Three Wishes (14 page)

Their differences were exaggerated now by Dotty's scowl. “What are you telling him, Emma?”

“I'm just giving him a history lesson,” Emma said, sliding out of the booth. “Don't get all ruffled up, sister.”

“You're the one always telling me
I
talk too much.”

“You do,” Emma declared, and walked off.

Dotty glared after her, men, still glaring, turned back to Tom. “Don't ask me why we voted
her
town meeting moderator. She's been insufferable ever since.”

“How long's it been?” Tom asked. He had arrived in town shortly before the last town meeting but hadn't bothered to go. He wondered if Emma's election was one of the things he had missed.

Apparently it wasn't.

“Eight years,” Dotty replied, “and each one of those it gets worse. She thinks she can stick her nose into everyone else's business, sitting there with Earl and Eliot each and every day. John must be turning over in his
grave.
He wanted his wife in his home. He'd never have let her do what she does if he'd been alive. If he knew the
half
of it, he'd lock her up.” She slid into the booth. Her manner sweetened. “What was she telling you?”

“She was talking about poor Haywood,” Tom said.

Dotty rolled her eyes. “Poor Haywood, my foot. She always had her eye on him was her problem, but he couldn't talk his way out of a paper bag, much less court a woman, so she married John, and even
then
she kept an eye on Haywood. Did she tell you he was handsome?”

“No.”

“That's a surprise. Usually it's the first thing she says. Well, he
was
handsome, I have to admit. Handsome and dull. And drab. And sour. Even
he
knew there was something wrong with his life. That's why he left that year. He went down to Boston to see about getting work there. Then he met that woman.”

“Bree's mother?”

“What other? He never used her name, once he was back here. She couldn't have been more than twenty. Haywood, he was nearing forty. He happened to run into her in a sandwich shop one day, and that was all it took,” She threw up a hand. “He was gone. Crazy in love. But a love like that never lasts, not between a woman so young and spirited and a man with his feet rooted so deep in New England soil. He needed to come back here to live, and she couldn't do that, so he came back alone, he and Bree.” Her voice went higher. “Can you imagine turning your back on a baby that way?”

Tom, who knew well how to play devil's advocate, imagined that there might be situations in which walking away from a baby was the most compassionate thing to do, particularly when the baby had a father and a home. He didn't know enough about Bree's mother's situation to judge one way or the other.

“So what happened?” Dotty asked, sounding affronted. “People talked. They talked when he came back to town without a word as to where he'd been and what he'd done, and they talked when they learned there was a baby and no wife. They talked about that child from the time she was old enough to walk down the street by herself, and they
still
talk, when you get them going. So”—she looked him dead in the eye—“that's why what you're doing to her is wrong.”

He drew his head back. “What am
I
doing to her?”

“It doesn't matter. That's my point. They'll talk if you give them the slightest cause, and she deserves better.”

Tom couldn't help himself. “Maybe you could tell them not to talk. Maybe you could set an example. You know, live and let live?”

Dotty straightened. “Are you saying that
I
talk? I'm no worse than anyone else in this town. My goodness, if
I
don't talk, the others will anyway, and then all the
wrong
things will be heard.” She scooted across the bench and out of the booth. “You have no call to attack me. I was only giving you friendly advice.” With a righteous look, she was gone.

 

Jane Hale caught up with him in the parking lot when he went out to bring the car around for Bree. She glanced back to make sure they were alone, pulled her coat tighter around her with fingers whose nails were bitten short, and said in a quiet voice, “I'm sorry about my mother. She tells herself she's doing the right thing. Don't let her put you off.”

Tom smiled. What Jane lacked in looks she more than made up for in gentleness. It was hard not to like her. “I won't. She only did what other people have been doing all week.”

“They're worried, is all. They like Bree. So do I. She's my oldest friend. I mean, she isn't old, but we've been friends a long time.”

He indicated his understanding with a nod.

She glanced back again, drew her collar up higher against the brisk air. “We became friends in first grade. She was lonely because her grandmother kept her apart, and I was lonely because, well, my mother was always right
there,
so it was better sometimes not to have friends at the house.” She looked down, then behind her, then straight at him again. “I'm not complaining. My mother loves me. I wish Bree had that.”

“Didn't her father love her?”

“I suppose. But he was unhappy. Maybe he wanted to be a good parent but didn't know how. Bree's mother must have been the colorful one. Bree had to get her spirit from someone, and it wasn't from him.” She was instantly contrite. “I shouldn't say that, his being dead and all.” She paused, then blurted, “But I remember him, and he was grim. Bree's mother was probably the most exciting thing that ever happened to him. It's like he spent the rest of his life mourning her.”

“Is that what Bree thinks?”

Jane nodded. “We used to talk about it. She always wondered about her mother. She used to imagine all kinds of things, mostly pretty things, flattering things.”

“Didn't her father tell her anything?”

“Her grandmother wouldn't let them talk about her, and after Hannah died, well, I guess the course was set. Haywood got quieter and quieter and more and more dark. Bree was keeping house for him and pretty much raising herself. She started working part-time at the diner when she was fifteen, just to get away. She wanted to be with people who talked and smiled and laughed. The diner was more of a home to her than the house on South Forest.” She dug her hands into her pockets. “Here I am, jabbering on like my mother.”

“There's a difference,” Tom said, which was as close as he would come to criticizing Dotty in front of Jane. “Did Bree's mother ever try to reach her?”

“No.”

“Did Bree ever try to hunt her down?”

“No. By the time Haywood died, she'd lost interest.”

Tom thought about the Bree he was coming to know. “She's remarkable to have overcome all that.”

“Yes.” Jane seemed suddenly less concerned about who might see her in the parking lot than about what she wanted Tom to know. “That's why people are protective of her.”

“I understand.”

“They're worried she'll come to depend on you and then you'll leave.”

“She's getting more independent by the day.”

“She may be more vulnerable because of the accident.”

“Because of her near-death experience, you mean?”

Jane nodded.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Jane!” The voice was distant but definitely Dotty's.

Jane gasped. With a last, pleading look that made him envious of the loyalty she felt for Bree, she slipped off between the cars so that she wouldn't be anywhere near Tom when her mother tracked her down.

 

Flash had his say when he stopped by to visit Bree several days later. Tom had been reading in the den, while Bree napped on the sofa there. She opened unfocused eyes at the sound of the back door opening and closing. He tossed another log on the fire and motioned her to stay where she was.

“Just as well,” Flash said, when Tom explained. “I have to talk to you alone.” He set a foil-wrapped bundle on the counter. “Lasagna, with sausage and extra cheese. She needs fattening up.”

Tom's hand went to his stomach. Several day before, it had been an extra-rich fettuccine Alfredo, a few days before that, a thick-gravied beef stew. When Bree refused to eat either, he was the one who ended up stuffed.

“It's still warm,” Flash went on. “If you use it for dinner, all it'll need is ten minutes in a hot oven. Put what's left over in the fridge. It'll be even better tomorrow.” Bracing himself against the counter, he looked at Tom. “I'm not here because of me. I want you to know that. I don't think you're so bad, and besides, Bree's been taking care of herself for a long time with regard to everything else, so I'm sure she can take care of herself with regard to this, too. The problem is, being so close to Bree and all, I don't hear the end of it. Half the town's on my back to learn what I can.”

Tom leaned against the enamel sink and folded his arms. “I'm not sure what's left that the others haven't asked, but you're welcome to give it a shot.”

“You want to make fun of us, go ahead, but you ought to know that what's happening here is highly unusual.”

“My helping Bree? Isn't that what this town is about? If I weren't here right now, someone else from town would be.”

“No. Bree wouldn't have had that. Remember when she told me to cancel the nighttime detail? That was the Bree this town knows, the independent-to-a-fault Bree. Her letting you hang around is not normal, and don't tell me she needs you to fetch and carry, because she's perfectly capable of doing that for herself. More
over,”
he said, with gusto, “this is the first time since I've known her that she's had a man in this house.”

Tom was startled but pleased. “No kidding?”

“Don't get me wrong. She isn't some shrinking violet. She's had relationships with men. But none of those has ever stayed here one night, let alone however many you have.”

“Sixteen,” Tom put in.

“Christ. Are you paying
rent?”

“No, and for what it's worth, I sleep on the sofa while she's up in her bed.”

“No matter,” Flash said. “Bree likes her space.” He frowned. “Maybe it's different since she isn't coming to work. She has a lot of people there. Here she doesn't. So she's lonely. You know?”

Tom didn't point out that she continued to choose his company over that of others who offered to come. “Tell me. Who has she dated in town?”

“No one,” was Flash's automatic response. Then, as though the temptation to be the one to tell was too much to resist, he said, “At least not since I've been here. I heard she and Curtis Lamb were a number in high school, but there hasn't been anyone local since then.”

Tom waited, then asked, “That's it? Just Curtis Lamb?”

“From Panama.”

Again Tom waited.

And again it was as if Flash couldn't resist. “Men are always coming to the diner from one place or another. They pass through once a week, once a month. She had a thing for a while with a trucker, and for a while after that with a computer salesman, but she never brought them back here. It was kind of a rule she had. They were both good-looking guys, too, both love-'em-and-leave-'em types. She wanted to be the one doing the loving and leaving.”

“You make her sound hardhearted.”

“No. She just knows how to protect herself.”

“If she knows how to protect herself, why are you all so worried about me?” Tom asked.

“Because she lowered the bridge and let you in. So now people are wondering why you're still here and how long you're planning to stay.”

“Ah,” Tom said.

“What does that mean?”

It meant that Tom didn't know the answers. He had never felt as innocent an attraction to a woman as he felt toward Bree. Hell, he hadn't even kissed her. “Just . . . ‘ah.' ”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Hi, Flash,” Bree said from the door. She crossed to him, slipped an arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. “How's my favorite boss today?”

Flash glowered. “Lousy. I tried to do the payroll and screwed up the figures. I need you, Bree. When are you coming back?”

 

Julia Dean phoned Tom at home. She identified herself, apologized for disturbing him, then said, “I missed Bree's visit to the diner the other day. Listening to people talk about it was a little confusing. One said she looked good, another said she was pale. One said she moved like she hurt, another said no way would anyone know what had happened. You see her all the time. You'd know, more than they would. How is she?”

Tom heard genuine concern. “She's much better.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She breathed a sigh of what sounded like genuine relief. “That's good. I was worried.”

“She loves the flowers you send.” New arrangements were delivered each week. “They have a special place on her bureau, so she can see them when she wakes up. You ought to stop over sometime. She'd like that.”

Tom heard genuine pleasure in Julia's reply. “Well, she'll be back in the diner before long. I'll see her there. Will you give her my best until then?”

 

Tom did it again, anticipated Bree's wishes and made them come true. Just when she was itching to see the inside of the place where he lived when he wasn't with her, he invited her over.

“The house isn't much to see,” he warned, pulling in under the carport, but she disagreed. Just as she had known, the bungalow had charm. The kitchen opened to a breakfast room, dining room, and screened porch, all overlooking a stone terrace. There was a large family room and a larger living room and, up one flight, three bedrooms and two baths. The ceilings were lower than hers, the wooden floor planks wider and pegged, the hearth of fieldstone and raised.