Splitting Harriet Read online

  “Excuse me?”

  “A night out for the senior citizens.” Gloria is nearly bursting with enthusiasm. “And we could offer dance lessons.”

  I’m stunned. And not a little annoyed. What about “old” does this man not understand? A moment later, I’m forced to eat the thought as Elva jumps out of her chair. Wielding her feather boa, she prances around the table.

  All right, so they do have a bit of life left in them, but that doesn’t mean they’re up to dancing lessons. I force a smile. “But this is a breakfast and lunch café.”

  “Just once a month.” Gloria nods. “And we could offer a limited menu—soups and salads and such. Maybe buffet style.”

  “Um… sounds like something we should discuss.”

  She rises. “When you and I meet with Ruby to go over the fall menu, hmm?”

  “Sure.” Hopefully, by then she’ll have forgotten the cockamamie idea.

  Gloria pats Maddox’s shoulder. “Enjoy your meal.”

  Once she’s out of earshot, he says, “I never cease to annoy you, do I?”

  “I’d prefer it if you never ceased to amaze me.”

  “Really? I’ll work on that.”

  I scowl. “You, Maddox McCray, are a menace. Now may I take your order?”

  “After you tell me about movie night.”

  I almost groan at the realization that I haven’t discussed it with him—unforgivable, considering he’s largely responsible for its success. I clear my throat. “You didn’t hear?”

  “I heard the buzz on Sunday, but I’d like to know what you thought about it.”

  “It went over well. As a matter of fact”—I nod at the Hatters—“it’s the reason we have Pink Hatters here today.”

  He looks at their table and raises a hand in acknowledgment.

  Following his gaze, I’m jolted to discover that all the ladies are staring at us. Why? And what’s with the wiggly eyebrows? I catch my breath. They think Maddox and I…

  I fumble in my apron pocket. “They’re wanting their checks. I’ll be back.”

  As I hasten across the dining room, the kazoos come out—the official instrument of the Red Hat Society. Even Bea is putting one to her lips. Someone’s birthday? Must be. But then, why are they still looking at me? It’s not—

  Oh no. It is nearly my birthday, and as this is as close as the ladies will get before their next meeting, this could be for me. Could, but there’s no precedent for it. Though I’ve waited on them for years, they’ve never kazooed me.

  When I’m six feet from the table, it happens. The ladies rise, and the kazoos let loose a nasal version of the birthday song, accompanied by the Pink Hatters who insert my name in the blank as they lustily sing it through.

  My dismay spills over as I feel all eyes on me, especially Maddox’s.

  Harriet steps forward. “Happy birthday, Harri!” She hugs my stiff form and whispers, “At least pretend you enjoyed it.”

  As she draws back, I ease my upwardly mobile shoulders and force a smile.

  “Did we surprise you?” Pam asks.

  I nod. “Didn’t see it coming.”

  Mrs. Feterall beams. “You have Maria to thank. She suggested it.”

  Elva’s daughter winks. I knew she didn’t fit into this group!

  Vi comes around the table toting a large gift bag. “Happy birthday, Harri.”

  My heart leaps. Maybe it’s a club-sized container of Jelly Bellys. Meaning my long wait is over. Meaning I can mark off the next twelve days on my calendar. Oh joy! As I reach for the bag, I can taste them. A whole mouthful. Mixed at random. I don’t care. Even if a licorice slips in, or a cappuccino, or a mango—

  Not a mango. I curl my fingers around the cord handles, but the bag gives only a slight, downward lurch as I take its full weight—its lighter-than-should-be weight. Definitely not a club-sized container of Jelly Bellys. A box, then? In that case, a random mouthful is out of the question, but if I’m careful, I could make it last twelve days.

  “Go on, open it,” Lorraine prompts.

  My embarrassment over the kazoo serenade forgotten, I set the bag with its profusion of pink tissue on the table.

  Pam stamps her foot. “Tear into it!”

  They’re all watching with expectant smiles, except Bea, whose mouth is pinched. Okay. Here goes. Come on, Jelly Belly! I pull the tissue out and reach in. The box is square. And black. With gold writing that spells out a brand name and description that demolishes my Jelly Belly fantasy. Unless it’s a joke.

  I set the box on the table, pry open the flap, and bend it back to reveal something round and glossy and pink. Not a joke. In a manner of speaking.

  “Well?” Harriet says as the others twitter with excitement.

  Hide your disappointment. Hide your horror. It wasn’t meant to be meanspirited. But what were they thinking?! They know I don’t do this anymore.

  I peer at Bea from beneath my lashes. Her mouth remains puckered, but there’s an I-told-you-so glint in her eyes as she regards the others.

  “Take it out,” Maria says.

  Bea snorts. “I told you it was inappropriate.”

  Silence falls, then spreads to the other diners who are probably guessing the contents of the box to be along the lines of something lacy and racy.

  Bea crosses her arms over her chest. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No!” I pull the pink helmet out and hold it up for all to see. “It’s great.”

  I feel the relief that goes around the table. That wasn’t so hard. But why is Pam coming at me like that?

  She snatches the helmet and shoves it on my head. “You’re a Pink Hatter now—a junior one of us.” She lets out a cowgirl whoop and slaps me on the back.

  I recover from my stagger, and Harriet gives me an encouraging smile as I stand there wearing a pink motorcycle helmet. Of course, it does fit pretty well. On the light side, comfortably padded, and with a good visual field. Perfect for a long ride down a country road with the wind buffeting my face. And the light color would keep my head relatively cool, unlike black that gets so hot.

  “Now all she needs is a motorcycle,” that voice says.

  I whirl around.

  Maddox looks me down and up. “And maybe some leather riding pants.”

  In that moment, I know. “It was you,” I say between clenched teeth.

  “Well, of course it was, dear.” Mrs. Feterall plods to my side. “Maddox came for supper on Saturday, and when I mentioned that the Red Hatters couldn’t decide what sort of hat to get you, he suggested a helmet. We hunted through the shops but couldn’t find a pink one, so we bought a white one and Maddox painted it.” She taps the glossy surface. “A nice shade, don’t you think?”

  “You were behind this?” Bea shrills.

  Maddox nods.

  “Why, of all the—”

  “Bea?”

  She jerks around, and the anger she was about to unload falters at Jack’s approach.

  “Can I take you home?”

  She stares at him, then sweeps her gaze around the Hatters. “Yes, thank you.”

  He offers his arm, and I release my breath. Thank You, God. And Jack!

  “What about my check?” Bea asks.

  I pull the sheaf from my apron pocket, locate hers, and hold it out.

  Jack pinches it. “My treat.” He smiles into her startled face.

  “Thank you, Jack. And…” Her eyes swivel to me, land on the pink helmet, and avert. “Happy birthday, Harri.”

  Whew! “Thank you, Bea.”

  Once they’re out of earshot, Pam mutters, “Close call.”

  Lorraine shakes her head. “Poor Bea. She’s really had it hard lately.”

  A gurgle erupts from Pam. “She’s the one with a beau—and Jack at that. Do you know how long I’ve been making eyes at that man? Humph! ‘Poor Bea’ indeed.”

  “Now, Pam…” Lorraine eyes the wigged woman. “Bea needs our prayers, and we shouldn’t begrudge her just because Jack is paying
her attention. She’s been real lonely since Edward’s passing.”

  Vi sighs. “They say young love is cute, but I think old love is much cuter.”

  All those who fall within the parameters of “old love” give her their undivided attention.

  Though Vi’s comment is clear evidence that nothing good can come of admitting baby Pink Hatters to the Red Hat Society, I feel her discomfort and a sympathetic pang.

  “Yes.” I nod, the movement making me uncomfortably aware that I’m still wearing a pink helmet. “It is cute. We could learn a lot from…” Old lovers? Our elders? “…uh, those with more experience.”

  “I agree,” Maddox says.

  Gratitude transforms Vi’s face. “I hope I didn’t offend anyone.”

  Pam gives a hearty laugh. “You are precious, Violet Gairdt. Just precious!”

  Some chuckle, some laugh, but they’re all in agreement.

  “Well, that wraps it up.” Harriet adjourns the meeting of the Red Hat Society.

  Everyone starts gathering their purses and wishing me a happy birthday as I hand them their checks. And I’m left wearing a pink helmet with Maddox at my side.

  “So about that motorcycle ride.”

  I drag off the helmet. “I am not getting on a motorcycle with you.”

  “You don’t like the helmet?”

  It is a pretty shade of pink. And glossy. And comfortable. But I will never wear it as it was intended. I tuck it under an arm. “It was sweet of them, and nice of you to paint it, but it doesn’t fit my lifestyle.”

  Annoyance flickers in his eyes. “Better a club-sized container of Jelly Bellys?”

  “Exactly.”

  He takes a step nearer. “You know something, Harri? You need to get a life.”

  I stare into dark eyes that are darker than I remember and feel my defenses rise. “Look, Maddox, you can’t force a person to like something she doesn’t care for.”

  “No, but when it’s fear disguised as dislike, there’s plenty of wiggle room.”

  I gasp. “You think I’m afraid?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.”

  He juts his chin toward the front of the building, causing a curl to bounce on his brow. “My motorcycle’s outside. Put that helmet on, and prove you’re not afraid.”

  What is with everyone wanting me to prove something? First Lisa challenges me to prove I’m not interested in this man; now he’s challenging me to prove I’m not afraid of a little motorcycle ride.

  I huff. “Not only am I working right now, but it would be inappropriate for an employee of First Grace to be seen on a motorcycle with the hired hand.”

  His eyes flash, but before he can counter, a voice calls, “Harri!”

  I look at Mrs. Feterall, who’s waving her hat to catch my attention. “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget that we need to set a play date for Pucker and Dumplin’.”

  Great. I give her a thumbs-up, and she scoots after her fellow Hatters.

  “A play date,” Maddox murmurs. “That I’d like to see.”

  I’d bet he would.

  “Have a good day, Harri.” He stalks away.

  Lowering my gaze to the pink helmet that feels more comfortable tucked beneath my arm than it should, I sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Harri’s Log: • Day of The Coroner rerun (VCR is a go!)

  • 2 days until Dumplin’/Pucker play date (Oh joy!)

  • 8 days until Jelly Belly replenishment

  • 192 days until the completion of Bible #8

  I thought I could be out from under the obligation of dinner with Lisa in an hour and a half and be home again before The Coroner came on, but it’s seven fifteen and we’re only now sitting down to dinner. And yet the past hour hasn’t been tedious. Though I’ve had to steer Lisa clear of discussing my personal life, especially with regard to Maddox, the conversation has been lively. I’d forgotten how much fun she is and what a good time we had hanging together as teens before… Well, before everything that went down at church, which her family became involved in.

  The reminder drops like a weight through me, and I stare at the lemon caper chicken she sets before me.

  “No. Really. It was nothing.” She gestures at my plate. “Just a little something I whipped up.”

  Her teasing jolts me. “Um… looks great.”

  “Oh, stop! You’re making my head swell.”

  I chuckle. “Sorry. My mind was somewhere else. But if this tastes as good as it looks, I’ll lick my plate.”

  “It tastes better than it looks. I studied with the best, you know.”

  “Sure.”

  She settles in the chair opposite mine and gives a toss of her head, which ten years ago would have sent a curtain of brown whipping over one shoulder, but now barely serves to shift the short brown strands on her brow. “I’m serious, Harri.”

  “You studied to become a chef?”

  “In New York.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Let’s say grace. It’s best eaten while hot.”

  I bow my head, and Lisa begins. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for this meal and the company of friends.”

  Does she really consider me a friend?

  “We thank You for the past, the present, and the future, and the certainty that all three make up Your plan for our lives.”

  Where is she going with this?

  “Lord, as Harri and I fellowship, let us put our mistakes behind us—”

  Ah.

  “—enjoy the present to its fullest—”

  Optimistic.

  “—and be confident in knowing that when we follow You, our plans will succeed. Amen.”

  I lower my clasped hands. “Thank you, Lis.” I haven’t called her that since we were teens.

  “You’re welcome.” She lifts her fork. “Now get ready to lick that plate clean.”

  It looks and smells good, but I really am surprised at how good it tastes. The chicken breast is done all the way through, and yet it’s as juicy as dark meat. “Wow. You really are a chef.”

  “Nope.”

  “But you said—”

  “I didn’t complete my training.”

  “Why?” Sheesh, Harriet! It’s none of your beeswax!

  She shrugs. “I fell in love.”

  I stop midchew and, around the piece of chicken, say, “You did?”

  “His name was Pierce, he was a fellow student, and prior to our last semester at culinary school, he decided to return to the commune where he grew up.”

  I can’t believe she’s sharing this with me.

  She cuts into the baby asparagus. “Being in love, I went against my family’s wishes, my conscience, and my religion, and joined him. It took me two years to realize my mistake and another year to extricate myself.”

  Sounds somewhat familiar.

  Her gaze drops to my plate. “It’s getting cold.”

  “Oh.” Though the chicken has passed from hot to warm, it’s still delicious.

  “So you see, Harri, like you, I went astray. Unlike you, my family didn’t welcome me back.” Her smile is sad. “Well, my sister did—to a point—but my parents… They don’t have much to do with me.”

  Just the opposite of what I’ve had to deal with. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Because I wasn’t interested in knowing what led her to apply for a job at the café a year ago. Because I slighted her attempts to renew our friendship. Feeling hollow at the realization that, past her smiles and banter, the heart of the one sitting across from me is heavy, I lower my fork.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She jabs a finger at my plate. “Lick it clean.”

  I said I would, didn’t I? When all that remains are rivulets of lemon caper sauce, I lift the plate and stick out my tongue.

  She laughs. “That I won’t hold you to.”

  Still, I lick away.

  “Now that’s the Harri I remember.”

  I almost take offense,
but in spite of the promises I’ve made myself not to allow people near enough to hurt me again, there’s a fullness in my heart that’s warm and comfortable and pleasantly different.

  Lisa pushes back. “Time for dessert!”

  My contribution, and I’m more than a little sheepish considering the time and effort she put into dinner. All I did was buy a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

  I help her clear the table, and soon we carry our bowls of ice cream into the living room and settle on the couch. A clock on the entertainment center catches my eye. It’s a quarter till eight.

  Nothing to worry about. The VCR’s programmed, and Dumplin’ can’t cause any mischief locked in your bedroom. The show will be waiting for you, and you won’t have to sit through commercials—a bonus!

  “This is good.” Lisa dives into the bowl. “I love bananas.”

  “That’s why I got it—banana ice cream with fudge and walnuts. Couldn’t go wrong.” I falter at the expression on her face. “What?”

  “You remember that I like bananas?”

  “Of course. You always had one in your lunch, and when we had sleepovers, you sliced one on your morning cereal. What’s the big deal?”

  “I’m just surprised that you remember.”

  Come to think of it, so am I.

  “Thanks for remembering, Harri.”

  I meet her big blue gaze across the three feet between us. “It was nothing.”

  She considers me. “You know, it’s okay to talk about the past. In fact, it’s a good way to learn from it.”

  This is the reason I didn’t want to get together. I do not need to rehash things that no longer affect me.

  “When I share my story with youths at my church,” she continues, “you wouldn’t believe how it unburdens me to know that my bad choices can help others. Sure, it doesn’t mean they won’t make the same mistakes, but it gives them something to think about. And someone to talk to if they feel like it.”

  I start to shrug off what’s heading toward a lecture, but those last words are a reminder of the favor Leah Pinscher asked. A daunting favor should her daughter, Anna, cooperate. “If a teen decides to confide in you, how do you respond?”

  Interest flashes in Lisa’s eyes.

  Did I just open a door better left bolted, barred, and banded?