The Reading Circle (4 page)

When Councilman Sparks started the engine of his SUV out in the parking lot, he had to steady himself with a couple of deep, cleansing breaths that caused his seat belt to tighten and press against his stomach. Then he glanced into the rearview mirror and was shocked to see the single tear coursing down his right cheek.

Out loud, he said, “Now where the hell did that come from?”

A
s they had done every now and then over the six years of their friendship, Maura Beth and Periwinkle were closing down The Twinkle. Of course, all the votive candles on the two-seaters were still flickering, the silver and gold star mobiles were dangling above them, and the quiet stylings of a Diana Krall CD were working their magic in the softly lit background. But the last customer—a paunchy carpet salesman passing through Cherico by the name of Bubby Bentworth—had headed back to his motel, having enjoyed his entrée of Periwinkle's grilled rosemary chicken with roasted new potatoes and a slice of Mr. Parker Place's silken grasshopper pie. The front door had been locked and the OPEN sign flipped, and now it was time for some genuine girlfriend talk on an otherwise uneventful Saturday night over a last glass of white wine.

“You go first,” Periwinkle said, seating herself at Maura Beth's dinner table as she served their nightcaps. “I know you've been kinda worried about Jeremy and all. So you say he's coming down to see you tomorrow with some sorta news?”

Maura Beth took a sip of her wine and nodded approvingly. “Haven't heard anything to the contrary. He's supposed to show up around two o'clock. I have no idea what he's been up to, though. He said telling me in advance might jinx it.”

“Don't you hate it when men act so mysterious?”

Maura Beth managed a reluctant little nod, briefly drawn to the flame of the votive candle sitting halfway between them. “I wish I could say I'd had enough experience to agree with you. Of course, right before Al Broussard ditched me at LSU at the tender age of twenty-two, he did start acting strangely distant. Then he dropped that bomb of his that if I wasn't willing to join the Catholic Church, he wasn't going to marry me. But so far in our relationship, Jeremy's been pretty straightforward. And romantic enough to keep me interested. He's a really good kisser, for starters. Soft lips, lets you come up for air now and then, lets you guide him to the spots you want him to go to, but also respects your limits.”

Periwinkle quickly wrinkled her nose twice while working her gum. “All that's a good sign. But try to keep your eyes wide open if you can. I was way beyond naïve when I married Harlan Lattimore. Of course, I've wised up since then.” Then she leaned in the way she always did when something resembling a lecture or testimonial was forthcoming. “He'd just gotten the construction loan to build The Marina Bar and Grill out on the lake, and I was just as gung ho as he was. He even drove me out to the muddy spot where the restaurant was going up, but the moon was shining on the water, and it really dressed things up like a lot of fancy scenery in a stage play. I just thought this was gonna be a business made in heaven. I told him I'd be more than happy to be his secretary and keep the books and all. They say couples who work together have a better chance of staying together. That's what they say. But I shoudda seen trouble brewing because, honey, the devil was in the blueprints.”

“You mean fine print, don't you?”

Periwinkle shook her head emphatically and pounded her fist playfully on the table. “No, I meant just what I said. When he laid out the blueprints for the restaurant, I shouldn't have been so darn trusting. There was this extra room in the back next to the pantry, and I said, ‘What's that for?' And he explained that he thought it'd be a good idea to have a little place to take a nap if either of us got really tired. Or even to spend the night in an emergency or if some other situation ever arose. Can you believe I fell for that?”

Maura Beth tried to suppress a smile but couldn't. She'd heard the story of Periwinkle's divorce too many times. But this little detail about the additional square footage was a brand-new twist. “Sorry. So that's how he went about his business on the side.”

“Lemme tell you how innocent I was. I even went out and decorated that little den of iniquity for him. Is that beyond lame or what? There I was, fooling around with swatches and fabric bolts until I was nearly cross-eyed, worrying about what the curtains would look like and if the color scheme was gonna be cheerful enough for him, when all he cared about was the mattress. Oh, it was a sweet setup for that nasty rattlesnake a' mine. My work was done by six every day, but as I eventually found out, some cutie'd come wandering in by herself later, sit herself down on one of his bar stools, and way too many times she'd end up evaluating my decorating skills on her back during one of Harlan's quickies!”

They both were actually laughing now and did not speak for a while. Maura Beth returned to the candle flame until she thought it was time to break the awkward silence. “No wonder you haven't told me about that part. I've always admired the way you've handled yourself since the divorce, though. I think I would've been crushed by what you went through.”

Periwinkle tapped her index finger on the table a few times, as if she were a teacher trying to get the attention of a daydreaming student. “That's where the settlement helped. As I've told you before, Harlan wanted to pay me off and cut me loose for practically nothing. But I hired me a great lawyer—Curtis Trickett, matter of fact. I'd recommend him if you ever need legal help. I told Curtis I'd helped Harlan build up that business and kept it square with the IRS and all our creditors, and I wanted my share because I intended to open my own restaurant. And here we are sitting in my very respectable success story.”

Just when Maura Beth thought Periwinkle had wrapped things up neatly, however, there was more inside scoop. “Harlan's been on my mind lately because apparently I've been on his.”

“Really? After all this time?”

Periwinkle was staring at the mobile above them, looking as if she were talking to one of her trademark stars. “Oh, I have no idea what to make of it. I get this phone call last night from him saying that he'd like to treat me to a romantic little dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us. And I said, ‘Are you out of your mind?' To which he says, ‘No, just to remember the good times.' ” She brought her gaze down to the table again. “He's up to something. I don't usually hear squat from him, not even on my birthday. Of course, I don't bother to remember his, either.”

Then she leaned in for one of her “girlfriend gossip” moments. “In fact, I'll tell you something interesting, girl. The only man in my life these days is Parker—I mean professionally, of course. He's such a dream to work with, and his desserts have really brought a different group of customers into the restaurant. We never used to get the ‘sweet tooth' crowd, and more black families have started to come in because of him. He says he's been spreading the word to all his friends at church, and they even mention him when they order. Sometimes they even ask if he can come out and talk to them. It's all good.”

“I'm so glad the hire has worked out for you. I had a good feeling about Mr. Place from the start,” Maura Beth said.

Periwinkle brightened even further. “Oh, more than you know. Sometimes Parker goes out of his way to do thoughtful things for me. Why, one time he even brought me some flowers—he's the Southern gentleman Harlan never was. And there's something else I've come to realize. At first I kinda thought of him as belonging to another generation. But he's just a few years past fifty, and I've finally admitted to forty, girl. I've gradually begun to think of us more as contemporaries.”

Maura Beth finally drained the last of her wine and lightly smacked her lips in a gesture of finality. “That all sounds delightful. My workplace environment is just plain drab and depressing with no man in sight. At any rate, I'll give you the lowdown on Jeremy as soon as I know what it is, and you do the same with Harlan. Oh, wait—did you agree to that dinner?”

“I did. Don't know why.” She began moving her eyes about, apparently projecting an amusing vision. “Maybe he needs to have his little playroom redecorated. But lemme tell you, girl. I am good and through being his clueless Martha Stewart.”

 

Maura Beth had never seen Jeremy looking so depressed before. She knew something was seriously wrong when he walked into her Clover Street apartment just past two the next day with his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. It also came to her that she had never seen him dressed in anything but his New Gallatin Academy navy blue blazer and red tie. Today he had decided that a pair of jeans and a faded yellow shirt with the top button missing would do the trick, and she didn't mind at all. He was still just as handsome and appealing out of his schoolteacher drag. They briefly hugged and kissed but had barely seated themselves on the sofa when he launched into an explanation of the project that had been occupying so much of his time lately.

“I thought I had this ‘Living the Classics in the Real World' field trip in the bag, Maura Beth. I don't think I've ever been so disappointed in my life, not even last year for your
To Kill a Mockingbird
meeting. Man, sometimes I wish I didn't care about my students the way I do,” he began. There was no mistaking the anger in his voice as he began flexing his right hand several times, fist to open fingers. He couldn't seem to stop, as if he were doing some sort of isometric exercise. Finally, Maura Beth reached over and put her hand over his.

“Calm down and tell me—but take a deep breath first.”

He complied, but his tone was still agitated and his breathing still labored. “I researched everything. Ways to cut corners on the motel and meals for my students, checking out availability of reservations on certain dates, lining up parents as chaperones, and all of it well in advance this time. As I mentioned, I've been working on another literary field trip—this time to take a school bus down to Oxford to see Rowan Oak and have the guys learn all about Faulkner. Why shouldn't my students be exposed to the literary world within reasonable traveling distance? I thought I got turned down last November for your
Mockingbird
review because everything was too rushed and last minute, which it was.”

Maura Beth reached up and gently rubbed his shoulder, feeling the tightness of his muscles beneath the shirt. “So you're saying the headmaster turned you down again?”

“I really thought Mr. Yelverton would approve me this time. I spent most of last weekend drawing up a proposal, and then I had dinner with him and his wife for the verdict. But it looks like it was all for nothing.” Jeremy's features darkened, and he made another fist, which this time landed emphatically on his thigh. “What really burns me is that Yelverton never blinks an eyelash when it comes to approving bus trips for the football team. Long live the Fighting Frontiersmen! Hey, he'll send them all over Middle Tennessee from August to November to represent the athletic priorities of New Gallatin Academy. But let an English teacher try to expose his students to a little literary history and culture, and suddenly it's a case of ‘Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.' He says my students can read Faulkner in the classroom like they've always done, plus go online if they want to see pictures of Rowan Oak, and that everybody knows the sports program brings all the alums together, particularly football.” Jeremy drew back sharply, practically spitting out the next word: “Football! It's undeniably a religion here in the South. And don't let anybody even think about standing in the way of the Immaculate Church of the Holy Pigskin!”

To say that Maura Beth was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable would have been an understatement. She found this version of Jeremy to be both peevish and unattractive. Did she dare bring up the results of last week's book club meeting in the face of his outburst? Unfortunately, Jeremy forced the issue.

“Well, I guess I needed to get that off my chest,” he added, taking another deep breath afterward. “I trust your Cherry Cola Book Club went off like clockwork. At least I know there's still a vestige of sanity in the world. Reading Eudora Welty again will do both of us good. We've at least got that going for us.”

Maura Beth suspected there was no way of easing him into what had happened, no matter how she fashioned it. So she got it over with right away, speaking faster than she normally would have. “The truth is, we won't be reading
The Robber Bridegroom
after all. Your Uncle Douglas and Justin Brachle proposed that we read
Forrest Gump
instead. We took another vote, and
Forrest Gump
won quite handily.”

Jeremy's eyes glistened as he leaned in a little too closely. “What? You replaced a classic like
The Robber Bridegroom
? Somewhere I think Eudora Welty must be turning over in her grave!”

“Over the selection of a small-town book club? Oh, I suspect she's more secure than that up in her literary heaven,” Maura Beth answered, bringing her hands together prayerfully in an attempt to lower his adrenaline level. “Besides, we can always read her next time out.” She attempted a conciliatory smile, but he didn't even notice, turning away while he conjured up more angry words.

“My Uncle Doug as an expert on literature?” Jeremy's sarcastic laugh was making Maura Beth even more uncomfortable, and he showed no sign of letting up on his pique. “You know as well as I do that Uncle Doug is totally addicted to Lake Cherico and his fishing lures. You've seen his collection mounted out there at his lake house. He ought to open up a museum and charge admission. I know it drives my aunt Connie crazy.”

“Oh, not anymore,” Maura Beth protested. “Didn't you know that your uncle will be teaching her how to fish come springtime? They're going to become a team out there on the water.”

Jeremy's face was becoming more and more a mask of disgust. “Good luck with that. And as for Mr. Brachle, my uncle's partner in literary crime—um, what did I hear them calling him?”