well—”
“Mike!”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Well, after I spent an afternoon by the pool watching Mother and Melvin—”
“Martin.”
“—fawn all over each other—” she rubbed her sunburned nose which had become even more populated with freckles, “—she and I went home to have a nice, long talk.”
“And?”
“And she’d drunk three glasses of wine by the pool, so she fell asleep before she could change into her pajamas. My mother—the woman who used to think cooking with sherry was naughty.”
“So what did you do all evening?” Mike asked in a sing-songy voice.
“Worked on my laptop,” she answered in a similar tone. Actually, she’d sat with her hands on the keyboard and sent hateful vibes to Clay Castleberry, wherever he was, for the way he’d treated her. The man threw her off balance, made her feel as if she were always in response mode. “Anyway, mother and I are getting ready to have lunch, and I hope to talk some sense into her.”
“Go easy, Annabelle.”
“One day she’ll thank me.”
“Good grief, you sound like a mother yourself.”
“Bite your tongue. How’s everything at the office?”
“Fine. Your real estate agent called—her e-mail is broken.”
Annabelle smiled. Mike was an able paralegal, but she wasn’t exactly computer savvy. “Does she have a date for closing on the house?”
“Thursday of the week you return. And she’s faxing a form you need to fill out listing the source of your down payment—she said the bank needs it for their records.”
Annabelle frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “Okay, um, sure. Can you scan in the form and e-mail it to me?”
“You’re asking me ?”
“Mike, you have to join the rest of the world sooner or later.”
“Later is good.”
“I’ll be looking for a note and the attachment. Have Mitch in the systems department show you how to use the scanner—he has a crush on you anyway.”
“Oh, great. You have a handsome, rich, single, son of a celebrity on the line, and I have Mitch and his pocket protector.”
“I don’t—” Annabelle stopped, refusing to be lured into a response that might be misinterpreted, although her blood pressure was definitely escalating. “How is everything else at the office?”
“Quiet, actually. I’ve been taking advantage of the time to call around about apartments. My rent just increased by half, and I have thirty days to find a new place.”
“My apartment will be up for grabs soon.”
“Yeah, but it’s too far away from the university. By the way, I stopped by to pick up your mail and change Shoakie’s litter box.”
“Did the little princess show herself?”
“She hissed at me from the top of the bookcase. I felt honored.”
Annabelle laughed. “Thanks for checking on her. I have to run.”
“Try to be nice around the young Mr. Castleberry, and please don’t let him see you in your overalls.”
She looked down at her sole outfit and frowned. “Bye, Mike.” After hanging up, Annabelle threaded her way through the crowd back to her mother. Belle, looking smart in a white pantsuit, smiled wide. “Our table is ready, dear.”
The hostess of the little bistro gave Annabelle’s overalls a quick once-over, then led them to a tiny table set with a pale yellow tablecloth and fresh flowers. The brunch menus were hand printed on thick greenish paper textured with seeds and leaves.
“This restaurant is one of my and Martin’s favorite places to eat,” her mother gushed.
“All roads lead back to Martin,” Annabelle mumbled under her breath.
“Hmm?”
“I asked what do you and Martin usually order?”
Her mother rattled off a list of elegant dishes. Annabelle stared and tried to listen, but she kept fading out, picturing the times when her mother sat across from her at the elbow-worn family dinner table, sifting through recipes to create a Fourth of July or Thanksgiving feast. The consummate homemaker and matriarch, Belle Coakley’s
“Mike!”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Well, after I spent an afternoon by the pool watching Mother and Melvin—”
“Martin.”
“—fawn all over each other—” she rubbed her sunburned nose which had become even more populated with freckles, “—she and I went home to have a nice, long talk.”
“And?”
“And she’d drunk three glasses of wine by the pool, so she fell asleep before she could change into her pajamas. My mother—the woman who used to think cooking with sherry was naughty.”
“So what did you do all evening?” Mike asked in a sing-songy voice.
“Worked on my laptop,” she answered in a similar tone. Actually, she’d sat with her hands on the keyboard and sent hateful vibes to Clay Castleberry, wherever he was, for the way he’d treated her. The man threw her off balance, made her feel as if she were always in response mode. “Anyway, mother and I are getting ready to have lunch, and I hope to talk some sense into her.”
“Go easy, Annabelle.”
“One day she’ll thank me.”
“Good grief, you sound like a mother yourself.”
“Bite your tongue. How’s everything at the office?”
“Fine. Your real estate agent called—her e-mail is broken.”
Annabelle smiled. Mike was an able paralegal, but she wasn’t exactly computer savvy. “Does she have a date for closing on the house?”
“Thursday of the week you return. And she’s faxing a form you need to fill out listing the source of your down payment—she said the bank needs it for their records.”
Annabelle frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “Okay, um, sure. Can you scan in the form and e-mail it to me?”
“You’re asking me ?”
“Mike, you have to join the rest of the world sooner or later.”
“Later is good.”
“I’ll be looking for a note and the attachment. Have Mitch in the systems department show you how to use the scanner—he has a crush on you anyway.”
“Oh, great. You have a handsome, rich, single, son of a celebrity on the line, and I have Mitch and his pocket protector.”
“I don’t—” Annabelle stopped, refusing to be lured into a response that might be misinterpreted, although her blood pressure was definitely escalating. “How is everything else at the office?”
“Quiet, actually. I’ve been taking advantage of the time to call around about apartments. My rent just increased by half, and I have thirty days to find a new place.”
“My apartment will be up for grabs soon.”
“Yeah, but it’s too far away from the university. By the way, I stopped by to pick up your mail and change Shoakie’s litter box.”
“Did the little princess show herself?”
“She hissed at me from the top of the bookcase. I felt honored.”
Annabelle laughed. “Thanks for checking on her. I have to run.”
“Try to be nice around the young Mr. Castleberry, and please don’t let him see you in your overalls.”
She looked down at her sole outfit and frowned. “Bye, Mike.” After hanging up, Annabelle threaded her way through the crowd back to her mother. Belle, looking smart in a white pantsuit, smiled wide. “Our table is ready, dear.”
The hostess of the little bistro gave Annabelle’s overalls a quick once-over, then led them to a tiny table set with a pale yellow tablecloth and fresh flowers. The brunch menus were hand printed on thick greenish paper textured with seeds and leaves.
“This restaurant is one of my and Martin’s favorite places to eat,” her mother gushed.
“All roads lead back to Martin,” Annabelle mumbled under her breath.
“Hmm?”
“I asked what do you and Martin usually order?”
Her mother rattled off a list of elegant dishes. Annabelle stared and tried to listen, but she kept fading out, picturing the times when her mother sat across from her at the elbow-worn family dinner table, sifting through recipes to create a Fourth of July or Thanksgiving feast. The consummate homemaker and matriarch, Belle Coakley’s
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