The House on Persimmon Road (8 page)

Judy Ann shrugged. “I wanna stay here and play.”

“Well…if you’re sure,” Justine said limply. “Maybe Pip would like to go. Oh. Mother, Pip was upset because you sent him to find some flowers for the table.”

“The field on the other side of the house was full of wild—”

“Pip didn’t think cutting flowers a manly thing to do. I’d like it if we all treated him in a more adult fashion.”

“Pip’s doin’ puberty,” said Judy Ann.

“He’s what?” the grandmothers trilled in unison.

“He’s growing up,” warned Justine, “and very much aware of it.”

“Oh,” said Pauline.

“We’re in for it now,” said Agnes. “I remember when Philip—”

Quickly Pauline reached over and patted Agnes’s arthritic hands. “Not now, dear,” she said affably.

Justine studied both of them dispassionately. “It’s all too easy.”

“What is?”

“Never mind, I’m not staring a gift horse in the mouth.” Justine took a final sip of coffee and stood. “I’ll just get my purse and the road maps. Judy Ann, go find your brother.”

Lottie slipped into the chair Justine vacated.

Pauline passed her daughter the list she’d made “just as a reminder.” She took up the silver pot again. “More coffee? Agnes?”

“Yes, thank you, Pauline.”

Justine rolled her eyes.

Her mother said, “Was there something else, dear?”

“It’s Sunday. Stores might not be open.”

“They are. I believe you should look for a Delchamps. The nearest one is in a town called Spanish Fort or Fair Hope. I’ve forgotten which.”

Justine’s eyes narrowed. She was beginning to see the light from which all the sweetness flowed. “And from whom did you get this tidbit of information?”

Pauline hesitated a beat too long. “From that welcome packet the bank sent you. There were all sorts of brochures about shops, schools—”

“Good try, Mother. I don’t want the man hanging around while I’m gone.”

“Who?”

“Our neighbor.”

“But—” Agnes began.

“But, what, Mother Hale?”

“I’m suddenly cold again. I just don’t understand it. I feel like something is continually eluding my perception.”

“I feel the same way,” Justine said dryly.

“I’ll get your sweater for you, Agnes,” said Pauline and hurriedly maneuvered Justine into the house proper.

“Mother, I know you’re up to some devilment.”

“I’m attempting to be kind to you. I thought about it. I’m grieving only for your father, but you have two griefs, your father and Philip…and on top of that, all the stress of changing your whole life.”

“The same applies to you.”

“I know, but I’m older, and I’ve had a wonderful life. I can adjust because I can take myself back to better times. Memories, you know.”

“I have a few good memories myself.”

“You do?” Pauline was genuinely surprised. “With Philip?”

Justine laughed. “Mother, on that note, I think I’ll leave it to you. I’m going to put on some makeup. See if you can find Pip, will you?”

“I’m certain he wants to stay here.”

“You’re certain?”

Pauline examined an imaginary hangnail. “I do believe that fishing trip is on. There’s a creek or a river nearby.” Justine nodded and sighed. She could forbid Pip to go and unleash no telling what kind of havoc. Highsmith wasn’t the man she would choose for Pip to emulate, but then, neither was Pip’s own father…now. Considering the situation of the moment, any male companionship would be a boon for Pip. If necessary, she could put the skids on it later, gently.

It dawned on Justine that Pauline probably wanted her gone so there would be no confrontation between Justine and Tucker Highsmith when he came to collect Pip. Pauline need not have worried on that front. Before she’d drifted to sleep last night, she had given the man a moment’s thought. She
had
been a tad harsh on him. If and when the opportunity arose, she meant to apologize. There was no good reason to leave him with the impression that she was a bitter and foolish divorcee. After all, they
were
neighbors.

“I don’t suppose it’ll hurt anything for Pip to go fishing,” she said. “The attention will do him good.”

“Of course it will. Now go along. Do take your time.”

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

Justine lifted a hand, and let it fall. “For some obscure reason, I feel bested.”

“You’re just not used to things going well. Now they are. Accept it.”

“The same way you’re suddenly accepting of Agnes?”

“I’m beginning to understand her. And we do have something in common for the first time. We’re both widows.”

Justine didn’t think it the prudent moment to mention there had been grandchildren in common for eleven-plus years.

“Whatever the reason, Mother, I’m pleased.”

“You’re going to be even more pleased when I tell you that I’ve thought of a way to get some money for the communal purse. It came to me last night when I was trying to get used to all the creaks and thumps this old house makes at night.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you after I’ve worked out the details.”

“It isn’t illegal, is it?”

“Why should you think that?”

“My suspicious nature and your ambiguity.”

“Justine, go shopping. I’ve got to find that eyesore of a rag Agnes calls a sweater. I don’t want her coming down with pneumonia. We’ve got work to do.”

“Eyesore of a rag, Mother?”

“It slipped. I’ve never been fond of purple. Tell the truth, have you?”

Justine laughed. “Some truths are better left unsaid.”

“I love your laugh, Justine. It’s such a gay, throaty sound.”

“Why, thank you, Mother.”

“You still need to lose five pounds.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I don’t see it!”

Pauline waved in the direction of her daughter’s derriere. “That’s because you’re always walking away from it.”

“Next time,” Justine said, “I’ll stop while I’m ahead.”

Excusing herself, Justine disappeared into her bedroom for makeup, car keys, and purse. On her way out she glanced over her
-
shoulder into the armoire mirror. Maybe there was just the tiniest hint of spread there. Her mind’s eye carried her five years into the future until she was visualizing hips over which she could not tug a pair of hose.

Cottage cheese. Lots of it!

—  •  —

“You just want to get close to the mother without a tadpole hanging on a teat,” grumbled Wheeler.

“Dad, I didn’t tell the boy I’d take him fishing. He asked me what there was to do around here, and I said the river’s nearby, and I know a good fishing hole, and that I’d take him sometime. He said maybe tomorrow and I said ‘maybe’ just off the top of my head.”

“Kids don’t hear ‘maybe.’ Their ears ain’t situated right.”

“He’s got his heart set on going. Apparently he’s never done any fishing. But if you don’t want to take him, I’ll talk to him, put it off. I’d take him myself, but the old ladies snared me when I was coming back from my run this morning. Somehow I found myself agreeing to shuffle furniture.”

“You’re just full of virtue this weekend, ain’t you, son?”

Tucker grinned. “I’m always full of virtue.”

“Full of somethin’ else, if you ask me. Tell you what, I’ll take the boy fishing if you make it worth my while.”

“Hold on! You love to fish.”

“This don’t come under the heading of fishin’, it comes under babysitting.”

Tucker sighed. “Keep it reasonable.”

“I wanna take my pipe, a couple of cold beers, and you gotta agree to clean and cook any fish we catch before you haul me back to Iron Bottom’s clutches tonight.”

“Done,” said Tucker.

Wheeler’s hangdog affectation fell away. “Somehow I find myself in a right merry mood to dig worms,” he said cheerfully. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Pip.”

“What kinda name is that?”

“Short for Philip, I think. You want me to drive you down to the river, or you want to walk?”

“We’ll walk. I think I can handle a quarter mile without bringin’ in the medics. Call the kid.”

“He’s hanging around outside.”

Wheeler eyed his son. “You knowed all along I’d agree!”

“I was hoping.”

“Huh! What you’re hopin’ ain’t fit to voice. I guess you’re aiming to rub elbows and no tellin’ what else with the boy’s mother.”

“All I’ve done so far is rub her wrong.”

Tucker did think helping out up at the house might give him a chance to get on a better footing with Justine. Perhaps, he decided wryly, he would apologize for his snide remarks—provided the opportunity arose so he could do it without sounding mealy-mouthed.

Wheeler thumped Tucker on the back. The idea of two beers, his pipe, and nobody looking over his shoulder put him in an expansive mood. “Like as not, by day’s end you’ll have her eatin’ outta the palm of your hand. Anybody who can charm old Iron Bottom ain’t got to worry about lesser folk.” In the midst of adjusting his hat lower on his brow, Wheeler stopped. “Say, tell me what the two that’s my age look like. Maybe one of ’em is my type.”

Tucker drew his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. It had been his mother’s death that had put his Dad on the road to perdition, but the years since then had softened the blow. Wheeler still had a lingering weakness for drink and tobacco. But recently he’d begun to show more interest in other people, particularly women. Unfortunately there wasn’t a suitable female at the old folk’s home with faculties up to Wheeler’s rough, sparring nature.

With a casualness that was ground cover for mirth, Tucker mused aloud, “The one called Agnes, the ex-mother-in-law, has a face longer than a thigh bone. Pauline dresses as if the preacher is expected for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and all day on Sunday.”

Wheeler paused only a fraction. “Fishin’ sounds better. Get my pipe and tobacco. I got worms to dig.”

A half hour later, having seen his dad and Pip off on the path toward the river, Tucker aimed his steps toward the big house.

He had the feeling that he was about to complicate his life.

Pauline met him at the back door. “It’s so kind of you to lend us a hand, Tucker. We’re very grateful.”

“No problem, I’m happy to do it.”

“I do hope we can work with some speed. I’d like the great room to be finished before Justine returns from doing the marketing. It’ll be a nice surprise for her.”

Tucker stopped in mid-stride. “Your daughter isn’t here?”

“I just told you. She’s gone shopping.”

“I see,” he said. “Did she approve of my lending you a hand?”

Pauline hesitated. “She didn’t disapprove. And she was delighted that Pip could get in some fishing.”

“You mentioned my dad to her?”

“I think that slipped my mind.”

“Justine did know I was coming up to the house?”

Pauline smiled beatifically. “Well, the great room wouldn’t come off as a surprise if I told her, now would it? She’ll be so pleased. You’ll see.”

All Tucker could see was that he had been had. And by a sly old matriarch, to boot.

Some three hours later Justine no more than pulled into the yard and tapped the horn than Pip came flying out the front door.

“I caught a bucket full of fish, Mom!
Real fish
. We’re gonna have ’em for supper. They’re called mullet. We’re gonna have a fish fry! We’d still be fishin’ but Wheeler said we’d just have to throw ’em back. I can go on my own now, can’t I? It’s safe ‘n’ everything. Wheeler showed me the path to the—”

Justine smiled at his exuberance, the genuine joy in his face, an emotion he had not displayed since last Christmas morning. She did not want to put a damper on his joy, but she had not quite understood all that he had said. “Run all that by me again, sweetheart. Slowly.”

Pip repeated himself with barely an inhaled breath. “Who or what is Wheeler? I thought Tucker was taking you fishing.”

“He couldn’t. He had to help Gram.”

A revelatory light suffused Justine’s brain. The reason her mother had been so darned anxious to get her out of the house fell into place. Obviously Pauline had enlisted Agnes
and
Tucker Highsmith in the conspiracy.

“Wheeler is Tucker’s dad,” said Pip.

“His dad?” Somehow, in the periphery of her consciousness, Justine had not expected Highsmith to have a parent, to be that
human.
It put him in a different light.

“Wheeler is in old folks’ storage all week,” the boy enlightened, echoing the old man verbatim. “Tucker gets him out on weekends so he can fish and putter around.”

Justine’s mind was racing. Tucker was sounding more and more like a devoted son. It almost gave them common ground. On the face of it, it was going to be awfully hard to maintain a forceful dislike of a man who was kind to old folks and children, not to mention helpful and attentive.

On the other hand his behavior could be a deliberate, very fortuitous facade.

“Wheeler
likes
me, Mom. He said I’m gonna make a right fair fisherman when I grow up. Next weekend he’s gonna teach me how to bottom fish for flounder. But I can fish for mullet on my own. Can’t I?”

“I don’t—” Justine stopped herself in mid-sentence. She wanted the children to become independent, learn new things outside the hurly-burly of the city and have more nature in their lives. Pip had tumbled into it headlong. If fishing was an activity that caused him not to dwell on the past, she’d be doing him a disservice to put a halt to it. Gazing into his joy-filled face, she even felt a tiny twinge of envy. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks, Mom! I’ve got to go tell Wheeler. He’s loaning me a pole till I get one of my own.”

“Hold it! Lend a hand with these groceries first.” But Pip was too fleet of foot.

“Back in a minute!” he shouted, disappearing beyond the forest of persimmon trees.

“Justine, dear, you’re back!” Pauline emerged onto the porch, smiling the smile of a satiated cat. Agnes and Judy Ann soon appeared behind her.

“Yes, I am,” Justine said. “And, oh, what a tangled web you weave, Mother.”

“She figured it out,” said Agnes. “I warned you!”

Pauline’s smile slipped. “Now, Justine, don’t be upset. Wait until you see what we’ve accomplished.”