Aurora 08 - Poppy Done To Death (19 page)

The smaller turkey platter.

I’d be cleaning up at
midnight
.

Suddenly, my energy seemed to leak out through my fingertips, as though my night’s sleep had simply evaporated. I pulled out a chair and sat down with an ungraceful thud.

Could the prospect of meeting Robin’s mother really be that frightening? Martin’s mother and father had been long dead when we’d become engaged, and I’d already known his sister Barby.

Arthur had been my only other halfway-serious suitor. I’d known Mindy and Coll Smith, Arthur’s folks, since I was little, at least by sight. So, though I was thirty-six, this was my first

“meet the parent” situation.

I rose and pushed the chair back into place, though I hardly felt better. I went back into the den and unwisely sat in my favorite old chair, close to Phillip, who was watching some sports show. In about thirty seconds, I actually dozed off. Phillip woke me up at quarter to one.

“You want to go put some lipstick on or something?” he asked a little anxiously. “It’s almost time for them to be here. The timer for the turkey breast went off thirty minutes ago, and the little red thing was sticking up out of the turkey, so I got it out of the oven. I put the sweet potatoes in. Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” I assured him. “You saved my life, brother.”

He looked justifiably pleased with himself. Groggy with sleep, I had to absolutely push myself into the kitchen. I put ice in the glasses, a stick of margarine on a butter dish to pass around with the rolls—oh my God, the rolls! I told myself sternly to calm down. Robin was bringing them; they’d only take a few minutes. The rolls could go in after I’d gotten the sweet potatoes out. The dressing was baking in the other oven. (Following my mother’s tradition, I always baked it separately.) All I had to do was make the gravy. But first, a look in my bedroom mirror was in order.

Phillip had been optimistic when he suggested I needed only lipstick. But I looked all right after brushing my hair, cleaning my glasses, and slapping on a little fresh makeup. Back in the kitchen, I buzzed around doing tiny things. I asked Phillip if he’d give some attention to his own hair, and with a dark glance, he retired to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

“And it better be perfectly picked up in there!” I called through the door.

“Yes, Mom!” he yelled back.

I stuck my tongue out, since he couldn’t see me. Mom indeed.

And then the doorbell rang.

As I went to the front door, I said a little prayer, which basically went: “Don’t let me do anything really stupid.”

Robin’s mother was really tall. That was my first impression. And she was smiling. That was my second.

Corinne Crusoe was as elegant as ... well, as
my
mother. All I could think was, Damn. Her thick, perfectly white hair was pulled back into an elegant roll. Mrs. Crusoe wore subtle makeup, discreet gold jewelry, and a gorgeous pantsuit of some heavy, smooth blue knit that hung like a designer dress. It matched her eyes to a tee.

“Roe, this is my mother,” Robin said, since you have to state the obvious some times.

“Mother, this is my. . .” Robin and I stared at each other, stymied, for a long second. “This is Aurora.”

“Please come in,” I said, floundering for my composure in the face of such elegance. You’d think I’d be used to it, but no.

Mrs. Crusoe was careful not to stare around too obviously, but I knew she hadn’t missed a detail of me, or the house. Phillip, thank God, had come out of the bathroom and was looking very creditable.

“My brother, Phillip,” I said proudly, and he beamed at me. “Phillip, this is Robin’s mother, Mrs. Crusoe.”

“Please call me Corinne,” she said smoothly, nodding at both of us.

Phillip stood a little straighten I wasn’t about to tell him he was too young to call an older lady by her first name, not in front of the older lady.

“Corinne, can I pour you a glass of wine?” Phillip said with perfect composure, and I glowed.

“That would be lovely.”

“We have ...” and Phillip faltered.

I inspected the bottles Robin was carrying. “Robin’s brought a zinfandel and a shiraz,” I said.

“Or, if you prefer, we have some vodka and orange juice.”

“No, the zinfandel, thanks.”

We got that all settled, then sat in the small formal living room after I’d put the peas on.

Corinne was a past mistress of small talk, and we set about getting to know one another through the accumulation of little facts—or, more accurately, tiny indicators of those facts. Corinne, I learned, was well-off, a widow who had no intention of remarrying. She was very involved with her grandchildren by her two daughters, and she was active in her church (Episcopal).

Corinne learned I was also a widow, also financially secure, still working, had two live parents, and was a steady church attendant.

Corinne learned that Phillip normally lived in California. He was here on a visit, I told her, not mentioning his method of arrival. And I hoped Phillip wouldn’t, either, but if he did, so be it.

I excused myself to make the gravy and heat the rolls, and Corinne promptly asked if she could help in any way.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll borrow Robin, to help me with the turkey,” I said. “We’ll be in the kitchen. Would you like to come offer advice?”

“I’ll be glad to come,” Corinne said, standing gracefully with her barely touched glass of zinfandel. “But I’ll just observe silently.”

I laughed and led the way. We’ve been formal long enough, I thought. True to her word, Corinne offered almost no observations on how she prepared Thanksgiving herself, which I thought was just wonderful and amazing.

After the usual flurry of getting everything on the table, and getting everyone to sit and relax, the meal went very well. Robin carved the turkey with enthusiasm and a total lack of expertise, Corinne seemed to enjoy her food, and Phillip had seconds of everything. Robin kept casting little glances at me that I couldn’t interpret.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked later, when we were all sitting, replete and sleepy, our forks laid down for good.

“Oh.” My contented feeling almost vanished. “I have to straighten up Poppy’s house tomorrow.” Robin looked surprised. I hated to explain about the Wynns in front of Corinne.

“Who’s going to help you?”

“I don’t know. If Melinda can get a baby-sitter, I’m sure she will.” Even more than I, Melinda would not want die whole town to know what had happened, though I was sure that sooner or later the news would travel.

“I could help you,” he offered.

“That’s so nice of you.” I was genuinely touched. Robin was no slob, but picking up and cleaning were hardly his favorite activities, and he had a houseguest. “But I expect we can handle it. If we need anything too strenuous done, I’ll give you a call.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Corinne asked, out of courtesy.

“Oh, no, thank you,” I said quickly. “I’m sure Robin told you that my sister-in-law was killed a few days ago. As if that wasn’t awful enough, someone came into her house and ransacked it.

My brother-in-law just shouldn’t be faced with dealing with a mess, in addition to everything else.”

We all laid out some platitudes about how dreadful the world was nowadays, and no one was safe, even in a small town like Lawrenceton, where people used to leave their doors unlocked year-round. I certainly didn’t remember such a time myself, but my mother had assured me that was so.

My company all helped carry the food and dirty dishes into the kitchen, and to my embarrassment and gratitude, Corinne and Robin insisted on doing the dishes. My good china couldn’t go in the dishwasher, so this was a bigger task than usual. Phillip and Corinne dried while Robin washed, and I put away all the leftovers. My pants felt a little tight around the waist, and though that wasn’t unusual after a large meal, I realized that they’d felt a little snug when I’d put them on that morning. Even my bra felt tight. I decided tomorrow would certainly be early enough to worry about weight gain, but tomorrow I’d definitely need to cut back.

We decided to stay in the less formal den, cozier and more comfortable and right by the kitchen. Of course, a football game was on, and Phillip and Robin talked sports while Corinne and I discussed Thanksgiving customs, Christmas shopping, how long I’d lived in my present house, Corinne’s grandchildren. Maybe she wouldn’t mind so much, me not being able to have any, since she already had some. The minute the thought crossed my mind, I was sorry.

I was about to ruin my own day, and I slammed a mental door on that subject and turned to more pleasant ones.

“My mother and her husband are coming to share a glass of wine in a short while,” I said. “I hope that you’ll stay and meet them.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Corinne said instantly. She seemed positively delighted at the prospect.

With Corinne, Phillip, and Robin settled down in front of the television, I excused myself.

When I emerged from the bathroom off my bedroom, Robin was standing there waiting.

Without saying a word, he kissed me. At first, it was a sweet sort of kiss, a ‘You just met my mom and she likes you’ kind of kiss, but abruptly it turned into a hormonal lip lock, that had more to do with ripping off underwear than Mom. In about one minute flat, we were ready to land on the bed.

“Whoa,” I gasped, pulling my lips away from his.

His mouth followed mine, and for a second we dallied with resuming the pleasurable activity, but sanity prevailed. My brother and Robin’s mom were in the next room, and the television volume wasn’t
that
loud.

“Can I come over tonight?” he whispered.

“Your mom!”

“She won’t miss me for a couple of hours.”

“But she’ll know, and that makes me feel creepy. I know she knows anyway, but still...”

“I’ll think of a very good excuse. Remember, I’m a professional writer.”

“Okay,” I said, giving in without a further thought.

“By the way,” the professional writer said, “your brother is a normal teenager who’s just gotten lucky very recently and was safe about it.”

“That’s all I want to know,” I said, making a stop sign by holding my hand up, palm facing him. “No gory details. Brothers and sisters don’t need to know too much.”

Robin decided we should kiss again. It was even harder to pull apart this time, and I was still feeling a little dazed by lust as we went back into the den, where Corinne was catnapping in an ever-so-ladylike way, and Phillip was talking on the phone again.

“Can I go?” he whispered. “Josh and Joss have finished eating, and his mom says it’s okay.

They live about two blocks over, so I can walk. He’s got a Play Station Two and some games I haven’t tried yet.”

I glanced at my watch. I wondered whether my mother would be relieved or disappointed to miss seeing him, then decided that relieved would more fit the bill today, and gave Phillip my blessing, along with an injunction to be home in two hours, or I’d be calling the Finstermeyers.

Phillip waved good-bye to Robin, grabbed his jacket, and was gone before I could count to fifteen. Robin and I settled on the love seat and I leaned my head against his shoulder. Our hands were twined together. It was nice and warm, and I was full. I joined Corinne in dreamland for a few minutes, and then I heard my mother’s distinctive knock on the door. I couldn’t believe I’d missed all the worrying about the “Aida meets Corinne” scenario, and I couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep twice in one day.

Corinne was sitting up straight, her eyes fixed on the television, so she was already alert.

Good. She’d need it.

My mother was dressed in a discreet plaid skirt and a red blouse, with some gorgeous red pumps on. John was wearing a dress shirt and a tweed jacket but no tie. He looked very bluff and hearty, which was not John at all, but it made a good first impression.

The introductions went well, though Mother raised her eyebrows at me for having my company in the den instead of in the formal living room. Tough, Mom. We’d migrated naturally.

“Bryan called you at our house today,” Mother said to me directly during a lull in the chitchat. “He seemed to assume you’d be at our house. I told him you’d been cooking your own Thanksgiving dinners for a while now.”

Okay. Mother wanted Robin to know other men found me attractive, she wanted me to know she didn’t mind me not having Thanksgiving with them, and she wanted Corinne to know that she respected my independence.

Mission accomplished, Mom.

“I’ll call him back tomorrow. Today’s a holiday,” I said instantly, stating that my relationship with Bryan Pascoe was Business with a capital
B
. But in the next instant, I found myself wondering if he’d discovered something about the Wynns.

The visit went well, on the whole. John was not too talkative, seeming abstracted most of the time, but I was sure Corinne would understand. John had wonderful manners and was always able to think of something pleasant to say, so I knew he would improve on Corinne’s acquaintance. Robin had an excellent rapport with my mother; the thought crossed my mind that he was better with her than my late husband, Martin, had ever been. Martin and Mother had always been so conscious they were close to the same age—in fact, if Martin had married Mother instead of me, it wouldn’t have raised many eyebrows at all.

I tried not to compare other men to Martin, but sometimes ideas popped into my head whether I wanted them to or not.

I opened my mouth to interrogate my mother about Poppy’s parents—if she remembered any specific scandal about Marvin Wynn—but I realized just in time that there was no way she’d discuss that in front of Corinne Crusoe.

“Where’s the boy?” Mother asked as Corinne and Robin were telling John a long golfing story about Robin’s late father.

“He’s gone over to Josh’s house,” I explained. “You know, the Finstermeyers. Josh and his twin sister, Joss, took Phillip around the other day, to the movies and so on.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Mother said unconvincingly. “What do you think of the boy? How long is he going to stay?”