Cold Tea on a Hot Day (4 page)

The town was pretty as a church calendar picture in the late-afternoon sunlight that shone golden on the buildings and flags, houses and big trees. Forsythia blooms had mostly died away, but purple wisteria and white bridal wreath were in full bloom.

It struck him how he knew the names of the bushes. He had learned a few things from his ex-wife, he supposed. He experienced a sharp but brief stab of regret for what he had let pass him by. He had not cared about houses and yards during his married years; he had not valued building a home and a family.

Then he immediately remembered all that he had experienced in place of domesticity, and he figured his life and times had been correct for him. In fact, that was what Lucille had told him: “You need to be a newspaperman, Tate, not a married man.”

Funny, he hadn’t thought of Lucille in a long time. Her image was fuzzy, and her voice came only in a faint whisper from deep in memory. She had been a rare woman, but neither of them had fit together in a marriage. Set free, she had blossomed as a psychologist, mother, political activist.

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven,
he thought as his gaze lit on the
big Porter house that came into view—the
Holloway
house, he mentally corrected.

He thought of his season now, as he pulled the BMW to a stop in the driveway just outside the portico. His season had come to put down roots. He had reached that point, by golly, finally, at the age of fifty-one. It was a fact, he thought, that might daunt a lesser man.

His strides were long and swift. He took the wide front steps two at a time and unlocked a door that needed refinishing. It creaked loudly when opened.

He stepped inside, into a wide hallway. There was a pleasant scent of old wood. He walked through the musty rooms, the oak flooring creaking often beneath his steps as he gave everything a cursory, almost absent look, noting the amazing fact that Muriel had pretty much left everything just as it was.

When Muriel had decided to leave, she had definitely decided to
leave.

He poked his head out the back door, the screen door that definitely needed replacing, then walked more slowly around the kitchen that had not been painted in twenty years. His cousin had not been a domestic type, any more than he had been. On into the dining room, where he unlocked the French doors and stepped out on the wraparound porch. By golly, he
liked
the porch! He was going to sit out here on hot afternoons and smoke his cigars and drink iced tea thick as syrup with sugar.

Just then his gaze fell on the wicker settee, where he saw a little boy asleep.

A little boy, a dog, and a big orange cat who regarded Tate with definite annoyance.

Vast Stretches of the Heart

W
hen Parker’s blue pickup truck, with the white-and-gold Lindsey Veterinary Clinic emblem on the side, came pulling up in her driveway, Marilee went running out to meet him. There was in the back of her mind the idea that he would be bringing Willie Lee.

She saw immediately that he had not.

“I heard about Willie Lee. Is he home yet?” Parker strode around the front of his truck toward her.

“No…all this time, Parker…” Her arms pried themselves from her sides, and she reached for him.

He took her against him and held her tight. Then, as he walked her back into the house, with his arm around her shoulders, Marilee told him of her conversation with the principal, of having searched the neighborhoods, of calling Sheriff Oakes, and of the helplessness of just having to wait. She did not mention the fear that was rising to choke her throat, that maybe this time Willie Lee
was truly gone, a fear that had haunted her since the night she had delivered him early, blue and choking for breath.

“He is just out diggin’ in a ditch for crawdads or explorin’ ant trails or something that boys do,” Parker said with perfect reasonableness.

Recriminations for having felt the burden of being a mother echoed in her brain, bringing shame and self-loathing.

“He’ll turn up, Marilee. It’ll be okay,” Parker whispered in her ear as he again drew her close.

What was great about Parker was his solidity in any crisis. Probably it had something to do with being a veterinarian, facing life and death on a regular basis. He was not daunted by a crisis, but was, in fact, better in a crisis than at normal times. He could offer himself in a crisis, whereas during normal everyday times, he withheld himself and kept his affability around him like a shield.

“Did you bring any cigarettes?” she asked.

“No. Why would I have cigarettes?” He looked startled.

“Parker, don’t you keep any, just in case?”

“I quit three years ago, and so did you, remember?” he said with a righteousness that Marilee thought uncalled for in the situation.

Annoyed, she almost asked him to go get her a pack, but then the phone rang.

Phone calls had been coming in from people as they heard about Willie Lee. Each time Marilee would jump to answer, hoping it was the sheriff calling to say Willie Lee was found. After three more such calls, she waved at Parker to answer.

Then Charlotte Nation drove up in her little red Grand
Am. Marilee, sitting at the window, watched Charlotte unfold her long legs out of the car and come swiftly up the walk, her arms loaded with brown bags. Charlotte had brought containers of fried chicken and potato salad from the Quick Shop that had put in a delicatessen.

Marilee looked at the food and felt sick; it was like funeral food.

Charlotte reported that June had managed to correct both the Ford and IGA ads in time for Leo’s delivery of the disks to the printer for tomorrow’s edition. And that their new publisher, Tate Holloway, had arrived before schedule.

“He did?” Vaguely, Marilee tried to be concerned about this.

“Don’t worry about him,” Charlotte said, giving a dismissive wave. “He took it upon himself to come early, so he had to take what he got. And when Willie Lee comes home, you are going to be worn out, so sleep in tomorrow morning and just come on down when you get ready.”

When Willie Lee comes home…

As Charlotte’s Grand Am pulled away from the curb, Marilee, who felt the need to keep vigil out the front window, was dismayed to see her mother’s Cadillac pull in. The car bore a front license plate that said CCoopers, which was advertising of a sort for the discount appliance store owned by her mother’s second husband—Carl Cooper—one of those stores that plastered the television with cluttered and tasteless ads. What this did for Marilee’s mother, however, was give her the fame she craved.

Watching her mother, a small woman with Lady Clairol blond hair who walked in short, quick strides,
Marilee had the thought to run and hide, but like one inextricably caught, she kept sitting there.

Her mother had come to talk about Marilee helping her get new tires for her Cadillac, because her husband could not be counted on to do this to her satisfaction.

“Carl won’t take the time,” she said, having launched immediately into her request. “He insists on just goin’ down to the discount tire warehouse and getting the cheapest ones slapped on there…and he doesn’t pay attention if they balance them or not.”

Marilee jumped in to say, “Mother, I can’t talk to you about this now. Willie Lee is missing.”

Upon being told of her grandson’s disappearance, her mother became very agitated. Her entire countenance became one of doom, so much so that to look at her made Marilee have trouble breathing.

Her mother then launched in with comments of a dire sort. “Anything could happen to him out there, all these perverts in the world.” And, “The boy is too friendly, doesn’t know a stranger. I hope he didn’t get in a car with somebody.” Then, “You never should have sent the boy to school anyway. He isn’t capable of regular school,” and, in a whisper that really wasn’t one and that Parker heard very well, “You should marry Parker, and then you could stay home with the boy.”

Invariably her mother called Willie Lee the boy.

“He has a name, mother. It is
Willie Lee.
”

“Well, I know that,” her mother said, looking confused and hurt and more fearful than ever. Marilee felt like a toad but did not apologize.

Parker, who could stand no conflict, said, “Norma, would you like more coffee?”

Marilee turned and went and shut herself in the bathroom, where she stared at her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror for a long minute, asking all sorts of unintelligible questions of herself and God.

Finally, her spinning brain settling somewhat, she opened the medicine cabinet and began a thorough search. Surely she had some pills left in here from the time when Stuart had walked out on her. Surely she did. Oh, Lordy, she felt like she was coming apart.

A knock sounded at the door. Marilee, wondering if word had come of her son, whipped the door open to see standing there her tall and sturdy Aunt Vella.

“Hello, sugar. I’m sorry, I’m not Willie Lee.” Her eyes, all sympathetic, went beyond Marilee to the sink strewn with the stuff out of the medicine cabinet. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for any of my old pills. I don’t have any, though. I threw them all out.”

“Well, yes, you did. I was here that day. Now, I’ve brought you what you need—a big chocolate shake.”

“Chocolate?”

“Yes, sugar…it’s in the kitchen.”

“Bless you.” Marilee threw herself on her aunt, who hugged her tight and then kept an arm around her all the way to the kitchen, where her mother saw and frowned. There had always been animosity between Marilee’s petite mother and her statuesque Aunt Vella, who was her father’s sister.

Marilee disengaged herself from her aunt and sat
down, taking up the large paper cup and spooning the thick shake into her mouth. Her Aunt Vella and Uncle Perry owned Blaine’s Drugstore and Soda Fountain, and Aunt Vella knew exactly how Marilee liked her chocolate shakes, with an extra squirt of chocolate syrup.

Then Marilee saw that Corrine had her own shake, too. Corrine’s black eyes met Marilee’s for an instant, in which Marilee summoned forth an encouraging smile from the place mothers always keep them. She had forgotten about her niece and wanted to make up for it. The child had enough of being forgotten in her life.

Corrine quickly looked away, though, as if needing to protect herself.

“Well, I have to go,” Marilee’s mother said. “I have to get Carl’s supper.”

“That’s okay…there’s nothing you can do here.” God forbid Carl’s supper be interrupted. Marilee breathed deeply.

“You call me as soon as you have news…and I can come back down.” She was edging toward the door, and turned and told Parker, “Good seeing you, Parker—you call me if Marilee needs me.”

Parker nodded politely, wisely not committing himself.

“Vella, it was good seein’ you.”

“Norma…”

Different as night and day, the two women managed to tolerate each other.

For a second Marilee’s mother hovered uncertainly, and then she patted Marilee’s arm and stroked Corrine’s dark hair away from her forehead, saying, “Honey, can’t you clip your hair out of your eyes?”

Marilee saw Corrine quietly keep sipping her milk shake, while beneath the table her legs swung about ninety miles an hour.

“Well, I’ll get with you this weekend about the tires,” Marilee’s mother said before leaving.

Marilee played the straw around in her milk shake and suffered guilt at the thought of telling her mother to cram the tires up her ass.

Vella, feeling the need to be polite and thoroughly cover the annoyance she always felt in the other woman’s presence, hopped to her feet and escorted her ex-sister-in-law to the front door. And needing to make certain the woman did indeed get out the door. It was, Vella thought as she saw her ex-sister-in-law get into her car, a great failing on her part that, after all these years and the death of her brother, Norma Cooper should still have the power to irritate the fire out of her.

When she returned to the kitchen, Parker was massaging Marilee’s shoulders and joking with Corrine, producing a rare smile from the child. Although she had always found Parker Lindsey vaguely wanting, Vella thoroughly admired the way he could lighten a moment when he put his mind to it.

Marilee said to her, “Don’t you have the Rose Club meeting tonight?”

“Yes. And I’m going. There’s plenty of time. Perry can get supper over at the café, and I can go straight to the meeting from here.” Perry always took himself off to the café, if he came home and she wasn’t there and no supper was on the table. Then he would come home, turn on the television and fall asleep in his La-Z-Boy.

She went to the counter to unpack a grocery sack from the IGA, where she had bought chocolate cookies and bananas. In her estimation a person could live on bananas for a meal and cookies for desert. She noted then on the counter a big bucket of fried chicken and a container of potato salad. With a small slice of alarm over possible food poisoning, she put the potato salad in the refrigerator.

The phone rang, and all of them jumped. Parker was the first to reach the receiver hanging on the wall. “James house,” he answered in an uncharacteristically clipped tone.

They all stared at him, not a breath being breathed. He said, “Hmmm…okay,” and hung up then said, “That was Neville. He said they haven’t found Willie Lee, but they have talked to five people who saw him this afternoon. He was definitely heading this way home.”

Marilee wished she had talked to the sheriff herself. Hearing his voice would have been something. Then she imagined the sheriff telling her that they were searching all the drainage culverts.

“Where
is
he?”

They all stared helplessly at her. She swung around and pushed out the back screen door and down the steps to the yard, hardly realizing what she was doing.

Please, Lord, bring my baby home. I will do anything. Please, Lord…just please. How will I bear it if you take him from me? If anything happens to him…

Thankfully, those in the kitchen knew her well enough to let her go alone. She went to the foot of the tree that housed the little fort Marilee and Willie Lee had built
together and looked upward. She did not cry. She never cried in a crisis. As she saw it, crying had never changed anything, and if she cried, then all would be lost.

She went to the rabbit cages and realized it was way past time the two rabbits inside were fed their evening meal. She got their food from the garage and filled their dishes, changing their water, too. She thought how Willie Lee loved animals. He seemed more comfortable with them than with people.

As she stood gazing at the rabbits, a squeal sounded…the familiar squeal of the gate in the back fence.

She whirled around to see a man coming through the gate. A tall man…Charlotte had said Tate Holloway…

Then she saw, standing beside the man, her much smaller son.

“This boy says he lives here,” the man said.

“Oh, my…
Willie Lee!
”

It was not until that instant of seeing the small boy’s figure and then her eyes falling on his upturned face that she realized she had truly begun to believe she would never see Willie Lee alive again, and that what she had been wrestling with all these hours was the inner imagining of his limp little body being pulled from some muddy ditch.

But here he was, his blond hair standing on end and his blue eyes peering out from his thick glasses, regarding her calmly.

“Hey, Ma-ma.”

She had scooped him against her. He pushed away and put a hand on her cheek, looking deep into her eyes.

“Why are you cry-ing, Ma-ma?”

“Because I missed you…” She was crying so hard that she could hardly speak. “I didn’t know where you were, and I’ve been so scared, because you were lost.”