Really.”
The conversation was back where it started. Josie saw the valet driving her rattling
Honda. Her old car trailed a sleek black Porsche and a shining navy Cadillac. Ted
paid the valet while Josie said, “We’re on our way, Mom. We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
The valet opened the dented door to Josie’s beater as if it were a luxury car. She
tossed her wide-brimmed hat in the back and sank gratefully into the driver’s seat.
“I gather there’s trouble,” Ted said as Josie drove toward her home on Phelan Street.
“Mrs. Mueller got to Mom first with a wild tale that your throat was slashed by your
other fiancée.”
Ted groaned. “Maybe Festus and I should hide under my desk at the clinic,” he said.
“Don’t underestimate Mom,” Josie said. “She’ll have that rumor straightened out in
no time—once she confirms you’re well. We’re almost home.”
Maplewood was more than a hundred years old, an inner-ring suburb of St. Louis with
generous two- and three-story homes, shady yards made for children to play in, and
front porches where people could rock and relax. The late-fall sun was kind to the
old homes. It gave the timeworn brick on the two-story Marcus flat a rosy glow.
Jane was outside in the front yard, her face pink with exertion.
“Look at your mom trying to drag those huge pots onto her porch,” Ted said. “What’s
she going to plant in them—oak trees?”
“Mums,” Josie said. “She and Mrs. Mueller outdo themselves with their fall-flower
displays.”
“Those pots are as big as beer kegs,” Ted said. “Hurry up, Josie, before she hurts
herself.”
He didn’t wait for Josie to parallel park. As soon as she stopped the car to back
it into place, Ted leaped out and ran up the walkway.
Josie didn’t have to hear his conversation with Jane. She could see it. Her fiancé
gave Jane a quick hug, then pried the first pot out of her hands and carried it up
the porch steps as if it were foam rubber. Jane tried to carry the other end. Ted
shooed her away, then picked up the second pot.
Josie’s car seemed safely parked, but she got out to make sure the back bumper didn’t
cross the boundary of Mrs. Mueller’s yard. Their troublesome neighbor believed she
owned the street in front of her home and yelled at anyone who dared park in “her”
area.
Mrs. M was planted on her porch, arms on her hips, glaring at Josie. From the way
her head was tilted, Josie thought Mrs. M was also trying to eavesdrop on Jane and
Ted. She locked her car door and heard her mother say, “Well, there is a bag of potting
soil, Ted.”
“Your car’s in the garage, right?” he said. “I’ll go get it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jane protested, but not too much. Josie thought her mother
looked pleased.
Amelia came around from the garage, balancing a cardboard box of bronze mums. Josie’s
daughter was tall for her age. Her flat little-girl’s body was rounding into womanly
curves. Her personality was changing, too, and not always for the better. Josie was
glad Amelia still wanted to help her grandmother.
“Those mums will look good on Grandma’s porch,” Josie said.
Amelia shrugged. “Whatever,” she said. “Are you still going to marry Ted after he
got engaged to that other woman?”
Mrs. Mueller, digging in her own freshly potted yellow mums, froze like a forest deer,
then swiveled her iron gray helmet head toward Josie to listen better.
Josie blasted back her answer. “Ted
isn’t
engaged to anyone but me,” she said. “He’s not going to marry that demented woman,
AND I WISH PEOPLE WOULD QUIT SPREADING FALSE RUMORS!”
Mrs. M backed away from her mums, squeezed through her front door, and slammed it.
Josie heard the lock click.
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to beast me,” Amelia said. Her lip trembled.
Beast? Josie wondered. Oh, right. She had been screaming.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t
The conversation was back where it started. Josie saw the valet driving her rattling
Honda. Her old car trailed a sleek black Porsche and a shining navy Cadillac. Ted
paid the valet while Josie said, “We’re on our way, Mom. We’ll be home in ten minutes.”
The valet opened the dented door to Josie’s beater as if it were a luxury car. She
tossed her wide-brimmed hat in the back and sank gratefully into the driver’s seat.
“I gather there’s trouble,” Ted said as Josie drove toward her home on Phelan Street.
“Mrs. Mueller got to Mom first with a wild tale that your throat was slashed by your
other fiancée.”
Ted groaned. “Maybe Festus and I should hide under my desk at the clinic,” he said.
“Don’t underestimate Mom,” Josie said. “She’ll have that rumor straightened out in
no time—once she confirms you’re well. We’re almost home.”
Maplewood was more than a hundred years old, an inner-ring suburb of St. Louis with
generous two- and three-story homes, shady yards made for children to play in, and
front porches where people could rock and relax. The late-fall sun was kind to the
old homes. It gave the timeworn brick on the two-story Marcus flat a rosy glow.
Jane was outside in the front yard, her face pink with exertion.
“Look at your mom trying to drag those huge pots onto her porch,” Ted said. “What’s
she going to plant in them—oak trees?”
“Mums,” Josie said. “She and Mrs. Mueller outdo themselves with their fall-flower
displays.”
“Those pots are as big as beer kegs,” Ted said. “Hurry up, Josie, before she hurts
herself.”
He didn’t wait for Josie to parallel park. As soon as she stopped the car to back
it into place, Ted leaped out and ran up the walkway.
Josie didn’t have to hear his conversation with Jane. She could see it. Her fiancé
gave Jane a quick hug, then pried the first pot out of her hands and carried it up
the porch steps as if it were foam rubber. Jane tried to carry the other end. Ted
shooed her away, then picked up the second pot.
Josie’s car seemed safely parked, but she got out to make sure the back bumper didn’t
cross the boundary of Mrs. Mueller’s yard. Their troublesome neighbor believed she
owned the street in front of her home and yelled at anyone who dared park in “her”
area.
Mrs. M was planted on her porch, arms on her hips, glaring at Josie. From the way
her head was tilted, Josie thought Mrs. M was also trying to eavesdrop on Jane and
Ted. She locked her car door and heard her mother say, “Well, there is a bag of potting
soil, Ted.”
“Your car’s in the garage, right?” he said. “I’ll go get it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jane protested, but not too much. Josie thought her mother
looked pleased.
Amelia came around from the garage, balancing a cardboard box of bronze mums. Josie’s
daughter was tall for her age. Her flat little-girl’s body was rounding into womanly
curves. Her personality was changing, too, and not always for the better. Josie was
glad Amelia still wanted to help her grandmother.
“Those mums will look good on Grandma’s porch,” Josie said.
Amelia shrugged. “Whatever,” she said. “Are you still going to marry Ted after he
got engaged to that other woman?”
Mrs. Mueller, digging in her own freshly potted yellow mums, froze like a forest deer,
then swiveled her iron gray helmet head toward Josie to listen better.
Josie blasted back her answer. “Ted
isn’t
engaged to anyone but me,” she said. “He’s not going to marry that demented woman,
AND I WISH PEOPLE WOULD QUIT SPREADING FALSE RUMORS!”
Mrs. M backed away from her mums, squeezed through her front door, and slammed it.
Josie heard the lock click.
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to beast me,” Amelia said. Her lip trembled.
Beast? Josie wondered. Oh, right. She had been screaming.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t
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