“That’s a pretty fierce frown for someone who’s been to a party,” Beatrice said, peering at Anne over the rim of her reading glasses.
“Oh!” Anne slapped a hand to her chest, then sagged against the stair rail kicking off her shoes. “Lord, you gave me a fright.”
Anne’s head was spinning, not so much from her passionate response to Buck’s kiss—he could always melt her down to her toes—but until they worked through their problems, resuming a sexual relationship would complicate things even more than they already were. What had her in turmoil was seeing the dysfunction in Buck’s family. The evening had been an eye-opener.
Beatrice rose from the sofa in the living room. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me from the front window.” She set her book aside and removed her reading glasses. “How was dinner at Belle Pointe?”
“Interesting. And that’s a mild word for all that happened tonight.” Anne touched her forehead. “Wow, they’re something else. Maybe it’s a good thing that Buck keeps them at arm’s length.”
“You can’t say something like that and go to bed leaving me agog with curiosity,” Beatrice said dryly. “I know I’m supposed to respond politely with something like…” she pursed her lips primly, “‘Well, dear, if you want to talk, I’m willing to listen.’ Forget that! We’re having a cup of tea and you’re telling all.”
Anne laughed. “I’d actually like a cup of tea. And maybe it won’t sound so awful if I talk about it to someone who’s neutral.”
“Well, I don’t know how neutral I can be, but I’m a good listener.” And with that, Beatrice headed for the kitchen. Anne followed, still barefoot.
They chatted as Beatrice put the kettle on while Anne took cups and saucers from the cabinet. As she and her stepmother went about the familiar ritual of brewing tea together, she was struck by how quickly they’d gotten so comfortable. In a very short time she had come to look upon Beatrice as not just a friend—but more. If she had to lose her mother, as sad as that was, she felt fortunate to have Beatrice to fill the void. Almost.
“By the way,” Anne said when they were both seated, “I told Buck tonight that while he’s here I thought he should do as Victoria asked and lend a hand at Belle Pointe.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Really. And what did he say?”
“I think he wanted to say ‘mind your own business,’” Anne said with a wry twist of her mouth. “I could have chosen a better time, I guess. He was pretty ticked off at me about then.”
“Was this before or after he kissed you? Because neither of you looked angry. Just the opposite.”
Anne laughed at the teasing note in Beatrice’s tone. “Were you looking?” she asked in mock accusation.
“Did you forget those two wide-open windows that front on the porch?” Beatrice said with a grin. “I was sitting on the sofa in plain view. Not that either of you noticed as you seemed to have eyes only for each other.”
Anne released another sigh, softer this time, as her smile faded. “The problem in my marriage was never about sex, it was…other stuff.”
“Well, talking seems a good start to working your way out of that…other stuff,” Beatrice said mildly. “And kissing won’t hurt either.”
Amused, Anne said, “I think my dad has married a born romantic.”
“Anybody can see the two of you are still in love, Anne,” Beatrice said softly. She paused, stirring her tea. “But maybe you’re responding to Buck’s change of heart about sharing his feelings.”
“Some of his feelings,” Anne said, studying her cup with a thoughtful frown. “But I have a feeling there’s more, Beatrice. I don’t know what it could be or how significant it is—at least to Buck—but there’s more. There’s something he’s keeping to himself and it’s dark. I feel it.”
“Then, because he’s worth it and your marriage is precious, you can afford to give him time,” Beatrice said mildly.
Anne smiled. “Is there a charge for your counseling services?”
“Yes, more frequent visits once the two of you are reunited.” She turned serious and, with her elbows on the table, regarded Anne over the rim of her cup. “Claire was there, I assume?”
“Yes.”
Glad to get away from the subject of her own troubles, Anne launched into her impression of Pearce’s troubled wife. “She was very friendly to me tonight, but I got the idea that she was there because Victoria demanded it, not because she wanted to be. For most of the evening, she behaved a bit outrageously, frankly. Underneath I felt she seemed…oh, fragile, I guess.”
“That’s an astute observation coming from someone who hasn’t seen her in several years.”
“Not really. She revealed quite a lot about herself when we talked. She seems unhappy, but she tries to mask it with a brittle sort of sophistication.”
“Frankly, I’m worried about her. For Paige’s sake as well as for Claire herself. Did she drink too much?”
“Well…” Anne hesitated.
“Never mind. I’m sure she did. And what was Paige’s reaction? She knows her mother drinks too much.”
“She was…upset.” Anne described Paige’s outburst. “Anybody can see why she’s angry and confused. What with her mother drinking and her father blinded by his colossal ego and Victoria’s rigid style, the atmosphere was just plain lethal toward the end.” She stirred her tea furiously. “What fourteen-year-old wouldn’t be upset?”
Beatrice stood up in agitation. “This is so unhealthy for Paige!” Hugging herself, she paced the floor. “For Claire, too, of course. When are they going to acknowledge that something’s wrong? How long are they going to pretend that Claire can cope simply because Victoria expects her to?”
“Simply having the Whitaker name seems to be a big thing with Victoria,” Anne said, recalling Paige’s outburst. “Paige mentioned it tonight, but she’s far from honoring it in spite of her grandmother’s dictates. As Paige sees it, she’s forced to act in a way that’s false and misleading.”
“And she rebels by wearing those outlandish black clothes and painting her hair orange,” Beatrice said. “It’s so sad.”
With a hiss of impatience, she turned from the window and faced Anne. “I’m sorry. I should keep my opinions about Claire and Paige to myself, but it’s just so difficult knowing how unhappy they both are.”
“I know. I feel the same way. And just for the record, Claire is aware of your positive influence on Paige and she’s appreciative.”
“Yes, I know,” Beatrice said sadly, “but that’s Claire talking. For me, there’s a fine line to be walked there. Victoria will tolerate only so much.”
Anne decided not to comment about her mother-in-law. Hesitantly, she traced the rim of her cup with one finger before looking up. “Were you aware that Claire and Jack Breed-love were high school sweethearts?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Claire told me herself.”
“Yes, I knew it.”
Anne was no longer surprised by how much Beatrice knew of the goings-on in Tallulah. “Were they very much in love?”
“Maybe you should ask Jack that question.”
“My interview techniques are pretty good, but I don’t think I can get away with asking that, Beatrice. Besides, I’ve got enough material.”
“I know he was crazy about her,” Beatrice said, dabbing at a spot of tea on the place mat. “I knew Claire’s parents well, Bert and Madeline Schofield. Until just last year before he retired and they moved somewhere in Florida, he was president of the bank and Madeline was active in Tallulah society.” She glanced at Anne with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re looking skeptical, but there is such a thing as a pecking order around here and Madeline was at the top.”
“And Jack was at the bottom.”
“I see you already know the story.” Beatrice took her cup to the sink.
“Buck said they disapproved and somehow managed to break them up.”
“And Jack joined the army.”
Anne studied the dregs in the bottom of her cup. “Star-crossed lovers,” she murmured.
“Now who’s sounding like a romantic?” After rinsing her cup, Beatrice turned to face Anne. “I’ll just say this. Claire, as a teenager, was a handful for Bert and Madeline. The capers that girl pulled…well, I recall a few that make Paige’s antics look tame. As they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so it’s no wonder to me that Paige is a handful. Combining her mama’s genes and Pearce’s is enough to make anybody a little willful.”
The subject of genes reminded Anne of her baby. “May I ask you something, Beatrice? It may be too personal and I won’t be offended if you’d rather not discuss it.”
There was an instant’s hesitation, almost too brief for Anne to be sure it was there. Then Beatrice said with a smile, “Ask first and then I’ll decide if it’s too personal.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about my miscarriage, about genes and my own unknown genetic background. About Buck’s reluctance to be a father. About my aging ovaries. Maybe it’s not meant for me to have a child at all.” She brushed at a few grains of sugar spilled on the table, then looked into Beatrice’s eyes. “You’ve never had children and you seem…satisfied with your life. Have you never wished it otherwise? Do you have any regret?”
She could see instantly that she had blundered. Beatrice was too still, too pale. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling color steal into her face. “Please, just—”
“No, no, dear. You just…caught me off guard.”
Why would she have to be on guard, Anne thought. Oh, my God. A dark possibility occurred to her. Just because this woman had never married didn’t mean she’d never been pregnant. Maybe she’d once had an abortion, or perhaps she’d given up a baby for adoption. No matter what, it would be private territory, personal territory on which Anne had no right to intrude.
“That was too personal, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry,” she repeated with genuine distress. Without waiting to hear a reply, Anne rushed on, “It’s just that I’m so conflicted over all this. I’m not sure that Buck can overcome this…this problem he has with us having a baby. Which means that if we stay together, I may never be a mother. Of course, there’s a chance that I will never conceive again anyway. That I can’t…for some genetic reason. I’m just struggling with a lot of unknowns at the moment and—” She stopped babbling when Beatrice reached out and caught her hand.
“To answer your question,” Beatrice said, giving her hand a firm squeeze, “which wasn’t too personal, I just needed a minute to gather my thoughts.” She released Anne and spent a moment fiddling with the place mat, picking up a spoon and napkin before looking into her eyes. “If you’re asking can a woman be happy without having children, then I suppose it depends on the woman. There are other things to fill that…void—a solid marriage, career, friends, travel, other peoples’ children…” She managed a smile. “All of which are available to you, Anne.”
“Not all of them. I don’t have a solid marriage.”
“You can work on that. Of course, it takes two. And from all appearances, Buck is willing, even eager.” Before Anne could argue, she added, “This is a man determined enough to patch up your differences that he’s followed you to the last place on earth he wants to be. He knows why you left him. And he isn’t acting like someone who dismisses your longing to have a baby.”
“I don’t want to make having children a condition of us staying together,” Anne said quietly. “What kind of father would he be if he resented being tied down by a baby?”
“I think Buck would fall in love with his child the minute he laid eyes on him,” Beatrice said softly. “He’s that kind of man.”
“I thought so once, but now I’m not so sure. I’ll just never forget his reaction when I told him I was pregnant.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know he had a right to be angry. I’d tossed my birth control pills without telling him and that was bad. But I was so thrilled and happy that I put out of my mind the way I got pregnant and I guess I thought he should, too. Anyway, from the start, I adored being pregnant. I adored the baby. It didn’t matter whether it was a boy or a girl.” She grabbed her napkin and blotted her eyes. “I was just filled with the joy of it. The wonder of it. I want that again!” she cried.
“And you can have it again, Anne,” Beatrice said firmly.
“Stop worrying about these things, especially about any genetic abnormality. It’s so unlikely.”
“Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe there is something wrong genetically. I’ve taken the first steps on the Internet to try and find my biological parents. I don’t think I can be at peace over this until I know. Not even if Buck and I work things out in our marriage. I need to know!”
Beatrice pushed her chair back and stood up. “It’s late. You’re tired. An evening with the Whitakers is enough to throw anyone into stress overload. And all these other problems will work themselves out, you’ll see.” She reached for Anne’s cup and saucer and stacked them with hers. That done, she stood for a moment as if undecided about her next words. “As for the other part of your question, the part about regrets. Of course, I have regrets. Who doesn’t?”
Claire always drove Paige to school—every day, rain or shine, come hell or high water. Or a hangover, even one as massive as the one she suffered today. Making it so much worse was the bone-deep self-disgust resting like lead in her stomach.
Last night, before coming downstairs and facing the ordeal of another of her mother-in-law’s Sunday dinners, she had sworn to limit herself to three glasses of wine. But three minutes of exposure to Victoria’s personality had unraveled her good intentions. And that had been before Buck and Anne showed up. By then, of course, she’d been well numbed. Which helped when Paige appeared in that god-awful getup. Once everyone was seated at the table, it was too late to be a lady.
Paige leaned forward and popped in a CD. Claire cringed as 50 Cent blasted in full volume from all speakers in the Jaguar’s sound system. “My God, turn it down, Paige!”
Paige scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s no good unless it’s played loud.”
“Paige. Please…” Claire said between her teeth. “I have a headache.”
“No, Claire. You have a hangover,” her daughter sassed.
Claire reached over and angrily punched the CD off button. “I’ve told you a thousand times not to talk to me like that. It’s only five miles to school. Can’t we tolerate each other for five miles?”
“I don’t have any choice,” Paige said, gazing in extreme boredom out the side window. “You do. You could let somebody else drive me. But since I have no power around here, I’m stuck with you whether I like it or not.”
Claire drew in a long-suffering breath. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I apologize. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? You’re mad at me for last night. I embarrassed you. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, please…” Paige rolled her eyes. “It won’t happen again until the next time it happens. Spare me your promises, Mom. Face it, you drink too much.” Her voice rose in frustration. “Dad is gonna talk the Dragon into shipping you off to rehab if you don’t stop. Don’t you get it?”
Claire floored the accelerator to pass a slow-moving tractor. “Your father may think he’s king of creation, but he doesn’t have that much power. I’m not going into rehab,” she stated. “I don’t need it.”
“He has all the power,” Paige stated flatly, ignoring the denial, “except for Gran, but even she rolls over for Pearce the Precious. Better slow down, that’s a cop coming this way.”
Once the police cruiser passed, she turned abruptly and watched through the back window as it braked hard and executed a skillful three-point turn, reversed direction and headed their way. “Don’t look now, but he’s coming right up behind us with his blue lights flashing.”
“Shit!” Claire muttered, then added hastily, “I didn’t say that. And you didn’t hear me.” Sure enough, the patrol car was directly behind her now. If there was a God, she would not be his victim, but she sighed wearily when he gave a brief blast of his siren. Braking, she pulled to the shoulder of the road and stopped.
“Perfect start for the week,” she said, giving Paige a bright, utterly false smile.
“It’s your own fault,” Paige said, but she was literally agog with excitement. “I’ve never met a cop up close and personal.”
“Save your sympathy for someone who needs it, Paige.” Leaning over, Claire popped open the glove compartment and fumbled for the car’s registration. “My driver’s license is in my purse. It’s on the floor at your feet.”
In the side mirror of the Jaguar, she could see the policeman—or rather half of him, chest to waist—as he made his way to her side of the car. “I can’t believe this,” she moaned. Only when he gave a rap of his knuckles on the window did she touch the button to lower it, still looking straight ahead.
“You’re in a big rush this morning, Claire,” he said.
She whipped her head around at the sound of that deep, low voice. Oh, God. Jack. With her heart doing crazy things, she managed a smile as she looked up into his face. Hard mouth, high cheekbones, square jaw. He wore sunglasses, the dark kind that obscured his eyes, but she knew them well, eyes as green as the fields stretching out behind him. Tall and rangy and fit, without an ounce of excess weight, he looked tough and uncompromising. And all too familiar. “Hello, Jack.”
“’Morning.” He shifted slightly with his hand on the car’s window frame and as he bent at the knee to get a look at her passenger, she caught the scent of him, fresh shower, soap, subtle aftershave. Dizzy with memory, she still found it tantalizing.
“On your way to school?” he asked.
“Yes,” Claire said. If he noticed anything about Paige’s bizarre appearance, he concealed it.
“You’re supposed to be buckled up, young lady,” was all he said to Paige in his deep voice.
“Ah, okay.” At fourteen, Paige was always ready with a sassy reply to her mother, or to anybody in her family, as well as her teachers at school, but apparently something about a direct look from Tallulah’s police chief, told her not to try it with him. She buckled up.
“Your license, please, Claire,” he said, holding a clipboard at the ready.
She handed it over, then fixed her gaze straight ahead again, anywhere except on that face. “Don’t you have more important things to do as police chief than issue traffic tickets?”
“Not when a driver is doing seventy-eight miles an hour in a school zone,” he said, scribbling something on his clipboard.
“Seventy-eight! Oh, come on. Are you sure?”
He touched the beak of his cap, pushing it up a fraction to give her a direct look. “Do you think I’d stop you otherwise?”
She flushed. “You know I didn’t mean to imply—” She stopped, realizing that Paige was listening incredulously. “Just write the ticket and we’ll be on our way, Jack.”
Paige leaned toward the window to get a look at his face. “Hi, I’m Paige. Claire is my mother. It wasn’t her fault that she was speeding. We were arguing, which like makes her so mad and she didn’t realize I wasn’t buckled up until just before you stopped us. In fact, that’s what we were arguing about, me not having my seat belt fastened. She says all the time she’ll, like, kill me if I don’t buckle up.”
Claire heaved an exasperated sigh. “Paige—”
“Pleased to meet you, Paige,” Jack said, scribbling away without looking up. “I’m Jack, but you can call me Chief Breedlove. And I’m not citing your mother for either of you failing to buckle up.” He scrawled his signature and carefully detached the citation. “I’m giving her a pass on that.”
“But we’re getting a ticket?” Paige demanded, eyeing the paper.
Without a word, Jack held it between thumb and forefinger and waved it in the air.
“Nobody’s going to vote for you if you give people tickets all the time,” she predicted darkly. “You should be trying to make people like you.” Claire attempted to silence her with a fierce look. Paige shrugged, unfazed. “Well, it’s the truth.”
For a heartbeat, Jack Breedlove almost smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Paige.” To Claire, he said, “The instructions are on the reverse side if you decide to contest it.”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“We won’t have to contest it,” Paige said with smug confidence. “My father will get it fixed.”
Jack tucked his pen in a slot on the clipboard. “Since that’s illegal, you be sure and let me know when it happens. It’ll be a nice addition to the reasons I’ve listed on my campaign flyers why folks shouldn’t vote for him.”
“I was kidding,” Paige said, glaring at him. “Don’t you know a joke when you hear it?”
“Just give me the damn ticket, Jack,” Claire said, sticking her hand out to take it.
“No ticket, Claire. It’s just a warning,” he said, handing it over. “But it’ll go in the computer, so if you’re stopped for speeding again, the fine will kick in double.”
“Oh.” She studied it without comprehending anything for a second or two, then looked up at him. “Well…ah, thank you. I don’t usually drive so fast, but there was a tractor poking along and we’re late, so frankly, I didn’t realize…” She stopped. “Which is no excuse, is it? Anyway…thanks.”
He shifted, resting his weight on his good leg. “I saw Buck a couple of days ago going into Walgreen’s, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I understood from Anne that his injury was keeping him in St. Louis. I hated hearing he’s out this season.”
“Yes, he’s really bummed over it.”
Jack nodded a greeting to a passing motorist. “Gives us hometown folks a chance to enjoy a visit. How long do you think he’ll stay?”
“Why?” Paige piped up. “Do you want him to endorse you in your campaign, too?”
“Paige, would you please be quiet,” Claire begged.
Again that near-smile. “Uh-oh, does that mean Pearce has Buck working for him already?” He put the question to Paige, not Claire.
“No, not yet, but since he’s family, he’s almost obligated to do it.” Paige had leaned forward so she could see Jack’s face. “But even if he doesn’t get Uncle Buck to endorse him, he thinks he can beat you.”
Jack laughed outright. “Well, time will tell, little girl.”
Claire’s breath caught with the impact of Jack Breedlove’s smile. God, she was still as susceptible as she’d been when she was sixteen and Jack had been the only reason she had for getting up in the morning.
Reading something in her face—or her thoughts—he nodded. “It’s good to see you, Claire,” he said quietly. “It’s been a while.”
“Something that could easily be remedied,” she said shortly, the words out before she could stop them.
“What’s changed? Am I now welcome in your world?”
She stared at him helplessly for a long, long moment, drinking in his profile as he focused on a freshly turned cotton field. A million words—feelings—clogged her throat. But before she said something else she couldn’t take back, she turned the key in the ignition and started the Jaguar. It wouldn’t matter what she and Jack Breedlove might say to each other anyway, she told herself. Thanks to her, it was too late.
Craning her neck, Paige looked through the back window and watched as the police chief made another three-point turnaround and drove away in the opposite direction. “Mom, you know him, don’t you?”
“Of course I know him. He’s the chief of police.” With her hands gripping the wheel and her heart still acting crazy, Claire’s face was grim as she drove. “His picture’s all over the place.”
“No, I mean…you know him. I heard all that. There’s like history between y’all.”
“Tallulah’s a small town. There’s history between nearly everybody you pass on the street. And please stop sprinkling the word ‘like’ in every sentence you speak. It’s tasteless.”
“Gosh, now I know you’re upset because you sound just like the Dragon,” Paige said, flopping back in her seat.
“And buckle up, for heaven’s sake!”
“Oops, forgot.” Paige busied herself pulling the strap over and snapping it into place. “Now, tell me what he meant by not being welcome in your world?”
“Obviously it was a reference to the fact that he and Pearce are political opponents.”
“Nuh-uh,” Paige said flatly. “It was a reference to something personal. I feel it. Gosh, he’s like, really cool.”
Claire knew Paige was capable of bugging her until her curiosity was satisfied, so she would have to come up with some explanation. Besides, what was the harm—after all these years—of giving an edited version of her history with Jack? “I knew Jack Breedlove when I was in high school. He was actually in Buck’s class. We had a few dates. See, no big deal. Now you know.”
“Not nearly enough. How long did you date? Were you, like, going steady?”
“For a while.”
“A while. Hmm, let me think.” She tapped her lips with a finger, looking for a second just like Victoria, Claire thought. “Was he…what’s that old-fashioned idea? Was he ‘of your class?’”
Claire didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what Paige meant. “His mother was a single mom who worked two jobs and he worked, too. They all did, his brothers and sisters. They were a working-class family and they were nice people. The nicest.”
Paige was silent, studying her mother’s face. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”
“It was a long time ago, Paige.”
“And if he was the same age as Uncle Buck, you must have been in the…whoa, the tenth grade!” Her eyes went wide. “I bet you had to sneak around because Bert and Madeline—”
“Paige…”
“Grandfather Bert and Grandmother Madeline,” she continued, “can be as stiff-necked as Gran, which means…” she paused dramatically, “he for sure wouldn’t be welcome at the Schofields’. They freaked, am I right?”
On all points, Claire thought bitterly. She’d been sixteen and in the tenth grade when she fell in love with Jack. And her parents had been more than freaked that she’d fallen for “white trash.” They’d been horrified. They saw none of Jack’s work ethic, his fierce pride, his decency. As for sneaking around to see him, she’d done that, too, until they’d shipped her off to a school in Virginia to be “finished.” “Our relationship was brief,” she told Paige.
“How brief is brief?”
“A year,” she said irritably, thinking she should have known Paige wouldn’t settle for an edited version of anything that intrigued her. “And no more questions, because it’s ancient history and here we are at school. Today’s your day to go to the Spectator and Beatrice is picking you up. I’ll be out front at five o’clock to drive you home.”
Paige unsnapped the seat belt. “This is so interesting, Claire,” she said, bending to pick up her backpack from the floor. “I do not know why Beady has never mentioned it, but you can bet I’ll ask today when I see her.”
“She’s never mentioned it because it’s ancient history,” Claire repeated through her teeth. “And I forbid you discussing it with her!”
Out and on the sidewalk now, Paige leaned down and looked at her mother. “If it was really ancient history,” she said, bent on having the last word, as usual, “you wouldn’t be so freaked.”
“Paige—”
“Bye, see you at five.”