Season of Sisters (21 page)

"You didn't really."

"No, I didn't really." Maggie drew a deep breath, then sighed heavily. "At the same time, I knew this was nature's way, the way God planned it. My kids loved me. Mike loved me. I shouldn't complain, but I did. I complained to Mary Nell Taylor, a woman my age who had her nails done the same time as me. Mary Nell complained to me about the way her mother kept telling her she was raising her kids wrong. We bonded. Grew to be best of friends. We told each other our true weight."

"Wow. Y'all
were
good friends."

Maggie nodded, then increased her pace to intercept Grace, who carried a big bowl of potato salad toward the yellow and white gingham tablecloth spread over the redwood picnic table. "A few months later, Mike and I were at a party and someone asked me who my best friend was," she continued. "She expected me to give the old Hallmark card reply: my dear husband, my best friend. Instead, I told the truth and said Mary Nell Taylor. I'll never forget the scandalized look on that woman's face."

Holly detoured to the kitchen, then returned with a basket of rolls in one hand, a plate of chicken in the other. Sadie followed carrying the bowl of slaw. Holly picked up her conversation with Maggie where it had left off. "What was Mike's response?"

"He said he was surprised because he'd expected me to name our next-door neighbor. She and I walked every morning, but we were only social friends. It never occurred to Mike that I would have mentioned him."

Holly kicked at a clump of Johnsongrass. "Justin used to tell me I was his best friend."

"It's life stages, sugar. It's not that I loved Mike any less or that he quit loving me. Not then, anyway. Do you understand? It's a normal progression of a relationship. And as much as we love the men in our lives, it's my opinion that except during those years when a woman needs a man for the sake of her children, she'll benefit more from friendships with other women than friendships with men, be they sexual or platonic—if such a thing exists, which is a whole other issue. In general, for women, women make better friends than men."

"I just don't believe that."

"I do," Sadie said. "I read in
Good Housekeeping
that men usually name a woman—their wife, lover, sister—as their best friend. Maybe women are just better at friendship skills of listening, sharing. Men are taught by society to compete, not cooperate."

"That's a good point," Maggie observed.

Grace took a seat at the picnic table. "Ben is my soul mate, and I would be lost without him. I do consider him to be my dearest friend. But as much as I adore him and rely on him and confide in him, I need distance from him, too. Especially at this particular time in my life. Some things—my fear, my pain, my grief—I try to filter because when I open up, I double his burden."

"You shouldn't have to filter," Holly protested. "If the men in our lives love us, truly deeply love us, they should be the ports in our storms."

"Think it through, honey. Cancer is not my storm alone. Cancer is a storm for my family, and Ben is just as swept up in it as me. I am his port. I want to be his port. I want to shelter him and our children as best I can because I love them."

Maggie eyed Grace across a chicken leg. "But you still need someone to talk with when you're feeling low, right?"

"That's right. I'm not good in a support group. I need support, but I don't have it to offer in return because I use mine up dealing with my family. That's where a close woman friend or two," she added with a smile, "comes in. I need a girlfriend who will listen to my deepest fears and emotions and still have the objectivity to help me decide which icing to choose for my wedding anniversary cake."

"But why does this friend need to be a girlfriend?" Holly passed the potato salad to Sadie. "Why does gender enter into the question at all? I mean, I understand needing a friend in addition to a spouse. I understand the need to shelter your loved ones from pain. Plus, everybody needs somebody to complain to when a spouse does something stupid. But does that somebody necessarily need to be female? Guys can be just as supportive as girls, just as sensitive."

Maggie and Grace and even Sadie shot her skeptical looks.

"They can." Holly squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Justin could. He is. The man took me to the Pink Sisterhood wedding gown sale in memory of my mother. What could be more sensitive than that?"

Maggie licked her lips, then wiped them with her napkin. "Considering what happened, an argument could be made that it was a terribly insensitive act."

"She has a point, Maggie," Grace said. "Maybe it's something generational. Maybe people in her age group can be best friends with members of the opposite sex. What do you think, Sadie?"

"Maybe, but I've never seen it."

Maggie shot Holly a significant look. "You see, Holly, when it comes to friendship between men and women, sooner or later, sex gets in the way. I saw it in the movies. Cute show, remember? Billy Crystal says it to Meg Ryan."

Holly rolled her eyes, then stirred lemon into her tea. She waved her spoon in the air, punctuating her words as she declared, "That's not always true. I've had a number of guy friends I've never had sex with."

"But you
have
had guy friends whom you
did
have sex with, right? That's what proves my case. I've never had sex with my girlfriends."

"How reassuring," Grace said dryly.

Maggie laughed and used her spoon to swipe a glob of potato salad off Holly's plate. She popped it into her mouth, shut her eyes, and moaned with delight. "Sinful, Sadie. Simply sinful."

She licked the last vestiges of potato salad from the spoon. "Speaking of which, there was this gal who made a pass at me at a party once, although I didn't recognize that's what she was doing at the time. Mike had to explain it to me later." She paused, thinking back. A grin touched her lips. "He didn't know whether to be appalled or aroused."

"Puh-lease." A grin flitted at the edges of Holly's lips as she finished her chicken.

"Look at that smile," Grace observed. "That's what I like to see. Holly dear, you've been altogether too gloomy today."

"I agree." Maggie reached across the table and took Holly's hand. "Listen, sugar. As much as it pains me to admit it, I don't have all the answers. You may be right about the man/woman/friends thing. Maybe if I'd been a better friend to Mike he wouldn't have replaced me with a depth chart and a dinghy. Then again, maybe it was inevitable. I don't know. About the only thing I am certain of right now is that I'm awfully grateful that you and Grace have come into my life. If not for y'all, I'd probably be home in bed right now wallowing in self-pity, and that would be a crying shame. It's a beautiful day and there are puppies in the yard and another leg of Aunt Sadie's fried chicken on the plate for the savoring. It makes me happy inside.
Happy.
I haven't felt happy in months and months. Y'all have done that for me."

A wave of emotion rose inside Holly. She felt the pressure of tears build behind her eyes. Blinking rapidly, a tremulous smile hovering on her lips, she shrugged and said, "What are friends for?"

Then she leaned across the table, pressed a kiss against Maggie's cheek, and added, "Thank you."

Maggie flashed a grin, then quickly schooled it into a scowl. "Oh, spit. Was that a pass?"

"No, Maggie." Holly made a show of sighing and rolling her eyes. "I didn't use my tongue."

"All right," Grace said. "That's enough. Y'all are making Sadie and me uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable," Aunt Sadie piped up. "I've learned a lot about lesbians since I got Internet access here at the farm. Why, have you seen those pictures where—"

Maggie's chin dropped. "Aunt Sadie!"

She chuckled and eyed Grace and Holly. "Girl always has been gullible."

Maggie wrinkled her nose at her husband's aunt, then turned to Grace and changed the subject. "Did you decide on the cake?"

"Yes. I've never tasted a more delicious cake in my life."

"Me either. I've been to a dozen weddings in the past year and tasted cakes called things like White Chocolate Champagne, and Turtle Fudge, and Kahlua Creme. Not a one of them melted in your mouth like Aunt Sadie's."

Holly asked, "What icing did you choose?"

Grace and Sadie shared a look. "That's still up in the air."

"If it were me, I'd choose the vanilla," Holly said. "That's the best vanilla icing I've ever tasted and I think it is the perfect complement to the flavor of the cake."

Maggie tugged a pencil and paper scrap from her pocket and made a note. Her tone casual, she asked, "What type of decoration do you prefer, Holly? Sugar flowers? Fresh flowers? A traditional bride and groom topper?"

The pain struck from out of nowhere. Subdued, Holly said, "I'm not getting married."

"I'm just talking hypothetically here. Personally I favor the traditional topper."

The words tumbled from Holly's mouth. "About a year ago I stopped in a little gift shop in the hospital district. They had a ceramic bride and groom, her in her wedding gown, him in his surgical scrubs. They also had one with the groom in a tux and the bride in scrubs."

Then she gave her head a shake. "Well, I don't guess it much matters what I'd put on top of a cake. Grace is the one who needs to make these decisions. What do you want, Grace?"

Pursing her lips, Grace stared at the table for a long moment in thought. "Peach cake, vanilla icing. Styled like the cake Sadie did for the Hallford wedding, with fresh flowers for a topper. Or maybe one flower. A perfect magnolia blossom."

"I adore magnolias," Holly said.

Having made her choice, Grace sat back in her chair, a self-satisfied smile on her face. Maggie lifted her chin regally and said, "My work here is done."

"That's handy timing because a truck just pulled into the drive." With studied casualness, Sadie added, "Did I mention that Mike was coming for lunch?"

* * *

Holly watched the color drain from Maggie's face. "Does he know I'm here?"

"I didn't tell him," Sadie assured her.

"He'll see my car. Maybe he'll just leave."

The sound of a diesel engine rumbled louder, joining with the crunch of gravel as a black Ford F350 rolled up beside the farmhouse. It came to a stop behind Maggie's Lexus. Her gaze on Maggie, Holly held her breath until abruptly, the engine died.

"Spit," Maggie muttered. She sent a panicked look toward Sadie. "I can't talk to him."

"It's time, Maggie," Grace said. "It's past time you talked to him."

Sadie added, "Privately. From what I understand, the two of you have not exchanged a word in private since he moved out."

"He told you that?"

"He alluded to it. Is it true?" When Maggie nodded, she clucked her tongue. "You get up right now and go meet him. Y'all talk on the front porch. Your friends and I need to get this food put away."

"But I don't... he won't..."

Sadie folded her arms and frowned sternly. "Margaret Ellen Prescott, you do as I say."

"Oh, all right." Maggie rose from the picnic table and dragged herself toward the house like a recalcitrant child. The screen door banged behind her just as Mike rounded the side of the house, walking toward them.

He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "I didn't realize you'd invited other guests for dinner, Aunt Sadie. I wish you'd said something when you called."

"Don't be rude, Michael," his aunt snapped. "Say hello to Maggie's friends. I believe you've met Grace Hardeman and Holly Weeks?"

"We've not been formally introduced," Grace said with a smile.

Holly didn't smile. She refused to smile or offer her hand or do more than scowl at the man. Despite his aunt's admonitions, he appeared content to scowl right back at her. Sadie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Maggie's waiting on the front porch so the two of you can talk."

"I didn't come out here to talk with her. I came for fried chicken and chores."

"The chores will keep and so will the chicken. Now scat."

Mike Prescott did as he was told with almost as much enthusiasm as his wife, Holly thought.

Sadie lifted the platter of chicken, then motioned for Grace and Holly to follow as she hurried toward the house. "Come along up to the guest bedroom. It's the best place to eavesdrop on a conversation taking place on the porch. Acoustics are perfect. Something about the slope of the roof, my late husband used to say."

As she led them up the oak staircase to a bright room off the hallway, Grace glanced at Holly. "I don't think we should do this."

"Shush," Sadie said. Standing by the window, she made a two-fingered, come-along motion. Holly didn't hesitate. Grace and Maggie had become her friends after hearing her and Justin dust it up in the ladies' room. She knew without a doubt Maggie would listen in if the situation were reversed. Not that there seemed to be much to listen to. Downstairs, neither Mike nor Maggie were doing much talking.

Mike's voice sounded strained when he finally spoke. "Scott called yesterday. He made an A on that calculus test he was sweating."

"Yes, he called me, too. I'm thrilled for him. He studied so hard for that."

"Yeah."

Silence fell, stretched like a rubber band until Maggie said, "I talked to Lane, too. The company is sending him to Germany next month."

"Hmm..."

"I haven't talked to John or Steven," Maggie continued, hurt edging her voice.

Upstairs, Holly leaned toward the window. Maggie had mentioned that two of her sons remained fiercely angry with her over the split with Mike. The breach between them wounded her deeply.

"They're both fine. I'll... um... I'll be seeing them next week. They're meeting me in Galveston to see me off."

Holly couldn't see Maggie's reaction, couldn't hear it, but she knew it had to be a stab to the heart. Grace must have sensed it, too, because she murmured, "Oh, Maggie."

Sadie shook her head. "That boy. I want to box his ears."

Maggie's voice betrayed a slight tremble. "When are you leaving?"

"I'm flying out to visit Lane tomorrow. I'll be gone a week." Mike expelled a heavy breath. "When I get back, I'm sending the
Second Wind
to the coast. I'll be leaving Fort Worth ten days from now."