The Man She Married (7 page)

Mama was driving Maizie nuts. The woman had called at least a thousand times over the weekend, but thanks to Caller ID Maizie had been able to dodge a barrage of maternal advice. Now that it was Monday all bets were off. Sure as shootin’ her mom would show up at the Boudoir.

“Mother alert. She’s coming down the sidewalk.” Maizie had clued PJ in on the mess she called her private life. “Do you want to hide? I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“Thanks, but no. I’ll have to face her sooner or later.” It was hard not to think of her mom as a traitor. How dare her parents take Clay’s side!

“Hi, Mama. What brings you to town?” Maizie asked when her mother walked in. She was determined to be polite, even if it killed her.

“Good morning, PJ. How’s your family?” Mama ignored Maizie’s question.

So that’s how the game was going to be played.

“The girls are growing like weeds. Thanks for asking, ma’am,” PJ said. “Hey, Maze. I’m going to the
back to steam some of that new inventory. Give a yell if you need me.”

Thanks a ton, friend. “I’ll do that.” Maizie braced herself for a serious discussion with her mother.

“What is my son-in-law doing camped out in my garage apartment? I love him dearly, but he needs to be at home in his own bed.” She gave Maizie her best “Mother’s not pleased” combo of folded arms and steely-eyed glare. Mama had a frown that could scare a Navy SEAL into submission.

“I don’t know,” Maizie answered. She wasn’t about to discuss her marital problems—or her lack of a sex life—with her
mother.

Her resolve lasted until Eleanor Westerfield intensified her glower. Lordy, the woman could give the CIA lessons. Then when Eleanor picked up Maizie’s hand and started drawing little circles on her palm, she broke.

“We had a fight and it went from bad to worse. The reason he’s at your house is that I told him I didn’t want to live with him anymore. And—” God, she hated to say this “—this morning I tossed his stuff out on the curb.”

Mama rubbed her forehead. That was never a good sign. “Mary Stuart, how could you do that? Clay loves you like crazy and let me tell you, he’s miserable.”

“Mama, he didn’t tell me his company is in financial trouble. He kept something that important from me.” She sniffed, trying to unsuccessfully hold back a deluge of tears. “We’re supposed to share everything. He left me out!” she wailed.

Although Eleanor was a good five inches shorter
than her daughter, she managed to pull Maizie into her arms.

“Honey, men do that. He didn’t want to worry you. It’s a throwback to the old-fashioned idea that women need to be protected, and he’s a Southerner. That’s what Southern men do.”

Maizie’s head was telling her that Mama was right. Her heart was saying something entirely different.

“So what are we going to do about this?” Mama asked.

It wasn’t good when Mama used “we,” especially when she was discussing a plan.

“Don’t look at me like that, Missy. He can’t live over my garage forever.” Eleanor threw up her hands. “I love cooking for him, but he’s eating us out of house and home.”

“You’re feeding him?”

“Breakfast and dinner.”

“No wonder he hasn’t come back. You’re the best cook in town.”

In Eleanor Westerfield’s world that was the ultimate compliment. Unfortunately, it didn’t deter her from her goal.

“So what are we going to do?” she repeated.

“Liza thinks I should court him. Wine, dine and date.”

Mama cocked her head, obviously considering the situation. “That’s brilliant! It’s certainly not something he going to expect. So when do you get started?”

“I don’t know.” Maizie didn’t bother to tell her they had come up with that idea over two bottles of wine and enough chocolate to give a monk the giggles.

“The sooner the better, I say. But first you have to forgive him. And that has to come from the heart, where it matters.”

“I think I need forgiveness as much as he does. I’m still mad at him for keeping secrets, but I have to admit I’m at least partially responsible for this fiasco.” Maizie gave a sheepish shrug. “He accused me of acting like a spoiled brat, and as embarrassing as it is, I have to say he’s right.”

“There is that,” Mama agreed.

“I’ll call Liza and Kenni to set up at time to meet.” She looked as if she wanted to clap her hands in glee. “We’ll come up with a plan.”

Her mother was getting into the spirit of things, and as dearly as Maizie loved her mom, she could be a steamroller.

“A gift would be a nice way to start.” Without batting an eyelash, Eleanor went into her party-planner mode. “I think you should go for something masculine, with a message. That would be perfect.”

So where was Maizie supposed to find this masculine gift with a magic message?

Where was that “never fail to please” personal shopper when she needed her?

Trina Carruthers had been Maizie’s archenemy since the eighth grade. Just the thought of walking in her store gave Maizie heartburn, but considering that Trina’s Emporium was the only place in town that made gift baskets, she didn’t have a choice.

“C’n I help you?” The clerk popped her gum in time to the song playing on the radio.

“I’d like a basket done up in the University of Georgia colors with some cans of beer, a couple of boxes of popcorn, maybe a pom-pom or two. You know, that kind of thing. It’s for my husband.”

The clerk snapped her gum a few more times. “Is it for a special occasion?”

“No. I thought I’d surprise him.”

“Okey-doke, just a minute.” The clerk gave her gum another chomp before heading back to find her boss.

Maizie heard giggling and whispering before Trina deigned to show her ugly mug.

“Hey, Maize. I hear you want a basket with pom-poms and beer cans.” Trina tried to hold back her laughter, but ended up snorting instead.

What was so funny?

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s not on our normal price list so let me figure it out.” She took a pencil from behind her ear. “So, how’s everything goin’?”

Had Trina heard about Clay leaving her?

“I’m doing okay.” Maizie just wanted to get out of there.

“We can modify our normal UGA basket and make it the adult version. That’ll be fifty bucks plus tax. Does that work for you?”

Was she kidding? “Yeah, that’s great.”

“Do you want it delivered?”

Her old nemesis was dying to know what was happening, but there was no way Maizie was giving her that ammunition.

“No. I’ll pick it up.” Information concerning her reconciliation project was strictly on a need-to-know basis. And Trina definitely didn’t need to know.

“When will it be ready?”

“Day after tomorrow should do it.”

“Great.” Maizie handed over her credit card, glad to have taken the first step. She wasn’t certain Liza’s idea would work, but it was better than doing nothing. The fact that Clay hadn’t called or e-mailed or anything was about to send her into a panic.

A fight like this was a once in a lifetime—please God! At least the make-up sex would be stupendous. If they ever got that far.

T
WO DAYS LATER
, M
ARY
Stuart Walker found herself standing on the miniscule porch of her mother’s garage
apartment holding the most ridiculous basket she’d ever laid eyes on. The pom-poms were the size of basketballs, and there was enough beer to slake the thirst of a chain gang. A dozen beer cans were glued to dowels and nestled next to the pom-poms. It was redneck taste at its finest.

Did Trina still blame her for the quarterback and the prom debacle? Terrible as that was it wasn’t completely her fault. That infamous escapade had occurred when she and Clay had decided to date other people.

Maizie knocked again, alternating between hoping Clay was home and praying he wasn’t. Mostly the latter.

“Mary Stuart, what are you doing up there?”

Deep down she’d hoped to drop off the basket and avoid Mama, but Lady Luck was obviously missing in action.

Before she could answer, Mama was halfway up the stairs.

“
What
is that thing?” Mama eyed the basket. And why not? It was a nightmare.

“A gift. I brought it for Clay. Remember we discussed giving him a present.”

Mama glanced back and forth between Maizie and the basket, and then broke into a belly laugh.

Eleanor Westerfield and a belly laugh? Would wonders never cease?

“I thought you were trying to make up with him, not encourage him to drink himself senseless. Leave that thing on the stoop and come for coffee.” Mama started back down the stairs. “He went out with Zack and Win, so I don’t suspect he’ll be home anytime soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” No matter how old you were, a parental demand required immediate attention.

Maizie put down the basket and followed her mother to the kitchen. The Westerfields’ kitchen hadn’t changed since the sixties—same appliances, same color scheme and the same pine table that had been the epicenter of the family for years.

“Please tell me you didn’t pay money for that…abomination.” She handed Maizie a steaming mug of coffee and put a plate of homemade chocolate-chip cookies on the table.

“I did,” Maizie admitted. “Quite a bit in fact.”

Mama refilled her own mug and joined her daughter. “Is it supposed to be a joke?”

“No, actually it isn’t. I paid Trina Carruthers fifty bucks to put it together.”

Eleanor gave an eloquent snort. “That girl’s taste is all in her mouth. The only reason she’s still in business is because folks don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gross, isn’t it? She really doesn’t like me, so I suppose that didn’t help.”

“You never told me what she has against you.” Mama cocked her head. “It started in high school, didn’t it? What did you do?”

Maizie assumed an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Me? Why would you think
I
did something?”

Mama didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

Maizie held her hands up. “Okay, I give. I sort of hijacked her boyfriend at the prom. It wasn’t
all
my fault, really it wasn’t. Ask Liza, she was there.” She’d gone to the prom without a date and no one would ask her to dance because of Clay. So she took matters into
her own hands and asked Arlon Higgenbotham—Trina’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

“Lordy, girl.” Mama shook her head. “Oh, well, that’s water under the bridge. So back to the problem at hand, do you have any plans for winning your husband back, other than showering him with ugly gifts?”

“Not really. I’ve left him a couple of messages.” More like hundreds, but who was counting? “And he hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

Mama got up to freshen her coffee. “He’s not too happy with you, but I suspect he’s more hurt than mad.”

“So what do you suggest?” Maizie bit into another cookie.

“I have an idea, but let’s get your sister over here and see what she thinks. In the meantime you can help me with these pies for the bake sale.”

Maizie had been so immersed in her own problems she hadn’t noticed the desserts in various stages of completion. “What’s the charity and how many did you promise them?”

“Just ten and they’re for the Humane Society.”

“What do you want me to do?” Maizie rummaged through the drawer looking for an apron. Baking wasn’t her forte but she was a good helper.

By the time Liza arrived Maizie was covered in flour and had a smudge of blueberry pie filling on her face.

“You can’t stay clean when you’re cooking, can you?” Liza asked, wiping blue goo off her sister’s cheek. “What’s the big emergency? I was in the middle of something.”

“Something wicked, I hope.” Lately Maizie had a
one-track mind. Just because she wasn’t getting any didn’t mean she couldn’t live vicariously.

And Liza was a mind reader. “Nope, afraid not. We were raking leaves.”

“Oh. You want a little of this.” Maizie held up a spatula with the remnants of the chocolate pie filling.

“You go ahead. You probably need it more than I do.”

Maizie saluted as she licked the plastic utensil. Liza was right. If she couldn’t have love, by God she’d have chocolate.

As usual, Liza didn’t mince words. “So why are we here?”

“I started my courting campaign and I’m afraid I’ve already hit a snag.” Maizie joined her sister at the table.

“What’s the problem?” Liza pulled the plate of chocolate-chip cookies closer and helped herself.

“I bought him a gift basket and left it on the porch.”

“So?”

“Go take a gander,” Mama chimed in. “It’s the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You bought him something tacky?” Liza shot Maizie a “what’s up” look. “I thought you were trying to get back in his good graces.”

“I am.” Maizie popped her with a dish towel. “Trina Carruthers had other ideas.”

Liza hooted. “Don’t tell me you bought something from Trina! You know better than that. She can’t stand you. This I’ve got to see.” Liza strolled over to peer out the window.

“You mean that red-and-black eyesore is supposed to be a present?” Her cackle was distinctly unlady-like.

“Stuff a sock in it.” Maizie’s demand resulted in another bout of laughter.

Liza finally managed to get herself under control—sort of. “Girl, we need to talk,” she said, still shaking.

“That’s why we called you, sister dearest,” Maizie tried for sarcasm but failed miserably. “I need some help. I haven’t dated anyone but Clay since the eighth grade. And yes, I know the whole jealousy thing was really, really stupid.”

Liza didn’t say a word. Her hug said it all. “We’ll fix it. When we put our heads together we’re damned formidable, aren’t we Mama?”

Eleanor Westerfield gave her youngest daughter a high five. “We certainly are. We’re Iron Magnolias.”

“That’s steel.” Maizie winked at her twin.

“What?”

“Steel, we’re Steel Magnolias.

“Whatever.” Mama shrugged. “Steel, iron, it’s all metal. The only thing that matters is that Maizie has stumbled onto something. Their marriage is based on humor.” She looked from one daughter to the other. “Am I right?”

Maizie nodded. “You are.”

“So, let’s take advantage of that. If Clay doesn’t find that beer basket funny, I’ll be very surprised. So, in a couple of days I think you should send him something even more over the top.”

“Hmm.” Liza rested her head on her fists. “That could work. What do you think, Maze?”

Maizie thought she should step in front of a bus and put herself out of her misery.

“I’ve got it!” Liza exclaimed. Her legal profession
fooled a lot of people, but Maizie knew better. Liza was the ultimate instigator.

“What?” Eleanor seemed as eager as her lawyer daughter.

Liza snapped her finger. “Brenda Lee. What do you think?” Her grin couldn’t possibly bode well.

“What about Brenda Lee?” Maizie couldn’t help being suspicious.

“We’ll hire someone to serenade him with Brenda’s ‘I’m Sorry’ song. Every good country boy knows that tune. He won’t be able to resist.”

Swell. “This making-up thing is getting expensive.”

“We’ll all chip in, won’t we, Mama?”

“Are you kidding? I want my garage apartment back,” Eleanor agreed. “I’m on board.”

“I’ll take care of all the details,” Liza said. “We’ll do something every day until he gives in.” She was getting way too enthusiastic. “Tonight we’ll let him enjoy the basket. Tomorrow we’ll see if we can round up an ersatz Brenda Lee. How does that sound?”

It sounded insane, but what did Maizie have to lose? “Okay, let’s go for it.” She wasn’t convinced it would work, but things were so mucked up she’d take help from any source, even her crazy mother and her equally nutty sister.

C
HAOTIC WAS ABOUT THE
only way Clay could describe his life. There wasn’t much he could do about the disaster at the office, but he could work on his marriage. And since talking to Kenni and Liza hadn’t got him anywhere, he decided to get a male perspective from
Zack and Win. When Clay sent out an SOS they’d agreed to meet him at the Dixie Draught.

Zack shot him a look of sympathy once they were all seated and had beers in hand. “I hear you’re living in Eleanor’s garage apartment. That’s too bad.”

“I’d heard the rumors but I wasn’t sure they were true.” Win smiled broadly. “Why don’t you fill us in?”

“It all started when the tennis pro started touching Maizie in front of me and I got all pissed off. It went downhill from there. I said things I shouldn’t have said, and Maizie got even. She told me she didn’t want to live with me anymore.”

“That’s cold.” Win gave a mock shiver. “Do you really think there’s something going on between Maizie and the tennis dude?”

“No. I overreacted.”

“The shouting match at the country club has hit the rumor mill.” Zack tossed in that bit of info.

“I was afraid of that.” Clay glanced at Win. “But you’re not in the loop, huh? Kenni hasn’t said anything?”

“Nope, afraid not.” Win called a waitress over. “Before we get too deep into this conversation I think I need some sustenance. How about you guys? You want some wings, or nachos or something?”

“Why don’t you order up a couple of each? I’m sure we’ll be here long enough to polish ’em off.” Zack leaned back and crossed one booted foot on his knee. “So what are we missing?”

Leave it to a cop to get right to it.

“I messed up. I hadn’t told Maizie that my company’s in serious financial trouble and when she started ragging
on me about not paying enough attention to her, I blurted it out.”

“Bad move.” Win grimaced in commiseration.

“Yeah, I know. So what do I do now?” Clay asked. “And even more important, is there something going on with the girls that I need to know about?”

Zack shook his head. “I have a feeling they’re cooking up some kind of scheme, but honestly, I don’t have any particulars.”

“Can you get anything out of Liza?” Clay asked, even knowing Zack wouldn’t betray his wife’s trust. “Forget that. But I would appreciate any help you can give me. I’m sure you’ve heard about Maizie tossing everything I own out on the lawn.” Clay frowned. “My national championship Little League trophy got broken. I worked my ten-year-old butt off to win that thing.”

“Hey, man, that’s too bad,” Win sympathized. His compassion, however, didn’t deter him from digging into the nachos.

“It’s not right when a man’s trophy gets busted,” Zack agreed.

“So, back to what I can do.”

“Do you love her?” Win asked, using his best courtroom interrogation skills.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you miserable?” Zack asked.

“Yep, afraid so.”

“Do you want to move out of Eleanor’s garage?” Zack tried to make it a serious question, but spoiled it by chuckling.

“Are you kidding?”

Zack and Win shared a glance before Zack took charge of the conversation. “Considering we’re working blind, I think your best bet is to hang tight and see what she does next. Then we can plan accordingly.”

“I wouldn’t wait too long, though,” Win added. “That’s a sure way to mess things up.” He spoke from the experience of a trial lawyer.

“Wait, but not too long. How do I know what’s too long?” Clay asked. “Do I wait a week? Longer?”

“Why don’t you try for a week, and then if nothing has happened we can reconvene and discuss the next step,” Zack suggested. Win nodded his agreement.

“I’m game. So you really think she’ll try something soon?”

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t,” Zack said. “The Westerfield twins aren’t known for their patience.”

A
N HOUR AND A HALF
later Clay parked his Dodge king cab beside his in-laws’ garage apartment. What was that on the porch?

Clay cut the engine and carefully mounted the stairs. What
was
that thing? Pom-poms? Beer cans? He started laughing and couldn’t stop. Until the stink bomb went off.

That stench was unmistakable. Back in junior high Clay and a buddy set off a couple of those in the boys’ restroom. Now, he kicked the basket off the porch in frustration. It was the best he could do until the smell dissipated.

So that’s what she thought of him. Clay scrubbed his hand over his face. Damn! Instead of offering an apology, Maizie had launched a particularly odious volley.

This was war.