Mother (9 page)

Claire leaned against a magazine rack and gave him a satisfied smile. He knew what she was thinking:
I told you so ...

One excruciatingly precise item at a time, Priscilla Martin began scanning and bagging, stopping on occasion to recheck labels to be certain she’d made the wisest possible choice. She stared particularly long and hard at the Niblets label before letting out an exasperated sigh and sweeping the can across the scanner.

Jason suppressed a groan, promising himself they’d never shop with Prissy again. This foible was just too much.
Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…
 

Against the magazine rack, Claire was swallowing laughter. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Claire just smiled.

Terrible Creatures

Babs Vandercooth nibbled an Oreo between sips of coffee. “It’s like being a kid again, Pris. Have a cookie.”

“Really, Barbara - Oreos?”

“Why not?”

Prissy eyed a cookie like it was a big black bug, then snatched it up. She carefully unscrewed the top of the Oreo and examined the white filling, a dubious look in her eye. Peeling the filling from the cookie, she dropped it on her saucer, a lardy white lump that Babs eyed. “Take it, if you want it,” Prissy said. She never missed a thing.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Babs picked up the disk of filling and popped it in her mouth, feeling ten years old again. It felt good. Aida had told her this morning that Claire and Jason had arrived last night, but Babs hadn’t asked about her yet. Pris had no idea she’d kept in contact with Claire all these years, and they’d decided to play it cool to keep her from catching on - but, oh, how she wanted to see her.

“You know that stuff will kill you,” Pris said.

“Why’d you offer it to me, then?”

“It’s
your
choice,” Prissy used her most arched tone. “It’s
your
body.” She dipped a chocolate disk in her coffee, nibbled it, then set it aside. “Now, we need to make up a list of who is baking what for next weekend’s sale.”

“What would Morning Glory Circle do without you, Prissy? We’d all be headless chickens!” Babs trusted her friend wouldn’t hear the bite in her voice; she never did.

Pris smiled. “Do you have your notebook?”

“Sure.” Babs pulled a pen and a legal pad out of her tote.
 

“You’d be much better at this if you brought your laptop, Barbara. Then we could just print out a list for everyone to follow instead of passing out handwritten notes.”

“You know me, I’m kind of a Luddite when it comes to computers.”

Prissy sighed. “Only because you choose to be. There’s a new computer class starting at the adult school next Monday night. You should go.”

“Oh, you know enough about computers for both of us, Pris. And Monday night, Carl and I always play bridge with Stan and Aida.”

Prissy looked heavenward. “If that’s more important to you ...”

“It is,” Babs said firmly. “Much more important.” She’d learned to head off her friend whenever a lecture was looming - a frequent occurrence. She picked up the pen. “What’s the plan?”

Prissy always had a plan. Back when she’d babysat Babs, she would show up with a game plan. That’s what she called it. First they’d play crazy eights, then checkers, then when Babs turned ten, Prissy taught her backgammon. At twelve, Pris attempted to teach her chess, but Babs thought that was about as fun as hygiene films in Mrs. Crotchler’s phys-ed class. Prissy finally gave up on that, but still occasionally brought it up, as if Babs’ boredom with chess was some kind of handicap. But that was Prissy, and most of the time, Babs let it be. When she and Carl were newlyweds, Pris helped them buy their house on Morning Glory Circle, putting in a good word with the loan officer - Quinton Everett - so they could get the loan. And Prissy’d been there when Carl had his little problem. She could be truly amazing sometimes, though there was always a price.
Oh, is there a price.

“Barbara? Are you listening?”

“What? Oh, sorry. Gathering wool.”

“You need to exercise your mind, Barbara. Otherwise, you’ll lose it. I don’t want to end up wiping drool off my best friend’s face some day, now do I?”

“I was thinking about how good you’ve been to me and Carl.”
 

Prissy smiled, then snatched another Oreo. “Let’s have Aida Portendorfer supply cookies. Tell her we need - hmmm - twelve dozen chocolate chip and another twelve dozen sugar cookies. And the same amount of snickerdoodles. Maybe some brownies, too.”

Babs jotted it down. “Duane Pruitt always makes the fudge brownies. Leave those to him. You’re asking Aida to make an awful lot of cookies as it is, Pris.”

“Oh, Aida loves to show off her cooking. She’ll adore it. And we’ll sell them for five or six dollars a dozen. If those little hotshot Girl Scouts can charge that much, so can we. This sale will raise enough to allow us to buy three more animatronic Santas for the street this year.”

“I don’t think Aida will be happy about it. It will cost a lot, too.”

“Oh, the Portendorfers can afford it, just like Duane can afford to make the brownies. Put him down for two hundred - make that two-thirds brownies and one-third blondies. And Barbara, everyone will make the cost of ingredients back with their yard sale items, so don’t worry so much. After all, they get to keep seventy percent of their profits since they volunteered for the bake sale.”

“Virtually everybody on the cul-de-sac always volunteers to help, Prissy. No one can refuse you, you know that.” Babs ate another Oreo.
 

Prissy arched a brow. “Not everyone.”

“Who turned you down?”

“The Deans, of course…
and
the Crockers! Can you imagine? The Crockers?” She inhaled. “And I could barely convince myself to ask those lowlife Lowells, but I did, since everyone
must
contribute.” Her face pruned up. “White trash. I swear. Tattoos. Hair the color of ketchup! That woman is such a tawdry Audrey! And the man has motorcycles! Not to mention those horrid dogs.”

Babs had to work hard to keep amusement off her face. “Well, I’m not surprised the Deans turned you down. They both work at the Fudge Depot all weekend. They always turn you down.”

“Yes, but the Crockers?”

“Bettyanne told me she’s going to visit her niece in San Francisco next weekend for her baby shower! Isn’t that nice? And Roddy is probably on duty. When you’re on the police force you don’t always know your hours too far in advance.”

“Oh, please, Barbara. Bettyanne could spend the morning with us before taking off. Or at least take the time to make a couple dozen chocolate lava cakes before leaving.”

“It’s a long drive, Pris. Be nice.”

Prissy blew air out of her nostrils, like a dragon warming up. “Well, all I know is, until now, Roddy has always been able to schedule around our events. Most likely, he’s planning on hiding his car in the garage and watching sports all day while the
rest
of the street
works
.”

“Oh, Pris. Give him the benefit of the doubt. You’ve no reason to think that. And so what if it were true? He works hard. He’s one of Snapdragon’s Finest. He’s allowed to have a bachelor weekend.”

“
Everyone
on the Circle contributes. That’s what we agreed.”

“That’s what
you
agreed, Pris.”

Prissy gave her that thin-lipped glare that meant she was losing patience, the glare that made Babs want to keep pushing - but she didn’t. “Thirty percent of garage sale proceeds go toward our Christmas decorations, and one hundred percent of the bake proceeds do as well. It’s
charity
! The Crockers and Deans should at least make a donation if they won’t participate.”

“Prissy, your blood pressure is way too high right now, I’m sure of it. Ask them for a donation.”

“That cheapskate Earl Dean has never given anything toward the street decorations.”

“Honey, relax. He doesn’t decorate, why should he?”

“He’s a horrid little man. You’d think a candy maker would at least allow us to put up a giant candy cane on his lawn. Everyone else does. He decorates his business for Christmas, but won’t even put lights on his house. He’s a terrible creature. Just like his wife and those retarded children of his.” Prissy’s face was turning redder by the moment, but she lowered her voice to conspiratorial tones. “But do you know what he and Earlene do, Barbara? Do you know?”

“No.” Babs leaned forward. “What do they do?”

“They decorate a Christmas tree
inside
the house - and they string lights
in
their living room too - but they keep the blinds down so the
rest
of us can’t enjoy their decorations. They’re very selfish.”

“Why is that selfish?”

“If they’re willing to decorate for themselves, they can at least put the gosh-darn candy cane on their lawn, like the rest of us.” She looked like she smelled something offensive. “They’re the blight of the street. A mole on an otherwise flawless face! We need to do something about them and, darn it all, if I don’t get some cooperation, I just might.”

Stop it, Prissy!
she wanted to say, but what was the point? Pris never let up once she sank her teeth into something. Plus, Babs was reluctant to antagonize her. She feared what Priscilla Martin could do; she’d seen it firsthand.

“I just might,” Prissy repeated.

Babs heard the kitchen door open and close, saving her from having to reply. Prissy’s head swiveled. “Car-Claire? Is that you?”

“It’s both of us, Mother.” Claire appeared in the dining room doorway, her handsome husband behind her. “Aunt Babs!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “How nice to see you!” She hesitated, taking the enthusiasm down a notch. This is my husband, Jason. Jason, meet Aunt Babs.”

“She’s not your aunt,” Mother muttered. “Barbara, you should never have encouraged her to call you that.”
 

Babs paid no attention, but smiled at the couple as they entered the room, then shook hands with Jason. His grip was as pleasant as his smile. Then she and Claire hugged, long and hard. “Will you be joining us at the bake sale this coming weekend?” asked Babs. “We’ll sneak inside and have tea and Chesapeakes, just like we used to when you were a girl.”

“That would be nice,” Claire said. She exchanged glances with Jason. “We don’t really have anything to sell, though. We already did that.”

“Perhaps you can get your mother to give you a few items to sell.” Babs turned to Prissy, all innocence. “You’ve been talking about unloading some of your stuff for years, Pris.”

Prissy pursed her lips. “I just haven’t gotten around to clearing out the garage.”

Babs twinkled at Jason. “I have a wonderful idea. This strapping young man could help you!”

Something dark moved across Prissy’s face, while Claire’s wore a look of amusement.

Jason nodded. “Of course I can help. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

Prissy gave her son-in-law a false smile. “I’ll do that,” she said. “When
I’m
ready.”

Babs sat back, pleased with herself. Now maybe Prissy would
finally
get around to having that yard sale she’d been talking about for over three decades now. All she needed was a little push.
 

“Have you kids finished putting all your groceries away already?” asked Pris. She turned to Babs. “We went on quite the shopping trip this morning.”

“That we did,” Jason said with a twisted smile.

“I filled their cupboards and fridge so they wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.” Pris sounded very satisfied with herself. “I even bought them some nice steaks.”

Babs knew what a trip to the market with Pris was like - she still remembered the time her friend had treated her to one as a housewarming present twenty-five years ago. Babs hadn’t shopped with her since. “How lovely.” She winked at the kids and Claire and Jason grinned back.

“What can I help you two with?” Pris asked.

“I was hoping to introduce Jason to Dad.”

“Oh, well, let’s do that later. He’s having an after-lunch nap.”

“Okay ...” said her daughter.

“Now, why don’t you two run along? Barbara and I have a lot of planning to do for the Morning Glory Circle Yard and Bake Sale.”

Claire looked annoyed, then she and her husband said their goodbyes and disappeared.

Prissy sighed. “Kids these days!”

“What a fine young woman she’s turned out to be, Prissy!”

Priscilla smiled weakly. “I suppose. I only hope she’s gotten over some of her …
problems.
”

“Well, everything concerning her seems to be going along rather nicely.”

But Pris wasn’t convinced. “Time will tell. Now, let’s figure out the rest of our game plan. What is it Geneva-Marie always makes?”

“She’s donating six dozen of her wonderful cinnamon-pecan rolls.”

Pris clucked her tongue. “Only six dozen? Those sell like mad. Tell her she needs to double that.”

Babs looked up. “She already told me all she has time for is six dozen.”

“Well, there it is, then. Obviously her dedication to our Christmas decor is half-hearted.” She smiled, dry as toast. “No Santa in front of the Collins house this year. Have you talked to the Sachs yet?” Prissy’s nose twitched. She had never been fond of Milton and Candy, but once they painted their house pink, she became downright snippy.
 

“Candy is supplying cupcakes. Eight dozen.”

“Out of a box, no doubt.”

Babs ignored her. “The Dunworth Sisters are donating a dozen pies, all from scratch.”

“What kind?”

“I didn’t ask. I was simply grateful.”
 

Pris sniffed. “Make sure and find out. And see if they can contribute at least six more.”

“I believe their income is fixed. A dozen is probably pushing their limits already.”

Pris sighed. “Very well. What about Mr. Etheridge? I saw his daughter Iris in the market and she had no flour or sugar or even mixes in her cart.”

“He’s a bachelor, Pris, and he and Iris both have full time jobs. They don’t bake, but I’m sure they’ll find something nice at Costco to sell. He mentioned they have some lovely popcorn balls.”