding fault with me, no
telling me I needed to try harder if I wanted a ring on my
finger.

Just this: "Don't stay with
someone you don't love,
kochanie
."

My mouth fell open. I couldn't believe
what I'd just heard. Instead of pushing me to hold on to my man for
all I was worth, instead of reminding me that I wasn't getting any
younger and my options were dwindling, she told me not to stay with
someone if I didn't love him.