Hungry for Love (71 page)

She reached him on his cellular phone.  “What’s up,” he said on hearing her voice.

“How are you hon?  It’s been a while.”

“Great.  What’s up?”

“I hate to bother you with this, but I need some money.  I’m doing the party for Sally you know and the checking account is very low.”

“What, already?”

“I went to
New Orleans
to help
Laurel
with her apartment.  That was expensive and party food is too.”

“Yeah I saw charges on the credit card bill.  She’s gotta job, you know.  Why are you buyin’ her stuff?”

“I tried not to spend too much.”

“Okay, look I can put some money in for you, just not a lot.”  He stammered a bit then continued, “I have more expenses now—um—a friend—needs some very expensive dental work.”

Once again, Annabeth thought of
Laurel
, her remarks about her father, and of her strength.  She took a deep breath, then said, “Remember when you refused to pay for
Laurel
’s braces?  She had a paper route and babysat and I did all that mending work to raise the money.  Don’t you think….”

He cut her off, saying, “That’s the spirit.  Raise that money yourself.”

Her jaw dropped, but Annabeth forced herself to reply, “Stop it R.J.  It’s for Sally’s party and I need the money.”

“Okay, I’ll make a deposit.  Now I gotta go.”

He clicked off on her before she could say anything pleasant.  What a depressing conversation.  He could be awfully insensitive at times.  It was such a shame to miss someone so much and then to have an awful conversation like that, to feel annoyed, angry even, and not to feel any better after it.  All she could really do now was concentrate on the party preparations.  When the party actually happened and she and R.J. were face to face, hopefully things would improve.

She worked for hours in the kitchen, and then in the evenings Annabeth would undress and scrutinize herself in the mirror.  Was she any thinner?  Did she look any better at all?  At night she lay alone in bed, thinking of her marriage and what she yearned for.

The day of the party, almost before sunrise, Annabeth was up and hard at work in the kitchen. She assembled the mousse cakes and an assortment of other foods.  Her feet aching from hours of standing, Annabeth peeled and deveined five pounds of shrimp, sautéed chunks of chicken and spicy sausage, peeled and chopped two dozen tomatoes, assorted peppers and onions and then set about preparing the Jambalaya, which was hot and fragrant, kept warm in her oven while she dressed for the party.

Annabeth examined her reflection carefully.   She looked quite lovely in her pink dress.  This had to work.  The party would be wonderful and R.J. would see that he belonged at home with her, not with some young girl.  For all she knew the girl was already history.  Mid-life crises didn’t last forever and the men always came home.  Then they could have a new beginning.  Annabeth glanced at the clock.  It was just a bit past four.  She was expected to arrive at Maggie’s by five to help with all the hostessing chores.  There was plenty of time. All she needed to do was pack the car and take off.  Carefully she filled two Styrofoam coolers with ice, then Annabeth lowered the cakes gently into them and placed them in the back seat of her car.  The breads and hot Jambalaya fit neatly on the floor of her trunk.

The car started on the first try.  She put the car in gear and pulled smoothly out of the driveway onto the road beyond.  Maybe the old clunker was learning to behave.  Where was that annoying clanking noise?  The car was running much better; it must be a positive omen.  The August heat was unbearable, and it had been years since the air conditioning in her car worked properly.  The cakes were on ice, though and should be fine for the short drive to Maggie’s.  Annabeth glanced in the rearview mirror; she really did look good.  Her plan was working perfectly.

She drove another few blocks until she was maybe two miles from the center of town, then the car stopped.  The engine died, and Annabeth used the ongoing momentum to steer it toward the curb, cursing softly under her breath.  She twisted the key in the ignition, but the motor refused to turn over.  She tried again.  Nothing.

There were no houses for at least a mile.  She got out of the car and walked toward the front, releasing the hood and peering in at the engine, somehow hoping that something she’d seen R.J. do over the years would come back to her, inspiring her about how to get the car moving again.  All she remembered clearly was to check inside the radiator.  She removed an old rag from the trunk and twisted off the cap, making sure to stand well back.  There was a hissing sound she had never heard before, and then an eruption of fluid, a spattering of color as Annabeth screamed and jumped back, although not quickly enough.  A stain of iridescent greenish yellow streaked across the front of her dress, soaking into her skin and burning her.  “Ouch,” she screamed, pulling the dress away from her body.  She looked down, noting that she wasn’t really hurt, although the dress was ruined.  She put the radiator cap back on and tried again to start the car.  Nothing.

Annabeth got out of the car, slammed the door, then weighed her options.  How long would it take to reach a house at which she could use a telephone to call Maggie?  She shook her head.  It was far.  It made more sense to go back to Billy’s Garage and maybe the mechanic would still be there.  It was four long blocks, which Annabeth walked as quickly as she possibly could, thinking of the food in her car and glancing often at her watch.  No luck; the station was deserted, so she inserted some coins in the pay phone and dialed Maggie’s number.  The phone rang and rang. She hung up, reached for her money in the change shoot, but it was not returned to her.  She inserted more coins and dialed again.  This time she heard a click and knew the phone was being answered.  “Thank goodness” she said aloud, but there was no familiar voice at the end of the line.  Instead she heard a recording imploring her to dial a one and the area code; the phone was out of order.  Why on earth had she not gotten a cell phone like everyone else.

Annabeth walked on, expecting to reach the Ford dealer whose showroom was just outside town. She could see the tall blue sign in the distance and was certain they would be open, and someone there would have a jumper cable or whatever quick fix the car needed this time.  It was a bit farther than six blocks, and Annabeth walked quickly, her new shoes rubbing blisters on her ankles and little toes.  Entering the dealership, she heard two male voices and walked in that direction.

“You think you’re just so smart, don’t you?” 

“Look, we’re on the same side here. We’re both trying to save this business.”

“The business was just fine until you swooped down like some damn crusader rabbit.  Dad and I were doing just fine.”

“Dad asked me to come back.  You know that.”

“Yeah, Mr. Big Shot Financier.  Reorganize the whole business so I don’t have a clue.  Set new hours.  Act like the boss around here.”

“Grady, what is it you want anyway?”

“I want a life, the life I had, when we were doing just fine.  I don’t want to be a slave to this place.”

“If we don’t make some changes the business will go under in a year.  You know that.”

“I damn well don’t know that.  And besides....”

Annabeth walked up to the door where all the shouting was, but she didn’t want to barge in, so she waited outside a bit, hoping the voices would calm.  She looked down at her watch.  It was a few minutes after five.  Maggie would soon start to wonder where she was.  She coughed, hoping she would be heard and the men inside would stop arguing.

“Oh, go to hell!” said the first man, pushing out the door and past Annabeth without even seeing her.

Annabeth took a deep swallow and walked toward the door.  She hated angry scenes like this and didn’t want to appear an eavesdropper.  “Excuse me,” she said softly.

The man behind the desk looked up from his computer.  In one glance he took in Annabeth’s situation and rose to greet her.  He was quite tall, and his white shirt was crisply starched.  His hair, formerly dark, but now shadowed with silver, was neat, as was the nicely trimmed beard he wore.  He smiled at Annabeth in a way that made her relax.  His eyes, black and sparkling, were confident yet kind, honest but also shrewd.  “Annabeth Copeland,” he said.  “You cut your hair.”

“Yes,” she said, startled, touching her hair, “But it’s Welner now.”  He was familiar looking….Her eyes opened wide, “Doug Hawkins!  My goodness!  Look at you—you have a beard! I thought you left town years ago.”  She smiled at him then.  “It’s so nice to see you again.”  He remembered her long hair.  How amazing.

He smiled back.  “How are those math skills?”

She laughed.  “Probably no better than when you were my tutor.  Luckily I don’t need them very often.”

“You were always an artist anyway, not a mathematician.”

Annabeth smiled at him again, thinking him sweet to remember her silly hobby.  “And you were always good at noticing the details about people.”

“Yes,” he smiled, “And you look like a damsel in distress to me right now.”

“My car broke down a few blocks from here.  It needs jumper cables or something.  It breaks down all the time.  And I have food melting inside.”

“The mechanics are gone for the day, but let me see if I can help you.”  

“Thank you so much.  The car’s parked a few blocks from here toward town.”

Annabeth looked down at her dress as Doug peered under the hood of her car.  He attached the jumper cables, but the engine wouldn’t turn over.  She walked to the trunk and opened it.  The Jambalaya was fine, still pleasantly warm.  She lifted the lid of one of the coolers in the back seat.  The cake was sweating and looked ominously soft.  Carefully she lowered the cooler lid.

Doug sighed as he raised his head from the hood, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can get this vehicle going again.  I think the fuel pump is gone, and there are a lot of other problems as well.  I’d be glad to have our mechanics look at it on Monday, to give you an estimate.  Then you can decide if it’s worth fixing or not.”

“Oh my.  I should have called Maggie from your office.  They’re waiting for me and this food.”

“Let me take you where you need to go.  Then I’ll come back and have your car towed to the garage.”

“Oh thank you so much,” she said, relieved.

He walked to the car, carefully lifting the coolers into his back seat.  Annabeth opened her trunk, removed the breads in their bags and Doug placed the Jambalaya on the floor of his trunk.  “Smells wonderful,” he commented.

“Thank you.  I hope it isn’t spoiled.”

In a few moments they arrived at Maggie’s and Doug helped her in with the food.  “Annabeth!” exclaimed Maggie as she spotted them, “What happened to you?”

“Damn car,” said Annabeth.  “Maggie, do you remember Doug Hawkins?”

“Yes, of course, Grady’s brother.”  Maggie said.  “How are you?”

Doug glanced at Maggie.  “Always the brother of the football hero.  My claim to fame.”  Then returning his focus to Annabeth, he continued, “All right, we’ll have your car.  Come around on Monday and we’ll give you that estimate.”

“It was so nice to see you again.”  Annabeth smiled.  “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to talk.  Why don’t you stay and have some food with us?”

Doug looked around at the party preparations.  “No, I can see it’s a family affair.  I don’t want to intrude.”

Maggie, not wanting to be topped in courtesy by Annabeth, insisted, “Please, stay.  You’re welcome to stay.”

“Another time,” he said, backing out of the room.

Annabeth followed him, saying, “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”  He smiled at her then, an open and friendly smile, one which caused his dark eyes to flash.