Mossy Creek Part 12

"You know, hmmm, uh, Margaret-" he stumbled over his words as he put a hand over his heart-"if you married somebody, uh, like me, uh, I could help you keep her in line."

"I appreciate the offer, as always, but you and I aren't even dating."

"We could. Uh, date. How's about we take in the new kickboxing movie down at the Bigelow Big Cine-Plex? Or go to dinner and then stop by that big sports outfitter's place at the Bigelow Mall? We could look at the new deer rifles."

It suddenly dawned on me that life was full of compromises, I mean, it really dawned, not in the way we mull over thoughts like reciting a quote of the day, but in the stomach-twisting way of long, hard experience and grim reality. I needed help with Mother. I was fifty years old. I needed to start compromising and learn to take my blessings where I found them. I looked up at Smokey with a little twist of defeat in my heart. "You know, I'll think about going out with you, I really will. Ask me again, soon."

"That's a yes!" He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. "Hot d.a.m.n, we've got a date!"

My door chimes tinkled. Amos walked in. "Hi, Smokey. Please tell me Maggie's mother chased a skunk and you found her, too."

Smokey grinned. I heard another car pull up outside. I looked through the window but didn't recognize the cla.s.sic Corvette. I did recognize the driver. Tag Garner. He didn't look happy. "Uh, oh. Here's trouble with a black eye and Mother's denture imprints," I said.

Tag took my steps two at a time and crossed the veranda quickly. He opened the shop's door so hard my little chimes jangled violently. "Mommie Dearest came back," he announced flatly. "And stole Cinderella's gla.s.s slippers." I groaned. He gave me and my shop a sardonic once-over, then added, "Would you tell her that n.o.body in her right mind wants my ex-wife's size ten shoes?"

Tag and I sat on my back porch swing and sipped herbal tea. I fought back tears. I'd sent Smokey and the chief away, so they wouldn't see me cry. But I owed Mr. Garner some waterworks. I suppose I hoped he'd feel sorry for me and forgive Mother. I felt sorry for myself.

"Don't cry," he ordered. "I have a syndrome called, hmmm, Active Sympathetic Knee-jerk Boo-Hoo Condition. I cry automatically when women cry. There's no cure."

I wiped my eyes and couldn't help smiling. "Tell me something. Why the heck did you dye a blue streak in your hair? I mean, if you were a twenty-year-old punk rocker, I could understand-"

"When I hit fifty, I decided to do whatever appealed to me. And I like blue." He paused. "When I was twenty, I was too busy trying to become the greatest football player ever. I missed out on just being goofy."

"You're not goofy." I paused perfectly. "Dopey, I think. Or Grumpy. But not Goofy."

He threw back his head and roared, then sloshed blackberry tea on himself and laughed some more. He nodded toward the shop. "I like this place. Smells great. Brings out the worst in me."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm going to buy some of your potpourri."

"Are you gay?"

He laughed, again. I warmed up to him. I couldn't help myself. The only time I'd offered Smokey some potpourri he'd asked me what kind of soup it made. "I'll mix you a custom bag," I told Tag. "I see you as a thyme-rose-mint kind of man."

"Oh? Most women see me as a smelly socks-tequila-burrito kind of man. But only when they're being polite." To the sounds of my laughter, he added, "Okay, okay, thyme-rose-mint, then." He picked up a candle off the windowsill near the swing, and sniffed it like a wine steward sampling the aroma of a fine Bordeaux. "Muskadoodle berry. My favorite."

"There's no such thing as 'muskadoodle berry.' That's vanilla you smell."

"Ah, vanilla. Smells just like muskadoodle. My shop will smell like an ice cream cone. Got any chocolate sprinkles?"

I led him inside and packaged up a candle and some potpourri. "Here, let me give you this, too." I handed him a fragrance ring I'd soaked in orange oils. I couldn't believe I was having a conversation about fragrances with a former professional football player who had a blue streak in his pony tailed hair and a sense of the absurd that made me want to tickle him just to hear him laugh. He twirled the fragrance ring around a forefinger. The delicate scent of citrus perfumed the air between us. I found myself smiling at him with giddy enjoyment. "I love oranges," I said.

His eyes warmed me. "Call me sometime, and we'll squeeze a few." I laughed, blushed, then stopped smiling and gazed at him wistfully. He returned the scrutiny and leaned closer. "I don't know any other way to say this, Maggie Hart, but are you and Smokey engaged or something?"

"Engaged? No, we're...well, you see, we..." How could I explain an inexplicable relationship? One I didn't understand myself. "I guess the best thing to say is that we're comfortable with each other."

"Comfortable? Hmm. Doesn't sound very exciting to me. Want to be uncomfortable with a man?"

"I could stand it," I said in a small voice.

"So what about tomorrow night?"

Red danger lights flashed in my head, warning me against beginning a relationship with another artistic type. But this man was different. Tag was an artistic-ex-footballer type who let my mother beat him up.

"Tomorrow?" I breathed.

"How about I take you to dinner some place?"

"What time?"

"When can you leave?"

"Pretty much anytime. I own the shop. I can let myself off early."

"Great. I'll pick you up around four." He plucked a rose from the water bowl I'd arranged that morning. With a smile that sent the summer heat rippling through me, he tucked it behind my ear, then grinned and walked out. I closed the shop's gla.s.s door behind him and watched him through its Victorian curlicues until he climbed into his Corvette, waved, and drove off. I walked back to my roses and stared into the bowl. What in the world had I just agreed to?

Mother needed stability. If I encouraged Smokey, I'd have a husband. If I gave Mother a son-in-law, maybe her nutty perspective on life would calm down. Maybe she stole things to make up for having no son-in-law and no grandchildren. There wasn't much I could do about the latter.

For the first time in a long time, I wanted to talk to Mother about life and love and stealing joy.

I wandered into my shop's office and sat down, staring at a poster of an ivy trellis in a French courtyard. Tangled. Relationships could get tangled so quickly. One date with Tag could insult Smokey and end our potential future together. Maybe I should cancel my date with Tag. That way, everything would remain the same, and I wouldn't be agonizing over this.

The shop's front door opened, interrupting my waffling. I darted out of my office. Mother sauntered in, humming quietly. She was a staunch old lady, looking deceptively delicate in white cotton pants and a flower-embroidered t-shirt. "Maggie, dear, I'm home."

"Mother, why did you beat up Mr. Garner and steal his tiara?"

"Because I was testing him! And he pa.s.sed! I like him! He's kind to old ladies even when they bite him!" She settled on a wicker lounge among baskets of dried flowers, and smiled. "I think he's the perfect man for us."

I didn't have the heart to ask where the tiara was.

Tag picked me up in the Corvette, top down, and whisked me away. We drove north, crossed the North Carolina state line, and climbed into mountains so high and rugged they take a person's breath away. I guided him to a picnic site overlooking miles of mountains and coves. We munched on yummy fried chicken, made by Tag himself, potato salad, and iced tea while we watched a glorious Appalachian sunset. I honestly believe I've never seen a more stirring sight. The mauves, golds, and blues were magnificent. Then we marveled at the clarity of each star as it twinkled into view above us. "Can you see?" I asked Tag, studying the way he squinted with his bruised eye.

He smiled bravely. "I can't quite make out the dip in the Big Dipper."

I pointed skyward. "There, One Eye, there it is." We leaned close together, our faces nearly touching as we gazed up at the night sky. My heart raced. "You smell like roses," I said. "That's wonderful."

"Ah hah! The bait works!"

What a great evening it was.

By the time we returned home, I realized that some men just know the meaning of a romantic date and others don't. Tag did. The light kiss he brushed against my lips left me wanting more. He whistled happily as he went down my veranda steps and then turned to smile. What a smile! What a handsome face-in spite of his black eye.

"Maggie," he began and then hesitated. He looked as if he were in a mental feud over something. "Aw, h.e.l.l." He bounded back up the steps and took me in his arms. Before I could whisper his name, his lips claimed mine in the most sensuous kiss I can ever remember. When he drew away to look down into my eyes, I was gasping for breath. It was as though my entire body molded itself against him involuntarily when he kissed me again.

"You taste good," he said.

"You smell good."

"This time, roses. Next time...muskadoodle berry."

I burst out laughing. He grinned as he drove away.

There was clearly something lacking in my life. Emotions that had been dormant for years sputtered to life. Leaning against the veranda's railing for support, I tried to decide what to do next. I couldn't go in, not yet. Going in would mean returning to reality, and I didn't want reality intruding on feelings I had yet to identify. I settled into the veranda swing and pushed off, letting the swing lull me back into the sweet memory of the evening. I hugged myself and sighed deeply.

All is right with the world, I thought. At least until Smokey finds out about Tag.

Oklahoma! opened the next night. Mother and I always attended premiere performances at the Mossy Creek Theater. I nodded at her excited chitchat as we waited for the curtain to rise, but my mind was anywhere but on the play. Tag waved at me from a row nearby. Mother pretended not to notice.

At intermission, Tag stopped me as I went to the concession stand for drinks. Like a schoolgirl, my pulse raced, and I could hardly speak. He leaned close and, for a moment, I thought he might kiss me.

"You should stop by and smell my studio," he said.

"So you like the scent of muskadoodle berry?"

"Makes me positively giddy."

I pointed to his eye. "Your shiner looks much better tonight."

"I put the orange fragrance ring on it."

Tag walked me back to my seat, though I warned him that he'd run into Mother. I was wrong. She wasn't there at all. I soon spotted her sitting with Ida Hamilton Walker. Mother appeared to be talking Ida's ears off, while Ida listened patiently.

"Would you like to sit down?" I asked Tag, knowing Mother wouldn't return. Ida had the best seats in the house.

He looked at me wickedly. "Are you sure you can stand the public scandal of being seen with someone other than Smokey?"

"I'll manage."

So he sat. From that moment on, I don't know how the show went. For all I know, the actors could have been naked. Tag's arm, tucked comfortably behind me, was all I could think about. I desperately wanted to rest my head on his shoulder, but resisted. No matter how I felt, I really didn't want to deal with the gossip. Not yet.

During Oklahoma's famous dream sequence Anna Rose-playing the part of Laurie-snagged her beautiful wedding gown on an uneven board on the stage's old wooden floor. Fortunately, the dress's lace hemming didn't rip. Anna gracefully bent down and released it before continuing the scene. "That dress is one I donated," Tag whispered. "My ex-wife wore it in the wedding scene for a dinner theater production of The Sound Of Music. She was such a bad singer that old people threw breadsticks at her."

"But the dress is gorgeous," I whispered back. I glanced at Mother. She was on the edge of her seat, gazing at the dress greedily. Oh, no you don't, I thought. That one's going to be locked up tight. I'll make sure Anna Rose knows you're eyeing it.

Too soon, the show was over, and the lights came up. Tag and I rose with the rest of the crowd for the standing ovation, then filed out into the lobby. I searched the crowd for mother but couldn't find her. "You look worried," Tag said.

I glanced around furtively. "Everyone's staring at us."

"That's just because I'm so good looking."

"I have to take this seriously."

Tag sighed. "All right. I'll see you later." He squeezed my hand and left me there alone. I dodged the curious stares in his wake and spoke innocently to people as they drifted by. Ida waved goodnight as she went past. Where was Mother?

"Ida!" I called and hurried after her. "Ida! Wait up a minute."

"What is it? It was good to see you sitting with Tag Garner tonight. I like to know our new residents are getting a personal welcome. I knew when I leased the shop s.p.a.ce to him that he'd fit in. Confess, now. Are you dating him?"

"I'm not sure what you'd call it. Where's my mother?"

Ida frowned. "She said she was going to meet you outside the lobby."

I hurried outside and spotted Amos.

"Amos, have you seen Mother?"

"Not since intermission. I thought she was with Ida."

"She's disappeared."

"I'll radio Mutt. He's on patrol tonight. He'll keep an eye out for her."

"She's probably walking home or something. Maybe she went over to the cafe for a cup of coffee and some pie." I followed the theater crowd up Main Street to Mama's and peered through the curtained windows. Mother wasn't there.

Praying she'd headed home, I started that way. Halfway across the square, I spotted her near the statue of General Hamilton. "Mother!"

She spun around and nearly fell, but caught herself on a bench. "Oh, is that you, dear?"

"Mother, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Obviously not, or you would have found me." She turned to hurry on her way.

"Where are you going in such a mad-dash hurry?"

"Home. It's late, and I need my beauty rest."

For an eighty-year-old woman she moved remarkably well. It was all I could do to keep up. I frowned at the statue. She spent a lot of time there, sitting on a bench. I'd never thought that unusual, before. You see, my father's family had been in the granite business when the statue was erected, back in the late 1800s. Great-Great Grandfather Hart designed and built the base. We had a sentimental attachment to the statue. Or at least to its base.

"Mother, walk more slowly, will you? I'd hate for you to trip over something and break a hip." I caught her arm, and we sauntered along together the rest of the way.

"Did you enjoy the show, Maggie?" she asked.

"Yes, did you?"

"Yes. Especially after I saw you sitting with Mr. Garner."

"He's a nice man who has forgiven me for my mother's life of crime."

Mother laughed merrily.

That worried me.